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outromoony · 1 day

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Forgive me, Peter (is it something I did?)

Marauders microfic from Peter's POV | 2.2k words

ao3 link here

James was Peter's whole world when they were young.

The moment they met, Peter knew James was different from any other kid he'd ever met. He was kind, and didn't make fun of Peter because he didn't know how to play certain games or was in bad shape for sports. James was always so kind to him, so patient. They will spend hours and hours playing by themselves in James's garden because the other kids didn't want to play with Peter, but James said he preferred to play with him anyway.

They lived very close to each other; in fact, they were technically neighbors. Peter only took a six-minute walk from his house to James's, and they will see each other every day. James would show him everything he knew about Quidditch and discuss his favorite teams, and in return, Peter would teach him how to play chess and vent about his older siblings at home. And James will listen, he will always listen; and for the first time in his life, Peter felt like his voice deserved to be heard, that his opinions and feelings mattered to someone other than just himself and his own shadow.

That was, until they got on that train.

The Hogwarts Express was everyone's dream. Peter could remember his brother and sister talking about it nonstop when they came back from Hogwarts for their first break. Peter was excited about it, but it also made him anxious. When he received his letter, he couldn’t actually believe it at first. He knew he had magic since he was nine, but still, his aunts and brother loved to point out that it was weak, that even if he wasn't a squib, his magic would never be strong enough to even do anything relevant with it. Peter could not avoid feeling as if there had been a mistake, as if he didn't belong there. But just three feet away from him, there was James, smiling at him reassuringly and fondly as he awkwardly walked towards the train.

James had always been his anchor, the one and only person who could keep him grounded when he felt too low about himself. James would assure him he was wonderful, and that being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And James might have been Peter's anchor, but perhaps Peter had always been James's shackles.

The moment James met Sirius Black, Peter knew his relationship with James was never meant to last.

They were still friends, of course. James never wanted Peter to leave his side, and tried to get him into conversations. But Peter knew since the beginning of their Hogwarts journey, that Sirius was everything James wanted Peter to be, even if he never said it out loud.

Sirius was loud, that was the word that described him the best. He was loud, and so, so alive. And for Peter, who had always felt a little bit dead inside, that was like looking directly at the sun and getting a little blinded by its light. He tried, he really bloody tried, but he couldn't change who he was, how he felt, how he acted. No attempt was enough to get James to talk or look at him the way he did with Sirius Black.

When he was sorted into Gryffindor, he was so surprised that he tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table. Everyone clapped, and amidst all the loud noise, he could hear Sirius whistling and James shouting his name. Peter smiled nervously and sat between James and Remus. James gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Remus just gave him a quiet nod. Peter didn't even look at Sirius when he called his name.

Peter Pettigrew had never been brave. He never felt like it, and his family reminded him every day how much of a coward he was. Since he could remember, he had always been afraid of making friends, and his parents needed to talk to the other kids for him to be able to have someone to play with. His siblings needed to force him to do new things like flying a broom, and his aunts scolded him when he refused to try new food. When he became friends with James, he became that force he needed to start opening up a little. James never forced anything into him, always respected his boundaries and tried showing him the light of life. He succeeded, of course, James always did; but when Sirius came into his life, that light started to banish little by little, wound by wound.

He knew from the beginning of his life that he would never be anyone's first choice. He knew it and accepted it. At least, he thought he did. His parents will always choose any of his siblings, just never him. His siblings will always choose each other, and James... oh, James. He really thought, for a period of time, that he was James's first choice, but now he realized that would never be the case, not while Sirius Black was still breathing.

He even tried getting close to Remus. The boy was quiet and liked reading. Peter initially thought that perhaps he was reserved with everyone, not just with Peter. But, fast enough, he realized that wasn't the case. Sirius, somehow, had broken that shield Remus always carried with him, cracked his mask, and got him into his most vulnerable human form. Remus loved Sirius, he loved him in a way Peter quite never understood, but again, he really never understood what was so special about Sirius Black that was leaving him completely alone, what was so special about him that he could just take everyone and everything away from him, even James.

He never intended to hurt him, to hurt any of them. Even after seven years of feeling like he was just something less than a sidekick for his friends, he still was something to them, at least he wasn't alone, at least James hadn't given up on him after everything. He never intended to do any harm, but Peter had always been weak, manipulable. The Dark Lord gave him what he had been craving his entire life, an opportunity to be someone, to do something important, to be someone's choice.

So he did it, he started working as a spy for the dark side. At first, it was alright— great, even. Voldemort chose him as one of his most loyal followers, he even sat next to him in the meetings with the rest of the Death Eaters. He felt like he was important, like he had done something right for the first time in his life, and for the look in Voldemort's eyes when he looked at him, he had.

The first time it actually hit him was when the news of the McKinnons reached his ears.

He had never been close to Marlene, not like Remus or James were, but he knew her; he knew her more than any of the people that had died in the war. He knew that her laugh was the loudest out of everyone in the Gryffindor tower, he knew she loved playing Quidditch just as much as James did, and that she loved reading some weird muggle books, which she would later recommend to Remus. He knew she loved music, especially rock, and she and Sirius would annoy everyone in the common room by singing and shouting lyrics left and right from their favorite rock bands. He may not have actually known her that well, but he saw her breathing and living for so many years, and because of him, she was dead.

He tried swallowing the feeling of guilt, tried pretending as if nothing had happened, and continued doing what the Dark Lord asked him to. That was the first time Peter actually realized how badly he had fucked up, and he was now trapped. He couldn’t back off now, but still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was always meant to end up like this.

When the prophecy came, Peter was the first person Voldemort asked for information.

He wanted every possible location of the Potters, their schedules, any piece of information that could help him get to them. And for the first time since he had joined the Death Eaters, he lied to the Dark Lord.

That was probably the bravest thing Peter Pettigrew ever did in all his pathetic and miserable life. He lied, he lied about everything he knew, about every piece of information he had. He lied as much as he could, until he couldn’t anymore.

James and Lily now knew about the prophecy, and Dumbledore had sent them into hiding. Those were the exact same words he told Voldemort when he asked again about the whereabouts of the Potters, but when the Dark Lord asked about the type of magic they were using to hide, Peter couldn't even think of a good enough lie, so he told the truth.

He knew that if the Potters or Sirius were suddenly found dead, it would be his fault, but none of that happened. Voldemort didn't know who the secret keeper was, Peter had had enough decency to keep that piece of information to himself, but he knew that the first suspect would be Sirius Black, James's best friend and Harry's godfather.

Sirius apparently had the same thoughts, because one night after a meeting, after everyone was already gone, Sirius asked him to be the new secret keeper.

He apparently had already told James and Lily about it, and both of them agreed. Sirius was the most obvious option, and nobody will ever suspect him.

"Is it because I look weak?" Peter wanted to ask him desperately. "Because I look incapable?" But he didn't say it out loud, because maybe he was; maybe he was weak and incapable and a coward, and maybe he'd always been.

After he became secret keeper, Voldemor knew. Peter wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did. Maybe he could read his mind, or maybe he'd never been really good at pretending, but in that moment, when Voldemort asked him the location of the Potters, Peter knew it was over.

Because he was a coward, after all.

He could have begged for James's life, just like Snape did for Lily's. Perhaps, that would have been the last decent thing he could have done for him. But deep inside, Peter knew that it was in vain. Snape never knew Lily the way he knew James, or even Lily herself. They both loved so hard, so intensely, so deeply, and they were so brave, something Peter never had been. They loved so much, and Harry was just the person they loved the most in the world. They wouldn't let their child die without a fight, and then Voldemort would kill them all three.

The moment it happened, Peter felt it in his bones, in every cell of his body, in every beat of his heart.

James was dead.

Peter never thought it was possible to feel absence so deeply in your soul you felt like your own shadow had been torn away from you. He felt it all, but at the same time he felt nothing at all—not when the Dark Lord was gone, and he had lost everything.

Sirius Black gave him a new reason to run: he was going to kill him, he had promised. With every single step he took, he could feel Sirius's breath on his neck like a sharp knife threatening to cut him open, and he deserved it; he knew he did.

But he didn't want to die.

So he ran and ran, until his lungs were full of memories, and regrets, and fear—oh, so much fear. He was terrified of dying.

It was just a matter of time until Sirius found him, he knew he didn't have much time. He had promised to kill him, and if he knew something about Sirius Black, was that he was always true to his threats.

So he did the only thing that crossed his mind—the only thing that gave him an actual shot to survive. He hid among the Muggles, even though he knew Sirius would find him anywhere, and when he inevitably did, Peter was ready.

He caused an explosion that killed probably hundreds of muggles; he wasn't sure, but he didn't care that much. Sirius was there in the explosion, but he didn't die; Peter's plan had never been to kill him.

He held his breath, and without thinking too much, because if he did, he might never be able to do it, he cut one of his fingers. The pain was terrible, the blood was everywhere, but when he transformed into his rat form once again, the pain was already gone, so was Peter.

And he ran once again—he ran away from the life he used to have, the life he would never have again. He ran from his guilt, from his bad decisions, and from every time he betrayed himself.

He ran and never looked back; that was the one thing he always did the best.

He was a coward, after all.

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woodland-gremlin · 4 hours

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How to Adopt Your Clone Pt. 5

To say that Danny was panicking was the understatement of the century. Panicking was too light of a word for what he was feeling. It was more like catastrophizing. Honestly he thought he felt true panic and horror when his parents the Fentons caught and vivisected him as Phantom a few weeks earlier. Yet standing outside of the operating room with Ellie’s core in it he realizes that it wasn’t even close to what he was feeling right now. The feeling of her melting in his arms wasn’t something he would ever forget, no matter how hard he tries.

Panic wasn’t the only thing he was feeling at that moment either. Guilt clung to him like Johnny’s shadow clung to him. All he could think is that he should have noticed something sooner. That if he had done his rounds of making sure the Fruitloop wasn’t being loopy instead of healing that this wouldn’t have happened. Even with his internal voice, that sounded a lot like Jazz, telling him otherwise. It would tell him that the only one at fault here was the Fruitloop and that he couldn’t blame himself for taking care of himself. If he had done his rounds in that state his insides would have just fallen out. But his core would just scream louder. He had failed his Obsession of Protection and it wouldn’t let him forget that.

“Great One,” Frostbite says, entering the room while simultaneously gaining Danny’s attention.

“Frostbite!” Danny exclaimed, rushing to the yeti, “How is she? Is she-is she going to make it?”

Frostbite gives the young king a soft smile, “Young Ellie will make it but,” Frostbite frowns, “there are some complications.

Danny gulps, shakingly asking, “What kind of complications?”

The tribe leader pulled out a photo from the folder in his claws.

“This,” Frostbite began, “is Ellie’s core.”

The photo Frostbite presented showed a glowing sphere with a large crack going through it.

“As you can see her core has been cracked. This is due to the large psychological damage that Plasmius caused and Spectra amplified.

“The psychological damage?” Danny questions, “Like how my vivisection scar is taking longer to heal than normal because of how it affected me mentally?”

The ice giant nodded solemnly. “We are beings of emotion. Our physical forms are a projection of how we mentally see ourselves. It is one of the reasons it is so hard to damage us with just physical attacks. On the other hand mental and emotional attacks affect us much more, to the point that we assume physical wounds that can take much longer to heal. It is one of the reasons that ghosts like Spectra are so dangerous.”

Danny’s face falls, “Then what does that mean for starlight?”

Frostbite frowns, “It means a lot of things but most preventingly it will affect her age and need for a parent bond.

“Age? Parent bond?” Danny echoes.

“As you know, young Ellie’s physical age is different from her actual age due to Plasmius’ experiments. When one retreats into their core it is for protection and when they reform it is either to their ‘true’ form or one for protection. This will be two-fold for young Ellie. To protect her she will reform in her ‘true’ form which will be closer to her actual age.”

“How in the Ancients is being younger protect you?!” Danny asked incredulously.

“Parents,” Frostbite replied patiently.

Seeing that Danny was still confused by his explanation Frostbite continued, “The main way young are protected is through their parents. Being a young child will bring potential parents to protect them from threats by appealing to their protective instinct.”

“It is also likely that the young one will mentally regress her memories.”

Danny asks with a scratchy voice, “She will lose her memories?”

“Yes and no. She will likely repress her memories to protect herself but will regain them in time when she will better be able to handle them.”

Danny stuffs his face in his hands, trying to push away the tears and feeling of failure. That this was all his fault. If he had been smarter, faster then-

“Great One?”

Danny takes a breath he doesn’t need and tries to focus on the task at hand.

“I’m fine. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

The yeti frowns but abides by the young king’s request.

“A parent bond forms in two ways, blood or, most commonly in the Realms, adoption. For young Ellie I would suggest you being the one to form the bond as you are related by blood and already have a strong bond.”

Danny stills, shocked. He had never really considered himself for the position with his age. But the more he thought about it the more he liked the option. There weren’t many he would trust with starlight, so why not do it himself. Not to mention if he is Ellie’s parent he can help her integrate in both the living and infinite Realms. He would have to leave the Fenton house, it wouldn’t be safe for her. He was already planning on getting emancipation anyway with the help of Jazz after they caught him as Phantom. He would just have to speed up the process. Oh! And he would need to get a job! Not to mention the paperwork and a safe place to stay. There was so much to be done!

“Wait,” Danny says, coming to a realization, “What does Ellie think of this?”

As much as Danny would love to adopt Ellie right then and there, the most important thing was what Ellie wanted. He wasn’t going to take that choice away, especially not with what just happened with the Fruitloop.

“For any bond to form the relationship must be recuperated. As such even though young Ellie won’t be corporal she will have a choice to accept or reject the bond,” Frostbite replied.

Danny straightens, “Then I’ll do it.”

To be continued . . .

Note: Please tell me what you think! Hearing what you guys think of my writing gives me ideas of what to write. And remember constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is that, constructive.

#danny phantom #dcu #dcxdp #dp + dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ghost king danny #danielle “danni” phantom is called ellie #danielle “danni” phantom #danni phantom #ellie phantom #danny fenton adopts ellie #frostbite #adoption au

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mimisempai · 2 days

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Not the same goodbye anymore

Summary

Aziraphale and Crowley have said goodbye many times in the past, but today, as he watches the Bentley drive away, the angel realises that now every goodbye will be different.

Notes

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Kiss #46: A lingering kiss before a (long) trip apart.

On Ao3

Rating G - 902 words

Crowley glanced at his watch and sighed. There was no point in putting it off, it was time for him to go.

He said quietly, "Angel..."

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "Say no more, it's time for you to go, isn't it?"

They stood up at the same time and walked side by side to the door of the bookshop.

The demon turned to the angel and, taking her face between his hands, said softly, "The longer I delay, the harder it will be. Don't be sad, it's only a few days, you won't even have time to miss me".

Aziraphale replied in a slightly wry tone, "I know, you're only leaving for three days and yet it feels like a trip around the world."

Crowley stroked the angel's cheek with his thumb and replied softly, "I know, Angel, believe me, I know. I feel like I'm going away for a long time too."

Aziraphale had done his best not to show the melancholy he had felt at the thought of the demon's absence. He had told himself that he should be happy that Crowley was so passionate about his work at the planetarium.

It was just for some days.

They'd been apart for much longer, with no certainty of seeing each other again, which was not the case now.

But despite all this good reasoning, now that Crowley was about to leave in a few seconds, the angel found it hard to put up a front.

He wanted to put his hand over his mouth to stop the words coming out, but Crowley still held his face in his hands and the Angel's mouth was running faster than his brain so he couldn't help but blurt out, "Will you miss me?"

The demon gave a small smile and replied in a low voice, "I miss you already, Angel.

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the angel's in a tender kiss.

When he tried to pull away a fraction of a second later, he could not because Aziraphale's hands had caught his face and were pressing against him to make the kiss last. The demon didn't struggle, of course, and the kiss lasted a few more seconds.

When they finally broke apart, Crowley ran his thumb over the Angel's lips and said sheepishly, "I really have to go now, Angel.

Aziraphale, his throat tightening, nodded and walked out with the demon to accompany him to the car.

Once in front of the Bentley, Crowley planted a light kiss on the Angel's temple before getting behind the wheel.

Aziraphale waved at him through the window and, seeing his sad little smile, the demon couldn't resist and rolled down the window.

Poking his head out, he said to the angel with a half-smile on his lips, "One last one for the road?”

Smiling, Aziraphale leaned over and, after one last kiss on the demon's lips, said softly, "Have a good time, my love."

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments before the Bentley decided to take matters into its own hands and sped away.

Aziraphale, chuckling slightly, followed the car with his eyes until it disappeared around the corner.

"Hard to let him go, isn't it?"

The angel, who didn't really have the heart to deflect, replied softly to Nina, who had just arrived beside him, "You have no idea."

Nina nudged him with her shoulder and replied, "Oh, I think I have a little idea, you know, when Maggie decides to go on one of her trips in search of rare records. I may know she'll be back, I may know it'll only be for a short time, this little place she's got here..."

Nina tapped her chest before continuing, "remains empty, and the emptiness is felt until she's back. So, knowing your story, I can imagine... how it is for you."

Aziraphale nodded without answering, for Nina couldn't have described what he was feeling more accurately.

But at the same time, today was different from all the times he'd watched Crowley leave, not knowing when or if he'd see him again, not being able to say how he felt, never knowing how the demon felt.

Everything was different.

Crowley loved him and he loved Crowley.

They both knew it.

He knew that Crowley would be back in three days.

He knew the demon would miss him, just as he had made no secret of the fact that he would miss the demon.

So, sure, that little void Nina was talking about was there, in his chest, but it was bearable because he knew Crowley would be back soon to fill it again.

So instead of focusing on that void, he decided to focus on the perspective of the demon's return.

He turned to Nina and asked with a smile on his face, "So, Nina, what sweet treats are you serving at the cafe today?"

Nina threw on that little smile she always had when she understood a situation, put her arm around Aziraphale and led him to the coffee shop, giving him a detailed list of the day's pastries.

Three days later, when she saw the Bentley parked outside the bookshop, she thought that it was unlikely that the bookseller would be coming in for a pastry today, as he probably didn't need any comfort food.

His beloved was back.

The emptiness would be filled again.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable kisses series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

Ineffable Growing Love - Series post S2

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #50 kisses

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sonknuxadow · 22 days

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why is literally everyone on my sonic tomodachi life island in love with shadow as if theres not other people to choose from and hes not gonna reject them every time . stop creating a love spiderweb with some guy whos not even interested in you

#at one point i kept ending up in scenarios where one mii would try to confess and a bunch of others would show up to interrupt #and they would all get rejected lmao .. most have moved on by now though after getting rejected so many times or finding someone else #but ill still occasionally get an ''im in love with shadow !!! '' even though. hes already taken #silver is the one who managed to win him over btw if anyone is curious .#list of people who have tried to date shadow off the top of my head: silver espio blaze amy #and sticks just told me shes in love with him too NO YOURE NOT . STOP #even knuckles got in on it once. and hes literally already dating sonic ??#i mean knuckles has two hands but polyamory isnt a thing in this game sooo #amy and blaze and espio were particularly desperate...#i made it a rule for myself to try to avoid forcing any particular couples #and to just let any ships happen as long as they dont have weird age gaps or otherwise make me uncomfortable #(which is how i ended up with shadilver even though im not really into that pairing)#but i made a mii of tekno JUST to give amy a decent romantic option. because she wouldnt stop asking about shadow #and i kept ignoring her or telling her not to get with shadow and she wouldnt give it up #and it was getting on my nerves because sha/damy is one of those ships on my ''not going to let these happen no matter what'' list #well shes with tekno now and she also stopped asking about shadow so much once he got with silver so. its fine #and blaze ended up finding someone else too. not espio though hes still single. but thats fine #i dont need every single mii paired off idgaf about that #tomodachiposting

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torgawl · 6 months

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never thought i'd see people try to argue or analyse wriothesley's murder in regards to his personality. i think people are missing the point. the situation has nothing to do with him and has everything to do with an extremely traumatic environment that made a small boy think the only solution so save himself and the people he cared about was to take the life of his abusers. it's not supposed to be rational, it wasn't premeditated, it wasn't about getting away with it. if you read his description of the murder you can see how out of it he was. his goal was to protect himself and his siblings and that's what he did. that's why he admitted to the crime so easily and why he is keen to associate the fortress as a rebirth place. he was just young, lost and traumatised and that's about it when it comes to the extension of it all.

#people acting like they're disappointed because he's a 'manipulative' and cunning individual or because he's cold and that it doesn't match #the crime as if at that time he wasn't just a kid experiencing extreme distress and without a safe space to seek help #i also don't personally think he's manipulative at all. he isn't like ayato or yae miko. he has very strong values and he does everything #to abide to that. if that means ommiting information at some point to make the best out of a situation he will do so but he doesn't do #things for personal gain and as soon as he can be truthful he lays all the cards on the table #this reminds me of that ayaka situation where people tried to paint her as manipulative when all she did was ask the traveller to hear #people's stories so traveller could take their own conclusions about the situation in inazuma shsjsh #it's also the way wrio isn't even cold. he's serious and composed but goddamn if he didn't show how empathetic he is #also how lightweight his personality is during the archon quest...#at this point i'm just questioning myself if we're even playing the same game #wrio 'i believe in restorative justice rather than punishment' the slay #wrio 'there's a prophecy about a flood dooming the entire country so i'm taking matters into my own hands and building noah's ark to save #my people' the slay #wrio 'i have no reason to trust you but i will still offer you a cup of tea' the slay and people still try to pain him in an obscure light #he's not even that morally grey 😭 he's morally gray in the sense everyone is #wanting to stop people who hurt others isn't controversial or shouldn't be #also because we KNOW that's his last resource #his job is literally to give people a second chance the same way he took his except he actually wants to make life easier for others #than it was for him and people are so vocal about how grateful they are of him like???#he's such a good guy genuinely #and just because he's intelligent and usually composed doesn't mean he isn't emotional sensitive or even prone to being put in situations #where's he's forced to react a certain way because that's just human nature #he's literally just a silly guy with trauma and big responsabilities set him free from the shackles of mischaracterization please 😂#not that i'm better i'm a fool i may just be talking shit really #but seeing people act like the murder is somehow badly written or that he is dark and dangerous make me go ???#having the ability to do something doesn't define you as a person and i feel like judgement without context makes no sense #but maybe that's just me

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neuromantis · 4 months

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aw2 gave me perhaps, one of the most important realizations of my life. just now. "how do you run from an idea?"

the world i created when i started writing. i liked it. and i liked my characters. they were real to me. but. i could escape there. but i couldn't live there. with my family and friends and loved ones, the only ones i've had then.

i needed to stay outside and keep writing them. i could never join them. so i kept writing. every day i would write more of it, obsessively. and with that came a realization of the genre of the story it was shaping up to be.

i keep calling it "automatic writing", because i really never felt like i was in control of it. ideas just used me as a conduit. the story was telling itself. and it wasn't. a nice story. not one with hopes or happy endings.

i once told someone a long time ago that i couldn't stand writing anymore because i loved those people. loved their world. but if i made more of it. they'd have to suffer for it. so i quit. i kept meeting new ideas and characters and i only wrote down the barest of outlines. because the narrative would inevitably doom them, there had to be no narrative anymore.

i think what also made me stop it, was meeting Adam. a guy i knew like 10 years ago who suddenly messaged me. he re-sent me my own message to him from 2013. "well what about the fact that perhaps there IS a god, but he just specifically hates you?"

the last couple of years made me accept it. Adam is me. N(adam)ian. The one who made it all. The one who set up the rules. The one they'd be suffering for. And I don't want to be that. So I chose to leave them. They don't let me. But at least I can not write.

#there's a particular plotpoint about a certain guy being involved who is more of a proxy of me than the main character ever was #that guy got... a rough hand. of knowing every plot point and story beat as it would unfold - before it happens #and his particular thing was knowing that no matter what he does - he can never poke a hole in the narrative #still he tried even if he knew it was absolutely pointless and that perhaps it's exactly his efforts that doom the narrative #because by being unable to give up on a story he is inside of - by continuing trying to dismantle it - he still played by the narrative #and since i am the only who also knows how it plays out and ends... i should put in more effort myself #and that effort is the only thing i can do - to stop writing #''you can change the story'' - i hope i find a way to #because my only ever way of writing was basically ''black out and come to a finished piece on paper/screen''#i think... that's not a great way to be creative = it requires no input from me #i just let the story possess me and write itself #as i really have no imagination to be quite honest #but one of my goals for this year is to create more - no matter how scared i am - and maybe i can make that story MINE #actually be an author of it instead of a tool to write it or some dumb metaphor like that #also of course this is all such pithy horseshit #but i think aw2 shows a fairly similar situation pretty well #''you want me to write? the same thing that put Alan Wake in The Dark Place?''#my story is a story of the complete obliteration of every story that came together to make it #an excercise in quantum mechanic bullshit that won't save anyone in the end as the only escape from it is to stop existing #it's an Apocalypse story in the meaning of ''there is no post-apocalypse. there is nothing anymore. at all. the end. fuck you''#a pretentious excercise of trying to write a story that wants to stop existing in the first place #of people who fight and win by erasing themselves and their world #and it's really your fault if you picked up the book and liked them - because you made them suffer again #ew. i sound... like a fucking hack #no wonder my own meta-narrative ate me fucking alive #i am neither smart enough to figure how to undoom it nor creative enough to have anything else occupying my head 24/7 #truly fucking bleak

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roturo · 5 months

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⋆⭒˚｡⋆ SHE'S BACK!

GUESS HE COULDN'T KEEP IT IN, SO HE HAD TO KEEP IT INSIDE! ₊˚⊹♡ dilf!gojo satoru x teacher!reader

tags: smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, exhibitionism, getting caught, he fucks you while he's on the phone, overstimulation, dumbfication, fluff, gojo has an ex-wife, yuuji is gojo's son, age-gap.

A/N: well, this was surely and adventure and maybe self-indulgent title because guess what?, i'm back baby.

It was a nice morning, he felt clean. Like his life was finally steadying. Even after some stressful weeks trying to get rid of his now ex-wife, he won the trial and kept Yuuji. Poor little boy, just turning 5 years old and he’s already facing all this type of stress. But thankfully he will not be experiencing enduring his crazy mother behavior. Which basically was a gold digger, and a bitch– Not that he would ever say that outloud, maybe with other words? Bastard? Witch? Not that it really matters right now.

He could finally take a break now, just focusing on raising his little boy, and being an old boring 31 year old dad. Life doesn’t sound that bad.

“Daddy! Daddy!,” His son went running to his arms, almost stumbling by himself- clear happiness shown on his face. Quickly, Gojo opened his arms ready to lift the young kid. “Miss Y/N congratulated me on my homework! She was pretty amazed!”

Your name wasn’t unknown to him, Yuuji was very open when talking about his favorite teacher, even though he hasn’t seen you yet- from what he’s been told you’re the kid’s favorite, including Yuuji’s. “I had to talk about who’s my hero, and I chose you!” If this day wasn’t going great, it was now. Because his son's comment just made his whole week, life even.

“Oh look dad!” The little boy pointed towards your moving frame, each time getting clñoser towards them. “Daddy, this is Miss Y/N!” Yuuji kept presenting the both of you. He was really excited to present his two favorite persons to each other- but all Gojo could think of what’s how young and beautiful you looked. He expected someone older, maybe even an old lady with wrinkles and that loving grandma vibes, but what he saw made his heart beat in a way he never thought he would feel ever more.

“Daddy? Are you paying attention?” The little boy gained Gojo’s attention back, face now looking at him again. “I’m sorry kiddo, kinda just zoned out there. What did you just say?”

“Uhh, what was it? Oh! Did I tell you Miss Y/N told me you were a very handsome man?”

“Yuuji!” His gaze moved towards your blushed face, a hand covering part of your face. “I’m so sorry Mr.Gojo, I didn’t intend to say-”

Gojo cut you off before you could continue apologizing “It’s okay, I also think Ms.Y/N is a very beautiful woman.”

Uh, well. So this is how kinda you found yourself in this situation right now.

You swear it wasn’t your intention! You really tried, you really did, but how could someone say no to Mr.Gojo? And mostly because he really showed his attraction towards you. Sending Yuuji with a rose for you every day, and the little boy was rooting for his dad, because dear god- he did not shut up about him, and how happy he would be with a new girlfriend and maybe one he could call ‘mommy’ and give him a sister.

That made you blush.

Not only because the little boy commented on it, and was agreeing- but because it was his dad’s idea.

“You’re so wet, s-shit.” Loud thrusts filled the room, he was fucking you raw on his sofa– waiting for Yuuji’s mom to bring him back, the little boy was eager to come back and ‘see Ms.Y/N and his daddy finally starting to fall in love’

Kids being kids. But, he was right- the both of you were falling in love with eachother.

Gojo throws back his head, immersed in the warmth radiating off your walls and he lets your moans take him to another world. In a haste decision, he slips your dress over your head before tossing it. He mouths at your tits, plump and stiff between his lips, and he hurdles a deeper round of thrusts inside you.

When you get a little too loud, his hand comes over to clamp your mouth, wolf like eyes staring back at you, “Shut it. You don’t deserve to speak.”

His thin white tee that stays a barrier between you and him does not hide the rippling body underneath that seemed to be sculpted by gods. He presses into you, grunting, using you like his personal sex doll and you embrace it, thrive from it, come to it. Your hips contract, slewing in perfect circles, before having your legs fall gradually lifeless as you arousal drip down your thighs.

“Ffffucckkk- oh baby, would you like that? Be full of me and my baby? Make me a daddy again?”

“yesyesyesyes, make me yours Mr.Gojo-”

He pays your climax no mind,a smirk clearly showing on his face while he fucks you on his sofa- You could muffle your screams of pleasure easier here. Turning your head back to face him, you notice now he’s shirtless–taut and shiny from sweat like a large set of Hawaiian rolls–before seeing how quick he is to fit back inside you.

“Good girl.” His husky voice resonates and pushes you back into the sheets. “Good girls get rewards, don’t they?” Your poor fucked up mind couldn’t think clearly now. The way your abused and overstimulated pussy was still taking his rock hard cock gratefully inside you was making every feel giddy. A sudden noise bringing back a little part of your senses, Gojo clearly grunting grabbed his what you suppose phone, and answered. Not bothering to stop his thrusts.

“Yeah?,” His voice sounded almost like a whisper because of how breathy it was. “Gojo? I’m almost at your house- Yuuji wanted some ice-cream and bought some for you and… your new girlfriend?” His chuckle interrupted his ex-wife’s conversation, accompanied with a whimper at the feeling of you clenching on him- overstimulation clearly bringing you back to climax soon again.

A slap was heard from his part of the line, an unbelievable laugh coming from his ex-wife line, clearly noticing what was going on and then she finally heard you moan. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, and you were too fucked out to feel embarrased about it right now.

“Finish before I leave Yuuji- Enjoy yourself.” Gojo was so lost in pleasure that he didn’t even realize she hung up before he even processed what happened.

His grunts and sounds of skins slapping are all you hear as he pounds you back into the sofa. It feels like heaven beneath his weight. You were feeling flushed to the touch, but making contact with his skin was like an inferno. He was the embodiment of heat and as suffocating as that could’ve been, it melts you like it’s how it always should’ve been.

His pace eventually falters, followed by a hushed “fuck,” and he empties out into your used hole. The moment he pulled out, a knock was heard.

“Shit. Can you walk?”

PART 2

#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jujutsu kaisen #geto smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #toji smut #gojo x you #smut

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babyleostuff · 12 days

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avoiding their kisses | ot13

❥ seungcheol

if you want to end up with an extremely sulky boyfriend who’ll insist on giving you the silent treatment for the rest of the day, then yeah, go ahead and avoid his kisses. cheol would obviously be so petty the second he’d notice you ignoring his kisses on purpose, he’d spend the day giving you an attitude in his sulky choi seungcheol manner. funny thing is how by the end of the day cheol would be low key on the verge of death, because he didn’t get to touch you, hug you, cuddle you, etc throughout the day (and the only person to blame is him, his pride, and his stubbornness) (can you imagine his clinginess after not being able to touch you for the whole day?)

❥ jeonghan

you chose the wrong person to mess with. even if you avoid his kiss only once, your precious hannie turns into the menace yoon jeonghan - no partner privileges can save you from his pettines when you ignore his kisses. he’s kind of the same as cheol, clingy and in need of your touch, but whereas cheol is a whiny baby, jeonghan uses your own weapon against you. he’ll avoid kissing you, he’ll avoid hugging you, he’ll avoid doing all of the things he knows you love. he’d wait till the point where you’d come sulking to him, upset that he’s just being mean, because after all, you avoided only one of his kisses. after that, he’d just laugh and coo at you for being so needy (it’s not like he was dying to kiss you ten seconds ago). “that’s what happens when you ignore my kisses, honey.” (lovingly)

❥ joshua

at first joshua would get a bit concerned that something had happened, or that you weren’t feeling well, that is until he realised you were just messing with him. jeonghan’s evil twin because two can play this game. he’d proceed to avoid most of your kisses for the rest of the day, and if you gave him confused looks (he never ignored your kisses, so his behaviour would immediately be suspicious in your eyes), he’d just give you a sweet smile, asking you if something was wrong, clearly messing with you. your (adorable) frustration at the end of the day would be worth every kiss joshua had to give up that day. of course you end up making out for the rest of the evening because you have to get your daily amount of shua kisses

❥ jun

too shy to ask you why you ignored his kiss, too sad to think straight, too worried that he did something wrong. immediately goes through the things he had said that day, trying to remember if he could've said something to upset you, or if he had forgotten to do something you asked him to do. so he just ends up moping around, trying to remember things he didn’t even do, but if you asked him if something was wrong, he’d just brush it off, not wanting to come off as too dramatic. but then it’d get too much for jun, and he’d shyly ask about that ignored kiss, and if there was something he could do to apologise for whatever he did. and his sweetness and worry would melt your heart so badly, it was never your intention to avoid his kiss, it just happened, so you’d scold him for not mentioning it earlier. you’d give him a lot of reassuring kisses afterward because that’s what jun deserves

❥ hoshi

he’d get extremely confused because it’s not often that you avoid his kisses, or any type of affection for that matter, but would brush it off as only an accident. when he tries to kiss you again some time later, and you ignore it once again, he gets so so sad :(( “what do you mean you don’t want to kiss me?” would immediately ask you if something was wrong, and if he did something to upset you, he doesn’t like it when you give him the silent treatment (although nothing but the ignored kisses showed that you were angry with him, which made him even more confused). before you’d be able to say anything, though, he’d start apologising (for what he didn’t know), and you’d end up laughing at your silly boyfriend, who’d stand there with a question mark above his head because what the hell was going on? you’d just coo at him and kiss him (he still wouldn’t know what had just happened, but hey, at least he got his kiss)

❥ wonwoo

(dare to avoid this man’s kiss and i am going to hunt you, and kill you). if you ignore his kisses wonwoo will get sad. not like cheol in a “i will whine and throw a tantrum” way, but in a way where you can clearly see the corners of his mouth turning downwards. he’d be the epitome of this 🥺 emoji (the funniest thing is when he tries to act like he doesn’t care, but then he goes around with his big sparkly eyes, and the smallest pout, acting like a kicked puppy). i know a lot of people see wonwoo as someone cold that doesn’t like physical affection, but i don’t see him like that at all. yes, he might be too shy to initiate hugs and cuddles himself, but he thrives off of your touch, and hugs, and kisses, etc. so he’d turn into a lil sad cuddlebug when you avoid his kisses

❥ woozi

jihoon would be so understanding if you ever avoided his kiss because as someone who really values his personal space, he gets that sometimes you’re just not in the mood for affection, and physical touch - he would never want to make you uncomfortable, thus he wouldn’t think much of you ignoring his kiss. and that alone would melt your heart because get yourself a man who’s so understanding of your comfort, and would not throw a tantrum just because of a kiss (i’m looking at you choi seungcheol). but, the second you start avoiding more of his kisses, he immediately starts suspecting that something’s off, and that it has to be one of silly pranks. when you ignore his goodnight kiss, which you usually happily accept, he’s sure you’re just messing with him (which he instantly calls you out for). woozi would find your commitment to the bit so funny, you’re seriously something else. to end your prank with a bang, he’d grab your chin and place a peck on your lips, and go to sleep like nothing happened

❥ dk

to be honest, you’d break his heart by avoiding his kisses, so please don’t do that. seokmin would straight up start spiralling and overthinking because what if he had said something hurtful to you, what if he had forgotten an important date, what if he had bought the wrong flavour of your favourite snack, what if he hadn’t given you your goodnight kiss. there would be so many “what if’s” in his head. he’d be the epitome of a kicked puppy, and yes - just because you avoided one of his kisses. not to be dramatic, but dk would feel like his entire world was crumbling, you never avoided his kisses, so why did you do it all of the sudden. obviously after seeing his reaction you'd immediately explain that you didn’t mean to make him upset, etc etc. and he’d demand extra cuddles and kisses before bed because hello that was so mean??? later, though, he’d realise how dramatic he was about all of it, and you’d end up laughing so much during your nighttime cuddle session

❥ mingyu

yeah, not on his watch. the second he catches you avoiding his kiss you’re trapped in his embrace with a very offended puppy expression from mingyu, and a demand for an explanation why you dare to ignore his kiss. he will not let you walk away before you tell him why you even thought of avoiding his kiss, and an apology in the form of even more kisses. the thing with mingyu is that he can be as petty as coups and jeonghan, so even after your apology he’d still give you an attitude throughout the day, and even go as far as avoiding some of your kisses (which he realised wasn’t that great of an idea, because it made him even more grumpy and sulky), so at some point he’d just trap you in a bear hug and apologise, shyly asking for a peck

❥ minghao

xu mighao is a petty, petty man. he immediately knew what you were up to by avoiding his morning kiss, while you were making breakfast, so don’t be surprised with no more kisses for you for the day. hao would find it so amusing, because - on one hand, you know him well enough to know how your little pranks always end (with him not falling for it), on the second he’d think it was adorable how you couldn’t help yourself (you still had the hope that someday he’d fall for a prank). the small smirk on his face anytime you’d (not so) subtly try to kiss him would annoy you so much, but hey - you were the one to avoid his kiss in the first place. all jokes aside, he’d think you were so cute, sulking at the end of the day because you didn’t get to kiss him, and as a small apology he’d give you all of the kisses you missed throughout the day (can you hear his giggles in between the kisses because i can)

❥ seungkwan

malfuntiones because his first instinct is to whine and pout, but after a second he’s all grumpy and you’re rewarded with the boo seungkwan side eye. does not like when you avoid any type of his affection, especially if it's his kisses (and he was in practice for the whole day, why don’t you want to kiss him), so he’d just sulk around with an attitude because ignoring his kisses is not allowed in this household. but after some time he gets tired of the “why did you ignore me”, so he’d strike again with his kisses (don’t avoid them the second time, or seungkwan will get really annoyed with you). on the other hand, seungkwan is another member of the “petty” squad, so if he was feeling particularly evil that day, he’d just proceed with ignoring your kisses as well :))) (then both of you would end up grumpy and annoyed)

❥ vernon

doesn’t pay much attention to it - not because he doesn’t care about your kisses, but similarly to woozi - he understands that everyone has their boundaries, and maybe you weren’t feeling in the mood for kissing at that moment, or maybe you just needed some space. it doesn’t really matter, your personal space is sacred to vernon, so he’d never do anything to cross it. of course he’d get a bit sulky (he’d never show it, though) if you kept ignoring his kisses, but he still wouldn’t try to force anything on you. he’d maybe mention it as a passing though, why you were avoiding his kisses, mainly to make sure you weren’t upset. then you’d kind of realise that, yes - you did ignore his kisses, but it was a bit of an accident? and vernon would immediately assure you that he didn’t mind, and that as long as you were happy, he was happy too

❥ chan

please, don’t avoid his kisses. poor baby would immediately think he did something wrong, because you never ignore his kisses, so obviously he did something to upset you. chan wouldn’t ask you if something was wrong, though, he’d be afraid of upsetting you even more, which would leave him with a small pout and sad puppy eyes. and while normally he isn't the most energetic person, you’d immediately notice the lack of his “spark”, and his usual excitement over the smallest things, which could mean only one thing - he was overthinking you avoiding his kisses. so please, give him lots of reassuring kisses, and tell him you love him

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sundrop-writes · 1 month

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Careful - Chapter Two

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Liar

Why should I deny what's all at once, so crystal clear?

Summary:

Spencer is eager to talk to you - to find out if your son is actually his. But there are more important matters at hand, like the fact that you might be the next target of a serial killer who is actively stalking single mothers.

The two of you get locked in a battle of wills when you stubbornly refuse his protection and Spencer remains determined to keep you safe.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst and Smut.

Word Count: 8,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of killing/murder, mentions of the reader being a target for a killer; mentions of the reader buying and using a vibrator (does not take place during the fic, more so mentioned as the reality of the ‘sex life’ of a single mom); the reader and Spencer parted on very bad terms (but the details of the situation are not yet revealed); the reader is very angry towards Spencer; the reader and Spencer argue; the reader is in denial that she is the target of a killer; there is some mention of Sebastian having similar hair to Spencer - but I don’t want that to describe or exclude the reader’s race because in the next chapter, there is a mention of Sebastian having the reader’s skin tone; mention of the reader ‘shoving’ Spencer out of anger (not hard enough to cause harm); mention of the reader owning a gun (registered with gun training) as a form of self defense; mention of the reader character celebrating a birthday - but there is no mentions of specific dates or months when the fic is set, so you can easily imagine that this takes place around your birthday (aside from mentions of holidays or seasonal weather); mentions of JJ x Will; JJ talks about her trauma regarding dogs after being attacked in 2x15; this ends in another flashback, this time including flashback sex (smut); Spencer cuts off foreplay to give the reader a birthday present - mentions of heated kissing and some groping; Spencer calls the reader ‘Princess’ (not during sex - in the context of ‘I am here to serve you like royalty’); the smut basically consists of Spencer eating the reader out. And I think that’s it for this chapter.

A/N: Okay so something I did not intend to happen - a lot of this chapter is from JJ's perspective. It just naturally started happening while I was writing it, and it was really interesting to me to write about Spencer and the reader's relationship through her eyes (especially to keep the conflict between them vague to the audience, because JJ doesn't know the details of what happened), and it's not something I did intentionally, but I really loved how it shaped the chapter, so I kept it in. Also, I really wanted to include a lot of JJ x Spencer friendship and comfort moments in the fic because (as a lot of people in the fandom have discussed) - the writers love to have the characters say that JJ and Spencer are best friends, but they don't often show it. They just show a lot of conflict between them. So I wanted to show the potential of their friendship. And I had a lot of fun exploring that. So - I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter, and definitely hope to see you come back for chapter three!!!

...

When you heard someone knock on your door, you thought it was a delivery.

You had ordered Sebastian some new educational coloring books, and some new CDs with Mozart concertos to fall asleep to, because he was getting bored of his current ones. You often felt like you couldn’t keep up with him - Sebastian was so damn smart, and you always tried to provide him with the best resources to learn. Even if he was getting to a point where he was asking for high school level chemistry text books and actually seemed to understand the material in them and you were confused about how he could comprehend any of it.

The package also could have been the new vibrator you had ordered. You weren’t sure if that package was small enough to be left in the mailbox or not. You had to roll your eyes when you thought about how pathetic your sex life had been since having Sebastian. But you couldn’t risk bringing random men through the house just for sex when you had Seb around. So battery power and smut novels, it was.

“Sorry!”

You called out, hoping the delivery person would wait, as you raced to get to the door. You hoped they wouldn’t just slip one of those ‘failed to deliver’ notes into your door handle and force you to run an extra errand with a kid under your arm. You tripped over a toy truck and cursed yourself for procrastinating cleaning up (again).

“Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-”

‘I was in my office, in the back of the house.’

The sentence died off on your tongue when you finally fumbled the door open - your mouth going numb from shock when you saw him.

Spencer Reid.

The father of your child, the man you had once loved.

Your heart raced inside your chest, your body so overwhelmed so quickly that you couldn’t even decide on an emotion.

Happiness. Joy. Lust. Longing. Sadness. Relief.

Shock.

You lingered on shock for a while as you stared at him, your eyes locked on the sight of him - wondering what the hell he was doing standing on your porch. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here?

Was he here because of Sebastian? Was he angry? He had to be angry that you hadn’t told him about Sebastian for all of these years. He had to be angry that you had given birth to his child and not told him about it.

You flickered back to lust for a moment as your eyes traced over him.

He looked good.

Somehow, he had grown up so much in just four years. He had gone from a gangly, boyish man to a full blown man. But he was somehow still so much the same. His hair had grown out a lot since you had last seen him - instead of the neatly combed, short cut you had last seen him with, it was downright wild. The chocolate brown locks were sprawling out into the thick curls that you had come to see sprouting from your own son’s head. It wasn’t a look that you were used to on Spencer, but it looked damn good on him.

He was wearing his usual leather messenger bag - probably the exact same one from years ago. And he clearly had the same dress sense, but these clothes in particular made you want to jump his bones. A lavender cardigan that complimented his skin tone so well - and his usual button up shirt and tie, along with his usual gray slacks.

You desperately wanted to blame the sting of attraction that you felt for him on the recent lack of male suitors in your life; the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. But you knew it was something else, too. Your previous attraction to him - the fact that because you had slept with Spencer before, you could still feel the ghost of his hands and tongue on your body.

How did he look so good?

He made you feel like a slob in your casual ‘work from home on a random Tuesday’ Mom clothes. If it had been your choice, he definitely wouldn’t be seeing you for the first time in years while you were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that you were sure had raspberry juice stained on it somewhere, and eyeliner that you had slopped in between traffic lights in the car that morning.

(You hated it.)

“Y/N,”

He finally broke the silence, speaking your name in that honey-sweet way.

Unfortunately, it brought you rocketing back to that night all those years ago. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like you were standing in that apartment all over again, tears in your eyes as you faced down the crashing reality that the best relationship you ever had in your life was over.

This chased out that tiny splash of lust and brought on a whole new wave of confusing emotions.

Anger. Rage. Sadness. Bitterness. More longing. Regret.

Like your brain was a spin wheel, it whirled around for a few hectic moments, and then - you landed somewhere between anger and pure rage.

And that was when you finally spoke.

“Spencer Reid.” You hissed out his name like it was pure venom, your neck aching as the blood pumped hard through your aorta.

Immediately, Spencer’s features fell from looking at you with nostalgic fondness, and fear took over his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked fiercely, this question rocketing back to the forefront of your mind.

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly to answer this question, and the rage pumped harder in your system. You found that suddenly, you didn’t want to hear whatever it was that he had to say.

You stepped through the door, easily stepping into his personal space as you came onto the porch. Without even thinking, you gave him a hard shove in the middle of his chest as you spoke your next words - much louder than you intended.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You screeched.

You let your emotions carry your actions before any sense of logic or common decency could kick in. It was resentment and heartache that you had locked away four years ago - and apparently, it had been aging like wine, only becoming more potent with time.

“You think that you can just magically show up in my life again after I specifically told you not to contact me?” You screamed. “Do you think that order has a fucking expiration date on it?”

You gave him another hard shove. Perhaps expecting to prompt an answer out of him, or wanting to shove him off the porch entirely and get him out of your life once again. Which of those it was, even you weren’t sure.

Spencer just looked at you with wide-eyed shock. Clearly, for once in his life, at a loss for words.

“You better have a good fucking reason for showing up here!” You screeched, your voice becoming so loud that it wore out your throat.

“Look, Y/N, I-” He stuttered out.

“Don’t say my name.” You hissed, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, and Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, now finding himself utterly speechless.

He definitely was not expecting this kind of reception.

The two of you became locked in an icy staring contest, neither of you speaking. Spencer found his throat too dry, and for once, his head far too empty. You were simply too angry and too stubborn to speak in those moments.

This stalemate was only broken up when JJ walked around the corner.

“Spence, Hotch just told me that the first woman doesn’t even match the-”

“JJ!” You cried out her name happily, your entire demeanor changing when you saw her.

She grinned, completely forgetting whatever news she had to report to Reid as you practically flew off the porch and ran to meet her. JJ eagerly opened her arms to hug you, and you squeezed her with all the warmth and kindness of an old friend.

Spencer felt a pang of jealousy that he wasn’t being greeted with as much affection. He knew that the last argument between the two of you had been bad, but he didn’t know it had left such a distinct impression on you. He didn’t know it had been enough to make you hate him.

When you pulled away from JJ, you looked between her and Spencer, and then it suddenly struck you.

If Spencer wasn’t here alone, that meant this wasn’t personal. He wasn’t just here to see you over some lost love, or - maybe he didn’t know about Sebastian at all. You felt a pang of guilt twist your gut because of that.

“What - what are you guys doing here?” You asked, now entirely confused, directing the question toward JJ.

JJ looked toward Spencer, and according to his ill-concealed frown, his reunion with you had not gone well. She doubted that you would take the news that you were possibly being hunted by a killer well on top of that.

“Is it alright if we come inside?” JJ asked, her voice tentative and soft. It was the same voice she usually used with victims and their families.

“Yeah.” You said, knowing there must be something big that you were missing, and hoping that you would be filled in soon enough. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

You walked back up the few steps of the porch and breezed right past Reid. You didn’t even spare a glance in his direction as you went back in through the open front door, leaving it open for the two of them with the expectation that they would close it behind themselves.

“So - I take it things didn’t go well?” JJ whispered to Spencer as she moved up onto the porch.

“Not quite.” Spencer mumbled in return before moving into the house, waiting for her to follow.

This made JJ even more curious about what had gone down between you and Spencer all those years ago.

What could have possibly made you so cold and distant toward him?

But she couldn’t just come out and ask. They had a job to do. They were there to ensure your safety against a man who had already killed five women and orphaned five children.

JJ walked into the house and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t surprised that she nearly tripped over a plastic toy truck in the entryway. Even though your son didn’t seem to be here (it was far too quiet for a small boy to be around), this was definitely a house where a child lived.

The first space that was visible to her eye - the living room, was clearly a space that belonged to a young child. There was a large, colorful play mat underneath the coffee table, and a few toys scattered over across the floor, showing that he clearly liked to have hands on play. In the corner, there was a child-sized desk with a small chair, which seemed to be surrounded by art supplies, and advanced textbooks? Some of them opened and were dotted with bright, colorful stickers. One glance told JJ that the reading material very advanced for his age clearly belonged to him.

So he very likely was Spencer’s son.

She wasn’t sure why, but that did bring a cluster of joy through her. Likely because she knew he would be so excited to have a child of his own.

JJ couldn’t help but to notice that many of the toys were Paw Patrol themed - it was a favorite show of Henry’s, too. In the back of her mind, she wondered if your son and Henry might be friends.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You huffed, rushing around with your arms half full of toys now - distracted from getting the coffee, as you had mentioned. You were clearly rushing to pick up some of the mess now that you had realized how it appeared in the eyes of your ‘guests’. “All the - stuff.”

You hesitated to say ‘toys’. Clearly, you didn’t want to bring up the subject of your son, even though the evidence of him was so visible all around. You didn’t want to give Spencer the smallest opening to start asking questions about him. It was something you wanted to avoid speaking about for as long as possible.

Spencer looked at you with a mournful look on his face as you dodged around him, purposefully avoiding eye contact while you picked up a coloring book and a handful of crayons off the couch. You still refused to look his way at all as you rushed off to stash the items away somewhere.

Clearly, he wanted to ask you more about your son, and simply ask that penultimate question: was he the father?

But now wasn’t the right time.

“It’s alright.” JJ assured you. “You can just come sit down. We really need to talk to you.”

You heaved out a sigh, defeated in your effort to clean up, and then came back from one of the other rooms. (JJ could only assume you had stashed the toys in a playroom or a closet, because much like her own home, all areas had become a domain for toys and playtime). You motioned for them to sit on the couch, and you scooted over a rocking chair from the other side of the room to sit in front of them, blocking the shut-off TV on the other side.

“So, what is it?” You asked, clearly eager and curious to know what they were doing in your home - why they had contacted you now after so many years apart.

JJ and Spencer exchanged a look, and with a gentle nod from him, JJ took the lead.

“Well, um… there’s no easy way to say this, but we believe that you might be in danger.” She told you, introducing the topic gently, while wanting to be honest and direct. “Perhaps you’ve seen it on the news? But if you haven’t… several single mothers have been killed in the area recently, and we have reason to believe that you might be the killer’s next target.”

You looked at her, entirely observant, quietly taking in her words. Your face was still and expressionless, and JJ was unsure if you were going to take this calmly and logically - if you were going to panic after you had fully absorbed the news, if you were going to cry.

After a moment of silence - you burst out laughing. Your laughter was harsh and nervous, a sound that cut through the air like the rip of a chainsaw. Clearly, it was the stark opposite of someone taking the news with tears.

“Oh my god.” You sighed, taking a breath from the non-humorous laughter. “You know that you didn’t have to make up some excuse just to come and see me, right?”

Spencer’s face curled into a deep frown. He was upset that you weren’t taking this seriously. JJ found herself in shock. Usually when people found out they were potentially on the radar of a killer, they were paranoid, afraid, questioning why.

But it was very rare to see denial.

She did take notice of the fact that you didn’t immediately ask about what kind of evidence or reasoning they had to believe that you were the killer’s next target. Perhaps if your brain let you assess that reasoning for yourself and found it to be valid, then fear would take over. And you couldn’t let that happen. So this laughter, this posturing and not taking things seriously - it was an unconscious way to protect yourself from that fear.

But JJ could only theorize about that.

“I did miss you, JJ.” You said, very pointedly looking at her while you said it. “But you could have just sent me an email or something.”

You continued avoiding Spencer’s harsh gaze as he bored holes into the side of your face with his intense, intrusive eyes.

“Look, this is serious-” Spencer began, and you cut him off.

“Okay.” You shrugged. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that there is someone trying to kill me,”

You spoke of this lightly, the words entirely condescending on your lips, as though Spencer’s theory was entirely wild and imaginative to begin with.

JJ saw the movement in his jaw as he grinded his teeth out of the corner of her eye, and she was surprised that he let you continue.

“I have an alarm system that I set every night before I go to bed.” You informed them. “I am a proud gun owner. I have a registered revolver that I keep in a lock box beside my bed and I renew my gun training every single spring.” You told them, not seeming the least bit worried at the idea of a killer hunting you down. “If someone wants to kill me, let them try. I’m sure you guys have much better ways to spend your time than sitting around here, chatting with me when there are people out there, actually in danger. People who probably need your help.”

You said this, trying to dismiss them. And then you moved to get up from your seat, looking to escape the conversation entirely. But once again, Spencer stopped you.

“That’s it?” He fired back, entirely indignant, standing from his place on the couch.

This caused you to roll your eyes and let out a hiss, your lungs deflating like an annoyed balloon as you paused in the middle of the room.

“Yes, that’s it.” You groaned back. “Look, I know it’s your job to see problems everywhere, but-”

“It’s my job to protect people.” Spencer replied, cutting you off. “And-”

“Funny!” You scoffed, your voice escalating in volume. It had turned into a full-blown argument now - you were entirely uncaring that JJ was there to witness it; Spencer was locked in your sight like the crosshairs of a scope, and you were ready to fire. “You give a shit about ‘protecting’ me now, but what the fuck happened four years ago?”

You glared harshly at Spencer, and he locked his jaw, staring right back. It turned into a poisonous silence as neither of you spoke - he didn’t have a good answer for this question. And it made JJ all the more horribly curious about what had happened between the two of you. But she didn’t need to be a psychic to sense that the two of you needed some privacy.

“Do… do you mind if I go get myself a glass of water?” She asked, tentatively standing up from her place on the couch.

“I’ll get it.” You huffed out, moving to leave the room.

“It’s okay.” JJ told you. “I can get it for myself. Just point me in the right direction.”

You motioned toward the kitchen and JJ left, and she heard Spencer hiss out something about you being stubborn, which turned into another cluster of voices. The argument turned even more personal and sour now that the both of you didn’t have a witness.

When JJ made her way into the kitchen, she was happy to see that your backyard was full of toys. A pair of sliding glass doors let her peek out to see a colorful swing set and a large playhouse, and a scattering of other toys meant that your son obviously spent a lot of time outside. She smiled to herself, trying to ignore the rising, angered sound of voices from the other room as she found a glass in one of the cabinets. When she moved to the refrigerator’s water dispenser, something along the way caught her eye.

A vase of fresh flowers was sitting on the counter.

White carnations.

It made her stomach churn ominously. It felt too perfect to be a coincidence.

She abandoned her half-full glass and grabbed the vase, walking back to the living room with it.

“You just can’t accept help from anybody, can you? How can you not understand that your life is in danger here? This man is not going to stop until-” Spencer ranted on.

He was still trying to convince you to take the threat seriously - but you were still boiling with rage over the past, blind to anything else.

“I can’t accept anyone’s help?” You scoffed, crowding into his personal space to hiss the words closer to him. “That is so rich coming from someone who-”

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting you off.

“Spence.” She got his attention from the intense gaze he was keeping on you - anger hot in his eyes even though he was staring heavily at your lips.

When Spencer looked over and saw the vase in JJ’s hands, his entire face shifted in a blink. His expression went from tight-knit anger and annoyance to ‘shit-your-pants’ worry. The danger went from being theoretical to being very real in that moment.

“Where did these flowers come from?” Spencer asked.

“What?” You gaped, so entirely confused.

“Where did you get the flowers?” He asked, rephrasing the question, his tone more urgent and demanding now.

“Why does that matter?” You replied, exasperated. You didn’t see how it was at all relevant.

“All of the women who were killed received these exact same kind of flowers within days of their death.” JJ told you. “Do you have any idea who sent them?”

“I thought my mother did.” You shrugged. “There was no name on the card. It just said ‘Happy Birthday’. She didn’t get to see me in person for my birthday, she’s traveling right now. She’s one of the only people who would send me flowers for my birthday.”

“Yes, but your mother knows that your favorite flowers are lavender and baby’s breath. Why would she send these?” Spencer replied.

Naturally, he remembered your favorite flowers.

You couldn’t get stuck on that, though. Instead, you pondered the question he posed.

Why would your mother send you white carnations without even signing the card?

It wasn’t something you had thought about. At the time, you had just thought it was considerate, and sweet. When you had called her to thank her for the flowers, you had gotten her voicemail. You had left her a message thanking her. She was away on a singles cruise with shoddy reception and she hadn’t gotten back to you yet.

“They’re just flowers.” You said, letting out another nervous chuckle - but your voice broke over this one.

Obviously the reality of things was truly starting to set in with you.

“We need to set up protective custody for you.” Spencer said, taking out his phone in order to get this done.

“No!” You snapped. “I am not having some random cops follow me around because you think I might be in danger.” You hissed angrily.

Spencer paused and stared you down, debating if he was going to go against your wishes or not, his phone still in hand.

JJ hated the look in Spencer’s eyes. That deep, bitter fear. Whatever had happened between the two of you, there was still enough care lingering there that he would fight for you no matter what. He was terrified for you. He wasn’t going to let you meet the same fate as the other victims. She knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

JJ put the vase down on the coffee table, and turned to you.

“It doesn’t have to be random cops. We can stay with you, in order to-” She started to explain, only to be disrupted by the digital ringtone of your home phone echoing through the house.

You rushed to grab the phone, and JJ heard some of the quiet conversation from you on one end.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there soon. It’s no problem. Thank you so much. Yeah, twenty minutes. Bye.”

You hung up and then rushed back into the living room - and before either of them could speak further on the matter, you rushed past them. You went to the entryway, taking off your slippers to exchange them for sneakers.

“Look, guys, I would love to stay and hang out, but I have somewhere important to be.” You huffed out.

“Seriously?” Spencer replied, entirely frustrated with you. “This isn’t some tea party. We aren’t just hanging around here for fun. Call whoever that was and tell them that you’re gonna be late. Or call and cancel, or-”

“No!” You yelled back, entirely frustrated with him. “Dammit, Spencer! People have responsibilities, you know! I have responsibilities. I am an adult, I’m not some child you can talk down to. Now get the fuck out of my house so I can lock up, and get to the important things that I have to do. Things that don’t involve wasting my time talking to you.”

You said the last part so snidely, resenting that Spencer’s unexpected visit had been part of your day.

He opened his mouth to argue against this, but JJ put a gentle hand on his shoulder, nudging him toward the door. He sighed and flexed to this movement. He angrily stormed past you to leave through the front door, which he left wide open like a toddler having a tantrum.

You grabbed your keys and your purse from a side table near the door and JJ moved to leave as well. On her way along, she put a gentle hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention.

“We’ll check back in with you later, okay?” She said, using her most gentle, non-confrontational voice.

“Sure.” You easily agreed, unable to be angry with her. “But just call, or something. There’s no need to bang down my door over some stupid flowers. It’s nothing.”

She stepped through the door and you followed. As you used your keys to lock up, you added on:

“I would give you my number, but I’m sure Penelope can find it for you in five minutes flat.”

JJ chuckled at this.

“More like two and a half, I’d say.” She replied - it was a joking tone, but she did truly think this highly of Penelope’s skills.

You smiled over your shoulder at her and she nodded before she began to walk back to the car, where Spencer was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, stewing in his anger.

When she got in beside him, they watched you pull out of the driveway and drive off before either of them spoke.

“What the hell happened between the two of you?” JJ asked, the question finally unleashing from her lips.

“It’s complicated.” Spencer huffed out in reply, tired.

In order to distract himself from all of it, he was staring down at some files in his lap - some of the case files of the other murders that he had pulled out of his bag. He needed something to do to keep his mind from churning more on the fact that you seemed to hate him. He wanted to find a way to protect you now, instead of focusing on the past.

But JJ seemed hellbent on walking backward - getting him to look back on what happened between the two of you.

“I can do complicated.” She said. “We’ve got plenty of time. We should just sit here and wait for her to come back.”

“You should go check in with Hotch.” Spencer told her, dodging around the question once again. “I’ll come back after.”

“After what?” JJ questioned, finding this wording particularly strange.

JJ started the car and pulled away, hoping that you would be safe during the time they didn’t have eyes on you. The UnSub had a particular routine - he liked to stalk his victims for a few weeks before he broke into their homes and killed them. So she hoped that he wasn’t ready to make contact with you yet. She hoped that if he did, your gun and your alarm system would be enough to deter him.

“I - I wanted to get her something nice.” He answered, sounding rather shy about this proclamation. “Like she mentioned, her birthday just passed. And, according to the preschool forms, her son’s birthday was a week ago. I want to get something for him too.”

“They have the same birthday?” JJ asked.

“Not exactly the same, but their birthdays are only five days apart.” Spencer replied. “I missed his birth.” He added on, a quiet sigh, entirely melancholic. “I missed the whole pregnancy. I - I missed everything.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.” JJ reminded him. “What happened?”

Spencer knew she was asking as a friend. He knew that of all people - she was the one to talk to about this.

“It - it was right after Hankel.” He admitted quietly. “That was when Y/N and I broke up.”

“Oh.” JJ said quietly.

The air in the car became thick as the heaviness truly overtook her.

So, it was complicated.

But she definitely couldn’t understand your rage toward Spencer.

“When I came back from Atlanta, she knew I wasn’t the same. And things - we - we fell apart.” He admitted this barely above a whisper, hesitant to even voice the words as a reality. “You knew what kind of person I was back then. I wasn’t good to her. I wasn’t good to anybody.”

Spencer let out a harsh chuckle - a defense to all the hurt he was feeling about it.

JJ spotted a sign for a shopping center, and pulled into the parking lot. She knew that Spencer likely had a good idea about buying into your good graces with a late birthday gift. Even if it wouldn’t instantly make up for everything that had happened all those years ago.

“Yeah, but you’re sober now.” She reminded him.

“She doesn’t know that.” Spencer replied.

JJ ruminated in thought for a moment.

“You know, I met Will afterwards, right?” She said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer nodded.

“It was only a few weeks after everything happened, when we were working that case in New Orleans.” She explained. “And he looked at me like I was a hero. Because I helped him finish what his father couldn’t. He didn’t look at me like I was fragile or broken. He didn’t tip-toe around me. He didn’t see me as some ghost. And that is part of the reason why I fell for him. He always saw me as this goddess. Like Superwoman.”

Spencer smiled at this.

He wanted to be that person for you. He wanted to be your Superman. (But he feared that he couldn’t live up to that. That he would fail you when the time came.)

JJ found a parking spot, and parked, but Spencer lingered - sensing there was more to the conversation.

“You know… Henry wants a puppy.” JJ’s voice shook, her throat clenching up around these words.

Spencer’s stomach shook.

He hadn’t been there, but he had seen the scars on JJ’s arms. He had seen the footage of the other poor woman being torn apart by those dogs.

“And I had to tell Will everything. How I was chased down, how I had to shoot two innocent animals - the stupid fact that I still feel guilty about it, even though they would have killed me if I hadn’t done it.” She said, her throat becoming more closed off with each word. She cleared it before she spoke again. “How I lost you, how it was all my fault.”

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault.” Spencer felt the need to say this aloud, reaching over and putting a gentle hand on her knee. She nodded at him before she continued.

“Just - it was all so overwhelming. The idea of having a dog in our house. But… I told him that I wanted to try, at least. For Henry.” JJ explained. “But when we went to the animal shelter - the sound of dogs barking… I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. And next thing I know, I’m sitting on the curb outside with my head between my knees and Will is putting a bottle of water to my lips.”

“Henry seems more like a cat person anyway.” Spencer replied, hoping this slightly humorous comment would offer some comfort to his friend.

JJ let out a tired laugh.

“He’s three and a half, I think we’re still in the stage where a goldfish is more than enough for him.” She added on.

“I - I never told Y/N.” Spencer said, suddenly shifting the conversation. JJ raised her brow, prompting further explanation of this. “I never told her what happened to me. What happened with Hankel.”

JJ gave him a sad look.

“Why not?”

“I - I didn’t want her to view me as weak. I couldn’t fight him off. I accepted the drugs. At certain points, I…. I even pitied him.” Spencer replied. “I didn’t want things to change between us. Even though they did anyway.”

“Do you still wanna be with her?” JJ asked.

“What?” Spencer gaped, not expecting the question.

“If the kid is yours, obviously you wanna be in his life. But co-parenting as separate, single people is one thing.” JJ explained herself. “Do you still want to be with Y/N? Do you still love her?”

“Yes.” Spencer replied shyly.

“Then you have to tell her everything.” JJ said firmly. “Being with someone for the long term isn’t about creating some fantasy. I fell in love with Will because he looked at me like I was Superwoman, but I stayed in love because he takes care of me when I’m powerless. You have to be weak in front of her and let her take care of you, so that you can be strong everywhere else.”

Spencer sighed - letting this wisdom fully penetrate him.

He knew that being a genius sometimes meant that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. Apparently, this was one of those times.

“You’re right.”

Then, he reached for the car door’s handle, feeling like JJ had taught him a lot with that conversation and he needed some time to think alone.

“You want me to come with you?” JJ asked. “You might need a woman’s opinion on what to get,”

“No thanks, I know Y/N pretty well.” He replied. “At least I hope I still do.” He opened the door fully and stepped out. “And I wanted some alone time, to… think all of this over. To think about what I’m gonna say to Y/N. I’m gonna walk back afterwards, the house is only a few blocks away.”

JJ nodded.

“I should check back in with Hotch.” She noted. “See if they found anything with the other women on the list. Otherwise, all we’ve got is the flowers.”

Just as he moved to close the door again, JJ spoke up one last time.

“Rubble.” She said suddenly - which sounded very strange with no context.

“What?” Spencer asked, ducking his head down to see inside the car to potentially hear her words better.

“Rubble - it’s a character from the kids’ TV show, Paw Patrol.” She explained. “There was about five action figures of him sitting on the living room floor back there. So I would assume that he’s your son’s favorite character.”

Spencer’s chest jumped at the way she said ‘your son’ - so casually.

He could really have a child in his life. This could really be his future.

If he played his cards right, this could be his future with you.

“Thank you, JJ.” Spencer grinned at her.

She smiled back and he stood up to his full height and closed the car door, walking off into the shopping center by himself.

And of course, his thoughts drifted back to you.

He thought back to the last time he had spent your birthday with you. Before Hankel, before all the madness. Before everything good in his life slipped through his fingers and he was left feeling so alone.

…

For someone with basically no serious relationships under his belt before you came along, Spencer was excellent when it came to romance.

Perhaps it was because he spent his time reading the classics - he could recite Elizabethan poetry off by heart, he could whisper epic romantic ballads in your ear before kissing you with such intense passion that it left your head spinning. He had such a perfect picture of what romance should be, and it meant that he knew how to plan a date that left you feeling like a queen.

Every single time he took you out, he made you feel like you were the only woman on earth - like he would move the seas and the sky just to show you how much he cared.

And because he insisted that your birthday should be a day all about you - a day dedicated to celebrating you - then this was certainly no different.

The night had been a whirlwind of perfection.

After dinner at a gorgeous fine dining restaurant downtown, Spencer then drove the two of you to an art gallery to stroll around. He cited that he wanted you to have some down time for your food to settle before he gave you your present. From the spark in his eye, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what that present would be. The whole evening was so utterly beautiful and peaceful. And like everything with Spencer - it was a pleasant enrichment of the mind, looking at art while he told you things about the artists or the origins of the paintings.

Before you got halfway through the gallery, he checked his watch and told you that it was ‘just about time’ for your present, and then he drove you back to his apartment.

The two of you barely made it through the door before you had him pinned against it, your mouth enveloping his in a hot, desperate kiss. You were so utterly grateful to have such a romantic, thoughtful man in your life.

The entire evening had been nothing but a reminder of that - the way he looked at you with love so pure in his eyes. Him opening doors for you, keeping his hand on your lower back to usher you gently around, speaking lowly to you as though his words were precious and only meant to be yours.

You needed him. You needed to show him how much you appreciated all of it. You needed him to know how much of a treasure he was in your life.

You reached for his belt and Spencer let out a choked off moan into your mouth.

You were surprised when he reached for your wrist, gently pulling your touch back - stopping you from unfastening the belt as he pulled his now slightly swollen lips away from your kiss.

“As - as much as I want to,” He huffed out against your mouth. “I - I still have to give you your present.” He noted, flashing you a smile.

“I thought this was my present.” You replied, reaching down to grope Spencer’s half hard cock through his pants.

He let out a groan; but then he reached for your wrist again, pulling your touch back.

“I - I promise - later - afterwards? Later tonight.” He stuttered out, hard pressed to focus as more blood rushed to his cock.

Spencer puzzled you. You had never known any other man to interrupt foreplay for something other than sex, unless it was life or death. But it made you very curious about what your present was and why he was so desperate to give it to you.

And sex was still on the table, so that panging need between your legs would be taken care of eventually.

You hummed in ascent and stepped back, releasing Spencer from where you had him pressed against the door. He gulped in a large breath of air before he moved across the room.

You were surprised when he didn’t move to turn on any lights in the apartment, leaving the two of you settled in comfortable darkness. The only lights being the light from the bathroom that he had left on before leaving, shining down the hall, and the dim lighting coming in the windows - some street lights and the occasional passing car’s headlights.

Spencer shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over the back of the couch on his way toward the window. He yanked up the blinds in front of the space where he had set up a very expensive, advanced, gorgeous telescope - one that had been there the last few times you had visited. Astronomy was one of his many hobbies, and he often invited you to view different stars or passing comets. It was just one of the many things you learned from him - knowledge you absorbed from being around him that made you feel infinitely smarter.

You always indulged in the joy of feeling smarter just from being in his presence. You loved that Spencer was someone so gifted who loved to share his knowledge, rather than gatekeeping it or being snide toward others who weren’t as privileged as him. It was just another thing to love about him - the fact that he was so kind in sharing his big brain with others.

You watched him with intrigue while you took your wrap off your shoulders and tossed your purse onto the couch. Enjoying the quiet and the peaceful darkness and watching him work, you moved to sit on the arm of the couch to begin unstrapping your heels.

He checked his watch again, and then looked to a small side table he had near the telescope. He flipped open a notebook that he had there, and you supposed that the minimal light coming in through the window was enough for him to see whatever it was that he had written there. He adjusted the telescope slightly, then looked at the notebook again, then adjusted the telescope again.

Then he said ‘aha, there you are’ under his breath, grinning widely to himself.

The entire thing made your insides glow with curiosity.

Spencer then turned back to you, still grinning widely. When he noticed your shoe half-hanging off your foot, he stepped over to you and softly grabbed your ankle, sliding your shoe off the entire way before gently rubbing the sole of your foot.

“Let me help you with that, Princess.” He said quietly, before moving to take the shoe off your other foot.

Again, your insides tingled as he made you feel like you were the most important woman on earth.

“Thank you.” You replied, almost speechless at the action.

“If you’ll step right this way, I can show you your present.” He said, motioning toward the telescope with a dramatic flare.

You let out a giggle as you stepped over your abandoned shoes and moved to look into the telescope.

You wondered if he had written some poem and taped it onto the other end of the lens or something like that (it was Spencer, it must have been something epically romantic). But as you bent down and closed one eye to get a good look, it was entirely ordinary.

The telescope was focused on a single, tiny star.

It was beautiful, but it was very… plain. And more than anything, it was confusing.

Your present was… a star?

“Spencer, I don’t really get it?” You sighed, standing up to your full height once again.

“I got you a star.” He said proudly, grinning even wider now.

When you stared at him with more intense confusion, Spencer reached over to the notebook and pulled something out. After he handed it to you, you leaned into the light of the window and studied it carefully.

It was a certificate stating that Spencer had paid to name the star after you.

He had literally changed the night sky for you.

“Oh my god.” You gasped quietly.

You felt so overwhelmed.

If he had made you feel like the most important woman in the world before, then now - you felt like the most important woman in the galaxy.

“Spencer, this is - this is too much.” You said, your throat clenching up slightly due to the intensity of the emotions.

“No, it’s not.” He said firmly, reaching out and putting a hand on your jaw, tilting your face up from looking at the certificate to look at him.

There it was again, all of it spelled out in his eyes - the adoration, the pure, overwhelming affection that he felt for you. It bloomed nothing but those same feelings in return from you. It was almost so overwhelming that you felt like you could have exploded from how much love you felt for this man, all of it swelling inside of you so quickly that you felt like your body couldn’t contain it. Like it was a sickness that was going to overrun your body if you weren’t careful.

“Spencer.”

His name swelled in your throat like that throbbing love, and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss. Because of course, words weren’t enough. You smothered him with your mouth, trying desperately to communicate every ounce of passion and gratefulness you were feeling with the heat of that kiss.

Spencer held you, engulfing both your cheeks with his large, warm hands, kissing you back with just as much intensity.

Both of you lingered there for a few moments, savoring each other’s lips, mingling in each other’s breath.

You were disappointed when Spencer pulled away.

“There is something else.” He told you, a bit of glee edging on his voice.

“What?” You gaped, shocked by this.

“There’s something else I have to give you. Another part of your present.” He clarified, pulling back completely - likely in order to fetch this thing.

You let out a breath. You weren’t sure how this magnificent man could possibly do more.

You placed the certificate for the star down on the table where Spencer had kept it. Later, you would take it home and have it framed, wanting to display it proudly. You could imagine yourself putting it up in the front of your home when you eventually moved in with Spencer. You could put it next to your marriage certificate; eventually, put next to wedding photos when the two of you eventually got married. (And sometime later, it would be hanging alongside photos of you and Spencer with your kids. You tingled, realizing that this was the first time you had ever thought of having kids with him, but it fit so well. It seemed right.)

The thought made you tingle.

You could truly imagine yourself having a life with Spencer. Standing proudly because this was just the beginning of it. He truly felt like ‘the one’ you had always been waiting for.

“Here.”

Spencer’s voice pulled you from your plethora of dreamy thoughts, and you turned to see him holding a velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat at the passing thought that it might be the box - but no. Now wasn’t the time. The two of you had only been dating for a year and a half. And while you were so deeply in love, you knew that it was a bit haste to assume that he was ready for marriage when you were his first serious girlfriend. You were still both so young.

He opened the lid and you let out a small gasp when you saw it.

It was a simple, elegant silver necklace. The pendant was a four pointed star, with a small, dainty stone in the middle. You easily recognized it as your birthstone, meant to represent the fact that he had given it to you on your birthday. And obviously the star pendant as a whole represented that he had also gifted you a literal star in the sky on that same day.

“Spencer, it’s so beautiful.” You said, utterly breathless.

“Traditionally, the four pointed star is believed to represent the designation of a goal. It marks one’s great endeavors, because it seems to point to the four cardinal directions. This star is meant to guide someone, like a map - the way that sailors used the stars to guide their path.”

Spencer explained, knowledgeable as he always was.

“I - I chose this for you because… well, because when I met you, I felt as though I had accomplished great things in all areas of my life, except for one. Academically, I was satisfied. In my career, I was happy. But when it came to matters of the heart… I was utterly clueless. And when I found you… it felt like you were my guiding star. Like you were the person I had been waiting for to finally show me - show me the meaning of love.”

“Oh, Spencer.” Your voice cracked around these words, barely able to form them. “Oh, honey. I love you so much. Thank you.”

It was all your mind could gather at the moment. It wasn’t the first time you had said it to him, but it was certainly one of the most intense.

“I love you too.” He replied. Through the dimness, you could almost see tears forming in his eyes. “You truly make me so happy.”

Spencer then cleared his throat harshly, wanting to clear away his intensely emotional tears.

“Can - can I put it on you?” He asked shyly, motioning with the necklace in its box.

“Of course.” You grinned. “I’d love that.”

You turned around and Spencer took it out of the box, fiddling with the dainty clasp for a moment before he put it around your neck and then did it up for you. It felt so right around your neck. It felt like his love was being carried with you. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t want to take it off anytime soon. You could easily imagine yourself feeling so proud to answer whenever random strangers or your co-workers asked where it was from.

When it was secured around your neck, Spencer leaned in and laid a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against the chain. This simple act reminded you of that needy throb between your thighs; of what you had been wanting so badly the moment you had come in the door.

“So…” He whispered against your neck. “What else does the birthday girl want?”

“I can think of a few things.”

That was how you ended up with your back pressed against the softness of the couch - too impatient to even make it to the bed - with your dress pushed up around your waist, your panties tossed somewhere in the middle of the living room rug. Spencer’s glasses were pressed up onto his forehead while his knees dug into that same rug, his fingers splayed across your thighs, holding you open to makeway for his tongue.

He ate you out with all of the intensity and passion that he had kissed you with - moaning into your pussy as though he was singing directly to the gods.

“Fuck, Spence.” You moaned, raking your hands through his hair, holding him close - not that he would want to pull away for even a second.

He loved your taste more than anything in the world, and he savored every second that he got the privilege of being on his knees for you. He moaned into your pussy, loudly, almost pathetically - hot echoes coming from his lungs as though he was the one being pleasured. He laved his tongue across you with an open jaw, drinking in as much of you as possible while your thighs quaked around his head. Your nails dug into his scalp and he only moaned harder, loving the sound of your needy whines and your gasping breaths as your clit throbbed under his tongue.

Spencer hummed in delight while he bounced your clit on his tongue, loving the feeling of that sweet little bead throbbing against him; loving your taste, loving your echoing moans. Loving how much he could bring you pleasure.

“Fuck, Spence, so close!”

He put his lips around you and sucked then, holding you gently against him by the hips. He couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of your body quaking against his face while your orgasm overtook you. It was overwhelming and beautiful and warmed your whole body - just like the love you felt for him.

He pulled away after a moment, when he was sure that he had seen you through to the satisfying end, and he grinned against the mound of your pussy.

“Happy birthday, pretty girl.”

…

After the break-up, Spencer often looked up to the sky and thought about you.

On the nights when your star was in place overhead, he felt a particular pang in his chest. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wondered if you were safe. He spent many nights staring out his telescope, wondering if you were happy, blanketed under that inky sky.

You thought about the star sometimes, too.

You thought it was a lot like your relationship with Spencer. Placing all of your hopes and dreams onto something already dead - something where the light had died out long ago.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Three - Turn It Off

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Note

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.

Everything would be done if another city fell.

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life.

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.

Your face gains heat.

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”

You weren’t going to stop until you found it.

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices.

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.

The man forces a weak huff.

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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fuckmyskywalker · 9 months

Text

Pussy pleaser — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut! Anakin eating pussy, Anakin worshipping it, fucking it, basically existing just to eat cunt. Slay. (I may have overused the word "pussy" but hey, can you blame me?). — BASED OFF THIS THOUGHT I HAD AFTER BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. || WC: 1.2k – Not proofread :P.

— A/N: IMPORTANT! I tried not to use a specific pronoun to refer to reader's vAGINA because I know some people that wanted a larger version of this don't go by she/her pronouns! I hope I did it well and if I missed something please let me know! Your opinion matters to me 🫶🏻. Woops, what's missing here?! ;)

Anakin is an exceptional lover, but if there's something he lacks… is patience.

Especially when it comes to you.

After a rough day, after a good day, to cheer up after some bad news, to celebrate after some good news, after the council either scolded/congratulated him… Anakin always ends his day buried in between your thighs. It doesn't even matter how, if it is his cock, his tongue, his fingers— As long as your pussy is involved, he’s in, figuratively and literally speaking.

But like I said, his patience is little to none, and it shows. Anakin will not only overwork you, overstimulate you and completely ravish your sweet pussy at any given chance, time and place— but he also will give you a short time to even accommodate and keep up with his passionate urges. His large hands start caressing your thighs, trying to hold himself back every time but failing miserably, he will pry them apart slowly, trying to savor the moment (mostly for himself), tracing your skin with practiced ease. He knows every curve, every freckle and mole, Anakin has memorized every inch of your body and he is proud to know what makes you crumble and beg for more.

Anakin tries to be gentle, but having your heavenly offer just inches away within his reach and not be buried deep inside you is a crime. He licks your pussy until you have no idea if you are this wet because of the arousal he provoked on you or his own spit.

Which, let me add to the list how disgusting he is sometimes: Anakin is filthy, and his devotion to you only seems to make his obsession even worse. One of his favorite activities is parting your lips with his thumb, before licking a long, lazy stripe from your entrance to your clit— and then spit right on your cunt. He will throb like a horny teenager, he will hump the mattress of the cheap beds in the Jedi Temple like a desperate bitch while watching how his saliva slides and mixes with your own wetness.

Speaking of his obsession, Anakin lives, fights and comes back home every day for you, of course… but for your pussy too. His favorite breakfast, meal and dinner. His favorite treat and his favorite prize.

Countless times you had laid down on the bed, legs open wide like a cheap whore from a dirty brothel straight from the most dark, disgusting corners of Coruscant, with his head buried in between them, tugging on his blonde curls moaning and grinding his nose against your clit for him to mumble something so quietly you mistake it with an insect flying across the room.

“I missed you.” He whispered, his blown out irises fixated on your pussy. “My pretty thing.”

The first time it felt flattering. It was nice to know your boyfriend missed you so much. You ignored him, thinking he was just eager.

The second time, it was the same.

Same quiet murmurs, same praises: “God, I can’t get enough of you…” Anakin had his eyes closed, sucking on your clit and pausing every now and then to whisper sweet words to you.

Sure, to you.

Over and over, you gobbled up his praises, his need, his lust for you. Anakin had the power to push you to heavens, to reduce you to a blabbering puddle, to lit up your darkness fantasies, so why stop him? He sounds like he’s enjoying himself, and who are you to deny him such pleasure?

There's always a breaking point though.

Remember how I mentioned how impatient Anakin is? Well, this time it didn't worked on your favor. Instead of prepping your pussy, allowing you to have a nice, slippery stretch to be able to fit his thick cock without any discomfort, Anakin couldn't wait. It wasn't particularly painful, but a sharp sting was there, something momentarily but significant. Anakin bottomed out, groaning loudly at how tight your pussy was in that moment, his horny, selfish mind not being able to register his lack of consideration.

“You are tighter than usual.” He huffed, his fingers digging in the supple flesh your waist. You tried to protest, to tell him he didn't stretch you first, but he began to trust relentlessly, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

Every complaint quickly died in your throat, replaced by moans of pleasure and delight. Even if it felt amazing, your pussy was still struggling to accommodate to his size, and Anakin, the little shit, was in heaven.

“You missed me? You missed my cock pretty thing? Missed me using you like a toy?”

Despite your blissful state, something about his words just seemed… off.

Almost as if he wasn't talking to you.

Anakin’s hips slammed against yours again and again giving you no break at all. Your hands had to grab the edge of the wooden bed frame at some point, the discomfort of his girth now long forgotten. He hovered over you, staring at your pretty, glassy eyes, watching them roll back, silently beg him for more and then looked downwards, locking his devil eyes with your pussy. If there was something Anakin would never, ever, not in a million years get tired of, was the breathtaking view he had every time he had the privilege to witness how your tight little hole struggled to keep him inside, as if your delightful, hot cunt was desperately trying to keep him inside forever.

“Fuck… I missed you too, wish I could stay inside all fucking day.” His incessant gibberish began to have an effect on you, your hazy mind slowly putting the pieces together.

“Anakin—” You called him with such a tone that he snapped out of his trance.

“Yes?” He asked, not stopping his movements, just slowing them.

Next, a question you never imagined asking. Your sweaty, flushed face had a hint of confusion, a pretty valid confusion.

“…Are you talking to my pussy?”

Anakin froze, looking almost— guilty?

“What if I am?” He answered your question with another question, something you hated.

“Anakin, answer the question.” You sighed, waiting for his answer as if you two weren't naked on his bed, him buried balls deep inside of you.

Your boyfriend pouted, was he really throwing a tantrum? “Maybe.” He whispered. In response, you laughed quietly trying not to ruin the moment. It wasn't odd, probably a bit perverted and a bit— hot? The fact that Anakin was so in love with your pussy he treated it as if it was another whole being worth his wholehearted attention.

“I think it’s… hot” Your words were followed by a shrug, staring at him, batting your eyelashes.

Giving him that look.

And if Anakin Skywalker isn’t the most patient person in the Galaxy, he certainly is the designated pussy pleaser of the Galaxy.

He pounced again, wasting less than five seconds to resume his reckless assault on your poor, overworked pussy. “See?” He practically growled, his teeth sinking in his lower lip, curving into a wicked smile. “This tight, little cunt missed my big cock so much.” He is on full rampage mode, fucking you brainless.

“Feel how I stretch your tiny hole, angel?”

“Look at you, is my cock too big for you?”

One hand let go of your hip, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks, breaking eye contact with your bodies merged into one and forcing you to look at him. His face was inches away from yours, his hot breath hit your face and a string of drool falling from his lips landed on your lower lip. The fire in his eyes was incomparable.

“This pussy belongs to me, not you, do you hear me?”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skwalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin eating pussy like a champ.

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mockerycrow · 11 months

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Hey hey, can I request the 141 boys + König's reaction to a random soilder slapping fem! Reader's ass, preferably platonic! where they see reader as a sister. Thank you your work is *chef's kiss*

141 + König’s Reaction to Fem!Platonic!Reader’s Ass Slapped By Rando

cod masterlist

I’m having a 400 follower celebration!!

A/N: I feel ehhh about this one, but rest assured that i tried!! also, all characters are aware you can defend yourself. they are just protective.

You were talking with him softly, leaning an arm on the nearby counter with your hips jetted out. You laughed at something he said, your head tilting to the right for a moment before there’s a loud smack! you make a panicked noise and turn around quickly and you’re met with the face with a young man with a smug face, with an expression like he did something that you liked. Your eyebrows furrow and you prepare to give the young man an ass whooping when he swoops in.

-> John Price

“Keep your bloody hands to yourself, soldier!” Oh, Price is fucking fuming. He doesn’t stand for workplace harassment and unwanted touching for anyone, this is the fucking military—not a place to try to hookup.

Price does not let the man get a word in, even when the man is stuttering out his apologies—that are ordered by Price, by the way—and he drags him out of the kitchen area to file an official report of his behavior.

He subtly threatens the man, ensuring that if this behavior continues, “you will be dealt with. I will promise you on that.”

Price is very aware that you can handle yourself, but he just was not in the mood.

-> Kyle Garrick

He’s seething and Kyle doesn’t hesitate to push the man away from you, shouting, “Have you gone absolutely mad?!”

It does not matter if this man ranks above Kyle, he throws ranks out the window by this point, yelling about how he’s disgusting. “You’re acting like a bloody chav, get ahold of yourself!”

You’re so convinced Kyle is about to punch this guy, but he shows a good amount of self-restraint, spitting another insult through gritted teeth, voice low, “Next time you’re being dodgy, I’m throwing you to the fuckin’ wolves.”

-> John MacTavish

He pushes himself between you and the offender, an unhappy and unamused look prickling at his features. He has a faux-smile, his lips tight and uncomfortable. He laughs and claps a hand down on the man’s shoulder, making the man wince from the force.

“Buddy!” Soap calls him, his tone edging onto unsettling happiness. He’s absolutely furious because no one deserved unwanted touching. Soap sees you as a little sister and he’s always been protective of his little family. the 141

He leans in and whispers something to the man, causing all of the color to drain from the guy’s face and he runs off, causing you to glance at Soap. “What did you tell him?”

Soap just offers you a cheeky smile. “Oh, y’know, If he decides ta’touch anyone like that ever again, I’ll make sure that he physically cannot.”

-> Ghost

Ghost immediately pulls rank, right away. He isn’t the type to do it really, but this is absolute unacceptable behavior. His voice is dripping venom and is rough as sandpaper, nearly snarling with every word—yet keeping a calm composure at the same time.

“Go outside and dig a hole. Don’t stop until it’s as deep as your height.” “W.. What? Sir..—“ “Do not make me repeat myself. Go on.”

He 100% uses PT (physical training) as a punishment on these types of guys, and ordering him to dig a hole is a task laced with humiliation.

His glare screams “I’ll kill you if you touch her again, and I’m not joking”. Ghost is very protective of the ones he cares about, and that includes you,

-> König

Using his size to his advantage, he looms over the man with a deadly glare, the rumors you’ve heard—the terrifying man that belongs on the battlefield? That very man appears in the common kitchen that night.

He’s also the type to pull rank—and this is one of those times no one realizes he’s a Colonel until he mentions it and absolutely does if the guy talks back to him. “What did you just say to me?”

König snarls with every word, berating the man’s behavior, asking him if he would like that done to him or any woman in his life, etc.

You would have to hold this fucker back from actually hurting him, or else you’d end up with König on a two week suspension.

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jaylaxies · 3 months

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HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

Rival skater!Sunghoon who always keeps you on your toes, never lets you sit down or relax by any means cause you can’t risk him being even one percent better than you, especiallyy with the annual competitions coming up. You hated the smirk he had on his face as he skated past you, doing his usual warm ups on the ice, and soon, it turned into the usual race between you both, and you were the winner this time, by less than a second.

“I see you’re ready to lose this time, Park,” you mocked, your smile vibrant as he scowled, stopping right in front of you, lips pink with cold, head held high despite his unofficial loss.

“Overconfidence is not hot, darling,” he points out. The arena was empty, minus you both—always doing the most to get even a sliver of extra practice in hopes of beating the other one.

“Don’t be a sore loser now,” you coo, and he scoffs, backing you up against the support railings, his cold finger tip on your chin making you look up at him in question, his mouth parted enough for you to get a glimpse of his sharp canines, the dim lights of the arena casting an attractive sort of shadow on his face, making you shut up automatically as you observed him.

“It’s cute that you think you’ll win tomorrow,” he started, “but that won’t happen with me being your rival,” he said, smirking and you rolled your eyes at his own display of overconfidence.

“What if I do win?” You asked, deadpanning, causing him to click his tongue, “then I won’t come close to you, ever,” he whispers, making you look up at him in surprise, “but if I win—I’ll have you as close to me as possible for the whole night,” he proposed.

“What the fuck, Park?”

“Scared you’ll lose?” He chuckles, pushing all your right buttons.

“Fine, we have a deal,” you said, looking at him one last time before skating away with your heart beating faster than ever.

There wasn’t much time to practice, granted the competition took place the very next day. You had won in your respective categories already, leaving the final round, which was the main event. All skaters were lined up for the last race, and the majority of the audience had come to watch the final rundown between you and Sunghoon, which made you want to do better.

“Good luck,” Sunghoon winked your way right before the race started.

You were determined, but Sunghoon’s determination skyrocketed, given that he had to win the bet—to have you in his arms, in his bed.

Which brings you here, right in his cozy bedroom with his gold medal resting on your chest, the cold metal juxtaposing the warmth of your skin, and his body on top of you. He kissed you all over, making you wear the medal he won—winning the bet and driving you back home with him without any delays after the award ceremony.

“You’re so pretty when you just shut up and take it like a good kitten,” he praises, snapping his hips to meet yours in a rushed thrust, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, he rolls his body fluidly as if already in sync with every movement of yours as his cock reached the deepest spots in you, making you feel good no matter how much you tried not to let it show on your face.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped out, only boosting his never ending ego with your whimpers of need, and he complied, “wasn’t planning on to,” he groaned, caressing your cheek gently before wrapping his slender fingers around your neck, fucking you hard as you arched your back and moaned for him, exactly how he wanted you to.

“So pretty,” he murmured, your cheeks heating up at his sudden compliment, paired with no other snarky remark when he pulled out, and then eased back in, his cock twitching just as your pussy clenched around him, signalling that you both were close, however, he wasn’t done with you, not yet.

Because tonight, he was the winner, and you, his reward.

#ria:thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #kpop smut #sunghoon x reader #enha smut #enhypen hard thoughts

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aireia · 2 months

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pretty. — shopping for your wedding gown went a little wrong.

tw/cw: tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, fluff/crack, reader wears a dress + satoru calls them his future wife —masterlist

you smile and place your palms under your chin, wondering how you got to this point. your snowy haired fiancé is currently twirling around with a custom tailored wedding gown… which he wasn’t going to be wearing on your wedding day anyway, because he would never hear the end of it from his first year trio. okay, yuji probably wouldn’t have said anything, but nobara and megumi would bully him out of his own wedding. without a doubt, 100 percent.

your mind tried running through the events that had unfolded over the past two weeks, finally stopping at where everything started.

“pretty.”

those were the only words that satoru gojo had to say the moment the both of you had found the perfect wedding dress for you. detailed right down to the final bits of the dress, it matched you perfectly with your favourite flowers weaved into the design, just the perfect length… it was everything you were looking for.

the sound of your soft laughter brought him out of his awestruck expression. “thank you, but as much as i love it, it feels just a little uncomfortable.” you sounded a little disappointed, and satoru couldn’t help but notice every little shift and movement you made… especially that mischievous look in your eyes and grin plastered on your face the moment you thought of a ‘solution.’

“maybe you should be the one in a dress at our wedding. i’m sure the strongest can handle a little bit of discomfort.”

now, you and gojo had known each other for probably more than a decade. he knew better than anyone else that you were joking. but you were basically challenging him with that last sentence, right?

he abruptly stood up from the couch he was sitting on once you had gotten to changing out of the wedding gown before marching off to one of the nearby employees and asking about any dresses his size, only to be met with the response of, “this is an unusual request, but there are quite a few dresses that would compliment you-” the employee coughed a few times before continuing, “-but we are closing soon, so there might not be enough time to try them on-”

“i'll take all of them.”

“pardon?”

“including the one my future wife chose. okay thanks!”

the total came up to about 1.2 million yen. for a dress for you and those 3 gowns the employee picked out, it horrified everyone present at the counter. everyone but him, of course.

back to present time, that’s how you found yourself being the one and only audience member for your beloved’s fashion show. for a good reason, you wanted to chew him out for spending that recklessly. then again, this is the same guy who decides to buy two of the same items no matter how expensive it is “just in case the other one goes missing.”

you sigh softly before turning your attention back onto him. he’s currently trying on the final dress, and has finally got rid of the sunglasses. you can’t help but admit that he actually looks good in the dress, sparkling with all the right types of gems and jewels, paired with his now visible long eyelashes, he looks pretty.

“so? how do i look!!?” satoru asks with enthusiasm, spinning around you in circles.

“hmm, maybe i should be the one wearing your suit that day instead,” you jokingly say to him. he understood, laughing before ruffling your hair.

“as if i’d let you.” a comfortable silence filled the air afterwards, being broken afterwards by satoru confessing, “i dream of seeing you wearing that in front of me at the altar, you know?”

your eyes at this. you weren’t expecting him to say something like that so sudden.

“i can wear it at night when-” satoru’s sentence was cut off by a light punch to his gut.

“hell no.”

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

@rninies still can't write fluff unfortunately, writing this fried my brain

#signed by aireia!#gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader

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talesofesther · 3 months

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first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

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The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

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Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

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It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

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You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

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Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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