#you can't keep dragging that dead weight around

[astrangerlately]

#you can't keep dragging that dead weight around #letting go #growth #this too shall pass #lyrics #ok go #of the blue colour of the sky #ok go lyrics #you #2 #self

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

you can join my taglist by clicking here!!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #x reader #gn!reader #shadowheart #wyll

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER ONE - school, life, and a punch to the face TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC) MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

If hell is real, you’re pretty sure you’re dead.  

Time drags on; seconds feeling more like hours and hours feeling like an eternity—punctuated only by the shriek of the occasional bell.  It’s a familiar limbo you’ve grown to tune out in favor of your daydreaming, interrupted only by the end of a period or the sound of your name being called from across the room.  Your pencil taps idly against the desk with the beat of your heel against the floor.  Untied shoelaces pull taught under your feet when you shift to lean forwards, squinting at the equations scribbled across the whiteboard by a wrinkled, dark hand.  Numbers and letters swirl together.

Mrs. Hall.  An elderly, frail, equally as tired woman—worn down by decades of bullshit brought on by stubborn, unmotivated students much like the kids behind you, whispering and snickering in a way that made your eye twitch with deep irritation.  Still, you’re not much better, your mind lost in thought staring at rain that pounds against the ground of upstate Texas until the sound of your name stirs you from the depths of your own brain.  When you look up, confused, Mrs. Hall stares back at you with an expecting stare—and a few students are turned around to stare at you.

You’re also pretty sure if hell is real—it's the American Public School System.

“Uh…”

“The three X’s in number five,”  Mrs. Hall taps the equation on the board with the marker.  “On the homework.”

“Right.  Sorry,”  your tired eyes flicker down to the chicken scratch on the paper in front of you, scanning the crumpled paper for the answer you hastily scribbled down earlier that day.  “Three, square root of two, and negative one?”

“Incorrect.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, scratching at your neck as you try and fail not to notice when one of the boys behind you stops whispering mid-sentence and stares daggers into the back of your neck.  Shit.  Fuck.

That’s the last time you do someone else’s algebra homework.  Math, in all its forms, was your academic Achilles heel.

The rest of fourth period escapes you.  After what feels like a lifetime and a half of talking and scribbling on your paper, the bell rings out across the classroom.  Like Pavlov’s dogs—the students instinctually rush to life—shoving chairs and throwing backpacks over their shoulders, eager to get on with the day.

You're quick to sweep your things into your backpack and high-tail it towards the door of the classroom before a certain boy behind you can notice you've left already.

Mrs. Hall says your first name again.  You stop in your tracks, not missing how your fellow student sends you an angry look as he strides past to leave—crumpling the homework you did for him the night before to add to the effect.  He must be telepathic, because you swear you can hear his voice without him even saying anything.

"You're dead."

Your feet shuffle towards the door, "can't talk, gonna be late—"

"I'll write you a pass."

"I have lunch next, though."

"No you don't."  Mrs. Hall scoffs, shooting you an unamused look from over her rectangular glasses.  "You think I don't know your schedule by now?"

You awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the next,  "worth a try."

"Sit,"  she gestures beside her.

You hesitate, almost arguing further, but you sigh instead.  Getting lectured actually sounded much better than whatever hell waited for you out in the hallway the second you walked outside.  You let your backpack fall from your shoulders as you drag it over with you to collapse into the chair beside your teacher's desk.  Your eyes flicker up to where her frail hands card through some papers.  

"You graduate in two months, dear."  She reminds you, as if you haven't been scratching the tallied days into a spare notebook like you're on death row.  "Your test scores are average but all the homework seems to be…lacking.  If you even do it at all."

Average.  A word that's been thrown around a lot regarding your name, which you intended to stick with.  Average meant nobody would stick their nose in your business—that you could blend in with the crowd and avoid any and all weird glances and low whispers.  You made the mistake of showing off once, to snap back at your dickhead classmate; only to end up doing his bidding for the rest of the semester.

You figure Mrs. Hall won't take very well to being told that the reason you aren't completing your homework is because you're too busy doing Ben Davis's under the threat that he won't smash your face against the lockers again.  Broken noses are a special level of hell, but it still isn't as low as the torture that is highschool.

"Maybe I joined some sports,"  you quip sarcastically.  "Don't have as much time as I used to."

She only deadpans at you.

You stare innocently back at her.  If you play dumb enough, maybe she'll finally give up.

"I'm not attacking you.  Just worried.  If you need some extra time because—"  she lowers her voice and the bracelets around her tiny wrist jingle as she waves it about,  "---because of your family life, or anything…I'm willing to give it to you."

Your brow lowers, annoyance beginning to nip at your nerves as you sit up a little straighter.

Pity.  You've long grown tired of it.  You weren't some fragile orphan—no.  You were an adult who, in two months, would finally be free from the clutches of your frustrated social worker and the slew of whatever excited, naive couples the system dumped you on.  People have been tip-toeing around you your whole life, and it never fails to make your fists clench.

"My grades are average, you said,"  you say, stern—poking the score on one of your tests with a pointer finger.  "I don't need help."

"I don't doubt you don't need help, sweetheart.  But you're a smart kid.  Really smart, if you put the effort in.  I'm just saying if you ever need any extra—"

"I'm fine.  If you really wanna help, you won't make me late to my next class."

Mrs. Hall seems to freeze, stunned at the bite her otherwise quiet student seems to bear.  The clock ticks above your head, the rain pitters against the window outside and, for a moment, shame floods your senses; but it fades as the seconds pass and that concerned look on her face deepens.

You're the first to look away, picking up your pack and turning for the door.  "See you tomorrow, Mrs. Hall."

"Wait."

You stop, tossing your head back with a sigh.  "What?"

"Tie your shoes, sweetheart,"  she says, her voice kind as she turns away to tap your stack of tests on the desk.  "You'll trip walking around like that."

You only frown and duck out the door.

The rest of the school day passes in a familiar haze.  You space out throughout two of your classes, goof off for the rest, and get your shit handed to you the second school is out.  Ben takes the time to lecture you as well after he levels you in one punch—and you sit rubbing your jaw, bored, as he goes on and on about how you did that shit on purpose and next time, you're fucking dead.

He needed a perfect score to pass the class.  In a low moment of pain, you promised it to him despite the fact that your algebra skills had much to be desired.  Still, with a little bit of extra effort—you managed to make it through most of the second semester without a black eye.  

You're the one that always bleeds; but a part of you finds it funny how he always finds a way to talk himself into angry tears, storming off somewhere distant while kids scramble to get out of his way to avoid the same fate as you.

And, as always, you pick yourself up, wipe the blood from your face onto the sleeve of your jacket—and walk away.

Because that's all you can do.

The rain settles deep in your clothes as you make your way home, music loud in your earbuds.  It's silent and gray, as it has been all week, and your thoughts are mere static as you drag your feet back to your front doorstep.  Your bed is calling for you after such a shitty day and the bruise forming on your left eye is just making the blankets seem all the more welcoming.

You barely notice how your door is already unlocked when you enter.

Inside, the house is just as silent and empty as the rest of your street.  Rain drips to the floor in a steady rhythm as you pad across the living room of the house, dropping your backpack to the floor.  Muscle memory leads you to the bathroom—where things are, as usual, spotless.  

You've seen plenty of bad homes and residencies during your time in the system.  Most of them blurred together in a long string of things you wished to forget; either by the caretakers' fault or your own.  This house, though, was high on your list of favorites.  Your folks were never around, and if they were, they were asleep.  When you weren't working; you usually had the house to yourself.

"Fuck,"  You breathe, prodding at the swelling flesh around your eye. You run some water over it and the irritation dulls slightly as dried blood turns the water pink.  Excuses run rampant through your mind as you scramble for a way to explain the injury---because you're pretty sure they won't believe you if you said you tripped again. 

That's when you catch movement from your doorway.  Shuffling.

You whip around just as the movement disappears, and suddenly the quiet house turns eerily silent.  Your eyes lock on the doorway as the sink continues to run and water continues to drip from your clothes.  

Nothing.

You turn the sink off.

Your brow furrows, eyes locked on the cracked door of your bathroom as your hand grabs hold of the first weapon you can get your hands on—a shower curtain rod.  One foot after the other, you peak around the corner.

Again, nothing.

Out of some itch of paranoia—or just completely on coincidence—you happen to turn your head to the wall next to you.  Instead of an empty corridor like you expected, you're met with a face.

A face that immediately lunges at you the second your eyes widen.  

You stumble to the side with a yell just for the individual to grab your arm, and the curtain rod falls to the floor with a clatter.  You struggle as he yanks you to the side and around the corner and, before you have the chance to react, cold metal is pressed to your back.

"Don't fuckin' move,"  a voice hisses in your ear, and you stiffen.

You wheeze, struggling against his hold, "who–"

"Your gardian fucking angel,"  he sneers, shifting to clap a hand over your mouth.  You thrash again—but it's useless.  The gun presses painfully into your side.  "I said don't move."

A thump echoes through the room, and suddenly you see why.

You fight to keep your breathing under control as you stay firm against your captor's geared chest, still as a statue.  Your heart slams against your ribs and your ears as you listen to each heavy footstep against the floor, and your eyes widen whenever a second soldier creeps down your hallway.  Standard camo and green clothes shuffling as he walks.

You catch the long muzzle of a rifle over the soldier's shoulder, and suddenly you find yourself leaning into the gun pressed into your back.  The hand on your mouth tightens, silently shifting you away from the door.

The shifting of gear and the click of the rifle echo in the silent house as your nails dig into the skin of your captor's wrist.  You watch a muscle in his stubbled jaw twitch near your face as the sound of your first name echoes through the hall, sing-song and taunting.         

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Think.  Think.  Think.

“If y’know what’s best for ya’…”  A thick Scottish accent taunts from down the hall as he nudges the curtain rod with his foot, causing it to scrape against the wood floors.  “You’ll quit puttin’ up a fight and show yourself.”

You glance over to meet your captor’s gaze.  A flicker of anger crosses his eyes, nose wrinkling into a scowl.  He has a scar across his cheek.  

Then, suddenly, he shifts, pulling you further away from the doorway.  His grip on your shoulder is deathly tight as it digs into your clothes.  He lifts his finger from the trigger of his gun only to bring it to his lips in a silent command to stay quiet, stay with me.

Panic burns bright and all-encompassing through your veins.  For whatever reason—all your body will let you do is shake and listen. 

He ducks around the corner, pulling you with him.  You have to force your feet to move.

The Scottish soldier stops just at the end of the hall, hulking frame and what must be at least thirty pounds of gear making him a jarring sight against the flowered wallpaper of your foster home.  He must have an earpiece of some kind; because you hear him whisper every so often as he sweeps the hallways.  

"They're here,"  he mutters.  "Little fuck's just good at hiding."

It's tiny and muffled, but in the deathly silence of the house you can make out two voices in his earpiece that reply to him.  One female, the other male.  You can't decipher what they say but their responses make him growl in frustration.

"C'mon, we don't got all day…"

Tense, your captor shoves you along to another room.  He signals something down the hall, where you spot more movement in the house.  More soldiers—these ones dressed in similar, dark garb to the man who still presses a gun to your side. They have bigger weapons, concealing helmets.

Startled, you trip over your shoelaces.

Your captor scrambles to grab you before you clatter to the floor.  He curses just as the Scottish soldier whips around, gun pointed and ready.

There's a solid two seconds of complete silence.  Your gaze meets with the Scott and his eyes widen.  Then, he spots the other man with a gun pointed at you.

That's when all hell breaks loose.

You scramble to your feet and bolt.  The Scott is the first to grab you, and he's met with teeth deep in his arm.  He yells out as you kick free, gagging on the metallic substance that floods your mouth.

There's shouting.  Movement.  Gunfire lights up your house with noise and lights as you wipe your mouth, stumble, and fly down the stairs in a blind dash for your front door.

Instead, you run directly into something solid—Landing you flat on your ass.  Again.

Panting, panicking, your eyes rake up dark figure; past two giant boots, a geared chest, and hands that clench a rifle in their grip to meet a masked face and bored eyes.  You scramble backwards against the wall with a yelp.  The sound of yelling, gunfire, and heavy footsteps flood the rest of the house as the masked man's eyes widen at you.  You stare at each other; you, sizing him up and him, confused.

"Graves?!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Commander!  We lost the kid!"

"Does anyone have a visual??"

"L.T.!"

The skull-faced man finally leaps into action at the sound of what must be his rank—because he's suddenly moving faster than you can realize more soldiers are flooding around the corner.  In a flurry of practiced movement, he grabs them.

You yell out as he knees one of the men and shoots the other.  Blood splatters across the walls and your clothes.  Then, he fires twice more at the soldier unconscious on the ground—and the house goes quiet other than your pounding heartbeat.

The towering man before you shifts, and the floorboards creak under his feet.  He rolls his shoulders and let's out a breath as he stands, slowly, up to his full height.  He turns, and the same blood that splatters across the walls runs in tiny rivulets across the skull of his mask.  His voice thick and low when he speaks.

"You broken?"

Your shaking hands lower from your ears as your eyes then rake across the corpses at his feet, but it's no use.  Through the ringing in your ears, your racing mind is unable to put together what he says for a few minutes.  It's even more impossible to tear your eyes away from the blood splattered against the patterned wallpaper.

You swallow and shake your head.

"Good."  Nonchalant, he lowers his gun and shouts down the hall.

"Johnny, you with me?"

"Over here, L.T.,"  grunts the Scottish voice from down the hall.  "That little shit Graves—"

"Let 'em go.  We'll deal with 'em later.  We got what we needed."

Johnny curses in response, but mutters a begrudging "copy" as he saunters over—nursing the clear bite mark in his arm. 

Then, the Lieutenant's eyes shift in your direction.  His hand twitches, almost reaching out to you, and you pull your legs closer to your chest against the wall.  Blood soaks your untied laces.  You clamp a hand over your mouth as you will your breathing to settle.  It doesn't.

He freezes.  Then, to your relief, he turns away and presses a finger to his ear.

"Bravo 0-7 to Actual; five shadows have been compromised on the property.  Looks like the Shadows got the word the same time we did.  Could be others, too.  Things got bloody, but…"  The lieutenant's eyes meet yours again as he speaks.  Through the bloodied skull mask, his gaze holds a calm resolve that's probably supposed to be comforting, but it only makes your skin prickle.  

"...we got the kid."

It's quiet, but you can hear static before someone speaks on the other end of the communication device.

"Copy that, Bravo.  We'll clean up the mess,"  A female voice replies.  "Bring 'em home safe, boys."

"Roger that."

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part Pilot

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies you also die. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

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

The hair on the back of my neck rose half a second before something hard hit my head. I couldn't see anything but I could still feel when I hit the pavement. I rolled onto my back and tried to kick up at whoever was there.

Multiple hands grabbed me and dragged my across the hard ground. I felt my strength slowly coming back with my sight. There wasn't much to see as three dark figures towered above me. My back cracked when they slammed me into the wall.

One of them grabbed my jaw and dug their fingers into my cheek. I tried clenching my teeth but they easily pried my mouth open. I tried flicking my wrist but the rocks under my feet barely moved. They had hit my head so I couldn't use my magic. Now they were trying to drug me. Keep a mage discombobulated or high and they can't use their magic.

One of them had their entire weight on my legs and the other had my arms pinned against my side. They slipped a powder past my lips and clamped my mouth shut. I took a deep breath before they pinched my nose. I had only seconds before I passed out and they could get the rest of the powder down my throat. It was already soaking into my tongue and cheeks. I tried scrapping it against my teeth.

The weight on my feet disappeared. I tried kicking them but there was nothing but air. I pulled my leg up and dug my heel in their groin. They fell back and slammed into the wall behind them at an inhuman speed. I reached for the last attacker's eyes and dig my nails in. He let go and jumped over me as if to run. I immediately spat on the ground and wiped my tongue with the back of my hand.

I looked around at the dark alley. Everything was starting to double, the colors a wild red and blue. Some of it had gotten into my system. I saw two men laying still on the ground, the other running for the bright road. Something flew past my face and strikes him dead center in the back of his head. His body fell limp.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

I turned over my shoulder to see Alastor, the Radio Demon, towering above me. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark alley and his coat was as red as blood. I knew he was tall but he looked even more terrifying in person. His long, red fingers were outstretched in a kind gesture.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"Is that any way to treat your savior?" He moved his hand closer, edging me to accept his offer.

"Why would you help me?" I rubbed the back of my head and winced. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He stood a full head taller than me but he seemed oddly skinny. He didn't have the muscle I had.

"I know rumors deem me a dark light, but I can assure you I'm still a gentleman at heart. How could I let those fools continue their assault?" He wiped his hand on his coat as if I had some kind of germ or disease on me.

"I didn't ask for the help so I'm in no way obligated to do anything you ask," I said. I looked down to examine my hands because that was better than staring at his terrifying eyes. I lost my balance and fell backwards into the wall.

He grabbed my wrist and roughly pulled it up. I tried pulling it back but he held on painfully tight. I could picture him using his sharp teeth to slice it off in one bite. But he didn't. He dropped my hand and grabbed my chin next. He turned my head as if examining my neck. I tilted my head back and pulled away. I slammed into the wall again but tripped on my own feet, landing right on my tailbone.

He leaned down and grabbed my face again. I tried digging my nails into his wrist but my strength had disappeared. The drug was taking full effect now. "Let go of me, demon," I spat. He used his other hand and dragged a claw down my cheek. I cried and tried pushing him away with my feet. He stepped back, his smile never fading. I covered my bloody cheek and stared him down.

I had managed to stay free for five years. I wasn't about to fall into another mage's trap. I wasn't going to go back. I would rather die trying to escape the Radio Mage than go back. I knew his patience was thin and nothing immoral was off the table for him.

He reached up and touched his cheek, his claws coming back with a dark liquid. He looked down at his fingers before slowly meeting my eyes. That's when it clicked. I felt a rush of cold reality over my body. Matching cuts. A soulmate match.

I put both hands in the ground and pushed myself up. I ran down the alley, jumping over my attacker, and bolted for my home. I tripped several times but nothing was going to stop me. People stared at me as if I had seen a ghost. They didn't know that I had seen worse.

Everything hurt by the time I reached my apartment. I hadn't seen him since the alley so I hoped that meant I had lost him. I fumbled with my keys, struggling for several minutes to get the small key into the lock. I fell into my apartment and slammed the door shut with my feet. I turned the lock and crawled into the corner of the living room. I hugged my legs and stared into the dark apartment. Everything was spinning and unnatural colors jumped out at me. I felt jittery, like everything inside me was buzzing.

I stayed there for several minutes, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door. What was I thinking? I had just led the most powerful mage on this side of the country to my doorstep. I should've hid somewhere else. He of all people could follow someone without being noticed.

The only tell of time was the old clock on the fireplace mantle. I stayed in the corner for nearly forty-minutes, unmoving. Time seemed to be past uncharacteristically fast. I blamed the drugs on that. How long before this wore off, again? It wasn't the first time I had ingested this type of drug. It was the drug they used to keep mages from using their magic.

I finally found the courage to stand. I flipped the light switch and walked along the wall to the bathroom. I fell against the sink, clinging to the edge just to keep myself up. For such a small amount it was having a huge effect on me. Had the drug gotten stronger or had it been that long since it was used on her?

I turned on the faucet and gulped down the cool water. I splashed my face and tired to blink away the bright colors. No amount of drinking or splashing could return me to my normal state. I practically choked on the water and finally turned it off, grabbing the towel off the rack and pressing it to my face. I carefully straightened my feet and tried standing up. I felt more sturdy on my feet now. This meant that I had passed the peak of the drug. I was on the hill down to my normal state.

I let out a sigh and hung up the towel. I looked at my red eyes and saw another pair behind me. I screamed and spun a cast back at him. I slipped and fell into the old tub. I slipped into the corner with my hand outstretched. The faucet dug into my spine. He practically glided into the small room.

"Don't come closer!" I yelled. "My accuracy gets better every time."

"Your Slight magic stands no chance against me," he mused, "but I appreciate the confidence."

"The fuck do you want?" I demanded again.

"Should it surprise you that I want to meet my soulmate?" He tilted his head to the side.

"If you kill me you also die," I reminded him.

He chuckled. "I know how the magic of soulmates work, my dear." He stepped close and held out a hand to me. "If I wanted you dead, I would have done so already." The deepening of his tone didn't make me want to accept his gesture any more than already. "I'd like to have a civil conversation, if you don't mind."

It was another moment before I slowly laid my hand on top of his. He was careful to wrap his claws around my hand and didn't roughly pull me to my feet this time. I stepped out of the tub and let him lead me out of the room. He finally let go of my hand, gliding to the small fireplace and lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

He perched himself on one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit in the other one. I quietly obliged, my eyes never once leaving his smiling face. His trademark cane seemingly appeared in his lap.

"What do you want?" I asked less aggressively this time.

"My my, you're a distrustful soul aren't you?" He leaned his cheek on his hand.

"With my history you would be too," I said.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Anything and everything. Really anything that pays me."

"A tradition-breaker I see," he said. "Most women your age are attending school or doing housework for a master or husband."

"Let's just say I'm not well liked."

"Did you know those men?" he prompted.

"No, but they probably knew me."

"Does that happen to you often?"

"It's not frequent but it's not possible to avoid either," I answered. My clasped hands were sweaty and my cheek pinched from the dried blood on it. He was still sporting the same cut on his own cheek, clearly visible in the firelight.

"What did they want with you?" He was sitting straight again with his legs partly crossed and his hands clasped in his lap. Everything in me was tense and conscious. My hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I needed to get the demon out of my house.

"I used to belong to a fight ring."

"Lovely." His tone suggested anything but that. He looked down at his watch and let out a short sigh. "My my, it's sure getting late. We should be heading back."

"We?" I stood up just as he did.

"I can't leave my soulmate in danger, now can I?" He stepped closed to me.

"I know how to go under again," I said quickly. "I'll be leaving town and changing my appearance. No one will know it's me again."

"Then I wouldn't be able to find you again."  His eyes grew brighter the further we walked away from the fire. I bumped into the kitchen table and tried to put it between me and him.

"I'm sure this will scar and you'll be able to tell it's me." I pointed to my cheek. "Or I could just let you know where I go. That way you know where I am."

"If I bring you with me I'll always know where you are." I found myself staring at a shadow the second his claws touched my shoulder. I turned and he shoved me into the wall by my neck. "Besides, I of all people could keep you safest." His claws squeezed my neck.

"I feel qui-quite safe, I'm okay. I-I assure you." I casted a forced smile up at him. The room seemed to darken around his bright red eyes.

"I'm sorry, dear, it's not a request." He slipped his hand behind my neck and pulled me against him. He slammed his cane down on the ground with a cold THUD. His hand moved behind my back as the floor disappeared from beneath my feet. I instinctively grabbed at him to keep myself from falling. Wind whipped my hair around but I didn't dare let go.

My feet abruptly touched solid ground and the wind died down. I carefully let go with one hand to move my hair out of the way. Around me was a dark forest and the sound of waves crashing was apparent, as was the smell of the sea.

His chuckled vibrated through me and I jumped away. "Where the hell are we?" I turned around to see a dark mansion sitting on the cliff's edge. It's pointed roofs sliced through the light blue of the set sun.

"Welcome home, dear," Alastor said as he walked past. I spun in a circle, seeing nothing but forest and ocean. How far were they from civilization? For his reputation, probably hundreds of miles. Maybe even thousands. I crossed my arms and rubbed them to keep warm.

I turned around to see him waiting for me. His smile was still plastered to his face but his teeth weren't showing this time. He was leaning on his cane, if you called his stance leaning, at the base of the porch steps. I clenched my teeth and forced my feet to take one step after another.

Once I had reached him, he put a hand up to stop me. He tried to touch my forehead but I jerked back, my knees nearly buckling underneath. "Relax darling," he said, "I can ease the drug effect." I forced myself to be still as he swept his palm across my forehead. My vision cleared and the bright colors disappeared. I felt more stable but my magic was still out of service.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Home, dear." He turned and walked into the old house. I looked around once more before following him. Inside looked as dark as the outside. The door slammed shut and the lights abruptly lit up at the snap of his fingers. The house's true colors came through - a deep purple and velvet with dark wood accents.

To the right was the living room that held the warm fire and large windows. To the left was the dining room with what looked like stacks of old furniture and other timely pieces. Did he collect things?

"You don't..." I hesitated, "you don't think...that you can keep me here for the rest of my life."

"I do." He spun his cane and slammed it into the wood flooring. "Because just as you said, lovely, if you die, I die. You have made a name for yourself just as I have. You should be thanking me really," he said walking past me.

"Thank you?" I scoffed.

"I'm doing you a favor. No more of this running from town to town nonsense. Now you have a place to call home and don't have to worry a hair on your head about living to the next day."

"I'd prefer freedom over a fancy cage. I've survived on my own just fine for twenty-one years of my life. I'm no housemaid."

"Then let me put it simply." He stepped dangerously close until I jammed my heels into the door. He leaned down so his yellow teeth were inches from my nose. "You will remain here for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not." The room began to darken. "I have my ways of keeping people in their place. We may share scars but we don't share pain." His face contorted unnaturally and his eyes looked less humane. I felt sick. "You should remember that when you think of defying me. I'm called the Radio Demon for a reason." He abruptly stood up and the lights came back. "Sound good, darling?"

My shoulders fell with my spirit.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #soulmates #soulmate au #alastor the radio demon

[fandoms--fluff]

Crushing Hard

Hybrid female reader x Hope Mikaelson (+mikaelson family & caroline)

Summary: Hope has a massive crush on you, a girl who basically nobody knows anything about. And her family comes for a surprise visit, yay.

Warnings: swearing

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

Hope has been a little obsessed with you, she admits it. She can't help but be attracted to you, you're crazy hot, not afraid to speak what you think, and your personality is amazing. And has she mentioned how drop-dead gorgeous you are?

The only setback is that you hate the school and basically everyone in it.

"You're drooling" Josie whispers into her ear. Hope snaps out of it, and brings a hand up to the corner of her mouth to find out it's completely dry. She rolls her eyes and looks up at Josie, frowning.

"Oh, you're crushing hard. Sorry for interrupting your daydream, but I'm pretty sure your family is here," Josie tells her, looking between Hope and some of her family.

"There are a bunch of newer kids this year, but still a lot of the older ones. I try to make the environment around here fully positive and happy." Caroline explains to the family. An amused snort comes from the couch a couple feet away.

"And you don't ever take a break" You glare at her. All their heads turn towards you. "This is y/n, one of the older students. I believe she came here a couple months before Hope did." Caroline sighs.

"You must be delusional because I did not come here willingly. You forced me. And still force me to be here every fucking day of the year" You stand up, crossing your arms, fury evident in your tons and stance.

"Werewolf?" Kol's the next one to speak. "I don't know, what do you think?" You snap at him before turning back to Caroline. "And that's the other thing, I've been here for how many years, and no one still knows what I am"

"You won't tell us" Caroline points out.

"Well, I would think considering you're apparently an expert on supernatural beings, and run a damn school for them, that you or anyone here would be able to tell like that" You snap your fingers at the end.

Klaus steps forward, not liking the way you've been talking to Caroline. "Oh, don't even start" You roll your eyes before he can get a word out.

"What?" Hope snaps her attention to her friend before looking in the direction Josie was a moment ago. To her surprise, her Dad, Mom, Auntie Rebekah, Uncle Kol, and Uncle Elijah are standing across the room, chatting with the headmistress, Caroline and you?

Oh no, Hope thinks to herself before getting out of her seat and quickly walking toward the group with Josie right behind her.

"Dad! What are you guys doing here?" Hope goes up to her father. "We came here for a surprise visit, but caught up in the wonderland tour," Kol told his niece, glancing at Caroline then at you.

You still have your arms crossed, leaning most of your weight on your right leg, making your left hip slightly pop out a bit more than the other.

Hope tries to keep her eyes off of you, not wanting her family or you to notice.

"Oh, nothing. Having a splendid fucking time!" You tell her in a fake cheery voice. You start walking away, "I like your shoes" you tell Rebekah before walking out of the room, your high heels clicking strongly as you do.

"She's mean..but sweet? I don't know" Caroline shakes her head. "She's like Katherine. I like her" Kol answers, smirking.

"Kol." Elijah says sternly to his little brother as Klaus galres at him.

Hope just stares at the ground, not wanting anyone to notice the flush that appeared on her face. "You okay Sweetie?" Her Mom asks. "Mhm. Uh I'm glad that you guys are here, but Josie and I have to finish a project. I'll, uh, catch up with you later" Hope tells them quickly before practically dragging Josie out of the room with her.

"What was that?" Josie asks her as Hope paces around Josie's room. Lizzie is planning a dance somewhere outside with a huge binder.

"I don't know, but now im pretty sure my family kost likely doesn't like Y/n. And if somehow my delusional relationship with her actually freaking happens then there's no point becuase there's a big chance my dad will get protective and ban her or kill her or something. Wait can she even die? I don't know, there's no way she can't die, right? Oh that would suck I'd she died before I can even make a move, or who am I kidding there's no way that's gonna happen. She probably hates me anyways. God, I'm so pathetic" Hope rants to her best friend.

"Okay, okay, calm down. You're not pathetic. You're just overthinking this way too much. There's no way Y/n hates you, I don't believe she does" Josie places her hands on Hope's shoulders, making her stop moving around.

Hope let's out a breath she didn't know she was holding in, then sighs, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for" Josie smiles.

You walk into the dining hall, only to be met with the same group of people. "Fucking great" you practically growl, rolling your eyes. You go over to the table lined with food and grabbed a piece of garlic bread.

As you're about to take a bite of it, a voice sounds. "Are you sure you're supposed to be eating that? It says no one is to touch the food" Elijah nods to the sign standing before the long table of food.

You glance at it then shrug, "Well too bad, I'm hungry and they don't exactly have any blood beside from fucking Thumper and Bambi" you take a bite of the garlic bread.

"So you're a vampire" Rebekah says. You twitch your eyebrow up, a smirk playing at your lips.

"Depends how you perceive it" you walk over to them, your eyes turning yellow and veins appearing under your eyes.

"A hybrid" Hayley's eyes widened a bit. "Did Hope turn you?" Klaus asks, not remembering himself ever turning you.

"Seriously? You think I'd let a girl who has a crush on me, sire me? I don't think so" you cross your arms.

"Crush?" Kol asks, knowing Hope has only told him about her crush on you. He wonders how you found out, cause there's no way his neice would've told you. Especially considering the interaction earlier today.

"Not that hard to figure out. Especially when her eyes are always on me, not the chalkboard in class" you cross your arms. "Oh, and Katherine was basically my sister, so that was a compliment back there" you smirk.

"Wait, if you're that old, what are you doing here?" Hayley asks.

"Well I'm pretty sure then Caroline would hate me more than she already does, then tell Damon and he would try to kill me, but it would end up with his head cut off his body and then Elena and everyone, and personally I don't have any fucking time or want for that. Though Damon being dead would be a bonus. So mind as well make some people, aka, Caroline miserable for a bit" you pop the rest of the garlic bread in your mouth.

"What? You still have that sappy crush on her?" You tease Klaus.

You turn around and walk out of the room. As you turn the corner, you run into Hope. She looks if you had a word, sheepish.

You sigh, realizing it, "You've been here the whole time, haven't ya?" You crossed your arms.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," She turned before walking as fast as she could away from you. She had come down here to find her family, and instead heard you talking to them again and couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversation.

She can't believe she's been so stupid. There's no way she's ever had any chance with you. And your acknowledging about her crush on you was just the cherry on top. She wishes she was anywhere but here now.

You look up, quietly groaning, not wanting her to find out like that. Both your age (well, sort of) and the knowledge of her crush.

You vamp in front of her in a split time of two seconds. "Look, I get it, I'm just some stupid girl who has a crush on a girl or woman I don't know! who's way out of my league. No need to rub it in my face!" She exclaims, trying not to let any tears cloud her vision.

"Hey! You're not some stupid girl, okay?" You tell her before she tries to walk away from you again. She lets out a harsh breath before looking up at you from the ground.

"And I'm not trying to rub anything in your face. Yes, I know you have a crush on me, but I don't want you to think anything bad about that. I'd never use it against you or make fun of you for it, or whatever you think I may do." You run your hands through your hair to keep it out of your face.

"And I've never thought about you in that way before, but I can say that I don't hate you as much as everyone else here," She snaps her gaze from the wall to your face, not expecting that. To have that said to her from you is basically like a simple 'I love you' to someone a person may have known for a while. It's also a really big compliment coming from you.

"So there's that" You walk closer to her before pressing a kiss on her cheek. You walk away, up the stairs to your room as Hope stands there frozen. That's one of the best solutions that could have happened at the moment, and she's practically screaming with joy on the inside.

She brings a hand up to the cheek you kissed and gently grazes her finger against the spot.

Her family then also comes down the hallway and up to her. "What happened, Sweetie?" Her mom asks, noticing her reddened face.

"Oh, n-nothing," She tells her, trying her best to hold back the grin that she has on the inside.

Kol looks from her hand placement and reddened face to her excited stance, putting two and two together. He catches her eye and smirks before mouthing 'good luck'.

That just makes her blush more than she already is if that's even possible.

#hope mikaelson #josie saltzman #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #hayley marshall #hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson being a cutie #hope mikaelson x female reader #hope mikaelson x hybrid reader #hybrid reader #hope having a big crush #cute #fluff #imagines #fanfic #thevampirediaries #writing #theoriginals #legacies

[anilovie]

i feel like ani would give great back rubs :) do you have any thoughts on this topic??

Yes yes yes I do!!

CW: just fluff

WC: 500

I feel like his hand automatically goes to the nape of your neck if you're ever just chilling together. Like if you're watching something, or working on something, or even just laying in bed ready for sleep, his arm would go around you and find the back of your neck and just squeeze all gentle, over n over n over, slow and rhythmic. It's a bit of a possessive touch, but also relaxing cause he likes how your shoulders droop a little and you shiver if he scratches the base of your skull.

One day your neck just hurts extra bad for some reason, must have slept on it wrong or tweaked it somehow. So when he starts rubbing your neck that night, you turn to him and so seriously, say, "That feels really good, Anakin."

He's a bit taken aback because 1) you looked right in his eyes when you said it, 2) you used his full name, and 3) you're usually not so bold telling him how you feel.

It makes him laugh, all soft and breathy, and respond, "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Think I pulled a muscle or something, feels better when you do that though."

His brows furrow. "How'd you do that?"

"Dunno," your cheek is squished against his thigh, book propped up on his knee. You flip the page. "Probably slept on it weird or something."

"You do move around a lot. Swear you're trying to run away sometimes."

You turn and bite his leg through his pants.

"Violent," he murmurs, completely unbothered as his hand drifts to your shoulders. "Does it hurt right here?"

"Mhm. Everywhere," you breathe sleepily.

He answers with a hum and stows his datapad on the bedside table, grabbing his glove and buckling it over his arm so he can return both hands to your shoulders. You wince a little as he works out the knots, cheeks going a little hot at the slow, tender way he's touching you. It's strangely intimate, and you try not to move as he digs his thumbs into a particularly senstive spot.

"Relax. You're so tense," he tells you.

You decide to close your book and turn so that you're more draped over his lap, giving his hands more access to your back. He takes the invitation, rubbing circles down your spine, which oddly tickles.

"I said relax," he chastises as you squirm and giggle.

"Can't help it! Stop tickling me," your voice is muffled by the material of pants.

Rather than responding, he doubles his efforts working up and down your back, and once you're lulled into pliancy, he returns to your shoulders and neck.

You swear he's got magic hands. Every inch of your skin is covered in goosebumps, waves of pleasure making you shiver every time he squeezes and rubs your muscles just right. Somehow, he's doing a good job of keeping the pressure equal on both sides, despite one hand being flesh and the other metal. And he works the tensity out of your muscles like it's his personal mission, squeezing and rubbing and kneading with loving tenderness.

"Feel good, baby?" he murmurs after a while, and you can only manage a low noise.

"Yeah... feels a lot better, Ani. Gonna make me fall asleep."

You can picture him smiling down at you, gentling his touch as he returns to thumb at your nape, scratching your scalp in just the right way that makes you tremble with pleasure.

"Shoot," you nearly moan. "G'night."

You did warn him, but he's still surprised when your whole body goes limp a moment later, dead weight on his lap as you breathe deep and even.

Anyways, I also think he does just rub your back up and down a lot, like if you're stressed or ill or just not feeling well in any way. Or if he’s stressed, he finds the rhythmic motion and feeling the curve of your back soothing under his palm.

He's the type to lead you around crowded places with a hand to the small of your back, and rest his hand between your shoulder blades to announce his presence when coming up behind you, and throw his arm over your shoulders to drag you into his chest all man-handley and possessive.

It's an innocent enough touch to grant in public, so yes. He loves to rub your back and he does it so good.

thanks for the message ava!! 💖

#anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin x reader fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x reader fic #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x reader fic #fluffy anakin

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

 Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure. 

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile. 

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement. 

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her. 

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued. 

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends. 

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--," 

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable. 

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability. 

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots. 

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face. 

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute. 

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest. 

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him. 

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy. 

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes. 

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed. 

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense. 

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry. 

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

next

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x oc x aaron hotchner #reverse harem #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #aaron hotchner fic #Spotify #spencerreidfanfic #spencer reid x original character #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch

[eightyonekilograms]

I went to the Apple Store yesterday to try the scripted demo of their VR headset. My overall impression is that it's the best possible execution of what might be a fundamentally flawed idea.

The passthrough video is pretty incredible. It's somewhat dimmer than reality, and the color accuracy is just OK, but it's more than good enough to feel like you're looking through clear displays at the real world. I'm told the passthrough on the Quest 3 is even better, but haven't tried that and can't comment. One thing is that there is a weird motion blur effect when you turn your head, I'm not sure if that's a display tech limitation or introduced deliberately by the software as a workaround for a different display tech limitation.

The resolution is 4K per eye, which, as mentioned, is more than enough for a powerful sense of presence in the real world. One of the nifty bits of the demo was when you turn the dial to tune out the world and suddenly you're sitting by a mountain lake, and the feeling of actually being there is overwhelming. The dystopian implications of needing a VR headset to sit at a mountain lake aside, it would be cool to have one just to have your office be anywhere you can imagine. Not $3500-before-tax cool, but cool.

Wow sports leagues are going to love this thing. I don't give a shit about sports and even I was thinking, "If the NBA put a stereoscopic camera courtside and sold you games for $50 a pop, I'd absolutely buy that"

But 4K per eye is not enough to do work, not even close. The experience of using normal computer-y applications on this was not unlike plugging your laptop in to a TV that's at the normal TV distance. You can do it, it works, but it's not anyone's preferred way of working. Text is amazingly legible, but only at sizes that are equivalent to having a single webpage take up your entire 4K monitor at normal monitor distance.

It is not particularly comfortable. Part of this might be that the store demo makes you use the "catcher's mitt" strap, which only goes around the back of your head and so gravity has to be countered only by the pressure of the thing against your face. Reviewers have said that if you use the other band that goes over your head the situation is better, but still.

A lot of early comments were making fun of Apple for having the battery be an external thing you put in your pocket and attach with a wire, but I think that's just fine: we all walk around with giant batteries in our pockets anyway, and anything you can do to have less weight on your head is a Good Thing. But then Apple took all those weight savings and spent them on making the stupid thing out of metal and glass instead of polycarbonate. It's nuts! It's like if you made a car that was 500kg lighter because you invented magical tech for keeping the engine somewhere else, and then went "great! with all the weight savings now we can build the body out of lead". Apple, you don't need to fear plastic. Plastic is good! Plastic built modern civilization.

You control it with a combination of eye tracking and pinch gestures. This is the main piece of evidence of my "best version of a bad idea" thesis: it works really, really well; so well that I can tell this is probably an evolutionary dead end. It's just fine— miraculous, even— for dragging windows around and doing the basic stuff the in-store demo has you do. It's amazing that you can more or less have your hands anywhere, including on your lap, and the recognition works perfectly (by contrast with the HoloLens I tried 5 or so years ago where the gesture recognition was total crap). But it's immediately obvious that you can never do serious manipulation of your computing environment with this.

The takeaway is that it's incredible for passive consumption of specifically-made media, assuming that ever exists at scale. But it will be a long time before we're gogged in like Hiro Protagonist to do our office jobs this way.

[lovekendri]

kids forever | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

request: may i request peeta x fem!reader fluff? just sweet friends to lovers, fake dating is always welcomed too!!

i absolutely love this! i literally wrote this at 2 am because i was in need of some peeta too. i hope this is what you're looking for, and i love writing requests, so keep them coming! ♡

summary: you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend while you try to stifle him with a pillow.

cw: tooth rotting fluff, shy!reader

wc: 1.8k

type: ❀

"Kids, time for dinner!" your mother called out, peeking her head out of the door, the setting summer sun beginning to burn your cheeks.

"Coming!" you yelled back, grabbing Peeta's hand. He dropped his chalk on the rough, pothole covered ground and followed behind you, his feet dragging on gravel.

You pushed open the screen door of your little cozy home, sunlight shining through the freshly washed windows, yellow summer glows and pink burnt cheeks on all of your family.

You pulled out a chair at your old, tethered wooden table, ready to enjoy your mother's delicious dinner, fresh chicken from the market, roasted carrots, fresh berries, and carrot cake for dessert. The dinner was special for tonight, as Peeta had come over and your father was paid at work.

"You guys dating yet?" your father joked, sitting down and taking a bite out of his chicken.

"Dad!" you whined, "We're only 7! He has cooties," you pouted, crossing your arms and giving your mother a pleading look to stop your father's teasing.

"Now, now, Mark, let's not give her ideas," your mother said, winking at you and sitting down to eat her own delicious dinner.

୨୧ ---------- ୨୧

"Peeta!" you shrieked, running down the hall to your room from the feathery pillow gripped in his hands, sliding on your socks as you slid around the corner. You jumped on your bed, holding your smaller pillow up in defense from his aggressive whack, trying to fight him off by kicking your feet.

"That's not fair! You can't kick!" he yelled back, smacking you repeatedly with the pillow, sending small feathers flying out of the pillow.

"You always did when you were a kid!" you shrieked back, finally landing a kick on his forearm.

"Ow!" he yelled, dropping the pillow and jumping onto the bed with you, taking your pillow and trying to smother your face with it, his full body weight on top of you while he struggled against your arms to push it onto your face.

"Ew! Mom, look at them! They're wrestling on the bed!" your little sister yelled from outside the door, Peeta stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you, his jaw dropped, your expression mirroring the exact same.

"Kids! I will not be a grandmother to two sixteen year olds!" your mom yelled from the kitchen, coming down the hallway with a basket of freshly dried laundry.

"Mom, we're pillow fighting, like we did as kids!" you said, frowning as she walked into the doorway.

Peeta was still on top of you, pillow half pushed onto your face, and your mother gave you a look of 'really'.

You nudged Peeta off of you, getting off of your bed to go talk to your mom.

"Just because we're teenagers now doesn't mean we're going to do anything, mom," you said. "Let us hang out."

Your mother sighed, a smile creeping up on her lips as she switched the hip the laundry basket sat on, looking at you.

"Behave."

You shut your door the second she turned away, jumping onto Peeta and tackling him with the pillow that he tried to smother you with. You fought hard, his arms a lot stronger than they used to be, his body a lot bigger and much taller. In good ways, of course. They made him look older, more attractive.

Wait, why were you talking about your best friend like that?

The yelling and laughing stopped as you paused again, staring at Peeta like a deer in headlights.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as you went quiet.

"Yeah, I just need to use the bathroom," you lied, immediately hopping off of him and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.

You slammed and locked the door, turning your back and sliding down against the wall.

You began to think about him, the way his muscles moved when he fought you, the way his arms strained against your body weight when you'd try to shove him over as you did as kids, how tall he had gotten. You thought about his broader shoulders, his longer hair, his defined jaw, and his beautiful blue eyes. His eyes had stayed the same, but carried so much maturity. The boy who carried so much of your childhood had changed, he was much more attractive and unspeakably amazing to look at. You thought again, over how attractive he had become. You thought once more about his arms, the thick biceps he had developed, able to throw you over his shoulder when you'd try to run from him in the square.

Your best friend had grown up.

You wondered if he thought about you like this, but you knew he couldn't. You were falling in love with your best friend, something that couldn't happen. Friends since forever, never more than that. He was only that cute blonde boy you met one day in the square with your family when you were six, the baker's boy, the goody-two-shoes who made bread for your mother's dishes.

You knew your friendship was all fun and games, there had never been any more than platonic love in your relationship, a shared love for one another that was unspeakable. Like a brother.

Now, it was different.

You were looking at him like a partner, like someone you'd see in your future, more than just a friend.

You felt love.

Not just the family love you felt to people like your mother and father, or your sister, real love.

You were in love with Peeta Mellark.

Your childhood best friend, your favorite cookie maker, your brother from another mother, your chalk buddy. Yours.

You sat on the floor for almost another twenty minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should just tell him, tell him how you're thinking, tell him what you're feeling. Tell him that you love him.

You figured he was growing concerned anyways, so you took a deep breath before unlocking the bathroom door once more.

You walked down the hallway quietly, peeking your head into your room and seeing Peeta still laying on your bed in his sweatshirt and jeans, playing with a feather that had flown out of a pillow.

"Peeta?" you murmured, his head snapping up immediately to you in severe concern.

He hopped off your bed immediately, coming up to you swiftly and grabbing your hand.

Your body erupted in butterflies, your face raising a rosy tint.

"Are you okay?" he asked, covering your hand totally with his.

"I'm okay," you said quietly, looking down to hide the blush on your cheeks. "Can I talk to you?" you croaked out.

"Of course, what–"

You shushed him, still holding his hand and leading him to come sit on the bed once more.

He sat down next to you, layers of concern still growing on his face as you sat down, scooting far enough on the bed to cross your legs underneath you. You sat quietly for a few moments, looking down at your lap as you figured out a way to say it.

"I need to tell you something. I don't want to ruin our friendship," you whispered quietly, now realizing that what you believe is out, and your throat began to burn at the thought of losing him because of your stupid love for him.

You began to play with his fingers in your lap, too afraid to let go. Peeta moved to sit the same way as you did, his body turned toward you.

"You can tell me anything," he said, placing his other hand on your knee.

You took a deep inhale and a quiet exhale, sitting quietly for another few moments.

"I like you," you paused. "And not just the like you like a friend, like– like like you, like– love you,"

You didn't dare to look up to him, too afraid to see the expression on his face, whether it was fear or hurt or disgust. All were terrible. He was dead silent, and tears began to well in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it–" you began, until his hand moved swiftly from your knee to your lips, pushing your chin to look at him.

"I love you too," he whispered, his beautiful blue eyes searching yours for happiness, for an emotion of something for reassurance.

"You do?" you asked, your jaw falling open slightly in surprise.

"Of course I do, I've always liked you. I've liked you since the day I saw you in the square, little six year old me. I've liked you since I watched you learn how to draw a flower with the silly pink chalk your dad would give you. Since you learned how to ride a bike, since we had our first dinner together. I've liked you since the day I taught you how to make bread, and how to frost a cookie. I've liked you since you met my mother and made fun of me all night for my taste in food choices, I've liked you since the first night we watched the stars together."

Your jaw dropped more in awe, staring at him as tears coated with happiness filled your eyes.

"I've loved you since the day I laid eyes on you."

The tears finally fell, and you threw yourself against Peeta, sobs of happiness racking your body as his arms flung around you, squeezing you tight against him like he wouldn't let anyone take you from him.

"Don't cry, you'll make me feel bad," he laughed, you could hear the cracks of tears in his voice.

"You shouldn't cry!" you said, pulling out of his embrace and looking up at him, a tear slowly falling down his cheek. You took your hand, shaking a little, and wiped the salty water off of his face.

You couldn't help but give him a small peck on the lips.

"Woah," he said. "That is so different from when I kissed you on accident when we were eight."

You laughed, truly laughed, your hand still holding his face from wiping his tears.

"I know."

The night outside finally grew dark, though it wasn't entirely late, it was late enough to go to sleep.

"Would you...stay with me tonight?" you whispered, fiddling with his hand. "Maybe...cuddle?"

"You don't have to ask twice," he smiled.

Your face lit up, pulling him by the shoulder and slamming down into your bed, snuggling up close to his body, engulfed by his arm and tight against his chest. He held you close, the sound of his still racing heartbeat making you giggle quietly. You pushed your leg on top of his, wrapping your arms around his neck and snuggling into the warmth once more.

"Can I say it just one more time?" he asked, squeezing you playfully.

"Not if I do first," you giggled.

"I love you," he said, wrapping his other arm around your back to hold you closer.

"I love you too, Peeta."

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

#peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta x reader #peeta's games #peeta #boy with the bread #peeta mellark fluff #peeta fluff #peeta mellark confession #peeta mellark imagine #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games fic #thg fic #fluff #peeta imagine #peeta mellark x fem!reader #shy!reader #fem!reader #fanfic #peeta mellark the hunger games #peeta the hunger games #peeta thg #peeta mellark thg #peeta fic #peeta mellark fic #peeta mellark x you #lovekendri

[wheresmymilliondollarman]

aaron warner x ferrars! reader pt. 3

when omega point falls, you find yourself in need of the supreme commander's son, and discover unresolved feelings along the way.

(taken place during ignite me & hc continuation from part two)

that is literally me in this gif y'all🖤🖤

a/n: hello!! finally back with part 3. i'm sorry for the wait, i wanted to do other requests, but tbh i might focus on this little series so that way it's complete and everyone can read it all together. also idk why i even label it hcs anymore LMAOO like i feel it's progressed to a fic atp, but i'm too stubborn to change my format and titles, so humor me LOL. (maybe i'll turn this into a legit fic when i finish, who knows) pls do not kill me for not including every detail, i tried to highlight the best parts as much as i could. also might seem all sunshine rainbows rn with relationships, but just wait for the next book… 🤞 extra info: kinda change adam's character cus i feel like he was an extra ass at times for no reason in the book?? like trying to kill kenji for no reason?? small redemption arc. kinda slight change to juliette. also, i love making reader, juliette, and kenji a lil trio.

word count: 10.7k (im insane)

warnings: mentions of fights, blood, injuries, and death. use of military time (reader so me fr bc it took me so long to understand that shit), suggestive and matureish content.

the first thing on your mind, when you woke up, is that you had to be dead. if you opened your eyes, you would see the golden gates of heaven or the fiery pit of hell. based on how you lived your short life: you were thinking hell.

you realized you were alive and mostly well from the horrible aching from your body, the bandages wrapped around your chest, and the fact your current surrounding was a bedroom.

"hey, amor, take it easy." a voice said as you attempted to sit up.

by your side was aaron warner, sitting down on a stool next to the bed you laid on. he, uncharacteristically, looked disheveled, his clothes messy, and his eyes anxious.

your panic arose as you remembered events - fighting against the reestablishment, then getting caught, and then being shot in the chest by anderson. and then you recognized the room; it was aaron's bedroom - back at the base.

aaron notices your alarm and grabs your hands to calm you down. "it's alright you're safe here, i'm not gonna hurt you."

it may have been an idiotic move, but you believed his words.

"why are we here?"

"i had no choice. everyone believes your dead, and the base is the best place to keep you hidden."

"i don't understand...i'm not a medic by any means, but shouldn't i be dead?"

"you have sara and sonya to thank for that. they were able to save your heart from stopping before being dragged away by my father. then, i was able to take their energy as my own and heal the rest of you."

you were thankful for his aid in your life being saved, but you were too focused on many other worries to properly thank him. like the state of your friends.

you try your hand at getting up, trying to ignore the dizziness that comes with it. aaron holds you steady to stop you from falling.

aaron protests, "you need to res-" but you interrupt, "i need to go. i-i have to find everyone and help them."

"you can't."

you stop your movement and turn to aaron, "what do you mean? i know i'm in horrible shape, but i have to see juliette and everyone else could be in troubl-"

"it's over."

your face scrunches up in confusion, "what?"

aaron's silent for a few movements; you can't breathe. he looks down, his grip on you tightening, "they're dead. all of them."

you look at him in horror, your mouth open, but no words are released. your knees give out, and Aaron carries your full weight in his arms.

he slowly brings you both down to the ground next to the bed, still holding onto you. "i'm sorry, please believe me when i say that. if there was a way to spare you of this pain i would do it in a heartbeat."

you feel like a shell of yourself, you have no reaction, just an emotionless look on your face.

"what happened?" you say in a monotone voice.

"amor, i think you need to lay down or shower, then eat some-"

"what happened," you repeat with a harsher voice.

"they... overtook your friends, some were taken to be tortured, but most were.. shot dead."

"and omega point?"

"....destroyed. they got the coordinates and bombed the entire foundation."

you feel disconnected from reality; nothing feels real. everything is numb; you can't find it in yourself to let out any sort of emotion.

"so juliette, kenji, adam, james..."

aaron didn't need to answer for you to know. they're gone.

the first thing you did was laugh like a lunatic, aaron likely looked at you like you were mad. then finally, the tears came.

you yelled at aaron to get out, even though it was his room. in hysteria, you started levitating things and throwing them at him until he exited the room.

you don't know how long you spent sobbing on the floor next to the bed. you weren't even sure if you were going to stop.

your voice was sore from the number of times you wailed apologies to juliette for being a bad sister and for not being there to protect your friends.

when the tears finished, you reached denial. you knew your friends - there was no way they were dead. juliette was stronger than you, physically and sometimes mentally, so if you could survive a bullet to the chest, your sister could be alive.

when aaron comes back hours later to check on you, he didn't expect to see you walking around in new attire, packing clothes and items into a bag.

"what are you doing?"

"i have to go back."

aaron was taken aback by your statement, but you claimed there was a possibility there were people who survived. he countered saying he'd seen the damage and it wasn't likely. you didn't listen to him and continued preparing.

"this is unhealthy and possibly delusional thinking."

"well, then put me back in the asylum if i'm wrong. i'm going if you let me or not."

he sighs, and then gives in, not before insisting he comes along with you. now you were the one taken aback. was he actually offering to help you?

"why do you seem surprised? it's not as if i haven't made my care for you quite clear."

"no offense, but you're the most confusing man ever. i want to trust you, i've seen your good-natured side. you even claim to.. love me. but you work for the reestablishment, but then claim to be on my side. don't forget the fact you tried to turn juliette and i into weapons for the reestablishment, held us, hostage, at your base, and put us into a torture chamber. not exactly behavior that screams i want to help you."

at this he laughs then laughs harder and you get annoyed, not knowing what was funny. you were ready to kick him out again until he finally stooped.

"i suppose i owe you a long overdue explanation."

nothing prepared you for his next words. aaron began to retell the events from his perspective. starting with his true intentions of bringing you and juliette from the asylum - to study the both of you.

aaron explained his mother's condition, being unable to be touched - a reverse juliette basically. he sought out her at first, then discovered your existence and became intrigued more.

he invented the guise of using you both for weapons as a way for his father to agree to invest in you both.

as anderson mentioned before, juliette was of special interest because of her ability, and yours wasn't as impressive to him at the time. aaron had to convince the commander that your mind reading ability would be great for spy purposes.

once he brought the two of you to the base, he was ready to face 2 vicious and demented sisters, but it was literally the opposite of that. instead he got stuck with two stubborn and immature, you were offended at that, teenage girls.

"juliette was more of the hard-headed one, you mostly just followed along, i figured that out after the dinner and dress stunt. however, i can't say feeding you myself wasn't pleasurable for myself."

aaron saw your fear of your own ability and had intentions to help you and juliette, in his own way.

his tried various ways to unlock your potential - with juliette he tried anger and bullying and with you he knew you couldn't suppress hearing thoughts, so he figured spending time with you was the best option. but he came to understand how much he loved being around you.

"i was so addicted to being around you, i got sidetracked. but then my worry grew when you both showed no progress on enhancing your ability, so as a last resort, i arranged an experiment."

to your surprise, he revealed it was actually a simulation which was a major relief to you that no one was actually harmed by your powers, well, no one besides warner. but he partly deserved it for putting you through that.

although you were mad he implanted that fear into you, you had to admit. it did work.

"so, instead of finding some way to inform me earlier of all this, you make my sister and i think of you as some supervillain who wanted control of our autonomy." you grab the nearest pillow and launch it at him. "you're an idiot! we were scared out of our minds! juliette and i's last conversation was a fight over that! do you know much much time you could- are you seriously smiling?"

"god, i love it when you yell at me."

now that the ait was clear, you were able to put more of your faith into aaron and his intentions. and not feel bad about kissing him.

the two of you worked together on a plan to get you back to what was left of omega point.

you met an older gentleman by the name of delalieu. he was very sweet, but it got a little vexing every time he jumped to warner's defense whenever you made a remark; even ones said in levity. 

a few days later, when aaron deemed it safer, you both set off to leave. although you had the misfortune of having to be stuffed into a cart to avoid being spotted. at least it was better than the body bag you were transported in the first time.

the two of you transported to what was left of omega point in a tank. aaron notably was able to drive to the location with ease. you grew suspicious because one - he told his father he didn't know how to get there and two - he was unconscious the whole time you, juliette, kenji, and adam drove there. you decide to question him on the matter.

"i wasn't completely unconscious on the trip there. i was very conscious when you were touching my hair and tracing my features."

"i knew it! you little faker, you intentionally pushed yourself onto me didn't you!"

when you both arrived, the scene was as horrible as you imagined. - rubbles and dust everywhere and a huge gaping hole miles down. you felt sick thinking about everyone who stayed behind, including james. god, you hoped at least your friends were alright.

you were suddenly tackled to the ground by warner, and the sound of a gunshot followed after. a voice yelled out, and you immediately recognized it - kenji.

you got up instantly and ran to him, attacking him with a gigantic hug, tears brimming at your eyes.

"oh my god, i thought you were dead!"

"i thought you were dead!"

"you almost killed me right now when you shot at us like a lunatic!"

"sorry, i was aiming for warner- where'd he go?"

you change subject, "juliette? is she alright?"

kenji confirms she is alive, and you felt like you could breathe again. you needed to see her as soon as possible.

kenji started looking for warner like a madman, and you, too, were curious about his whereabouts - until he startled you by "showing" up behind you. he had turned himself invisible.

he was ready to take you both back before kenji shot him, but you declined to say you had to see juliette and anyone else that survived. aaron was reluctant but then handed you a pager, not that you knew what it was, and gave you a limit of four hours. you thought it to be ridiculous, but you compromised to ease his worries.

you and kenji ventured back to adam's house, your first time being there since you were unable to the first time around. he, heart-achingly, filled you in on the events, how they searched for you, how many were lost, and who remained. you told your side of the action, including everything with aaron.

kenji did have some judgemental comments, but you understood he was reeling from the shock of everything, especially from the details regarding aaron.

you bite your tongue when kenjii speaks ill of warner. defending him would only make you look naive, plus you couldn't deny the others had their reasoning for disliking the guy. you would end up sounding like delalieu.

"so what, you like the guy now? god, don't tell me your gullible enough to fall for it just because he's the first guy to show interest in you."

his words cut deep into you, but you don't respond and change the subject back to getting to the house. you didn't want to argue after being so happy kenji is alive. but damn did you want to give him a shove with your powers.

your spirits lifted as soon as you reached the destination. you pull kenji to the front door and urge him to open it. he knocks and confirms his identity before it's opened by winston, who was shocked to see you.

you greeted him quickly, feeling bad, but your main focus was your sister. next you see alia, castle, brendan, lily and alia. (all frozen to their spots as soon as they noticed you). when you see james you give him a tight hug, thankful for his well-being.

adam and juliette walked out of the kitchen engaged in conversation, not noticing you at first. then kenji drew their attention with a cough.

both of you were paralyzed at first; you were the first to break and jump at her with tears and an overbearing hug. she was quick to return it, then the both of you started crying in relief to see each other after thinking the other was dead.

"i'm so sorry for how we ended things, you had a right to be upset and i was a bad sister for not taking your feelings into account. "

"no, i'm the one who overreacted. i should've came with you the moment you told me you felt something was wrong."

"okay we get it elsa and anna; you're both very happy to see each other. please, no more tears."

you both pulled away, laughing softly at your dramatics. you turned and gave adam a much quicker hug, him happy to see you breathing.

with greeting out of the way, everyone's attention was turned back to you, particularly how you survived. you took a deep breath, and retold everything you told kenji, leaving out intimate details about aaron and you. everyone reacted similarly to the way kenji had.

the room then filled with different questions and thoughts, all voices one another, reminding you of listening to different people's thoughts at the same time. they all started assuming the worst in warner, and this time you did defend him - but it only made you look guilty.

the subject turned over to what was the next plan of action. castle was out of it, so he provided no help. adam was the first to protest any sort of fight, his concern for james overshadowing. juliette was on the fence about it for adam's sake, but you knew she wanted to fight against the reestablishment like everyone else, if not more. especially after all they had put the two of you through.

the conversation barely got past arguments before the front door was suddenly brought down. everyone, besides you, held up weapons to attack the intruder - you held up your hands, ready to use your power if necessary. but then you recognized the intruder quickly - aaron.

you ran over in front of him and advised everyone to stand down, but they didn't listen, they were too focused on the fact aaron had arrived.

you readied yourself to lower their weapons yourself, but then aaron made a move of his own and flung all the guns across the room with levitation.

"i was gonna do that.." you mumbled quietly to yourself.

"apologies, amor, i'll let you get them next time."

everyone else was stunned, you explained aaron's gift, but it was still a shock to see. a few banters are exchanged, but aaron, uncaring as ever, ignores them and proceeds to grab your arm so the two of you can leave. however, you stop him, not wanting to leave on bad terms.

you informed everyone that aaron was on your side, and they were understandably doubtful to believe it, but as they noticed how he acted with you, it became more believable.

you took the chance to try to persuade everyone to stand up again against the rebellion. juliette and kenji were the first to side with you, and slowly everyone followed along, adam and ian being the ones more reluctant. you could respect adam for thinking of james and juliette, and ian was just an asshole, but he was also mourning. in a turn of events, castle chimed in with his support.

aaron, not thrilled about the new members of your alliance, announced the two of you would be leaving. juliette protested, not wanting to be away from you after she just got you back.

part of you longed to lay on the comfortable bed back at the base, but you needed to stay with your team. so, you made an agreement aaron could return for you the next day.

"so i'll come back for you tomorrow? thirteen hundred hours."

"thirteen hundred hours? like from now?"

"it means one o'clock."

"... one o'clock is not thirteen hundred hours from now."

aaron was holding back a laugh, juliette was just as confused, and kenji physically facepalmed.

aaron eventually left after you reassured him you'd be fine. ian was of no help as he kept insulating it was better if you left. adam stormed off not long after, juliette following to calm him. she returned looking dejected and assumed she and adam fought. kenji suggested the three of you go out for a walk, although it was late.

during the night stroll, all three of you got emotions off your chest. kenji's feelings about the whole situation, juliette's issues with adam (they were still technically broken up) , and your turmoil with warner. kenji was somewhat holding back, but you knew he was just trying to hold up a strong facade.

as you disclosed your confusion and feelings, kenji had many questions, from disbelief, and juliette mainly just patiently listened and remained silent.

"so you like the guy, for what his personality? totally has nothing to do with his looks?

"hey, i'm not shallow! ...aaron just happens to be gifted with excellent looks."

"hearing you call him aaron is so weird. and i'm not judging you if you did. seeing adam shirtless is probably what drew juliette to him at the start."

"hey!"

the light banter made the solemn conversation easier to talk through. it was nice to be always from everything for a bit, and just act like friends.

you three returned back, kenji walked to the door first, and juliette grabbed your wrist to stop you from following him.

"i just want to talk to you alone real quick. about warner,.. or aaron, whatever you call him."

you held your breath, partly ready for her to possibly start another argument.

"i know you're confused about what you feel for him still, but i need you to know if you decide you love him - i'll support you. i don't want it to get in the way our bond. after everything that's happened... i realized there no time to waste on petty little things, especially about guys. all that should matter is we're always here for each other."

you give each other another heartfelt and tearful hug; glad kenji wasn't there to comment on how sappy and emotional it is.

"so, just between us sisters, do you think you love him?"

you laugh, and open the truth of your heart of her.

back inside, you all prepared for him or, as aaron called it a "slumber party." wasn't too far off since everyone besides james, adam, and castle slept on the ground.

your place was between kenji and juliette, each of you having your own pillow and blanket. winston and brendan bantered a bit about kicking faces before the turns finally went out.

"kenji, i know it will be incredibly hard, but keep your hands to yourself."

"you wish. you should be telling your sister that, she's basically all over me every night."

"shut up."

the next day brought a lot of drama. the day started off late, leaving little time to discuss before aaron arrived. another fight between adam and juliette set off. the issue being that aaron was coming back, which adam was completely against. he had been fine with your stay, but he wouldn't compromise for letting him return. adam gave an ultimatum, if you brought warner he would essentially kick you out.

juliette went to your defense and partly aaron's for your benefit. this only set off adam more. kenji tried his hand at intervening but only got backlash from adam, who stormed off outside after. everyone else stayed quiet, but you could tell one or two silently agreed with adam.

you didn't wanna stir any more trouble than needed, so you started preparing yourself to go, clicking the little mechanism aaron gave you a couple times to ensure it worked.

brendan, winston, castle, lily insisted you stay as well. james also gave a small plead for you to remain. juliette believed she could still talk some sense into adam.

it felt great to have their support, but at the same time, you felt bad for having to divide everyone into teams, yours or adam's. instead of building a team, you were tearing one apart.

before you knew it, the newly fixed door was again slammed open by the same intruder from the day before. aaron barged in, almost of breath and distressed. you thought something happened to him because of how disarranged he looked.

he locked his gaze on you and speedily grabbed you in his arms, cupping your face and scanning you up and down for any injuries. you were a bit embarrassed as everyone was a witness to aaron fussing over your well-being.

"did you run here?"

"of course, you beeped the pager."

you assured him you were alright and turned back to everyone with faces of incredulity.

"woah, this is... freaky." winston began.

"i worked for this guy for more than a year and never even saw him smile."

you explained to aaron that you couldn't stay at the house any longer but couldn't leave everyone else either. he offers to have them stay in the training area, but kenji declines, needing a better offer. juliette sides with kenji, the rest don't fully trust warner, so they need reassurance.

you couldn't bare the thought of leaving everyone again, so you pleaded to aaron to give in to their demands, willing to compromise whatever. you were happy and a little shocked, along with everyone else, when he accepted the terms.

"i'll return tomorrow at fourteen hundred ho-" he sees your confused face again, "2 o'clock. i really must educate you on military time, amor"

"or you could just say the time on a clock like the average person."

aaron takes your hand and guides you back to the tank to make your way back to the base before anyone notes his disappearance.

you express your gratitude for his help, and he responds by saying there's not need, he would do whatever to ease your pain. he also partly owed it to you for being so dismissive when you believed your friends were alive.

"i know they all judge you right now, and maybe they always will. but, i do believe you're a good person, and sure, you have flaws, but who doesn't - i am certainly no saint. i don't want to fix you...just want to make you see yourself in a better light like i do." your final words before falling into a slumber against the window.

you return back to the base the way you came in with delalieu's help. your both back in aaron's room, not having said a word to each other since the tank. aaron's started to ask questions about what had happened back at adam's house. you briefly told him about the drama about adam not wanting you there if you were with warner.

aaron became upset, not liking how adam treated you, and reassured you he would harm him if you wanted him to. you quickly assure him that you didn't care about it, you weren't going to beg to stay where you weren't wanted. you were mostly concerned about what it had done to whatever relationship was left between juliette and adam. she obviously loved him, but she couldn't hold herself back for him either.

you go silent at the mention of juliette, remembering your last private conversation. aaron, being able to easily feel your emotions, pick up and it and presses for information.

"it's just.. she asked me if i loved you."

aaron's breath hitches, "what was your response."

"i told her, 'love is a strong word. i'm not even sure i fully understand it. but i think...no i know. i'm falling for him.' "

aaron didn't respond, he got up and went to his office, shutting the door behind him. you weren't sure what it meant. and you didn't see him for the rest of the day.

you couldn't sleep that night; your mind was doing circles in anticipation of the group's arrival tomorrow.

you got up with the intention of solely getting a glass of water, but then heard a loud noise come from the direction aaron's office.

wanting to make sure he was okay, you walked in without notice. the door was already halfway open, so you figured it was alright.

the room was bigger than your childhood home's living room; it was filled with different seats of furniture, books, shelf, etc. aaron was at his large desk - his shirt discarded and only wearing slacks and socks.

aaron's brushes you off, telling you to go to bed, but your focus is on a small jar in his hands. you ask what it is, but he avoids answering, so you grab the object yourself. he attempts to get it from you, but you move away - deja vu to when aaron wouldn't return your journal to you. it felt nice to be on the flip side of it for once.

you read the label and understood it was a medicine. then it clicked; it was for his scars. and he was embarrassed about it. it was kind of cute.

he confirms it's for his back, so you nicely offer to do it for him since he seemed to have trouble reaching it. he was obviously self-conscious no matter how much he denied it, and you told him it didn't matter; you'd already seen them. but he kept turning his back away from you. you were getting suspicious that the scars were only part of the reason he was hiding.

you got annoyed and impulsively used your power to keep him sat and finally make his back face you. you could apologize later.

then you saw it. yes, his scars were still there, but on top of that were your wonky star doodles. the ones you drew in his cells two weeks ago in his cell at omega point.

you were confused about how they were still there, darker than you remember. the pen you used was lousy; you would know since you used it to write and the ink always smudged. the pen ink was also blue, and this was black. the skin around it was also freshly red.

"wait.. is this tattooed?"

his silence confirmed it. you were speechless. he tattooed your silly little doodles. he needed the medicine to numb the pain of the ink.

"why would you do this?"

"figured it your mark was better than the ones my dad left me."

"aaron."

"it was the first time i looked at my back and smiled."

you think your heart burst on the spot.

"god, i would've made them better if i knew you were gonna mark it."

"they're perfect." god, you were ready to melt.

you compose yourself and insist you put on the medicine since it was your tattoo design that's causing him slight pain. he didn't protest this time. you applied it in silence, then worked up the courage to ask about his scars.

aaron was very hesitant, you were ready to be shut down, but then he opened up to you. his scars being a 'birthday gift' from his father. it was heartbreaking to hear and almost brought tears to your eyes, but you knew pity was the last thing he wanted.

"when you saw them back in my cell, i waited to see that look of repulse on your face, but it never came. you observed them so carefully like they were the most interesting thing to you. then you had the gall to say it was similar to abstract art."

"well, it's true. they're not ugly, and you're certainly not repulsive. the scars are like a show of strength for everything you've been through. they're yours; only you decide what they represent. anyone who thinks differently is a total loser."

"please, stop."

"i'm sorry, did i say something wr-"

"i love you. so much that the first thing i did when returning here after escaping omega point was getting delalieu to tattoo my skin because your marks faded. i didn't even let myself wash off in fear they'd disappear before i got a chance to preserve them. i couldn't wipe the smile off my face whenever i looked at it through a mirror. it always reminded me of you. our moments. our last kiss. i burn for you greatly, and you don't even realize it."

"aaron..."

"don't."

"you know how i feel. but i'm still figuring it out, this is all new to me, and i want to get to know you better-"

"please. just go." and you did.

the following day, right on schedule, aaron goes to pick up the group while you stay behind waiting in the training facility that he briefly gave you a tour of.

the group arrived, and you happily greeted them as they looked around the place in awe. aaron began to go over rules and boundaries for the group. after the previous night, you were unsure about where you stood with warner, so you decided to give him some space and stand with the rest of the group. as he spoke, he threw not-so subtle glances your way, making you confused about whether he was upset with you or not.

aaron ventured off, everyone was setting up their items, and you separated with kenji and juliette. they book had look more distressed upon their arrival. apparently, juliette took one last chance to try and convince adam to come along, he didn't budge, saying he had to protect james and encouraged juliette to stay as well. it resulted in an argument; eventually, he respected her decision to fight - but it would mean the end for them. you comforted your sister through her heartbreak, adam had been a big part of her life, even a bit of yours. so to say goodbye must've been hard for her.

kenji also tried to persuade adam, but it escalated, and the two started throwing harsh words at each other. you knew adam was his friends, whether they both acknowledged it or not, and after omega point, you were sure kenji didn't want to lose anyone else. leaving james behind made it worse.

the direction of conversation then turned to you, and you were originally going to deny any conflict, but kenji and juliette picked up on the tension between you and aaron.

juliette starts, "so, what happened with warner?"

"don't know what you mean."

kenji and juliette give each other a mutual glance, " we aren't blind; the guy kept looking at you as if you'd killed his puppy. like seriously, there could've been a rain cloud over him with how much he was sulking."

you opened up to the happenings of last night, leaving out too personal information about warner, and how you weren't sure what to do now. kenji lost his mind at the bit about the tattoo, this new side of warner still weirding him out.

"i thought you were into him?"

"i mean, i am. it's just all so confusing. i'm not trying to string him along, i just want to truly know him before i could want more with him. it feels like he knows every single thing about me, while i'm barely starting to paint a picture. or maybe he only thinks he loves me or he's only interested in me because of my gift."

"dude, everything he has done for us so far is all because of you. what kind of guy tattoo's a stupid drawing someone drew on their back? and i swear he gets cartoon heart eyes when he looks at you too long. i know i called you naive for believing it, but that was before i saw first hand how intimate his feelings are for you."

"he's right, y/n. think about if he only cared about your gift, he would've been treating us the same, after all, he brought both of us in. sure, he acts decent towards me, but i'm pretty sure it has more to do with the fact we're sisters. you don't play nice with someone's family unless you really like them."

you were silent as you absorbed both their perspectives.

kenji sighs, "damn, i need a love life."

"interested in someone else."

"technically single, but i'd choose the asylum over you."

"i'm starting to miss when you both were meek and quiet."

after that friendly therapy session, you regained your focus on the important task, formulating a plan to overtake anderson. you had a few ideas, some you talked about with aaron, but a seventeen-year-old girl can only do so much on her own, so that's why you bring in your sister, who is also seventeen. as the two of you went through essentially the same trauma, she had as much right to be a big part of this as you.

aaron came back hours later, and everyone gathered around and took a seat somewhere. to your surprise, aaron sat down right the to you. the tension is so much worse side by side. knowing aaron could read what you felt didn't make it better.

you began to illustrate the details of the plan, juliette helping fill in and explain points. the goal is to get anderson to sector 45; to do that, you had to take over sector 45. getting people and soldiers to rebel was going to be the trickiest part, and much of the group wasn't on board that it could work.

"we're going to have to show them our strengths, i'll help them see our strength." you explain.

"and if they shoot us?" ian counters..

juliette shrugs, "then don't do it, i'm sure my sister and i are capable of being amazing by ourselves."

"real humble , j."

brendan speaks up, "so, we've got somewhat of a synopsis of juliette's gift, but, no offense y/n, what is it you can do besides read minds?"

it was true; almost everyone wasn't aware of other capabilities you possessed. you didn't like to divulge your gift much back at omega point, kenji, juliette, and castle knowing the most. unlike juliette, who had many different events where she showed her amazing strength, and you were sure they saw more when she practiced at adam's house while you were separated.

you briefly revealed more about your powers, mind-reading, telekinesis, and your ongoing training in telepathic defense. you admitted to losing control a few times as well. the group looked more amazed as you went on.

"prove it."

"yeah, c'mon dude, show us."

everyone else started egging you on to make a show of your powers; you even saw aaron look interested in wanting to see it. you gave in, and asked aaron for permission to throw some objects around, he nodded.

you started levitating different objects and throwing a few around. kenji started begging for you to lift him, so you did - then winston and brendan kept begging to go next. you showcased a small shield of energy you were able to produce. lastly, they wanted to see your telepathic projection, but you explained it would involve harming one of them, so you shut it down.

"so like, you can do all that too right? since you can steal powers?" winston questions warner.

"yes, if i wanted to i could take hers, or any of your powers and use it."

you cough into your hand, "no one's better than the original, though."

"so the two of you together can basically can..."

"take over the world?"

"...was going to say kick serious ass, but you're not wrong."

warner doesn't respond, but you can see him holding back a smile.

the thought of warner taking powers was eerie to the group, but you reassured them of your faith and trust in aaron. then the conversation redirects to the plan. castle questions of what is supposed to happen if you do win, such as who is going to lead.

"i will." juliette pulls you by the arm next to her, "and y/n will help me."

the room falls silent. even warner is still. your head snaps to your sister, that was not a topic the two of you discussed. nor did you know it was up for discussion. you, of course, didn't express your surprise, you couldn't show doubt when this whole meeting relied on trust. juliette's speech on the new world motivated everyone to follow through with the battle plan, you silently supported it, but in your mind, you didn't think it was the best idea for you both to lead a whole country. you think juliette forgets just how young and inexperienced you both are.

but you were sure this was a problem that could be mended later, right?

aaron and you were alone in his room again, the silence so deafening, you mentally cringed. you attempted to start the conversation on his thoughts about the plan, but he began to brush you off. frustrated, you call him out on his recent behavior.

"why is it all or nothing with you? i didn't reject you- all i said was i want to know you better, i saw you in a bad light for a good while. i want to see the positive just as much."

"or maybe you're just expecting too much from me."

"why are you being so stubborn!"

"because you being disgusted with what you learn, would end me."

he walked out after, a common occurrence, it seemed, these past days.

you vented all your frustrations into training the next day. you told yourself you wouldn't focus on warner, no matter how good he looked in sweatpants, and instead use your pent-up energy to master your powers.

it paid off well; you got closer to creating a shield. but maybe a little too well, since you accidentally launched kenji across the room with your energy force. he got you back off, turning invisible and tripping you. juliette concentrated on moving her dumbbell with the force of will, but she struggled. reminded you a lot of your training at omega point. you offered her tips on what worked for you, and kenji coached.

at some point, you went to the back to drink from your water bottle, unintentionally near where warner was bench pressing. then suddenly you heard someone yell 'get down'. it all happened in a flash, you turned around a bit late, and the rock wall behind you came crumbling down at you. you quickly attempted to lift your hands, levitate most of the impact and braced yourself. suddenly, instead of your body colliding with dozen of sharp rocks, you were surrounded in bubbles. you turned the rumble into fucking bubbles.

you stood mouth wide open in shock for a minute, the people around you just as amazed. aaron was the first to run to you, asking if you were alright, and you nodded, still a bit shocked. he expressed his astoundment at your newfound skill.

juliette then came up to you and profusely apologized, and you assured her you were okay and accidents happen.

"i can't count how many times i almost knocked out castle with things during my training. you'll get the hang of it. plus, i'm sure aaron had trouble learning to control power too."

"oh, no. though i've always been very good at everything i do."

you smack his chest, "you are seriously no help."

you continue to train very hard for the rest of the week, your muscle will likely permanently ache in pain.

you and aaron hadn't gotten much better, you really did try to reach out so many times, but if he wasn't going to cooperate, why waste energy.

he made a habit of intentionally putting his focus on things around the base and working late, so he wouldn't see you until you were already asleep.

if things ended badly between you two, i'd be because of his own stupidity, not for your lack of trying nor the judgment of his character.

other than that, all was well. until kenjii decided to casually drop a bomb that adam and james were coming to the base. juliette started freaking out, and you weren't sure where you and adam stood, but you were excited to see james again.

adam arrived, and tensions between the ex-couple were high. they both were cordial but weren't sure how to act around one another. adam went up and apologized to you for his treatment, and you accepted it because he was once your friend, and you hated grudges. james excitedly greeted you, and you gave him a small tour.

then aaron showed up, ignoring adam, but he and james went back in forth in exchanges. it was very entertaining to watch, and aaron pointed out your enjoyment.

"why do you call her amor?"

"it means love in spanish."

"so, do you love her?"

"why, do you?"

"n-no! she's really pretty- i mean, i like her...no, ugh, she's like a million years older than me!"

"hey! i'm not prehistoric!"

you cut the exchange short, grabbing james on the shoulders and dragging him away, "how about we go back t kenji while i explain to you age numbers..."

you and juliette got upgrades in suits. yours similar to your former, but with minor changes. your color was now a darker red with accents of black, your coat was now high to low with slides for the sides of your legs to show, new knee-high combat coots, and new long fingerless gloves. yours and juliette's new material was made to accommodate your powers.

for training, you watched juliette and kenji go back in forth in combat - kenji mostly won due to technique, but juliette overpowered him a few times.

aaron came up to you, and insisted the two of you train in combat together. you rejected his offer; combat was not your forte, you were repeatedly told by kenji many times. so you just stuck to using your powers. but aaron wouldn't back off.

"it's important to learn combat, amor."

"if i run into a bad guy i'll just fling him away."

"and when you can't use your powers, what happens?"

you were going to argue that wouldn't happen, but knew it wouldn't suffice for him, so you just gave in, so he would shut up.

it was no shocker that he easily blocked your punches and stopped any attack. he even had the audacity to be amused at how badly you were doing.

"wow, you are quite terrible."

"okay, i get it i suck. can i go back to my training?"

"c'mon, amor, don't give up so easily. punch me."

as much as you were annoyed, you didn't want to physically hurt him. aaron laughed when you told him that. that itself, ticked you off. and it did not help that now you had an audience invested in the interaction.

you still didn't relent, aaron was a bit disappointed, but he focused on fixing your form.

you don't know if it was the fact aaron laughed, his constant comments, or all your pent-up frustration, but something came over you. while aaron was distracted with giving walking you through hitting an opponent, you hit him - hard. you might've used some of your powers to make the hit stronger, but he didn't need to know that.

aaron staggered back, shockingly caught off guard. you honestly expected him to block it like your other ones; but no you managed to land a hit on his cheekbone area, hitting some of the side of his nose. your poor form made for your knuckles to hurt badly.

everyone stopped what they were doing; even you froze. kenji in the back, trying not to laugh. aaron then recovered, his land touching the side of his face. his face didn't show anger, pain, nor surprise - he was smiling in admiration.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!"

"no, don't apologize, amor. i'm very content being the first to experience your strength firsthand."

you and aaron ended up cutting practice short and went to the infirmary. you helped treat the large bruise on his face you'd given him as a small apology, and he wrapped your sprained knuckles and partly chasted you for incorrect hand form. was he looking to get punched again?

the following day, aaron woke you up earlier than your normal routine. he mentioned an opportunity for you and juliette to finally get practice outside of the base, and you quickly agreed. you asked why so suddenly, and then he disclosed he was going to visit his mother. it was her birthday, he explained. he didn't say much after that and went over that kenji will keep you and juliette invisible after he leaves.

but you couldn't help your curiosity and asked a little about his mother. hearing the story of his ring broke your heart. the only gifts you got were when you and juliette exchanged homemade gifts for your shared birthday, but the story made you appreciate that tradition much more.

"i think it's good you still visit her."

"is it?"

"it is. knowing you have someone there is sometimes enough. whenever i remembered i had my sister with me, it made the asylum not completely terrible. and around you, i feel like i achieve anything."

juliette, kenji, and you, invisible, met with warner at his tank. you didn't even need to tell him of your presence before he helped you into the tank and got on the driver side to start it.

"how'd you..." you ask, confused.

"i can sense your presences. especially yours."

"woah, freaky. what's mine feel like? peanut better?" he got ignored.

you settled on the opposite window side, juliette next to you, and kenji next to aaron. kenji started shuffling around, uncomfortable.

"dude, y/n, switch seats with me."

"what why?"

"your boyfriend is touching my leg."

"you flatter yourself." aaron interjects.

"c'mon hurry up! i think he's about to knife me..."

"just switch with juliette. it's easier."

"no way, if i'm gonna move, i might as well get the window seat."

you roll your eyes (not that he can see), and the two of you begin a messy movement of bodies to switch seats. poor juliette, stuck in the middle, getting hit by an occasional limb.

"ow, you just hit me in the face-" juliette complains.

"sorry, i'm trying my best-"

"now you just hit me!" you exclaim.

"oh my god, let me just-"

"kenji!"

kenji was the first to get to his new seat, you were situated over both him and juliette. kenji, tired of your leg in his face, shoved you with brief warning. and in an attempt to stable yourself you put your hands out on aaron's lap, but one hand missed. and landed on his groin. aaron visibly flinched and put his lips together in a straight line to contain his painful expression.

you gasped and hastily moved your hands in a panic, then to make matters worse - you fell face first in his lap. you were so happy to be invisible at the moment.

aaron takes a sharp intake of air, and his knuckles turn white from how tight he grips the wheel. you scramble you sit correctly, accidentally putting a hand on his groin again before finally in the seat. the silence was deafening.

aaron promptly dropped you both off at an empty site and bid you goodbye. you gave him some last words for comfort that you noticed he appreciated. then he went off.

sometime later, it was time for the four of you to meet up again. the practice had been somewhat successful. there were many miscalculations with practicing and being invisible. the three of you kept stumbling into each other, having the wrong place meant, and arguing over who was right. but ignoring that, you did get some practice in there.

aaron, however, was unusually late. it worried you. kenji and juliette didn't think much of it. but since you knew his location, you sensed there was something wrong. you asked both of them to check on him to ensure he was already, and you three walked to the house. you avoided mentioning aaron's mother.

you asked juliette and kenji to wait outside as you went inside.knji begrudgingly agreed, ensuring he could keep the invisibility up inside, too. juliette bid you to be careful and return as soon as possible.

you saw a few different pictures of aaron with his mother as a child. you looked through different rooms until you found him. he was sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest, his frame trembling. his mother died; you put together. you quickly knelt down and gave him a hug that he accepted. you let him hold you tightly as he sobs sorrowfully. it was painful to witness, so you let him cry onto your shoulder for however long he needed.

an hour later you returned, kenji and juliette already in the tank, no invisibility. you didn't need for them to say anything to know they had questions, so you avoided their gaze. next to you, aaron held your hand the whole way back

his mother's death reminded you of his family, the unknown fact to him that he shares blood with adam and james. you wanted him to know, but truly, you didn't want any part of that mess. knowing was already knawing at you as it was. juliette disagreed; she thought adam needed to tell aaron.

you thought leaving aaron alone was the best decision. you even planned to spend the night where everyone else was. but as you were packing a bag, he stopped you. aaron grabs your arm and turns you to look at him.

"you're right. i am holding back. i was telling you how much you were in denial, but it was me who was holding back. you've always seen me in a light like no one has. i've never thought of myself as even a decent man until you came around. and it scares me. so much. i'm afraid of disappointing you, and you'll be disgusted with me, see the monster i see every day in the mirror. but if giving more of myself is all it takes to be yours, then it's done. you can learn every crevice of my soul if it means you'll stay with me."

you knew it then, "i love you." you are in love.

he grabs your face and kisses you in less than a second. the kiss being so loving and careful, he takes his time memorizing your lips. he lifts you in the air prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. from there, the kiss molds into passion and need. before you know it, you're both lying on the bed with him hovering over you.

aaron groans into your mouth, "say it again."

you softly giggle, "i love you."

"god, you have no idea what you just unleashed, amor."

your stomach is doing a million glips. your entire body is in frenzy. you're ready to have a heart attack there and then. it was only just the beginning as well.

"lift your hips for me, amor."

"c'mon, angel, don't get shy on me now."

"i'm afraid you're never getting rid of me now mi amor."

very long night.

you slept through most of the morning, only woken up by aaron laying kissing down your neck. then he started going lower down your body. any sleep you had was now gone.

"aaron.. what are you doing."

"nothing."

"liar."

"shhh.. you just lay there, i'm just going to enjoy my breakfast."

the man was insaitable; you were sure you weren't ever gonna get out of bed that day. but eventually, you did. had to dedicate half an hour to walking properly again.

you went to you rfinal fitting for suits, and the new look was incredible. juliette traded the purple for a new black suit - kenji not liking his color stolen.

"why am i the only one in color now?"

"so, you can get spotted and shot at first while the rest of us get away." kenji answers.

"you're the worst."

aaron walked up behind you and whispered in your ear, "how quickly can you take this off?"

you smack his chest and give a playful disapproving look.

"i mean, it definitely can stay on, too."

"aaron!"

the bliss of everything helped ease your nerves for the following day. you were sat in aaron's room going over the plan for the millionth time. aaron kept reassuring you you'd be perfect and worrying will do nothing but install fear.

"it's just... what if it backfires. what if no one listens or surrenders?"

"it wont and they will."

"you're right. i'll just tell them my scary boyfriend will come after them."

"for you? always." he kisses your cheek, "i like the sound of you saying boyfriend, but scary?"

"well, everyone besides me is pretty scared of you."

"and what about you, what do you think of me?"

"i think you're cute."

"cute? yeah, let me show you just how cute, i can be."

aaron can never take his off of you for too long.

the next day, you, juliette, and the others stood in front of sector 45. both the people and the soldiers gathered there, all of their eyes fixed on your group. it was like the world's largest show and tell.

aaron started it off with a speech, informing everyone of the truth and the fact you and juliette were alive and well. then your sister took over, and directly told the crowd the plan to destroy the reestablishment, you gave a few words of your own, but juliette did most of the talking much to your relief.

then the questions from the crowd starting, so it was time for the group to showcase their powers. finally it was down to juliette and you.

juliette climbed to a building s good hundred feet from the ground, then jumped off and landed - making the ground tremble and shatter beneath her.

"how the hell do i top that?" you whisper to yourself.

with a comforting look from aaron, and a deep breath, you stepped into the front. you looked for a fairly easy but impressive thing to lift and spotted a very tall tower. bingo.

using your ability, you began carefully levitating it above the ground. you closed your hand into a fist, and the tower began breaking into bits. people began to panic as the rubble started coming toward them, but suddenly, you transformed the pieces into butterflies flying around the people. everyone looking around in amazement.

you took the biggest deep breath once you were done. very happy your practice paid off, and you didn't accidentally end up killing a crowd.

the crowd cheered and roared. the presentation proved to be successful because they got on board with destroying the reestablishment. the soldiers surrendered and joined the rebellion.

back in the training room, everyone was overjoyed with the success of overtaking sector 45, but now came the hardest part. winning a war.

juliette ran straight to you, attacking you in a very strong hug. so strong you had to tell her to chill on the power a bit. she apologized and released you. the recent events were still reeling in your mind, not fully comprehended.

"oh my god, juliette what did we just do?"

"we just started a war my dearest sister."

and now you had to wait to face anderson in likely a day or two. he almost killed you last time. but you wouldn't let him get lucky again.

the group, minus aaron, sat in the training room discussing what was next. one talk to another led to the topic of anderson.

"i've never even met the guy. wonder what he's like?"

"he's handsome. it's actually insane how evil, but striking he is." you blurt out.

juliette agrees, but the group looks at you weirdly.

"dude, you just called your boyfriend's dad attractive."

"what? i don't mean it in a weird way."

"hey, at least you've got a backup option if the first anderson doesn't work out. "

you throw a pillow at kenji's head.

then the topic of anderson's name came about, and that's when the trouble began. adam answered his name was paris; but suddenly, aaron arrived in the room, overhearing the conversation.

aaron put him against the wall, interrogated him on how he knew, and adam not saying anything. you couldn't take it anymore, so you yelled out the truth.

"he's your bother!"

aaron didn't believe it. juliette kept pressuring adam until he finally confessed. everyone gave the two of them space to work things out as everyone else busied themselves. when all was on steady terms, aaron sat with you.

"you should've told me."

"i know, i'm sorry. but it really wasn't my secret to tell."

"i had a right to know."

"c'mon, if you had some sort of family secret of mine, would you tell me right away?"

he hesitates, "you're right. you didn't want to get involved, i understand that."

you tell yourself it didn't matter, but you couldn't help but ask, did he deliberately avoid answering. you brush it off, probably nothing.

you returned to aaron's room, you both talked about the brother situation more, and aaron mentioned spending more time with both kent's. you were happy to see he was content to learn about his new family and want to see them more.

"this is great. i'm happy when you're happy. it's deserve more close people in your life."

"but i have you, and that's enough."

"very sweet, but family relationships are different. i was fortunate to have a sister in my life. what if my mother hadn't had the both of us, juliette not being my sister? seems unimaginable.."

aaron goes rigid, being in his lap, you notice immediately, "you alright?"

he relaxes and nods, "this whole situation has me a bit disorientated. enough brother talk. let me remind you why our relationship has much better advantages than other ones.."

a full night of sleep was just a foreign concept at this point.

it took one day for anderson to come to the sector. you all had luckily kind of prepared for it, so there was a plan set that you all were to follow. kenji, juliette, and you were responsible for going to the ship to deal with anderson while the rest took care of the matter on land.

before separating, you said your farewell and good luck to aaron. you tried to cry when saying goodbye to james and promising all would be fine. lastly, you gave aaron a kiss, and you promised each other to be safe.

"i have no doubts that you will succeed. my father can't even fathom the power you possess."

as you three board the port, you notice the massive groups of soldiers. juliette has the idea of you pushing them into the water with your powers, which you do.

you each take turns getting onto the ship, 5-second gap each. however, once you get inside, you can't find neither juliette or kenji. still invisible, you take your chances going through different doors, trying not alert soldiers.

but it fails because bullets began shooting in your direction. you run as fast as you can; unlike juliette, you are not invincible neither was your suit, at least not entirely.

with your invisibility gone, you get cornered with at least 7 soldiers, armed. your instincts kick in, and you start throwing men and attacking them with your energy. one soldier begins shooting at you when you're caught off guard. you hold your hand out as a protection and close your eyes, but you see the bullet is stopped - by your shield. you hadn't even made an effort to create it yet, and it presented itself like it was an automatic presence.

after witnessing that, the guard abandoned the ship and ran off. you couldn't blame him; you doubt he got paid enough to deal with all this.

you attention is shifted when you heard loud crashes and screams. you recognize them as your friend and your sister. you rush toward the room where the sound was originating.

you see kenji on the ground in pain and juliette not too far off; she's crouched down, clutching her head, and struggling to stand. you spot anderson, with another man, who you recognize is causing juliette's pain with his sonic wave gift.

you focus your energy on the boy, focusing on hurting him. then he stops his pressure waves and starts howling in pain, crouching down like juliette had. you were in a trance, channeling all your energy into hurting the guy, then - you snapped his neck.

you ran to juliette first, helping her get up, then you checked on kenji who was in worse shape.

anderson drew his gun, and started shooting bullets at you both, but it simply just bounced off. you and juliette drew your own weapons; you looked at each other and knew what had to happen next.

you focus your energy on anderson, his legs then collapse under him. he starts scrambling on the ground. juliette steps on his hands - shattering his borns with her power.

"remember that lesson on justice getting served?"

you shoot him in the chest, and juliette aims for his head.

4 shots - one for adam, one for aaron, one for juliette, and one for you.

it was a blur after that. sara and sonya were found and attended to kenji who was luckily not in any fatal condition, he would be okay.

it felt like you were experiencing someone out-of-body, unreal. juliette went up to the speaker system, capable of speaking to the entirety of the sector. she announced the end of the reestablishment and its new leader.

he was dead. it was over.

still bloodied and bruised, you stood on the tallest tower of the compound. you hadn't talked to anyone; everyone too busy rejoicing. but you were still digesting everything that had just happened.

you look over the new land and wonder what could be in store next.

you're not surprised when juliette and aaron find you, they know you too well at this point. they don't say anything and each take a side next to you. aaron puts a hand around your waist and tugs you toward him.

"the entire rest of the world is coming after us now, you know."

"i'd love to see them try." juliette says confidently.

"i believe as long as our bonds remain strong, we can overcome anything." though. that wasn't how you really felt.

you didn't want to damper a glorious day. but you couldn't help the pit forming inside of your stomach, telling you this was only the beginning of a treacherous path.

but nothing come could destroy the bonds you forged, right?

@whatsupb18 @letspretendimnottrash @heart-an0n @mrsspector-grant @kikilarast10 @nina357 @lupinswolfsbanes (tysm for the support)

#aaron warner x reader #aaron warner imagine #aaron warner #aaron warner anderson #aaron warner fanfic #shatter me #shatter me fanfic #shatter me series #juliette ferrars #kenji kishimoto #adam kent #x female reader #x y/n #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #headcannons

[leezlelatch]

Dude, I loved the lightweight fic so much!!! Copia was so sweet in both and I just can't. I've always had in the back of my mind that Copia has to be a lightweight...but I'm lowkey a heavyweight so now it's got me thinking about a lightweight Copia with a heavyweight reader 🤣 Like he tries to keep up but absolutely can't and refuses the fact and pouts.

Copia x GN! Reader. Inebriated Copia, alcohol.

"One more."

"No."

"Just-just-just one...just one. I gotta...we do together. We do-do-do....we do..."

Your jaw drops a little and forms an incredulous smile as Copia throws a hand out, his head tilted as he looks at you with flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. He's acting like you're the one who needs convincing, although your third glass sits nearly empty on the bar table in front of you. You reach across the table to take his hand, bringing it down to the tabletop. Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, and his shoulders fall as a deep sigh bursts from pouting lips.

"Amore, I can do it," he says, using his free hand to take another sip of his swirling purple drink. "We have fun, sì?"

"We have fun, Copia," you confirm, giggling as he smiles, wide and dopey. He presses his tongue against his teeth and you have to lean in a little to catch the happy noise he makes. But then your hands are coming up as Copia sways dangerously, his expression darkening. He drags his drink toward him and dips his head so low, his nose is practically in the cup.

"Leccaculo," he growls into the liquid, and your brow furrows. That's a new one.

"Are you angry at your drink, sweetie?" You ask, and Copia sits ramrod straight, his eyes wide.

"He...he mocks me, amore. Do you see?" Copia gestures at the drink, and then gestures at the drink, and you glance quickly around the bar, lowering your head and laughing. "OH," Copia's voice is devastated. "He even turns my...my....," his brow turns in and he squints at you, leaning forward a little. He looks blank, but then waves his arm dramatically. "You! Against me."

Copia breaks out into little sobs, dropping his head into his arm, but then he's right back up again. "I can't. Amore, I can't. Mi dispiace. I'm so drunk."

"I know, my love," you coo, standing from your chair and coming around to drape an arm over his back. "Let's go home, okay? Go home and snuggle."

"I'd like that so much. I love you so much," he says, wrapping his arms around you. He nearly tumbles from the chair, and you lift, your legs buckling under his dead weight. He's half on top of you and you're practically on the floor, but you meet his eyes, and Copia is smiling so sweetly, his nose tucked into your chest, and you decide that a little back pain is definitely worth it.

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #ask #leezlelatch #short drabble

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

@pattxnsanders

Patton knew better than to wander in the woods this time of year. Everyone knew strange creatures and monsters would make their way nearby, passing through on their migration from the southern valleys to the northern forests, and so it was much too dangerous for anyone to be wandering.

And yet Patton was going out, alone. He was hoping to get a peek of the strange yet mystical creatures that would pass through, as well as getting some berries so he could make jam for his older brother. He walks quietly and swiftly, and keeps his gray cloak tucked in tightly.

Janus stumbled through the harsh greenery. He was keeping his roughened rags for clothes tightly against his body. His knees were trembling as he was trying to walk. One step. One step. One...step... The entire world spun around him, it was getting hard to see what was in front of him. But he has to keep going. One foot in front of the other. Come on Janus. You can do it. Once you reach the forests you'll have a much better chance at hiding from the predators. You can rest. Just gotta keep going. Keep going... Keep...

He tried to open his mouth, but then he was faced with the sharp reminder that he cannot. Why? Well, the predators got him once already. But he was able to run away... Not without some scraps and bruises, and a silver muzzle strapped tightly over his mouth. He can't even open his mouth slightly without the fur on his snout hitting the silver, causing his fur to hiss and be burned off. He can't even take the muzzle off with his fingers or else he's risking burning his fingers off. He also can't use his rags to take it off cause the silver burns him through the clothing. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Cause of this muzzle the werewolf hasn't been able to eat in... Oh, how long as it been? Months? Probably. It feels that way. Even as he is walking his stomach is painfully growling at him. He could feel his bones ache with every single movement. His knees won't be able to handle the weight of his body for very long. His ribs were poking out of his sides and he could feel it every time he held his arms to his sides. He's so hungry... So hungry... So hungry...

His head suddenly lifted, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly he turned towards a sound. Footsteps. Who would dare go near this pathway for mythical creatures such as himself? Either predators or someone that is asking for a death wish. He's one of the last remaining creatures to use this path for the season, everyone else is already ahead of him. Maybe they thought everyone was gone already so they can use this path again? Probably.

Or it's predators hoping to snag a few stranglers of the bunch.

Everything in his brain was telling him to keep going and try to hide away. It's most likely a predator hoping on snagging him. Go. Keep going. Try to find shelter and hide away until the human is gone-

That was, until he spotted the human.

His brain turned to mush. Every thought in his mind evaporated from his mind just like that. His pupils became slits. His mouth began to water. Drool splattered on the ground below him. His fur became thicker, denser, to protect his fragile body. And, his claws extended.

So... Hungry...

He let out a snarl before he went down onto all fours. Before he could even think he started bolting towards the human. So hungry. So hungry. So hungry. Food. Food. Meat-

SNAP

why isn't he moving? Janus snarled and growled as he clawed at the ground, trying to drag his way forward. In his wolf state he didn't even notice that his leg got caught in a bear trap.

@pattxnsanders

#sorry for the long reply

[mybelovedwoo]

partying with ateez - headcanon

how would a party look like with ateez members

headcanon, romance, fluff, a little spicy in some parts

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~0.8k

an: this goes so well with the new wanteez episode, I wrote this even before it was announced though. you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

hongjoong 

-doesn't really want to go out in the first place, but doesn't want you to go without him either

-so in the end he'll end up going with you to keep an eye on you

-matching outfits, that don't really match (if that makes sense)

-he says that he can handle alcohol, but he can't, so he will be the first to get drunk

-like a weird drunk?? he does things he normally wouldn't do, like dance like a crackhead in the middle of the crowd

-when someone is looking at you, his scorpio is coming out, he places his hands somewhere on your body, usually on your hips, so everybody can see you are his

seonghwa

-that one person everybody likes to be around and dance with

-he always wants to pay, but you agreed to take turns on paying for the drinks

-knows the actual choreos for the songs, and having a full-on concert

-very light-weighted, cute tipsy type, just gets tired very quickly

-even there, he tries to take care of you, makes sure you don't drink too much or don't feel uncomfortable

-always accompanies you to the bathroom, he can't let you go alone anywhere

-he definitely is the best dressed there, no doubt

yunho

-ohh the life of the party, it's not even a party until he doesn't arrive

-dances all night long, with you, with friends, with strangers, with everybody

-becomes friends with the DJ, and has his own little part at the party, when he plays songs

-dances on the table with you, holds you tight, so you don't fall off

-handles alcohol very well, you can't even tell the difference between his real personality and when he's drunk

-can hardly be dragged home, you have to at least tell him you want to leave 30 minutes earlier, so he can say goodbye to all the people

yeosang

-this boy is so adorable, he couldn't say no to you when you invited him to a party

-but he hates it, when you arrive, he feels so uncomfortable, you have to buy him like 3 drinks at least, so he can feel better

-you ask him if he wants to go home, but it's too late now, the drinks kicked in, and he's feeling himself

-dancing with you in the crowd, doesn't care about anyone else, like really tiny dance

-you've never seen him like this before, or anybody, he talks a lot when he is drunk

-the next time he is the one asking if you want to go out because last time he had so much fun

san

-he was excited to go out with you, to see you all dressed up and having fun

-he stays at the bar staring at you while you are dancing and having the time of your life

-gets you a drink every now and then, he brings it to you and leaves a peck on your cheeks with it

-claimed that he is very good at drinking (he is not)

-dead stares everyone whos looking at you inappropriately, acts immediately if someone is trying to dance with you

-watching you for so long, he can't control himself, pulls you aside to the bathroom and...(you know)

mingi

-he can't handle alcohol at all, he says he can, but everyone can tell if he had even one drink

-wants to buy a drink for everybody at the club, and thinks he is friends with everyone

-just vibing to the music, might break dance if he had a little too much to drink

-feels the urge to tell everyone you are his beautiful girlfriend/boyfriend, and talking about how much he loves and adores you, istg it's so embarrassing 

-might cry at the end, because looking at your face made him emotional

-that's when you call the taxi

wooyoung

-social butterfly, somehow already knows everybody, introduces you to his friends as "the love of my life"

-having a drink with every friend he met there while having a quick convo, you can't even tell that he's been drinking

-you need to beg him to finally go dancing, he is such a tease, even when he dances with you

-places one of his hands on your neck, and makes you look straight into his eyes while you dance, he knows exactly what he's doing

-you wanted to kiss him multiple times, but he never let you do it, always pulled his head away, and smirked

-on the way home, a full-on make-out session in the car, from the build-up tension

jongho

-you've never seen him this hyped, he is all smiley (I love his smile so much ㅠㅠ)

-having really good party tricks you never knew about, he's showing off for sure, but he only cares about your reaction and nobody else's

-keeping you close to him, either holding your hands or having his arms around your shoulders

-protecting your drink while you have a toilet break

-when you try to pay for a drink he gets sulky because he wants to pay for everything, so in the end of course you can't say no to him

-carrying you home on his back, because your feet hurt from dancing too much

#ateez #ateez headcanons #hongjoong headcanon #seonghwa headcanon #yeosang headcanon #yunho headcanon #san headcanon #mingi headcanon #wooyoung headcanon #jongho headcanon #ateez imagine #ateez headcanon #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez senario #ateez fanfic #ateez fic

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 4

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, some body horror, and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

......................................................

Author's Note

The story gets more complicated and violent, so be prepared!

I've been watching way too many horror movies again, and I was sick too, so I gathered some firsthand experience for some of the sensations our poor MC has to face. But now I feel much better, can't say the same about her... Well, there's that :D

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

........................................................

The sound of soft laughter fills the walls of the house, painted golden yellow from the fire, and the lingering shadows of your companions loom over the carved wood like nightmarish demons. And with each step, you get closer and closer to the deceptive cheerfulness that unfolds below, which flows like a sick play around the laid table. As if an idyllic moment was snatched from a comedy movie meant for children and families, every minute of which is full of perfectly written laughter and undisturbed joy, but every giggle crawls into your ear canals on the slimy legs of a disgusting maggot, to bury itself in your brain and push you closer to madness with each minute.

You sneak closer to the stairs with careful quietness, unable to take your eyes off the scene unfolding in the middle of the spacious living room, because you're afraid that if you draw attention to yourself sooner than necessary, you won't have a chance to escape. Although the treacherous little voice in your head warns you that all your chances of disappearing from this terrible, artificial world were lost when Simon closed his arms around you.

And you reflexively look for the blond man, and as soon as your strained gaze finds his burly figure sitting at the table, terror envelopes your stomach in an icy grip. Every bit of him is deceptively calm, and he rests next to Johnny in his chair with such careless relaxation as if he always belonged there at the birthday dinner. But you see the waiting danger in his eyes, which makes him look like a wolf killing some time before finally tearing his victim to pieces, who doesn't even know that they willingly laid their neck in his open jaws. And it seems cruel how the two girls engage in a light-hearted conversation with the two men amid wild gesticulations and cozy delight, because you know exactly that each carefree sound that leaves their mouths is a precursor to a painful scream in the dead of the night.

Every member of yours is protesting against going down, and your legs tug you back like leaden weights, as you try to drag your body, heavy with fear, forward. As if with each step, the thread that binds you with weak fingers to the fleeting promise of survival is unraveling a little more. You'll have to go down though. Because if you hide, you risk the wrath of the game. You need information to get a new clue, and if you don't join this miserable charade, you'll lose any chance of finding anything. You have to do it even if every cell of yours screams agonizingly with dread.

The polished wood of the stairs creaks as you slowly descend the steps, and the eyes of the two men fixate on you almost on command, like two hungry vultures before which the delicious meal has finally appeared. And you realize bitterly that it's not so far off  from reality, because you're probably only a few hours away from someone quenching their thirst with your still-warm blood after they've hunted you down like an animal.

NO! Enough! You can't think that! Even though this wretched place wants to make it difficult for you to win, you must not let it get its way, because then you'll wither away in this quicksand of raw flesh and screams, stuck in endless suffering. You must not let it win. You won't let it win.

Your determination eases the trembling that shakes your knees wildly, and as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you straighten your back out, because these two bloodthirsty monsters must not see that they were able to plant the seeds of hopelessness in your mind. Even if this bitter feeling has taken root, you should not allow them to find morbid joy in it. Because that would be equal to your defeat.

"The birthday girl is finally here!" Pam exclaims enthusiastically as she turns back to you to look at you, and for a moment her kindness breaks your heart as you let her spring up and lead you to the empty chair at the head of the table with tender, friendly love. You don't deserve a minute of her attention, even if there's nothing real behind it. A fictional creature, whose empty shell is filled with life by the game, just so that it can take this temporary existence away as painfully as possible. But still, as she pushes you down to the chair with a warm smile and squeezes your shoulder excitedly, your throat tightens painfully with pity. You gave up trying to save them a long time ago, you forgot the compassion you felt for them, yet now your brain, overloaded because of the impossible events, allows you for a moment to feel sympathy for them. "The best place belongs to the celebrated!" She chirps, and when she's certain that you've made yourself comfortable, he strolls back to her seat, with such an unworried spring in her step that you recall quite cruelly how quickly this lightness turns into desperate fear as she runs for her life. And despite this sugary-sweet show, it'll happen soon enough.

And even to you, it's strange how the whole dinner scene begins with such familiar movements, even though Simon has intruded on the well-known story as an uninvited guest. And this might be because he only occasionally interjects a short comment into the smooth flow of events, otherwise not disrupting the dialogue that you have already heard torturously many times. If he does answer, the game bends the threads of its own story so smoothly that, in spite of the new change, you end up in exactly the same place where you have always been. And this fills your soul with such fiery hope that suddenly every cell of yours ignites with the wild desire to act, because if the presence of the masked man doesn't lead the story in a completely new direction, then there is a chance that the clues will still be there where they were before you discovered them... And that makes the doubts clinging to your gut seem to withdraw, and you feel that you can finally breathe for the first time since discovering the book.

"It's so nice of Johnny to put together this dinner, isn't it?" Rebecca chimes in, lifting another bite into her mouth with her fork, carrying her gaze around on the myriad of appetizing dishes displayed on the table with real delight. And you tear yourself out of the continuing web of your thoughts with a startled wince, in which you've been immersed far away, already browsing through the series of clues you've found so far. You run your confused eyes through the group at lightning speed, and when you meet the girl's puzzled expression, you reluctantly turn your attention back to them.

"Yeah... It's very nice of him." You blurt out your scripted, well-rehearsed dialogue, and although your tongue almost goes numb under the weight of the lie, you’re able to force the faint line of an authentic-looking smile on your mouth.

Although everyone seems to calm down, you see sparks of interest in Simon's eyes. And as you carefully look at him and your gaze intertwines with his, you see the unmistakable lines of a smile appearing around his eyes in the warm light. But there is nothing comforting about this gesture, because an almost condescending kindness emanates from his every cell, and this makes him look like no more than a spectator of an unfolding sad comedy. And if he really knows that you're not from here, then all ot this is really nothing more for him than watching a movie up close, the end of which he's perfectly aware of. But you can still surprise him. Because you won't let him think he's in charge. You just have to find a clue…

And you jerk back, almost startled, as Johnny's face swims into your vision, thus hiding the sight of his friend from you, and the change happens so suddenly that you just stare into his cheerful blue eyes, blinking with bewildered surprise.

"It's nothing! I'd dae anythin' for my wee lil' Bunny!" He utters enthusiastically, and although his words don't sound like lies, fear snakes into you along his deep voice. Because this sentence has never appeared anywhere before, and it's so new to your shocked brain that you're unable to register how one of his tanned hands slowly slides onto your fist gripping the fork, wrapping around it like an anaconda on its prey. And even though his touch is light as a feather, you feel as though he's squeezing you in a way that makes all your bones crack, like a couple of dry tree branches. What's this again? Why does the story diverge if it has followed the main storyline so far?

"You're such a lucky girl! I would sell my soul to be treated so well by someone!" Pam sighs longingly, and as she folds her hands in front of her chest with feigned offense, your confusion deepens. Because suddenly this whole horrible interlude takes a turn that is completely unknown to you. Up until now, it's been Pam who has had any sort of romantic streak, because she's the one who gets killed for living out her lustful passion. Thus far, you've never been the center of attention in this way, not even at any level worth mentioning, and the realization that now this is just another complication and death flag cuts into your brain like a knife. And suddenly you feel that the taste of the food turns to ash in your mouth, the dryness of which drags the waves of nausea up your throat.

"Is there something wrong?" Rebecca's worried question cuts through your shock, and as you realize that every pair of eyes is staring at you, you’re filled with the desire to escape. But you don't even dare to move, because you're afraid that every irresponsible action you make will trigger an avalanche that will have harsh consequences.

"I think my stomach is a little upset. Maybe I caught something." You try to explain yourself weakly, and with every nerve you attempt to force authenticity into your features, slowly releasing your hand from Johnny's grip. You have to wait to see what else changes, and to have the slightest chance to search for hints later. Because if you're not careful enough, you lose all hope of even finding a clue.

"Oh, poor lil' Bunny." Johnny grumbles, and although there is some pity in his voice, a hideous undertone lurks behind the sympathetic words that make goosebumps prickle on your skin in an instant. And maybe an outside observer would think that there are indeed wrinkles of kind concern on his face, but you see the joy in his eyes. Like you've just given him something he's been waiting on pins and needles for. "Let me help ye!"

And you soon understand how he wants to help you. Because, as the chair cries out with an ear-splitting scream, when he pulls it uncomfortably close to you, then it's too late for you to escape. The wolf has already found you, and you can do nothing but watch with stunned helplessness as it starts to devour you.

Not a single sound can escape your mouth, as your protest gets stuck under the lump that jumps into your throat, and you freeze in fear as one of Johnny's big hands slides over your back with easy naturalness. And as his warm fingers begin to draw slow, soothing circles on your back, as if he really wants to drive away your growing sickness with his gentle touch, but you go as still as a statue, completely unmoving. You're unable to turn away from the man, whose gaze is fixed on you with such intense attention, as if someone had hypnotized him. But you already know better than that. You see those ice-blue eyes gliding across your face, and you know that he finds his joy in the frightened curve of your eyebrows, the motionless panic of your eyes, and the quivering line of your lips, like a hungry hyena feeding on terror. And as, during his seemingly innocent adventure, one of his fingers almost imperceptibly slips under the clasp of your bra, crumpling the soft material of your t-shirt, that hungry grin appears on his mouth, with which a beast flashes its teeth at its victim. And the scene in the kitchen takes shape in your brain so quickly that you're unable to hold back the frightened whimper that erupts from you.

"There's no need for that... I'd rather rest." You try to oppose meekly, carefully choosing each of your terrified words, and when you pull back from the man's suffocating proximity, his palm spreading over your back prevents you, holding you back as easily as if it wouldn't be more to him then just a minor inconvenience. And you’re probably right, because even though you can see the cords of the sculpted muscles dancing on his arm from the corner of your eye, his whole body still remains in your personal space with unmovable carelessness.

"Dinnae be silly!" Johnny silences your protest, and from the curve of the smile on his lips, the tentacles of anxiety growing inside you cling to every single cell of yours. Because it suddenly becomes painfully clear that you've fallen into a trap and you don't even have a chance to flee. "I'll help ye... ye'll let me, won't ye?" He inquires, but there is something very certain about his question, as if he asked it just for the sake of fun, because he already knows the answer anyway. And why wouldn't he act like that? He slyly lured you into his arms, and now it's time for him to enjoy the fact that you’re exactly where he wanted you all along.

And although your brain is feverishly working on excuses that you can use to escape, like a frightened little rabbit running from wolves, the man gets to work much sooner. His wandering hand on your back crawls up your spine with the deadly slowness of a snake, and as his fingers dance along each small bump, you instinctively get a chill from the condescending tenderness that mixes with his touch. And you feel how the tiny little hairs stand up in the wake of his fingertips, and fear spreads through all your limbs, as if a paralyzing poison had been injected into you. And if resistance had even crossed your mind, then all your stray thoughts disappear immediately, because as soon as he clamps his hand on the back of your neck to lock around it, you freeze as terrified as if you had turned to stone.

You see the cheerful sparks in his eyes as he recognizes how obedient he has made you become, and you helplessly let his free hand, which has been resting on the table until now, come to play on the feeble stage of your body. And although you’re unable to take your eyes off his face, you catch in your periphery as he touches your knee almost teasingly, and you can't suppress the trembling that moves inside of you as his fingers begin to slither toward your thigh. You can feel the heat emanating from him even through the material of your pants, and you swear that the imprint of his palm almost burns into you as he stops to grip the soft flesh.

And like a wild animal about to feast, he flashes all his teeth with the grin that moves to his face, and as he rests his forehead on the crook of your neck, the treacherous warmth in your stomach rises in addition to fear when, following the hoarse laughter that rises from his throat, as his hot breath fans over the sensitive skin.

You turn your eyes to your surroundings in desperation, but all hope is gone when you see the expression on your companions' faces. Because the mouths of both girls are frozen in languid smiles, and they're watching the obscene moment unfolding in front of them as if it were the most natural thing in the world that someone climbs on you in the middle of a birthday dinner. Like they're watching the finale of a romantic movie, not Johnny slowly eating you alive like a starved dog. But it makes you even more upset when you glance at Simon as a result of a thoughtless reflex, because you immediately regret that you dared to look at him at all. The man continues to rest in his chair with undisturbed calm, and as he carelessly throws his hand on the back of the chair and tilts his head to the side, he follows the wet path of Johnny's mouth as his lips travel to the pulsing veins on your neck with such morbid interest, as if it were nothing more to him then some light fun. And you realize with alarm that you can't hope for help, because the game is more than happy to let this whole horrible situation continue, even if it goes against its own rules...

And when you feel the blunt edge of one of Johnny's canines drawing his mark into your skin with almost mocking fondness, that something that has so far locked your body in a paralyzed shackle snap. Because now you know for sure that nothing will happen the same as before, and your only chance to survive is to disappear from here right now. An unknown strength of determination moves into you, and you tear yourself out of his arms so unexpectedly that even he flinches back in surprise for a moment as you spring up from your chair.

"That will be enough! I better rest." You break the stunned silence, and although it's impossible not to hear the fear hidden in your voice, the decisiveness grows much stronger. And despite the fact that you feel that this small rebellion is already disturbing the apparent calm of the game, you don't care. You have to escape, because if you don't get out of their sight, your hours are numbered. And you can no longer allow yourself to die irresponsibly, no matter what lies ahead.

But just as you would take advantage of Johnny's surprise to free yourself from the prison of his thick arms, someone who has been watching this madness as a silent spectator until now finally joins the events. Simon leans forward in his chair with nerve-wracking slowness to look up at you with his elbows on the table, and that's enough for the sinister spasms of panic to close around your stomach in a violent embrace. Because you see the light that dances in those dark eyes... And they tell you that you made a big mistake, and he'll punish you for it with the greatest pleasure. He warned you, didn't he?

"Sit down." The man motions his head towards your chair, and his statement sounds much more like an instruction than a request. You'd be foolish to think he's only making suggestions when you see how menacingly his hoodie stretches over his broad shoulders as he hunches over the festive table. "The party's about to start." He adds, and you don't like the amusement in his tone at all. Like he’s already amused by something, which you have no idea of yet.

"I don't want to." You squeeze it out of yourself, and although you try to put confidence on your face, it doesn't escape the masked man's attention as you force down the stomach acid pushing up into your dry throat with a frightened little swallow. Because you can see his mouth open under the dark textile covering his face, as he follows this small movement, and from the play of the light of the fire, it looks like he's grinning...

But before you can even decipher what kind of storm might be brewing, you're distracted by something completely different. And as you feel Johnny's hot breath penetrating the thin fabric of the t-shirt covering your belly, you turn back to him in fear, but it's too late. You were too irresponsible, and you lost sight of the monster, in whose claws you have been writhing on the fading edge of safety. And now, as his big hands find the round curve of your hips and his fingers playfully grip it, you already know that the fragile chance of your escape is drifting further and further away from you. You're not deceived by the innocence with which the man settles his chin on your stomach, nor by the way those beautiful sky-blue eyes stare up at you, because you feel the certainty with which he hides the escape route with the coverage of his strong body.

"And then what will happen to them?" Johnny asks, and the worry that enters his voice hits you unprepared, and the confusion instinctively takes over your features, as you take in the way the line of his troubled eyebrows meet. And from this tiny little move, his concern seems quite genuine, and it only pushes your mind even deeper into your ever-increasing shock. What the hell is he talking about?

"With whom?" The cautious question breaks out of you, because your brain, which is buzzing with stress, is unable to understand who he could be aiming at. But you don't have to wait long for him to clarify and dispel the doubts from your mind, because as his head finds a comfortable resting place on your belly, as he turns back to the table, smoothing his face against you, you immediately understand who you have forgotten about until now.

"With your friends." He answers easily, removing all the care from his tone, which he has smuggled into it so masterfully so far. There is something stomach-churningly intimate about the way he nuzzles your navel with his nose, and the way he almost burrows into the warmth of your body, which makes every cell of you instinctively scream for help. And as his arms close around you in a slow but deadly sure embrace, even though you don't fully see the horrible expression he's wearing because he's hiding in your clothes, your eyes find his reflection in one of the elegant glasses. And on the delicate surface of the glass, the corrupted, bloodthirsty smile that spreads across his lips is distorted almost like a nightmare.

"What are you talking about?" You hesitate, scared, and your voice comes out of your mouth like a pitiful whisper that it seems quite distant even to your ears. And you're unable to tear your gaze away from the glass, because you see the man's crooked smile widen further and become a twisted snarl on the glass, which suddenly brings back all the memories of when you were on the other side of that grin. With this exact expression, he plunged a knife into your beating heart and watched as the light of life faded from your eyes. And this makes you realize that, even though you waited for a soothing play, the time for bloodshed has long come.

"Dessert is comin' now." Simon joins in, and this simple little sentence sounds deceptively harmless from his mouth. But as he turns to your companions opposite him, who have been sitting in their seats in a happy stupor until now, you realize that you won't be the target now. However, this doesn't calm you down one bit. "Pam." He almost snaps at the girl, in a tone that sounds like he's asking a trained dog to show off the latest trick it's learned. And you're horrified to learn that the analogy couldn't be more accurate, because Pam shoots up with such enthusiastic joy, as if her owner had really dangled a reward in front of her nose.

"Oh, right away!" She gushes cheerfully, and for a split second, you can't understand why she reaches for the huge knife resting next to the cake so suddenly because of the fear sitting on your brain. You just watch, paralyzed, as she places her left hand on the table, and as the warm light glints on the cold metal of the blade, something quite uncomfortable grips your insides. And when the girl turns to you and her gaze sinks into yours, you see nothing but the bottomless emptiness shining in those bright eyes, as if all the life that the game had so graciously instilled in her had disappeared.

But even though she looks like a lifeless puppet, the sound of the knife piercing through bone is very real, as the next moment she cuts off her index finger with one simple and swift movement. The sick crack almost echoes in your ears, as if someone has just started slicing a deliciously fresh carrot, but as blood gushes out of the wound in rich drops and paints the snowy white of the tablecloth crimson, you know that your eyes are not fooled.

"What…. what the hell..." You stutter, and you feel your brain getting short-circuited by the sight. Because Pam just pulls out the knife buried in the wood of the table with unflinching glee, so as if nothing had happened, she raises it again and strikes the next finger with it. Moved by the force of the attack, the severed digit rolls away, plowing a trail of blood in its wake, drawing a grotesque painting among the multitude of bowls resting on the table. This awakes the pulsing nausea in you again, and you clasp your palm over your mouth to try to hold back the rest of your dinner, which starts gnawing up your throat. However, Pam doesn't even seem to perceive the outside world, the wide smile on her face stretches into a grotesque grin, and her teeth are pressed together with such force that you can almost hear them crack.

"Why dinnae ye sit down, hmm?" Johnny's voice breaks through your shock, and you startledly tear your eyes away from the horrible serenity on Pam's face to turn to the man again, because suddenly even this seems like a better idea. But as he glances up at you from under his dark eyelashes, and something quite predatory flashes in his eyes, you know that the dinner slowly soaking in blood would have been a more soothing sight. "If yer gonnae be the dessert, then she can stop..." He offers, and your stomach turns from the sugary kindness that sits in his words.

And when his arms holding you in check slowly let go of their hold, you'd think you finally can catch your breath for a moment, but much sooner the air gets stuck in your lungs, as his fingers grasp your thighs with almost painful force, and you can feel their marks soak into your skin like fresh purple bruises. His face is pressed against your lap, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth to draw a wet path along the small seam running in the middle of your pants, and you can feel the heat emanating from him even through the rough material of your jeans, then you would try to back away in alarm, but you don't get far. His grip locks you in place much more firmly, and the treacherous tingle that awakens in your frozen body pushes you towards dizziness when he finally finds that tiny sensitive bud through the fabric, which makes you tremble and grip his broad shoulders in terror. And a deep, almost animalistic growl erupts from Johnny's throat when he catches this instinctive little movement.

Another tears you out of the paralysis towards which you drift more and more surely, and as Pam, laughing joyfully, sweeps the stump of her ring finger away in the puddle of blood on the tablecloth, you're already glad that Johnny is so willing to let you cling to him. When you catch Simon out of the corner of your eye, you're unable to stop yourself and almost automatically direct your gaze to him. And you would swear that you have never seen a more beautiful man, because the lustful look with which his dark eyes fixate on you, while one hand caresses his stomach lazily, is not entirely of this world. You follow almost in a daze as his fingers dance leisurely along the bulging hardness of his pants, and only another snap brings you back to the present before you allow yourself to be lured into the trap they want to drag you into in such a vile way.

No matter the two men's angelic faces, no matter the sinful power emanating from them, it penetrates your paralyzed consciousness too strongly, as the sea of blood spreading across the table slowly reaches you and begins to drum in heavy drops on the floorboards. Because only monsters are capable of such horror, and it awakens the desire to escape in you enough that your heart rate, which is accelerating in dread, finally pumps out the adrenaline in your body so you can act.

You reach for your glass resting on the table so unexpectedly that you manage to surprise Johnny when you smash it on his head. And you know that it won't do him any serious damage, but the pain lasts just long enough for him to release you in the middle of a tortured hiss, and you can take advantage of this to get out of his arms so nimbly that by the time he comes to his senses, you're a safe distance away. No matter how much a faint sense of guilt awakens in you, when you turn your back on everything and sprint towards the stairs, for leaving your companions at the mercy of the beasts, the survival instinct raging inside you drives this weakness to the hidden corner of your skull much sooner. Because these bastards were trying to use this, and they wanted to take advantage of this to catch you...

Even through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you can hear the laughter that comes from Johnny when you reach the top floor, and you know exactly what that voice promises you. There's nothing in it but cruel amusement, and that just helps enough to speed up your steps towards your room. And as soon as the small abode finally envelopes you, you slam the door behind you with such force that its loud bang almost shakes the house. But for once, you don't care if you make noise, because the chase has already started, and there's no point in being subtle.

You lock the door with trembling hands, but you know that you won't be able to keep them out for long, because you've experienced Johnny's power enough times. That's why you rush to the closet resting next to the wall with lightning speed, and you push against it clenching your teeth, because it might delay them for a minute longer. The furniture sways with a creak, as it slowly obeys the violent urging, and as you shove it with your shoulder again and again with angry desperation, it finally gives in and falls in front of the door with an loud crash, spilling all its contents to the floor. And although a sharp ache shoots through your arm as you step back to examine your makeshift barricade, all pain fades when you hear heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs in the sudden silence. They're coming after you.

And you immediately search for a new way out, and as soon as your gaze settles on the open window, you already know what you have to do. Because even though you know that there are enough dangers out there, the uncertain darkness seems friendlier than waiting here to see what kind of retribution you'll receive for interrupting the two men's fun.

And when the doorknob turns for the first time, you're already outside on the narrow roof, and you only take one last look at the door, which is slowly beginning to shake wildly, before you disappear in the cold night.

And only one thought screams in your head: You have to survive the night.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #johnny soap mactavish #simon riley #cod ghost #soap cod #cod mw2 #cod 141 #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #soap #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mw2 #cod mw ghost #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john soap mctavish #john mactavish x you #horror #alternate universe

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter one

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

{ nav } ; { next }

ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, clorinde ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 4.0k

 ‘EVIDENCE REPORT | POISSON: 43 DEAD, 5 INJURED.’

To savour tea is to indulge. As your lips leave the cold porcelain teacup in hand, you wave your advisor away, leaving you subject to yourself and your thoughts alone. In the quiet aftermath, you willingly embrace the thoughts that fester alone—an intricate tapestry of reflections, good or bad. The shaky sigh that leaves your lips is a limbo between exhaustion and, as much as you despise it, the unwelcome embrace of fear. Your calm, yet frantic eyes skim over the report countless times before noting the words in bold:

NOT TO BE DISCLOSED TO THE PUBLIC UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. 

Brows knitted, you question the odd desperation at keeping this case classified. But more thought brings you to the conclusion that this is somewhat justifiable; from the moment you stepped into Fontaine, you learned that to rub a Fontainian the wrong way was to critique their favourite opera—or rather, denounce their perception of it.

With another sip of your tea, your hands hover above the prompt for your signature glaring at you on the final page. You don't fail to notice that you aren’t the sole bearer of this matter but instead, share the weight of it with your co-worker, the Iudex himself. You can't help but scoff. It undoubtedly comes as a surprise for you; this isn’t something within his area of expertise. He can certainly provide his input on it, sure, but any measures taken in terms of Fontaine’s state of affairs are your call. Whatever it is, you are already hot on your heels, the thud of your boots muffled by the awfully grandeur carpet that graces the marble floors of Palais Mermonia. Though not entirely focused on the world around you, you certainly are not unaware of the whispers and hushes that arise in your wake. You pay it no mind. Someone of your calibre is sure to be a topic of conversation; it is undeniable that it flatters you, despite how annoying it may be on the ears.

You rap the door to the Iudex’s office once—then twice—to no avail. Feeling a light tap at your hip, you look down to find a recognisable face staring up at you with curious eyes.

“Why, if it isn’t Sedene!” you tease. If the melusine notices the slight quiver in your voice, she doesn’t question it. At the met silence, you let out an airy chuckle. “Is something the matter?”

At your voice, Sedene's expression relaxes. “If you’re looking for your Iudex, I’m afraid he’s in the Opera Epiclese tending to another matter,” You can’t help but feel your smile unwillingly falter upon knowing of his absence. He is your partner in arms for this case, and if others see to it that he is needed, then it is in your duty to oblige, no matter how nauseating the idea of it is.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Bringing the report up to your face, you try to compose yourself and shield your expression from the melusine’s line of sight.

This effort would prove to be futile in the moments that follow.

Sedene reaches up to drag the report from blocking her field of view. You know she despises the idea of being too short and having others take advantage of it, but you are mindful of the emotions crossing your face. With your bubbling rage at the Chief Justice’s involvement, you find that it takes a little longer to press your lips into a fine line and convince yourself that you have to either suck it up or take matters into your hands (by this point, you are extremely unsure which option you'd delight yourself to).

A soft paw-like hand begins to slyly wrap around your wrist. In an instant, your arm becomes captive to the ceaseless tugs of Sedene, who is jumping up and down in elation at her newfound revelation. “Oh! Oh! Sigewinne told me that expressions where smiles are replaced with frowns are signs of disappointment or sadness, or possibly both! So, this must mean that you are deeply disturbed by the idea of Monsieur Neuvillette being far, far away from you!”

The curiosity of Melusines never fails to amaze you.

You bring a hand to her mouth to prevent her from babbling any further. “Oh... hahaha… Aren't you a silly one! My dear Sedene, I’m afraid you've misinterpreted the means of my change of expression! I’m just concerned that his absence might delay the progress we shall very surely make in this situation—though, I certainly cannot disclose it because this is very, very, classified business.”

Noting the puzzled look she gives in response, you pat her head, albeit robotically, and fan yourself with the loose fabric of your blouse for composure’s sake. No one can see the head of Fontaine’s civil affairs under such humiliating circumstances. Confusion swirls when the unwanted heat begins to bloom from your neck up. What is up with you? You hastily bring your cold palms to the apples of your cheeks in a desperate attempt to quell the embarrassment that betrays your professional front. An incandescent blue shines brightly on the fabric of your coat, but that is purely your cryo vision working its magic. Ah, the wonders of Celestia are both a blessing and a curse indeed. 

Gingerly, you reach for the report secured under your arm. Your eyes ghost over his name unwillingly, and your nails have begun to dig into the lace of your glove; why does every decision end in his verdict? Do people not understand that his verdicts work only in the Opera Epiclese and yours—more just and logical—work in every other predicament that slips through the cracks?

Deciding to indulge in the idea of having time to yourself, you stride to your office with wavering confidence and slam the door behind you, back pressed against the wooden frame. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, the familiar patter of rainfall cascading down the stained glass windows of your office brings you a sense of comfort because at least there is something—or rather someone, out there who shares the weight of your burdens.

How you itch to search for whoever it is.

Snapping yourself out of your stupor, you force yourself to return to work; there are urgent matters to attend to. Thoroughly giving the report a once-over, you call in a subordinate.

Whether it is the weather or your own gloomy mood, the sluggish pace of whoever is to arrive at your door has you incensed beyond measure. When the foolish boy finally decides to show up, a headache begins to fester like a miasma from your right eye to your left temple. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you decide to keep the conversation short and concise.

“I expect emergency personnel to be stationed in Poisson by the end of today.”

The subordinate, whom you've come to learn is named Iaune, fiddles with his uniform. “But Madame, we lack approval from the Iudex—”

You bring a hand to your desk. “This is an order from me as your superior. The Iudex has proved his lateness in acting on this matter, and so I will be taking it from here.” At your glare directed towards Iaune, he nods profusely and scurries away, slamming the door a little too loudly, sending your migraine into full swing.

You aren't a supernatural being, and with the blurring of shapes and fatigue, accompanied by lidded eyes, it calls for a power nap. Slumping against the plush pillows of a leather couch that sits to the right of your office, you bring your hands to your abdomen and greet rest with open arms.

It is long past midnight when you come to.

Oh, no, no, no.

In a panic, you sit up to find a velvet coat slipping off your shoulders and onto your lap. You fight against the blur of your eyesight to study the fabric. The blazer is a brilliant Oxford blue, its lapels a blur between turquoise and cerulean lined with plates of gold. You feel at the fabric in curiosity; if not for your sleep-induced daze, you would notice that this very blazer belonged to Monsieur Neuvillette himself. Instead, you fold it over the back of a chair. With the paperwork in hand, you set yourself to his office.

One good thing to take away from this is how the migraine that had plagued you for the last half hour you were awake has now softened to a dull throb. You scan the palais for any sign of Segene, and… nothing. The same goes for everyone else really — your steps echo hollowly, and the stirs of gossip dwindle in the truancy of common folk. There is only one thing that brings you comfort and unease concurrently: the likely presence of the Chief Justice behind this door.

A gentle knock is what it takes to garner a muffled 'come in,' from the Chief Justice. Pushing the door open with your free hand, you are greeted with a grandiose office and the man you dread sitting at his desk.

You decide to skip the formalities and cut straight to the chase. "Monsieur, I am afraid that the prophecy is beginning to manifest itself in every corner of Fontaine. For this case, the spotlight lands on Poisson," you say, with a monotonous baritone that betrays nothing.

His ivory eyes widen a fraction, and he brings his fist to his mouth to stifle a cough. "So what I heard word of on the streets wasn't just paranoid drabble…" You can't help but feel your lower lid twitch.

"Well, word had it that you were too busy tending to business in the Opera Epiclese to officially hear it from the professional herself."

A gentle smile plays on his lips. "Very well then. Enlighten me." His gaze is imploring, almost expecting. With a sigh, you lay the report in front of him. You entertain yourself with an extra addition to your resume: experience in coddling the Iudex of Fontaine.

"Is there any reason as to why you lack any paperwork regarding this matter, monsieur?"

"I’d assume it was because of my preoccupation that they sought for you in my stead." With a deft movement of his wrist, two cups materialise as if conjured, a gentle azure glow tracing from his fingertips to the base of the cups. "Care for a drink?"

Crossing your arms, you can't help but order him around a little. "I’d prefer a seat, thank you very much."

He nods his head in complicity. "Oh dear me, my dearest apologies," and with a slight bow of his free hand, you find a chair at the very base of your ankles.

Easing into the seat—or should you say couch—is the easiest thing you've done today. Goodness, when was the last time you had a good night's rest? "Go ahead, you're free to read the report," you declare, the wave of your hand prodding him further. Fancying yourself a drink, you furtively take the cup of water he'd left on the edge of his desk.

To cure yourself of your boredom, you take to observing his mannerisms. A slight grimace, a squint of an eye—the look of surprise when he skims over the last page. Without preamble, he reaches for his quill, and you can't help but descry the way the ink dances across the page.

Once he hands the paperwork to you, you bow your head and turn on your heel to take your leave. The strained silence that hangs is broken with a chuckle from the Iudex. “I’d just like to inform you of your eligibility for trial at the Opera Epiclese.”

You hope he doesn’t catch the hiccup in your step. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Chief Justice.” Back still facing him.

“Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but deploying personnel to Poisson without due consideration and an unsigned contract jeopardises not only the trust vested in our organisation by the public but also compromises the confidentiality integral to this matter.”

You couldn't help but feel your lips tug into a smirk. “I put full trust in your intelligence to excuse your greatest asset from the scrutiny of your judgement. What I did is justifiable and is justified, Monsieur Neuvillette ,��� His name leaves your lips like the slice of skin against a blade.

“Oh? And by the word of whom, exactly?”

“Have you forgotten? I, too, have held your position alongside my name in your absence. I represented the word of the law, I wrote the books, and I am just. I am my own judge. Could you say the same for yourself, oh dear Chief Justice of Fontaine?”

____

IS THE END REALLY NIGH? WILL THE ARCHON ACT?

Clutching a newspaper in hand, diving into the inked sea of critiques and snark, you surf the waves of public disdain for the Hydro Archon herself. Albeit insensitive, the fiery opinions ignite the page, and you can't help but catch the raging tide of anger swelling through the populace. Welcome to the storm of public sentiment.

Despite the exaggerated theatrics of Fontainians, you developed a sense of indifference, your reactions reduced to a mere scoff. The overblown antics fail to provoke any genuine response, leaving you detached from the flamboyant displays of folly that had once captivated your attention.

Clorinde’s abrupt snaps bring you back from your reverie, and only then did you notice the newspaper in your hands, crumpled from your unwittingly tight grip during your trance.

“Earth to you? Now’s not the time to loiter around,” says the raven haired woman standing with arms crossed, a playful glint in her eyes contrasting the familiar tone of the champion duelist you’d grown a soft spot for.

You swat her away with the newspaper as one would a fly and laugh. “As the Head of Civil Affairs, I, too, deserve a break from all the buzz.” Stealing a sympathetic glance at the tabloid in hand, you sigh in defeat at the fact that you never truly can escape the ‘buzz’.

“God, how often have you been burning the midnight oil? I presume my boss hasn’t been too harsh, surely?” Clorinde implores; you had grown to notice that she’d pop a question whenever conversation grew dire — adeptly quenching her curiosity while addressing the pressing matter at hand, a skillful act of killing two birds with one stone.

Letting her in on such affairs wouldn’t hurt a soul, it seemed. And so you decide to amuse her a little. “If you mean ‘harsh’ as in pampering me, then yes.”

At the duelist’s raised brow, you stop abruptly. “I — uh, my, have I said something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Go on,” she waves a hand, prodding you further.

“Alright then. Where do I start — he’s an odd one, that man. His demeanour is different in both office and in court, as expected of someone of such prowess — and of course, he is expected to act by status quo. But over these past few days, I’d been greeted with nothing but candour from him — almost as if he’s… compensating for something,” You make a calculated decision to skirt over details as to why this might be. Sure, you have your speculations, but no conclusion you came to was concrete.

Clorinde makes a face. 

“This is the second time you’ve given me that look. Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll tickle you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him going so far as to pamper someone as you say he has to you, let alone seen it with my own eyes.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re rarely at the palais,” you deadpan.

She considers this with a thoughtful silence. “Perhaps, for once, you are correct.”

“I’m wounded that you underestimate me so greatly, Champion Duelist of Fontaine,” you feigned a damsel in distress, eyes shut in faux consternation.

The town clock strikes twelve, its ring echoing throughout the city, and the sun seems to show brighter.

Gently patting Clorinde’s shoulder, a nervous expression plays on your face. “Nevermind that! As much as I absolutely adore the cool breeze of the autumn air, I’m afraid there are to be more problems than there are solutions if this” — you gently wave the now rolled scroll of paper in your hand — “isn’t settled.”

“Didn’t expect you to grow so accustomed to your new job, young woman,” A smile seldom seen manages to creep up and tug on the fine lines of Clorinde’s lips. 

Merely shrugging, you return her smile. “What can I say, it is me we’re talking about, I pretty much am the adapter of all — consider me an otter in all its glory.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I’ll have you know that I am greeted with a soft mattress and plush pillows.”

Turning on your heel, you are met with a feathery wall of sorts. With horror, it dawns on you that this was undoubtedly not the type of ‘pillow’ you had in mind; this was no wall, this was someone’s chest.

This elicits a snort from the duelist.

There you are, standing merely centimetres away from the Iudex of Fontaine. Oh my God. You felt a growing flush rise up to your cheeks. Call it public humiliation, call it pride — but you simply cannot stand the image of your flustered self plastered on the tabloids all around the city. It had happened once, and you were certain it would be the last. The blame falls on Charlotte, of course, always nosing in on everyone’s business.

Almost in shock, you take a slow step back — in which the tap of your heel against cement echoes your humiliation, and you can’t help but grimace.

Through gritted teeth, you can only muster a pitiful: ‘Pleasure meeting you here, Monsieur…’ Despite the shakiness in your voice, it is hidden by the authoritative cadence you’d grown accustomed to during your time as the head of civil affairs. If it isn’t for your lowered gaze, you would notice the smile that ghosts over his face. But instead, in a frantic effort to maintain composure, you put on a brave face and take everything at face value, saving the impending embarrassment for later.

For a brief second you wondered how easier things would be if everything went in your favour.

“Good afternoon to you both,” The usual baritone of his voice sounds awfully frail. How odd. Another odd thing was how underdressed he appeared to be — his customary coat he wears in court nowhere to be found on his person. Both of you decide not to question it.

The two of you return the pleasantry with a stunned greeting.

She then offers the roll of paper to the Iudex. “I suggest you take a read. It won’t be long before everyone begins to question the acts of our archon.”

“I will take this into consideration. All actions in order to quell this matter are strictly confidential, Madame Clorinde, so I’m afraid I cannot disclose our methods with you at this moment.” At the word ‘our’, he gives you a side glance, perhaps in mocking, or perhaps in courtesy out of the goodness of his heart. At the thought of the latter, you drop the idea entirely, and entertain yourself with the more likely option — to which you can’t help but scowl.

“I shall take my leave, Chief Justice. Send my regards to Lady Furina for me, won’t you? I haven’t seen that walking chatterbox in a while,” She then levels her gaze to yours and winks. “See you in a bit, chenapan .” 

“Ta-ta,” Rolling your eyes, you dismiss her with a curt gesture. You can’t help but feel your heart slightly drop; it is inevitable that you will miss her — and as much as you hate it, there is a gnawing inkling that you won’t be seeing her for a while. No one warned you of how being the head of such a department would come with such responsibilities. Yet, the prospect of covering for the Iudex was even more burdensome.

The Iudex’s eyes follow her every move, and when she is finally out of his line of sight, he turns to you. “Which reminds me… I have arranged a meeting with Lady Furina, where you, the Présidence du Conseil d'État, are cordially invited.” 

Your brows knit. "And what's my role here? You have more sway with her than I do," Would it be blasphemous to say your opinion on your archon was a mixed bag? Sure, she was the archon of the land of your birth, but to say she brought you any semblance of reverence was a fruitless attempt at grasping at straws. The archon's influence over Fontaine remained an enigma, a puzzle you couldn't quite decipher. Unable to pinpoint why her dominance over Fontaine seemed a façade, you had kept the opinion to yourself and bit your tongue instead.

“Madame, I mean not to offend. You are not only my esteemed partner in arms but also possess a wealth of experience in this field that far surpasses my own. It is only appropriate that you take the lead as the principal force in this case,” Neuvillette interjects, his words attempting to bridge the gap of doubt. At your indifference, his jaw hands a little ajar, contemplating more ways on how to convince you with his flowery prose. 

“I beg for you to stop being so stubborn — this is all for the betterment of Fontaine. Please, let's find common ground and work together for the city's sake,” How flowery indeed.

You feel for the lace hem of your skirt and squeeze hard — you cannot lash out in public. “Me? Stubborn? I am promoted to being the Présidence du Conseil d'État, and suddenly all the world’s burdens fall upon my shoulders! Where is Lady Furina? What exactly has that woman done for the people?” What have you done? Your voice renders itself to a whisper in fear that Celestia above might hear your words of blasphemy. Challenge me, then. I dare you. 

Spite for the Iudex had been growing since his absence on the very day that news of Poisson had broken out. Maybe it was the comment he had made that night, or the way he had acted as if nothing happened, or how instead of an apology, he had opted to pampering you as if you were his plaything. The morning of, you had noticed that it was indeed Monsieur Neuvillette’s coat that had been draped over your shoulders, but you couldn’t bring yourself to push your pride aside and acquiesce into returning it. 

The sun’s rays seem to dim at your brewing anger, followed by the familiar patter of drizzle. Instinctively, you reach for your parasol, only for you to find that you had left it in your apartment. “Oh how lucky I am! The one time I leave my umbrella at home is when it starts raining!”

Neuvillette shifts in demeanour; he takes on a more softened look, hardened eyes now a confusion of regret and sympathy. “My… apologies. This inconvenience has caused you much distress.” Gloved hands reach for his own parasol, and you observe his every action with scrutiny. One can only imagine the look on your face when he opens his parasol, shielding you from the rain that has grown more fervent.

You push the hand holding the parasol away. “I am in no need of your pity, monsieur.” And when the reassuring shade leaves you, the rain seems to cascade with an indescribable ardour — to which you pay no mind; you don’t want the public to misconstrue your relationship with the Iudex.

“...And postpone the meeting for tomorrow. I have… matters to attend to.” Picking up your pace, you leave Neuvillette standing alone, a solitary figure in the midst of the sombre downpour.

a/n : dude I srsly dk how to navigate Tumblr but pls leave your thoughts on this and whether you wanna b tagged when I post my next chapter! im more active on my ao3 but ill probably start using Tumblr more often now!!

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillettexreader #neuvillette #clorinde #genshin impact #arranged marriage #enemies to lovers #divider by truegoist! #neuvillette genshin

[maaarshieee]

If you’re still taking requests how about kissing/cuddling Dottore and his segments? Like whenever reader sees one of them upset they can’t help but go over and snuggle up to them? P.S I really like your writing!

⎯⎯ ୨ Affectionate (HCs) ୧ ⎯⎯

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore (ft. segments) x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

hope you don't mind it turning it to hcs but i did put a scenario at the end (because i can't handle writing short stuff sobs sobs),, have a good day/night!! had to post this b4 i go to school hehe,,

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, basic dottore warnings,

You loved being very physically affectionate towards your lover, and his multiple versions of himself.

It's always funny to you how he always acts annoyed whenever you wrap your arms around his torso, hold his hand into yours or press a kiss onto the corner of his lip, right under beneath his mask.

His reactions may tell you to back off, that he may not be enjoying it, but his body language always tells a different story. He may be frowning in 'displeasure' but he'd always lean closer to your touch.

When he hasn't had his fill just yet, he'd wrap his arm around your waist and pull you back close to him, huffing under his breath and then saying "Where do you think you're going?"

It's quite endearing, to say the least. Dottore isn't often open to expressing the extent of his love for you, and you've long accepted that, but he does have his own ways to make you feel loved.

You were more physically affectionate of course, so over the years of being with Dottore and his multiple segments, you've developed an instinct. What is it, you may ask? Well, the instinct to be able to tell if your dear lover(s) needs your tender loving!

Even after joining the Fatui, some mannerisms he had back then never changed, and you adored those traits. When he's getting stressed, he fidgets more than usual, his jaw tensed and a tad more irritable. He'd be burying himself more into his work, muttering to himself and irritably biting on his bottom lip with his sharp teeth.

You'd also feel his gaze on you more often than not, calling you more often in his office so he could ramble on and on about the latest progressions of his research, or simply complain about the other Harbingers

As his lover, you're his greatest distraction. If it were someone else to take the files in his hands away from his hands, they'd be dead where they stood. His hands were just mere inches away from your neck when he realized it was just you, sporting the same smile you'd always give him and never moving from your spot even if he was so close to choking you. The trust you put in him was impeccable.

And when you push him down back on his chair, you immediately went to straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body close to his, making yourself as comfortable as you possibly could on him.

Dottore wasn't surprised to have you on his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist as he went back to reading his files. It managed to quell his fidgeting, your weight pressing against him gives him this sense of clarity like it keeps him grounded, as well as reminding him that you're here, on his lap, oh-so-close to him.

So while he'd still be technically doing his work, his fingers always would play with the hem of your shirt, rubbing your back or playing with your hair, his gloved hands tracing every inch of skin exposed from your clothes.

This extends to his segments of course. They're all so deprived of your love since their creator always hogs most of your affections, so they always feel so blessed when you pop out of nowhere whenever Prime is too busy or somewhere else and drag them into a cuddle session.

And they keep the same facade too! Pretending they don't want to be in your arms when they're desperately gripping onto your clothes, unconsciously mumbling 'few more minutes' against your neck, refusing to let you go.

When they're also very upset about something, you'd always swoop in to help them with whatever task Dottore has assigned them to do then pull them into your embrace, or you'd cup their cheeks while taking off their mask to pepper sweet, butterfly kisses on their faces.

And each and every time, these pitiful segments would melt in your touch or get a bit too greedy, capturing your lips into theirs. And who are you to refuse your lover?

All the segments, and Dottore himself, want all your attention and your love all for themselves. So when you come up to them with a bright smile on your face, pulling them into a big hug, they'd never, ever refuse or push you away.

───── ❝ encore! ❞ ─────

"Are you going to let me go, my darling?"

Fingers lost in his hair, your lips brush against his cheek as Dottore's hands gripped your hips, keeping you on his lap whilst his chin rested upon your shoulder. "Is there a reason for me to let you go?" Replied your lover, allowing you to slip off his bothersome mask and press soft, lingering kisses on his temple.

"Well, I do have a mission issued by Pierro himself, all the way to Inazuma. So, I think that's enough for a reason, no?" You grinned when you felt Dottore pull you closer, his lips attaching themselves to your neck. "It's like, one of the only missions the Fatui gives me since I technically work for you."

"Since you work for me, I order you to stay with me until I'm satisfied."

Letting out an airy laugh, you couldn't help but shake your head, before settling down once more on his lap comfortably, cooing in his ear as you rake your fingers through his hair again. "Alright boss," You murmur gently, letting out a small yawn. "I'll stay."

If you want to be tagged in future works, fill out this form to be added to my taglist! Remember that usernames are only lowercase and have no spaces!

Taglist: @anniejourn, @dilucssiliconedildo, @achlysyo, @sunoo-bby, @iyagato, @randomidk-123, @kujobug, @louise-rosita-leroux, @eliciana, @gattahaveit1, @vvyeislazzy, @styxfly, @yourdailymemedelivery

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

#yaepublishinghouse #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #:;marshie.writes #:;headcanons #:;requested #:;il.dottore