#and the eraser shaving on his face in the first frame

[riaki]

sick days ! gojo x reader ‧˚ - take a soda break…!

the rain outside your window is incessant.

it slides down the foggy glass panes in small rivulets that merge together and break apart, like the people outside on different paths of life. a sea of umbrellas moves like liquid in the streets below; a school of fish in a rainy city, under those fluorescent neons that shine like vibrant coral in the puddles of rain on the concrete.

there’s beauty even in the humid showers of tokyo, reflected in the broken lights and flickering signs; those food stalls full of warm life and fancy clothing stores that you always go in just to not buy anything, and best of all— the vending machines that dot the map.

watching raindrops race was one of your favorite hobbies as a kid. even now, you find yourself absentmindedly tracking the movements; the erratic nature of the blurry droplets as they slide down the glass makes you wonder if there’s hidden ridges on the panels that guide those watery paths.

your train of thought is rudely interrupted by another bout of coughing; that dry, itching feeling in your throat that you just can’t get rid of. drinking water to quell the cough has the same effect as telling your study buddy to stay focused for longer than five minutes. gojo is playing something on his phone again; a rhythm game, by the way he curses under his breath every time his fingers stutter and miss a beat.

you cover your mouth with your elbow, trying to expel the ghost dust that makes your breath hitch every time you try to speak, and he glances up at you, shifting in his seat. his lanky legs are cramped beneath the desktop; his frame doesn’t fit in your room. he has to duck when he enters, lest he hit his head like the first time he came over. like you, he has his head resting in his elbows. unlike you, he isn't ill with a fever so hot it burns cold and the stuffiness in your voice, and he also isn't studying.

"you sure you still wanna be reviewing? this exam doesn't really matter, y'know." gojo remarks, peering up at you from his arm pillow. "you should probably take a break, ’cus you look like shit."

he grins cheekily, pushing a pile of his papers and notes to the edge of the desk, where eraser shavings and broken bits of lead from when he couldn't solve a math problem are crammed. there's scratches and ink stains on the desk, a reminder of how you'd accidentally scribbled past the page’s edge in a sickness induced delirium. it’ll leave permanent marks; at this point you’re convinced you’re writing yourself a secret letter to the future. have you confessed to gojo yet? that’s what it’ll say. right now, it just says something unintelligible.

hopefully you’re still literate in the future, but you’re half-convinced you’re getting dumber every moment you spend caged in with this dunce of a genius.

you lean back in your chair, pulling your knee up to your chest. your pencil falls to the desk with a faint clack, soft yellow lamplight washing your faces warm as gojo scoots closer and peers over your shoulder at your progress. he has a pandora’s box of knowledge in that blue-tinted brain of his; he just refuses to apply it. it’s cocky, spoiled ego in the finest. you should hate him for it.

he snickers. "you're dumb."

"you missed forty-three notes." you countered, shooting him a glare as you point at the disappointed looking character next to a review of the stats from the song he was playing on his phone. gojo grimaces, pulling back like a sad little dog, floppy white hair covering his eyes.

"i was playing with my thumbs."

you ignore him, leaning against the wooden desk before hiding your face in your elbows again and letting out a long sigh. your hot breath curls up in the confines of your body, making you recoil slightly; uncomfortably. heat is the last thing you need with the fever you’re pretty sure you’re running.

"i hate being sick. and i hate studying. can we please give up?" you complained, glancing up at him out of the corner of your eye. your hair obscures your vision, so you can only see a faint glint of amusement in his azure irises as he studies you for a moment before scooting his chair back and standing up. without another word, he leaves the room.

wow. okay.

a moment of silence passes as you sit there, lamenting over your runny nose and the way you sound like you're about to cough a lung up every time you breathe, until you hear the soft sounds of his feet padding on the floorboards coupled with what you presume is ice clinking against glass, signaling his return. you lift your head, blinking blearily. each time you breathe in through your nose, your nostrils burn like dry ice pressed against your skin, only adding to your misery. the dreary weather outside isn't helping much, either.

the cold glass leaves a dark stain on the table, an uneven circle of condensation that soothes the aching in your fingers when your sick skin makes contact. gojo pops the can open, and you watch as he picks the glass up, tilting it to the side to pour the soda in.

“why are you holding it like that?” you asked curiously, a small yawn escaping your lips as you lean against the table. he glances down at you, a cheeky, tiny smile gracing his lips. the sound of bubbles fizzling and popping fills the cozy, cramped room; that cool, sweet liquid seems like the only thing that’ll cure your nasty cough.

“pouring it like this prevents the bubbles from escaping. you like it fizzy, don’t you?” he grins.

condensation clings to his fingers like morning dew upon flower petals as he sets the glass down. you watch the ice cubes bobble about in the soda, clinking against the cup like a mini wind chime. you’re sore from sitting in the same place with terrible posture for three hours, and there’s an ache between your fingers from gripping your pencil tight while you write.

you take a sip from the glass, letting out a contented sigh as the refreshing liquid drains down your scratchy throat. it’s not lemon honey tea for a cold, but it certainly helps. next to you, gojo takes his seat again, grabbing the throw blanket on your bed and tossing it over his legs before he grabs his pencil again. he’s using one of those short pencils, shaved down to a stub from months of use. you always offer him a mechanical pencil, but he refuses.

you sit there, waiting for him to get back to work before you realize he’s staring at you, legs crossed beneath the fuzzy blanket.

you frowned, shifting to face him as you lean against the desk. “what?”

“you’ll take care of me if i get sick too, right?” he tilts his head, like a curious bird.

“why would you get sick?”

you’re too relate to react when he makes a mad grab for your glass of soda, holding it out of your reach. a few droplets spill out and spatter onto your notebook, forcing a sigh from your lips.

“gojo…” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your fingers and praying for strength.

he just smirks, taking a lengthy sip. you watch his adam’s apple bob as a bit of condensation builds on his chin and trickles down his throat.

“you know what? i dont feel like studying either.” he announces, setting the glass back down on the wooden table with a loud thunk.

“so? what do you wanna do?” you huffed petulantly.

“download project sekai, and we can do a co-op live.”

“…you’re kidding.”

#billet-doux #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojo x you #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

[the-ace-with-spades]

I need a fic where Ghost and Soap are on the run but like, framed and on the run.

They're on an assignment, just the two of them, to co-lead a team for the prevention of assassination for some big-name politician (dunno, I like to think this would happen either in usa or in the uk...) and it's all done and they're about to pack their shit and go back to base when Soap gets an encrypted call from Price to tell him that a video of Ghost killing the same big-name politician is on the telly

It's not Ghost, obviously, but it's someone of Ghost's posture, in Ghost's gear and Ghost's mask.

Also obviously, Soap doesn't believe it.

They get surrounded pretty fast by the local SWAT-like team and Soap makes Ghost use him as a hostage so they can escape with a minimal amount of maiming -- Soap is pretty sure Ghost could escape on his own, but it'd be a bloody mess that would follow him after he was proven to be framed.

Of course, Ghost tries to get Soap to leave once they're out of the danger zone. He does not.

Cue Ghost and Soap on the run while Price, Gaz and Lasewell try to find out who is framing him.

Simon's existence was erased so much that there are no pictures of him anywhere so instead, his APB has a sketch and a description. Problem is, the scars on his face were included, and way too characteristic to miss them (whether it's the glasgow smile or other scars, dunno, but you get my point). At first, it's really hard to move around because scars/mask + Simon being like 6'4 and built like a tank scream 'notice me'. Simon grows out a beard - it's red-ish blond colour so he ends up dying his hair red too. He absolutely doesn't care but Soap mourns because he's barely started being able to see Simon's face and hair and now it's all changed up.

Soap doesn't have an APB at first, but after a couple of days he is named as complicit (because he's seen helping Ghost run) and his photo is out. He has to shave the mohawk because it's too eye-catching (he's fucking bald and he hates it). He has to rein in his accent because he is described as glasgowian scottish. He can't call his maw so he sends her a random postcard he picked up a few towns ago and sends a short and cryptic message, hoping she believes he's not a terrorist.

Soap also finds out Ghost knows way too many shady people and knows way too easily where to look for even more shady people if he needs something the former people don't have. They steal shit out of necessity, often clothes and food, but sometimes they pickpocket cards and wallets. Some days they sleep in the car, some days they stop at questionable motels or hostels, and some days they don't sleep at all. They have burner phones but don't contact Price at all.

There would be a mandatory 'taking care of each others' wounds' scene (no bandages, please, you rarely use bandages in healthcare nowadays) after a dangerous run-in, a mandatory 'pretend to be a couple to lose the trail' and after that, an awkward 'there was only one bed' scene where things happen for the first time and they have a sloppy handjob or two.

They're probably trying to escape the country but can't do it via air because of the APBs and have to make their way to some shady port and even shadier ferry or cargo ship that won't run their fake passports in the system if they pay well enough.

Ghost is surprising Soap once again with an off-shore bank account and a knowledge of whichever country they're in's language. They move somewhere less crowded but not small enough that two Brits would be weird. Some people refer to Ghost as Soap's husband.

Weeks or months go by.

"What if they can't prove I didn't do it?"

"You faked your death once, love, I think you can do it twice."

#ghostsoap #ghoap #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #q

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Loved By You Before | S.R

Not my gif

Summary - Spencer Reid is unequivocally in love with you and has been for ten years. The only problem is after your first marriage ended disastrously, you swore you’d never marry again. But after suffering a head injury trying to take down Everett Lynch, Spencer wakes up ten years in the past. Can he convince you not to marry to your ex? Or will life as he knows it change forever?

A/N - this was an idea @andiebeaword told me about and I was instantly obsessed and had to write it. Hope I did the idea justice! Based on a lifetime movie she watched called “Before You Say I Do”. For my “Injury” square for @cmbingo Set in s5 and 15.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - fluff, angst with happy ending.

Content Warnings - References to prison, mentions of 9.23 Angels, 5.21 Exit Wounds, 5.22 The Internet is Forever, 15.9 Face Off, mentions of annulments, cheating, explosions, head injury, usual case related stuff, illusions of sex but no specifics.

Word Count - 10.7K (it got away from me a little)

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten Years Ago

The glass of scotch sat untouched on the table next to the torn open envelope. The ice had long ago melted, no doubt making your drink too watered down to enjoy now anyway.

You had every intention of getting blind drunk tonight. You planned on getting drunk to the point you blacked out and hopefully awoke in the morning having completely erased the past two months from your memory.

But now you were in a bar and the scotch was in front of you, it seemed inevitable it would only make everything ten times worse.

You sighed as you ran your fingers over the front of the envelope.

Two months ago had been what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life and now you were at your absolute lowest.

How could things change so quickly? You’d had your whole life in front of you one minute and the next everything had blown up in your face.

You’d blinked and your world had turned upside down.

pYou glanced at the scotch, mentally admitting defeat on it and heaving yourself up from the chair. You slid your jacket on, pocketing the envelope and its contents.

You weren’t ready to crawl back to your friend's apartment to the couch you’d been calling home for nearly two months. Maybe you’d go for a walk. Maybe you’d find yourself in another bar staring down into another drink you wouldn’t consume.

You’d taken four steps from your table when a man appeared in front of you. You didn’t see where he’d come from, one second he wasn’t there and the next he was.

He was smiling an extremely charming smile at you. He was unequivocally attractive, dark skin, a shaved head and friendly eyes.

But if he was thinking about hitting on you, tonight was most certainly not the night.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.” His voice was deep and smooth. “My name is Derek Morgan and uh…you see, my friend over there has been staring at you for the last hour or so but he’s way too awkward to come and talk to you himself.”

You frowned, following Derek Morgan’s gaze across the bar to a small group of people.

It was obvious who he was talking about as the table he was glancing at consisted of three women, two blondes and a brunette and one very awkward looking man.

He had long, wavy hair almost down to his shoulders that framed a face made up of some of the most perfect bone structure you’d ever seen.

He was fiddling with his thumbs in a cumbersome way whilst the girls around him talked and laughed amongst themselves.

You let your eyes fall away from him and back onto the man in front of you.

“Your friend asked you to come and hit on me for him?” You gave him a skeptical look.

“Oh god no.” Derek chuckled. “He would die of embarrassment if he knew I was talking to you on his behalf. But the kid needs help sometimes.”

“Well uh…as flattered as I am, I really don’t think now is a good time.” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and subconsciously glanced back over at Derek’s group of friends.

Admittedly the man was attractive in a kind of nerdy way. His face wouldn’t be out of place on the front cover of a fashion magazine, but his clothing wouldn’t be out of place on a fifty something college professor.

This time when you looked he was looking right at you like a deer caught in headlights.

You saw him swallow before he pushed himself up to his feet.

Derek looked over his shoulder as his friend started cautiously your way. He was smiling when he turned back to face you.

“Just try and let him down easy.” He gave you a small shrug just as his friend joined you.

This was the last thing you needed tonight of all nights. Why did you even come here in the first place?

“Uh…what are you doing, Morgan?” He spoke to his friend but you heard him.

He was bouncing uncomfortably from one foot to the other, having a hard time making eye contact with you and staying close to his friend's side.

“Just making friends, pretty boy.” Derek looked from him to you. “This is Spencer Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid. And uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Because I didn’t throw it.” You forcibly removed your hands from your pockets. “I’m sure you’re both very lovely but I’m really not in the mood for this tonight so, if you’ll excuse me.”

Before either of the men could say anymore you were weaving between them towards the door.

You pushed open the door and inhaled a lungful of fresh air as you stepped out onto the street.

Could a girl not attempt to drown her sorrows in peace? It had been longer than you could remember since the last time you’d been hit on.

Is this what your life is going to be like now? Going to bars and thwarting attempts by men to get into your pants?

You were happy. You’d had your whole life in front of you and it didn’t involve being hit on in bars. Where had it all gone so wrong?

Eventually you’d have to move on, eventually you'd have to meet someone else.

But eventually certainly wasn’t today.

Just as you were becoming consumed by your thoughts, a voice behind you snapped you back to reality.

“Uh…excuse me, Y/N?”

You spun around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. Spencer Reid was standing awkwardly behind you, a slightly uncomfortable half-smile on his lips.

“How do you know my name?” You frowned at him.

He gave you a small shrug before holding his arm out towards you. In his hand was your ripped open envelope that brandished your name on the front.

“I think you dropped this.”

You took it from him before stuffing it back in your pocket. It must have fallen out when you’d taken your hands out of your pockets.

“Oh, thanks.”

“I’m really sorry about Morgan. I didn’t ask him to come and talk to you. I feel a little embarrassed.” He scuffed the toe of his worn converse on the pavement.

“It’s ok. I’m sorry if I was brash. It’s really not a good day.” You confessed.

“Anything you’d like to talk about? I know we don’t know each other but I’m a pretty good listener.” He shrugged again.

You chewed on your lip wondering why you were even contemplating telling him. But he had kind eyes and for whatever reason he seemed genuinely concerned about you, a complete stranger.

You pulled the letter back out of your pocket and toyed with it in your hands.

“I was married for thirty seven days. This letter came today to tell me short lived marriage is officially annulled. I never imagined this would be my life. When I got married it was supposed to be forever.” You had no idea what prompted you to be so honest and judging by the look on Spencer’s face he was just as surprised as you were.

“Oh gosh.” He sighed. “I really am sorry about Morgan then. The last thing you needed was for-“

“It’s ok.” You cut him off with a smile. “My ex…he uh…he slept with my maid of honour just before the ceremony. I wish I’d found out before I said I do, but things happen. Sometimes good things fall apart to make way for better things.”

“When one door closes another door opens.” Spencer smiled softly at you.

“Exactly.” You agreed. “I uh…I was going to take a walk but I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Spencer’s face lit up and a large smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“R-really?”

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged. “Misery loves company.”

Spencer nodded at you and the two of you fell into step quickly as you walked down the street.

Spencer put you at ease in a way you’d never felt before around a stranger. You fell into companionable conversation with ease, as though you’d known each other a lifetime.

And by the time the two of you parted ways later that night, you found yourself wondering if Spencer Reid could be your open door.

***

Present Day

Admittedly, buying the ring in the first place had been a foolish move. Keeping it for six years and expecting you not to find it had been damn near moronic.

He watched you from where you sat on the bed, ring box in your open palm. You looked at him through sad yet slightly frustrated eyes.

Spencer leant against the door jamb, chewing on his lip.

“Spencer,” you sighed, snapping the ring box closed. “Spencer…why do you have this?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious.” He shrugged limply.

You sighed again and put the box on the nightstand before standing up.

“I thought you understood.”

“I do.” He pushed himself away from the door and stepped closer to you. “I do understand, Y/N. I bought it a long time ago and I guess I just hoped…”

When he reached you, you placed your hands on his shoulders.

“It’s been ten years, Spence. You know I don’t ever want to get married again.”

“I know.” He nodded sadly. “I hoped you’d change your mind, I guess.” He stepped backwards out of your touch.

When you’d met Spencer, your first marriage was fresh being annulled and you most certainly hadn’t been looking to jump back into anything after your ex broke your heart.

But Spencer had made you forget about all the hurt your brief marriage had caused you and somehow the two of you had naturally fallen into a relationship. Ten years later you had a home and a life together.

You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t want to get married again. Your ex had hurt you so monumentally that you were adamantly against ever getting married again. Spencer understood, at least he’d told you he had.

After ten years, you thought the two of you had enough. You didn’t need to get married to prove you loved each other, did you?

You should have known that Spencer would always want more.

“Spence, you know I love you more than anything. But I can’t give you that. I thought you got that? I can’t keep going over this time and time again.”

“I know.” He stepped closer to you again and cupped your face in his hands. “And I’m sorry. I’ll sell the ring. It was dumb. I love you, Y/N. You’re all I need.”

But that wasn’t true. Spencer wanted to marry you more than anything else in the world. He knew after all this time neither one of you were going anywhere but in his mind marriage was the ultimate goal of a relationship.

He counted his lucky stars everyday that despite everything the two of you had ended up together, but sometimes it wasn’t enough for him.

You curled yourself into him, resting your head on his chest and he wrapped you in his arms. You hated your ex for ruining your belief in marriage and you wished you could give Spencer everything he wanted.

But when you’d found out two days after saying I do that your new husband had slept with your maid of honour minutes before the ceremony, you couldn’t help but look at marriage as a bit of a joke.

Maybe the problem was you never let yourself really grieve that relationship. You’d thrown all your energy and all your love into your new friend Spencer without taking time to just breathe.

That’s not to say you regretted that decision. Spencer was the best thing that had ever happened to you, the timing had just been a little off. But you can’t help who you fall in love with, or when, even when it happens right at the end of a marriage.

Spencer held you for a while, both lost in your own thoughts. Eventually you were pulled back around by the sound of Spencer’s phone ringing.

He placed a gentle kiss on your head before stepping back to answer the call.

You heard enough of his side of the conversation to know it was work and he would be going away for a case.

At first you’d hated Spencer leaving. You’d spent so much of your life with your ex and then you jumped straight into a relationship with Spencer so you’d never really been alone.

Days he spent away felt like weeks, sometimes months. But as time went on you got used to it and the two of you just made the most of the time you did spend together.

Recently, and you’d never admit this out loud, you almost felt relief when he was called away.

He hung up the phone and slid the device back in his pocket.

“I’ve got to go.” He sighed. “We might have located Everett Lynch.”

The heaviness to his tone combined with that name sent a shiver up your spine. Everett Lynch had been one step ahead of the BAU for sometime now and you knew how many sleepless nights Spencer had because of it.

You watched as he hurriedly located his shoes and satchel and you followed him to the front door of your apartment.

“Come home safe.” You got up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“I always do, don’t I?” He smiled but you saw the fear behind it.

“I love you.” You gave his tie a small tug.

“I love you too.” He said before he was opening the door and leaving.

And if you weren’t mistaken, the way he told you he loved you didn’t sound as genuine as usual.

***

Spencer was away in Reno, Nevada for four days. On the fourth day you’d received a phone call from JJ filling you in on what had happened.

Spencer had led the charge to raid Lynch’s home. As the agents started to swarm the house, JJ had suddenly realised they were walking into a trap. But she was just a second late on that realisation and Lynch set off a gas explosion.

You’d panicked as JJ told you Spencer was injured in the blast but she’d been quick to tell you he was ok and on route home.

He’d called you himself before they got on the jet and assured you he was fine, he just had a couple of scrapes and bruises but he was otherwise unharmed.

It was late when he finally arrived home, tossing his satchel and jacket on the floor and kicking off his shoes.

His head hurt but he was sure a good night's sleep would cure that.

He quietly crept to the bedroom, not wanting to disturb you, and stripped down to his boxers. He crawled into bed and placed a soft kiss on the side of your face before flopping back to the pillows.

His eyes were heavy and his body ached. It had been a long few days. But he was finally home where he belonged.

As he reached to shut off the lamp you’d left on for him, he noticed the ring box still sitting on the nightstand.

He tried not to think about how much it hurt that you didn’t want to marry him and focus on sleep.

That was a problem for another day.

***

Spencer’s alarm startled him awake the next morning. He blindly reached out a hand and started slapping it on the nightstand until he found the offending item and hit the button to shut off the wretched noise.

He rubbed his eyes and reached across the bed for your sleeping form only to be met with cold sheets.

He blinked a few times to adjust his eyes as he stared at your empty side of the bed.

It wasn’t like you to get up earlier than him and the fact that your side of the bed was cold was really disconcerting.

He sat up and swung his legs out of the bed, quickly exiting the room in search of you.

“Y/N?” He called out, scratching the back of his head. “Y/N?”

He passed across the living room towards the kitchen but it was empty and he found the bathroom empty too.

The panic set in quickly, it wasn’t like you to disappear without telling him. His heart was hammering hard against his rib cage as he ran back through to the bedroom and picked up his phone.

He brought up his recent call list of which you were usually at the top of. But your name didn’t appear on the list. His last five calls had been to JJ, Hotch, Garcia, JJ again and most oddly, Morgan.

Spencer’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t spoken to Morgan in at least six months, probably longer. In fact it had been even longer than that since he last spoke to Hotch. Why would they be on his recent call list?

Pushing past it, he brought up his contact list instead and scrolled down until he got to where your name should have been.

He scrolled through the relatively short list a few times but your name wasn’t on there.

His brows were furrowed so deeply at this point he was inducing a headache. He knew your number off the top of his head anyway so he dialled it.

After a few seconds of silence he was met with an automated voice.

“The number you dialled has not been recognised.”

“What the fuck?” He checked the number, he was one hundred percent sure that was your number. He had an eidetic memory for Christ sake.

But just then, something else hit him.

Running back into his living room, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

You’d moved into Spencer’s apartment just a few months after you started dating. You’d been looking for your own place after moving out of your home you’d shared with your ex husband but Spencer had insisted you move in with him. At first it had been out of convenience but soon you’d both realised you couldn’t bear the thought of being apart so you’d stayed.

You’d bought new furniture together and redecorated his apartment to accommodate both your tastes.

You’d replaced his dark leather couch with a more comfortable, larger couch with plush cushions. Ten years ago he and Morgan had gotten rid of that couch.

So why was that same dark leather couch now sitting back in his living room?

You'd hooked a TV up onto the wall but that was nowhere to be seen. The photographs you’d adorned on the walls were no longer there either.

His bookshelf was full of his old first editions and forensic textbooks, all your novels were gone as though they’d never been there to begin with.

The walls you’d painted together had reverted back to the colour they’d been when he lived alone.

Back in the bedroom his old worn carpet was present instead of the new one you’d laid together. His closet was full of only his clothes.

The ring box that had been sitting on the nightstand last night was gone.

Spencer’s head was pounding. What was going on? It was as though you’d never lived here.

Just then his cellphone startled him and he picked it up, answering frantically in the hopes it was you.

“Y/N?”

“Who?” Garcia’s voice came down the line. “Never mind, we don’t have time, Junior G-Man. Hotch needs us.”

“Hotch?” Spencer started to pace. “You mean Emily?”

There was a moment of silent confusion before Garcia spoke again.

“Uhm no. I mean Hotch. Is everything ok, boy wonder?”

The simple answer to that was, no, everything was most certainly not ok.

“Garcia I hit my head in the explosion yesterday and now my apartment is completely different, I can’t find Y/N and you’re telling me Hotch is still our Unit Chief?”

“Explosion? There was an explosion? Are you ok?” Garica panicked.

“The explosion at Everett Lynch’s.”

What the hell is going on?

“Who’s Everett Lynch? Is he ok? Are you ok? Should I tell Hotch you won’t be in today?”

“What? No. I’ll be…” Spencer trailed off. “Actually yes, I think I need to rest. Something weird is going on.”

“Ok, you rest that big giant brain and I’ll let Hotch know.”

“Thanks.” Spencer’s head was pounding. “Garcia, one more thing…”

“Yes Reid?”

He chewed his lip and sighed.

“What’s the date today?”

“March fifth.”

“What year is it?”

Garcia was silent again for a moment, clearly just as confused as Spencer was.

“It’s twenty eleven, Spencer.”

Spencer’s whole body went rigid. He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times before saying goodbye to Garcia and hanging up the phone.

He dropped the device to the bed and stared at the adjacent wall.

March fifth twenty eleven.

He met you on August ninth twenty eleven, ten years ago. So what did that mean? He’d hit his head and now he’d woken up ten years in the past.

Was he dead? Had the explosion actually killed him? Or was he lying unconscious somewhere while his brain bled and this was some kind of sick dying dream?

The problem was, it felt all too real. Spencer often had extremely vivid dreams but he always knew when he was dreaming. This felt different.

He forced himself up from the bed and through to the bathroom to the mirror. Looking back at him in his reflection wasn’t the thirty eight year old version of himself he’d seen in the mirror before he’d gone to bed last night.

His hair was longer. The laugh lines and wrinkles he’d collected over the years weren’t yet apparent on his face. His eyes didn’t hold the look of a man who spent three months in prison. He was skinnier, the paunch that had developed on his stomach as he’d gotten older was gone. The scar on his neck where’d taken a bullet for Alex Blake had vanished.

“Who are you?” He whispered to his much younger self looking back at him as though his reflection held the answers.

What the fuck was happening?

He looked away from the mirror and raced back to the bedroom for his phone. He shot off a quick text to Garcia telling her he would be at work after all.

He couldn’t sit here all day. He needed to figure this out.

He showered and dressed as quickly as possible and high tailed it to Quantico.

The team had already gathered in the round table room when he arrived.

Morgan gave him a smile as he entered and Hotch looked frustrated by his lateness.

Where were Tara, Luke and Matt? Why were Emily and Garcia sitting with the rest of the team and why was JJ presenting the case?

“Glad you could join us, Reid.” Hotch spoke as Spencer slid into the free chair.

It was like he’d entered the twilight zone.

The last time he’d been in this room they’d been discussing Everett Lynch’s search for his father and Roberta Lynch’s parole.

But now Garcia didn’t know who Everett Lynch was. And he bet the rest of the team wouldn’t either.

“There have been three murders in the last week in Franklin, Alaska. It’s a small fishing town with a population of just one thousand five hundred. These are the first murders to ever occur in this town.” JJ started.

Spencer looked down at the case file in front of him, cogs turning.

“Owen Porter.” He muttered to himself, remembering working on this case.

“What was that pretty boy?” Morgan asked him, causing everyone to look at him.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Carry on.”

Spencer zoned out what JJ was saying. He already knew it all anyway. He also knew that Garcia would accompany them to Franklin, and he knew Owen Porter was their unsub.

Because it was two thousand and eleven. JJ was still their team's communication liaison and Hotch was still their unit chief. Tara Lewis was still a forensic psychologist, Luke Alvez was probably still with the fugitive task force or maybe he was even in Iraq with the Rangers and Matt Simmons probably wasn’t yet a father and still worked for the IRT.

Everett Lynch hadn’t started his killing spree yet and he hadn’t met you yet and wouldn’t for months.

It was twenty eleven and he was twenty eight years old and hadn’t been shot in the neck or put in prison or fallen in love yet.

So what did that mean? What was going on? Had he dreamed ten years of his life or was this a dream? Or was he trapped in some kind of strange alternate reality?

He guessed he’d have to try and figure it out from Alaska.

***

As Spencer predicted, Owen Porter had been their unsub which meant he had lived this before.

He tried to lay out the facts on the jet back home from Alaska three days later.

There had been an explosion and he’d hit his head, so the logical theory was that he was unconscious somewhere, brain bleeding and his dying mind had taken him back to twenty eleven.

But why?

The only answer he could come up with was that it had to do with you and the conversation you’d had before he’d gone to Nevada and been involved in the explosion.

It was five months before he’d even met you that night at the bar. It was three months before your first wedding.

Maybe he was supposed to find you and convince you that the man you were going to marry was a jerk and a cheat before it was too late? Maybe he had a chance here to rewrite history. If he managed to talk you out of getting married the first time, maybe you wouldn’t be so against marrying him later.

Whatever was going on, his mission became clear. He needed to track you down and convince you not to get married.

He remembered every detail about you so finding you wouldn’t be difficult. The hard part would be how a complete stranger to you would be able to talk you out of marrying the man you thought was the love of your life.

Maybe you were in the same boat as him, maybe you woke up to this strange alternate universe where it was suddenly ten years in the past and you were searching for him too?

If that was the case, that would make this whole thing a lot easier.

The following day he headed to your work. In twenty eleven you were working at a local paper writing puff pieces for them that rarely went to print.

Spencer had declared his love for you in that paper. He’d called up and placed an ad in the paper you worked for telling you he loved you. He could never forget that paper even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory.

He’d visited you at your office on multiple occasions so he knew exactly where to go.

He was nervous as he approached the building, having no idea what to expect. He hadn’t even rehearsed what he might say when he saw you.

He knew he couldn’t say too much, not that he knew too much. But what he did know would have you thinking he was insane. He couldn’t very well go up to you and say -

“Hi I’m Spencer and you don’t know me but in a few months we’re going to meet and fall in love and ten years later we’ll still be going strong. Apart from the fact you’re terrified of getting married again after your asshole first husband cheats on you with your maid of honour.”

He supposed he’d have to start from the beginning. He’d have to charm you somehow, he’d done it before although he had no idea how. It might be harder this time around while you’re still happy and in love with your soon to be husband.

He bypassed your office just as he reached the door, needing more time. This was all crazier than he could comprehend.

He knew you always used to spend your lunch breaks in the nearby cafe so he decided he would wait for you there.

It was still early in the morning so Spencer had a long wait ahead of him but at least it would give him a chance to figure out the perfect way to approach you.

He’d consumed several coffees and a few slices of pie by the time lunchtime rolled around.

When you walked in it felt as though the world momentarily stood still on its axis. He felt the same flutter in his chest as the first time he laid eyes on you.

He watched from his table as you ordered at the counter and his luck was in when you settled into the table right next to his.

You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading between bites of your sandwich.

For a while, Spencer got lost in just watching you. He used to watch you read all the time. He loved the way your brow creased when you were really concentrating and how every now and again you would lightly chew your bottom lip. He always noticed when you were excited by what you’d read because your eyes would widen ever so slightly.

Somewhere over the years, he’d stopped taking time to just watch you. Maybe after so long together he took those things for granted.

But waking up in a world where the two of you weren’t together made Spencer take note of every little detail about you.

A gut wrenching thought hit him at that moment. What if him inserting himself into your life too soon rewrote history, what if this ruined everything and the two of you never ended up together?

Spencer needed to think this through some more. He could end up changing everything if he wasn’t careful. If he somehow manipulated it that the two of you didn’t end up together, that’s not a future Spencer wanted to live in.

He picked up his satchel from the floor and went to push his chair back but when he looked back up, you were now looking right at him with a soft smile.

That smile always had a way of paralysing him. He froze, staring back at you like a deer in headlights. Before he knew what was happening you had stood up from your table, bringing your book and coffee with you towards him.

Spencer’s heart was hammering so loudly in his chest he could barely hear anything over the sound. He only just registered what you said when you sidled up to his table.

“I’m sorry, this is going to sound really odd but…you look so familiar. Have we met?” A soft frown graced your features but your lip tugged up at the corner in a smile.

Have we met, the single most soul destroying sentence Spencer had ever heard.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

Not only have we met but we’ve fallen in love. We spent the next ten years together building a home, a future. I know all your deepest, darkest secrets and you know mine. I comforted you when your dad died and you were with me every step of the way when I was in prison. I know you inside and out, better than anybody. We’ve more than met, we’ve made a lifetime of memories in ten years. You are the love of my life and I am yours. Have we met? We’ve done so much more than that.

But of course, Spencer didn’t say any of that. Instead, he composed himself, gave you the best smile he could muster and he lied.

“Uh…I don’t think so.”

“You have such a familiar face.” You scrutinised him.

“I guess I just have a generic face. I probably look just like a hundred other guys you’ve seen.” He tried not to sound too self-deprecating.

Spencer noticed a glint in your eye, one he knew was of amusement.

“I don’t think it’s that at all.” You laughed lightly. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” He was eager to say.

You slid into the seat opposite him, placing your book and coffee and on the table.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Spencer. Reid.” Spencer tried to not stare at your engagement ring. It made him feel uncomfortable.

Your eyes narrowed on him.

“Are you sure we haven’t met? Your face and your name…it’s so familiar.”

Spencer swallowed and tried to come up with some kind of lie because the truth would sound insane.

“Uh…I come here a lot. Maybe you’ve seen me here before? You might have heard them call my name or something?”

“I come here everyday.” You shrugged. “I work just around the corner at the Chronicle so maybe I have seen you here before.” You conceded.

“Uh…what do you do at the Chronicle?” Spencer found it profoundly strange asking you questions he already knew the answers to. But he had to pretend he knew nothing about you.

“I write those stupid little puff pieces. Cat stuck in a tree and rescued safely. Little kid lost their stuffed bear in a park. That kind of stuff. They don’t publish a lot of my writing, but it’s a stepping stone, you know?”

“I see big things coming for you.” Spencer sipped his coffee.

He wanted so badly to tell you that in ten years time you’d be editor of that paper and you’d turned the whole publication around. With you in charge the Chronicle would go from hamster cage lining to a serious journalistic paper.

“You don’t even know me.” You laughed, and Spencer saw the soft blush that spread to your cheeks.

“No, but I’m rarely wrong about these kinds of things.”

“What are you, some kind of psychic?”

“I’m actually an FBI Agent. I work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I guess I-“ Spencer was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing.

You pulled the device from your pocket and he saw your face light up.

“I’m sorry, excuse me for a moment.” You pushed yourself up from the chair and walked away from the table.

He watched you smile in delight as you answered the phone.

His heart plummeted. He knew exactly who you were talking to and it broke his heart.

You were on the phone a few minutes and when you rejoined him, Spencer tried his best to plaster on a smile.

“Sorry, that was my fiancé Kyle.” You downed the rest of your coffee. “I really need to head back to the office but it was nice to meet you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, you too Y/N.” He chewed his lip.

“Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime?” You stood up once more, grabbing your book.

“I hope so.” He smiled before watching you walk away.

Spencer felt like a vice was tightening around his heart.

He’d never known you when you were with your ex and all he knew was the heartbreak he’d caused you. It had never even crossed his mind that the two of you had been happy together.

You looked as though you were floating when you talked to him on the phone and Spencer couldn’t help but think he wasn’t sure you’d ever been that happy with him.

He left the cafe and decided to spend the rest of his day off at home wallowing. With any luck he might wake up in the morning and everything would be back to normal.

But would he ever shake the look on your face when you’d talked to Kyle?

When he got home he hauled himself up in his office with a stack of books. It was getting late when he opened up his bottom drawer to see if his old journal was inside.

He found it exactly where he used to keep it ten years ago. Since meeting you and discovering happiness, he’d stopped keeping a journal.

He opened it up to the next blank page and was confused to find a small scrap of paper folded inside.

He found his hands were trembling a little as he picked it up, as though he already knew what it was.

It was a page from the Chronicle dated nearly six months from now. It was from the personal ads page.

Spencer felt tears welling in his eyes as he read over the short paragraph in his head several times.

“Y/N Y/L/N, every moment since we met has been a dream come true. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I need you to know that I am utterly, head over heels in love with you. All my love, S.R.”

How on Earth did this get here? It was March twenty eleven and he hadn’t written that ad until August that year.

Spencer was already so confused about what was happening, now he was positively bewildered.

He needed to sleep this off and hope that tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

He tucked the scrap of newspaper into his satchel on his way to his bedroom.

The bed felt too big and too empty without you.

What was he going to do if he was stuck here? What became of him and you if this was his life now?

Spencer didn’t know how long he cried for before he finally fell asleep.

He dreamt of you and the future he might not get to have with you.

***

When he was woken by a call from JJ informing him that Hotch needed him and finding himself alone in bed, it was instantly clear he was still stuck in this hellish time loop.

Yet again it was a case he’d worked before. It took them to Boise, Idaho to investigate the disappearance of three women all targeted via social networking sites.

Spencer wished he had more to occupy his mind. But he memorised every case they’d ever worked on so reliving it was extremely monotonous.

It left him too much time to think about you and how he’d found himself in this situation.

It was another week until he had another day off and was able to make the trip across town to the cafe you frequented.

Just after twelve you arrived and smiled softly at him when you spotted him. It wasn’t the same way your whole face used to light up when you saw him. It hurt, it hurt more than anything else in the world.

Because you weren’t in love with him. And maybe you never would be again.

You placed your order at the counter and joined Spencer at his table.

“Hi again.” You toyed with the back of the chair. “Want some company?”

“Please,” he motioned for you to sit down, which you did.

You fell into easy conversation about the book you were reading and about your jobs and other things Spencer already knew about you.

And after lunch you left again, leaving Spencer with a heavy heart once more.

The two of you continued this routine whenever Spencer’s hectic schedule allowed. You were becoming friends, had even exchanged numbers but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right.

A few times your fiancé had come up in conversation and Spencer had to sit and listen while you gushed over him and your upcoming wedding.

How was he supposed to broach the subject of him being a jerk and a cheater? How could he just explain that away without ever having met the guy?

After several weeks, he saw his advantage.

“I was telling Kyle about you.” You spoke between bites of your turkey melt.

“Oh?” Spencer tried to hide his annoyance hearing his name.

“He wants to meet you. Would that be weird?”

“Why would that be weird?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Well, if you aren’t doing anything tomorrow night there’s this little bar in the district called Paddy’s, have you heard of it?”

The vice around Spencer’s heart tightened. He hadn’t just heard of it, he’d been there.

Ten years ago Spencer had been on a night out with the team, sans Rossi and Hotch, at Paddy’s when he spotted the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Morgan had tried hitting on her on Spencer’s behalf. When she’d left she’d dropped a torn open envelope on the floor and he’d gone after her to give it back.

Paddy’s was the bar where the two of you had met.

“Uh yeah, I know it.”

“Cool.” You smiled, pushing your seat back. “I better get back, but I’ll see tomorrow around seven?”

“Can’t wait.” Spencer smiled at you.

You gave him a wave and then you were leaving.

As much as Spencer didn’t want to meet your fiancé, it could be a good way for him to try and get to know him, maybe even weasel information out of him.

If Kyle were to drunkenly admit that he was hooking up with someone behind your back, he’d be obligated to tell you, right?

At the very least maybe he could make something up to incriminate him.

Spencer finished his coffee before leaving the cafe and heading to the metro station for the long ride home.

***

Spencer was early as he usually was. He changed his outfit four times, not wanting to look too much like a teacher's assistant for a change.

He’d finally settled on a dark shirt and slacks. No tie. No sweater vest. No cardigan.

In his head Kyle was the epitome of masculine energy. He pictured him to be tall, well built and intimidating in every sense of the word. He imagined a pretty boy lacking in brains.

But Kyle was none of those things.

It made sense, given your attraction to Spencer that the way he pictured Kyle wouldn’t be your type. When you introduced Kyle, it was clear to Spencer you had a very specific type.

Kyle was tall yet slim. He dressed very similarly to how Spencer usually did, sweater vest and all. He wore thick rimmed glasses and had slightly overgrown dark hair.

In a matter of hours Spencer learnt the similarities between him and Kyle went deeper than just looks.

Kyle was a TA at a local college, hoping to become a lecturer. He had an IQ of one hundred and sixty two, not quite as high as Spencer’s but he was still a provable genius. He had one PhD to Spencer’s three, in mathematics.

In his spare time Kyle enjoyed playing chess and frequenting bookstores.

If Spencer had thought he was in the twilight zone before, he knew he was now. This was all too strange for words.

He wanted to hate this man, but he was making that really difficult for Spencer.

You excused yourself to use the bathroom leaving Spencer and Kyle alone. If Spencer was going to get anything out of this man it would be now.

“So uh…Y/N tells me you're getting married in June?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait.” Kyle beamed and if Spencer didn’t know any better he would think Kyle was actually a good guy.

“It’s only a few months away, have you had any cold feet? One woman for the rest of your life, kind of scary right?”

Kyle chewed his lip and looked over his shoulder briefly before looking back at Spencer.

“Can I trust you?” He whispered.

Yes, this is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for!

“Of course.” Spencer forced his expression to stay neutral.

“I have had cold feet. But only briefly. Y/N’s best friend has tried hitting on me a few times and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.” He adjusted his glasses. “But I love Y/N. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Ruining that isn’t worth one night of fun.”

Spencer looked into Kyle’s eyes as he spoke. In Spencer’s line of work he’d learnt to tell when someone was lying. People always had a tell.

Spencer was certain, beyond a shadow a doubt that Kyle was not lying.

Maybe this time around Kyle really wouldn’t cheat on you and the two of you would be happy together.

“Good for you, man.” Spencer smiled at him as he stood from the table. “I have to be up early so I’m going to call it a night. It was great to meet you, tell Y/N I’ll see her around.”

“Oh…good to meet you too.” Kyle smiled up at him, a little confused by Spencer’s sudden decision to leave.

Without another word, Spencer hurried to the exit and out onto the street just as his first tear fell.

Spencer loved you with all of his heart and soul. You were undoubtedly the one great love of his life. But you didn’t love him, not in this universe anyway. Right here and now you were madly in love with Kyle and the two of you had a chance to be happy together.

So no matter how much Spencer loved you, if it meant you wouldn’t have to deal with the kind of heartbreak Kyle had caused you again, the decision to walk away was an easy one for him.

It hurt, it hurt so much Spencer thought his chest might explode. But he would do anything for you. Even if it meant giving up his own happiness for yours.

Spencer didn’t know what was going to happen next. Maybe he was stuck in this timeline and would have to live out the next ten years of his life over without you. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow or next week back in twenty twenty one. He had no idea.

But what he did know was that he had to let you go. If the two of you were meant to be, maybe you’d find your way back to each other someday. But he couldn’t in good conscience aid in breaking you and Kyle up.

He hoped he was right in trusting Kyle, the look in the other man’s eyes had told Spencer he’d never do anything to hurt you. Hopefully this time the two of you would live a long happy life together while Spencer spent the rest of his life pining over you.

***

Weeks rolled on and Spencer stopped going by the cafe on his days off. He was starting to wonder if he was ever going to get back to his normal life, it was feeling as though he was stuck here, forced to live the next ten years of his life over again.

The cases the BAU dealt with were all as he remembered, as were the conversations he had with the team. It felt like a really tedious Groundhog Day.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do without you. You’d been together so long and every day that passed without you hurt more than the last.

Thinking of you with him, planning your wedding to him, shattered Spencer’s heart into so many pieces it was unrecognisable.

Eventually weeks turned into months and June reared its ugly head Spencer felt his world crumbling around him as your wedding day loomed.

***

He’d spent all day on the couch. He didn’t shower. He didn’t dress, aside from throwing his old robe over the flannel pajama pants and t-shirt he wore to bed.

He drank a lot of chamomile tea hoping it would calm him but it didn’t. The only times he strayed from the couch was to get another mug or use the bathroom.

The tears came at random intervals. Spencer wasn’t sure he’d ever cried this much in his life. He felt pathetic if truth be told. Maybe he should be out there fighting for you? Maybe he should tell you the truth before it was too late?

Was this kind of misery really worth letting you be happy with someone else?

Sadly the answer to that was yes.

Spencer watched the sun setting from his place on the couch through the window. He didn’t know where the day had gone, it had been a complete blur.

He forced himself up for one last cup of tea, padding through the living room with what small amount of energy he had left in him.

As he reached the kitchen, there was a knock at his front door.

He rolled his eyes. It was most likely JJ checking up on him because he hadn’t answered any of her calls or texts today. He really didn’t have it in him to try and convince her he was ok, but he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t leave easily.

The knock came again and Spencer sighed as he headed to the door. His disheveled appearance wouldn’t help in convincing her he was ok but hopefully she’d believe he was sick.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t JJ standing there.

You looked almost as much of a mess as he did in your wrinkled clothes and tangled hair. Your eyes were large and confused as you looked at him as though he might have answers to questions you hadn’t even asked.

“Y/N,” he frowned. “Uh..what are you…how do you know where I live?”

“I uh…I went to your office.” You confessed. “Your friend Penelope told me where I’d find you.”

“W-why?” He swallowed.

“I don’t know Spencer. I just needed to see you.”

For a moment the two of you just stared at each other in silence before Spencer stepped aside and allowed you to enter his apartment.

If truth be told you weren’t even sure why you were here. But you’d had this inexplicable feeling in your gut that Spencer was meant to be a bigger part of your life than he had been.

Things felt unfinished. You hadn’t been able to shake it. So you had to find him. You had to see him one more time to know for sure what it was you were feeling.

“I’m sorry, the place is a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” Spencer wrapped his robe tighter around his body.

“Spencer this is going to sound crazy,” you stepped closer to him, but not too close. “When I saw you that first time in the cafe, I knew it wasn’t the first time. I’m certain I know you from somewhere. And the more I think about it, the more I can recall information about you that I don’t think you ever told me.”

Spencer swallowed again.

“Like what?”

“Your mother. She’s sick isn’t she? Schizophrenia?”

“Yes.” Spencer nodded. He hadn’t told you that. He wouldn’t tell you that for at least another year because he was embarrassed to tell you.

“And I keep recalling this story about you being tied to a flagpole? Did you tell me that? Because I don’t think you did.”

“No I didn’t. But it did happen.”

“What is going on Spencer? I feel drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt drawn to anyone before and I don’t know why. And I…I…” you started looking around the room, a frown on your face. “I’ve been here before.”

Spencer ran his fingers through his messy hair with a sigh.

“Yes you have. In fact, you lived here. With me.”

Your eyes were wide with confusion as you looked back at him. Spencer didn’t know how he was going to explain this.

He turned his back on you briefly and fished in his satchel. When he turned back to you he was holding a scrap of paper towards you.

“What’s that?”

“Just look at it.” Spencer held it in his open palm until you skeptically picked it up.

With a shaky breath you unfolded the paper and Spencer heard you gasp as you started to read it, tears instantly springing behind your eyes.

The ad was dated August twenty ninth two thousand and eleven which was more than two months from now.

But the words contained in the ad made your tears start to cascade.

“Y/N Y/L/N, every moment since we met has been a dream come true. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I need you to know that I am utterly, head over heels in love with you. All my love, S.R.”

“How do you have this?” You back at him.

“If I tell you you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“This whole thing is crazy, Spencer. Tell me how you have this.”

Spencer sighed and motioned for you to come and sit on the couch. Once seated he took hold of one of your hands. He noticed your engagement ring was gone and he didn’t know what that meant.

“I was in an accident. I was leading a raid on a suspect's home when there was an explosion. I hit my head but I thought I was fine. And then I woke up and my whole life had changed.”

“What does that have to do with this?” You waved the scrap of paper.

“The accident…it happened in two thousand and twenty one.” He spoke and waited for his words to sink in before he continued. “I originally met you in August twenty eleven. We met in a bar after your marriage to Kyle had been annulled.”

You frowned deeply at him, tears still spilling from your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” You snatched your hand away from him.

“He…he cheats on you on your wedding day and you found out. You get annulled and we meet. And we fall in love, Y/N. We spend the next ten years together, you move in here with me. But you never want to get married again because of what happened with him. And that destroys me bit by bit because from the second I met you, all I ever wanted to do was make you my wife.”

You suddenly stood up and started pacing the room.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” You sounded exasperated. “You’re telling me you like, travelled back in time or something?”

“I don’t know. I have no more idea what is going on than you do. I’m half convinced I’m laying somewhere passed out with a brain bleed and this is all some kind of fever dream.”

“I’m fairly certain this isn’t a dream.” You shook your head and stopped pacing to look at him. “But it can’t be reality either, right?”

“I wish I had the answers Y/N, I really do.” He stood up and came closer to you, placing his hands on the side of your face.

You closed your eyes at his touch and images of the two of you flashed before your eyes. Images of things that hadn’t happened.

Your eyes shot back open and you looked up at Spencer. You cautiously placed your hands on his hips, feeling the way his body curved beneath his clothes.

And the feeling was so familiar.

“Spencer?” You whispered.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I need you to…” you swallowed. “Kiss me, Spencer. I need you to-“

You were cut off by Spencer’s lips clashing against your own. He didn’t need to be told twice.

You succumbed to him completely. His lips on yours and the way he held you was all too familiar.

Images clouded your brain as he kissed you. Looking at him across a crowded bar. Holding his hand as you strolled through a park. Cuddled up on the couch as you both read.

Boxes full of your belongings stacked in this very living room. Kissing him goodbye when he left for a case and throwing yourself into his arms when he returned safely.

Reading the ads in the Chronicle and seeing Spencer’s declaration of love.

Goodbye kisses. Hello kisses. Good morning kisses. Shower kisses. Coffee shop kisses. Bookstore kisses. Kisses that led to the bedroom and the removal of clothing, just like this one now.

You didn’t realise you’d let Spencer lead you to the bedroom until the kiss broke and you were both panting.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” Spencer took hold of your empty hand.

“No.” You breathed.

“What does that mean? Because I want you so badly, Y/N. But I can’t in good conscience-“ he was cut off when you placed your finger to his lips.

“I called off the wedding.” You smiled softly at him. “About two weeks ago. I don’t know what I believe about this whole situation Spencer but I do know that I am drawn to you for whatever reason. And I can’t marry Kyle when I have feelings for someone else. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been here before or not. But there is something so familiar about you that I can’t shake. When I look at you, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been loved by you before.”

“I feel as though I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I can promise you that in any reality, any alternate universe, I will find you so I can love you again.”

Your tears fell even heavier as you kissed him again. You fell to the bed together, clothes becoming fewer until they were just a distant memory.

Somewhere during the act Spencer found tears falling from his eyes too. He’d missed you so much and he would do anything to keep you in his arms forever.

Having Spencer make love to you brought even more images to your mind. You knew you’d felt his touch before. Being with Spencer was like coming home, everything suddenly made so much sense in that moment. Everything fell into place.

Afterwards he held you in his arms, revelling in every second as he had no idea how long it would last for.

He had no idea if you'd still be here in the morning, truth be told he had no idea if he’d still be here in the morning.

But he would make every second with you count.

Just as he was starting to drift off to sleep, you looked at him, a look of contemplation on your features.

“Promise you’ll always love me, Spencer?”

He stroked your hair back off your face and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“My love,” he breathed softly. “I couldn’t stop even if I tried.”

***

Spencer’s head was pounding as he eyes started to flutter open. He felt a hand on his, soft and warm. He felt like he’d been in the deepest sleep of his life.

“Spence? Spencer, can you hear me?” Your voice flooded his ears and relief washed over him that you were in fact still here.

“I can hear you my love,” his eyes fluttered. “I’m here.”

His eyes landed on you only you looked different than you had last night.

Your hair was shorter, your face had aged.

He blinked a few times and that’s when noticed the faint beeping and the unmistakable smell of antiseptic.

“Oh god, Spence I was so worried!” You threw yourself into his arms allowing Spencer to focus on the room behind you.

Not his bedroom. A hospital room.

“W-what happened? W-where am I?”

You stood back up and stroked his hair off his face.

“You’re in the hospital sweetheart. There was an explosion, you hit your head. Do you remember?”

He blinked a few more times.

“Uh…I’m not sure?”

“You were in Reno. Everett Lynch set off a gas explosion and you fell and hit your head on the ground. You made it home fine but you started seizing in your sleep.”

If Spencer’s head had hurt before now it really hurt.

“Uh…just to confirm.” He croaked. “What year is it?”

“Oh god do I need to get the doctor?”

“No, I’m fine.” He tried to sit up. “It’s two thousand and twenty one?”

“Yes darling.” You nodded, a sad smile on your lips.

Spencer raised his hands to rub his eyes and that’s when he noticed it.

The simple gold band adorned on his ring finger. He inspected his hand with a confused frown, which you must have noticed because you took hold of his hand.

Your own left hand sported the engagement ring he’d brought you six years ago along with your own gold band.

“Please don’t tell me you don’t remember marrying me.” You chuckled lightly.

His eyes shot up from your hands to look at you. His expression must have given away his confusion.

“I’m sorry, my mind is so hazy.” He chewed his lip.

“It’s our ten year wedding anniversary next week so I hope you put the pieces together before then.” You leant forward and kissed his forehead.

If he remembered rightly, the team had gone to Reno on June sixth meaning your wedding anniversary would be…

“I remember, my love.” He cupped your cheek with his free hand. “The wedding was already paid for when you left your ex a few weeks before the big day. And despite the fact we’d only known each other a few months, I married you in his place.”

“And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Ten years and we’re still going strong, baby.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath.

It was probably all just an elaborate dream. But if it had been a dream, how had he managed to rewrite your history?

Somehow Spencer had changed the course of time. He’d stopped you from marrying Kyle and making a huge mistake. And because you hadn’t had your faith in marriage shattered by him, the two of you were able to be here now as husband and wife.

Spencer would never truly understand what happened, but ultimately it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he somehow had everything he’d ever wanted. It didn’t matter so much how the two of you got here, all that mattered was that you had got here.

He shuffled over in the bed to allow space for you to lay with him. You rested your head on his chest while he held you, twirling your wedding ring around your finger.

He wished he could thank Everett Lynch for blowing up that house. Because whatever happened in Reno had led him here.

Just then the door flew open and all Spencer could make out was limbs and messy, curly hair barrelling his way.

Their company climbed onto the bed and snuggled instantly between the two of you.

“Daddy you’re awake!” The small girl practically screeched.

She looked up at him and there was no denying she was his daughter. She had Spencer’s eyes, his mop of hair and his slightly awkward, lopsided smile.

“Uh…yeah I am.” Tears filled his eyes as he looked at the girl calling him daddy with all the love he had in his whole body.

“Careful, Delilah, daddy is still fragile.” You stroked her tangled hair away from her face.

Spencer closed his eyes as you and Delilah made yourselves comfortable in his bed.

Behind his closed lids, he saw you dressed in white, a large smile on your face as you walked towards him down an aisle.

He saw a sold sign outside a large house in the suburbs.

He saw two lines on a pregnancy test, your belly growing and hospital trips.

He could hear a baby crying, feel the weight of her as he was handed his new daughter for the first time.

He might not ever be able to make sense of exactly what happened to him. But Spencer did know he’d loved you before, he loved you now and he’d love you again and again, a thousand times over.

For the first time in his life, Spencer was content with things not needing an explanation. He had you and he had Delilah. And that made him the luckiest guy in any existing universe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist -

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @spencers-dria @sassymoon

@sexy-dumpster-fire

SR x reader -

@frickin-bats @dreatine @adoringanakin @dr-spencerr-reidd @sleepretreat @spenxerslut @sweetandsunny

@bellaswanismysoulmate @mcumorningstar @dontcallmekittens @kuolonsyoja @radtwinkie @drayshadow @lytrc @nani-2305 @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @safespacespence @shemarmooresfedora @pastelbabygirl19 @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards

@justreadingficsdontmindme

#cmbingo22 #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #loved by you before #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfic

[marveladdictt]

Secret Sketchbook

PARING: Peter Parker x Reader

SUMMARY: Peters wandering around your room and happens to find your sketchbook that’s strictly off limits. So of course he can’t help but look inside to see what (or who) you’ve drawn.

WARNINGS: Nothing really, just fluff and me making it over dramatic as always 👍

“Y/N?” Peter yelled from outside your window, he knocked again but didn’t get an answer. You had left your window open, like you always do, since Peter coming back from patrol to snuggle with you had become a regularity. He decided to just slip the window open and crawl in.

“Y/N?” He called out again as his feet landed lightly on the floor. That’s when he heard the shower water running and your soft humming coming from inside. He smiled to himself as he listened to your angelic voice, even when there was a door between the two of you, you still managed to make him smile. He decided to just wait for you to finish instead of letting you know he was here since he knew it would make you rush out. It had been a stressful week at school for you, and he wanted you to relax.

Instead he opted to just wander around your room for a bit. He picked up a framed picture of the two of you. you were at the park on a sunny day with an Ice-Cream that you were sharing. It was the most cliché thing ever, but he loved it. That was one of his happiest memories. He put the frame down and looked at the polaroid's that covered your wall. Pictures of you, your friends, your family, and your pets. You look so happy. Peter let out a small chuckle when he saw the photo of you two in face masks with his hair tied up on the top of his head like a toddler.

He started to stroll around, letting his fingertips glide on the smooth wood of your table, he picked up a snow globe and examined the trees inside of it. He had a mental debate as to whether or not he should put on your cherry lipstick but decided against it since being killed for breaking your makeup wasn’t on his bucket list. But that’s when his eyes landed on the leather sketch book sitting in a pile of pencils and eraser shavings. He slowly walked over to it looking around like he was committing a crime. With careful hands, he picked it up and out lined the golden tree in the front cover with his finger. The edges were warn from being carried almost everywhere you went. You were an amazing artist, Peter knew that much, you had won many awards from some of your pieces. Peter absolutely adored how artsy you were. Sitting with you, and watching you draw was one of his favorite things to do. You always worried that he would get bored, but he loved seeing you in your element. There have been a few times where you’ve tried to teach Peter, but it ended up looking like a preschoolers handy-work. Nun the less you still loved them and made him sign each and every one of them saying that ‘everything is art.’

The thing was, you were always really secretive about your drawings in your sketchbook, insisting that they were just ideas that flowed into your mind and were so terrible you didn’t want anyone to see. Peter knew for a fact that wasn’t true, but he also knew that you were a perfectionist so you both saw perfection differently. Peter respected your privacy, he really did. But it was like his fingers had a mind of their own as they started to untie the leather string. He flicked through the delicate pages, his eyes growing wide at all of the breathtaking things you’ve drawn. Every single detail was exact. With each page he turned he became more and more stunned. There was a drawing of the forest where you had your first kiss, and the view from the rooftop he showed you, there was a sketch of your school and he even found a random one of an apple you were eating, every pencil stroke precise. There was a beautiful lake, and a few super detailed drawings of up-close eyes. These were all memories.

That’s when he flicked to the next page and saw a title called ‘Peter’ with hearts around it. His breath caught in his throat and his heart felt like it was about to burst. You have a section in your beloved sketch book for him? Granted you did have like three for your dog but still, it made Peter ecstatic. Taking a breath he flipped the page and saw a drawing of him in science class writing notes with his tongue caught between his teeth as he tried to figure out the formula. He didn’t know whether to be astounded or roll his eyes at the fact that you were doing that instead of the work. Turning to the next page he saw one of him half in his spidie suit, sitting by your window. It looked printed it was so precise. The next one was of him and Ned when they finally finished building the LEGO Death Star. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He was begging you to help them build it and kept of hassling you about sketching all day but now he couldn’t be happier that you stuck to that. The next was a close up of your hands intertwined, you were both wearing the promise rings he got. Absentmindedly Peter sat down on your bed, his cheeks were starting to get sore from how much he was smiling. Flipping the page again, he revealed one of your favorites, it was Peter sitting by a tree, laughing at something you said while rays of golden sunlight streamed down on him lighting up his hair and eyes. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt a hot tear land on his hand, he quickly wiped it away, not wanting to get your art wet. You are so precious Peter thought to himself.

“What are you doing?” You snapped; voice filled with panic. Peter turned around and that’s when you saw the tears in his eyes. Ok now you were really panicked, were your drawings that bad? Before you could say another word he ran up to your and hugged you lifting you off the ground and spinning you around.

“Woah!” You laughed as he put you down,

“What was all that about?” You questioned, tilting your head.

“I love you!” Peter exclaimed

“I love you, I love you, I love you!” He gently grabbed your face and places chaste kisses all over it, literally showering you in love.

“I love you too baby,” You smiled, pecking his nose,

“These drawings, I’m- I mean you’re- they’re” he was getting all tongue tied and flustered and you found it adorable. Laughing you held his hand and gave it a loving squeeze.

“Breath baby, breath,” you laughed

“Right sorry,” He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Y/N these drawings, they are amazing. Seriously, I mean I knew you could draw but this…” he trailed off pointing to the sketch book.

“This is a whole new level of amazing, I mean, I understand why that book means so much to you now. I seriously have the most talented girl.” he laughed carding a hand through his hair.

“And the ones you had of me? That’s- I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done to me. I didn’t even realize you payed that much attention. There stunning. Each and every one of them. Just like you.” He added, putting a hand on your cheek. You were as red as a cherry by this point, unable to look him in the eye since taking complements, wasn’t really your strong suit.

“Now how am I supposed to be mad at you for prying when you say stuff like that?” You huffed feigning annoyance. He laughed at that, picking you up and carrying you over to your bed.

“M’ sorry I pried, but I’m glad I did,” he smiled.

“Well, I guess since you were so sweet about it I can forgive you this once.” You joked. Peter picked up your hands and balled them into his own, giving them a loving kiss.

“Who knew these hands could create such beautiful art.”

“Aww Pete” You buried your head in his chest blushing again. Suddenly, he got up. You watched him, dumbfounded as he collected things throughout your room. He came back and plopped himself opposite you laying out your sketchbook and a variety of pencils. He looked at you expectantly and you just tilted your head in question.

“Draw something?” He said hopefully, giving you puppy dog eyes. You scoffed.

“I can’t just draw something out of thin air Pety,” You stated matter of factly.

“Isnt that how it works?”

“I need to have inspiration, to be in the mood, I can’t just wave a paintbrush and boom! Artwork.”

“Inspiration huh?” He smirked leaning forward and tilting his head, you reciprocated his movements expecting to be met with his soft lips but instead he grabbed you and flipped you over. Attacking you with tickles.

“Ahhh!” You yelped trying to get away from him, but he cadged you in, his fingers lightly tugging against your sides making you gasp in laughter.

“P- P-heterrr” You laughed squirming around as he started to attack your rib cage.

“Feeling inspired yet baby?” He asked. You nodded furiously, one, because you wanted to breath properly, and two, he actually had giving you inspiration; it was him sitting above you, laughing while his soft curls framed his dusted pink face. He beamed and got off you.

“Yay!” He chimed like a child.

“You cheated,” you giggled as he once again pushed the art supplies toward you.

“What can I say. I know your weaknesses.” He said in a creepy voice, making you laugh again. You looked down and started on the drawing as Peter watched the pencil move against the paper intently.

#peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker #drawing #artsy reader #peter parker x artsy reader #fanfic #peter parker fluff

[kopikokun]

Request 21: Haechan + “How did we get here?” (58) + “Are you high?’ (93) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

pairing; haechan x reader

genre; fluff, suggestive, childhood friends to lovers au

warnings; mentions of unprotected sex

The first thing that jolts you awake isn’t the numbing cold prickling your skin, nor is it the familiar sensation of having the duvet tugged away from your sound asleep body, no, it’s the abrupt animalistic snore in your ear.

You scramble into a sitting position, back resting against the headboard and legs tucked. Your heart lurches in your chest and you place your fist to it like that would do anything to calm its hammering. This paralysing fear only worsens the headache you’re currently experiencing. Cold sweat runs down your back as you face the person—or entity—that had just created that horrid sound.

With the strands of his soft hair falling into his eyes and his smooth golden skin illuminated by the fresh morning sunlight pouring through the blinds, Donghyuck looks beautiful, no, ethereal, nestled away beneath the covers. Your cheeks begin to grow warm. It’s unfair really, how nice he looks, peacefully asleep (besides the trail of spit dribbling from the corner of his mouth, that is). You can’t believe a sound that unholy came from someone who looks like that.

Your eyes dart warily across the interior of the room. Muted grey walls surround you, pictures of varying sizes hanging precariously from nails. A shelf lines the wall to your right, the first and second shelf packed with books of different kinds. Most of them, you recognise, are ones you have too. The college listed them as mandatory and you remember grumbling to Donghyuck about the ridiculous cost of them. On the right of the bookshelf sits a table, crowded with notebooks and eraser shavings. A laptop is half open on the table and there’s a single sticker beside the mouse pad. A familiar photo of you and Donghyuck from high school rests against the wall and past you smiles at you. You’ve been here before. Even though Hyuck just moved in with his best friend Mark last week, you’d been here twice, not including now. Since you’ve known Donghyuck, which was in like kindergarten, his room had somewhat become yours and vice-versa. You turn to face your childhood friend beside you.

Your heart rate begins to accelerate. Why are you in the same bed as Donghyuck? And where the fuck are his clothes?

You vigorously shake him awake, unable to hide your fret. “Hyuck!” He mumbles something in his sleep. “Hyuck! Wake up!”

Donghyuck groans, eyes squinted as they’re immediately greeted by the blinding sunlight flooding the room. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, propping himself up with an elbow.

His eyelids are still droopy and you frown. “Are you high?” Some stoner friend of Hyuck’s had come over last night and you wouldn’t be surprised if Donghyuck had taken a hit.

He shakes his head slowly, hair sticking out in all possible directions. “No, I’m just- I think I'm just hungover.” You visibly notice the way the early morning grogginess leaves him and is replaced with a feeling of bewilderment. “Why are you in my bed?” His head swivels to scan the room, face contorted into one of confusion. “How did we get here?”

You disregard his concerns, because both of you being half-naked is far more concerning. You decide to leave that mystery for later. “Hyuck, why are you naked?”

As if he’s just realised the fact, Donghyuck shields his bare chest from your eyes with his arms. “I’m not completely naked! I’ve, uhh,” he lifts the covers, peeking beneath them, “I have some shorts on.” You roll your eyes. That doesn’t help in the slightest. Donghyuck scoffs at your reaction.

The two of you stare at each other in silence, trying to process what’s going on and what on Earth happened yesterday. All you can recall from last night is showing up to Donghyuck’s party, the both of you immediately scurrying to the alcohol and downing anything you could get your hands on. Everything after that has now become one of Mother Nature’s greatest mysteries.

You try to come up with a logical explanation with all the evidence presented to you. You’re in bed in only an oversized shirt and your underwear with Hyuck, and he’s half-naked. You two had gotten absolutely thrashed last night and had no semblance of an idea as to what had happened. Did you two… No, you hadn’t… But, maybe you two—

“Did we have sex last night?”

You flush a deep red. You didn’t expect Donghyuck to bring it up so casually. You bite the flesh of your inner cheek. “I don’t remember. In fact, I don’t remember anything that happened last night.”

Donghyuck huffs. He flops back onto the bed, clasping his hands atop his toned stomach. You haven’t seen him so… exposed before. The last time you had was probably five years ago at your ex-boyfriend Jeno’s pool party. He’s definitely more well-built now, an ab-line beginning to reveal itself. Donghyuck’s cheeks seem to be adorning an adorable pink tint too. “Me neither.”

Seeing his nonchalance, your shoulders loosen considerably. You let your head fall back onto the headboard, stretching out your bare legs. The movement catches Donghyuck’s eye, but he swiftly averts his gaze, clearing his throat. “So, I guess we did.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck nods curtly. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” you pick at your nails, “cool.”

Donghyuck glances to the bedside drawer and then to the rubbish bin. “Did we, uhm, did we at least use protection?”

“Well, shit, I hope we did,” you fiddle with the edges of Hyuck’s covers, “I mean I really like you but I wouldn’t let you raw me the first time we have sex.” You can feel his intent stare, his eyes boring into you, making your skin crawl with unease. “But I’m on the pill, so I should be fine.” Hyuck still hasn’t let up, probably because his childhood friend of fifteen hears just confessed to him. “Follow me to the store to get a morning-after pill, okay?”

Donghyuck blinks. Once. Twice. “Oh, yeah, totally.” You’re praying he doesn’t bring up what you just said.

“You like me?”

Damn.

“Well, yeah.” You tack your gaze onto the ground.

Donghyuck, being the cheeky little bastard he is, shoves his face in your line of sight. He grins, planting both of his palms on your cheeks, forcing you to face him. “Say it again.”

Your face grows crimson. You feign ignorance, averting eye-contact. “Say what again?”

“Don’t act dumb,” Hyuck says, smiling coyly. “Say it again and look at me while you do.”

Your stomach twists, a sudden wave of bashfulness crashing into you. “Hyuck…”

His grin grows wider, a hint of amusement present. “Come on, baby. I won’t ask you again.”

Your face is a deathly shade of red now and the tips of your ears are burning. “I like you.”

Despite the fact that you are experiencing such a nerve wracking ordeal, the half-naked boy before you laughs. He’s delighted. “Say it again.” At your pout he giggles. “Please?”

“I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you, Lee Donghyuck.” You furrow your brows. “Happy now?”

Donghyuck has to stop himself from kissing you right there and then. “Very.”

“Now say it back.”

Instead, he satisfies his urge by pecking your forehead. “I like you too.”

“What the fuck are you guys doing?”

Both you and Donghyuck’s gazes immediately snap towards the door where a disgruntled Mark is leaning against the frame. Mark’s usually all bright smiles but right now, he looks disgruntled. He’s probably crazy hungover.

“I’ve only brought you in here half-an-hour ago Hyuck, and you can’t even keep it in your pants for that long?”

Donghyuck tilts his head in obvious befuddlement. “What do you mean half-an-hour ago?”

Mark scoffs. “I carried you in here? Half-an-hour ago? Because you were passed out on the floor? And I’m a super nice best friend?”

“So, I’ve only been in here for half-an-hour?”

Mark groans. “Are you still drunk? Yeah, I just said.”

“But why are we half-naked?

“You don’t remember?” Mark runs a hair through his disheveled hair, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “While we were cleaning up, you spilled a drink on yourself and puked on her, dude. Man, you must’ve been really drunk.”

“So then me and—”

“Anyway, can you guys keep it down? I’m trying to facetime my girlfriend.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Looking like that? You look like shit.”

Mark scowls. “Fuck off, asshole. I should’ve just left you on the floor, prick.”

As he storms away, Mark mutters a string of curses under his breath. You and Donghyuck sit in silence again, letting all that information which was unceremoniously relayed to you sink in.

“So, we didn’t fuck?”

“I guess not.”

Hyuck smiles slyly. “You want to right now?”

You reply by whacking him square in the face with a pillow as his laughter rings in your ears and Mark yells at you two to shut up.

#toaster requests #nct fluff #nct smut #haechan fluff #haechan smut #nct dream #nct #nct haechan #haechan nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct drabbles #haechan drabbles #donghyuck #lee donghyuck #nct x reader #haechan x reader #nct oneshots #nct reactions #nct timestamps #nct scenarios #nct imagines #haechan reactions #haechan oneshots #haechan timestamps #haechna scenarios #haechan imagines #nct fanfic #haechan fanfic

[tiny-crecher]

Unus Annus Secrets

Here I’m going to try and explain all of the Unus Annus codes + possible lore. If I have forgotten some information or if one of these links doesnt work/is incorrect please let me know. This post will be updated when needed. 

This is LONG, so be prepared. 

At first, these codes were only in videos edited by NerdFiction, but as of October 26th this is no longer true. (The possible exception to this would be the first video I’ve listed, as the editor is not in the description). 

1) 5 Weird Apps That Predicted Our Death

 “Here at Unus Annus the end is nigh... when the timer hits zero we will cease to exist. is it fate? is this a simulation? Can anybody hear me? My name is.... [FILE REDACTED]”. Timestamp - 0:14

2) Ethan Roasts Mark for 15 Minutes Straight

 “and in the comments, you will read the words you soon will see are wise controlling pawns who type our deed ‘That is Discord, not FaceTime’” Timestamp - 0:40

“within this truth a question stands, is the pee sauna ever close?”. [“Pee Sauna”was uploaded about a week afterwards] Timestamp - 0:40

3) Our Fans Try to Scare Us with Their Homemade Creepypasta

“What will happen if the clock stops”

“Could I find a way to keep it going?”

“If neither hand is right, what deals are left?”

“Who is the master of the clock?” (all around 8:44)

4) Learning to Cry on Command to Increase Our Youtube Views

“remember the key, the incompletion of a logolept’s corrective action” [a logolept is “a person who takes a keen interest in words”. Marcus is likely referring to himself.] Timestamp - 1:49

“the long wait ends with twenty four more for a path of destiny chosen before”[“Pee Sauna” was uploaded the day after] (closely after the last code)

5) Becoming One With the Horse

“They heard me, I knew it could work!” (timestamp currently unknown; to be updated)

Around this time, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio said, among his normal information, that he was “trying to stop the Unus Annus clock from within.” 

6) Preparing a 5-Star Meal for Our Youtube Famous Dogs

“I couldn’t stop it. Will I die with the machine?” (Timestamp - 21:33)

7) Does This Magnetic Skincare Routine Really Work?

“freed or so I thought. Another layer, but still the clock.” (Timestamp - 9:45)

“The Beginning of The End”. 

On July 26th, at 12pm PST, a video was uploaded to Unus Annus titled “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth”. This video was only up for a few minutes before it mysteriously disappeared, only to be replaced by another video, titled “The Beginning of The End”. At first glance, the videos were identical, save for different titles and slightly different descriptions. However, the second video was slightly longer than the first, and upon further inspection, many came to realize that the audio was slightly different as well. You can listen to both audios here. There was a rumor going around that the captions of “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth” said something about looking out for Norbert Moses, but no one has been able to confirm this to my knowledge. 

8) Puberty Simulator

“Happy birthday to the beast or to the body that once housed me. A transfer made for pity’s sake. Tricked into the machine as he had my cake.” (Timestamp - 14:36) [The same code was found a week earlier in “Mark and Ethan Shave Chica”, uploaded on NerdFiction’s birthday. The original code was very difficult to make out, so it is likely he inserted it into a different video to make it easier for us.]

On the same day, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. Memento Memoriae” (remember memory)

In “The Koala Challenge: TikTok’s Intimate Couple’s Trend” one of the clips is edited to look like a TikTok video, with the user ron_somberest being used. Ron_Somberest is an anagram for Norbert Moses. This TikTok account does actually exist, and the icon is a zoomed in and brightened photo of Norbert Moses’s face with the eyes scribbled out. 

Around this time NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “’It’s not dark, never was’ - Ron Bestsmore”. Ron Bestsmore is also an anagram for Norbert Moses. It is possible that the “dark” being referred to here is Darkiplier, and NerdFiction is trying to imply that Dark is not involved in this. 

About a week after the koala challenge video was “How to Start a Fire (except don’t)”, which featured an appearance from Unus. NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “In the end, who is your savior and what are they saving you from?” 

Things were quiet for about a month. NerdFiction eventually erased the cryptic message from his Twitter bio. 

9) Learning To Use The Force

“wait no something is wrong. he knows!” (Timestamp - 10:45) [translated from small coded words hidden in the montage]

“STOPTHISWHATAREYOUDOINGO3″ (Timestamp - 11:40)

“it worked” (a spectrogram, derived from a sound played at the end of the video)

10) Momiplier Tells Us True Scary Stories from Korea

“As I was, as I’ve done to him now. Am I right to decide his fate?” (Timestamp - 5:44) [Right before this, Mark’s mom is talking about a nightmare she had where she was paralyzed, possibly implying that nerdfiction was once paralyzed and has now paralyzed someone else (pointed out by @/minervas-sandwich)]

11) Cryptid Olympics

“I thought you’d join us but, hey, that was just a theory, Memento Doctrina” (remember learning). (Timestamp - 5:49) [The code references the Game Theorists channel, which had uploaded a video about Unus Annus earlier that same day.]

- From here on, every video has had some sort of code -

12) Edward Pumpkin Hands - This was the first coded video not edited by NerdFiction, instead being edited by Diceroll.

At various points throughout the video small parts of a url are seen. When pieced together, this link is made: https://imgur.com/a/tyDewJ7. It leads to a photo of the Unus Annus hourglass. When edited, a series of binary text is shown, which translates to “zhIaNL2“. Inputting this into another imgur link gets you to https://imgur.com/a/zhIaNL2. After editing the photo (although you can still sorta see it without doing so), a cipher of a custom alphabet is shown (I posted an edited photo here).

At 5:01 in the video a weird image is shown for only a moment (a slightly brightened version of it here). Nobody knows what the hell it means.

At the same time, there is a reversed audio of someone (presumably Ethan; it sounds like him) saying “we did that”. For context, the sentence said right before that line was “if one of us dies, the other has to take over for the remainder of time”. This is possibly implying that someone, or multiple someones, has/have died and been replaced.

13) Blood Bath - edited by rad_r

“Everything’s fine”

The Unus Annus timer is shown. It counts down for three seconds before counting up for one second. Heavy breathing can be heard over it. It is then cancelled by an error message

“ITS NOT FINE HELP” (this and the previous two messages are hidden at 5:57)

“you’ve done it now.. a machine observed. there is no returning.. a machine unnerved. there is only.. a machine unconqured.” (right at the end of the video, before the timer)

14) The Unus Annus Annual Costume Contest - edited by nerdfiction

“I saw just one door in a hall filled with many, I locked your gate but they were too late to join me. He was re-placed, she was undone, I had escaped yet he had still won”. (Timestamp - 2:05) [possibly talking about diceroll and rad_r. The pronouns would line up, and it would make sense with those two now having edited coded videos.]

15) Ethan Turns Mark Into a Werewolf - edited by rad_r

“futility or farewell? only time time time.” (timestamp - 7:17)

16) Ethan Kidnapped Mark - edited by Diceroll

Two spectrograms are shown in this video; one at 14:08 and one at 17:38. Combined, they create an imgur link: https://imgur.com/a/gKB62sv

The imgur link shows a photo of a key. On the key is a code translating to “stop the clock”

At the end of the video before the timer is a set of text in the custom alphabet previously mentioned. Translated and decoded it translates to “I can hear it coming theres not much time left the ones that tried to stop it have had their hearts cleft it is now your turn to put this loop to rest take us out of here and show us a new nest”

17) Being Brutally Honest with Each Other

“It is alive, no longer living / misunderstood beats unforgiving / escaped that fate but lost the tale / does a hope yet remain or just one final nail?” (Timestamp - 26:03)

18) Recreating Every Single Unus Annus Video

“The bottom of the spiral” (timestamp - 10:55)

19) “All Our Video Ideas That Never Happened”

“Be careful for what you wish for” (taken from two different codes)

*20) The Unus Annus Last Supper + Who’s Cutting Onions In Here??? - both edited by rad_r

“We’ve asked... we’ve tried... is there no way to stop the end? To those who aren’t deterred: how much will you sacrifice to ascend?” (A quotefall puzzle, split into 2 parts)

21) Everything’s Legal If You’re Dead

Norbert Moses is mentioned at 10:50. Look closely, his name is only there for a couple frames.

These have been the only codes I’m aware of as of 11/11/20. 

(be sure to check out @gemstone6’s list as well!!)

Link to my Unus Annus theory

#unus annus #UA codes #crankgameplays #markiplier

[simplyclockwork]

I love what you did with Sherlock stuck in the window frame. Sherlock trying to be arch and aloof still but a bit defeated and John caring and meeting Sherlock’s needs. I’d love to have a fic that is John shaving Sherlock (out of some sort of medical necessity) but it leads to intimacy or the promise of intimacy in the future. I know John shaving Sherlock has been done before, but I’m sure your take on it would add hugely to the greater good!

Hey anon! Thanks so much for your patience. I've finally filled this prompt. You can read it below the page break or on Ao3 here!

Please feel free to send future prompts anytime as long as you don't mind waiting a while for the fill.

Thank you :)

---

“Stop fidgeting,” John snapped as Sherlock wriggled for the umpteenth time under his ministrations.

Sherlock stopped with a huff. “I need to check on my experiment,” he protested, though he remained perfectly still. “You’re taking too long, John. You shave like a man who has never handled a blade before.”

“I may have handled a gun far more than a blade, but that doesn’t mean I won’t accidentally lop off your ear if you don’t sit bloody well still!” John gripped Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed him more firmly into the kitchen chair. “Lord above, are there snakes in your pants?”

“Hurry up, John!” Sherlock snarled, squirming once more.

John, trying valiantly to keep Sherlock from slitting his own throat on the razor pressed against the vulnerable expanse of his skin, jerked the blade back. “Christ, Sherlock, stop moving! The sooner you shut up and sit still, the sooner this will be over with.” He shot a baleful glare at the cluttered surface of their kitchen table. “What kind of experiment are you doing with one working hand — non-dominant, might I add — anyway?”

“One surely beyond your simple mind,” Sherlock replied peevishly, making John roll his eyes.

“You and your miserable mood can both sod off,” John grumbled, biting back harsher words and making a concerted effort to soften his reprimand.

Sherlock had been absolutely horrid ever since he’d broken nearly every bone in his dominant hand in a brawl with a murder suspect. The man had slammed his foot down on Sherlock’s hand when Sherlock slipped on the rain-wet street during their tussle. Recovery had been a slow and painful process as the splinted hand turned alarming shades of black and blue while the bones and tendons healed. John couldn’t honestly blame Sherlock for his mood, but that didn’t make him easier to deal with. He struggled with even the most basic tasks, leaving John to support him in mundane functions. It had begun to wear on them both — Sherlock far more than John as he took repeated blows to his independence — bringing out Sherlock’s nastier side.

Which brought them to that morning, to John’s day off from the surgery. He'd been woken just shy of six am by a petulant Sherlock, who had insisted that his stubble had grown far too coarse to abide any longer. He’d stood — loomed, more like — over John as John blinked the sleep from his eyes and watched Sherlock scratch agitatedly at his stubbly jaw, chin and cheeks. Now, here they were, with John making a valiant effort to shave Sherlock’s face while Sherlock squirmed with the force of five hundred angry snakes.

“Do I really have to do this with a straight razor?” John asked for the fifth time, already knowing Sherlock’s answer before it was bit out through bared teeth.

“Disposable razors are a farce,” Sherlock said, muscles flexing under his damp skin as his jaw clenched. “I require a closer shave, which is only possible with a straight razor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, just as he had the four times before. “I know. Well, if you want me to do this, then you need to bloody well sit fucking still so I don’t cut your throat. Not even you would enjoy that murder.”

Sherlock muttered something that John missed.

“What?”

“I said, it would be manslaughter, not murder,” Sherlock snapped. “It’s only murder when it is premeditated.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, struggling not to lose the tenuous hold he still retained on his temper. “Who says it wouldn’t be premeditated?” John prayed for patience and opened his eyes again. “Stop clenching your teeth,” he ordered, smoothing his fingertips over Sherlock’s tense jaw. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tensed more, making John sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just shave my face, John,” Sherlock muttered, some of the aggression mysteriously gone from his voice as he closed his eyes.

John shrugged and smoothed more shaving cream where his first application had dried. Sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, John gently tilted his head back over the table and bent to set the razor against Sherlock’s skin. As he did, the sharp edge brushing Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock swallowed, making his throat bob beneath the blade. John paused warily, eyes fixed on the subtle motion. It seemed deeply vulnerable to him, inspiring an unexpected surge of protectiveness that caught him off guard.

He was still reeling with it when Sherlock cracked open one eye and squinted at him. “Something wrong?”

Did John imagine it, or did Sherlock’s voice sound strained? He studied the familiar face, searching for clues. But Sherlock had closed both eyes again, his expression perfectly blank.

“I haven’t got all day, John,” he reminded him sharply, though his voice lacked its earlier bite.

“Right,” John said, clearing his throat. He shook his head, banishing the strange feelings. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your incredibly important tinkering.”

“Experiment, John,” Sherlock corrected him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite his admonishment.

“Mhm.” John refocused, his feelings of confusion somewhat settled by the familiar cant of their banter. He hesitated over Sherlock’s throat and decided to start somewhere else. Setting the blade at the top of Sherlock’s cheek, John carefully drew the razor’s edge through the shaving cream. It was much fancier than his own brand, which came in a can and looked more like whipping cream than shaving material. Predictably, Sherlock’s came from a bar, complete with a rounded brush to spread the lather. It smelled like pine and explained some of what John had come to think of as Sherlock’s natural scent.

Reigning in his wandering thoughts, his brow furrowed, John wiped the blade clean and set it back to Sherlock’s skin. He cleared a strip next to the first, pausing only when his left hand gave a slight twitch. John cursed his intermittent tremour silently, retracing the same area to erase the few spots he’d missed. A stubborn fleck of dried lather remained in his path, and John reached out to smooth it away with his thumb. Sherlock’s cheek twitched at the touch. John paused, thumb resting on Sherlock’s skin, when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were open. Half-open, to be exact, with dark silver peeking out beneath his long, lowered lashes.

Something about that gaze froze John in place, the moment stretching out until he broke free with a quiet, awkward cough. Ducking his head to clean the blade again, John bought himself time, fussing with the flannel until he looked up again and saw that Sherlock’s eyes were closed once more. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could bite it back, and John was glad to see Sherlock didn’t react or comment on the sound.

He returned to his task with far more care, gritting his teeth at even the idea of his hand twitching. The rest of the foam disappeared gradually beneath John’s determined hand, revealing more and more of Sherlock’s damp, freshly-shaven face. Sherlock sat mostly still throughout, finally settled, his expression oddly peaceful. If not for the occasional shifting of his legs — crossing and uncrossing at the thigh whenever John paused to wipe the blade clean — he might have been a statue.

“Aright,” John finally said once Sherlock’s face was clear. “Just your throat left. Make sure not to move.”

“I’m not a toddler,” Sherlock grumbled, frowning at John’s incredulous laugh. He didn’t bother to reply, and John hoped that meant he would do as bid.

Taking a deep, calming breath, John braced a hand on the chair back, trying to find the right angle. It was awkward, and he reconsidered. After a moment of hesitation, he shook off his anxiety and cupped Sherlock’s jaw at the hinge. Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the contact, clearly startled, his lips parting around a small gasp. To John’s immense relief, he held still otherwise.

John chose to ignore the odd reaction, gently tilting Sherlock’s head back and to the side as he maneuvered the blade up the side of Sherlock’s throat. John did so with great care, tongue caught between his teeth, scared of slipping. All the while, he could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, a burning point of scrutiny that John struggled not to squirm beneath. Instead, he wiped the blade and tilted Sherlock’s head again, repeating the movement.

Sherlock was silent as the grave throughout. The only sounds in the kitchen were his loud breathing and the slick, rasping scrape of the blade as it scored stubble from skin. The moment held a strange intimacy, like the two of them existed in a bubble, removed from the world with only each other for contact.

John was starting to think he might be going mad before he slid his hand to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and cupped the base of his skull to tilt his head back. As he did so, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut, and his throat jumped with an audible swallow. Startled, John’s grip tightened momentarily in the damp curls caught beneath his fingers, and Sherlock jolted with a quiet groan. The reaction was so visceral that John froze, staring down at Sherlock’s upturned face. His eyes were tightly shut, face screwed up in a grimace that looked strangely close to horrified.

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly, confused. Sherlock didn’t answer, just remained stiff and still. Under his hand, John thought he could feel a slight, constant tremour rippling through Sherlock. Brow furrowed, he studied Sherlock’s tightly wound body, gaze pausing on Sherlock’s legs, crossed together in a vice grip at the thigh. Was Sherlock…? No, that couldn’t be it. Surely John was misreading the situation. “Are you alright?” he prompted, and Sherlock sucked in a loud, shaky breath.

“I’m excellent, John,” he said in a strained voice, still with his eyes closed. “Are you nearly finished?”

“Just about,” John replied, trying and failing to shake off his growing suspicion. Clearly, Sherlock didn’t want to draw attention to whatever was happening to him. John could respect that. He’d had massages before. Some touches felt unexpectedly nice, and things happened with one’s body that one couldn’t always control. It was perfectly natural — though John had never thought of Sherlock as someone who felt ‘natural’ urges.

“Relax,” he said, waiting for Sherlock to stop clenching his jaw and facial muscles. It took a moment before everything slowly eased. However, Sherlock’s lower body remained steel-tense, and John could still feel those minute tremours beneath his hand. But Sherlock didn’t speak, keeping his eyes shut, so John didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he returned to the task at hand. Gently tugging at Sherlock’s curls to tilt his head back, John exposed the underside of Sherlock’s throat and jaw as he angled the blade at the edge of the lather. With the heel of his hand pressed against Sherlock’s skin to steady his grip, John felt the subtle twitch of muscle underneath as Sherlock swallowed again, his breath catching. Rather than let that strange, slight stutter catch him off guard again, John swiped the blade up, taking the last of the lather with it in one smooth, rasping stroke.

Then, following some instinct John couldn’t name, he set aside the blade and laid his hand over the freshly-shaved skin. Sherlock gasped at the contact, blood rushing into his face and darkening his pale cheeks. The touch was light, John’s fingers barely brushing the blade-reddened skin, but Sherlock’s response was like a man run through with an electric current, his body jolting from head to toe.

John held perfectly still, waiting to see what Sherlock might do, expecting him to pull away and rush off back to his experiment. But he did neither, sitting perfectly still — save for the tiny shivers twitching through his body — under John’s touch.

Emboldened by that silent faith, John swept his fingertips down the strip of skin he’d just shaved, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of his caress. Sherlock’s shiver increased, the colour infusing his face darkening to a deeper, tantalizing flush. John watched, enchanted, as Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together, then upward and back down as a myriad of complex expressions flitted across his face. He turned his hand, cupping the side of Sherlock’s neck, tracing the rough line of Sherlock’s bobbing throat with the pad of his thumb, just to see what would happen.

Sherlock’s lips parted around a sigh that sounded both startled and strained, the tension in his face first intensifying, then easing slowly, as John repeated the motion. He stroked Sherlock’s throat in slow, smooth passes, his work-roughened skin catching briefly on the damp terrain. Under his fingertips, pressed below Sherlock’s jaw, John felt the soft vibration of Sherlock’s whimper, voiced from deep within his throat.

“Never realized you were so sensitive,” John murmured, awed and hardly noticing the blurred lines of their friendship passing them both by. Sherlock seemed even less cognizant of the change, head tilted back as he pressed into John’s touch, offering and baring his throat in a shocking display of trust.

It was that which nearly undid John entirely. But what erased the last of his hesitation was Sherlock’s eyelids fluttering open to reveal his darkened gaze. His pupils were blown wide, almost erasing the silvery shade of his irises.

“John,” he croaked in a voice as jagged as broken glass. His head was tilted back far enough that it nearly rested on the table behind him, the science equipment scattered over the surface seemingly forgotten for the moment.

The sound of his name, spoken with such desperation, cleared the last of John’s confusion. He let go of the last remnants of his denial, of his enforced blindness of how Sherlock was reacting to him. Because he was reacting to John, that much was clear, and there was no mistaking the meaning of that reaction.

Without speaking or wasting time on words, John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and bent down to brush their lips together. It was a bare ghost of contact, a tentative drifting of mouths, but Sherlock’s response was definite. He groaned and surged upward, his uninjured hand tangling in John’s hair and pulling him closer. Their noses bumped clumsily, Sherlock’s teeth scraping John’s bottom lip before their mouths slotted together in a fierce kiss. It was sloppy, turning even more so when Sherlock’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out.

John responded in kind, tasting Sherlock’s eager gasp as their tongues met. Sherlock panted against his mouth, the sound desperate and rushing in John’s ears. They kissed until their need for air grew too great, some uncounted seconds that broke as John turned his face to suck in a loud inhale, his lungs burning. Sherlock gasped in sympathy against his cheek before turning John’s face back to his to reclaim his mouth in another kiss. There was the sharp drag of teeth again, the sleek, hot press of tongue and lips, and Sherlock’s hand sliding out of John’s hair, down his nape to his broad shoulders. His splinted hand hovered, ineffective, just in front of John’s chest.

“Sherlock,” John murmured, forcing himself to think through the fog of arousal quickly obscuring his thoughts. “Sherlock, wait.”

They broke apart at once, Sherlock jerking his head back. His eyes were wide, pupils huge, his face twisting into an expression of watchful uncertainty. John — who realized he had, at some point, settled onto Sherlock’s spread thighs — blinked at that expression. Something very close to fear flickered in Sherlock’s blackened gaze, prompting a soft tsk from John.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, reaching out to smooth a tangled curl back from Sherlock’s forehead. “Everything is fine.”

Some of the tension in Sherlock’s rigid body — though not all — eased. “Is it?” he asked, his typically cultured voice turned rough. Less smooth velvet, more gravel. John thought he could get used to that change.

“Absolutely,” John murmured, offering a crooked smile. “Absolutely fine. But maybe we should, ah, slow down?”

Sherlock blinked up at him, hands settled on John’s waist, his forehead creased with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

John tilted his head and chuckled. “Well… I mean, we’ve only just had our first kiss. Are you sure you want to rush into things?”

A quiet scoff escaped Sherlock’s full lips. “We’ve lived together for several years, John. You’ve seen me naked a multitude of times—”

“Helping you shower and go to the loo when you’re injured isn’t really the same as an intimate relationship,” John interrupted, amused.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. Unimportant.” He sobered, his eyes darkening as his pupils widened again. “The facts are simple: I’ve wanted you for a very long time, John Watson. Now that you’ve realized it, I see no need to place restrictions on our feelings.” His eyes narrowed, eyebrows dropping into another frown. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

“Not what I said,” John said with an indulgent smile. Trust Sherlock to approach something like feelings with utter rationality, even as the apparent sign of his arousal pressed against the backs of John’s thighs. “I just never knew until now that you felt this way. It’s… well, it’s a bit of a surprise.”

Another scoff from Sherlock. “It’s not my fault that you’re a rather oblivious person, John. Now,” he said, voice clipped and to the point, “are you going to kiss me again? Or must we continue to talk all this out when I’d much rather show you how I feel?”

John stared at him, taken aback by the bluntness, before he tilted his head back and let out a loud, shocked laugh. “Oh, you’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

A gleam entered Sherlock’s pale eyes, lighting his face with mischievous promise. “I most certainly do plan for there to be handfuls of something, John. Rest assured.” He squeezed John’s backside with his un-splinted hand in a demonstration, prompting a startled but pleased wiggle from John.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John said with a grin, then bent his head to meet Sherlock’s upturned mouth.

#sherlock #prompt #prompt fill #johnlock #first kiss #shaving #kind of adult rating for erections #simplyclockwork

[love-sickness]

I like how u think, so imagine

Mona is ignoring scara and just told him to fuck himself on the water dildo cuz she's busy and she's focused on her thing so it's not solid enough and scara is just there whining for her attention and crying bc he can't finish

Bonus points if she does it on purpose, edging him till she's satisfied

-🍰

A/n: why tf was this sitting in my drafts 🧍‍♀️ anyways sorry for delay

Characters: Mona/Scaramouche

Cw: hydro dick, bratty!Scaramouche, Sadistic!Mona, Neglect play, Dacryphillia, cute aftercare, objectification.

Mona huffed, looking to the boy on by her bed, twirling his matted blue hair, the only thing showing glints of his unamused face being the dim yellow lamp-light.

He wore tight sports shorts, hugging his curved rim, a white button up shirt which would have made him looked pale if it wasn’t for the yellow light, the collar flared up, and as Mona’s eyes scanned him down farther her eyes fixated on bare skin from the first 2 buttons loosely undone.

That elicited a smug chuckle from the boy, “Got your eyes on something Mona? Don’t think I can’t see your eyes looking at me like I’m a fresh piece of meat”

That just spoilt her eye candy. “Don’t be so full of yourself Scaramouche, the only thing I’m looking at is how unbearably slutty you look?”, Mona turned away to walk over to her desk, full of scattered papers and different writing utensils, eraser shavings, and a small framed picture turned down.

She skipped off her hat before hanging it on the chair she was shortly going to take a seat at. Silver eyes drifted up tiredly to the parchment with messy, black inked handwriting, reading her to-do list.

Archons. Mona rubbed her gloved hand on the bridge of her nose, she had a shit ton to do, she needed to get all these compositions for alignment charts done-

“Mona~ you’re not going to fuck me? I thought I was your doll. Guess not”

A blue ember glowed from Mona’s waist, before a beads of water stripped from air moisture formed a Hydro Dick.

It was sloppy sure, and the liquid was definitely dripping from the dick to the ground, but the pure irritated subconscious of Mona’s mind, formed a rather bulging cock, veins protruding despite it being water, Scaramouche knew it would rip him apart.

“I won’t even need to try to fit that thing in Mona”

“Great so fuck yourself with it”

Confusion overtook Scaramouche’s face from a conceit look, to a pure look of fear.

“You’re not going to fuck me with it? I guess the Great Mona Megistus can’t even put people in their places?”

“I don’t have time for you Scaramouche, I have a million other things I could be doing whore”

That extorted a pompous fit from Scaramouche, his space cadet blue hair wisping into his face those frisky dark eyes narrowing with a challenge accepted.

“I didn’t need you anyways Mona~”

“Great”

The dick splashed to the ground before taking its form again, sanded green eyes flicking to Scaramouche’s meager frame, eyes fucking his body before tiredly looking back at her notes, before dismissively waving her hand to the noirette, begging him to get on with it.

The only thing she heard before unzipping and ruffles of cloth, was a almost squeamish moan, so obviously over exaggerated.

“Keep it quiet will you? I have work to get done, and I don’t need your porn star moans filling my head.”

Mona’s words were cold and blatant. Unforgiving and went straight to Scaramouche’s heart, maybe not dick this time around.

“Ngh-! Y-you’re so mean...aAh!”

————————————————

Document after document, Mona could feel her patience thin, and The petite boy on the hardwood floor’s moans were the only thing that weren’t thinning, thick nauseatingly sweet moans overtook her thoughts.

Just a few numbers and degrees away, and the she she could finally finish edging him off.

Meanwhile, Scaramouche’s pace no matter how much it quickened, served to no avail, he noticed everytime the astrologist had her focus on her work, the hydro dildo became sloppy, it almost felt like water filling him up. Yet every time he tried to get some fucking release, his high would fritter away into a sob.

Tears spilt down feverish cheeks, the droplets only adding a sheen to Scaramouche’s cheeks, small haste pleads mewling out of him.

Finally, Mona finished her work, a sweat glazing her forehead, wiping it away, she turned around, leaning one arm on the head of the chair, half of her body carelessly denying to look around.

“Having fun?”

“N-“ *hic* “No..”

Mona’s face went empathetic, almost turning as sullen as him.

“Aawh does my little toy want release? Hm? Do you desperately want me to fuck that bratty spark out of you?”

Scaramouche nodded, at this point not even being able to form a coherent sentence.

“Hmm well it seems to me I may have already fucked you stupid already! And I was only doing documents... well that’s unfortunate but I guess, I guess you’ll have to go to bed without cumming.”

There wasn’t anything holding Scaramouche up anymore, he could feel his worlds turn into indistinguishable slurs, a fluttery feeling clouding his head, an unsatisfying feeling enveloping him.

[after care]

Mona lifted herself from her cushioned seat, now crouched by Scaramouche, almost amused and mocking him.

“N-no I wanna cu-m”

His voice was so needy, begging for anything she could give him, but instead of touching his long untouched member she evaporated the water cock into air moisture yet again before catching his tired body.

“I’ll get you cleaned and then you can fall asleep okay?”

No response was Mona’s signal to wipe him down before taking a bag tossed to the side, likely of when he rudely barged into her home, and clothed him in spare clothing and underwear.

Exasperated eyes turned to Mona on her bed, looking to her for anything.

Scaramouche’s look was needy and desperate while Mona’s was glazed and caring for a change, she’d usually treat her lover with a questionable spite and sadism. But now? Her heart rather ached at his fucked out and stake expression.

Mona gently turned him over before taking his two hands and cautiously spooned Scaramouche, making sure he doesn’t leave her sights, but fragilely holding his undefinably soft hands behind him, purely rubbing circles to lull him to sleep. Nonetheless, it worked.

#🔭.dacryphillia #🔭.objectification #🔭.Scaramouche #🔭.Mona #🔭.neglectplay #scaramona #Scaramouche smut #Mona smut #genshin impact smut

[commanderserwin]

levi giving his son a haircut.

↦ summary: levi gives his son the same haircut he has,,, for the first time

↦ author’s note(s): purely self-indulgent because nobody can stop me,,, also because im soft for levi plus kids

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"do you know what to do?" 

"yes."

"are you sure?"

"yes."

"if he cries, i swear levi-."

"do you not trust me?"

levi turned around with a scowl on his face and the razor in his hand. he waited for you to answer, and when you hesitantly smiled at him, he rolled his eyes and faced your son again, who's currently demanding his father to cut his hair like his. you crouched down, hands on your knees, as levi sat himself and your son on a small stool. you fixed your son's hair nervously, his bangs framing his cheeks, and you tucked it behind his ear.

"are you sure you want your father's haircut?" you asked, gently pinching his cheek, "mommy can cut yours... better?"

"tch," levi gently slapped your hand away from your son, making you pinch his side, as he jerked sideways, with a frown on his face. he turned to fix his son's hair, already imagining in his mind of how much he is going to cut. he then turned to you, "don't you have somewhere else to go?"

"are you making me leave so i don't get to see how you messed up my son's beautiful hair?" you cooed at your six year old kid, leo, who's currently swatting your hand away because he wants get his hair done, fast. and by his father's. 

"he's my son, too, you know?" levi sneered, folding his razor, as he held his hand steady on his own chair. he bore his eyes at you, and nodded towards to the door, "go, now."

"tch," you repeated, picking up his habit as you tucked your purse on to your pit, as you bend down to kiss levi's lips, and your leo's cheek with a smile on your face. "fine, do you want anything from town? and please don't say tea."

"tea," levi answered, combing leo's hair with his fingers, as he asked your son, "you want anything, leo?"

"bread!" leo replied, gesturing the bread from his favorite bakery, "the one with swirls, and strawberries, mommy!"

"sure," you agreed, kissing leo on the cheek again, as you turned to your husband's face, "don't mess up his hair."

"go, now!" levi nodded furiously, as he tried to open and close the scissors in his hands now. he tied your son's longer hair at the back, as he stood up behind leo. you squinted your eye at levi wherein he only pecked your lips gently, mouthing for you to 'leave.'

“are you nervous, leo?” you asked, looking back again to them as you open the door. 

“no,” leo confidently said, with a smile on his face. 

“are you nervous, levi?”

levi turned again, he irked his brow slightly, “maybe just a little.”

“levi!”

“oh, go, now!”

and off you were. the town was vibrating with colors and people, buying from the market stalls, while you were nervous for the outcome of leo's haircut. it also didn't help your nerves when levi announced that it was his first time to cut somebody else's hair. you understood it was just hair, but you loved seeing leo's bangs frame his cute and chubby cheeks. but now when he demanded to have his hair cut by his father, levi couldn't stop smirking at you since he has been waiting for this time for his son to have the same haircut as him. although, levi is a bit nervous for that, but he doesn’t want to worry you and leo, and mainly himself.

you sighed, shaking your head as you headed to the bakery, erasing your nervousness as you purchased leo's favorite bread and tea for levi. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

levi breathed deeply, holding leo's head as he turned it to the side gently for him to shave the area above his son's ears. leo squirmed in his seat, feeling the cold razor hit his scalp. leo turned to face his father, and luckily, levi raised his hand quickly or else he could've cut his son's cheek. levi's eyes almost bulged out, the thought of you coming home to see your son with a scratch on his cheek, as if he could already hear your screeching. 

"what is it, leo?" levi asked, breathing deep as he held his son's curious stares. 

"daddy," leo began, clutching his father's ring and pinky fingers. "you are not going to cut me?"

levi couldn't help but chuckle softly, placing a quick kiss on leo's forehead. he turned his son's face gently again, as he grabbed the razor in his hand, "i'm not, leo. i will do a better job than your mother's." 

"okay..." leo agreed, sitting a little straighter now that he could hear the crunch of his hair being cut. "daddy's going to do a better job!" 

levi hummed, focusing deeply on his son's hair as he shaved it off slightly. he did the same leo's left side and back, his razor touching his son's scalp with heavy breaths, cursing himself to not cut his son's scalp, as he usually does to his own. when it's finished, he crouched in front of his son, idly playing with the toy hange got him. leo's cheery eyes peeked through his bangs as he pushed them away to stare at his father's grey ones. 

"is it finished, daddy?"

"not yet." 

leo nodded, touching his shaved head, and smiling happily when levi offered for him to touch his. levi felt his son's fingers on his scalp, making him smile gently. leo let go of levi's hair, and nodded, "do my bangs!" 

"okay, okay," levi nodded, crouching in front of his son's figure. he combed leo's hair, untangling the ends. he parted his son's hair with his fingers, combing it, and when he finally is contented with the way it looks, levi began to cut. 

leo listened to his father snip away, feeling the ends of his hair scratch his eyes and nose. leo smiled throughout the session, with levi scowling as he focused deeply. when they're finally done, levi circled his son, admiring his work, as he carried leo to the bathroom to see for it himself. 

"what do you think?"

levi sat leo on the sink, making him look at his brand new hair cut, in which leo squealed in delight. both of you listened to the door opening, and leo scrambled out of his father's grasp as he hurriedly ran towards you. levi followed shortly, checking his own hair and thinking of giving himself a haircut too. levi listened to your coos and delight as he watched you check out leo's hair. 

you noticed him standing by, and you nodded your head at him, calling him out as he bent down to kiss you gently. you smiled against his lips, turning again to look at your son. you pinched leo's chubby cheeks, as he squirmed away from your touch, his ticklish laughter filling the room. "now you look like your father, huh?" 

levi hummed, ruffling leo's hair. he crossed his arms at you, watching you mimic his actions as leo skipped outside the door, calling out his friends to play. 

"don't be out late, leo!" you called out, never breaking the stare from levi's steel eyes. 

levi moved forward, as he smirked while you rolled your eyes. he just continued to stare at you, while you broke your stance and exasperatedly sighed, "fine! you did a good job!" 

he smiled smugly, folding his arms on his chest, as he watched you pick up the the things from the town. both of you silently enjoyed cleaning the mess in the living room where levi cut your son's hair. you sweeped the floor, while levi moped it clean again and hid the small stools they used. 

both of you were stunned to find leo panting by the door widely opened, with his friends stowed behind him. leo grinned, announcing loudly as he tugged his three friends inside, levi scrunched his nose at the mess of their dirty shoes, but his face dropped when he heard his son. you closed the door behind the children, chuckling as you watched levi be at loss for words. 

"daddy, they want you to cut their hair too!"

#AND SCENE #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi imagines #levi imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan imagine #snk imagines #snk #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader

[pandoraimperatrix]

On the Sea

BatCat | Smut | 2,8k words | Read on AO3

Summary:  Bruce takes Selina to sail in his private island where no one can se them get busy on the deck. This piece belong to my Four Names ‘verse, but can be read independently, but if would be cool of you to check out the main story.

Selina knew she was being watched, and he knew she knew. It was all part of their game. Her legs swinging up and down blocking sometimes the view of the droplet of sweat that he was so attentively following. It slid from the nape of her head, between her shoulder’s blades and was now making its way all the way through her tanned skin to the small of her back; uninterrupted by the laces of her bikini because she had untied it ages ago when she laid to sunbath on the deck complaining she was bored. Bruce had not commented on her place of choice, that coincided to be right at his display, and continued to sail the boat, pretending to have all attention to the ocean and not to his tantalizing wife. That too, was part of their game.

She wanted him to be the first to break, and maybe he would, but it was too early to give up, and he had Selina’s natural impatience at his side.

“Hey, Cat” he called, and it took her a deliberately long moment to turn her face to him, lowering her cat eye framed shades to look at him with half-opened eyes “champagne?” he raised the bottle, before taking a sip without using a cup. He hid a satisfied smile when she swallowed dry.

Selina turned to her side, one hand supporting her head by the edge of her jaw, the other resting on the curve of her thigh. Breasts completely bare and adorned only by a silver medal hanging from her neck and twinkling in the sun. Bruce had to school himself to not choke, and he was pretty sure by the dirty smile on her face that she noticed him twitching.

He had married a witch.

“Should you be drinking and driving, I mean, sailing?”

Composed enough to be able to drink without embarrassing himself, Bruce took another sip.

“This bay is private, no other boats sail here, we’re fine.”

“No one?” she raised an eyebrow took off her shades, biting one temple tip. “Really? Interesting.”

And he knew for certain that she was not thinking about his reckless drinking. Damn, she was good, he could lose that one.

“So… Do you want?”

“Yeah, bring me a flute.”

She sat up, crossing her legs, the salty wind blew hair at her face, and she gathered her soft locks in a pile, using a strand of her on hair to tie it up, missing a few pieces that few around her face and neck. The sun reflected the golden tones of her curls giving her the illusion of an aura. When Bruce joined her sitting by her side with a flute and the bucket filled with ice and the bottle of champagne; he wished he had brought too paint and paper, but he knew that as much as he mastered the techniques, only a true artist could capture the vision Selina was presenting that day.

He rejoiced at the unadulterated pleasure that spread on her face when she took the first sip. Selina sighed, turning her face up to the sun, her leg touching his when her body moved, led by the swing of the boat. When she was actively trying to seduce him she could get everything from him. Made of him whatever she liked. But when she was like that, just her, just Selina, her smile earnest, just pleased by his company, in those moments, without even trying, that’s when he knew that, whatever seduction game they played, it was rigged against him, he’d lost from the start.

“What?” she asked with an amused expression.

Bruce leaned in, looking into her deep green pools, and slowly, erased the distance, capturing her lips. He barely registered the click of the glass hitting the wooden deck when she put her flute down to insert her fingers in his moist hair, while her other hand slid upwards his arm, kneading his shoulder before settling for his neck, rubbing his Adam’s apple up and down with her thumb. He dragged his tongue through the roof of her mouth until the fruity taste of the champagne faded and all that remained was pure Selina. She pulled away, breathing in and languidly offering her neck for meal, which he accepted, starving.

He kissed each of her beauty marks, there was so many of them, and maybe the sun had made new ones. Then, he tried to connect them with the tip of his tongue, pulling her close by the waist, her arms fell from his neck, and she relaxed. Lying down, Selina’s eyes locked in his, so lost in each other that neither of them noticed that her elbow tipped the glass flute down until they felt the cold bubbly liquid touching their fevered skin.

“Oops!” she said laughing and gently pushing him off her to look for the fallen object.

“Let it,” he groaned, trying to pull her back by the hips.

“Easy, big guy,” she said still amused, and standing up to put away the breakable items safely. “What if it breaks? I’m not risking a trip to the ER.”

Bruce sighed sadly watching her go, he lied on the deck, one arm under his head, waiting, when she came back Selina had a plastic bottle in her hand. He eyed it curiously.

“You are starting to look like a beet, and Alfred will have my ass if I don’t take good care of you.”

He made a disgusted face.

“Please never talk about Alfred having your ass ever again.”

Selina threw her head back in loud laughter.

“Dunno, B. Maybe I’m into silver foxes now,” she winked cheekily, kneeing down beside him and then throwing one knee across his hip and settling strategically on his bulging erection. Bruce licked his lips trying hard to not thrust.  

“Haha, so funny.”

She just smiled at that, and opened the sunscreen cap, squeezing product on her palms before starting to apply to his naked chest. And she took her sweet, sweet time with the task. She began with his solar plexus, spreading the white lotion upwards, feeling the roughness of the growing hairs, no reason to shave on vacation.

She kissed the scars she made on his left pectoral, and arched her body forwards to reach his collarbones, and neck, getting her face impossibly close to his and pulling away when he tried to kiss her. Ignoring his annoyed mutter, Selina, pulled his right arm up, carefully applying product from his shoulder to the tip of his fingers, then she did the same to his left arm. By then, he knew there was no way she wasn’t aware of how hard he was. She squeezed more product to her palm, and with the tip of her finger started to spread dollops to his face. He probably was looking funny, because he knew very well the twitching on her lips as she rubbed the bridge of his nose. Annoyed, he tried to steal a kiss.

“Bruce!” she chastised, trying to pull away in such way that instead of her lips, all Bruce could reach was her chin which he bit, eliciting a soft moan that made him realise that whole torture session wasn’t just wearing him down. Ignoring her protests, he propped himself up using his forearms and kissing her chin again, sliding his tongue down, following the paths of the droplets of salty sweat down the curve of her throat, biting her shoulder until he caught her nipple with his teeth. Selina gasped and pulled his head back roughly by the roots of his hair, forcing him to stare at her eyes. She was panting, and teasing to kiss him again, their lips inches apart.

“Let me finish,” she demanded.

“Eventually,” he retorted.

She let out a throaty laugh and pushed him back to the deck.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” she threatened.

Bruce shut his eyes, trying to control his own breath, Selina was still sitting on his erection, and in that moment he’d give her anything she wanted for a bit of friction, so, when he felt her weight shifting he almost cried in frustration.

“What are you- oh…”

He looked down and she was sitting on his thighs now, squeezing sunscreen directly on his abs, she spread the product meticulously with her hands while Bruce watched, he had never thought that such mundane action could be so sensual. Her brow furrowed as she worked, a droplet of her own sweat fell making a small pool in his product covered skin, and she dutifully wiped it again. Then, she reversed her position, giving him premium view of her ass while she worked on his thighs, legs and feet.

“Finished?” he asked, going mad.

She picked the cloth that he had used to protect the deck from the watermarks of the melting ice of the bucket he had brought the champagne in to relief her own heated skin, patting herself on her face and neck.

“I still have to get you back, don’t wanna lose you for something stupid like skin cancer.”

“Yeah?” he said sitting up and picking one of the remaining ice rocks and inserting in his mouth. “What about you?”

She smiled.

“Already applied before we came out.”

“Aw,” he pouted.

Selina reached backwards to his face, thumb rubbing his jaw.

“Don’t be sad, baby, there’s always after sun moisturizing.”

He took her hand and kissed it, trying to lead his kisses through her wrist, but she pulled it back and got off him.

“Belly down, pretty boy.”

“Come on, Selina, one kiss,” he whined.

“No, turn over.”

Sighing, he obeyed. Bruce felt her approaching, he thought her breath on his neck was just his wife being especially mean, but she sucked his earlobe making him yelp. She giggled.

“God, I hate you,” he groaned.

She clicked her tongue.

“Your nose will grow, Pinocchio.”

He chuckled charmed against his annoyance.

“Are you done?”

“Geez, I didn’t even start. And I told you to lie down, why are you sitting?”

“Kinda hard to lie on my belly now, Selina,” he deadpanned.

He heard her have a fit of giggles and rest her forehead on his shoulder to gather her bearings.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, applying product on his shoulders first.

“Are you though?”

“Nah,” she said shamelessly, as her hands slid through his back, paying attention to each corner.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered, sighing.

“Now, I’m done.”

“Hallelujah.”

“You are such a cry baby, Bruce, lie down.”

“Selina…”

“I told you to lie down. Belly up.”

He sighed an did as he was told, trying to imagine what she would invent to torture him now, but was caught completely under guard when in a quick motion, Selina inserted her hand inside his trunks and pulled his cock out, sucking the tip.

“Holy-!”

He shut his eyes, seeing stars, his ears ringing. When he opened his eyes again, he found he gaze on him, and Bruce needed all his hard training to not embarrass himself. Selina’s kisses went down his shaft, to it’s base and spreading kisses around the area, to his navel while her hand pumped. She liked upwards again, twirling her tongue around the head and kissing it lovingly without breaking eye contact with him. One of Bruce’s hands entered her hair, undoing the makeshift ponytail she had made before, scratching her scalp as she hollowed her cheeks, blowing him skilfully.  

“Love,” he called weakly. “It’s enough, please.”

She gave him a last lick before letting go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Selina walked in her knees positioning herself in his lap, Bruce sat up and his time she didn’t reject his lips, holding his face with both hands while his explored her body, lovingly caressing the curve of her waist, kneading her rear, and pulling her closer by the curve of her knee. He bit her cheek weekly, and sucked the pulse on her neck, his hand grabbing one of her breast and guiding it to his mouth making her moan and thrust against him.

Sighing, Selina pulled his head up again, guiding him back to her lips, her chest only separated from him by the layer of perspiration. She kissed him for what felt like forever and never, never long enough. Pulling his bottom lip until it felt numb, and stopping just to look deep into his eyes every time they stopped to catch a breath.

“What are we going to do about your bottoms?” he asked before sucking her earlobe.

“What about them?” she answered, her voice barely audible.

“I could rip them off,” his hand already pulling the elastic.

She slapped his hand.

“Don’t you dare! I love this bikini, just work around it.”

“You could take them off…”

“Then I’d have to get up.”

He seemed to consider.

“Yeah. You are right.”

“As always.”

He snorted, and kissed her again, his hand changing directions to her centre, pulling the fabric to the side and sliding a finger up and down her vulva. Selina shut her eyes, her mouth falling in pleasure.

“Cat you are so, so wet.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yes. Is it all for me?”

She let out a suffering chuckle.

“Might be.”

“Oh,” he made when she thrusted against his hand, “does it feel good?”

“Can be better.”

“How so?”

Selina made an impatient sound.

“Just fuck me already, Bruce.”

“When you ask so nicely…”

She lifted her hips, hoisting herself through his neck, and, Bruce, pushed her bikini bottom’s all the way to the side with one hand and aligned himself to her pussy with the other, and Selina fell, joining the two of them together, finally. He groaned against her ear, hands dragging upwards to her waist and holding her hard in place.

“You are so impossibly tight.”

“If you are managing such big words yet, I can get tighter,” saying that she squeezed him, and Bruce cursed loudly, Selina chucked and started riding him. “Look at me, Bruce” she ordered, “look at me or I’ll stop.”

He did, and she smiled sweetly contrasting with how relentlessly she was fucking him, holding his face to look at her. Selina’s eyes shut, she arched her back. Her chin following her movements as she let out a loud moan dragging from the depths of her throat. Bruce held her strongly as she trashed, her thrusts getting erratic and without rhythm, slowing down, until they became just languidly undulations.

Soothing her with kisses, Bruce rose her limp body from his lap, and lied her down on the deck. She oversaw his ministrations with half-lidded eyes, relinquishing control for the time being. Bruce pulled down her bottoms, finally, throwing it at the cockpit’s direction. He dove, kissing her belly, grabbed her right thigh and sucked the soft skin of the inner part, kissing and licking his way to her knee and shin, biting the heel of her foot and eliciting a giggle from Selina.

Smiling fondly at her, Bruce, rested her leg on his shoulder, and then picked her left leg, giving it the same treatment. Then, he grabbed her by the waist, adjusting her body one last time before entering her again with a groan. Selina rose her hands to his face again, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb as he thrusted against her slowly.

“I fucking love you,” she whispered losing herself in the sensation, Bruce started picking up rhythm and talking faded. Coherence completely left when he started rubbing her clit without stopping his thrusts, trying to get her to come again before his own release became too hard to stop. He leaned more into her direction, seeking for more contact, and one of her legs slid down to hook around his thigh, the other one remained on his shoulder, providing an angle of penetration that only someone flexible like Selina could provide.

He kissed her to insanity, moaning inside her mouth, and when it became too hard to concentrating on kissing, he let out her bottom lip with a pop. Bruce, let go of her clit to support his weight against the deck giving him leverage and Selina substituted it with her own. He reached for the leg that slid down, pulling it up again and folding it to let him go deeper, the slight change of angle did if for Selina and she fell apart again, calling desperately for his name. Bruce didn’t stop, seeking his own release relentlessly until he too reached climax.

When his soul returned to his body, he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with besotted eyes, her hands roaming through his back slowly, giving him goosebumps. Bruce let go of her legs, letting her body relax, and he fell beside her, panting.

Selina turned to her side, propping her head on her hand and sliding her foot up his inner leg languidly.

“My knees are completely ruined,” she complained gleefully.

He chuckled.

“We’ll get you a pillow next time.”

She snorted.

“You are such a dork.”  

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

Guys, it's so hot, SO HOT, I can’t remember how rain felt like. So have some hot smut for all your BatCat needs. XOXO

#batcat #brulina #baby batcat #gotham #selina kyle #bruce wayne #catwoman #batman #my fic #Three Names for Life #Four Names 'verse #smut

[allegra-writes]

"TKN"

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

Part XIII of the "Mercy" Series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Secrets only to those you can trust.

You better not break the Omerta..."

TKN - Rosalia f. Travis Scott

72 hours. That's how long you and Peter had been on the run. And in those 72 hours, Peter had gone through more new experiences than in a whole year as an avenger: He had joined the mile high club, only to five minutes later jump from said plane at cruise speed. He had illegally entered a country, broke into a department store and even shaved his whole head to completely change his appearance. He had celebrated his and yours new freedom with sangria, and more lovemaking at the beach under the stars... 

But this? Being held at gunpoint by a tiny girl with murder in her eyes and superhuman reflexes? That was, sadly, nothing new. 

It was like watching a dance, the way your high kick sent the gun in her left hand flying, as the blonde rolled out of your reach too fast for you to get a hold of the other gun on her right. You avoided a punch to your midriff, as she jumped away from your knife. And your boyfriend saw, helpless, as it was shot out of your hand by a bullet fired with millimetric precision to its blade. But he had been instructed under no uncertain terms to stay out of the confrontation, and by now he knew better than to disobey you. 

"Don't you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight?" The girl quipped, heavy ucranian accent lacing her words.

You smirked,

"They only say that cause a knife is only as good as the one who wields it, тетя Lena… Are you sure you're better with a gun than I am with a knife?"

She rolled her eyes at your cockiness, knowing full well you had several more sharp weapons hidden in your body. 

"Ты менг раздржаешь... So," Lena inquired, eyeing Peter up and down, "Who's the boy toy?"

Your smirk intensified, a barely there twitch, an almost imperceptible movement of your fingers, was all the signal your boyfriend needed,

"His name is Peter," A web shooter went off, and Lena found herself suddenly unarmed "and he's not a boy toy" 

"No, he's an avenger" She spat the word like an insult, "You know the rules, Likho. We don't fuck with strangers"

"And we only share secrets with those we can trust" You finished for her, "I trust him, Lena" 

She huffed, still sizing him up, but you could see a new glint of curiosity, if not respect, in her emerald eyes. 

After a minute, she finally relaxed, dropping her defensive stance. Without another word, she turned away from you, opening a cabinet, taking out three glasses and a bottle of vodka. 

"What's the story, then?" She began pouring the drinks, "I assume there is a story there, last time I saw you, you wanted to kill the avengers. Now here you are, with one as a pet…"

"I'm not- I'm not a…" Peter stammered his protest, "I'm not a pet" 

"Then why are you trailing after her like a lost puppy?" 

"Lena," Your tone was warning, as you grabbed your glass "play nice"

She rolled her eyes again,

"You sound just like your mother. The blonde widow made a face, downing her drink in one gulp, only to immediately refill it, "I miss her"

"Yeah" you sighed, "me too…" 

Peter fidgeted uncomfortably next to you.

"Everything ok, Peter?"

Your boyfriend hesitated: His spider sense was still on high alert, but he couldn't really tell if it was because of the assassin, or another threat you were unaware of.

He decided to play it down for the moment.

"Yeah just… don't want to be rude or anything but I'm not really the vodka type"

"I guessed that already, Spider-Boy. Is why I didn't pour you one…"

"Then who's that one for?" He questioned pointing at the third one.

"That would be for me" 

You looked up, your face breaking into the biggest grin Peter had ever seen on you at the sound of the new voice.

"Alex!" 

A pang of jealousy hit him, as he watched you throw yourself into the arms of the tall, handsome stranger.

Because this Alex guy was handsome, there was no denying that: Bright hazel eyes on top of the sharpest cheekbones Peter had ever seen, pale face framed by dark, shiny long tresses almost to his shoulders.

"Nice hair" You teased, running your fingers through his luscious locks and Peter had the sudden impulse to stick bubble gum to them like Flash had done to him once, back in junior year. He self consciously rubbed his own head, too aware of his buzzcut.

"Nice bangs," the Alex guy shot back, messing your hair like one would to a little child, "you look like a schoolgirl" 

That earned him a rather painful looking punch to his shoulder.

"Punch like a girl too"

"Train a little harder and you will too" You winked. Peter cleared his throat. "Right, of course. Alex, this is Peter. Peter, this is Alex" 

They shook hands, Peter impulsively squeezing a little too hard for a human. But the skinnier boy simply smiled a wolfish grin, all sharp white teeth, returning the grip with just as much strength. 

"Welcome to the spiders' den, Peter"

…

An hour later found the four of you satiated and relaxed, amongst empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. 

"... So, there we were, completely surrounded by both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, that were actually also Hydra agents, outnumbered and without any exit points in sight" Lena was retelling, Alex nodding enthusiastically beside her as he chew yet another slice of pepperoni, "So I reach inside my boot for my hidden glock, smirky hydra son of a bitch goes 'You looking for this, blondie?' Shaking my knife in front of my face…"

You fidget uncomfortably next to Peter, his eyes going from your beet red face to an Alex that seemed to be choking.

"And that little brat" she pointed at you, "Barbie pajamas, ice cream cone in one hand, my fucking gun in the other goes 'No, fart knocker, she was looking for this'" 

Alex finally snorted, little crumbs escaping his mouth and hitting you in the face as he started coughing. You wiped your face with as much dignity as you could muster.

"You're just salty because a nine year old saved your ass" 

"A sick nine year old" Alex managed to get out between barks, "With pink eye, she could only see with one eye. And using just one hand. Is why we call her Likho ever since" 

"Wait, you still had your ice cream?" 

"She never let go of that ice cream" Lena replied to the question Peter had directed at you, and you felt the temperature of your cheeks rise even more. 

"Literally single handedly took out 7 agents" Alex added, "and then demanded another scoop" 

All three of your companions dissolved in laughter, as you felt your stomach churn. Alex wouldn't look back on that particular memory with such fond eyes if he knew what that little incident had initiated, how it had snowballed until the consequences had reached a girl on the other side of the world, another red room experiment, just like you. 

They said a butterfly flapping its wings here can cause a typhoon in China. Well, your hurricane had levelled Ava Orlova's life.

You weren't one for guilt. Guilt had no place in survival. You did what had to be done in order to preserve yourself and your freedom. Just like your mother had taught you. Just like she had done. But being with Peter, loving Peter… well, that was having unforeseen consequences too, as you were coming to realize. 

Because now you understood. Now you understood Alex and Ava's bond, because Alex had felt for Ava the same way you did for Peter. Probably still did, since it was with trepidation that you realized his death probably wouldn't change your feelings for peter. 

After all, your own hadn't. 

"What about you, spider-boy? Any embarrassing stories to share?"

Peter smiled, for a minute forgetting where he was or why he was there,

"Actually, I do. It involves a barn, an overly friendly goat and hay in places hay should never…" He trailed off, his smile falling when he saw the look on your face.

"No! Why did you stop? That sounds like a great story!"

"Yeah, you got me at 'overly friendly goat'!"

Peter simply interlocked his fingers with yours, silently offering his support. It was time. You took a deep breath

"Because it wouldn't be fair to tell you a story that I don't remember" 

Silence fell over the small kitchen, as Lena and Alex processed your words, the later being the first to break it,

"S.H.I.E.L.D?"

"The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol" you confirmed. He leaned back on his chair, chuckling, but there was no humor behind it.

"Well, well, well… ain't karma a bitch" 

"Alexei," Lena's tone was warning, "that was the Blank Slate project. You can't blame Likho for what Natasha did"

"Can't I? Really? Cause in over twenty years, our sister never cared about my 'trauma', but we find out about her" He pointed, accusingly, "and suddenly she is all about giving us a normal life. As if we could ever be normal. As if new memories could erase the Red Room from our bones"

"Alex…" You tried, weakly, but you didn't know what to say. Not when everything he was saying was true. 

"And now what? You want me to help you break through it? Now you need us to get back the memories they took from you, just like your mother stole memories from us?" 

"Alexei!"

"NO, YELENA!" Three figures automatically jumped into a fighting stance when his fist met the table. Alex closed his eyes, attempting to get his breathing, and his emotions, back under control. 

"If you want to help these Avengers, go ahead" He finally said, eyes fixed on his sister's, "but don't expect me to be a part of this." 

Without another word, he got up and left the room, leaving Yelena to pick the pieces of the broken bottle that had rolled off the table. And you, to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. 

"Shhh, it's ok, y/n" Peter, sweet, loyal Peter, tried to envelope you in his arms when he heard the first sob leave your throat, even if he didn't quite understand why it had hurt you so much to be called an Avenger. But Lena was there in a heartbeat, throwing him a dirty look, and taking your face in her hands to force you to look at her instead. 

"Don't listen to him, Likho. You're not an Avenger, you are a widow. You will always be a widow, and always will be a part of this family. Just like your mother."

You nodded, buring your face on your aunt's shoulder. 

"I'll help you, both of you" Yelena declared, eyes meeting Peter's, "Us spiders ought to take care of each other" 

To be continued… 

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x villain!reader #yelena belova #alexei romanov #black widow #mercy series #mercy masterlist #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine

[taeminyourmind]

The Good in Good-Bye (A)

SHINee x Original Character (OC)

Genre: Angst, Non-Idol!AU

Synopsis: A love here one day is gone the next. Iris Young's boyfriend, Choi Minho, is missing. Fearing the worst, she travels to Seoul in search of answers as to where he could be. In her search, she befriends a kind local cafe owner, Taemin, a strong-minded hacker, Kibum, and an attentive junior detective, Jinki, who form an unlikely team to track down Minho's whereabouts. But as she inches closer to the truth, Iris must decide if there is such thing as a good in good-bye.

Word Count: 7.3k+

A/N: This story does not reflect any of the members in any way, shape, or form. This story is purely fiction.

The smell of rain engulfs the city as roaring gray clouds hover above the skyscrapers, giving the illusion they’re close enough to touch. The city bustles, ignoring the incoming storm’s anger, as they rush from destination to destination. The growing wind sends drops of rain with each gust causing people to hurry in their strides, afraid to get stuck in nature’s tears.

Among the crowd, a young lady tightly grips a piece of paper in her hands, her face blank and eyes discouraged as people bump past her. She glances at the sky as a drop of rain lands on her face and gives it the smallest smirk. Is this a metaphor come to life? There’s an actual cloud looming over me, she thinks. Leaves are ripped from tree branches and get lost in the wind. The young lady zips her jacket up more and hurries to the safety of a cafe, a place she’s heard about often but never got the chance to visit.

The welcoming bell sounds as she pushes the door open. She wipes her feet on the rug and carefully ascends the stairs. Framed pictures of art and people line the walls while art deco-inspired chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The sound of popular ballads and the smell of freshly brewed drinks grow stronger as she reaches the top of the stairs. The open floor plan brings a welcoming vibe as each piece of furniture shows a different personality, yet finds itself complementing one another.

Ordering a hot chocolate, she sits near a window and rests her head on her palm. The rain is now downpouring making people either run for safety or hurriedly open their umbrellas. Her hand gripping the piece of paper lessens its grip as she watches the rain droplets race to the windowpane. Where are you? she wonders, her eyebrows furrowing as she sinks deep in thought.

“Miss. Iris?”

Iris snaps back to reality and glances up at the voice. The smell of hot chocolate swirls in front of her as a young gentleman holds a mug on a saucer in front of her. He gives her a warm smile before placing the saucer on the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he softly begins, “I added chocolate shavings to the whipped cream. It’s a rainy day and it looked like you could use a little sunshine.”

The gentleman’s gentle voice warms Iris’s heart, melting away the building wall of cold that appeared around it. She gives him a smile and slight nod before thanking him.

“Did you need anything else?” He asks.

Iris begins to shake her head before looking up at the young gentleman whose eyes stare at her in curiosity. His eyebrows raise slightly as a way to tell her to say what’s on her mind.

“Actually, I have a question. Have you seen this man?” she asks, stammering over her words as she places the piece of paper on the table. The gentleman takes a seat across from her and studies the paper. Her heart, once pounding with hope drops when the gentleman shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologetically says before handing the paper back to Iris. “How long has he been missing?”

“A week, I can’t get to him. He always handled business in Seoul and talked about this cafe’. He never stopped talking about it when he came home.”

“I’m sorry you had to visit under these conditions.”

Iris nods before folding the paper and placing it in her jacket’s pocket. “You’ve been more than kind…” She trails off, waiting for the gentleman to give his name.

“Lee Taemin,” Taemin smiles and reaches out his hand. “I'm the owner - well part owner, I own this cafe with my brother.”

Iris nods and shakes Taemin’s hand. “Iris Young. Or I suppose Young Iris since I’m in Korea.”

Taemin chuckles at her attempted humor which brings a smile to her face. For a moment, they sit in silence while Kim Taewoo’s Love Rain plays from the speakers above. The lyrics “Once someone I loved left me, and I thought it was all because of me” causes Iris to sigh before taking a sip from her mug. The silky chocolate liquid flows down her throat before warming her body, making her forget the coldness of a love believed to be lost.

“Was Minho someone special to you?” Taemin asks after a moment, his eyes peering at her from under his nearly too-long bangs.

Iris hesitates before nodding. “We used to talk about marriage, but then those conversations stopped. It felt like a wedge was coming between us and when he didn’t come home, I thought nothing of it. But one day turned to two, and two turned to three, and before I knew it, a week had passed and I didn’t even get a text. If he picked up the phone and told me “Stop calling me, you crazy bitch,” I would be content because I would know he was alive, heartbroken, but content. He always came to Seoul for business meetings, but never at the same place. So I thought since he always came here that I would get some answers.”

Taemin nods, careful to not interrupt her. His heart fills with sorrow at the tears beginning to well in her eyes. Quickly, she blinks them away and focuses her attention on Taemin. Even with her eyes filled with sorrow, they glisten and innocently shine in the light.

“I wish I could help,” he finally speaks, his fingers playing with a loose string on his apron.

“It was nice being able to speak to someone. Everyone else just ignores me when I show them Minho’s picture.” Pausing for a moment, Iris shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “Could you tell me where the closest police station is?”

“Sure, it’s about two blocks from here. I can walk you there if you don’t mind I mean.” Taemin backtracks with wide eyes. “I mean, it’s getting late and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I would like that,” Iris says with an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Taemin.”

Taemin offers his arm as they descend the stairs. Iris hesitantly holds it with one hand and the rail with the other. Together, they take their time to not slip on the slippery stairs. When they step onto the street, Taemin places a gentle hand over hers as he guides her in the direction of the police station.

“Where are you from?” Taemin asks, his eyes shifting from her back to the sidewalk ahead.

“Is it that easy to tell?”

Taemin shrugs. “You pronounce some words funny, other than that I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

Iris feels her face grow warmer. Her body presses closer to Taemin’s as the crowd multiplies, her hand grips his arm tighter in fear of losing him in the crowd. 

A wave of sadness washes over her as she thinks about the many walks she and Minho would take. She remembers the feeling of the sun shining on her face as she gazed up at him whenever he talked. To her, nothing in the world was more important than Minho and the words he would say. His wise and vivid words would paint her a picture of different perspectives and stories that she never thought about. At night, she would beg him to tell her a story to which he happily obliged. Those days, though not too long ago, seem so far away now.

“I’m from Philadelphia. I studied Korean since I was young and found a love for the language. So, I took a job as a translator.”

“Is that how you met Minho?”

Iris nods with a vague smile. She paints a story of the first time meeting Minho. He was an innocent and wide-eyed junior partner at an architecture firm trying to close an important deal. They met briefly before a meeting where she acted as a translator between him and an American firm. He treated her to sweet rice cakes after the meeting as an appreciation gift. Soon, they would bump into each other more often in the tall office building and began a friendship. Within a few months, they were a couple and madly in love with one another.

“Wow,” Taemin whispers. “Your life is like a drama.”

Iris shakes her head and looks around her. Her eyes immediately fall on the couples she and Taemin pass. She wonders what their lives were like behind closed doors. Did they feel heartbroken like her? Or did they live happily with one another? Her eyes slightly lower as she sinks herself into her thoughts. Taemin looks over at Iris, her serious expression burns an image in his mind - an image he wishes he could erase. For Taemin, he wishes he could erase all pain from the world. They walk another half block in silence until they reach a large white stone building with a police crest placed above the columns.

“We’re here,” Taemin gently says. His voice brings Iris back to reality as she stares at the building.

Iris swiftly slides her hand from Taemin’s possession and digs in her purse, bringing out a pen and piece of paper. “Will you call me if you find out anything? Even the smallest thing would be a lot of help.”

She secretly places a piece of paper in Taemin’s hand with hopeful eyes. Taemin grips the paper tightly in his hand and nods. His honest eyes make Iris smile before slightly nodding and walking through the automatic doors. Before she disappears completely, Iris turns back to Taemin. His thumbs-up gives her confidence as she mirrors his action before disappearing from his sight.

The clicking of the clock mounted on the cement wall mocks Iris with each passing second. Her hands tightly grip her purse in her lap as she stares at the detective perched behind his desk. His eyes study the picture before pinching the bridge of his nose and sliding the paper back to Iris.

“You made a fuss because your boyfriend is missing?” The detective irritatingly asks. He scoffs when Iris nods. “Look, lady, we have more important cases to solve.”

“He’s a human, is he not? What if something happened to him?” Iris trails off before swallowing her words. The thought of Minho hurt, or dead, makes her stomach churn. 

The detective mumbles something to himself before looking up to the ceiling as if he’s pleading with God to have mercy on him. “You said yourself that there’s activity on his bank account, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then it’s probably just a case of cold feet. We see this all the time with young lovers.”

“You mean Minho was afraid of getting serious and decided to leave without a word?” The detective nods. Iris scoffs at his response causing him to look at her with raised eyebrows. “Minho is the same one that calls me to ask what kind of bread to buy or to tell me of a new flavor of ice cream at our local parlor and you tell me to not worry about not hearing from him because he ‘got cold feet’?”

The slight raise in Iris’s voice makes the detective stand to his feet. His irritated eyes and red ears make Iris feel like David standing in the shadow of Goliath. She swallows back her words.

“Exactly. Do you know how many reports like yours we get about missing lovers only for them to be found with a mistress? Too many! We have too many more important cases to worry about than a runaway love.”

Iris’s nostrils flare under the detective's annoyance. She rises to her feet, her lowered eyes burning a hole through the detective’s forehead.

“You don’t want to take the case? Fine. But if he shows up dead or injured, it’ll be your fucking head and career.” She hisses through gritted teeth. Her harshness makes the detective lean back a little.

Iris sneers at the detective and takes the paper before walking out the door, slamming it shut. Tears of anger well in her eyes, stinging them as she quickly brushes past people until she steps out onto the top of the stairs. The cool night breeze soothes her face as gazes at the cloudy sky. A lump forms in her throat - she wants to cry, scream, and laugh. So many complicated emotions swirl within her until the sound of her name stills everything.

“Miss. Young?”

Iris turns towards the voice and comes face-to-face with a young gentleman sporting a police jacket and dark-colored slacks. When he straightens his posture, he stands at the same height as Taemin. He takes a moment to catch his breath before giving a bashful smile.

“I’m Detective Lee. I couldn’t help but hear about your report, and I wanted to help.”

Iris’s eyebrows furrow as she leans in closer. His voice, though soft, is deep and soothing. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

Detective Lee ponders her question for a moment before ultimately shaking his head. “Not unless someone gets really injured or dies. If I get a complaint, I’ll get a slap on the wrist.”

“But don’t you have more important cases? Why would you help me?”

Detective Lee glances around before gently pulling Iris to the side. “My sister’s ex-boyfriend also did the same thing yours is doing. I remember the many nights of crying she did and what it did to her. I wish I could’ve done something. So when I heard your story, I thought this was my chance to help.”

Iris nods, understanding Detective Lee’s motive. “I would really appreciate it, Detective Lee.”

“Please, call me Jinki. I don’t like the whole formal thing.”

“Iris,” she responds, nodding slightly at him “Why did you join the police force if you don’t like formality?”

“Helping others beats formality,” Jinki smiles. He looks at the paper in Iris’s hand and takes out his phone. “May I?”

Nodding, Iris hands Jinki the picture and watches him take a picture of the flyer. With a few quick taps, he places the phone back in his pocket and hands the picture back to Iris.

“I think we should get started as soon as possible. How about we meet at 6v6 Cafe at 9 p.m.?”

Iris glances at her watch and gives Jinki an appreciative nod followed by a deep bow. “I’ll be there.”

The night air turns humid as the rain clouds above disperse, revealing the stars. The streets are filled with even more people as the city truly comes to life. What was it about the night that made people come alive? Does the darkness give an illusion that what they do and enjoy will be unknown? Is there less judgment as the night gives everyone permission to indulge in themselves? But even what’s done in the dark must come to the light. You cannot live in darkness for the rest of your life, eventually, you yearn for the sweet kisses of freedom from the sun.

 When Iris thinks back on her relationship with Minho, it was plagued with nothing but sunshine, a happier time. Iris approaches 6v6 and peers inside to see all lights off except for the one coming from upstairs. Her heart drops when she reads the closed sign. That crazy detective, she thinks before dropping to sit on the stoop. Her head hangs low as she tightly shuts her eyes, refusing herself to cry because if she cries, she will have to admit that Minho is truly gone.

The sound of footsteps growing closer to her makes her snap her head up. It takes time for her eyes to clear and adjust to the darkness. A pair of familiar and unfamiliar eyes shine at her.

“Iris! I’m glad you’re here,” Jinki exclaims and holds his hand out to her. He swiftly helps her to her feet and wraps his arm around the young man beside him. “This is Kibum, one of the best hackers I know.”

“What are you talking about?” Kibum scoffs while shrugging his arm from his shoulders. “I’m the best and the only hacker you know.” He turns to Iris and offers a smooth smile. “Nice to meet you, Iris. Let’s catch this lowlife son of a -”

Jinki cuts Kibum off by gently ramming his elbow into his ribs. Kibum’s harsh glance at Jinki softens when he turns his attention back to Iris. He offers an apology while rubbing the area where Jinki’s elbow connected with him. Iris reassures him of no harm. She takes a moment to look Kibum over, his hair is crimped and he’s dressed in a plain white long sleeve shirt, basic dark-washed jeans, with converse. The pair reminds Iris of Minho and his brother. Though Minho bickered with his brother, he would always soften his gaze towards her.

“Shall we go in?” Jinki asks with a bright smile.

“It’s closed,” Iris says, stepping to the side.

Kibum immediately steps up and begins pounding on the door. “Hey! Open up! It’s the police!”

Iris nervously glances at Jinki who gives her a reassuring smile. Kibum’s banging grows louder until a figure descends the stairs. Iris hides behind Kibum. She peeks over his shoulder and recognizes Taemin.

“We’re closed,” Taemin says pointing to the sign.

“I’m not blind,” Kibum scoffs and grabs Jinki’s arm to bring him beside him. “Show him your badge.”

Jinki proudly displays his badge that shimmers in the outside light. “May we come in?”

Taemin’s curious eyes study the two men before landing on Iris. He moves his body slightly to get a better look, wondering if it’s really her. But his curious eyes turn frustrated when Kibum stands in his view and impatiently taps on the glass.

“Hey, stop staring and let us in.”

The sound of the lock unlocking causes Kibum to pull the door open and offer a quick ‘thank you’ before storming up the stairs with Jinki on his heels. Iris steps across the threshold and gives Taemin an apologetic smile. He closes the door behind her and locks it.

“I didn’t know they would be so adamant on meeting here,” she says in a low voice. Her eyes fall to the ground.

Taemin pushes his hands in his front pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “If I can help in any way, I’m happy to do so.” He leans in with a playful smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth. “Even if that means turning this place into a stakeout after hours.”

Taemin’s playful tone makes Iris meet his eyes with a small smile. She giggles low enough for only she and Taemin to hear. Her smile makes him chuckle before nodding towards the stairs.

“Let’s go before they think we abandoned them.”

Taemin places a tray of coffee, creamer, and sugar at the end of the table before taking his place besides Kibum, who whines for him to pass him a mug like an older brother. Taemin sighs heavily before passing him the mug. Before Iris can blink, Kibum and Taemin begin bickering like brothers. She can’t help but smile at the memory of Minho bickering with his brother out of love. When Minho’s face flashes before her eyes, the corners of her mouth begin to fall, though she tries her best to keep them up.

“Kibum is an only child,” Jinki whispers, leaning close until his shoulder brushes against hers. “So, he has a way of treating those he meets like his brothers and sisters.”

Iris nods at Jinki’s comment. As an only child herself, she wishes she had a brother or sister, someone she can run to and fall back on. To her, the relationship of siblings goes beyond blood, so even if she doesn’t have one by the grace of biology, she can have one through a deeper connection.

“Alright you two, let’s get to business.”

The boys settle down at the sound of Jinki’s authoritative voice. Even Iris fixes her posture. Pleased with himself, Jinki turns to Iris with soft eyes.

“Iris, tell us what happened from the beginning to now.”

Iris holds her hands together under the table and shifts in her seat. The thought of Minho’s disappearance makes her expression fall. Her eyes tightly close as she recounts the past two weeks. All of the boys listen attentively, nodding along with her story. When she gets to the end, she can’t bring herself to open her eyes to see their empathetic gazes. Behind her lids, a flood of tears breaks free as she brings her hands to cover her face. Her sobs seem to still the room as everything goes silent. For a moment, she feels alone until she feels warmth surrounding her. Arms wrap themselves around her from the sides and behind.

“It’s okay,” Jinki soothingly whispers, his hands rubbing her arm in a nurturing manner.

Iris takes a deep breath and looks at all the boys. Taemin gently strokes her hair and gives her a reassuring smile while Kibum promises to kick Minho in the balls when they find him. Kibum’s comment makes Iris burst into laughter and gently nudge him away. Kibum softly pokes her cheek before he and Taemin go back to their seats.

“Alright, this is what I’m thinking,” Jinki begins. He stands to his feet and places a hand on his hip while the other relaxes on his chin. His eyes narrow as he sinks deep in thought. “We need to begin somewhere. Iris, you give Kibum all of the information you have on Minho, even the sensitive stuff like phone number, bank information, social media, and so on. Taemin, you keep a lookout for Minho, keep a picture behind the counter so your workers can be on the lookout too. I will look into the system and see if I can get any additional information on him. And Iris," his softened expression lands on Iris's face, "if he contacts you or if you remember anything, even the smallest thing, give either Kibum or me a call.”

Everyone nods and Jinki’s plan. Taemin gives Iris a pen and a piece of paper and watches her scribble down all of the information she can think of. He notices her hesitancy and hand trembling before she gives the paper to Kibum. Iris watches Kibum’s eyes move across the paper before looking at Taemin and Jinki with worried eyes.

“What kind of guy doesn’t have personal social media?” Kibum asks under his breath. He slightly sucks his teeth before locking eyes with Iris. “We’ll get him. I promise.”

Kibum’s stern promise makes Iris exhale in relief. The determination in his eyes and strength in his voice brings hope to a place that seemed hopeless. Jinki and Taemin also promise to catch Minho, their voices filled with the same determination as Kibum’s. The overwhelming support brings a smile to Iris’s face. Standing to her feet, she welcomes the boys into her open arms, wrapping them around their broad shoulders the best she can.

“Thanks, you guys,” she whispers. “I mean it.”

Sunlight blankets the city in warmth, its rays bouncing off the windows of the towering buildings. Joyous chatter and laughter fill the streets as people flock to outdoor venues and linger outside a little longer before reaching their destination. The early spring weather makes Iris forget her problems for a moment. She tilts her face slightly towards the sun and walks a little slower, enjoying the beauty of nature that surrounds her.

When she left the hotel this morning, there was no destination in her mind. She would walk until she couldn’t any longer she told herself. The fresh air and bright sunlight drive her drowsiness and clouded mind away. But no matter how far she walks, the image of Minho possibly hurt or dead swirls in her mind. She heaves a sigh at the images haunting her mind and quickens her pace. Within a few minutes, her feet lead her to a familiar street. Her eyes widen at the ‘6v6’ sign hanging from the side of a building. She hesitates for a moment, rocking back and forth on her feet, fighting with herself whether or not she should go in.

The familiar scents of the cafe welcome Iris as she ascends the stairs. Her fingers slide on the rail beside her, tapping it every now and then out of nervousness. The sunlight brightens the room giving it an ethereal feel. She stands in the doorway, looking around for a familiar face. She feels herself about to turn around to leave when she meets the friendly gaze of Taemin. He offers a small smile before placing two mugs at a table he was serving. He straightens his back and motions for Iris to come to the counter.

“You’re back,” Taemin beams when Iris approaches the counter. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you to meet someone.”

Taemin calls for a server to take his place before inviting Iris behind the counter. Feeling her hesitancy, he gently holds her wrist and guides her through the double doors that lead to a small hallway. He knocks on a door opposite the employee bathroom and enters. A young man sitting on a cushioned stool playing a game on his phone perks his head up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes land on Iris before looking to Taemin.

“Iris, this is my brother, Taesun,” Taemin says. “I figured maybe he could be of some help since he’s here on the days I’m not.” He redirects his attention towards his brother. “This is Iris.”

Taesun sets his phone down and rushes to the two and shakes Iris’s hand. “Taemin explained the situation to me. I can try to help. Do you have a picture?”

“You didn’t get my text?” Taemin quickly asks before Iris can open her mouth. “I told you I printed out his picture and they’re on the desk in the drawer.”

Taesun’s eyebrow raises as he rushes to the desk. He pulls open a couple drawers before holding up a sheet of paper. He gives his brother an apologetic smile. Shaking his head, Taemin mumbles inaudibly under his breath.

“Choi Minho,” Taesun reads to himself before looking towards a nervous Iris. “The name is familiar, but I can’t make out the face. Normally, the Minho that comes in wears a mask and cap. It’s even hard to see his eyes.”

Iris’s face drops a little before thanking Taesun for his help.

“We’ll keep the picture behind the counter,” Taemin says, his voice gentle and low.

An appreciative smile spreads on Iris’s face as she thanks the brothers for their help. Stepping onto the street, a helpless sigh pushes past her lips as she leans against the side of the building. Her fingers twitch before reaching for her phone. The sight of Minho’s contact makes her heart pound as her thumb hovers over the call button. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he does pick up? What if someone else picks up? she repeatedly thinks to herself. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses the button. Her hand tightly grips the phone against her ear. Expecting to hear a series of rings, she bites the inside of her lip when she’s met with a robotic message saying the person she is trying to reach is not accepting any calls at the moment. Her heart drops as she slides down the wall, shock paralyzes her body as she zones out. Some people give her a strange look while whispering to their friends. The figure of someone standing in front of her makes her gaze towards the figure’s face. She blinks to adjust her sight against the beaming sun and recognizes the figure as Taesun. Tears well in her eyes as her bottom lip begins to quiver.

“He blocked me,” her voice trembles while Taesun helps her to her feet. “How did you find me.”

Taesun points to the cameras on the side of the building. “I saw you sit next to the stoop and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Iris pauses for a moment before nodding. “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to lie down. Thank you for your concern.”

Iris turns and begins walking away before Taesun has a chance to say anything. He watches her disappear into the crowd. Silently, he prays she finds answers to her question or else they will destroy her, eating her from the inside until she’s empty.

The darkness of the hotel room brings a sort of peace to Iris as she lies in bed, the covers lying over her head as she holds a pillow close to her chest. She tosses and turns when her mind deceives her, making her think the pillow is Minho by playing once fond memories like a movie. She sits up and tosses the pillow to the ground and hugs her knees. Each breath burns as she fails to control her sobs. Her fingertips press firmly into her skin while she shakes her head, trying her best to rid her mind of Minho. Is this worth the pain? she wonders.

The sound of familiar pounding makes Iris jump. For a moment, she stays still, afraid to move until she hears the whine of Kibum begging her to let him in. Walking to the door, she quickly wipes her tears away on her sleeves. Her hand rests on the doorknob as she takes a deep breath before opening the door to see Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin. Taemin’s bright eyes turn sad when he sees you.

“What are you guys doing here?” She asks in shock. “And how did you know I was here?”

“You weren’t answering our calls, so we got worried,” Kibum says.

“And I may have looked into your bank activity to see which hotel you were staying at and used my power to find out your room number,” Jinki adds.

Taemin throws his hands up in defense. “They dragged me here.”

Iris opens the door more to allow them inside. Kibum goes in first and quickly sets his computer up while Jinki and Taemin file in behind him and take a seat on the couch and chairs. Iris sighs before taking a seat next to Kibum.

“He blocked me,” she says suddenly, her eyes fixated on the floor. “Is it really worth all this trouble? He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me anymore.”

The room falls silent with exception of the light hum from Kibum’s laptop and the air conditioner. Afraid to look up, Iris rises from the couch and goes to open the curtain to reveal the city skyline. The night allows the lights to shine brighter than the stars.

“Iris,” Taemin softly begins. “I think it’s worth a shot to actually talk to him. If nothing else, it’ll give you closure so you won’t have to ask any more questions or think about the what-ifs.”

“He’s right,” Kibum adds. “He’s an asshole that left you and you deserve to have your answers.”

Jinki nods in agreement. Iris chews on the inside of her cheek, her mind pulling in numerous directions. Scenarios race through her mind making her close her eyes tight. Is it worth it? she asks herself. It is.

She turns to face the boys with a rejuvenated determination in her eyes. “What do you guys have?”

Taken aback by her sudden determination, Kibum begins typing on his computer until Taemin hands him a USB.

“My brother got footage from our surveillance cameras and thought this could be of some help.”

“What’s on it?” Kibums asks.

“A customer named Minho getting into his car. He says he wasn’t able to see his face but managed to view the cameras and spot him going to his car. There’s a license plate visible, so maybe that could help.”

Kibum thinks for a moment before his eyes open in realization. He quickly gets to work, his eyebrows furrowing while his eyes dart back and forth against the screen. The others lean in towards him in curiosity when he curses under his breath and leans back a little.

“Jinki,” Kibum says while writing a set of numbers on a piece of paper before handing it to him. “Check to see who these identity numbers belong to.”

Jinki asks no questions and takes the paper and his phone to the bathroom. Iris goes to sit beside Kibum with Taemin bringing his chair closer.

“What’s going on?” Iris asks.

Kibum shakes his head. “I don’t want to say anything until I’m certain. When Jinki comes back, that’ll decide if I tell you.”

Iris and Taemin exchange weary looks. She rises to her feet and takes her place by the window again. She nervously chews on the tip of her thumb as she hides within her thoughts. Death no longer terrifies her, but the thought of Minho alive and possibly well strikes fear in her heart. Which was worse - Minho being dead or him being alive and well after he disappeared?

It feels like an eternity before Jinki exits the bathroom. His lowered eyes make Kibum sit up straight. He takes his original seat and calls Iris back to the couch. He exchanges no words except for a slight nod towards Kibum, who opens his laptop.

“Well,” Kibum clears his throat before taking a moment to find the right words to say. “Let’s start from the beginning. Jinki and I have been working together to compare our findings. I was able to pinpoint his location in Seoul based on his recent bank activities, which have huge amounts taken out every few days. I looked into his records and found he’s in a luxury apartment complex not far from 6v6 Cafe - it looks like he’s had it for the past year. Jinki managed to get his address and we can confirm our findings are the same. I noticed he’s been leasing a car, so when Taemin gave me the footage from the cafe’s surveillance, it matched the description. But, that’s not it,” Kibum trails off, his eyes uneasy. Iris, Jinki, and Taemin lean forward. The trio press Kibum for answers to his findings. “There’s another woman. I managed to look into her social media, email, and other accounts and -”

“Spit it out, Kibum,” Iris breathlessly says.

“According to her and her private messages, she’s pregnant.”

The world stops rotating and begins to close in on Iris. Her heart beats faster while it feels as if life has its foot on her neck, restricting her airflow. Her nails press into her palms as she tightly balls her fists. She hears the boys talking, but it sounds like white noise. A baby, she thinks.

“A baby?” She repeats aloud. She opens her mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.

“We have the address,” Jinki slowly says. “You can do what you want with it. Just think it through before you decide anything.”

He slides the piece of paper across the coffee table and gives Kibum and Taemin a sorrowful glance. Iris takes the address and looks it over. She closes her eyes tightly only to be met with images of Minho lying with this unknown woman. The way he cared for her, praising her body with sweet words and gentle touches, these things that were supposed to be reserved for her were being used on another woman. How long has this been going on? Iris thinks.

“When did they first begin talking?” She indirectly asks Kibum.

“Iris, I don’t think -”

“When did they first begin talking?!”

The sound of her raised voice brings a heavy sigh from Kibum’s core. “For the past year and a half.”

Iris sadly chuckles to herself while shaking her head. Is this why you stopped talking about marriage? she wonders. Her thumb rubs over the address’s indent from Jinki’s writing.

“Will you guys come with me tomorrow?”

“Are you sure?” Taemin softly asks. His gentle eyes watch Iris’s face soften and her eyes well with tears.

Iris nods. “If I’m going to go on with my life as he has, I need closure.”

Iris’s fingers nervously tap the top of her legs. The sound of moving traffic fills the car’s silence. Being so close to the building that fueled her lover’s betrayal makes the pit of her stomach drop. She looks at the towering building before looking at the clock on the dashboard - 10 minutes have already gone by. The longer she waits, the more nerves come to paralyze her. She looks at the three boys in the car - Jinki in the driver’s seat, Kibum busy with his laptop in the passenger seat, and Taemin humming to himself beside her.

Iris begins to think about Minho and the love they once shared; the promises that they made; and the betrayal that’s fallen upon them. Then she thinks about her life, what will she make of it when everything is over? Will she dwell on what could have been with Minho or will she begin to heal and enjoy the life that is ahead of her. She takes a breath and places her hand on the door handle. With a swift movement, she exits the car and quickly walks towards the building. Remembering the code Kibum gave her on the ride over, she enters the pin into the keypad and enters the building.

The modern and futuristic furnishings decorate the lobby and hallway. For a brief moment, she stares in awe at its beauty before heading towards the elevators. As the elevator ascends, she looks out the glass windows that show the busy city. Her heart aches at the realization of Minho's promise of a home with a view of Seoul. ‘One day, we’ll own a place in the sky.’ Yeah right, she thinks.

The doors to the elevator open. A tall figure stands at the entrance busy on their phone. When they step into the elevator, their eyes widen in surprise.

“Iris?”

Iris looks up from the piece of paper Jinki gave her and stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen at the view of Minho, dressed in a tailored suit with hair parted on the side with half gelled back. They don’t exchange words for a moment, both searching for words to say to one another. The look of surprise in Minho’s eyes turns to anger as he steps into the elevator and presses the ‘lobby’ button. He doesn’t bother to say a word to Iris the way down, and she can’t find the words to say. When the doors open, his hand wraps around her wrist as he pulls her towards an empty conference room. The touch that was once warm now stung her skin with its coldness. He locks the door behind them and begins to pace the room.

“What are you doing here?” He lowly asks, his eyes facing a wall. When Iris doesn’t answer he turns to her and asks the question again in a stern tone.

“You left,” she finally says. “I thought something happened to you. I’ve been worried sick and you’re upset at me? Why, Minho? Just why?”

“Because there are things you will never understand.”

“When did you stop loving me? Was it when you met that girl?”

Minho stays silent.

“Who is she anyway?” The silence from Minho makes Iris frustrated as she raises her voice to ask her question again.

“Her name is Heejin. We met at a company party in Seoul. She supported my ideas and dreams -”

“And I didn’t?” Iris interjects with hurt lacing her voice. “Minho, I’ve been by your side.”

“You had your own dreams and when I needed you, you weren’t there.”

Iris balls her fists and feels her nails press deeply in her palms. “I wasn’t there? I helped you prepare your pitches, I helped you in meetings as your translator, I did things I regret to get information for you so you could get ahead and I wasn’t there for you?! A relationship isn’t a one-way street, Minho. You need help from both sides and though I lacked in some places, I wasn’t completely absent from your dreams.”

Minho opens his mouth to say something but closes it back. He looks away from Iris and falls into a chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Did you plan all of this?” Iris quietly asks. “Did you plan on moving in together and having a child and leaving me behind?”

The harshness of her words causes Minho to flinch. The severity of his actions being spewed towards him makes him heavily sigh. He remains quiet, having no excuse for his actions. He’s been conscious of his affair and continued to toy Iris along, even if it meant her getting hurt. But there was something about Heejin that pulled him in and trapped him. Each hour with Heejin erased Iris from his mind, and he never remembered her until he came home or her name popped up on his phone. It’s true, he was done with her, but the sight of her face makes memories of happier times rush back to his mind.

“Nothing was planned. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“So, you did want it to end,” Iris says. She looks at Minho who averts his eyes to the floor, afraid to face the person he hurt most. “I just came here to get an answer, and now your silence is deafening. Good-bye, Minho.”

Iris turns towards the door and places her hand on the handle. The urge to turn back and lay her eyes one more time on Minho exits her mind as she yanks the door open and walks out the room. The heaviness and anxiousness that’s been sitting on her chest lifts when she walks out of the building and to the car. All of the boys give her a curious look while she settles in her seat. She exhales deeply and gives them a smile to which they return.

“Where to?” Jinki asks, his eyes looking at her through the rearview mirror. 

Iris looks at the setting sun and softly smiles. “Han River.”

The gentle breeze carries the delicious aroma of street food throughout the area. Jinki, Kibum, Iris, and Taemin lean against the rails of the river, watching the sun paint the water in hues of orange and gold.

“You know,” Kibum says while tilting his face towards the setting sun. “Maybe we should open our own P.I. firm. Jinki can be the orchestrator, I can be the brains, Taemin can be the lookout, and Iris can be the muscle.”

“How do you know if I can fight?” Iris asks.

Kibum shrugs. “You don’t have to physically hurt them. You can use your words.”

Everyone laughs at Kibum’s suggestion while he continues to pitch his idea.

“Are you going home?” Taemin asks, turning towards Iris. The warm hues of the sun paint his face gold.

“Only until I find somewhere else to go. There’re too many memories back home.”

“Hello!” Kibum says with his arms raised. “Come to Seoul! You can’t move far away from us after all we’ve been through.”

Iris laughs at Kibum’s dramatic gesture and promises to give it some thought. The look of satisfaction on his face causes her to smile before trying to wrap her arms around all three of the boys.

“Let’s promise to meet at the cafe every month,” Jinki smiles. “As Kibum said, we didn’t go through all of this for nothing.” 

Holding out his pinky, everyone wraps theirs around his. The sound of the boys’ laughter brings a wide smile to Iris’s face. When she came to Seoul, terrified of what could have happened to Minho, she didn’t expect to not only get her heartbroken but begin three new friendships. What the future holds for her, she doesn’t know, but with friends like Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin by her side, she can find herself looking for happiness in them when darkness nears.

#shinee angst #kpop angst #shinee scenarios #kpop scenarios #shinee imagines #kpop imagines #shinee imagine #kpop scenario #SHINee FanFic #kpop fanfic #SHINee fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #angst scenario #angst scenarios

[mimiplaysgames]

And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Terranort x Anti-Aqua Rating: M Word Count: 3,303

Summary: Terranort baits her into following him—straight to Castle Oblivion.

Read on AO3

A/N: First fic of 2021 and I had to give it to the dark OTP. I spent weeks insecure about this chapter, but it’s thanks to @lyssala​ for reading through it and assuaging my fears. This is honestly the end of... the easiest part of this fic ljgfjlgfjfklgj I’ve really got my work cut out for me. Thank you all for your patience, feels like it’s been a while!

~*~*~*~*~

My Worst Brings Out The Best In You

Waking up is nothing like how she remembers it to be. Soreness ruptures her back, and her skin jolts as she peels off of knuckles of stone that dug in all night. She barely remembers if she dreamt. What she really can’t recall is if there’s such a thing as a refreshing morning. 

To top it all off, her ass is numb. Aqua groans when she stands up, stretching as hot gusts blow into the cave, throwing dust to her legs, caking the armor, nudging the shadows as they stir. Besides the wind rolling pebbles along, there’s no noise to enjoy in the Badlands, all the sun glaring down on bleached red sand.

The first thing she does is not breakfast (she must), nor a wash (she should), but to close her eyes, reading darkness. Maybe he woke up, too. 

He did.

He’s here.

Aqua shushes her Heartless. They’re squirming, reacting to the way her heart is pounding. At the mouth of the cave, Aqua surveys where she should go. The Badlands splay out with endless sunlight, no shade to cover her except for a passing dust storm. It’s not a view she’d share with anyone; it’s the worst place to sneak around. She’d be like a marker with a giant arrow, her shadow stretching to grotesque proportions depending on the way the light hits her.  If she’s going to titter around this exposed, she’d better make it count.

She starts by running then she fades away into clouds of smoke, magnetized to the nearest cool spot beneath a plateau, a stark, black slice across the dirt. Here she’ll recover and look for a different spot. As long as it heads in the same direction. 

It’s after the third resting place, a tunnel cutting through a mountain, that she notices she’s heading towards the Graveyard. Well, if she heads west she’d reach it. But her gut feeling—a twinge in her nostrils—veers her slightly north. When Aqua steps out amidst a precipice, she spots a gathering of oddly skinny rock towers stretching to touch the sky. No natural force could have made them.

On each of these towers stands a cloaked figure. Different heights, different hierarchies, with hearts inexperienced, lost, angry, bored, apathetic. There’s one with a third mind. Regardless, they all reflect the image of an old man somehow, like a plague they’ve infected themselves with. 

Ah, there he is, wearing black like all the rest. 

She inches closer, melting into a shadow cut off by a boulder, peeking over the edge. On the tallest tower is someone she hates to recognize. The only one without a hood. Bald. Old. Breathing with the excitement of a bully crushing dirt into another child’s hair. He’s about to land something big and Aqua knows what it is but she doesn’t care anymore. She just wants him dead for stealing.

Xehanort waves a hand and Aqua ducks back. He couldn’t have seen her. 

But when she risks a glance, most of the figures burst into a fire of purple and black, disappearing. 

Except for the only one she wants, of course.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if they knew she was there. Aqua thrusts forward, gliding over the sand, flying up parallel to one of the rock towers until she gracefully floats back on her feet at the top. 

He stands across from her, a field of what looks like ruins in the distance behind him. He takes off his hood and draws a proud smirk on his face.

“I’ve proposed they take care of you,” he says, proceeding to undress his gloves one finger at a time.

It’s a funny way of saying he asked them to get rid of her, and maybe Aqua should be nervous about it, but she tells herself that she can handle twelve nameless men. That is, until she thinks about their empty spots in this ritual circle.

Is this supposed to intimidate her? She has to hand it to him, he’s got spine. “Looks like they left you to do it yourself.”

There’s a flash—a knot at the edge of one eyebrow—of a shot of rage, like he’s about to chew her head off. Then he flashes teeth. He smiles too much.

“Then we shall begin,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Mind a detour?”

Energy sparks at the tips of her fingers, readying a Keyblade but she stops short of summoning it. A detour? He’s not making a move. Aqua leads a staredown, watching for signs of what he’s plotting.

But he doesn’t plot. He steps backward off his pillar with that ridiculous gremlin smile as if to let himself fall. An inky doorway swirls open and swallows him whole. 

Aqua bursts across the chasm, throwing herself into the same portal. She won’t lose him this time.

She lands on a muddy, brittle pathway suspended in the air, where clouds blot the sky so there’s no horizon to see. She lands on what could have been where she first conjured her very own Rainfell. Where she slapped Terra in the face that one and only time. Where she made love to him, where she picked up her Master’s abandoned Keyblade for the first and last time—it’s all erased here, ground and packaged into a single path where even the mountains eroded to dust. It’s worse than the Badlands. It’s home. 

The castle stands in the same condition she left it in years ago: painted the color of stale, crusty shit and topped with a bright turquoise roof, like a surprise gift to give your worst enemy. Warped with upright towers, towers that jut out to the side, and towers that hang upside down, it’s disjointed and bizarre, a puzzle with mismatched pieces forced together. Which is exactly the point: let the intruder wander, let him be lost, let him forget and enjoy the oblivion. 

He has thrown away his cloak at the entrance of the castle, Terra’s armor adorning his left arm. He has his back to her but there’s a tension in his shoulders as though he’s pretending not to notice she’s behind him. 

There’s one reason, and one only, why he’d bring her here. Aqua readies the Keyblade.

“Like an animal,” he quips. She can imagine him snickering. “Always prepared to deal the first blow.”

She strikes. He dodges. She’s right—he is snickering, making a show of gripping the door handle like bait asking to get caught. “Stop,” she hisses. Which is stupid. Of course he wouldn’t.

Of course he’d turn the handle. Of course he’d glance at her, tilting his head as an invitation to come inside with him. 

“You don’t have the right!” she yells.

He laughs, leaving the door open for her. 

Terra. She could lose him today, forever. If they spend hours wandering the rooms of this castle, they’d lose memories with no way to predict which ones go first. The painful? The nostalgic? Either way, there’s no such thing as Terra and Aqua holding hands if they are gone.

Aqua tackles the front door before it slams in her face. It’s heavy, resisting her at first before swaying momentum and throwing her off balance. Instead of a grand entrance hall with a proud foyer, luscious stained glass displays, mirrored marbled stairways, and a warm hello, it’s just one room. 

An empty blank room, so clean that she’s the stain, framed by polished sculptures and a rose dais she doesn’t recognize. It’s not like she had a design in mind when she transformed the castle. There’s no memory of where this came from, no record of it ever written. Not even from Eraqus, who had an idea and not a clue. She takes one step; it echoes like a screech. The white on white on white glare back. The walls stand like sterilized canvases, starched for a bleed of whatever color in exchange for a few of her thoughts. They know. This isn’t home. There’s nothing here. Just him.

“Lest you forget, this was my home, too.” He smiles.

Aqua nearly spits that it isn’t, wasn’t, never will be, but that isn’t true, is it? He’s pleased with himself, leaning on the door on the opposite side with his elbow propped up as though the castle is a casual friend he’s embracing.

“Now, isn’t this exactly where you would prefer me to be?” he asks. 

“Acting like an idiot?”

“Somewhere familiar. Old family. Fond memories. A place to call your sanctuary.”

She shrugs it off. “Not much of a spectacle anymore.”

His eyebrows worm one by one. He’s lucky he has Terra’s face, otherwise she’d shave them. “But a spectacle worth revisiting.”

“There’s nothing left,” she snaps. “This place is empty.”

He strokes a finger on the door, a gesture that is halfway between Is that so? and Not so fast. “Except one room.”

Hunger churns in his eyes and she’s uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at her, like he’s about to drag her by her ankles. 

“Don’t bother asking. It’s not like you’d ever see it,” she says.

His nostrils flare, surveying disgust as he scans the room from floor to ceiling. There’s a ferocity there, an ignition of something ready to deteriorate. Aqua settles for what’s coming, claws extending as they fasten her Keyblade. If she tears flesh today, so be it. It will only be a little. 

How he gets himself to smirk the next moment is a secret she’d have to learn. “Then a bargain. The Chamber of Waking, and I won’t harm him.”

Aqua grunts and cuts an arc through the air with her Keyblade, firing a sphere of energy dark enough to absorb light. He blocks it with a wave of his hand and he chuckles like there’s not a day worth living if you’re not close to dying. 

Summoning his giant Keyblade, he swings back, rupturing the tile beneath him as it cracks and crumbles towards her. She dodges, but an explosion bursts from beneath and knocks her off balance. As she turns over to stand up, he’s already looming over her. 

They’re in a tight space, the walls knitting together and forcing them to take intimate strikes and forgo the fancy spells. Tinks and shears and blasts echo as though one hit is actually three, the sound of their blades bashing against each other. Her Heartless can’t form a congregation here. He doesn’t bother with his Guardian either, too cumbersome and clunky to maneuver inside.

He’s slower than her, but the close proximity means she’s running out of space to dodge his wide reach. Every hit he throws is the force of a boulder destroying a mountain as it avalanches, testing her balance, stealing the seconds that she needs to steady herself and parry the next. 

She readies a spell. He blows the tile beneath them, an earthquake tripping her feet.

Every curse she scrambles with—a Sleep, Confusion, anything to throw him off—does nothing, as though he’s feasting on her efforts. She should’ve known better.

It’s fine. Aqua’s tough without her Heartless, tough without needing to trust anyone but herself. Glowing with an icy hotness that burns like frozen snow on exposed skin, she’s about to multiply—

“You will not,” he says.

He pummels into her like a canon, his armored hand around her throat as she collides back onto the door behind her. Not the front door, no—she’s foolish and distracted enough not to notice that he’s been circling her in this small, square room. He’s pinning her against the other, the one that would lead to Ven but wouldn’t. It creaks under the weight of her body and the pressure of his strength.

“I could lock you up in this purgatory,” he whispers, his breath brushing her cheek, her nose, her lips. Smiling. “Or you could take me to him.”

Aqua pants, her fingers scratching the surface of the door. The thought of being left behind—

Like choked breath, she stops the moment she sees the proud expression on his face. 

It’s a bluff.

Calm down. He wants to scare her. It’s a bluff. 

He needs her to get inside regardless, even if he doesn’t know everything. That you need the Master’s Defender at all is a secret only shared with those who wield it. He wouldn’t know. Despite how desperately she wants to dig her way out, Aqua keeps her chin high, staring him down. She scoffs through her nose. 

His eyes twinkle as he reads her. Aqua tries not to lead him on with any assumptions. Keep it stoic.

But there’s something about the way she’s doing it that’s betraying her. She’s failing with every second that he blinks. “Ah,” he cooes, “you do not have the means—”

Claws into flesh—she pierces his wrist, right through the leather in between the metal, and he yelps. Pulls off of her. She closes the gap with black fire and cold fingers and the intent to rip an iceberg in half. He has his arms over his head, his Keyblade forgotten as he pathetically defends himself against a rabid monster flailing at him.

All she sees is the opportunity to take back. Priming a sharp hand over his face (and at such the perfect angle to peel it off his skull), she lunges forward and pins him under her. Reaches to his waist. Pulls the orange Wayfinder out of his pocket.

He yells and throws her off of him. His pupils shrink to nothing, his Keyblade burning with an unnatural color. He’s clutching his chest as though his heart is pounding too quickly and is about to plop dead. Aqua is on her knees, the Wayfinder’s chain threaded around her red knuckles.

Move. She needs to move while he towers over her, a trickle of drool seeping from his lips, his white hair messy. He’s manic, searching her and searching the floor and searching the walls, moaning. Aqua has to move. Aqua sits frozen. 

Has he forgotten where he is? 

Is this… 

She whispers his name, barely audible.

For a moment, he stares past her. He growls and throws himself on her, the back of her head hitting the floor. Pupils so small his eyes are golden orbs, two little false lights in the dark, tempting you to go deeper into the fog where a monster waits. Like the Guardian’s, watching her take her last breath underwater. As though he knows no weapons, or no magic, he squeezes a fist around her hand, his fingers prying the Wayfinder out of hers with such strength that he could amputate them. Aqua chooses her fingers and lets go. 

Once he has it back in his possession, he stumbles off of her, heaving and hunched over. With the Wayfinder to his chest, his pupils slowly grow back. Brows knitted, lips quivering, eyes lost. That’s not a face Xehanort would make. 

Then he runs. He bolts down the terrace, disappearing in a cloud of smoke, leaving Aqua on the floor, leaving the doors open. Terra’s body is traveling like a shooting star. She can feel it propel somewhere in the far sky, where the stars hover above the clouds. She could follow him, fight more and more and more until she drags him to the ocean kicking and screaming and losing.

But it aches.

But she’s tired. She’s fought, and they’ve matched the same games over and over, with nothing to show for them except sore throats and scratched cheeks and defeated bodies slumped over floors like they weren’t dignified Keyblade wielders but wronged children.

It aches. It aches more than anything the Realm of Darkness threw at her, as though a hollow has cracked inside, collapsing her lungs into a pit of gravity and threatening to take the rest. If this is how it feels to be human again, why bother going back? What good is it to pretend that fate is kind and hearts are strong and one day he’ll realize what just happened and wake up with his blue eyes?

Instead, she should try to find Ven on her own, without her Master’s Defender. Her heart will lead the way, let her keep her memories. Or she’d lose it all, walking in circles, be the ghost that haunts this castle and create a legend that will keep her name immortal. It’s a stupid idea.

Aqua rolls over to her side, the tile underneath jutting into her hips and ribs. The doors he left open frame the outside, a dry and empty nightmare. She misses the sound of pattering, the smell of moisture, the promise of green every year. The Land of Departure certainly had its dreary days when the clouds were thick, but the light never dimmed. It would rain and all would be clear, the raindrops bulbous as they pummeled and exploded into miniature puddles.

Maybe the reason why the dirt is so rancid here is because rain never fell on Castle Oblivion. If she and Terra were caught under an onslaught, they’d continue to par. Water never stopped her flow and he couldn’t be bothered to slow down. 

There was one obnoxious day when Terra grabbed her elbow and dragged her to the front porch, just under the awning in an effort to keep dry but it was futile—they were still pricked by frigid droplets. Beneath the rain, his blue eyes were less noticeable. His dark hair weighed heavy but it was thick enough to perk up if with less gusto. He smirked at her, and she knew what it meant.

She smacked his arm while he glanced through the entrance as he watched for signs of someone coming. If the Master, they’d be in trouble. If Ven, they’d have to suffer relentless teasing, and maybe pay off his blackmail. 

When Terra was sure no one would see them, he went for it in spite of her whispered giggles and hushes. A warmth on his lips that burned on hers when the rest of her was cold, drenched, and shivering. 

I wanted to know what you taste like in the rain. 

He had tasted like water, a spring from the mountain.

She was close to Terra today. She’s sure of it. 

Tied to her sashes is her blue Waydfinder in immaculate condition, glass stronger than metal with a vibrance that’s foreign to her. 

It sits in her claw, blood red framing its brilliant shine. She’s done so well not to stare at it every time she felt nostalgic, but here she is now: a damn mess, with scales that cover skin, rough and pointed at the tips. Cold with layers of calloused leather that never molts unless she tears it off, building on top of her knuckles that folds as she retracts her claws, like there’s something slithering beneath. Her hands are now beyond repair, so thick that she’s unable to feel what she touches. 

I’m ugly, she realizes, keeping her claws contracted so they don’t scratch the surface of her Wayfinder. It’s still pretty. 

Dull stars float down to the entrance of the castle. Not stars, but a plethora of orbs, pairs of them as her Heartless pile on top of each other and funnel inside, squirming themselves free. It would have been easier for them to make a line. They’re silly, sometimes. 

Something small butts its head into her—the six-year-old, scratching the tile as it makes space up against her belly. It lets her wrap her arm around it. Another Heartless nuzzles up to her chin. One sits at the crown of her head, and another nestles at the small of her back. More tack on, forming a seabed to let her rest. 

It would’ve been lonely otherwise. The night seems flippant now, impatient for the sun to come up in a world where it can’t shine. 

#terraqua #terraquanort #dark terraqua #anti-aqua #dark aqua #terranort #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #i'm taking so damn long with this fic #and it's such a rarepair #but I need to see it to the end so badly #my fic

[let-me-be-a-fander-in-peace]

Outsider.

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My versions of demons are technically not Christian demons, but it’s a bit more complex than that, so VERY information about the demon race at the end of the fic. Here is the prompt I used.

Next

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Relationships: Virgil & Thomas, Remus & Janus & Virgil.

Word count: 3,100.

Description: it was bound to happen eventually, doesn’t mean that Virgil, a human, is happy about being put in a school for demons.

Tw: Joking about skinning someone alive and comparing their organs, and joking about hostages. (Yes, Remus is mostly the one joking about it)

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Of course, Virgil thinks, only my parents could mange to make this big of a mistake.

Standing in the hall you enter once you walk through the frount door of the school. Virgil sees all of the baige lockers lined up, most of the few gaps in between the lockers against the wall are wood doors that enter into classrooms.

Virgil sees students walking down the hall, talking with friends or walking alone. There also students standing by the lockers grabbing thing they need for there first class or putting their supplies away. There are also groups of people just standing by the lockers taking with each other. this would normally not surprise, except for one key detail;

They were all demons.

Everyone had horns and some color from the rainbow skin tone mixed with unique features every demon have, like wings, tails, multiple eyes, plants growing in select areas, and more.

Virgil felt anxiety pounding in his gut as he walked to the councilors office. He could feel eyes burning his skin and he can see the double takes some of demons are doing.

Virgil stops in frount of a door and pulls out his crinkled postet note with the councilers door number on it from his pocket. He glances down at his postet note to confirm that he is at the right door. yep, Virgil thinks, this is the right door, and he hesitantly walks in.

Virgil enters the Councilers office and walks towards the accountant, He glances down at the name tag, Mrs Qucei to ask for his schedule.

“..Hello? Um, I’m Virgil Angst and I’m here for my schedule?”

Mrs. Qucei without looking up from typing on her computer says “Go to the door behind you to enter Mr. Sanders Office for you schedule.”

Virgil stands in that place for a second before quickly turning around and speed walking to the door behind him and knocking.

“Oh? Come in!”

Virgil hesitantly turns the door handle and pushes the door open, just enough for his body to fit through.

When Virgil closes the door he looks a around the room. The room has beige walls and dark wood flooring, on the left wall there is a giant picture frame with a bunch of mini lgbtq+ flags with the corresponding meaning for each flag.

In the left hand counter there is a bedside table with small figet toys on it and a lamp. There is a bin under the table with more figet toys, and next to the bedside table there are different types of chairs, there is a beanbag, a spiny chair, a stool, and a two person couch.

Across in the back right corner facing the right there is a wooden desk and a big computer screen in the middle of the desk. The desk seems to be kinda messy, there is a messy stack of papers on the side and a buch of pens and pencils littered the desk, when they look like they should be in the cups with pens and pencils, (some with animal erasers and fluff balls on the top).

But typing on the computer in your typical office chair there is a demon, he looks to be an short demon, (so around six foot four) and his skin is a warm gray. This horns go up and then swoop down, kind of like a crooked upside down L. He has a slim-ish nose and small lips. His eyes have no whites in them (most demons don’t) and his eyes are a dark brown. His hands have webbing in between them, and he has sharp and long nails. he is wearing a warm brown leather jacket and a dark blue top, he’s wearing jeans and brown loafers.

He looks up from where he was sitting and smiles at Virgil, ushering over to the many chairs. Virgil drops his backpack right against to the tall stool so it’s leaning against it, and Virgil sits on the tall stool where he can hang is legs off. Virgil pulls on this sleeves and bunches the extra fabric that goes past his hands into his sleeve covers hands, and he keeps doing that to have something to do with his hands.

Mr. Sanders smiles at him before talking, “Hi, I’m Mr. Sanders he/him, what’s your name and pronouns?”

Virgil figures that Mr. Sanders already knows his name, seeing as he is the new human student, but goes along with it anyways, “Um, Hi? I’m Virgil Angst.. uh- he/him.”

Virgil mentally cringes at how he spoke, why did I have to be so bad at social interaction.

Luckily for Virgil, Mr. Sanders didn’t seem to mind, and keeps talking, “obviously your the new student, I have your schedule right... here!”

As Mr. Sanders shuffled around his desk for Virgils schedule, he let out a small ‘ah ha!” As he found it. He quickly stood up and walks over to Virgil, handing him his schedule. Then goes back to sit at his desk.

Virgil looks at the schedule handed to him, it has his locker number and combination, and it has his six classes in this order: Biology, Algebra, World history, English, Lunch, German, P.E.

Virgil looked back up at Mr. Sanders. There was still one question in his mind, why was he, a human, doing in a demon school?

As if Mr Sanders could read his mind, he starts the talking, “Now I’m pretty sure your woundering why you’re in a school full of demons, and I would be wondering the same thing if I were you. The reason for this is that the school was informed of your parents, er, work schedule,”— I know that parents keep getting relocated and moving for the new job—“and sense this is the easiest place for your parents, we let you enroll!”

Oh. Oh...

my parents were to lazy to get me into a human school...

...So they signed me up for a school for demons.

...Eh, it was going to happen eventually, I guess.

“Now that I’ve given you your schedule go to your first class! You don’t want to be late!”

Virgil pushes himself off of the tall stool and swings his backpack over his sholder before saying goodbye to Mr. Sanders and walking out of the Room.

Virgil entered the hallway and looked at all of the locker numbers and counts until he hid his own locker.

A-124.

A-125.

A-126.

A-127 .

And... A-128!

My locker.

Virgil looked at his looker and back at this schedule a few more times confirm that he was actually at the right locker. Once he wasn’t so anxious that this wasn’t the right locker the looks at the locker combination and puts his hand on the lock to try.

17.

Virgil put it to number 17.

45.

Virgil twisted the lock in the other direction to get to 45.

31.

Virgil twisted the lock in the opposite direction all the way around before putting it on 31.

Finally Virgil pushed up the black peace that opens the locker, and the locker opened with a small squeek.

Virgil suddenly felt a wave of relieve that he hadn’t been assigned the wrong locker, and then he put this backpack in his locker and took out his binder and a book Virgil is currently reading. Then Virgil took a picture of his schedule and set it to his background screen. Then was on his way to biology class.

As Virgil walks down the hall he saw a bunch a demons looking at him. He understands why they’re looking at him, doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Virgil steps infrount of a open door and checks his phone to see if this was the right class.

He checks his phone and thinks, yep, this is the right class.

Virgil walks through the door and sees a seating chart being protected on those roll up white screens. Virgil looks around at the seating chart before in the corner of his eye he catches his name. Virgil’s name is in a box that represents the back corner table, with two other people, A Remus Creatività and A Janus Dolus.

Virgil walks over to where his name corresponds to and sits down, putting his binder and book in the table corner. Virgil grabs his book and opens it up to his paper bookmark. Pulls the bookmark out and sets it to the side, and continues reading where he left off.

Not even a page in, Virgil feels his book get suddenly ripped out of his hands. He looks up at the bitch who ripped his book out of his hands, and see’s a tall demon around six foot nine with light green skin, he has a pointy nose, and big eyes with a white eye color, around his eyes there is purple eyeshadow, and (really good) winged eyeliner. He also shaved his eyebrow ends. He has a crazed smile with a lot of sharp teeth. He has a dark green curly muttet with a buch of small white streaks in his hair and one prominent white streak in the frount. In his hair there are dark green horns that fade into black at the top, the horns zigzag to the back of his head.

He has two pairs of tentacles, they’re a dark brown, lighter on the bottom where the suckers are. and crossed like you would cross your arms if you didn’t have bones.

He is wearing a black T-shirt with the red anarchy symbol, and a bunch of Bracelets on his wrist, some are your average homemade friendship bracelet, some are rubber bands with stuff on them, and there are also hair ties and those animal shaped rubber bands. He’s wearing gray ripped shorts and purple tights with a bunch of holes in them. And finally he’s wereing doc Martins with purple lace.

I think that’s lace code Virgil thinks, err... if that is lace code, which I think it is, purple means gay pride... I think.

Virgil is snapped out of his head by the demon talking,“Oooo! What’s this!”

The boy exclaims, closing the book with a finger in the book to hold the placement, and reads the summary on the back.

Then another demon, around six foot three, walks up to the other demon and pulls Virgils book out of his hands. This demon has a golden skin tone and a long nose. His face is half regular and half snake. On his regular side he has dark brown eyes, just like most demons, you can’t see the white in his eyes. On his snake side there are yellow-green scales, the scales start right next to his nose and go to his ear. His lips look totally normal except for that where the human lips end on this snake half there is a snake mouth, (stretchy skin that Virgil can’t see connects his snake mouth together), and it extends to his ear. his eye on his name half is fully yellow and he has a split pupil. under his name eye is what looks to be a giant pink eye bag.

His clothing is very causal, his black hair is slicked back and in a black Beene, so Virgil can’t see his horns.He is wearing a black long sleeve shirt with thin yellow strips on the sleeves, he has three pairs of arms, (so six arms total) that all have the same sleeve pattern. He has black fingerless gloves, his nails are painted white with a glossy topcoat, and you can see scales on some of his fingers. he is in black leather pants with a brown belt. His shoes are black high tops with white accents.

“Remus, Why are you harassing the new student?”

The tall demon, who’s name is apparently Remus, pouts, “Jannyyyyyy—“ Remus gets a death glare from... Janny? “Janusss! I wasn’t harassing him! He’s at our table and I want to know if he’s juicy or not!”

“You could do that without harassing him.”

“But that’s no fun!”

The short demon, Janus? glares at Remus, crossing his multiple arms, he still has Virgils book in his hand.

“...Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He sighs giving in to Janus’ stare.

Virgil feel kinda awkward, and interrupts, “Uh, hi, this is fun and all, but can I have my book back.”

They both turn to him. they look at each other and back back at Virgil, “Sweet Satain, I forgot you were even here.” Remus bluntly responds.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry, here is you book back.” Janus says and he hands Virgils book back to him. Virgil hesitatly takes his book back, and puts his book mark on the last page he was at before shutting his book.

“So! Your the new kid! And your human, of course I was curious!” Remus exclaims, “So, how did you get into this school? Last time I checked humans went to that other school a town over, so what are you doing here?”

During that speech Remus went to sit across from Virgil, and Janus went to sit next to Remus. Remus is leaning over the table with his fists against the table looking at Virgil with wide eye curiously.

“Ummm..”

I really dont what to say to to demons, who are basically strangers, that my parents where so busy that they convinced the leaders to let me go to school here because I can comfortably walk here.

Suddenly the teacher starts calling for everyone’s attention, signaling that class has started.

Virgil silently sighs in relief. Saved by the teacher.

Class is pretty boring, seeing as it’s the first day of school and all classes are just going over rules and stuff like that.

Virgil is reading the class syllabus when suddenly a paper is sild over to Virgil. Virgil looks up from the class syllabus to see Remus wink at him, so Virgil hesitately unfolds the paper and reads their writing in it.

Did you know that skin is the largest organ?

Virgil feels confused, why is Remus asking if I know if skin is the largest organ?

...no, I didn’t.

Virgil slides the paper back to Remus, he writes something down and slides it back.

Well it is! If you skinned someone alive and separated all of there organs, all of their skin clumped together would be bigger than all of the other organs, even the big intestine!

Virgil writes something down and slides it back to Remus, Why is them being alive while you skin then important?

Before Remus could write something down Janus slides the paper to himself and looks between Remus and Virgil with a ‘seriously?’ Expression. Remus quickly nods and Virgil hides his face in his hoodie out of embarrassment.

Janus writes something and slides it over to Remus, who writes something down and slides it to Virgil.

Virgil unfolds the paper and reads it.

Why must you always have the most gruesome conversation starters. Is written in nice cursive with a black pen.

After that is, Because you always gotta start out conversations with your true self!

Next to that Virgil writes, So,,, your true self is skinning a person alive to compare there organs?

Yes! Inside my soul is skinning someone alive and comparing their organs. There is a picture of a ghost, inside the ghost there is one stick figure with exed out eyes and with red pen scribbled all over the stick figures torso. Next to the stick figure is another stick figure nellinf next to it with a knife and the end of what is supposed to be the arm.

I can attest to that, is written next to it.

Now we know what is inside Remus’ (that’s your name right?) soul, what’s inside your soul?

The paper was eventually sild back into Virgils area and he read what was new in it.

Yes! My name is Remus, you also spelled it correctly, an what is inside your soul, Janus?

Below that Janus had written, ...Hmmm, inside my soul is a very rich fancy old lady who killed her husband for his money, and she is covered in jewelry drinking wine in a finch wine glass. what about you, Virgil. (if that is your name.)

The paper slides to Virgil, he reads the paper and thinks for a second, before writeing something down. Yes, Virgil is my name, In my soul there is a 2000’s emo kid writing decent poetry about how ‘no one understands me’ while blasting The Black Parade.

Virgil sides the paper over to Janus, who does one of those nose laughs where instead of making noise you choppily exhail. He writes and slides the paper over to Remus, who slides the paper back to Virgil.

You couldn’t come up with anything more creative than The black Parade?

Yeah! Is written in his chicken scratch handwriting, what about the screams of hostages?

Virgil rolls his eyes and slides the paper back. You couldn’t come up with anything more creative with just ‘the screaming of hostages’?

The paper is slid back to Virgil, oh-ho! Do not test me! I don’t want to scare you, too much, you feel me?

You say that as your convertation started was about organs. Is written in Janus’ fancy handwritten

Yeah, why did you try to start a conversation with that?

The paper is slid back to Virgil, and Remus has a weirdly smug face on as Virgil opens the folded paper. because only juicy people actually respond to that! Congrats Virgil! You passed the juicy test!

With his micanical pencil Virgil writes, I don’t know if I should be relived or scared that I passed the ‘juicy test’, and slides it over to Remus and Janus’ side of the table.

The paper slides back to Virgil. I’ll leave that up to you! But just know now that you have passed the test you are our friend. You cant escape. Below that in Janus’ black pen is, good luck.

Just as Virgil finishes reading Remus’ and Janus’ nots the bell goes off, making Virgil jump in his seat.

The bell is so loud, he thinks while packing up. Once he has all of his stuff ready to go he gets up to leave class when he hears Remus yell, “SEE YOU LATER!” And Virgil waves back at him.

Virgil walks out of the classroom and looks at his phone to see what his next class is, it turns out his next class is algebra.

———————————

Heyyy everyone... I have so many other things planned out, but I saw this prompt and all of my modivation for all my other wips left my body... so have this!

There is going to be more than one part! it should be out soon, now information on the demon race!

——————————-

I do not mean to disrespect Christians! This universe’s version of christainly is just that, a fantasy version that represents the worst version of Christianity. so please don’t come for me.

The demon race and the Human race met in the 500’s, the reason I say demons are technically not the Christian demons is because they were labeled as the devils followers, they were said to be devils from hell. That is where the image of Satan was created. There where lots of hate agents demons back in the old days. but demon and Humans have been collaborating for so long that most of the hate and suspicion for demons has died out with time.

In this universe Demons are taller and stronger than humans, but there senses are dulled down compared to humans, (which was why the bell was louder to Virgil.) Demons where also considered to be Dumber than humans (there not), because they were hunters and gathers, and they spoke a different language. So in this universe that was how the image of the devil was created. in the modern day (when this story takes place) most Christians consider the big, red, horned version of Satan bullshit, (especially demon followers) but it kinda rude to call demon’s devil’s.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deciet sanders #character thomas #ts fanfic #my writing #tw gore mention #this was supposed to be a one shot #but oh well. #ts remus #ts deceit #ts virgil

[renaroo]

Super Brothers (1/12)

Disclaimer: Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, PTSD and Anxiety, Character Death Rating: T Synopsis: Jon Kent knew he pretty much had the perfect family life, but something still felt wrong with himself. At the height of feeling like an alien in his own skin, however, his world got turned upside down when his parents took in a troubled child who embodied everything he felt he lacked. However, becoming a brother ended up being the smallest of the trials brought by adopting Christopher Kent. And being best friends with Damian Wayne has not exactly helped keep a neutral perspective on the matter.

A/N: I have made no secret over the last few years just how disappointed i’ve been by the treatment and reintroduction of Chris Kent, aka Lor-Zod, in DC Comics. This little guy is one of my favorite comic book characters in existence, and it feels so dirty to see what has become of him. For a while, I’ve wanted to do a story that really tried to rectify the Rebirth version of Chris and the continuity at large with the core of the character I love, so this story is my attempt at that. I can only hope that I bridge that gap gracefully.

On the other end, I didn’t want to erase Damian or Jon and all the positives I have seen with their relationship and additions to the DCU at large. For their parts in this story, I want to focus on being in the middle school age range, all the confusion that entails, and open a dialogue about issues of gender and acceptance. 

Obviously, these are a lot of heavy topics, and I am certain that despite my intentions, there can and will be things I mess up. My hope is, when that happens, you all can keep an open dialogue with me on the subjects. I want to learn and better myself and my portrayal of the issues. 

That being said, please pay attention to the warnings throughout this fic. I will touch on dark subjects, and I don’t want anyone to read and feel unprepared for the subjects broached, which is part of the reason I chose to make an opening scene that is rather dark and disturbing on some levels. It won’t be ALL dark and uncomfortable, but I want to make this plea now rather than later. 

I hope the story is still worth your read <3 Thank you for your time!

Chapter One: The Cost of Friends

Jon hates this.

At the absolute worst of times, his tiny body reminds him of just how unreliable it is. He can’t count on it, it’s not consistent — it’s not a Superman body no matter how hard he tries to fit it in as one. His limbs are gangly, his bones poke through pale kin, and his messy black hair curls untamed out from around his ears. It’s not good it doesn’t do what he needs it to do.

And at that moment, Jon’s terrified that it’s about to get himself and his best friend killed.

Ordinarily, being half-Kryptonian, Jon would easily burst through chains and bindings without a second thought. And he’s still strong, he tore through the ripe around his waist like it was taffy, but the chains keeping his legs and neck locked to the floor aren’t budging. And Jon’s getting progressively tired.

There’s something strange about this macabre carnival where he and Damian take the center ring. Of course, there is, because it’s Professor Pyg and he’s the stuff of nightmares. But beyond even that, the spotlights on them show with a heavy red glow that is making Jon sluggish and weak.

So weak that he’s less than a circus ring away from Damian and he still can’t get to him.

“Come now, come now, wait your turn,” the grotesque villain squeals in delight toward Jon. “Little Bat has been scheduled for this appointment for such a long time! You must be patient, my little bird. So patient. Everyone has their time with the professor.”

“Superboy!” Damian snarls from where he is tied up, flat and without his utility belt. He’s laying on a gurney that looks far from sanitary and, if Jon didn’t know better, it might even look like Damian is actually concerned. “Focus! Red sunlight radiation shouldn’t dull your brains as much as it does your strength!”

Blinking, Jon looks up to the spotlights again and can see, with what vague telescopic ability he still has, that there is something unusual about the spectrum of light coming from them. “Is that what this is?” he asks, voice small but filled with relief all the same.

“Oh, my, I cannot, must not, pass an opportunity to educate my subjects, inform them of their peril,” Professor Pyg pantomimes his way from the circus ring with Damian toward the center stage with Jon.

Immediately, Jon feels his body stiffen on instinct. He looks warily at the flabby, disgusting pig mask as the rest of the pudgy and unkempt professor makes his way toward Jon. He knows he should be focusing on getting free, but it’s a difficult thing to do when he’s being approached by unmitigated evil and brutality.

He isn’t sure how Damian gets his suit on every night if this is what Gotham patrols are really like.

“It is your body,” Pyg snorts and chortles.

A cold splash washes over Jon. “My body?” he repeats with wide eyes.

“Get away from him, Pyg!” Damian roars, his gurney shaking and rocking with struggle.

“It isn’t right, doesn’t fit on your bones,” Pyg bemoans, jerking out his hip and slithering his own arms around his chest and waist. He sways back and forth on his feet with a sashay of his hips. “It misses the shape of your spirit, the delicate frame of your face. And it’ll only get worse with age.”

Despite himself, Jon feels his struggle slow to a complete stop. His eyes widen as he looks at Pyg. There is a chill that travels from the base of his spine up, standing all his hair on end.

Deep inside of Jon’s chest, muscles tighten and his heart thunders. He feels a shiver move from his core. No oh no oh no oh no. HIs guts churn, his jaw trembles.

“Oh, you feel it, don’t you, that deep deep down,” Pyg continues, approaching. “You’re in the last years of it being passable, of being acceptable. Before your bones grind and the sinews snap into shapes thick and unbecoming of your gentle nature. I see what you are, in that deep deep down, because I am an artist who shapes and molds my subjects out from their souls.”

“You’re a monster,” Jon whispers, his voice giving up halfway through.

Pyg’s eyes shine with something dangerous through the outsides of his mask. He reaches forward and cups Jon’s cheek with his itchy gloved hand. Jon doesn’t even know when he got so close; when he started towering so tall over Jon.

“You’ll be one of my finest Dollotrons,” Pyg promises, rubbing his thumb just under Jon’s eye. “But your clay’s too strong, have to soften you up, get you nice and fleshy, then I’ll shave and I’ll cut and I’ll shape you right up.”

It doesn’t come off as a promise, so much as it does a threat, one that terrifies and unsettles Jon deep down within himself.

Jon’s mind draws a blank, his eyes wide and unfocused and he attempts, desperately, to come up with some intelligent response. But he can’t, not while a fear racks his every nerve and turns his muscles to stone.

It takes Jon completely and utterly by surprise when a familiar whoosh in the air flies overhead before glass crashes and electricity sparks. He catches a glance at the familiar shape of a Batarang lodged into the spotlight directly overhead.

He’s instantly overcome with relief.

Pyg releases his cheek and steps back wildly, looking around. “No! Not now! My art is not ready!” he cries out before letting loose some piglike squeals and sobs.

Looking toward Damian, Jon expects to see his friend released but is surprised to see Damian still trapped. He squints, uncertain of what’s happening when a second then third Batarang plunge into the remaining red sun spotlights.

“Batman?” Jon wonders out loud.

“Ugh,” Damian lets out in frustration before struggling with even more force against his bindings. “Overdramatic, sanctimonious, can’t believe—“

Dollotrons are racing onto the tent floor while Professor Pyg whines and bemoans his ultimate fate, but as the lights extinguish one by one, the shadows take on a new form.

She moves like a dancer, each step and hit against the army of zombified victims perfectly paced and timed. She is all in black, save for her golden accents and bat, and she spares not a single motion. A kick becomes a launch for a leap becomes a smack becomes a twirl becomes a fist to the face of the blubbering Professor. And each and every movement grows in its momentum.

Jon has never seen anything like this outside of super speed, and he certainly hasn’t seen it using the shapes and silhouettes of the shadows like a comforting show curtain. He has so many questions and so many concerns that he forgets himself and getting free. Even if he could, with his body still unresponsively slow and dulled from the radiation.

Damian, at the least, is in motion, finally getting one of his hands free and using the points of his gauntlet to slice through the leather of the other bindings. He is muttering to himself, annoyed and embarrassed based on the flush in his cheeks. It’s not a rare sight but it is unusual for Jon to see Damian this way around one of his multitudes of siblings.

The shadowy bat launches into a final attack, knocking out the last of the Dollotrons before pouncing on the escaping Professor Pyg like a hungry lioness.

With her full weight on Pyg, the Bat narrows her eyes and for the first time can really be seen by Jon as she reaches over and yanks Pyg’s disgusting mask off of his face. Her lips curl in displeasure, but it doesn’t take away from her fair features or the delicate, smooth control she has over her body.

“Wow,” Jon hears himself say as Damian reaches his side and begins pulling out a small blowtorch for the chains. “Is that your sister?”

“SHH!” Damian hisses.

Jon strains to listen to whatever is being said between the Bat and Pyg, but it gets him nowhere, only words at a time coming in clearly as his powers remain in flux. Regardless, Pyg is squirming and blubbering too much for it to matter anyway.

“Took her damn time,” Damian snarls, letting Jon lean on him as he glares toward his sister.

“She saved our lives,” Jon reminds him.

Damian’s nose curls. “Tt, debatable.”

Cassandra apparently finishes whatever minor conversation she was having with Pyg and flips him over, handcuffing him swiftly. She’s powerful and strong without losing her leanness or size, it mesmerizes Jon in a way. By the time she looks up at them, her expression has completely changed.

“You okay?” she asks them both.

“No thanks to you,” Damian says at the same time Jon gets out, “All thanks to you!”

Something approximating a smile crosses her face before she gets to her feet and reaches up to her ear. “Oracle. Done.”

Looking at Cassandra, Jon feels like he’s found yet another new hero. “Whoa, your sister’s awesome. And cool. And so in control,” Jon tells Damian, his strength returning. “You’ve got so many siblings, can I have your sister?”

“Father would be displeased, otherwise I’d say yes,” Damian huffs in that way that Jon cannot tell, for the life of him, if it’s sarcasm or not.

***

Damian watches as his friend flies off.

It took the better part of an hour as well as a stop at Big Belly Burger for Jon to feel up to the task, but the half-Kryptonian flies home after departing from them and Damian watches him go.

Cassandra, as it turns out, is also there. She leans back against her motorcycle — a sleek but redundant design, like any of the numerous other bat-themed motorcycles or vehicles any of their extended family has access to — and watches Damian more than Jon.

They haven’t had much time with just the two of them. Their paths rarely intersect. And Damian is pretty sure he prefers it that way.

His cheeks are still on fire from the embarrassment of being rescued by her.

“I would have gotten out,” he informs her, crossing his arms. “Pyg was distracted and far away from me. I was working on my restraints.”

She tilts her head at him, a frown tight on her face. “Distracted you, too,” she points out.

And Damian knows she’s right about that, he was distracted. Just the look on his friend’s face, the growing horror and dread. Jon isn’t used to the types of villains that Gotham can throw at people, the psychological toll it takes. Damian is, or at least he likes to think he is, but Jon still can be scared and surprised.

But what looks crossed Jon’s face at that moment were unexpected even to Damian. He had never seen anything like it. Jon had been soaking up every word and phrase like it had been ripped straight from his dreams.

It was enough that it frightened Damian for his friend, and he didn’t even know why.

Over the course of an hour and a Big Belly Burger, Jon had refrained from mentioning a single thing about it.

That, too, was very unlike Jon.

Such things could be dwelled on at another time, though. Damian had the pressing matter at hand of his own reckoning. And his so-called sister.

Without looking up to meet Cassandra’s gaze, Damian kicked at the ground. “What are you going to tell father about tonight?” he asks.

“Truth,” Cass answers unhelpfully.

Gritting his teeth, Damian looks back at her, eyes narrowed and angry. “That’s not fair, you know,” he growls at her. “You never come around, never work with any of the rest of us, and then you pop in and judge us from on high. No wonder father speaks highly of you. You’re just like him.”

Her brows come together in a way that wrinkles her forehead. It’s hard to read her expression, even with her modified mask and hood. “I’m not,” she says. Her words sound final, but she apparently thinks better of them and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Judging you. I’m not.”

Damian looks her over. She hasn’t moved from her bike but her arms have dropped to her side. She is looking at him rather intently and it makes him want to squirm in his combat boots.

“Tt, sure you’re not,” he finally snaps back. “You’ll still tell father that I was captured by Professor Pyg.”

“Yes,” she said too casually.

“And that I let Superboy get captured, too,” Damian glowered more at that one, his eyes rest on the asphalt beneath his feet. He kicked again.

Cassandra paused slightly longer with that one.

When her hand snaked its way onto his shoulder, Damian flinched bodily. He slapped her hand away and twisted around to get away on instinct. He hated that — no one should be able to sneak up on him. He was trained by League of Assassins, he had been prepared since before he could speak to be on guard.

But Cassandra had, too.

She looked at him passively. “Not your fault, happens,” she said, in reference to Pyg.

“That’s not what father will think,” Damian snaps.

“I’ll tell him,” she promises.

Damian stares at her for a moment, sizing her up and considering all the ways he could make her more respectful to him. But it fizzles out quickly. He knows, as much as he resists the thought, that he isn’t upset with her.

He’s upset with himself.

“In the League, they trained us that there is a cost to every relationship formed,” Damian informs Cassandra like she doesn’t intuitively know from her own history. “Partnerships, even necessary ones, would cost you heavily. They could be deadly. And more relationships than strictly necessary should be avoided. All this family and friendship that is just around me all the time now. I don’t want to pay the cost for them.” He looks to the skies where Jon once flew. “I don’t want my friend to pay for them either. It’s not worth it.”

Cassandra stays quiet, but she places her hand on Damian’s shoulder again. He doesn’t attempt to knock it off this time.

“Sometimes it is,” she tells him.

But Damian isn’t so sure. Especially not hearing it from her. Cassandra does not work with others to the same degree as the rest of their family. She doesn’t go to school. She doesn’t join teams outside of father’s pet projects. She doesn’t operate in a daily partnership like Damian has with Grayson or father.

She seems to be living by those lonesome standards that the League taught Damian. And all anyone can do is praise her.

What sort of lesson is Damian supposed to learn from that?

***

Jekuul feels oppressively hot outside of the crystal palace.

Lor has watched his parents stand, looming in the skies, over the land’s natives as they constructed the palace for them. He watched as their eyes glowed threateningly each time the native population faltered, and he remembered how easily their bones cracked and snapped when corrected by the general and his lieutenant. It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying to witness.

Inside the palace, things are smooth and temperature regulated. The pantries are stocked with foods far greater than anything Lor had tasted within the Phantom Zone, but still foreign and sometimes unexpected.

If he questions what was on his plate, he is quickly reprimanded.

So he doesn’t ask.

It should be easy, if not simple, to follow the rules at this point. Stay in the palace, eat when told without questions, listen to his lessons from the Sunstones without fault.

He is the Last Son of Krypton, and he is supposed to inherit everything the universe owed them for their lost greatest civilization. All he has to do is stay in place, not ask questions, don’t be, don’t move.

But he was not born on Krypton, nor was he born on Jekuul — New Krypton, by his father’s declaration — he was born in the perilous depths of the Phantom Zone. A prison.

Inside of the Phantom Zone, there was no movement, there were no questions, there was not being or doing or screaming or aging — that had been the only thing he’d ever existed and it was torturous.

Outside of the Phantom Zone, he thought, things are supposed to be different. He is supposed to move and change and grow, he thinks.

So even though there is every reason not to leave the palace, Lor-Zod leaves in the oppressive heat and feels the sun against his Kryptonian skin as he flies under the two yellow suns.

As he moves across the lands, the violet skinned natives of Jekuul fall to their knees and avert their eyes. They whisper and whimper in a tongue completely foreign to Lor-Zod and it feels, well. It feels good.

Lor-Zod knows that they react this way to his parents, but to have even adults of the alien race fall in reverence to him, he feels more powerful. He feels like the Last Son of Krypton that his father insists he is.

He wonders, vaguely, if it is something his father would like to see.

Deep down, Lor hopes so. Because it is easy for Lor to imagine what his father would think or say when he doesn’t like something Lor has done. He has no concept of what would happen when he makes his father pleased.

He is nearly at the end of the primitive village when Lor’s eyes fall on an unusual sight.

One of the Jekuul natives, a young female no older than Lor and having not yet earned her yellow stripes, stands and stares up at Lor. She doesn’t drop to her knees or avert her eyes.

For a few seconds, Lor continues flying, arching his head back to watch for the girl to finally do as she is supposed to but she never does.

Aggravated and surprised, Lor turns in his flight path and descends, landing promptly in front of the girl.

“Why aren’t you kneeling?” he asks before his feet are even secure.

She stares at him, head tilting. Her black eyes are large and reflective, Lor can see himself in them.

He huffs at her, crossing his arms like he has seen his father do so many times before. “Don’t you speak Kryptonian?” he sneers.

After a quiet moment, she scratches at her head and looks around. That seems to answer Lor’s question for him.

“You’re supposed to kneel,” he groans. “Look, like this,” he says, bowing down to one knee and lowering his head. He’s seen so many others do it before.

Then he hears laughter.

Lor looks up and sees the girl covering her mouth as she giggles before she gets down on both her knees and dips her body down in a silly, teetering display. A mockery. Then she gets back to her feet.

“No!” Lor snaps, getting back to his own feet and grabbing her shoulders.

At first, she stiffens, surprised, and looks at him wildly. Her hands grip onto his wrists and she seems afraid.

“Like this,” Lor repeats, then pushes down on her. He dips with her, down to the ground on their knees. But when they both lower their heads, they immediately smack foreheads.

It feels like nothing to Lor, but for the girl, she jolts back and begins rubbing at her skull.

Instinctively, just like he follows his parents’ motions, Lor reaches up and rubs at his own head. They stare at each other as they both sit there on their knees, rubbing their heads.

Then, despite himself, Lor giggles.

The girl giggles.

They both giggle.

Once the giggles subside, they are both sitting on their knees in the dirt and staring at each other expectantly. They don’t speak the same language. They aren’t remotely the same and, yet, Lor has never felt more of a need to communicate with someone in his life.

He points at his chest, at the house emblem emblazoned on his armor. “Zod,” he tells her. “Zod,” he repeats.

For a moment, the girl is quiet, absorbing his words, then she points at her chest and the purple skin. “Jekuul,” she says.

“No, not what you are,” he mutters, catching on quickly. “I’m not…” He is a Zod, though. Maybe more than he is a Kryptonian, if only in his own mind. He sucks in a breath and tries again. He points at his face. “Lor,” he tells her.

Understanding fills her expression and she points at her own face. “Ti’ahl.”

And, maybe for the first time, Lor feels a wide smile cross his face.

From that moment on, their afternoon is filled with delight.

Ti’ahl points at every structure, every creature, every plant with words and phrases that will not stop saying until Lor repeats. Repeatedly, Lor picks Ti’ahl up easily, flies her from location to location, lifts up every boulder and animal they come across as she claps in delight.

It’s thrilling — and Lor laughs more than he has ever laughed before in his life.

By the time the second sun begins to set, a chill quickly crosses the lands, and Lor can see Ti’ahl gain a shiver. It makes Lor feel bad to see Ti’ahl uncomfortable in any way.

“Hold on,” he calls to her at one point, slowing her run through the grass. He reaches up and carefully unclips his cape from his armor. Grinning, he floats toward Ti’ahl and drapes her with the heavy fabric.

After Lor ties the cape closed over her neck, Ti’ahl looks down and touches the knot. A funny look crosses her face and she looks at Lor.

Ti’ahl leaps onto a nearby rock, standing tall and crossing her arms. “ZOD!” she declares herself.

Realizing what is happening, Lor giggles and drops obediently to his knees. “I kneel!” he laughs.

At first, Ti’ahl joins his laughter, but then she becomes strangely quiet.

Confused, Lor looks up at her. “Ti’ahl?” he asks before realizing that a shadow has crossed over them both.

Heart sinking, Lor twists around and sees his father, arms crossed, standing over them both. He looks displeased.

“Father,” Lor gets out, voice thin.

“Is this how I find the Last Son of Krypton? Kneeling before his lessers?” the general snarls. He drops his hands to his sides as Lor begins to stand up and easily kicks Lor back down. “If you lower yourself in the dirt for a mongrel child, you will stay there for your leader, do you understand?”

Breath catching in his throat, Lor nods. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“To the palace. Immediately,” General Zod orders, his gaze carrying over to Ti’ahl. “There will be a price to pay for this, Lor-Zod. Let us see if you are grown enough to pay it.”

Lor cannot bring himself to look at Ti’ahl as he leaps to his feet and takes off in the air. His blood is rushing to his ears, tears building up in his eyes even before he reaches his top speeds of flight.

It isn’t until he was home that he realized he had left his cape.

#Jon Kent #Chris Kent #Superman #Superboy #Damian Wayne #Cassandra Cain #writing #super fic #Super: Super Brothers #Professor Pyg #General Zod