#(which he does in Snow Place Like Home and Crash Course)

[lieutenant-amuel]

Another day of me realizing that the Avaloran Royal Guard system makes no sense.

#Personal #Ajhdnfjjf I should stop reading about the real world armies :’D #But I need it for writing reasons so #Okay I was reading about the military formations #And you know Captain is a way too high rank for doing the stuff Gabe does in the show x) #He’s not even supposed to lead the squad #(which he does in Snow Place Like Home and Crash Course) #(although honestly it looks more like a team because there’s only two or four people there) #and well this is a sergeant’s responsibility #definitely not captain’s #Okay I’m just sticking with the idea that the Avaloran army got greatly reduced after Shuriki was overthrown #This is why Gabe as a freaking OFFICER was doing such minor things #Wait I think Gabe calls his squad a company some time later in Crash Course? #Yeah a company that consists of four people #Their guard is tiny you cannot tell me otherwise #I’m gonna be so educated in the military #Too bad nobody in my surrounding will ever know #(okay but I actually need to make some changes in my guard system #and add a lot of new stuff too)

[kkaewrites]

real or not real — nagi seishiro x reader !

warnings. indecent language, ooc nagi.

tropes. meet-ugly, enemies to lovers.

you hate nagi seishiro.

he was stone cold, often referred to as socially awkward— but you feel like those were just excuses to make up for his rude and nasty behavior. personally, you think he’s overrated just because he’s considered a soccer genius. of course, no one ever believes you. they think your hatred clouds your judgement (it obviously does not).

you first met him when you were in grade school, deskmates for the first day of class. he was shorter than you at that time, but aside from his height, everything about him stayed the same. he still has the same gunmetal gray eyes that’s either reflected with boredom or reflected by the screen of his gray nintendo gameboy. he still has the same white hair, as clean as the first drop of snow, but as wild as a lion’s mane.

to you, there was absolutely nothing about him that’s fascinating— he was the same as any average boy. playing mobile games was his favorite past time, so much so that you believed that it was his lifeline at one point. or so you’d assume. he always kept to himself and was left to his own devices (quite literally), most things that kids enjoy don’t seem to pique his interest. you guess those were the reasons why he didn’t have many friends.

no, scratch that— he didn’t have any friends.

at first you wondered why. if there’s one thing you noticed about him even at a very young age, it’s that he’s handsome. he doesn’t have to be the “rich kid” with amazing gadgets and fancy toys, or the “cool kid” who knows what right words to say and way to say it, but he’s nagi. he was conventionally attractive without even trying. however, that fact doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that he looks lonely.

so, you’ve devised a plan to talk to him.

“hey. sei-chan, wanna be my friend?” you’re everyone’s friend. the sunshine child, the one who always lends her classmate crayons or pencils, the kid with pigtails who smile at strangers for no reason. you’re the kid that everyone loves, and if by some miracle, someone hates you (which has never happened and will never happen)— everyone would simply take your side. you’re loved by all.

if nagi was shocked by your sudden proposal, his features didn’t show any signs of it. what he does is pause his current game and faces you. it’s the first time you’ve ever stared at him eye-to-eye. your heart jumps.

uh oh. is this what they call a crush?

eyes filled with hope, you patiently waited for nagi’s response. you expected him to utter “sure” wearing his usual monotone voice, but it doesn’t come. and what he says instead ruins you. your heart does a somersault and tumbles, crashing onto the pavement and breaking into tiny, gliterring pieces. it did not feel good.

“no thanks. i despise people like you.”

you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong at that very moment. maybe you were too blunt, too cheery, too whatever — just something too much to be able to upset someone like nagi seishiro, who doesn’t feel strongly about anything or anyone. you didn’t have the courage to ask him what you’ve done wrong because your vision blurs. you always reckoned that it was due to anger, but your mother who saw you run home with tear-streaked cheeks says otherwise.

you still don’t know how you managed to piss off nagi, even until your very first year of college. after grade school, you never saw him again. you heard he studied at some prestigious high school but that was the end of it, you never really asked because you had no interest whatsoever. you somehow managed to assure yourself that there was no way you’d ever cross paths with him once again— so why is he here?

why, of all places, would he be your deskmate for your politics class?

at this point, you thought maybe the gods above despised you, too. did they hate you enough to not only be schoolmates, not only be classmates with this man, but to be deskmates? hate is the only logical explanation for this fucked-up coincidence. you’re not keen on fates or invisible strings so you’re sure this was just a punishment for you.

oh god. you hate it so much. you hate him so much.

without a word, you took the seat right next to him, taking the opportunity while he’s sound asleep. you’re not sure why he would take politics as his subject, because as far as you know about him, all he ever cares about is his mobile games. maybe soccer as well, but that’s not exactly related to politics, either.

when the professor enters the class, you found no reason to wake him up. he could get screamed at for all you care, but there was no way you’d ever converse with him at your own accord. because the only way you’d ever survive sitting next to him for the whole semester is by not acknowledging him at all. you can do that. you can avoid talking or looking at him. he’s not that talkative (and he’s not even awake) to begin with.

until your plan crashes and burns.

he turns out to be your partner for a school project— a big one, at that. you considered going solo, but the whole point of the project is to make sure two people are working together. it was a community development kind of plan, so unless he works with you and you work with him, you’d be getting an F for your politics class. that, you can’t have. even if it meant talking to him and enduring his presence.

he wakes up right after the class ended and you could barely contain your scoff. he sat through the whole 2 hour lecture just like that, does he have no care for his grades? doesn’t matter. it’s none of your business if he fails, that simply means that you won’t see him much anymore (which is a win for you).

you sighed. he should’ve been paired with someone else. why did it have to be you? why did it have to be your deskmate? and why did he have to be your deskmate? it was too much. how could you ever work with someone you hate? with someone who hates you?

you’re going to fail politics. you’re 100% sure of that. there was just no way that you’d ever accomplish this task— or you could beg your professor to let you switch partners. or you could ask your classmates to let you switch... but who would ever want someone as lazy as nagi to be their partner? fuck.

from the corner of your eye, you saw nagi yawn. it took all of you to swallow your pride whole and gulp it down to ever approach him, but it’s better than not trying. if you fail, at least you tried. even if it meant battling your inner demons.

so, clutching your bag straps tightly as if it would ever help, you turned to your sleepy deskmate. “nagi. it seems like we’re partners for the politics subject. i’m expecting you’d cooperate willingly so that—”

“sorry,” he interrupts with half lidded eyes. “do i know you?”

“you’re going to rip your paper to shreds.” nagi commented from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you aggressively wrote on your notebook. you imagined the page to be nagi’s face as you cruelly stabbed it, not caring about your pen or your paper’s state. you cannot believe that for some reason, you’re still stuck with the snow white haired guy. you’ve tried everything there is to get rid of him but nothing seemed to work.

“right,” your teeth could break with how hard you clenched your jaw. “will you be free later?”

“oh. i have soccer training.”

of course he fucking has soccer training.

you gave him the strongest deadpan you could muster before exhaling a deep breath. once to calm yourself down, twice to clear your head and thrice in hopes of losing all of your lungs’ air so you could shrivel and die on the spot. nagi seems to be unaware of your thoughts— and even if he had understood your facial expression and body language, he simply did not care.

“i’ll be free after, though.” he adds, as if you’d ever know that information if he hasn’t uttered it. this at least gives you the sense that he might care about the group project, and that he won’t be a complete inconvenience.

“okay. let’s meet up at the coffee shop near school. will you be done at 8?”

“yeah. but,” he pauses. “i thought we’d just do the project at my place.”

“who died and made you king?” you blurt out before you could think of a proper response. you wondered if you’d ever feel so strongly about a person the same way you did for nagi. he was driving you mad.

“what?” his clueless face almost made you feel guilt— almost. but you ignored the sensation and frowned instead. the least you could do was give him a clearer sentence:

“there’s no way i’d ever step a foot at your house.”

“it’s fine. no one’s home anyway.”

“that’s even worse.”

“huh? oh. don’t worry. you’re not my type.”

the conversations you somehow hold with nagi infuriates you. he has this way of making you feel like shit for some reason, and he does it with so much nonchalance you’d wonder if he insults everyone. but you know better and you know he definitely doesn’t, because you’re the only one he treats like this. it’s the absolute worst.

what does he mean you’re not his type? were you not pretty enough? not tall enough? not skinny enough? not fair enough? not what? ever since grade school, you’ve always thought that he sees you as someone “too much” and yet as he stands here with you, in an empty classroom— you wondered how you could be “too much” and yet be “not enough” at the same time.

and since when did you care about how he views you? since you were kids, apparently. because the words he would utter up until this day shatters you all the same. and you hate him— so goddamn much. but beyond all that anger, there’s grief. it doesn’t subside even as you grabbed all your things and shoved 6”3 foot tall nagi aside.

for some reason, he shows up at the café you mentioned at exactly 8 o’clock in the evening. you were typing away on your laptop, while a cup of caramel macchiato and a bunch of scattered papers littered your desk. you didn’t expect him to come, and it would’ve been better if he didn’t. but somehow, he’s here and he looks a little apologetic.

“are you upset?” he asks. his sports bag slumped over his shoulder as he stands right next to you. there’s an unoccupied seat in front but he doesn’t take it— at least, not yet. his whole, undivided attention was poured onto you and you alone. it makes you squirm in your seat, so you decided not to look up from your screen to greet him.

“no. take a seat.”

“you look upset.”

“do you want me to be upset?”

“no.”

“then shut up.”

wordlessly, he takes the seat right in front of you and slouches. he looks battered and fatigued from practice, but he doesn’t say a word to complain (to your absolute shock). you guessed that he walked straight from the field to the café without even changing or taking a shower, because his clothes clung to him like a shirt a few sizes smaller.

“shouldn’t you go change?”

“yeah. but i left my clean clothes at my apartment.”

fifteen minutes pass and you suddenly closed your laptop shut, eyes fixated on nagi’s gunmetal gray ones. he looks surprised from your sudden move, a look that you didn’t expect to recognize due to how miniscule it was. you felt bad for him. the café was getting too cold for comfort and all he wore was his jersey (one that’s drenched with his sweat). if you stayed any longer, he’d probably catch a cold.

why you care, however, that was not a question you could currently answer.

“let’s just go to your place.”

despite his constant need to laze around, his place wasn’t a complete mess— well, yes, there are (presumably dirty) clothes on the floor and used dishes on the sink, but you’ve seen worse. you expected his apartment to be so much worse. it seems like he’s not a complete monkey to not understand basic hygiene and cleanliness.

your only problem is that nagi seems to be bored. you caught him dozing off the coffee table as you ramble about your politics project, and you don’t even have to ask if he cares at all— because he’s trying to hide his obvious distate and boredom. so, even though you’d rather proceed to do your work rather than humoring this 6 foot tall giant, you pipe up:

“wanna play a game?”

“what game? i don’t like games that require effort.”

“it’s called real or not real. we take turns in guessing if the other person’s sentence is real or not real.”

“sounds like a pain.” he groans.

“you know what truly is a pain?” you turned to look at him. “this politics project. so take it or leave it. i’m kind enough to give you a break.”

“shouldn’t we play a different game? a mobile game, maybe.”

“what about a wager, then? the winner’s the boss.”

the game was a piece of cake— to you, at least. nagi’s an open book and it’s easy to read him. you explained that the mechanics goes like this: you take turns in giving very specific sentences about yourself, and the other party has to guess whether it’s real or not real. five wrong guesses means that the other person wins. so the only thing you have to do is to make sure that nagi loses first.

unfortunately, you were down to four mistakes while nagi only had one. the game wasn’t going like how you imagined it would be. how were you supposed to know that nagi keeps a cactus as a pet? how were you supposed to know that he only figured out how to play soccer when he was in high school? how were you supposed to know that he’s got a picture of his crush under his study table? (you still had no idea who that crush is, and it quite literally shocked you). how were you supposed to know that someone like nagi seishiro, was capable of liking someone romantically?

on the other hand, out of the six sentences you threw at him— he had only guessed wrong once. you don’t know how he’s so good at this game, too. it was either he knew awfully a lot about you, or was really good at second guessing things. you’re pretty sure it was the former. how could he know a lot about you, when he doesn’t even know your name?

“real or not real: i hate you.” you stated. his nonchalance was putting you off, but you’re not sure if you were uneasy because of it or if you felt guilty for saying that sentence out loud. you told yourself you could just take it back and act as if it’s not real but nagi himself looked so convinced when he said:

“real.”

he was right once again. but you didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whole thing when his sentence comes.

“real or not real: i want to kiss you right now.”

the silence was so loud it pierces your ears— or maybe you have gone deaf with that sentence. you’re not sure of anything at the moment because it feels like your senses were slowly slipping from your own fingers. if nagi was joking, his face didn’t show any signs of him laughing soon. but maybe you should know better, maybe he could joke like that with a straight face.

so you waited for a few minutes, for him to tell you that it was a joke— that it’s not part of the goddamn game because how could it be part of it? but nothing comes. his eyes were simply on you as he patiently awaits your answer. your make it or break it answer, at that. and it only dawns on you that this is real, this is his sentence and he’s expecting you to play. he’s expecting you to answer real or not real. because you were the one who proposed the game in the first place.

you wanted to scream and to run away, but you were rooted on the spot. time stood still and it froze you under nagi’s unblinking gunmetal gray eyes, as if the situation’s not bad at all. but this is a trick question, your rational mind says. he told you when you were younger that he despises people like you, asked you if he knows you upon meeting at your politics class, and told you that you’re not exactly his type— so there’s no way he’d want to kiss you. right?

you meet his gaze. right, nagi?

against your better judgement to think it through, you suddenly blurted: “real.”

his face doesn’t shift and nor did the mood of the room. your heart was beating erratically as if you’re not facing the guy you clearly hated with a passion, but the silence ensues. you were screaming at yourself, why the fuck did you say real? were you out of your goddamned mind? were you crazy? the answer’s clearly not real!

nagi, however, only looks away. “huh.”

“what?”

“i almost won. what a pity.”

“the answer’s real?”

“yeah.” he tilts his head and answers as if you were stupid. as if you were the one who’s weird and doesn’t get what’s happening— but maybe that really is the case. because you’re mind hasn’t caught up yet. what does he mean the answer’s real? does that mean he wants to kiss you, right now? how is that possible after all the things he had said to you?

you laugh. not the quiet giggle or the chuckle you were accustomed to doing, but a belly laugh— one that could rival a hyena’s. because this was funny. too funny. he’s definitely joking and you’ve only figured out that now.

“okay, fine. you got me.”

“what do you mean?”

“the joke. you’re so serious that i almost missed it.”

confusion marrs his face. “what joke?”

“about the kiss.”

“i wasn’t joking.”

“well, i’d rather have you joking than for that sentence to be real.”

“you hate me that much?”

he almost sounds hurt, but you knew better. how could he be hurt, out of all people? if there’s anyone who’s hurt, it would be you. how can he say all those hurtful things with so much nonchalance and tell you things like he wants to kiss you? how cruel must he be to toy with you like this? it was not funny. none of this was funny.

and it reminds you of your childhood— of your little crush on nagi that never seemed to go away. somehow, the little you screams that you should not fall for something like this. that it is easier to hate nagi than to love him. that it is easier to stand up from your seat, smile, and tell him: “yeah. i do.”

it has been a week. maybe two. or three? you’ve lost count. you’ve never visisted nagi again after the whole real or not real game, and you never saw him often because he’s been excused. something about soccer championship that you didn’t bother listening to. besides, you liked the comfortable silence now that he’s not around.

your phone dings. and it’s from an unknown number. but somehow, you guessed it has something to do with nagi.

unknown

real or not real: i’m sorry

oh. that’s right. the game technically hasn’t finished yet because no one has won. you told yourself numerous time that you won’t reply to his message, but against your better judgement, you somehow still did.

you

real

when your class ended, nagi seishiro was right outside. he was panting and sweaty— as if he ran just to get where you were. but this is nagi we’re talking about. there’s no way he’d actually do something like that, despite his lingering look on you. what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?

breathless, he speaks up to catch your attention. you were busy stuffing your books inside your locker, back against him as you completely ignored his presence. you did not say hi. you did not meet his gaze. but even without direct contact, your heart was drumming against your rib just by knowing that he’s near. what the heck.

“we won the game.”

there’s a lot of responses that entered your mind at that very moment. entry #1, who asked? entry #2, who cares? entry #3, why are you telling me this? and the list goes on. you’re pretty sure none of them were positive— but this was all so confusing. why was nagi chasing after you like a lost puppy who lost its mom? what’s he going for here?

“that’s good for you.” you slammed your locker shut and walked away. nagi eventually follows after you, as if there’s something in his throat that he wants to let out, but you didn’t give him the chance to. you’re sure nothing that would come out of his mouth is good. you’re sure he’s running after you because of the politics project, or because he wants to annoy you.

and you hate it. you hate him. your gut twists at the thought of him running after you like this is some shoujo manga and that’s the annoying part. how is your heart flipping with your every waking step if you hate him so much? you’re supposed to hate nagi, god fucking damn it.

you finally stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the 6 foot tall soccer player. to get it all over with.

“is there something you need to tell me?”

“we haven’t finished the game.”

“i don’t care about the game. leave me alone.”

“it’s your turn. your real or not real.”

this was stupid no matter what angle you look at it. it was just some game you made up and decided to try with nagi. it didn’t mean anything to you because all you wanted by then was to get his attention, so why did it matter so much to him? you don’t get it. you’re not sure how nagi circuits because everything he does confuses you. and before you know it, your irrational side takes over. reason left your body when you blurted the words:

“stop it. fucking stop this.”

why are you so persistent?

“was it fun to toy with me? was it fun when you told me you despised me when we were kids? was it fun when you told me i was not your type? i don’t fucking get it.”

you were angry. mad. seething. your blood boiled underneath your skin and you feared that it would leave your whole being in nothing but dust. through it all, you’re also confused. perplexed. lost. your mind can’t understand the fine line between hate and love anymore. your feelings overlap with each other and merges— you’re not sure what you’re feeling now. you’ve wondered how long you’ve buried this string of emotions you’ve had for nagi. that would explain why you’re nothing but a ticking time bomb now.

“if my playing with my feelings give you so much fun— then do it elsewhere. i have no time for things like this, nagi.”

“but i’m not playing, though. i’ve liked you for quite awhile now.”

excuse me?

“oops. i accidentally gave the answer to my next sentence. what a pain,” he scratches the nape of his nexk and looks away.

how the fuck am i supposed to respond to that?

“do you expect me to believe you?”

“i’ve got no reason to lie,” he shrugs. “plus, lying’s a pain. i don’t like it.”

“but— what you said back then...”

“i, well. i go blank when i talk to you. i guess. my stomach flips when you’re around and my throat goes dry.” nagi doesn’t look at you once while he utters this. tinge of red coats the tip of his ears and this is where you think ‘this is it’. he’s not lying. this is real, and you know that much— nagi never looked nervous until now. you think maybe that explains why he would avoid your gaze and why he would say the most confusing things. you think maybe this is nagi. the socially awkward nagi. the one who can’t talk to people properly nagi.

“i’ve always thought you were pretty. i despise pretty things because it makes me feel things. it’s a pain.” he mumbles. “of course i know you. of course i know your name. but it’s the first thing i thought to say because your face was too close. you’re prettier up close.”

he should stop talking. he should drop it all together and just kiss you, but you could never say these words because you haven’t wrapped your head around the whole thing yet. nagi likes you. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi short circuits when you’re around. nagi thinks you’re pretty. nagi’s actually confessing. nagi likes you. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes you.

“i don’t like pretty things. that’s not my type at all. but reo said i might be in love with you.” he finally turns to look at you and tilts his head. your face burns— and you swore it was because of the remnants of your anger, but everyone else could tell that it was not. your heart does a somersault, but this time it does not drop. it stays in the air, lingering like nagi’s perfume scent, until he carefully waits for it to land on his palms when he said: “i think he’s right. i’m in love with you.”

for the duration of your game with nagi and with all the truths shared between the both of you— this is probably the most real out of them. this is the only time he doesn’t ask the question ‘real or not real’ because his face says it all. his face says that it’s the real and raw truth. his face says that you must believe this because he’s not making it up. it was the first time you could read his expression. it was the first time that you’re not confused by nagi.

“fucking dumbass,” you comment. “that’s not how it works.”

you reach over to grab his collar, on your highest tip-toes because of his height. you’re pretty sure you’re the only ones present in the secluded corridor but the clamors of your heart makes an illusion of people cheering for you. somewhere in the parallel worlds of your universe, you think maybe those cheers exist. it only silences when you pulled nagi down with you, whispering:

“i hope you still want to kiss me, then.”

when he closes in the gap between the both of you, his answer was loud and clear.

i do. always.

notes. YES YES YES i finally finished this long ass fic! i’ve been writing it since forever & im just SO glad i finally get to finish it 🥹 as u can see, there is nothing on my mind rn but nagi seishiro. he’s literally living in my head rent-free and i’m not complaining. i love him too much. i hope u enjoyed this ‼️ as always, likes & reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you so so much for ur patience & love for this blog ❤️

ִ ࣪𖤐 masterlist !

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[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes 47:Who are you?

TSF 46 <-

“Where am I?” Nick said, dazed and confused as he began to wander. Nothing but thick plumes of fog around him and a bitter cold under his feet.

“Helloo…?” He spoke cautiously. The area wasn’t the only thing clouded. Poor boy rubbed his head while trying to recollect his thoughts. Let’s see: walked to school, searched for Summer, then… “Oh, right.” He placed his right hand over his stomach. “Crap…”

That’s right. Then Shiva happened. Nick could feel the fear creep up his skin and an emptiness began to swell. Did he…die? Is this what’s left when all is said and done. Nick wanted to shake the thoughts away but couldn’t. Not when it was all so confusing.

“No, this can’t be happening.”

“Oh it’s happening~” a calm, quiet voice uttered passed the boy’s ears that made him jolt.

Nick immediately turned around. “Who’s there!?” Fog swirled around him like a tight vortex before fanning out like blown candle smoke. He was in his house, but not the manor. His family’s first home. A lofty apartment in Argus.

“What the…” he was at a loss for words. Old smells of spices, slight dust, and even the varnished floors brought back memories. It had felt like a lifetime ago since he was here. Before inheritance was reclaimed, the cutlery was real silver, and…

“Give it back!” A little girl yelled, chasing her brother furiously down the hall. “Nicholas!!”

The child blew a raspberry as he waved around Summer’s stuffed rabbit overhead. He climbed up the couch out of her reach while she whined.

“I said give it back!”

“No! You are my cookies!”

“Our cookies! Dad said to share!”

“Dad also said to eat desserts for desserts only. You’re going to get fat!” He stuck his tongue out, making the older version of himself groan.

Summer began to cry like any young child would. The real Nicholas sat on the couch as the memory played out. He stared up at the ceiling for several seconds before looking to his left to see it got to the part Summer had yanked his foot off the couch and they were fighting on the floor. Why was he here?

“You remember this?”

“Of course I do.” He answered the voice annoyingly. Nick wasn’t about to ask the obvious question about who he was speaking to, knowing somehow it wouldn’t give him a satisfying answer. “Why does this matter?”

“You really hated her.”

“No, kids fight over stupid things. Nothing more, nothing less.” The small versions of themselves poofed into fog again and again to display different memories. Summer would ask to play with him, but he’d refuse. She’d throw a pillow at him; he’d try to fight her. Even that one time he got locked in their dog’s kennel because of her, which he paid back making her dolls into Dolt’s chew toys. Time after time, their parents criticized both of them. Nick could see the irritation on the younger him.

“Forever out of sync. It’s almost like she slowed you down. Hate may be a strong word but you two certainly weren’t on even ground.”

“What’s your point? Children bicker. We got over it.”

“No. You eventually just felt guilty.”

Everything vanished this time and remade the vortex. When it dissipated, Nick’s eyes darken as he sat on the shoreline of a lake. In front of him was a massive explosion of white and standing in between was himself again; right arm still out after throwing one of his ice skates before the shock wave sent him flying back. Just like how it sent his mother slamming against the frozen lake, and his sister crashing into it. This out of body experience made his gut drop. The horror on his dad’s face as he dove to save Summer. The panic that instantly hit Weiss as she scrambled towards him. He had forgotten the specifics of that day.

The quickly faded then appeared again with his family and self next to him. Nick felt pins and needles in his skill and a lump in his throat as Summer laid in the snow, skin tinted a chilling blue. Except for the spots that bled from Diamond Dust puncturing her body. Nick made the same look of abject horror he did when he was little.

“How often does this plague your dreams? Oh how you wish it was only a nightmare. The mistake that changed everything. No matter how much time passes, it all started with you.”

The environment changed again to the hospital. His younger self stood at Summer’s bedside, quietly singing and praying over the sounds of machines beeping.

“From here on out you try to do right by her, but for your own sake. Not because you’re a good person, but because you’re a guilty one.”

“Being swallowed by guilt is proof of how deep my remorse goes, the depths of my regret and desire to do right.” Nick hastily justified

“Hmph, Is that what your therapist told you? How laughable. True or not, it’s not the only thing that manifested.”

With no warning or fog, Nick was in the manor main entrance abruptly. The lights were out and the air was still. He couldn’t find his younger self in sight, but as his eyes locked onto a Christmas tree, he understood why. It was that memory. Footsteps pitter pattered down the stairs as Summer skipped. Her hair glowed a pure white and icy eyes lit up the dark. Even seeing her this small, Shiva unnerved him.

The being looked around humming. “Nick? Helloooo? Let’s talk a little bit.” Her voice was deceptively innocent. Not that he ever fell for it. She kept singing to herself. “Let it snow let it snow let it- ah. I see you.” She turned towards the older Nick.

“What…?” He took a step back. Nick tried reaching for a blade, forgetting there was none. A sharp pain went through his abdomen that brought him to his knees. The familiar pain of being stabbed washed over him as Shiva walked closer. It felt like the dagger was in him all over again. He shouted “WAIT!”

The memory disappeared along with the pain but left him gasping and dripping sweat.

“Fear. Pure, inescapable fear.” Fog turned into the many instances of Nick running, hiding, and even fighting Shiva. “Everything you do is in service of making yourself feel better. Nothing about you is good.”

“You’re wrong!”

“AM I!?” A memory is brought forth of students laughing at Summer’s scars before Nick steps in. “Guilt.”

Another one manifests about him leaving notes for Summer after deciding to lay in bed all day. “Wouldn’t be depressed if not for you.”

A third memory of Nick watching videos of Summer fighting and reading old research notes from Penny in the middle of night. “Can’t sleep without double and then triple checking every advantage you have over your sister you claim to love so much. Love doesn’t drive your blade. It’s fear and anger; the daunting reality that you’re still paying for your idiocy. Truly, you’ve never stopped being at odds with your sister. Now look at you.”

All the fog came back again while Nick struggled to breathe. It swirled faster and faster, making countless memories of Nick rushing to Summer. Igniting flame dust under them when facing Shiva, running to her during the Paladin fight, taking Max’s hits, being the barrier in many team fights or watching from a distance; all leading up to one final memory of him bleeding on the floor. The pain in him grew worse. Breathing felt impossible and his eyes teared up.

“You truly are a pathetic fool. Every time…you know the risks. You know it’s reckless, but yet you don’t run in because that’s the only way. You aren’t watching for all the possibilities or even for Summer’s sake. No matter how many times you do it, you still did none of those things when she fell in the lake. You’ve changed nothing.”

Nick’s body hit the cold ice floor, jolting and begging for air as he clenched his chest; tears in his eyes bringing fleeting warmth. He knew all this. Nick couldn’t remember a day a thought or two plagued him, drove his movements to be correct. To feel correct. All for the hope it could mean something. In the end..it only paved the way to more mistakes with Summer, Valerie, his family, Veronica, Eliza, and now ultimately…his death. He was dying now, breaking every promise to them and himself; and it was all his fault.

“A failure to the end.”

His vision blurred, returning to the darkness. It was quiet, still. All seemed to finally end, except…

“…et …p!” A muffled, fainter voice wandered in the darkness. “…K …ET …P!!!!” It grew louder, turning from silent whispers to a violent cry. “NICK! GET UP!!!! PLEASE!!!! BE STRONG!!”

Like a diver finally reaching the surface, Nicholas gasped for air. The darkness shattered around him like broken class. Heat swelled inside his chest that spread to his limbs as he slammed the ground with his fist. The strike brought with it a blast of air that blew away all the fog that tried to devour him, leaving him stumbling to his feet. As he trembled, Nick examined himself. The sharp pain was gone. His aura grew bright white and held his blade tightly in his right hand. Nick tried desperately to gather his wits.

“Was that- ”He was once again derailed though, as the fog moved again. This time it rose high before slamming down in a funnel several feet in front of him. It pushed towards him suddenly and without warning. Nick brought his blade up to guard. He was shocked when the sound of metal clashed with it. Again the force blew the fog away, but left what came in contact. Nick’s eyes widened before sharpening.

On the other side of Mort Froide was glowing blue eyes and brilliant white hair that radiated with power and cold. He had seen those features time and time again. However, now they had his face.

“What’s wrong?” It said sharply, “Aren’t you used to having a violent twin?”

“You are not my twin.” Nick brought his left hand on his sword pushed away as he lept back. The moment his feet hit the ground he lunged forward swinging. His identical foe brought his blade up in defense, swinging back at the fury of slashes. Sparks flew and the two slid across the void.

“Why so eager to stab your face?” It tilted its head left and right to avoid harm, swinging when it could and sidestepping Nick’s assault. “I thought you loved standing around and thinking!” He smacked away the sword from his chest and went on the offensive.

Despite years of Shiva, Nick couldn’t believe what he was facing. Its bladework moved just like his own. Nick blocked a spinning slash to the right of his face, only for the blade to bounce off and go for his left which he quickly ducked. A left kick came crashing into his lower jaw, knocking him away but Nick rolled into a handspring back to his feet. His opponent was already right in front of him again about to run him through.

It was caught off guard however. Expecting another backstep, it wasn’t ready for Nick to lean forward and left. The blade missed Nick’s side and a forceful headbutt smashed into the beings nose before a slash cut across its gut with enough force to send it sliding back. It held its face in pain. “Well that’s a nice look.” It said seeing the wrathful yet calculated glare Nick sent its way.“If looks could kill.” It made the same face back, stabbing their sword into the floor to stop itself before rushing forward while yelling. Their sword dragged across the ice.

Nick placed both hands on his hilt and swung downward in sync with upward slash, canceling it out. The collision brought forth intense wind and flurries of ice. Nick’s feet briefly left the ground while his arms flew upwards on impact with Mort Froide still firmly gripped. The boy yelled as he used his strength to swing it back down faster than his enemy could recover, but was blocked despite the efforts. Both regained footing and went right back to close quarters with Nick on the defensive. Despite the clear threat before him, Nick felt as if something was…off.

The strikes, power, speed, even with this burning intensity inside of him, Nick felt abnormally calm while fighting. Everything was for lack of better word, manageable. He leaned left, ducked, then thrusted forward but the foe dodged back. No matter. Nick followed through, letting his body continue to move forward as he dug his blade the best he could into the ice and vaulted forward, kicking “It” in the stomach, sending them tumbling. Nick was confused. By no means was this fight technically easy, but it definitely wasn’t hard. Was it because there was no move done Nick hadn’t done a thousand times? No, it was more than that. Nick has dealt with Diamond Dust and fought Shiva more times than he’d like to count. Yet all of them felt far more dire, more fearful than this. Why?

The thought to himself for a second, “I need to think this through. How do I get out of-” A huge thump and gust of wind brought his enemy swings a sword in the blink of an eye. “Shit!”

“EYES OPEN!” He aimed for Nick’s right arm.

Too close to dodge and caught unfocused. Nick let his left hand let go of Mort Froide. With his right, Nick flicked his wrist to spin the sword, switching to a reverse grip. The blade now pointed towards him, under his armpit and partially blocking his upper arm. The last stitch effort had his blade catch some of the attack. Both blades still hit his arm, causing pain and knocking him to the ground with force that sent a couple feet. Nick dropped his blade on impact and landed on his back where he looked to see his attacker coming down with their sword ready to pierce through him. If it were any other fighter, using any other blade, Nick may have faltered. However, Nick knew that body and that blade. With no hesitation he brought his hands up and caught the blade between them. The cold steel slid slightly between them , but did not graze his body as he used all his might.

Even with the advantage of pushing their weight down, the being couldn’t make the sword budge! It didn’t give up however. Slowly but surely Nick wouldn’t hold out. Still, that glare he gave said otherwise.

Both struggled greatly against one another. Nick winced as his grip threatened to break. He refused to go out like this yet his body refused to cooperate. A few more seconds. That’s all he needed to outlast the struggle. It looks like he wouldn’t be granted that unfortunately. That was until a voice rang clear as day again.

“Be strong. You don’t lose, ever.”

A warmth spread again and a power endured along with a glowing aura. Wait a second, he knew this feeling. He could recognize that voice. “Val…” renewed power erupted. Somehow she was reaching him, semblance and all. Nick started pushing back with this buff but only managed to widen the gap by a few inches before the being also tried harder. Nick’s eyes witnessed its own body glowing with renewed vigor. “What!?”

“Don’t think I’ll just let you have your way!” It growled.

This wasn’t right. Was Valerie’s words reaching it as well? How could that be? She was clearly talking to- “Oh..” he said softly. Gears were finally clicking into place and if he was being honest, Nick was incredibly annoyed by it. To make things worse, that feeling would only grow if what he did next worked. “Hey! We got shit to do! Now is not the time!”

It blinked. The sword turned to fog unexpectedly and the foe jumped off of Nick and stared with an equally annoyed expression. It huffed, “Really? That’s all you got to say to that? Typical.”

“Ugh, god damnit.” Nick groaned as he sat up. “Are you… seriously just me?”

“Well what do you mean by that exactly?”

“Those insults you said, even the memories, they’re nothing I don’t already inflict on myself on the regular. Not to mention you're getting stronger because of Valerie’s semblance, which means you recognize yourself as me.”

“I think you mean that you see me as yourself.” Nick squinted at it questionably. A reasonable face. “Trust me, there’s a difference.”

“O..kay.” Nick was gonna roll with that. “So we’re the same, yet the way you answered me sounds like there’s more to it if there’s a difference.”

It sighed, finally sitting down. “That, I do not know. I assume because you don’t know either. Even so…”

“We’re far more the same than anything different. You are me but, ugh, how do I put it into words?”

Nick stared at this mirror of himself. Actually, mirror was a terrible word. It wasn't the opposite at all. Nick’s had that anger, the annoyance and cadence of a person over with everyone’s perception. Brutal and focused on himself. It’s what he let out on the battlefield. The side he always hid behind the mask. The real him, the one that opponents named… “Gilgamesh.” He said softly.

“Ha! Sure, if that makes sorting things easier. I was getting a little upset that you haven’t called me anything until now. This works for simplicity's sake, Nicholas.”

Man, Nick didn’t realize he sounded this much like a jerk when given the opportunity. No wonder people wanted to fight him. “This is weird.”

“What’s weird about it? We both know many forces are at play here. Forces we don’t completely understand but can rationalize. For example, I’m all the little bits of you that try to regulate, personified thanks to Diamond Dust.”

Nick had to think about that for a moment. Time to reflect on what facts he knew. He was having surgery that required Diamond Dust to help keep him alive long enough for his aura to heal him properly. Penny has worked with the dust on people before for medical reasons. Those people at times had short term side effects of feeling dazed or even sad. So in other words…

“This is my subconscious?” He looked around. “Why so empty? I’m always thinking about things. Then again, I am in a coma presumably clinging to life.”

“You’re thinking so you’re clearly not dead.”

That was reassuring. Though that moment darkness came now feels even scarier to him. “So we’re the same, but all the negativity and more internal thoughts brought to the forefront. I guess that checks out.”

Gilgamesh shrugs. “I don’t have all the answers, but seeing you like this is unclouding my perspective in a sense. I definitely believe you’re on track, despite a few things about myself personally I can’t really explain.”

“My guess would be the Diamond Dust. It’s the only foreign thing between the two of us from what I can tell. Never mind that for now. What’s puzzling is even when we fought, I had to on some level see you as myself. You even showed me my memories from years ago. That’s nothing like Shiva and Summer. They have independent memories. Both have been left in the dark by one another. As if they’re two different people.”

“We’ll go back to the facts. You know that can’t be correct based on what you called me. I hurt you with your own doubts. Kicked you while you were down and knew what buttons to push.”

Gilgamesh could see Nick try to sort this out. Odd, he was reaching conclusions faster than Nick. “You’re in denial, aren’t you?” He could see the boy tense up. “Do not dismiss the ugly possibilities. They’ll only go to me.”

Nick glared. It’s not like he meant to do it, pushing the nagging thoughts away to the back. He sighed with a heavy heart. Time to explore the sadder and less comprehensible possibilities. “Shiva’s actions are somehow dictated by Summer’s own thoughts.”

“Meaning?” Gilgamesh pushed. He would not let Nick look away from this. “Say it.”

Sorrow hit Nick’s heart. “My sister might want me dead.”

Silence hung in the air. It had to be acknowledged. For years they fought and struggled. It wouldn’t be right to accept that some anger and stress on his side was born from trying to help Summer, without thinking it was entirely possible Summer might absolutely hate him deep down in her heart for putting her in this predicament in the first place. Even if she may not be completely aware of it.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so sad about finally getting answers with tangible evidence to support it. Don’t forget, Summer wasn’t treated with Diamond Dust like you or anyone else. It’s entirely possible that her negativity towards everyone is only as strong as it is because of just how much dust is stuck in her system. For all you know she may hate you a healthy amount.”

That…was true. Nick jumped straight to the worse, caught up in his own guilt again. He looked at Gilgamesh, who merely shrugged. “How do you feel about all that?”

“Me? Well I can’t exactly hate her for getting upset. Your best is pretty damn slow and inconsiderate. Although…Summer hasn’t exactly been making helping her easy.” He folded his arms. “Things wouldn’t be nearly as bad if she helped herself properly.”

“Hmph.” It was funny. Hearing that felt both wrong yet satisfying. Like it was exactly what he needed. “Fair enough. I’ll chew her out when this is all over. In order for that to happen though-”

“Don’t look at me for how to wake up. This entire workshop thing we’re doing is quite the headache as is.” He looked around the vacant mind. “Might as well get a little cozy.”

Rays of sunlight rained down from an endless red sky. Nick always liked sunsets. To him they felt more like beginnings than ends; a chance to reevaluate for tomorrow with all the information gathered today. He shifted his gaze to empty space. Nick shut his eyes tightly before opening them again to see a happy white Labrador wagging its tail. Dolt, his family’s former dog.

“Summer often talked about her headspace and how it could vary. Dreams, stress, familiar sights, she said it could shift on a whim and Shiva constantly did her damnedest to assault her. Our fight was brief but daunting. Hers must feel like an endless marathon.”

“Not really a marathon if it’s endless.”

“I’m beginning to understand why Eliza isn’t exactly the happiest when she sees us.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know you can be annoying.” Gilgamesh smiled. He layed in the cold ice floor and felt the pulsing cold run through his body. “This feels…familiar.”

“We’ve been hit with our fair share of cold attacks and face plants on the skating rink.”

“True, but it isn’t that. Question, logic dictates anything in here should be derived from your memory, correct?”

“It’s my subconscious so yeah. Still, the mind can be unreliable.”

“Be that as it may, don’t you find it odd how this place manifests? Summer has told and described the headspace natural state. She’s never mentioned fog.”

“We are currently comatose in a hospital bed struggling to live. I wouldn’t say any function of my body is in a natural state at the moment. Though I can see what you’re saying. I suppose the only real way to know the extent of this experience is if I can come back once I wake.” Nick looked at Gilgamesh. He seemed to be off in his own world so to speak. Could a subconscious even have its own introspective? Nick didn’t want to think about that rabbit hole. “Please say something.”

“Are you cold?”

“Uhhh no. I feel fine? About as fine as I think I could feel. If I wasn’t then I’m sure we’d be hearing Valerie yell.”

“Ahh Val” Gilgamesh chuckled, “wanna see those memories?”

“Stay focused.” Nick demanded. Another rabbit hole of feelings that while important, was not what he wanted to think about. Gilgamesh must’ve agreed because they didn’t try pushing the topic further. “So you feel cold?”

“Yeah. I’m feeling the chill we always get.”

“Maybe don’t lay on the-” Nick paused to think for a second. “…ice.” He finished. Gilgamesh sat up and gave him a mischievous smile that made Nick wonder. “You’re guiding my train of thought. All these things, you’re saying them for a reason.”

“I cannot give you any real answers to anything you ask. It’s all what you personally sort out. However…” he places his hand against his chest. “The differences between us, the extra inside me, I feel drawn to act; compelled towards more of those differences. These aren’t your feelings. They’re something else entirely.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “You’re sensing Diamond Dust under the ice?” He looked down again. “It’s not like it’s the lake, or real for that matter. It’s just this massive never ending floor.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Another question as if Gilgamesh as prying for specific information. Nick didn’t understand what the being wanted him to think over. What was compelling it? Why was Gilgamesh getting a chill? Shiva? Nicholas tried to make logical sense of it. Gilgamesh sensing her could be possible. Not only because of the dust connection but also because Nick wouldn’t say he had anything but negative thoughts on her. Nick’s general unease about her might be finding its way to his friend. Then there was whatever outside might bring. Shiva physically might be close to his body. That would mean she got inside the hospital. Could Valerie’s screams for earlier be-

“No.” He said to himself, shaking his head to dismiss that kind of thinking. Gilgamesh once again didn’t bring up that intrusive moment. Nick was fine with puzzles but this was annoying. If Shiva was outside, he’d have no way of confirming. Then again, given recent circumstances, Nick was confident if she was close then he’d be dead. That only leaves her presence being felt from inside which isn’t possible. Shiva exists in Summer’s headspace doing gods knows what. He thought back to the last time he saw her. The headspace began changing again to recreate the fresh memory of him bleeding on the cold metal ground as she stood over him ready to kill.

Gilgamesh was impressed by the sudden recreation. Too bad he didn’t care for this particular memory. Their eyes narrowed as they looked at Shiva. “What does she have to cry about?”

“If I remember correctly, Shiva gloated about my failure to realize the danger. How Summer was screaming inside the entire time for me to go.” Nick deflated, “my guess is those are Summer’s tears.” He still found their connection hard to believe. Those two were just so different. Maybe he didn’t really know his sister at all? Nick hugged his knees. Then, he started to let that thought sink in. Maybe…he didn’t know his sister at all. His eyes began to widen. “Gilgamesh?”

“Honestly it’s kinda funny you calm me as if I can’t somewhat immediately sense your thoughts.”

“Shut up and listen. Earlier we established that on some subconscious, I saw you and knew it was me. Rather, I perceived you to be me. The way you talked, the insults, etc. I recognized them. Do you think..” he stopped and rephrased, remembering what Gilgamesh said about answers. “I think Summer and Shiva are so out of sync and disconnected because Summer can’t imagine herself like that.”

“What, upset and violent?”

“No. Strong and capable” the fog faded and reformed as dozens upon dozens of Summer’s at various ages crying, scared, and shutting away from the world. “Without the stage, she was never confident. Always second guessing.”

“You’re partly to blame. Always rushing in. Then I’m other cases where she may try to stand stall..”

He added another memory that made Nick’s gut twist. It was the two of them yelling at each other after the doubles round for the tournament.

“Like I said, you never really stopped fighting. You just always found reasons to pin blame on yourself or felt obligated to fold. Not this time though. She had it coming a bit though if you ask me.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Nick frowned as he looked at the memory. “I don’t listen just as much as her.”

“Is that all to your current theory about Shiva?”

“More or less. Diamond Dust affects the mind. Can’t see why a large amount on top of low self esteem, depression, and all the other exhausting things our head inflicts on us could be too much to handle. Shiva is so cocky. She knows she’s smart, powerful, thinks nobody can handle her, and that she’s gorgeous. If you’re the side of myself I try to cover with a mask,then maybe Shiva is everything Summer doesn’t think she is but wants to be?” Nick walked closer to the memory. His fists clenched in his folded arms as he subdued a low grown.

“Are you displeased with your own idea? Just because it’s an answer you don’t like-”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be proud of finding one. I’m not upset that it’s the best I can come up with or that it may even be true. I’m upset that it took such drastic measures to arrive at simple introspection.”

“Can you really hold yourself accountable for such a thing? Why the hell should you, a child, have all the answers right away? Nobody has ever seen anything like this. Are you going to be upset if all of this is wrong and it’s an entirely different reason? No, because you’re working with what you have. Get over yourself. No matter how you care about anyone or anything, it doesn’t make you the one that’s gonna solve everything. At this point you might have accomplished more than Penny.”

“Now that last part is pure ego. She’s currently the main reason we’re alive right now.”

“I’ll give you that one. I wonder how her mind would even perceive the subconscious?”

Nick couldn’t help but think of binary code. “Who can say? The mind is annoying. But I guess I shouldn’t be complaining since I’ve only been in here..uhh, umm.” He looked at Gilgamesh.

“What? I don’t have a watch. Don’t concern yourself with problems that may not exist. Not when there’s an immediate one before you. After all, you just praised Penny for her abilities. Summer never lost a drastic amount of time when she was in her headspace.”

“Because everyone was doing all they could to bring her back each time. I can’t fathom how everything is in their head right now. It could be a battlefield for all we know. Ruined forests or a demolished room. Her favorite snowboarding mountain on the worst possible day, all the chaotic space with that giant c-”

It finally clicked in his head, the meaning behind Gilgamesh’s quest about logic and memory. Summer had told Nick the countless environments that’s been in her head,along with the one trait that kept persisting; the vast ceiling of ice that only seemed to be disturbed whenever she was regaining control. Gilgamesh didn’t say a word to Nick and he didn’t have to. Once again, Nick stared at the floor.

“Ah, I see.” He said pensively. All the chills over the years, they potentially had an intriguing and unusual answer. “But why is it like this? How

even?”

Gilgamesh shrugged, cracking a smile. “Call it what you always do. A twin thing. Now then…I think that’s all we got.”

“All we got?” Nick watched the fog begin to clear. A strange, lucid sensation came over his mind like a wave that made him lightheaded. He looked over at Gilgamesh to see his body begin to get blurry.”

“Gil?”

“Ha! You’re doing nicknames now? Little late for that. Though I suppose you can spread it around to everyone outside.”

So that was it. His body must be waking up. “Will I ever see you again?”

A ridiculous question. Gilgamesh laughed at it in good faith as Nick looked at him with concern. “You make it sound like you’re losing someone important. Get a grip. There’s never been a day I wasn’t with you. There’s no person in our life that doesn’t know I exist. Every glare, every fight, every real emotion and aspiration, it’s always me they see. I believe you’ve heard it countless times before?”

Nick chuckled, “Heh, I got it written all over my face.” He folded his arm. “Guess I don’t have to thanks then. Always knew I had it in myself.”

“Tsk, still a terrible liar.”

Just like that, everything faded, becoming darkness once again. However, Nick didn’t feel fear or strain like the first time. Instead he felt light pressure on his chest that wrapped around his arms. Muted muffles gradually became clear and blinding light filled his vision as his eyes tried adjusting. When he finally came to, he realized he was sitting up and the pressure on him only got a bit tighter. Nick looked down to see the top of familiar orange hair crying against him

“V..al?” His voice was weak and dry.

His friend kept holding on to him. “You’re okay!” She whimpered, “You’re finally okay.”

Despite his time in bed, Nick felt exhausted. That was natural of course but even so, he didn’t even have the energy to hug back. He could already tell that his body felt lighter and his mouth could still taste some anesthetic. Hospitals truly were the definition of necessary evil in his eyes. Though he was incredibly biased thinking such a thing. He flexed his arms outward which got Valerie to let go now that she had calmed down. Nick gasped seeing her finally sit up and face him directly. Now he was aware he was still gathering himself, but last time he checked, Valerie had a short pixie cut. Now he was getting middle school and childhood flashbacks as orange turned into black near her ears and just barely rested over her shoulder in the form of a braid. Valerie must’ve noticed his reaction but chose to smile softly and rub his arm. Uh oh, that didn’t inspire comfort.

Tired, Nick looked at the beeping machines that showed his vitals. Screw it. He can take a little shock. He looked right back at Valerie and got straight to the point. “How long?” He sighed.

Valerie was hesitant. “It’s…been three months.”

Three full months in the world’s biggest snow globe, and Shiva was living in it.

“Ah.” Nick said, letting that fact sink in. “Well then, that’s not good.” His mind was catching up and so was the beeping of several machines. “That’s not good at all.”

#rwby #nicholas schnee #val valkyrie #rwby au #rwby twin snowflakes #summer schnee

[moonctzeny]

get to you again

pairing: friends to lovers! hendery x fem!reader 

genre: smut, just a tiny teeny bit angsty I guess but with a happy ending, fluff

word count: 3k

warnings: raw sex, creampie, a little corruption kink?

summary:  “You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?”

inspiration: get to you again - mac ayres

tagging the lovely: @markresonates

It had been too long since you last saw Hendery.

You two had met so unexpectedly, both trapped in a small coffee shop a couple years ago, drenched to the bone and trying to find cover from the sudden rainfall.

“I was going to ask you if you were willing to share your umbrella, but I’m guessing you forgot it on the wrong day like me”, he joked, so you decided to share a table instead. After the fourth time he had you clench your stomach in laughter, out of the sheer willingness to make a stranger like you cheer up, you decided to exchange phone numbers, thus starting what would become a beautiful friendship.

It wasn’t easy being an idol. Two promotions in Korea, then a reality show in China, then another comeback. You counted the days, one by one until he’d get to you again. Until you’d finally re-watch his favorite movie with him for the millionth time, just to get to watch him laugh over the same stupid lines.

You weren’t sure when you realized you had fallen for him. Maybe it was last winter, almost exactly a year ago when he handed you your Christmas present. He had driven you on a hill on the outskirts of Seoul, the only place he knew with some privacy from prying eyes, and the breathtaking view of the tiny city lights made the freezing cold worth it. You were both sitting against the hood of his car, admiring the big city that seemed to unravel at your feet when you opened the small velvet box.

It revealed a silver necklace of two wings hanging from a dainty chain, with his initials carved on the back of the charm. As you stared at it long enough to make sure you weren’t making things up, you couldn’t decide which one was more beautiful- the pendant or the stars in Hendery’s eyes as he waited for your reaction.

“It’s symbolic”, he started explaining, a little embarrassed with how much effort he had put into the gift, “I know I’m not around a lot to take care of you, but just know that I’m always there if you need me. Like your guardian angel”.

He sounded so wholesome while saying it, long bangs covering his eyes that bashfully avoided yours. You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?

Tonight, it was beating as fast as the rhythm of the blinking Christmas lights decorating your living room. How could it not, with Hendery sitting only a few inches away, sharing a blanket with you? He was a few minutes late due to a last-minute photoshoot, but he arrived at your door bare faced and dressed in his favourite flannel shirt. He was just how you liked him, raw and soft and beautiful.

Unlike what you had predicted, he suggested checking out a new romantic comedy on Netflix. It was one of those that come out every Christmas season, all with the same low budget and cheesy acting that ended with some festive spirit that magically solves every plot hole. Two childhood friends, falling in love with each other, yet the girl thinks that the guy is way out of her league so she does nothing about it. The pure irony convinced you that the universe must be surely playing some sick joke on you, forcing you to look at a Hollywood version of yourself getting a happy ending for the next two hours.

“I don’t understand”, Hendery huffs in frustration, midway into the film by now, “why doesn’t the girl just tell him she likes him? What guy doesn’t want to hear that?”

“Maybe she’s scared of the rejection, or ruining everything-“ you start defending the character with a raised voice, realizing that maybe you’re invested in the movie a little too much, “sometimes there is this line between two people, and it’s comfortable to stay behind it because you don’t want to lose them in case something goes wrong”. You draw an invisible line with your index finger between your bodies, and Hendery focuses his stare on it as if it was real. He looks lost in his thoughts, still frozen in place before shaking his head and murmuring: “I guess you’re right”.

Your comment, his response, the sex scene playing on the screen. It all made you so painfully alert with his presence that your whole body tensed up and your mouth dried up like it was filled with cotton. You both chuckle in the midst of all the steaminess, as the actor fails to drag his former best friend at the edge of the bed by tagging on her ankle.

“What a loser”, Hendery scoffs mockingly at the character’s mistake, and you turn around to give him a side eyed glare.

“Relax, muscle man. Like you would do it better”

He mocks offense by opening his mouth dramatically, and you giggle at the distortion of his face that still somehow managed to look pretty. It was so cute, how he always wanted to look ‘strong’ in the eyes of others, reliable and macho. You didn’t care about any of that, you thought his resolutions were stupid. He was perfect in your eyes.

“Of course I would! I’m strong, look-“

The disaster played out in front of you like a filmstrip. His hands on your ankle, then his own ankle tripping over the blanket on the floor, and finally the feeling of his chest weighing down over your own. With him pressed so close against you, you were sure he must feel the way your heart is thumping, filled with so many emotions that it’s ready to jump out of your body.

The room was cold, but with Hendery’s sudden body heat coating you, you felt like you were on fire. The fleeting thought of you taking off your clothes, to relieve yourself of the suffocating feeling made your cheeks burn even more. Hendery’s neck was exposed just inches in front of you in it’s full glory, and you thought about where those veins on the side of it, visible through his pale skin, ended. You’d gladly kiss along the path they drew, let your teeth leave little violet blossoms on the way, while you’d make mental notes of what kisses made him react the loudest.

It’s his bangs tickling your temples that made you realize that he is still on top of you. You look up into his eyes, expecting a frantic look, maybe a string of apologies leaving his mouth. He was strangely serene, staring at your own lips instead, and for a second you thought he’d finally mercy you and give you what you daydream about every time he comes around. You’d kill for the sight of him with puffy red lips and blown out pupils, messy just for you. You’d kill for the feeling of his tongue against your own.

When he plants a kiss on your right cheek, right over the corner of your mouth, you think it tastes bittersweet. You were still high on the intimacy when he finally apologizes and rips his body away from yours, your crash back down to reality brutal. The movie was still playing on a high volume, yet all you heard was a deafening silence after his trip. You don’t object when he tells you he has to go before you get to see what happens to the couple behind the screen. They were eating you away, all the things you wanted to say to him as you sent him off, so much more than just a ‘drive safe, text me when you get home’.

Those thirty minutes after you close your front door felt like a lifetime. You replayed the accident over and over again in your head, the skin burning where he kissed you. The thoughts of calling him, telling him to turn around and finish what he started, were so loud that you felt like a crazy person.

You certainly thought you went insane when you heard a knock against your door. Peeking through the peephole, you’re surprised to see that, as if you’d unlocked the secret of manifestation, Hendery was standing once again in your hallway.

“Guanheng? Did you forget anything?”

He looked restless and fidgety as he walked back inside your apartment, like he couldn’t wait to let out whatever was on the tip of his tongue. His shoulders were coated in a light layer of snow that had managed to flush his face, and dampen his hair and eyelashes as well.

“No- well- yes, I-“. He stopped himself mid sentence and sighed, and you let him collect his thoughts. He looked serious, the expression foreign on his usually bright features, yet the way he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration made butterflies fly in your stomach. “What did you say about that line between two friends again? When we were watching the movie?”

You blinked back at him in confusion, waiting for him to tell you that he’s joking, he just forgot his charger, and he’ll see you again when his company allows him to. But he doesn’t, so you start to roll the pendant he gifted you between your thumb and index, trying to calm yourself down.

“It keeps two people that are meant to be together apart, but there is too much at stake to cross it”.

You start drawing that invisible line again, the one that separates the miserable comfort of denying your feelings for him and everything you wish you were brave enough to pursue.

He would be brave for the both of you.

Hendery grabs your lifted hand, bringing it on the side of his neck before he crashes his lips against yours. You don’t hesitate in kissing him back, hungry for his lips that taste as sweet as you imagined them to. He hasn’t realized how impossibly close to his body he has brought you, not until his embrace gets so tight that your necklace pokes uncomfortably against his chest.

You suck on his bottom lip and he welcomes you with his tongue, the kiss getting so heated now that you can’t help but tug on his hair to keep you grounded. Shivering from your action, his hands are now sliding from your hips to your waist, following the curves of your body until he reaches the underside of your breasts. You mewl against his lips as his thumbs dig into their softness, discreetly trying to cop a feel through your cotton shirt.

A moan leaves your mouth, lewd and desperate as he swallows it with a kiss, and he rips himself off of you when it seems to reach his stomach. He looks disheveled, as if he woke up from an intense, lucid dream; panting, sweating, staring at you with those big puppy eyes.

“We- we shouldn’t. We are going too fast, right?” You nod in agreement at his question but you’re not really listening. You had your fingertips placed on his moving lips, and he identifies the metallic smell as the remnants of you fidgeting with your jewelry earlier. “I should take you to dinner first, to that one place you like so much”. Losing interest in what he is saying, the words being too distant and grey when he stood so deliciously in front of you, you mindlessly start to unbutton his shirt, fascinated with that mole over his collarbone and wanting to see more.

The fire your fingers spread against his skin, in the midst of the chilliness of your living room has him groaning under his breath, with a voice as low and sexy as in his good morning calls. You can practically see him throw all his inhibitions out the window when he kisses you again, pushing you with his body until your back finds the nearest wall. Hendery’s hands are far from gentle now, leaving bruises behind all the soft spots he kneads with his fingers.

“I want you”, you confess with a whisper as you rid him off his flannel for good, and you can’t stop yourself from tracing all the lines of his toned abdomen. You can feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest, its fast rhythm matching yours. You grab his hand to lead him to the carpet next to the Christmas tree that is blinking along with the lights that adorn it- you’re too impatient in your arousal to take him to your bedroom and he doesn’t protest.

Hendery lays you on your back, finding his place between your legs as you wrap them around his waist to bring him closer. You remove your hoodie and the sports bra you had on, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples. He circles his tongue around the bud, licking and sucking on it interchangeably until you’re a begging mess underneath him.

Tugging on the elastic band of his sweats, you urge him to get naked for you completely, and he removes the extra garments with a strong pull. His sex bouces out of its cotton constraint, red and throbbing and aching for you. It makes the heat that’s pooling on your lower stomach spread even further, and you wiggle your hips to remove your sweatpants as well.

There’s something about the frilly pink panties you’re wearing- the innocent design on your shapely body that ignites a carnal instinct in him. He wants to ruin you, mark you, make you his. The sound of fabric getting ripped has your eyes bulge out in shock. You’ve never seen Hendery so determined.

He falls on top of you again, leaving urgent kisses on your jawline as he rubs his hard member against your heat. It’s driving you insane, how he’s so close to where you want him but not quite there yet, and you tug his hair again to make him look at you.

“I wanna feel you raw”

And raw was how he’d give it to you. You feel his warm hand over your stomach, keeping you in place as he aligns himself with your entrance, and the pressure his tip’s already feeling has him cursing out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”

He dips himself slowly into your pussy, careful not to stretch you uncomfortably much. His worried eyes are glued to your wide ones, reading your expressions to ensure they’re those of pleasure. And indeed they are, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bottoms out fully, a symphony of both your moans filling the room.

He starts out with a steady rhythm, your pussy adjusting to his size with every calculated thrust. You’re getting drunk with the intimacy, with his smell that sticks to your skin and the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear. You feel addicted to it already, to the feeling of having him be a part of you, and as his growing desperation has him picking up his pace, yours makes you wish you could live in that moment forever.

“I don’t think I’ll last much longer”

”Neither do I”

He can tell how close you are, your heaving chest and guttural sounds giving you away. His cold fingers find your clit then, rubbing your sensitivity in messy circles and pumping more blood to the area.

“Yes, baby. Let go for me”

Little stars of various colors dance around in your vision, framing the sight of Hendery fucking into you so beautifully. You enjoy the hypersensitivity that the continuing motion of his hips gives you, locking your legs around his waist as his thrusts turn sloppy.

“Come inside me”

Just those simple words, slipping out of your pretty mouth are enough to send him over the edge, grunting as he paints your walls in ropes of white. You feel him twitching inside you for a good while, your belly bulging in fullness. It drips out of you slowly when he finally gets off of you, his hands spreading your thighs apart so that he can admire his creation.

He chuckles in disbelief of what you two just did, removing a piece of fake snow that somehow landed on your hair. You can only admire the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down, all the little curves and shadows on his neck, his smile that gives you tunnel vision.

“All this time…”, he whispers softly, “you liked me too?”

You silently winced at the naiveness of his words, knowing damn well your feelings ran way deeper than a simple attraction. Nodding affirmatively, you avoid looking at his eyes by pretending to play with his fingers. You can’t let him see the way they have glossed up, yet the numbing feeling of disappointment is getting hard to ignore.

He doesn’t let you distance yourself from him further, lifting your chin up so you can make eye contact with him again. To your surprise, he looks way more nervous than you, subconsciously nibbling on his lower lip. He takes a deep breath, mustering up some courage before verbally letting his thoughts out of his chest.

“What if I told you I am in love with you?”

You were shocked at the confession, so much so that this reality seemed like a figment of your subconscious mind. You expected to wake up at any moment, to find yourself asleep on your couch, two feet away from him and still stuck in the sucky friendzone. But that moment never came, no matter how long you held your breath to trigger your awakening, and you let it go with a sigh and a blurb of your own thoughts.

“I’d ask you to be mine”

#hendery #wayv #neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #hendery smut #wayv smut #nct smut #wayv scenarios #hendery scenarios #hendery imagines #hendery fanfic #wayv fanfic #hendery fluff #hendery angst #wayv hendery #hendery x reader #wong kunhang #huang guanheng

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

“As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,” Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!! 

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure. 

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.

#spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg fic #my writing #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds

[orangeoctopi7]

Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Suspicious Crash of Stanley Pines

The theme for @stanuary week 3 is Crime... what about... TRUE CRIME? I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved this last summer, so I’ve been wanting to do something like this.

If you don’t watch Buzzfeed Unsolved, this is probably gonna seem like a lot of rambling.

On the morning of July Fourth, 1982 in the sleepy logging town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, there was a firey explosion that wasn't part of the fireworks and festivities. A car had gone over the edge of the town's famed floating cliffs.

"Floating cliffs?" Shane asked

"They're like, giant overhangs. They're not just floating up in the middle of the air like Pandora or something." Ryan explained, showing Shane a photo on his phone.

"Oh, that's pretty."

"It is really pretty."

"What a beautiful place for a car to careen over a cliff."

Ryan cracked up.

"You get a lovely view as you plummet to your death." Shane imagined.

Between 6:15 and 6:20 PM, the Gravity Falls Police Department received six separate calls reporting seeing a yellow car in flames drive off the edge of the cliff and crash to the valley below.

When investigators arrived on the scene, they found the remains of a crushed and burnt 1971 Subaru DL Coupe. The police report notes finding that the brakes were cut, and evidence of gasoline being poured into the driver’s seat to start the fire. Strangest of all, no body was found in or around the crash, only a few burnt strands of hair.

“So, right off the bat, real suspicious.” Shane commented.

“Yeah, and it only gets more suspicious from here.” Ryan assured his co-host.

“And I’m assuming there’s no chance that they guy, y’know, got up and walked away from the crash?” 

“Oh, no, no way. You saw the picture of the cliffs.”

“Oh yeah, no way.”

“There’s no way anyone in the car would have survived that fall.”

“And it was on fire.”

“And it was on fire.”

Despite the lack of a body, the police determined from the few burnt strands of hair and an anonymous tip they received at 6:15 PM on the day of the crash, the driver of the car was one Stanley Pines, a 31 year old man from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Allegedly, he had been coming to Gravity Falls, Oregon to visit his twin brother, Stanford, who lived just a ten minute drive from the cliff Stan’s car had driven off.

“Wait, wait, wait--” Shane interrupted Ryan’s explanation, “Twin brothers. Named Stanley and Stanford.”

“Yeah.”

“Who the f___ names their kids like that?”

“I know, right?”

“Were they identical twins?”

“Uh, I couldn’t find anything saying they were definitely genetically identical, but, uh, with the way this case goes, it’s safe to assume they were identical enough.”

“Yikes, I feel sorry for them growing up, can you imagine how often people got them mixed up?”

“Yeah, but imagine the kinds of shenanigans they must have gotten up to!”

“Oh, that’s true. There would have been plenty of shenanigans. Lots and lots of shenanigans.”

“If you had twins, would you give them cutesy twin names?” Ryan asked.

“No.” Shane answered firmly.

“I think I’d just do like, alliterative names. Nothing too similar.” 

“Yeah, no I think twins probably have to deal with enough confusion bull___ without having to throw similar names or the same initials into the mix.”

“Interestingly enough…” Ryan started.

“Yeah, I’m guessing from your comments that the twin thing plays into this.”

When interviewed by the police, Stanford claimed his brother never arrived at his house. However, testimonies of other townsfolk reported seeing a red 1967 El Diablo with a distinctive “STNLYMBL” vanity license plate driving up the road to Stanford’s house earlier that winter. The house is out in the woods, isolated from the rest of the town, so no one would drive up that way unless they were going to see the cabin.

“Well what if they just wanted to take a walk out in the woods?” Shane countered.

“It was in early February.” 

“Snowshoeing.”

“In a blizzard.”

“Ok, you do not have a weather report for the exact day they saw this car!”

“Two of the testimonies mention there was a snow storm that day. Plus, the license plate says STANLEY MOBILE.”

“Well, Stanley is a fairly common name.”

“You-you’re just being contrary to bug me now, aren’t you?” Ryan accused.

Shane just grinned.

What’s more, that same red El Diablo was the car Stanford now drove. 

“What!?” Shane laughed with disbelief for a moment before putting on a mocking tone. “Uh, yeah, he never showed up, but, uh, I have his car. I’m still driving it. Y’know, seemed like a waste to just let it sit in the driveway.”

“He didn’t even change the license plate.” Ryan added.

“Oh, of course not!” Shane said sarcastically. “Why go through all that trouble?”

Upon further inspection, the car that crashed was registered to Stanford, and had been reported totaled almost seven years prior.

“It’s interesting that they say it was totaled.” Ryan commented. “Because totalled just means that the damage is more expensive to fix than the car is worth, so it could have still been drivable.”

“And if you’re trying to fake a car crash, what better to use than an already worthless car?” Shane agreed. 

“Exactly.”

Stanley Pines was declared dead by auto accident and the case was closed in September of 1982, due to lack of evidence and quote: “A lack of interest from the involved parties”.

“A lack of interest from the involved parties!? What the h___ does that even mean?” Shane asked in bewilderment.

“It’s odd, to be sure.”

It’s when we look into the background of the presumed dead Stanley, and his brother Stanford, that this case becomes truly bizarre. 

Stanley Pines left home at the age of 17, and had brief but unsuccessful careers as an amature prize fighter and as a salesman, before he turned to a life of crime. Prior to his reported death, he had been in prison five times, in three different countries, and had lived under at least eight different assumed names, with several others that were never confirmed. He had known ties to the mob and drug cartels.

“Quite the shady character. That might explain why the police didn’t look too closely into his ‘death’.” Shane put air quotes around “death”.

“Well, does it? I mean, if they thought his death might have been related to the mob…” Ryan argued.

“They know better than to mess with the mob, even in Oregon.”

“I mean, we have seen in several past True Crime episodes, what can happen if you mess with the mob.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You don’t wanna do it.”

“Nope.”

His brother Stanford was no less strange. He was born with fully-functional polydactyly, meaning he had six fingers on each hand. It’s worth noting that after 1982, Stanford no longer had 6 fingers. He claims that he had them surgically removed, because, quote: “I was sick of people staring.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Shane said doubtfully.

“You don’t believe that explanation?”

“Let’s just say I find it highly suspect.”

Stanford was also a certified genius, graduating with the most PhDs Backupsmore University had ever awarded. As a graduate student, he worked as a researcher and inventor for the US Government. Some sources say he worked on top-secret experiments. 

In 1975, he received a $100,000 research grant, which he used to move to Gravity Falls and become a Paranormal Researcher. When he arrived in Gravity Falls, he was the subject of many rumors throughout the town, due to his reclusive nature and strange area of study. 

“Oh, so this guy was basically you.” Shane pointed out.

“He’s basically me if I didn’t have you.” Ryan agreed.

“Awww, that’s sweet!” Shane placed a hand over his heart.

Many residents reported seeing strange lights coming from Stanford’s home in the woods starting almost as soon as he moved in, as well as strange sounds.

“Well, it seems like Gravity Falls is a pretty small town. People gossip.” Shane reasoned.

“Ok, yeah, but people gossip about who’s cheating on who, or what business secretly sells drugs out the back. They don’t gossip about strange lights coming out of the new neighbor’s basement.”

“They could. It’s gossip. Gossip can be about anything.”

Reports of the lights stopped in late January of 1982. Just four months later, in March, Stanford began opening up his home for tours, and in a matter of weeks, transformed his home into a tourist stop called the “Murder Hut.”

“Oh my g__.” Shane stifled a laugh. “A little on the nose there, don’t you think?”

“He did rename it to the Mystery Shack about a year later.”

“Hmm, yeah I wonder why?” Shane asked facetiously. 

Stanford also exhibited paranoid behavior on several occasions before the crash, especially in the early months of 1982.

One local reported seeing Stanford screaming “No it isn’t, you creeps! I can see you just fine!” down an alleyway. Several other eyewitnesses reported seeing him fall out of his seat at the Triple Digits Truck Stop Diner on Route 14 and scream for something to “get out of his mind” before fleeing the building.

“So, he definitely seemed to think something was out to get him.” Ryan commented.

“Not the words of a sane man.”

“Unless something really was out to get him.”

“Eeeeh, even then…” Shane wiggled his hand in a so-so motion. 

Dan Corduroy, one of the few people who had regular contact with Stanford before he opened the Mystery Shack, had this to say about the sudden change from research lab to tourist trap:

“Oh, he’s definitely been acting differently. He was really shy before, hard to talk to even. He seemed uncomfortable spending a lot of time with people. I’d invite him over to one of my family’s cabins to visit, but he only ever wanted to visit the haunted one while we were all out of town. I’d say it was a good change, though. It wasn’t good for him to be alone all the time like that. I’m glad he’s finally spending time with other people.”

“He only wanted to visit our haunted cabin.” Shane repeated with disbelief. “Hey, do you wanna come over to visit one of our cabins?” He put on a voice. “Uh, that depends, what kind of cabins have you got?’ ‘Well there’s one by the lake, one with a nice view of the valley, and one that’s haunted.’ ‘Oh, I’ll take the haunted one!”

“What gets me is he only wanted to visit the haunted cabin while everyone else was out of town. We’ve stayed in our fair share of haunted places, and it was bad enough staying overnight, just me and you, but there is nothing that could convince me to spend the night in one of those places all by myself.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure none of the places we’ve been to have actually been haunted, but I see what you mean. It’s not fun to go to a haunted house by yourself. It’s kinda boring.”

“Um, we’re not gonna get into this discussion now, because we still haven’t even gotten to the theories yet, but you’re wrong.”

The case came to light again in August of 2012, when Federal agents arrested Stanford Pines, and detained him for several hours for questioning. By the next day, he had been released, and officials stated that his arrest had been due to a false lead. What exactly that false lead was, however, was never stated.

Now that we’ve gone over the extensive background of this case, let’s get into the theories of what really happened that 4th of July in 1982.

Theory #1: The theory put forth by the police, that Stanley Pines died in a fiery car accident.

“So then how do they explain what happened to the body?” Shane asked.

“It doesn’t say.” Ryan.

“And why were the breaks cut?”

“No explanation given.”

“That’s a stupid theory, those cops ought to be fired.”

Ryan stifled a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Theory #2: That Stanley killed his brother, made it look like his own death, and took over his brother’s life. This would explain the loss of his extra fingers, the sudden change in behavior that led him to open up the Mystery Shack, and his sudden acquisition of Stanley’s car. It does not, however, explain the lack of a body in the crash.

“He could have disposed of his brother’s body somewhere else, and then just like, left an ice block on the gas pedal and let the car run itself off the cliff.” Shane theorized.

“That’s possible. I was also thinking, maybe the body was gone. Maybe Stanley didn’t necessarily kill Stanford, maybe they met up in the woods, Stanford got eaten by a bear, and Stanley, who was already in trouble with the mob, took advantage of the situation, and faked his own death.”

“How--why did you work your fear of bears into this?” 

“That’s just my variation on this theory.”

“Then why all the secrecy? Why not say that he was the one who got eaten by the bear? Why fake the car crash and then say his brother never showed up?”

“Because if the mob knew he’d talked to his brother before he died, maybe they’d come question him?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a possibility.”

Theory #3: That Stanford killed Stanley and made it look like an accident. People who support this theory say the psychological trauma and guilt of killing his own brother may have driven Stanford to change his appearance and behavior to more closely resemble that of his dead brother.

“That’s… kind of a stretch.” Shane said slowly. “I feel like, Occam's Razor, theory 2 is more plausible.”

“What makes you say that one’s more plausible?”

“I dunno, just saying ‘He killed his brother and took his place’ seems a lot more likely than ‘The other brother killed him and the guilt drove him to act like his brother. I don’t think that’s how psychology works.”

Theory #4: Both brothers are still alive. Stanley, on the run from the mob, came to his brother Stanford for help. Meanwhile, Stanford was worried about someone or something that was out to get him. They came to a solution that would solve both their problems: switching places. They would fake Stanley’s death, throwing the mob off of Stanley’s trail. Then, Stanley would take Stanford’s place in the public eye, while Stanford went into hiding.

This theory is supported by photos that surfaced on Facebook in 2012. Several photos of Gravity Falls after a series of earthquakes did extensive damage to the town show what is supposed to be Stanford. However, another man that looks just like him is seen standing in the background. Interestingly enough, both mens’ hands are obscured in all of these photos. 

While the photos haven’t been analysed by any professionals to definitively determine if either of the men are Stanley Pines, it has been determined that the photos are not edited.

“Would the whole photo recognition software even work on identical twins?” Ryan wondered.

“I don’t think so?” Shane answered unsurely. “I mean, my Facebook facial recognition auto-tag doesn’t even recognize my mom half the time, so I wouldn’t be surprised if twins throw it off.”

“Just looking at some of these photos yourself, what do you think?” Ryan handed a few print-outs from his folder to Shane.

“Oh wow, yeah, they do look alike.” Shane nodded. “Alright, yeah, I’m convinced. We solved it, guys! Video over!”

“We actually do have one more theory.” Ryan informed him.

Theory #5: Stanford was abducted by aliens.

“Oh for f___’s sake--” Shane threw his hands up in frustration. “We have four perfectly good, plausible explanations, and you have to throw that in!”

“This one actually does have some evidence behind it.”

“Bull____, but go on.”

Stanford was a professional paranormal researcher. Although he was very secretive about his research, even to his grant committee, some of his research notes do list looking for proof of ancient aliens visiting the valley before European contact. Could it be the thing he was afraid of was aliens?

“... That’s it?” Shane asked. “When you said this one actually had some evidence behind it, I thought you meant there was a UFO sighting in the same area around the same time.”

“The negative space between the floating cliffs kinda looks like a UFO” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a random researcher in the 80’s was abducted by aliens! That’s like, if I found a ransom note for you in the office, but I said ‘Well, Ryan was afraid of bears. Bears used to live in California, there’s one on the state flag outside our building. He must have been eaten by a bear.’ That’s the kind of leap in logic we’re talking about!”

Was this a case of fratricide? Or is this the longest and most elaborate twin switch of all time? For now, this case remains… UNSOLVED.

 * * *

“It was really hard for me to stay on topic while I was researching this one.” Ryan admitted as they wrapped things up. “There is a lot of weird stuff related to Gravity Falls, we should go there for an episode one of these days.”

“I’d love to do that, it looks like a beautiful place to visit.” Shane agreed. “Are you sure you wanna do that though? It seems like the place is crawling with haunted cabins and bears.”

“Well, one could argue this entire series is about me conquering my fears, so… Why not?”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Buzzfeed Unsolved #Stanuary 2021 #Stanley pines #My Writing

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago garcia x reader (nine)

Word Count: 2.3k+

Excerpt: “He’s figured out that she thinks she’s dreaming every time she opens her eyes and sees him. She thinks that she’s going to wake up to Nathan and that Santiago will be gone.”

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, cursing, uhhh I think that’s it?

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

OCTOBER FIFTH — DAY TWO

Santi isn’t sure who calls her parents, but they’re in the waiting room the next morning and while he knows that they have every right to be there, he wishes that they would just go away. Her mother is already talking about taking her “home” the second she’s released from the hospital.

He doesn’t have the energy to fight with them yet, doesn’t know how to tell her grieving parents that her home is with him. She belongs with him, he’ll take care of her.

But then again, he’s already failed once.

Maybe she won’t feel safe with him anymore.

Maybe she won’t feel safe in the new apartment, she won’t recognize it. Sure, she’ll look around and see familiar furniture, some pictures and the duvet she’d picked out herself. Nevada. Maybe she’ll smell Santi’s cologne in the air or the stench from the cigarettes he smokes when things get just a little too hard, but it’ll all be in a space that’s entirely new.

Did he make the right decision? Should he have stayed at the last place?

No. No, he doesn’t think that would’ve been smart either.

Maybe she does need to go with her parents, back to the house she grew up in, where her room hasn’t been touched since she was in high school and everything is familiar.

But then she says his name in her sleep, and he knows that he’s not going to be able to let her go.

He knows he can take care of her. He’ll do it right this time, he’ll never let a damn thing happen to her ever again.

So Santi shuts it down the moment her mother brings it up again, and he’s surprised that her father actually sides with him on it. It doesn’t turn into an argument like he thought it would and he’s beyond thankful for that.

She stays asleep for most of the day, only waking up for a little while at a time, and when she does, she refuses to take her eyes off of Santi. It only serves as further confirmation that she needs him, he’s the right decision.

Jay offers to stay with them for a while, thinking maybe they’ll both feel better with another set of eyes, a little added protection, and at first Santi shakes his head — he feels guilty for some reason, he doesn’t know exactly why but he feels like it’s too much.

But then she has a nightmare, and he watches as Jay immediately reaches out and touches her cheeks to let her know she’s not alone, she’s safe and they’re right there. Santi’s positive that Jay has noticed that he hasn’t touched her yet, and he also knows that she probably needs someone who will be able to give her physical reassurance when she wants it.

So he caves, only if Jay will take his bed while he crashes on the couch and of course Jay says no.

But it’s not something they really have to worry or argue about right then.

She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

OCTOBER SIXTH — DAY THREE

Every single news channel has been covering her return just as much, if not more, as her disappearance. They’re still looking for Nathan, but Santi’s sure they’ll never find him. Not anytime soon, at least.

He didn’t know if he’d dumped her with the intention of her being found alive or dead, but either way he has to know she’s been found and that they’re looking for him again with the same amount of ferocity as they had been when she first went missing. He hates to think about that, how after just a few months everything just seemed to die down for everyone else but those in his little circle, and even then sometimes he felt like the only one who still cared.

Santi shakes his head and pushes those thoughts away.

Her. He just needs to focus on her.

They’d gotten her temperature up, and the cocktail of medicine they’d been pushing for the last three days seem to be doing their job. Her scans all came back clear, no damage to her heart or brain. All in all, she’s responding well to treatment.

She’s still confused though, still disorientated whenever she wakes up but the doctors assure Santi that it’s completely normal and to be expected. He’d asked them how long it would take for her to become lucid and coherent, and they hadn’t really been able to give him an answer.

Could be a few days, could be another week.

But it’s okay, she needs to rest. She needs to rest and Santi needs to get a fucking grip on himself so he can be there for her when she’s finally fully conscious again.

He thinks the nurses have started to notice that he’s keeping his distance, and that they’ve been setting him up to touch her in small ways that he can never really say no to.

“Can you fix her blanket for me?”

“Hold her hand up while I replace the bandage on her IV?”

“Help me slide her over?”

He always does what’s asked of him, but his fingers never linger and he’s managed to do it all without directly touching her skin so far. The sweatshirt she’s in is good for more than just keeping her warm.

But still, he doesn’t really count it as touching her. Direct contact with her body isn’t something he can even imagine right now because he still wants to cry every time he pulls away from her, and he’s only touching a fucking piece of clothing she’s wearing.

Santi needs to get his shit figured out.

It’s not fair to her, not in the least.

So at three in the morning, when he knows it’s going to be another hour before her morning labs are drawn, when he knows that there won’t be a single person in to bother them until then, he gets out of the chair he’s been living in and moves to sit on the end of her bed.

She stirs, and the panic in her eyes is immediate. Her fingers tighten around the blanket and she looks like she’s getting ready to scream or cry out.

He hates it. He hates causing it even though he knows that he’s not really the reason behind it.

He clears his throat and whispers her name, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering.

She blinks, his voice clearly registering in her head though she still looks confused and unsure, but the terror melts away. She knows this is someone safe, someone that she can trust and someone who isn’t going to hurt her. She’s safe.

“Stay.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes again. “You always leave.”

He’s figured out that she thinks she’s dreaming every time she opens her eyes and sees him. She thinks that she’s going to wake up to Nathan and that Santiago will be gone.

It breaks his heart.

“You’re not dreaming sweetheart. You’re okay.”

She shakes her head again.

“I’m right here,” he repeats, taking a deep breath before he reaches his hand out, but he stops when he’s only an inch away.

There’s no heat radiating from her, and if he wasn’t standing there watching her breathe he’d be thinking the worst.

It finally hits Santi just how small and fragile she is.

And now he feels like if he touches her, he’ll break her.

He pulls his hand back.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

OCTOBER SEVENTH — DAY FOUR

It’s cold and dark and his voice is coming from all around her. He’s calling her name, threatening her with things that she tries so hard to block out but they still creep into her mind, filling her with even more panic and dread as she’s left to think about what he’s going to do to her once he finds her.

Nathan calls it “The Game”.

He gives her a thirty second head start, tells her to run as far and as fast as she can, and if she can get away, she’s free. She can go home.

But if he catches her, his twisted words become a reality. He’ll keep her chained up for a few days, or maybe it’s a couple weeks or even a month, she’s never really sure but then the cycle repeats.

And he always catches her, always. No matter how sure she is that she’s finally escaped, he’s always right there to pin her to the ground and have his way with her. He’s always there to crush her hope and what little faith she’s able to gain back in those brief moments of thinking she’s free.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind enough to focus. She needs to get moving.

She looks down to figure out which way she had come and there’s snow. She hates snow. She used to love it, back when her and Santi would go for walks around Christmas time, hot cocoa in hand with their arms linked together. She wonders if he’s put the tree up this year. She wonders if Christmas has already passed.

But per usual, that happy thought of Santiago is ripped away from her when she hears Nathan’s voice again, this time only closer. Her skin crawls.

She has to start running. She knows she’s not as fast as she used to be, she’s too weak, but she has to try.

God, she hates snow.

She never stands a chance. It’s always so easy for Nathan to follow her tracks, and it always feels like there are tiny little needles stabbing into her bare feet with each step she takes, but she doesn’t allow herself to feel it in the moment, no. She never thinks about the pain until The Game is over, because of course she’ll take that moment of pain in trade for freedom. She’ll take those pins in needles if it means she’s just one step closer to getting away.

She thinks she might have it this time. Nathan’s voice is far off again, and she can see something in the distance. A road, maybe.

Yes, a road. That was definitely a car zooming past.

She runs faster, that familiar hope blossoming in her chest. She’s so close, so so close. Just a few more yards-

But then there’s crushing weight on top of her, and rough hands grabbing at her hips and she doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

He found her, of course he found her.

She immediately starts to cry, kicking herself because she should have expected it, she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes so high. All Nathan does is laugh and pull her closer, and then she feels his hand move into her hair. He holds her head up so she can keep her eyes on the road while he gets himself ready to do what he always does.

She tries to just lay there, begging her mind to drift off towards Santi, towards her safe place. When she thinks about him instead of what’s happening, it’s not so bad. Santi makes it all better.

But then another car drives by, and then another, and another and she can’t focus on anything but the fact that she’d been so close. There were people right there, maybe close enough to hear her if she’s loud enough.

She screams.

She wakes up screaming.

She’s screaming and kicking and Santi’s immediately by her side, calling her name, begging her to look at him but she doesn’t hear a thing, doesn’t register it.

He calls out for a nurse, starting to panic, afraid that she’s hurt and in pain but then he hears his name leave her lips in a broken, mangled sob and he knows she must’ve been dreaming.

He wants to cry with her. He hates seeing her like this.

Two nurses rush into the room, trying to get her attention as well but to no avail. They’re asking her what hurts, what happened, but all she can do is thrash around and call out for Santi again.

Hearing her like that, it’s the final push he needs to finally reach out to her.

Santi takes her hand, kissing each of her knuckles once he feels like she’s not going to punch him while he whispers that it’s okay, he’s right here and he’s not leaving her. She’s not with Nathan, she’s not in danger. She’s okay.

She doesn’t calm down, not really, so beyond terrified that Santiago’s voice is nothing but a trick her mind is playing on her, that he is the dream, one her brain had created to block it all out.

He repeats his words a second time, moving one of his hands up to her cheek, and it seems to break her out of it just a little bit more. He brings the second one up so that he’s cupping her face, and he watches as she immediately melts into him.

“You’re okay, sweet girl, it’s okay. It’s me, Santi.”

She doesn’t open her eyes. He wishes she would, but he doesn’t expect her to, not really. She’s so tired and he’s sure crying has left her completely exhausted.

He knows he’s right when her breathing evens out again.

But he doesn’t let go. Now that he’s touched her, he doesn’t want to stop, even though he knows that once she’s coherent it’ll probably be the last thing she wants.

He’ll take it while he can get it though.

He holds her hand all night long.

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier

[extremelyblackandwhite]

illicit affairs

pairing: sheriff lee bodecker x younger! reader

warnings: smut (18+), cheating, age gap

a/n: i love perfumes which smell of daisies so i made the reader use something like that. i do imagine her going for a very much female appearance and aura despite her personality and i can see lee fancying that sort of fragile femininity look paired with her independency. this song is based of illicit affairs from taylor swift but i was also listening to all too well at some points so i think some of that passed onto the writing. hope you enjoy xx

> DRESS

Leave the perfume on the self that you picked up just for him so you leave no trace behind like you don’t even exist. Take the words for what they are a dwindling, mercurial high, a drug that only worked the first few hundred times ... And you wanna scream don’t call me “kid”, don’t call me “baby”, look at this idiotic fool that you made me. You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else. And you know damn well for you I would ruin myself a million little times ...

The snow settled onto the ground, a view she could see from her white window. Sprawled against her window pane, the blue soft fabric of her dress cascaded down her body as she watched the snow fall and become one with the mass of white covering the once green grass of her home. Her feet dangled in anticipation, hair cascading into hairdresser set curls, held away from her face with a pearl barrette. Her fingers dangled across her collarbones, feeling the cold matching pearls which unlike her barrette clip, had been offered to her by Lee on thanksgiving. “A pretty girl like you deserves her own pearls” his voice echoed in her mind whenever her feeling felt the smooth irregular circle shapes of the pearls laying against her collarbones. There was nothing more than she wanted than to wear those pearls to the police winter ball, to show up wearing something he had bought for her with what money he gathered from his fickle Captain position, but she couldn’t. Everyone knew what she had, what jewellery she had, it was all valued at the insurance centre downtown and the pearl necklace definitely wasn’t. Her own pearls rested inside her ivory jewellery box along with the ribbon she was wearing around her waist when she first kissed him, and the comb that held her hair in place whenever she met him during windy nights. 

Her grandmother had left before her, leaving with the grocery shop owner as her date for the ball but she had stayed behind. She had told her she’d rather go alone, blaming her loneliness on the fact all the boys her age were either engaged thus going with their wives and the single ones not wanting to do with her. Of course that was further from the truth and as she watched the snow fall, she imagined Lee’s cruiser driving through the snow, stopping in front of her home and knocking on her door to take her. But those were nothing but impossible scenarios created from the deepest part of her psyche. Looking over her shoulder, the clock on her bedside table shone 9PM into bold red letters. She should get going before her grandmother got worried. Her eyes lingered across her beauty parlour to the silver platter with her perfume, the one she’d picked just for him after hearing how much he loved the smell of daisies. She had to leave it, she couldn’t put any perfume on, she couldn’t take her pearls, she doesn’t exist. At least, she as Lee’s lover does not exist for all that everyone could know and nothing hurt more than the sound of her pearls returning to her ivory box. It was were they belonged, away from everyone, hidden, a mysterious sin secret. 

With her white fur wrapped around her arms, she entered her glossy yet dull red car, pulling the hood up despite the weather. She wanted to feel the cold, she wanted that numbness to hide what she had been feeling for the last months. It was all so exhilarating when it began; the summer walks, laying in the middle of the forest in an old towel as he feed her ripe strawberries, escaping from her grandmother’s house at night and meeting him up under the apple tree in light dresses. However, at time wind down, she started to crave the rest of a relationship, the holding of hands. Instead what she got was clandestine meetings in parking lots, behind the bars or in the middle of the forest when no one could see them. She constantly told herself it was going to eventually be her turn, he was gonna leave Jane for her. Yet, she seemed to constantly fall on the same error every mistress before her did, the mistake of forgetting her place. Stopping in front of the old town hall where the ball was being held, she could see the soft lights, hear the laughter and it made her sick. She didn’t want to go in, she didn’t want to see those happy couples but she had too. She had to put up a show, be the little pedestal trouble starter woman she was expected to be and so she would. 

Stepping into the hall, her eyes immediately found Lee in the corner speaking with the Sheriff, arm draped over Jane’s shoulder while the other hand held a clear cup probably with his favourite drink. Her heart sunk to the same place it always did as she got lost in the dance floor. She knew everyone in this town hall, from the first boy she ever kissed Jonah and his third wife Elizabeth to Billy whom had been prom king with her. There was nothing new anymore and what once felt new and true was now anchoring her inside a fishbowl of images of her own mistakes and unfulfilled life needs. 

      - Hey, Y/N. - Billy called out for her attention. She held onto the fur wrapped around her for comfort as she prepared her facade of a happy girl at a happy party. - Your grandma told me you ain’t gotta a partner for tonight. Could’ve told me, I would’ve taken you. 

      - It’s ok, ain’t like I need a man. - she replied, almost angrily although he deserved no anger from her. - What’s the stage for? We’re getting a band tonight?

      - No, the new sheriff candidates announcing themselves tonight. Prepare for the blood bath. 

      - Sounds interesting. - she spoke out, her voice getting mumbled out as the mic’s sound hurt her and everyone else’s ear. The police chief stood there in his best attire, holding a small piece of papers, his fat thumbs hitting the mic to gather everyone’s attention. He already had their attention merely by wearing a cowboy’s hat with a formal suit. 

       - Now folks, we all now how much we gonna miss our good old Sheriff but it’s time to elect a new one. - his southern accent was pronounced, too pronounced, cartoonish even. Y/N remembered laughing as a child when she first heard him speak only to immediately shut up when her grandmother looked her way with a look which left room for no questions. She herself had barely developed an accent, her grandmother still very keen on instilling in her the education she herself had gotten. However, the longer she spent with Lee, the more it would sometimes slip; one or two words, nothing major. - Of course, Leroy is running again.

     - I don’t know why he tries. - Y/N whispered to Billy, concealed laughing smile behind her hand. 

     - You gotta admit it’s a good thing to imagine. Damned Leroy and his prostitutes running the town? We’d be forgotten by God.

     - We’re already forgotten by God. We were banished from the garden of Eden, don’t you remember? - she teased, always enjoying to toy around with the religion Knockemstiff was so hang up on. - We’re probably direct descendants. 

     - You ought to keep that mouth shut if you don’t wanna get in trouble. - he warned yet it went through deaf ears. Y/N liked stirring it, specially when it came to things which were so analytically flawed. 

The regular list of candidates continued to go from officers to common folk who all believed they could make the town better. At least that was all they said they wanted to get some votes but at the end of the day, they just wanted to control the town with an iron fist. Do what they wanted without anyone question it. She couldn’t blame it, humans are hardwired to go crazy for power and let it consume them so she just let it pass. She knew all the candidates, they were always the same. Leroy, Matthew, Edwards ... all the common ones, she even wondered why they kept announcing it. Those three competing for the sheriff position was as certain as the sun coming up each morning. 

      - The last candidate is our cap’tain Bodecker. - her head snapped to the stage as every sound seemed to dim until she was surrounded by pure silence. All she could hear was the buzz from her ears as she watched him climb up the stairs to the stage, shaking the chief’s hands. 

Everything seemed to be stuck in slow motion yet her mind was running faster than a shot bullet. The clapping was slow, everything was silent yet she could see their hands slowly clap and their lips moving in whispers. Her eyes roamed the crowd finding Jane right in front of the stage, looking up at him with adoration at the possible place she could possible hold; the sheriff’s wife. The slow motion ended with a loud crash and suddenly everything seemed just too fast. She ignored Billy’s pleas for her attention and moved straight to the small plastic tables covered in burgundy towels to make it look fancier where all the drinks and food were being held. One of her only friends from high school Mary was the one in charge, happily serving food and drinks to anyone who asked.

     - Hi Y/N. - she always looked like the perfect housewife and that was always what she wanted to be. Beautiful, bountiful blonde hair with a few flowers matching her pink dress. Despite it all, she was always nice to her even with their different life goals. 

     - Hey Mary. How’s Paul? I heard from rumours you two had quite a nice honeymoon. St.Louis, right? 

     - Yes. He booked us a nice honeymoon suite, it had flowers and those heart shaped beds and chocolates. It was real nice, I’m hoping to be pregnant soon. What about you? Your grandmother said you came alone. You could’ve told me, my brother would’ve taken you.

    - That’s alright, Mary. I don’t intend to stay for long ... Uhm, can I have a drink?

    - Of course. Sidecar, as per usual? 

    - I think I’ll just have a double cognac, please. Or maybe some gin ... whatever can make me dizzy the fastest.

    - Everything, okay?

    - Just need to forget some stuff, it’ll be okay. - she forced a smile. At least half that phrase was true. Mary served her up with her best gin and she returned to the dance floor, trying to blend with the rest of the attendees, however her baby blue dress was much too different from anything else in town. 

Y/N thought she’d be best outside where no one could see her and so she left, avoiding Billy who kept asking for her. She leaned against the old wood of the town hall, mascara running down her cheeks, and gin glass on the other one. She looked like the perfect warning tale of why you should not mess her married men. She knew better, she knew so much better but she still did it, like the idiotic little fool she seemed to be. Y/N sighed, the air condensing in the air as she drank from the glass.

     - Pull yourself together, Y/N. - she looked to see side, her grandmother standing outside with the look she used to give her when Y/N embarrassed her as a little girl. - What did you expect?

     - I’m just not having a good day, nana.

     - You’re hanging around with Captain Bodecker that’s what you’re doing.

     - What?

     - Don’t play innocent with me, Y/N. You’re just like your mother and I’ve raised your mother so I’d know. I saw you leave in his car last week. Do you want to defend yourself?

     - Is it even worth it? - she took a sip out of her drink. - What do you want me to say? 

     - I want you to pull yourself together and go inside. You better have this finished off before those elections start. I will not have my granddaughter be a home wrecker.

Y/N ignored it. There was nothing her grandmother could say that hurt more than what she was already feeling. She watched the snow fall from the cover of the banner covering the town hall, cold and icy yet somehow warmer than her. The drink didn’t last forever and although it was much stronger than what she was used to, she didn’t feel the slightest bit dizzy. It was if the universe was punishing her for her choices. She shook her head, leaving the glass onto one of the windows. She’d be better off at home and she’d already made her appearance. If someone asked where she was, she could’ve blamed it on their drunkness. Opening her little clutch, she started fishing for her keys through a sea of change, makeup and receipts. 

    - You better not be thinking of driving after you just drank. - she turned her head to see Lee with his hands on his waist, playfully smiling at her. His smile faded as he noticed the streaks of mascara from her eyes to her jaw. - Did that shithead Billy say something? 

     - No ... Lee, I wanna go home okay. - she sighed. - Can you just pretend you didn’t see me drink?

     - I was hoping we could spend the night together. Rent a hotel room outside town. A real nice place, with a pool and some room service. My treat of course.

     - I ... We can’t, Lee. Your wife is inside as she’s gonna notice you’re not there and you’re not home. 

     - She’s going home early. Jane’s been taking a few sleeping pills. She’s down for the night, won’t even notice. - he took a few steps closer to her, knowing everyone was too drunk to even remember. - I was waiting for you to come greet me, congratulate me. I can’t believe my girl wanted to leave before showing me how pretty she looked. 

     - You didn’t tell me you were running for Sheriff. - he cupped her face, thumb caressing her cheek. - You said it was a silly position.

     - Yeah but ... it’s a Sheriff. I could become Mayor, ya know. The old sheriff thinks I’d be good for it. - he scratched the back of his neck, something he always did whenever he was nervous or was confronted by something he did not expect. Y/N had learned to read him and knew him better than her own favourite books. - C’mon, kid. It’s a night worth celebrating, don’t you think?

     - Don’t call me kid. - she shot her head his way, his word hitting a particular hurt spot which she didn’t realise she had. 

     - Hey, I’m not trying to mock ya. - he rose his hands. - What’s wrong, huh baby? Hm? Tell me sugar, I hate it when you’re upset. Besides, if it was that Billy kid I’ve been wanting to give him a good beating.

    - Don’t call me baby, either. - she sighed, throwing her purse inside the car, before turning to him. - Billy didn’t do anything I’m just ... tired.

    - I’ll drive you home, then.

    - I don’t wanna go home either. - she pushed her hair from her forehead, looking at the ground. The snow engulfed her feet and her shoes, yet it might as well have engulfed her entire being. Lee noticed her lip trembling and how her free hand was trying to stop tears from falling down. He looked behind him, the town hall door shut, before taking his jacket off, draping it over her shoulders, and opening the car door for her. 

 Y/N daren’t look him in the eye, instead sitting in the passenger seat as he pushed the hood of her car up. After all, most people did not enjoy driving in the snow with the hood up. She didn’t know where he was taking her and for all it mattered she didn’t want to know. If he was driving her to her killing location, it sounded much better than having to work out through the bubbling feelings in her tummy. Y/N didn’t even noticed how much she was crying until the tears started streaming so fast they were falling onto the palms of her hands like diamond daggers. She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the road ahead through the blurry orbs of her own eyes, trying to find some warmth through him. The drive seemed endless and her mind rushed in an even more endless way as she considered all her choices til now. She found it unbearable how not guilty she didn’t feel about it. She could still remember the feeling of the cold water against her body and his lips against hers, being tangled in his bed sheets while he drank a beer, his grunts as he thrusted into her inside his patrol car. She remembered every detail either it being lust or romantic but most importantly she remembered how he looked at her. It was almost as through rose coloured glasses, most of the times agreeing with her pessimist view of the town she was in. Lee looked down on her, watching her perfect hair break through the gelled curls she had set down. He never liked the polished look anyway, he loved to see her walk in her white dresses and freshly washed hair flowing with the wind. This woman sat next to him was gorgeous but he preferred his Y/N, he preferred the woman who would poke fun of casualty and rush into the woods with her nightgown. This woman next to him was pretty yes but she seemed tainted by a sadness he could see yet couldn’t help. He didn’t want his Y/N to be the slightest bit sad. She did not deserve it. She was too pure, too young to be consumed by the loneliness, darkness and sadness that came with being an adult. Yet again, he had to start learning the young woman she was wouldn’t stay young forever. He wanted to know how to help. he wanted to be the man who wakes up next to her on summer mornings and winter evenings but life is not how we plan it out to be.

She watched the snow fall from her window as “You are my sunshine” played on the background from her radio. Looking up to him, his eyes were glued to the road, the sign of leaving Knockemstiff way past them and the hotel on the horizon. She called it the Heartbreak hotel, with its red walls and luxurious nature. A more fancy place for those who wanted to give a better night to their mistresses but that was not why she called it the heartbreak hotel. It was due to the fact she ended up crying every time she or he left. While inside those walls, she could pretend they were Mr. and Mrs. Bodecker, young couple moved out of Knockemstiff on a romantic getaway yet she wasn’t Mrs. Bodecker, Jane was. She had seen who the future sheriff’s wife was and it was not and it would never be her. He stopped the car in the parking lot, looking at her who was lost in thought, leaned against his shoulder.

   - Come on, sugar. What is it? - Lee kissed the top of her head. - The heck happened in that Town Hall?

    - Just being silly, Lee. - she shook her head, faking a smile. - Just don’t like parties one bit.

    - I hate ‘em too, sugar. All show no action. Besides no party is a party without my baby. - he hooked his ring finger under her chin, softly pulling it up. She tried not to look at the moonlight illuminating the silver band around his finger, a symbol he belonged to someone else and she knew it. She had seen the wedding photo on his secretary, a much younger Lee with a much younger Jane with the facade of a happy marriage. Thinking about it always made her sick and ever since seeing that picture she couldn’t bring herself to do so. - Come on, let’s get you a bubble bath, yeah?

She followed him into the hotel almost in a zombie like state until the reception. The talk was a dance she had danced before, it was all the same. Lee would present money in cash so it wouldn’t show up on his credit card statement. He would sign in with a fake address but with his own name and no one would question it. After all, the staff wanted money, they didn’t care if it was an illicit affair or not. To be honest, she didn’t care much anymore.

     - Mrs. Bodecker? Mrs. Bodecker? - the receptionist called out to her but it didn’t even register until she was looking her into the eyes. Mrs. Bodecker, she was definitely not. - Would you like a complementary tea? You look cold.

     - No, it’s okay. - she smiled while Lee grabbed the keys. His hand wrapped itself around hers, leading her over to the elevator.

God, she wanted him. She really did, he thought to himself. It was an unbelievable feeling to have someone who loved him back, someone who always had encouraging words to tell him, someone who would stay after a fight. He thought and imagine what it would’ve been like if she was born earlier, god he would’ve courted her and would’ve married her the second they were out of high school. Sadly, the woman he loved was born 10 years after and he met her when he was married. He led her to the 13th hotel room and closed the door behind them.

     - Things are gonna be different when I’m sheriff. No more sneaking around, no one will dare  say a word. I can move to Brewer Heights, heck, I can buy two houses, one just for you and me.

    - Lee ...

    - Where are your pearls, sugar? You know I love to see you with them, makes you look so pretty.

    - You know I can’t wear them in public, Lee. I am not your ... - she shouldn’t say that, she should not let those words out. - They’re not insured under my name, people would comment about it.

     - You worry too much. - he pushed the fur that covered her arms down, placing a small kiss on her elbow. - My little over-thinker.

     - One of us has too, Captain Bodecker.

     - How about some champagne? - he pointed towards the champagne bottle in the ice bucket by the dresser before walking towards it, raising it so he could inspect the brand. He longed for the finest things in life, no longer wanting to be that middle to low class man he’d been forced to be. Being Sheriff, Mayor someday was going to be really something, it’d be his chance.

    - I’m not 21 yet, Captain.

    - Only a month til you are, kid. - he filled two long crystal flutes, handing it over to them. - By then I should stop calling you kid, huh?

    - You shouldn’t call me kid, now. - she took a sip of the golden liquid, hoping it would take away her jealousy. Lee hummed, leaned over to kiss the crock of her neck, climbing up to her jaw in a move that was sure to leave marks. It was okay for him to leave marks on her, she was unmarried, young but on him? Sometimes she wanted to, sometimes she wanted to mark his pale plump skin as a possession, one that screamed Jane might have the wedding ring but she had the man. Yet, she couldn’t. - You look so handsome tonight.

    - You’re my worse critic. - he smirked, placing his glass on the bedside table before pulling her chin towards him, placing a soft kiss on her plump, painted lips. - God, you can’t even imagine how fucking hard I got when you walked in.

    - Such gentle behaviour. - she teased, fingers lightly tracing the skin of his face. He moaned, leaning in to kiss her again. - I wore it just for you. Blue. I knw you like it.

    - You’re always such a good girl for me. - he started to remove his jacket, pushing on her chest lightly so she laid against the luxurious bed.

The alcohol sure did a better job than her about making her forget what she was doing it. The alcohol and his kiss, his touch on her skin made her forget the clench in her heart when she saw Jane Bodecker clap once they said his name. It made her forget she couldn’t hear perfume around him unless he showered, it made her forget. Both of her moaned through the kiss, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that it was a sin. Maybe that’s why it taste so sweet, the sin, the thrill. None of them cared really and all he wanted to do now was hold her, touch her, look at her.

    - You are so beautiful. - he spoke, more to himself than to her specifically, leaning down on the bed as he spread her legs, taking his place in between them which was so familiar to him. Lee ran his knuckles through the middle of her folds, cold hands making her shiver. - Ev’ry darn day I wake up and I think, I got myself the most beautiful woman in the world.

Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, the white paint of it engulfing her as his hands caressed her thighs. All she could feel were his cold hands massaging the skin of her thighs, spreading them apart and giving him full access to her. His lips attacked her core, always chapped which made her feel so good, it made her know it was him giving her that pleasure. She moaned out loud as he dwelled in like a starved man, her head relaxing against the pillow. There was never any mercy with him, he teased her like he owned her, focusing on her clit while licking her folds. He had her exactly where he wanted her - starving for him.

   - You’re gonna see. - he mumbled out while he relentlessly ate her out. - When I’m sheriff there will be no more hidin’. No one gonna dare say anythin’ about it.

   - Lee, please ... no foreplay. - she whined, begged even as he stopped his motions. His eyes curiously searched for hers, hands pulling his body up as he stood on top of her. - I just want to feel you.

   - Weren’t you feelin’ me, sugar?

   - You know what I mean, Lee. - she wrapped her hands around his neck, head cocked to the side. - I don’t want any foreplay today.

    - Oh sugar ... - he chuckled leaning down to kiss her collarbone. - You’re just a cock slut for me, aren’t ya? Can’t just wait for me to treat ya right ain’t it, baby?

     - Lee, please. - she whined, hands wavering over his police issued chunky belt. Lee smirked, holding her hand before she could do anything. Y/N pouted, head leaning against her shoulder. - C’mon.

   - But baby, you look so pretty when you’re begging. - he returned to kiss her neck, leaving marks which were sure to become hickeys tomorrow but she didn’t care. No one was going to see it. - I was expecting you to come congratulate me in the way you always do, maybe in the back of the town hall. Hoping someone would catch us so they’d see you’re my girl.

    -  Lee ... -  she whined as he kept kissing her neck and collarbones. - Please.

    - Tell me what you want, baby. You know I do everything you want. - he rose from her neck, toothy grin as he leaned down to kiss her plump, pink painted lips. - Tell me you want my big fat cock. I know you do, baby. Tell me how much you need it. 

  - Lee ... please, need you.

  - You have me, baby, tell me what you need. Tell me what you want. - his knuckles ran through the middle of her folds again. - You’re so wet, baby. Just tell me what you want, c’mon

  -  Lee ... please. - she looked at him with those wide eyes that could get someone to commit murder for her, as he pushed down his trousers. - I want you to fuck me with your ... big fat cock, Capitain. 

  - Oh, baby ... - he leaned his forehead against hers as he pushed his cock past her entrance, eyes shut tight  as he tried to keep himself sane at the mere feeling of her walls contracting against him. His lips found hers as he shed himself fully into her. Her hand searched for his, as Lee slowly rolled his hips against hers, basking in the mere high that was being inside of her. - You okay, baby? 

  - Yeah. ... fuck, move. - she whined as he removed himself from her and pushed back in, slowly starting to rock into her as he always did. The little tease. Her hand clenched his as he speed up his thrusts, lips returning to hers in a messy, moaned filled kiss. All she could hear was the sound of skin against skin and interrupted breathing. - Lee, fuck.

  - I know, baby. - he laughed, returning to kiss her the way he liked as her walls started to clench more forcefully against his member, milking him for all he was worth. His free hand grabbed her hip as he further sped up against her, bruising her skin as his breaths got more raggedy. He bite onto her neck as he felt his control over his own orgasm disappear. 

  - Lee, fuck! - she moaned, almost raising off the bed as her own orgasm washed over her. Her head fell against the pillow, sluggish as he continued to thrust into her until ropes and ropes of cum painted her walls. He chuckled mid grunt, holding her against him as he turned around in bed. 

  - You all fucked up, aren’t ya, sugar? - he kissed the top of her head. - You’re gonna see, sugar. Things are gonna be so much better.

  - Right ... - she cuddled against his chest. - Hm ... Lee can you drive me back home early on?

  - Early shift?

  - Yeah.

  - Okay, sugar.

The morning was a harsh breaker of dreamy hazes and just like that she was back to the place where she always was, in her home, surrounded by the scent of the perfume she had bought just for him. She sat on her dress, taking the necklace he had given her from the little mother of pearl seashell shaped box and holding them against her chest. She loved him, she really did. Some people had their downfalls and hers was painted onto her neck and held by her hands. He was her downfall. 

The sun was high up on the snowy midday in Knockemstiff and once again Lee had been resigned to desk duty after the Sheriff not taking it too lightly he decided to run without his permission. Normally he would’ve been upset but he knew, he knew he was close to winning and then he could throw away those stupid hotels and just get her a little house close to him. God, he couldn’t fucking wait.

    - Captain Bodecker, someone here for you. - his secretary knocked on his door. - Mary Gillies, sir. 

    - Mary Gillies? - he knew her to be a friend of Y/N’s, perhaps her only friend other than that punk Billy. - Send her in.

    - Good afternoon, captain. - she said as she walked into his office. - I’m so sorry to be bothering but Y/N ...

    - Is she alright? - he interrupted her.

    - Yes, well ...  - she rummaged through her bag to find a cushioned envelope with his name on it. - She told me to give you this.

   - What is it?

   - I don’t know, captain. I must get going, my husband is waiting for me.

   - Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Gillies.

He waited for the woman to be out of his office and for the door to be shut for him to open the envelope. The minute he opened the envelope, pearls fell into his desk, the same pearls he had given Y/N followed by a small note in the dusty pink stationary that normally laid on her dresser. Turning it around, he saw the words he’d been dreading to read or hear ever since he met her. I’m sorry, Lee. He threw the letter on his desk before getting up from his desk as fast as he could, ignoring the calls from his colleagues as he got into his cruiser. Damned, Brewer Heights, why couldn’t it be closer?

He approached her home fast and closed the door as fastly as he ran up to the door. Her hag of a grandmother was possibly at church and he had learned where they kept the spare key; behind a violet pot. His heart was beating as fast as a deer on a hunt as he climbed up the stairs and found the once filled room was empty, with only a perfume bottle on her empty dresser. He observed the whole room as if he were in a nightmare, sitting on her bed as he clenched the pearls he had given her not so long ago, the smell of daisies in the air as some song played on the still turned on radio.

You never know dear how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away ...

taglist: @lookiamtrying​ 

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sheriff lee bodecker #sheriff lee bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker x you #sheriff lee bodecker x y/n #sheriff lee bodecker/reader #sheriff lee bodecker/you #sheriff lee bodecker/y/n #sheriff lee bodecker smut #sheriff lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker/reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker/y/n #lee bodecker/yoou

[perriewinklenerdie]

Snow (Tobias Carrick x MC)

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Claire Herondale

Word count: 1,3 k

Summary: Tobias tests the waters while having a drink with Claire.

Warnings: None, it’s fluffy and cute.

A/N: 1. In this timeline, Claire and Ethan split some time after he came back from Amazon. 2. I am a hoe for Jesse Williams and Tobias looks exactly like him. You can’t blame a hoe for doing what hoes do.

She placed her glass back down on the counter, letting out a soft sigh. After a day like that, she should want to go back home and relax. But she didn’t want to go home. She felt like she would suffocate if she did.

No longer did she feel like she had a safe place to land. At work, she’d have Harper to remind her that people still saw her as an intern that broke the rules. At home, she’d have Elijah to remind her that even though they were friends, he didn’t trust her enough to ask before making judgement.

Once upon a time, she could find a semblance of peace in conversation with Ethan. There was a time when she could go to him and openly talk about things that kept her up at night. But it’s been months since the last time they were that comfortable around each other, having kept their distance since he came back from the Amazon and definitely calling it quits after the hospital started going under. Since then, friends is all she could call them.

The unspoken tension between her and Ethan made their current situation even more tense than it could have been. His disregard for the rules was anything but like his usual self and it seemed bizarre to her. Claire could very easily see how different his approach to the situation was from her own when she was in his shoes – he didn’t take it seriously enough. She told him just that when he was suspended, but was met with defiance and anger.

“You should understand.”

The entirety of this situation was having much more of an effect on her than it did on him, which was peculiar, since she had nothing to do with it in the first place. She didn’t even think about pursuing such an idea, and yet the moment it happened, the world suddenly blamed her. Not Ethan, The Great Doctor Ethan Ramsey as Elijah called him, but her. Claire Herondale, a doctor that made a mistake a long time ago – a mistake that, seemingly, no one forgot about.

Unless they didn’t know. Or didn’t care enough to hold it against her.

“Mind if I take this chair?” his smooth baritone reached her ears, coming from right behind her. She knew who it was even before he appeared in her field of vision a second later.

“Does it matter what I say?” she asked, turning towards Tobias with a blank but approachable look on her face. He gave her a warm smile.

“Of course, it does.”

“What would you have done if I said ‘no’?”

“I would have convinced you to let me stay.” He responded without missing a beat. The corners of her lips went up involuntarily.

He ordered each of them a drink, eyeing her glass before speaking to the bartender. Her eyebrow shot up when he asked for two martinis – her favorite drink that she was not currently having. Tobias shrugged at her silent question.

“I noticed you drinking it the other day when we all went to the bar.”

Claire nodded slowly, her eyes searching his face for the reason of him being here. Something made him choose a seat next to her and she wanted to know why. But he didn’t give much away, with the smirk she’s grown used to and a curious glint in his eyes. He seemed to be on the very edge of his seat, anticipating something, and she had a feeling like she knew what he needed.

With a sigh, she waved her hand at him. “Go on. Ask.” When he gave her a surprised look, she smiled softly. “I know you want to.”

“What’s the deal with you and Ramsey?”

She wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask exactly that, or if the question just flew out of his mind before he could stop himself. Something – even if only the faint blush on his cheeks – told her that it might have been the latter.

“There’s no ‘deal’ between Ethan and I.”

“But there used to be. Right?” he probed, a slight edge of desperation of answers now evident in his tone. It amused her, for all the right and wrong reasons.

“We slept with each other a couple of times. He ran away to forget me.” Claire reminisced, swirling her drink slowly. “After he came back, there was some tension between us.”

“And now…?”

“And now, I’m being questioned about my personal life by a man that, if I’m to believe what Ethan had told me, rivaled with him on just about everything.” She turned towards him fully, an expectant look on her face.

Tobias, abashed from having been caught in his act, rushed to explain. “It’s not a competition, Claire. I would never-“

“I know you’re not talking to me to get a leg up over him.” she reassured him, finally revealing that she was merely teasing him, a smirk of her own staring back at him. His mouth fell open as he tried to say something, then immediately fell shut when no words came to his mind.

Smart move, Herondale.

“I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“I know.”

They remained in silence after that, sipping on their martinis and sneaking looks at each other from time to time. Tobias practically itched to start their conversation back up; he didn’t have to, though, because she did that for him.

“Ethan and I… it used to lead towards something.” Claire muttered, a complicated smile on her face. “And then we drifted apart.”

“But you seem like good friends.”

“And friends is all we are. There’s still some tension between us that I don’t think we’ll ever get rid of, but there’s nothing else left here.”

He hummed gently, looking at her intensively. “Good to know.”

Minutes they spend together turned into hours. The bar was closing and they were still seated side by side, laughing at something the other said. As time went on, they drifted closer together until their shoulders touched. When he said something funny, her hand would fall onto his arm and when she told him a joke, his head would fall to her shoulder. Both would retreat immediately, always staying in place a little longer the further into the evening they were.

It was only when the owner of the bar asked them to leave, that they gathered their things and headed out. The crisp air of the winter night slid under their clothes, biting their skin with its intensity. A shiver went through her, a puff of air visible in the light of the streetlamp.

Tobias took his coat off, wrapping it around her.

“You’ll be cold.” She argued, moving to give it back. He stopped her with his hands on her shoulders that moved to the lapels of his – her – jacket.

“I insist.” He said gently, smiling down at her with so much warmth that she’d argue she didn’t need the coat anymore. “We can’t afford to have our brightest team member sick.”

Claire laughed, nodding her head. She caught his gaze with her own, their eyes sparkling. “Thank you.”

Tobias hesitated for a split second. It may not have been right, neither the timing nor the place, but something drew him to her. Like a moth to the flame, he knew he’d potentially crash and burn – and he welcomed the thought with open arms.

He leaned down. She leaned up. His hands still gripped the lapels of the jacket, using them to bring her just a bit closer. Right before their lips brushed against each other, he heard her whisper.

“You convinced me.”

Notes

I can’t say how much I actually enjoyed writing that. It was like a break for my brain :D Don’t worry, I’ll be back on my E bullshit soon (though I think I’ll definitely revisit Tobias x Claire timeline because, as I said countless of times before, I have no self control. And I just really enjoy writing for him.).

Thank you for reading! <3

Tagging separately

#tobias carrick #open heart #playchoices #tobias x mc

[narrators-journal]

To kill a mockingbird

This is the first part of a Gogol fic I’m uploading here to flesh out my bsd masterlist and to feed you all. Don’t worry though! I will also work on hunter x hunter stuff while I do this story, not to worry! Just sit back and enjoy this very sketchy, dark, self-indulgent, pure fantasy! Please note this is PURE FANTASY.

Warning: here

CW: Reader-Chan gets kidnapped, dubcon kissing, this fic really turns up the bad things.

It had been a while since you'd passed out that hard after such a lazy night. You don't remember doing much, only making yourself a drink and turning on (favorite show) to burn your Saturday night away at home. Whether you'd go out or stay in was usually a 50/50 split, sometimes friends would ask you out to hang out or party, sometimes your weekends were spent spelunking social media or watching TV. However, this time, you'd gotten super tired only an episode and a half into your night of binging.

When you awoke, it took you a moment to realize something was majorly  wrong. To start, it was oddly cold. Sure, your home could get drafty, but never as cold as you were now. Next, you noticed that you were laying on a bed of satin pillows, or maybe one big pillow? It wasn't clear through the cloud of grogginess when you first woke up, but when that sleepy haze lifted you confirmed that yes, it was one big pillow, some sort of cushion beneath you. However, that wasn't the first thing you noticed. The first thing you noticed was that you were in a massive metal bird cage.

It was big enough for you to stretch out on the cushion with about half of your body length to spare room-wise, it was also tall enough for you to stand and still be unable to reach the dull lamp hanging above you, even if you stood on your tippy-toes, but you also couldn't see a way out. To say you were terrified would be an understatement. When your (e/c) eyes finally focused enough to let you see into the darkness surrounding your prison, you noticed you were not only in a big bird cage, but suspended in the air in some concrete-floored basement as well. It wasn't a super cluttered space, from what you could see, some boxes, a big bed on the opposite side of the room, and some other furniture denoting that someone must've been setting the place up to be a sort of bedroom, even some rugs or something to keep the basement floor from being too cold, which you couldn't decide made the place creepier or not. This situation was getting weirder and weirder by the second, but you had no time to feed the bubbling stew of panic in your throat and break down, you had to try and think, to find a way out.

Sadly for you, there was no door save for a thin bird-cage-like one just big enough to let a tray of food or something in, other than that, no feasible way to get in or out. Even the little clamps meant to hold the bottom and bars together were welded down, so you couldn't pry them up to get the bottom to fall out. That brought out a new layer of emotions, confusion. If there were no doors and the bottom was welded on, how did you get in? Was this a bad dream? However, before you could try to calculate how long you could've slept, if you'd be able to sleep through the sounds of welding, anything like that, you heard someone open a door, letting a slice of light trickle into the quiet basement before a silhouette was cast and a man came down the wooden stairs. The man was tall, you'd gauge him to be at least 6 feet tall, with long snow-colored hair that he kept pulled back in a braid. He also wore either a long coat or some sort of cloak/cape thing, striped pants, and a sort of jester's collar or something, you didn't know exactly what the frilly thing at his neck was. Together with his mismatched gold and silver eyes, he was quite attractive. With a charming smile and a very handsome face, you were pretty damned sure he could've been some sort of model, you inwardly hoped that maybe some sort of playboy, or whatever the female equivalent is, model, but for now you made sure to stay on your guard.       "dobroye utro golubka'~" he hummed, his deep voice sing-song and jovial, as if he was used to bringing food down to women kept in suspended bird cages. After a moment, you tentatively tried to talk to him,       "Um...e-excuse me, do you know English?" You asked, letting that edge of pitiful hopefulness drip into your words to maybe get some pity or something from him, and the smile he gave you infused you with hope,       "Yes! I do speak english, not to worry golubka!" he chirped, his voice having a rather heavy Russian accent, as he opened the short-but-wide door to your cage and slid the food he'd brought in, shutting the little door back and locking it with a padlock as he spoke, leaving you with a tray of food  and still no way out.       "Great! C-can you get me out of here? Do you know how I can get out?" you asked, grabbing onto the bars and feeling your stomach flutter with hope and joy before it crashed right back down when he spoke next.        "Of course not," he scoffed, "I went through all of that work to set it up for you and get you in there, I can't let you out so simply." You really did not expect that alluring voice to turn so sour so swiftly.        "What?! WHY?!" that made him laugh, reaching into your cage and snatching your hand before you could yank away out of his reach, using that to pull you forward so he could stroke your cheek with his free gloved hand,        "Oh sweet, sweet golubka, because I want you of course." he hummed, and you could see the light of madness in his mismatched eyes while he stroked your (s/c) cheek "I want you to be my lovely little domokhozyayka!" he said, finally letting you pull away after a brief moment of seemingly admiring the loss of hope in your wide (e/c) eyes.

You pushed away from the bars, holding onto the hand he'd kept captive protectively close to your chest while your cheeks turned a relatively dark pink against your paler cheeks.         "W-what does that mean?" you asked after some hesitation, continuing to give him dirty looks while he reached in to try and touch you again, something you didn't allow. It took a moment, but with a huff, he replied,         "Domokhozyaka means house wife, golubka means dove...now let me touch you," he ordered, moving around the cage to a side where he could try to reach you easier, obviously getting cranky when you moved away again.         "Let me out first," you ordered, continuously moving or trying to find the perfect middle so he couldn't reach you as you spoke with a semi-forced confidence. The man shot you a dirty look, finally pausing to stand back in front of you, his arms looped around the bars in front of him,         "I'll let you out when you earn it. Not until then. The only way to earn freedoms? Behave, simple as that." he said as if you were supposed to know that rule. "Now, I'll give you an easy command to ease you into this new set up, alright? Just, give me a kiss." he hummed, that charming grin returning as he watched you like a panther observing his prey. You inwardly had to admit, kissing him wouldn't be a struggle, he was pretty, but he was also your captor, so you didn't want to be that easy to read.         "I-I can't. Kissing through these bars would be d-difficult and uncomfortable." you argued, mentally chiding yourself for the flustered stutter, but your argument didn't last too long either way,        "No problem! I can just do this!" he chirped, and with a flurry of movement, vanished and suddenly appeared in your cage, making it sway slightly when he landed. The sudden shift made you shriek and scramble back until you felt the cold metal bars digging into your back. The tall man grinned at you, going down to his knees so he was less imposing and closer to your face, not to mention somewhat caging you in with his arms,        "Now, be a good golubka and kiss me," he ordered, and before you could try to escape he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours and swallowing the squeak you let out. The kiss was rough, he put a hand behind your head so you both couldn't pull away and weren't forced against the cold bar, but that did little to help the icy fear warring in your veins with a dark dash of lust while the man pushed his tongue into your mouth, gripping your (h/l), (h/c) hair in a silent threat so you wouldn't bite, and held it for a long moment before pulling away for air. He grinned at the dark red blush painting your (s/c) cheeks afterwards. That sort of kiss wasn't new to you, you weren't a stranger to the more dangerous sides of exploration, and it wasn't like you disliked the force he put into it, but him grinning like that hit you with a bit of shame. You were kidnapped, you shouldn't be aroused. Curse your darker kinks. However, self-scolding and maybe some shame would have to wait, you still had to stay on edge in case your captor decided he didn't want just a kiss. You were into some messed up things, but you doubted if he really pushed he'd set up any sort of safe word. Luckily though, all he did after that was pet your hair and continue to grin,          "Good girl~ Now, eat your food, I'll be back for the tray in about an hour," he said, and with another flurry of movement he was back outside the cage and left, leaving you back in the darkness with only your dim light above you and your conflicted emotions.

#Yandere gogol #bsd #bungo stray dogs #Nikolai gogol #yandere #fanfiction #quotev #dark #sing sweet nightgale

[glitterrosesnz]

decided that enough was enough, Venti couldn’t just keep showing up in my fics as a Chaotic Caretaker. so. Venti fans, come get yall’s juice-

---

Venti sat at the bar, his head resting on the countertop, seemingly asleep.

For anyone else, this wouldn't really be considered out of the ordinary. Sure, the bard was rather good at holding his liquor, but everyone has their limits, so the other patrons mainly chalked this behavior up to Venti having had one too many.

Diluc, on the other hand, with his inside knowledge of Venti being a god, and the fact that, thus far, the bard had only ordered one glass of wine, found this behavior very out of character.

"...Are you okay?" Diluc asked, quietly, so as to not draw the attention of anyone else. When Venti didn't immediately respond, he picked up the bard's half-drunk glass of wine and lightly nudged him with the bottom of it. Venti finally opened one eye to look at him.

"....'M fine." He mumbled, "Just.... used a bit too much energy today."

"If that's the case, you should go home and rest, rather than continue to sulk around in here." Diluc said, crossing his arms.

"I went to Windrise earlier and rested for a bit." Venti said, sitting up and subtly rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"That's not what I- wait. Do you even have a house?" Diluc asked. Venti gave a tired laugh in response.

"Why do you ask? Are you offering for me to live with you?" He asked, a smirk on his face. Diluc sighed.

"I'll take that as a no, you don't have a house then." He said, "And absolutely not. If you think even for a minute I'd let you freeload at Dawn Winery, then you must be well past drunk."

"Can't let people say I didn't try." Venti said, coughing a little before sighing, rubbing his nose again as he sniffled. Diluc narrowed his eyes, looking the bard up and down again, taking in his... unusually messy and unkempt appearance, suspicious. 

"...Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, and Venti gave that tired laugh again-

And then suddenly the bard paused, stiffening as he quickly pressed the back of his hand against his nose. Diluc raised an eyebrow in silent question, but Venti was no longer paying attention to him.

The bard abruptly stood up, muttering a quiet curse and stumbling a little. Quickly, ignoring Diluc's protests, he rushed around the counter, ducking down behind the bar to sit on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Diluc asked, and quickly got his answer as Venti's breath audibly hitched, his head tilting back-

"Heh- H'NGKt-shiew! HihH- H'NTCH-iew!" Venti stifled the two sneezes into his hands, the force of them making his body curl up tighter-

And a pair of feathered wings unfurled from his back, flaring out.

Thankfully, the wings didn't go high enough to be seen over the countertop. However, they did end up knocking over various bottles and glasses, sending the crashing to the floor, leaving shards of glass and puddles of spilled wine on the floor, and drawing the attention of quite a few of the patrons in the bar. Diluc quietly waved their attention away.

"I do hope you plan on cleaning this....." He started, only to trail off as he watched how the god tiredly shuddered as he drew his wings back into himself, and let them fade away. The whole process looked.... draining, to say the least. Diluc offered his hand as he helped Venti stand back up. Even through his glove, he could feel the heat coming off of Venti, and now Diluc was officially worried.

"I apologize for the mess I've made..." Venti said, staring down at the glass and wine on the floor. "Get me a mop, I'll help clean it up."

Diluc found he didn't really care about the mess on the floor.

"You're sick." He said, and Venti didn't even try to deny it.

"...Yes, I suppose I am coming down with something or other." The bard said, still not making eye contact with Diluc. "I'm sorry for being such a bother."

"Oh, stop with the rhyming." Diluc said, and he tightened his hold on Venti's hand, stepping out from behind the bar, dragging the bard along behind him. "I'm taking you to Jean."

There was, surprisingly, no resistance to this notion. As Diluc walked out into the cool night air of Mondstadt, he could feel Venti shiver beside him, but he chose not to comment on it, continuing to walk in the direction of the Knights of Favoinus headquarters. He didn't really like going in there, but for tonight it was necessary.

They'd just about made it halfway there when Venti suddenly stopped, tugging on Diluc's hand, attempting to free himself. Diluc looked at him questioningly, only to see a, now recognizable, look of mild panic on the bard's face, his free hand once again pressed against his nose.

"Really? Again?" Diluc asked, and Venti nodded frantically, not responding verbally, probably holding his breath in an attempt to keep himself from sneezing. Diluc looked around, there weren't many people out and about at this hour, but there were some people standing around, and so he quickly dragged Venti into the first alleyway he saw. He let go of the bard's hand just in time, as Venti was snapped forwards by a sneeze, his wings appearing and flaring out (causing Diluc to jump away to avoid being hit) as the god fell into a small fit of sneezes.

"Hih- H'ISHH-iew! H'Tt-shiew! Heh...hIH- H'ETSh-iew!"

"Bless you." Diluc said, as Venti sniffled miserably, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

"You can't bless me, I'm a god, I'm already blessed." Venti said, laughing a little, which only caused him to start coughing. Diluc rolled his eyes as he gently patted the space in between Venti's wings in the hopes of it helping a little.

"You done?" Diluc asked, once Venti had stopped coughing. "Okay. Lets hurry up and get you to Jean."

"Wait." Venti said, his voice cracking a little from how hoarse it'd become. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Wait. We...kinda have a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"I...don't have enough energy to hide my wings." Venti said, quietly. "I've been doing this all day and I-"

"You don't need to explain it." Diluc said, sighing as he shrugged off his coat, before placing it over Venti's shoulders, effectively hiding the snow white wings from sight. "There. That should do until we get to Jean."

Venti reached up to pull the coat tighter around himself, looking almost swamped in it, considering how much shorter than Diluc he was. He clearly appreciated the warmth it brought to him though.

-

"Diluc, Venti!" Jean exclaimed, standing up from her desk as the two of them finally entered her office. "What are the both of you doing here so late at night?"

"Our little bard here need a..... secretive but warm place to stay the night." Diluc said, closing the door to the office behind him as he walked in.

"Why? What's wrong?" Jean asked, and almost as if on cue-

"Hih'NGKT-shiew!" Venti stifled a sneeze, his wings flaring out, knocking Diluc's coat off of him. Jean startled a little, but quickly recovered.

"Oh." She said, "I see."

"....'M sorry to bother you." Venti said, sniffling, gratefully accepting the tissues Jean proceeded to hand him in response. "I'd usually just stay in Windrise, but Mr. Diluc here decided I'd be better off with you."

"And you will be better off." Diluc said, "Seriously. You'll get better faster if you stay someplace warm."

"The tavern is warm." Venti protested, for the first time that night. "You could've just let me stay in the tavern."

"Absolutely not. Even sick, you probably would've drunken over half of my supplies." Diluc said, "Speaking of which. I still have a mess to clean up, so Jean, I trust I can leave the rest of this to you?"

"Of course." Jean confirmed, "I only had just a bit of paperwork left to do anyways, I've got time. You can go now."

Diluc gave her a nod, and turned to leave, picking up his coat from where it had fallen to the floor as he did so. He paused before opening the door, thinking for a moment, before laying his coat down on a nearby chair, in case Venti needed to use it again, before finally leaving the room. Once he'd left, Jean pulled off one of her gloves, placing the back of her hand against Venti's cheek before he could pull away.

"Hmm. You've got a fever." She said, "I've got some medicine in my desk but.... does medicine even work on you?"

"...It's only healing magic that doesn't work." Venti muttered, "Medicine is fine."

Jean quickly got the medicine out of her desk, setting up the right dosage, before handing it over to Venti. He took it quickly, grimacing in response to the flavor. Jean lightly put her hands on Venti's shoulders, just barely brushing up against his wings as she gently guided him out of the room, Venti picking up Diluc's coat and holding it tight against his chest as they left. Jean led him up the stairs towards one of the makeshift bedrooms, specifically made for people who had to spend the night at the headquarters. Luckily, Jean seemed to be the only one working late tonight, as they encountered no other guards as they walked through the halls.

"J-Jean...." Venti started, breath suddenly hitching, his wings tensing- "You....you might wanna duck...hIH- H'ESHH-iew!"

Jean took his advice, letting go of his shoulders and ducking down just in time to avoid receiving a wing to the face.

"Snf....Sorry..." Venti muttered, tired, as Jean stood back up, leading him the rest of the way to the bedroom.

"It's not your fault." She said, kindly. "You can't exactly control it."

Venti didn't respond, too tired to speak again after the amount of elemental energy he'd used up during the day. He slowly climbed into the bed, curling up around Diluc's coat, holding it like one would hold a stuffed animal or a baby blanket. Jean gave a soft laugh as she pulled the covers over top of him.

"Am I to presume Sir Diluc won't be getting that coat back anytime soon?" She asked, a note of light humor in her voice. The response she received was a light hum, which she took for a yes. She supposed she'd have to find some means of getting Diluc another, identical, coat then...

Jean turned to leave the room.

"Shout if you need something, okay?" She said, received another hum in response, and then quietly shut the door, leaving the god to sleep in peace.

#Gen/shin #snz #snz fic

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

#carry on #carry on: the rise and fall of simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #simon/baz #simon and baz #fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #carry on fanfic #fanfic #ticklish!simon #ticklish!simonsnow #lee!simon #ler!baz

[mkstrigidae]

Current WIPs and Fic Concepts

I promised I would do this yesterday, and then I forgot!!! (I was very sleep deprived). Anyways, here are a bunch of the WIP premises that I have in my 'unfinished drafts' folder. Most have at least a few pages written for them, but I love them all! ☺️💕

- A Santa Clarita Diet AU (Jonsa) Takes place in sunny southern California, where a shitty dinner at a mediocre restaurant turns into a huge problem for Jon and Sansa when Sansa's heart stops beating. Although she seems fine, Jon is flabbergasted several days later as he watches his wife- who alphabetizes their pantry and refuses to let anyone wear shoes in the house- rip the throat out of one of the sleazy new partners at their law firm, eating half of him before anyone processes what's going on. Hilarity ensues as Sansa's inhibitions and filter disappear, Arya ropes an extremely confused Gendry into helping figure out what the hell is going on just because he moderates the zombie forum on reddit, and Jon tries to deal with the fact that the woman he loves more than anything is now a humanitarian. He really could use a drink. (This one is actually mostly complete, but i need to refine a few things- i really love it. It's as gory and irreverent as the show, so viewer discretion advised, but it's a BLAST to write).

- A Thor/MCU AU (Jonsa, Steve Rogers/Sansa)- Asgardian prince Aegon is banished to Midgard after one too many arrogant decisions, and is promptly hit by a van containing Dr. Sansa Stark, Dr. Barristan Selmy, and Margaery Tyrell- two astrophysicists studying wormholes and Sansa's best friend and pseudo-intern. Marg yells at him, he yells back, Sansa tases him, and Barristan didn't sign up for the kind of heavy lifting that getting a 200+ pound slab of muscle into the back of a van takes. And then Aegon's younger brother, Jon, shows up, in the middle of an identity crisis because, apparently, he's adopted. He wasn't intending to stay, but he's rather drawn to Dr. Stark and her brilliance, and against her better judgement, she starts to trust him, and maybe even like him. This story is in about three parts so far- the first is based on 'Thor' and the second on 'The Avengers' and are fully Jonsa, and the third started as a family bonding story between the Stark kids and Tony (Ned and Tony are second cousins, and Ned was really supportive of Tony in rehab without expecting anything in return), and accidentally turned into a Steve Rogers/Sansa Stark story, which is a pairing i am HERE for. A lot of this one is written, but it needs some fill in before publishing, although it's one of my favorites that i've written to go back and actually read.

- A Star Wars AU (Jonsa) where Sansa and Arya are Alderaanian princesses who are off planet when Alderaan is destroyed- Sansa as a senator and Arya as a pilot, both working for the rebellion, and jon is a smuggler who does not know how all of these people got on his ship and why two princesses are sassing him. His copilot, Tormund (yes he's a wookie), thinks it is hilarious. I started this one just the other day, and it's already thirty pages long, most of them involving Sansa and Arya sassing people. Dany is a leader in the rebellion, Roose Bolton is the emperor, and Barbrey Dustin is a disgruntled former jedi trying to live in peace on a remote planet until another Stark crashes into her life and harangues her into teaching again.

- A witches/magic AU (Jonsa) where the Starks run an apothecary and spellcasting supplies shop. Jon had been completely in the dark about magic before his mother confessed to being born into a family of witches. He finds himself traveling to her hometown, trying to understand her world more clearly, and what it means for him. On the way, he develops something of a crush on the red-headed shop clerk who brews the best headache potions in town. Featuring lots of magical shenanigans, this is one of my favorites in the folder :)

- A 24 hour diner AU (Jonsa) where Jon is a local mob boss, and Sansa works the late shift at Seaworth's diner to buy textbooks for the PhD she's working on in botany. Sansa's running from memories, and Jon has a soft spot for the red-headed waitress who always remembers how he likes his coffee.

- An East of the Sun, West of the Moon AU!!! (Jonsa) This is one of my fav fairy tales, and of course i couldn't resist Jon as a direwolf striking a deal with the starks!

- A Roomates AU (Jonsa)- Arya, Jon, Tormund, and Sam have been renting the same house together off Winterfell's campus for years- but when Sam moves in with his girlfriend, they need one more person on the lease. Sansa, about to relocate to Winterfell for grad school, finds out that her boyfriend has been cheating on her and that her housing plans have fallen through, all on the same day. Needless to say, she's a bit upset when she calls Arya to relay the news. There's a simple solution here, if Arya and Tormund can stop teasing Jon about his crush for five minutes. (any excuse to write tormund and arya roasting jon, tbh).

- A Fae AU (Jonsa)- When Sansa, a baker living in the city, washes her face in an enchanted spring on a camping trip, she gains the sight as a result. Suddenly able to see the fae underworld all around her is disorienting and terrifying. Sansa tries to conceal it- afraid of what might happen if the fae around her know that she can see them- but slips up, and catches the attention of Jon Snow- one of the lords of the unseelie court.

- A nuclear winter wasteland AU (Jonsa)- (?? I don't even know how to describe this premise, haha) where the Starks are living and running the Free Winterfell settlement in Siberia after a worldwide nuclear meltdown. Before the fallout, Sansa was one of the world's preeminent researchers in plant genetics and pathology, and works at the settlement to create newer, disease and radiation resistant crops to distribute for free to other settlements, aiming to break up the monopoly that Lannister Corp has on the market. Jon is a scavenger, searching throughout Siberia for his sister Rhae who disappeared several years previously. When he runs across Arya Starkovna, helping her fight off another band of radiation ravaged scavengers is just instinct- he doesn't think twice about it. In thanks, she brings him to the Winterfell settlement, where her brother Robb offers Jon sanctuary and resources, in exchange for serving as a bodyguard for Sansa when she travels to other settlements. Sansa is not particularly thrilled by this arrangement, but given that multiple parties seem to want her dead, she doesn't have much of a choice but to accept his company.

- A reincarnation AU (Jonsa)- of sorts. Robb is an archaeologist who finds a strange set of runes at a site up north, and immediately calls in Jon Snow- a historian and expert in said ancient language, as well as an old university friend of Robb's. When he arrives though, Robb shows him their most valuable finds- two mysterious ice blocks, with what appear to be perfectly preserved bodies from over a thousand years ago. No one could ever have imagined that either of them were still alive, but when the ice melts, revealing two very alive girls, the entire crew is instantly buried in NDAs, and given an assignment from the Westerosi government to figure out what the hell was going on. Sansa and Arya wake up, extremely confused about the world they live in, trying to adapt and mourning all that they've lost, even as the people around them wear familiar faces.

- Soulmates AU (Jonsa)- (Yes, another one, I love this dumb trope) Trauma surgeon and medical resident Sansa Stark is having a very bad day, and ends up meeting her soulmate during what she thinks is a mugging gone wrong. Fortunately, he’s not the one mugging her, just an intervening bystander, but she ends up slightly shot nonetheless. Sansa’s fretting about bleeding on the upholstery in his car, but Jon is a bit more worried about her injuries than the blood stains. He’s a bit confused when she threatens him if he takes her to a specific hospital, nearly has a nervous breakdown when she insists on doing her own triage, and is very charmed when she insists on ice cream after taking pain meds at the hospital. On Sansa’s part, she’s a little less concerned about being shot, and a bit more concerned about whatever weird first impression she’s making to her soulmate while high as a kite on pain pills. (this one just needs some tweaking to be postable- I'm not sure if it's going to be a oneshot or a series, but i love what I have already)

- A Demon/Archivist AU (Jonsa)- where Sansa works in the university's historical archives in Oldtown, and is learning to restore old texts with her fellow student and friend, Alleras (Trans Sarella is an amazing concept). When Joffrey Baratheon shows up with a pile of old books from his family's library to donate, Sansa is eager to get away from his sleaze, and accidentally takes one of the books home with her in her rush to leave. Unbeknownst to her, it's more than it appears, and when she leaves it open overnight, she accidentally summons forth Jon- an ancient, powerful, and extremely annoyed demon who is under a curse, and now hers to command. As Jon and Sansa try to get used to this new normal, the Lannisters (unaware that Joffrey had donated the tome) try desperately to find the book and it's owner, wanting Jon's power for themselves, and putting Sansa in considerable danger unless she can figure out how to break Jon's curse. Fortunately, she's a pretty good researcher, even if Jon is initially a bit of a grump. (This is based on a total wish-fulfillment mary-sue type premise for something I wrote when I was thirteen, and I revisited it and wanted to see what it would look like if i took it very seriously, and i am really enjoying it so far. It's a love letter to the terrible, heartfelt writing i was doing in middle school that created the foundations for my writing today, and so much fun).

The one that I am MOST excited about though:

- A Pacific Rim AU!!!! (Ned/Cat, Gendrya, Braime, Sansa/Jon Umber)-Twins Sansa and Robb Stark have always been completely in tune with each other, and when your parents are Jaeger pilots and your mother invented the neural handshake, what option is there but the Jaeger academy? Sansa studies to be an engineer, but ends up copiloting the Jaeger 'Winter Wolf' with her twin brother, after they lose Ned Stark to cancer. When Robb is ripped out of the conn-pod and killed by a kaiju while he's still connected to Sansa, she barely manages to kill the creature before stumbling back to shore, traumatized, grieving, and swearing that she'll never pilot again.

Unfortunately, the Kaiju don't stop just because Sansa does, and when the end of the world is imminent, Marshall Catelyn Stark orders both her daughter and former pilot Jaime Lannister (who lost his twin and copilot, Cersei, several years previously) back to Hong Kong for one final stand. Forced to face both her demons and an irate Arya, furious that Sansa had abandoned the rest of them after Robb's death, Sansa and Arya have to figure out how to pilot Winter Wolf together before the apocalypse comes for them all.

Featuring Marshall Catelyn Stark (commander of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, inventor of the neural handshake, former Jaeger pilot, and BAMF), Sansa x Jon Umber (Yes i know it's a rare pair but i've always kind of loved the idea of them, even though we know so little about him), Kaiju parts dealer and smuggler Petyr Baelish, bickering kaiju biologist Dany and theoretical mathematician Jon Snow, LOCCENT officer Theon, lots of snark, lots of angst and heartfelt conversations, and a weird friendship between snarky-grieving-asshole Jaime Lannister and kind-quiet-grieving Sansa Stark, who are the only two people in the world who know what it's like to lose a copilot and a twin in the drift.

Thanks for reading guys!! There are more, but some of them I just don't know how to explain quite yet, haha. I'd love to hear what you guys think about these!

#my writing #fanfics #fanfic wip #jonsa #jonsa fic

[herstarburststories]

Merry... Birthday?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: You love christmas, but Dean doesn’t. Yet, he might make an exception for your birthday this year.

A/N: This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr​ ‘s secret fic exchange. My secret Santa was @katymacsupernatural​. Hey, honey! I hope you enjoy this and happy birthday! You deserve double presents, so here’s mine. All mistakes are mine!

Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

You loved Christmas.

It was probably a nostalgic longing for your long gone urban life. Just in the same way you’d still catch yourself looking through the news for election results or feel your stomach twist if you didn’t eat homemade food at least twice a week. You were dead to the government and certainly spent more on the road than in a home. Besides, you had met up with God enough times to know him. All the encounters and screaming and unapologetic abandonment should make you want to throw any baby Jesus against a wall or even climb on a Christmas tree just to shout about all the hoaxes so perfectly molded in patterns through our brains like braids.

Yet, something about you loved christmas. 

The pretty lights always shining, it didn’t matter where you go. For once, all the city-- everything would be entirely made of light. Their incandescent glow always companishing each person, either it was in an once treacherous alley or only to make the kids' grin bigger as they watched them among the busy streets with wide eyed gazes. The confusion in the kitchen that often ended up with huffs bursting into chuckles between the smell of meals that were too much and would make a room for leftovers for the rest of the week. How everything seemed to be made only of happiness, and nothing could ever cut through those water; all the knives were suddenly swords for kids to play and no white gun. In Christmas, a house became a kingdom for every heart. Everything was good and felt through the skin to the bone, like a single glimpse, a hidden day of what would be paradise.

That was how you were raised, at least. The Winchesters didn’t share the same mindset, no. While you grew up with decorating the tree, they were hiding bodies in the dim light. Leftovers were all through their whole year, and Christmas was described as good or not with one single criteria: snow streets. They had to take one? Annoying date. They didn’t and there was eggnog? Bearable Jesus’s birthday.

Yet, you attempted to make the bunker the more festive possible: buying a bunch of christmas lights, cookies’ ingredients and even a small nativity scene. Your attempts to enjoy the date’s niciities ended up with Sam breaking his arm after crashing on the ground because you insisted on him putting the lights in a place higher than his age, not to mention the burned cookies that looked more like tiny monsters than gingerbread men.

Your parents used to make this look so much easier.

Although the youngest Winchester understood a little more about the concept of holidays, a believer in the good until the very end, his brother didn’t share the idea. You couldn’t say you were surprised. Dean just had two barely normal christmas in his life: one when he was dying and one with Lisa and Ben. Both situations made it to his heart only to shatter from the inside.

‘’Baby Jesus?’’ Dean snorted, shaking his head at the sight of you adjusting the weird little dolls in the nativity. He placed another ruined cook in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full next: ‘’We have the son of Lucifer, guess that counts.’’

‘’Don’t say that once Jack gets home.’’ You rolled your eyes, turning to face the oldest Winchester with your hands on your hips. How could he eat that? You couldn’t even make it a bite and Sam only had half of those. ‘’And stop eating those. They are burned.’’

‘’I’ve had worse.’’ He remarked, adding another cookie to his mouth. You grimaced, wondering for a brief moment how your boyfriend could be simultaneously the guy who saved the world and a man with the taste of a five years old.

‘’Yeah. But I’m the one who has to hear you whining about your bellyache later.’’

‘’I don’t whine--’’ You arched your eyebrows at his statement, making Dean huff in agreement. ‘’That was once and because of Sam’s weird ass vegan bacon.’’

‘’You acted like you were dying.’’

‘’My tongue was!’’

‘’So get this.’’ Sam’s voice interrupted your childish argument, catching the attention of both hunters like a shiny object did to a cat. ‘’Apparently we got an earlier christmas gift.’’

‘’What is it?’’ You asked, approaching the table.

‘’Three teenagers disappeared in the forest, all personal objects left behind.’’ Sam explained as Dean scratched out his neck to glance at his brother’s computer screen. Nothing like a case in Colorado. ‘’The authorities think it’s a serial killer. But one of the girls, Kayla Wodson, said she saw a weird, skinny giant take her friends.’’

‘’Ho ho ho and three bodies.’’ Dean clapped his hands together with a wry curve of lips. ‘’Alright. Let’s hit the road-- Wait, wait, wait. Where do you think you are going?’’

You were standing beside Dean while Sam raised to his feet, ready to pack his bags. Dean, nonetheless, was quicker than his brother, soon putting himself in front of Sammy; hands protectively standing in front of the youngest’s chest to keep him from moving any further.

He shook his head with a scoff. ‘’Dude, come on.’’

‘’Not happening, Sammy. You got a broken arm.’’ You mumbled a sorry along Dean’s big brother speech, to which Sam replied with a comprehensive smile. ‘’Y/N and I take care of it.’’

‘’He’s right. Must be the first time in his life, but he is.’’ Dean turned his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you ‘’Don’t worry. It’s just a wendigo anyway. ‘’

‘’Okay. Just…’’

‘’Don’t forget the fireblazer. As if your brother would miss an opportunity to use it.’’ You scrunched up your noise, causing a chortle out of Sam while Dean commented something about grabbing the specific instrument and walked away. ‘’Maybe you could call Eileen. Ask her to help you to back some christmas cookies.’’

Sammy shook his head at your wiggling brows. ‘’That doesn’t sound as sexy for me as it does for you.’’

Dean Winchester was good with numbers.

Not the urban numerical sense of the deal, of course. He almost didn’t make it in sixth grade with useless geometry and all that, and he still used his fingers to count when he had to deal with an equation. No, his good and quick way with numbers was easier, intrinsic to his head.

How many years since mom died? Seventeen. How many people did he have to save? All of them. How many years had he left? Less than he once owned.

Hunter math was simpler, and was all he really needed since he was four years old, running from the fire with his baby brother in his arms-- which brought him to the second section of his particular geometry: birthdays and death anniversaries. Dean never, ever forgot any special date. Those were his own holidays, the only worth celebrating and remembering. His wishes, grief, and cherishment were reserved for the people he loved, not some celestial assholes who saw his life like a book.

Therefore, his mind went on a golden rush for your day as soon as the Wendigo hunt took more than you both expected. You wouldn't be able to make it home before your birthday, which would be ending shortly, a matter of two or three hours. His inner engineers were useful tonight, in his vision, useful enough to make those sappy movies jealous. While you were washing some guts and leaves away, Dean went to the nearest convenience store. His long arms nesting a bunch of stuff he never dared to touch in years. The cashier with drowsy eyes and escarlet Santa hat seemed bored with his shopping, probably because she saw an uncountable amount of people buying the same things over and over. He couldn’t blame her for the suburban exhaustion. If anything, it was a small comfort for his war orbs to see and be a part of a scene so mundane.

He hustled back to the dive motel room, singing in relief to himself once he stepped in and heard you singing Christmas Tree Farm while the water rushed in. He grimaced at himself for recognizing that Taylor Swift song. How couldn’t he? That woman was 80% of all you heard everyday. Man, he was whipped.

Tilting his head back in reality, he started organizing in clumsy manners of putting everything in place for you. His bruised hands touching so carefully the fragile ornaments to make the motel room with grubby walls and weird black stan on the floor that only seemed to grow a little more like you.

You, the woman who put up with him, who laughed at his stupid jokes, and who watched Scooby Doo, all snuggled up to him every friday. You, the woman who switched from AC/DC to Taylor Swift and then Eric Clapton. You, the one who understood his job and helped him to wash off some of the blood on his hand and never got scared of how red the water could get. You, the girl who rolled her eyes at his first attempt of flirting and now stole his french fries and kissed his lips as if he was worth being delicate with. You, his breathing, his true holiday, his only act of faith besides Sammy.

Dean pressed his teeth against his bottom lip, looking up and down his little manual work. Part of him said it was ridiculous, he surely would make a lot of fun of Sam if he did that to a chick. Yet, mostly he was proud. He wanted you to like it. It wasn’t even near to what you deserved, but it was a piece of it. It was what the Winchester could give you, and that would be hopefully, enough.

While Dean was caught in the crossroad of judging and admiring his surprise, you left the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and lips mumbling Cocaine. Your feet glued to the ground once you witnessed what was in front of you: the room was decorated with christmas lights, a tiny plastic tree on the table, right beside a pie with candle on the top and two cup of what smelled like hot cocoa.

‘’Dean…’’ Your tender tone brought him back from his traineck thoughts as he turned around to glance at you. You chortled in astonishment as he raised his eyes and said surprise! ‘’What’s this?’’

‘’Well, it’s your birthday.’’ He shrugged, scooting closer to you with a smirk. Dean smoothly wrapped his arms around your waist, yours instantly resting around his neck. ‘’In my defense, they just had christmas stuff. Blame your parents for having you close to Jesus’ special day.’’

‘’Christmas stuff include pie and not cake?’’ Your brows knitted together, a heartwarming smile on your lips as you watched his expression marked by multicolored little lights. He smelled like something was a blaze, and you knew that was for standing too close to the candle and not for burning a body this time. Small changes.

He scoffed humorously. ‘’You like pie better anyway.’’ He nodded at the carnival-like situation around you two. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of man who got insecure, but you could catch a perk of brand nervous hesitation as his green eyes shot you an anxious glance. ‘’Did you like it?’’

‘’I loved it.’’ You pulled cheeks dimpled with joy that was kissed by Dean’s own smiling lips. The kiss was so gentle, it was his own palpable light hearted emotion. You being happy in his arms. It had been so long since he felt he could be enough, he could make someone happy. But you were right there. As you pulled away, another short kiss was given between playful words: ‘’That’s what I call a christmas miracle.’’

‘’Shush.’’ He leaned in and pecked your lips. As Dean pulled back, he couldn’t help but watch around with the pride of Hubris. His glance went back to you, a lopsided grin on his face. God, you loved that smile. You loved that man. ‘’So I added some whiskey to the hot cocoa. We could drink some, eat the pie, and see if those lights make a good improvise rope. What do you tell me?’’

All you could do was kiss him again.

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[duskyskz]

Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

*********************************

Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary. 

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard. 

“Croak!” 

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward. 

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries. 

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation. 

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later. 

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm. 

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?” 

 The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears. 

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard. 

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?” 

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries. 

Ah, well. 

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay. 

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking. 

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul. 

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak. 

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears. 

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway. 

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you. 

You love your town, you really do. 

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right. 

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place. 

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses. 

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination? 

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings. 

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too! 

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot. 

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus. 

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink. 

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion. 

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know  you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of  heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination. 

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth. 

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight. 

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side. 

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.” 

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.” 

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.” 

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock  lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate. 

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.” 

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.” 

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons. 

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life. 

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires. 

Ah, warlock things. 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth. 

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach. 

“Undress me, please.” 

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible. 

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn. 

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning. 

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps. 

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement. 

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement. 

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.” 

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions. 

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things. 

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base. 

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core. 

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely. 

“Tell me when I can move, alright?” 

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim. 

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole. 

“Let me clean you first, birdie.” 

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration. 

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent. 

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #stray kids imagines #hyunjin #Halloween au #Hyunjin au

[itsclydebitches]

Well, after eight years Team RWBY finally mattered. They finally did something no other member of the cast would have just done if they hadn't been there. Admittedly the thing they did was remove the Staff to crash and destroy two cities, while moving millions of people from an incredibly cold environment to a desert in no way prepared to receive them, getting most of those people killed on rainbow road or by grimm...but they did something! Yaayy character development.

What gets me... what really, really hits home... is how much of the actual plot we’d have to ignore to make Team RWBY look like heroes here. Because Salem is heading towards Atlas, yeah? I’ve mentioned multiple times in the past that if Team RWBY had posed any plan to Ironwood  — literally any plan like “I have silver eyes” or “We can use the Staff for evacuation” or “Oscar has a giant grimm nuke in his cane because we actually established this earlier and/or met with the others before starting a fight” ANYTHING  — then they’d have been 100% justified in condemning Ironwood when he chose to leave while the possibility of saving more people was on the table. But they didn’t. Exact same logic here. If they had dropped Atlas to evacuate everyone while Salem was in the midst of attacking them, then that’s justified too! Is dropping the city a good thing? No, but it’s arguably far better than letting the people that city houses all perish. 

Yet where’s the danger? Not only did they give the group an ambiguous amount of time in which Salem needed to reform, not only did they fail to show the people who were actually in danger (the army) getting a portal out, not only did they show a contradictory moment where the grimm in the city were killed but then randomly re-appeared, not only did they come up with a plan that involved dropping Atlas while trying to convince the people in the crater (without communications) to leave fast enough before it crashed, not only did they introduce and then ignore the cold as a threat... not only did they do all of that, they also established that Salem didn’t care about the people. I mean, that was always an educated guess, but no one could have been sure she wouldn’t slaughter for the sake of slaughter until she nicely avoided attacking Mantle and then only attacked Atlas with the intent of snagging the Staff. So what do the heroes do? 

They open the vault so that the Staff is vulnerable. Then they remove the Staff from the vault, rather than just leaving it there and getting Penny as far away from the entrance as possible (like, say, halfway across the world in Vacuo). If they had built their rainbow road and then left the Staff in its vault, no one would have been able to destroy their escape gateway, let alone snag the Staff itself. Hell, throw the Lamp in there too like you should have done weeks ago! Have Penny blast herself full-tilt towards the Vacuo portal and there, you’re done. No enemy can even force her to come back thanks to Weiss’ “one way trip” comment. Congratulations, if you want the Staff or the Lamp you have to somehow get this Maiden all the way back to Atlas. Instead, the group came up with a plan that destroyed an entire kingdom while carrying the Relic out in the open. So Cinder, and eventually Salem, of course snagged it. How stupid are these characters? The one thing Salem wants is to bring four Relics together to destroy the world... so let’s take the Relics out of their magical vaults and try to bring three of them into one place. 

“But at least they saved the people!” Did they? I mean, were the people really in danger? Sure, sure we’re meant to believe they are and objectively things were Not Good, but we also undermined so many of the threats actually introduced. Cold is a non-issue, grimm were briefly wiped out, Happy Huntresses are (presumably) protecting against those that are left, whale is destroyed, Salem is reforming, and even Ironwood’s bomb is (from the group’s perspective) out of the picture. Why do we need to evacuate everyone again? It’s like the airship plan. We never established where the group intended to take these people, which means we never got the chance to weigh where the refugees currently were against where they were heading. Honestly, I’d say hanging out in the now warm crater with huntsmen defending you and the Big Bad literally not caring about your existence is a safer spot than running in chaos across void pathways to enter a hostile desert where grimm are actively attacking people. What did this accomplish except to make things worse? But of course, it’s not presented that way. We’re supposed to believe that the group heroically rescued who they could and faced unavoidable hardships along the way... rather than them actively endangering everyone from the get-go. 

They lied to Ironwood, repeating Ozpin’s (presumed) mistake to a T

Jumped at the chance to make him an enemy (though, of course, the story was already determined to make him a villain by then, so) 

Told the world about Salem even though now Atlas isn’t in a position to help defend everyone else from inevitable grimm attacks 

Sat around waiting for others to come save them 

Tried to prioritize their friend’s life over the lives of literally everyone in Atlas 

Eventually realize when things are better that they can enact a crazy dangerous plan that was always available to them 

Do that and in the process destroy the most advanced kingdom in the world, burying the majority of Remnant’s dust, technology, resources, etc. under water 

Took the evacuees to a far more dangerous location, because there’s no way they could have realized that a) there are storms in a desert or b) that Ren couldn’t keep all the evacuees’ auras hidden forever 

During all this one hero died and five others “died,” leaving the rest to handle this catastrophe on their own 

Which... good, I guess? With Ozpin’s experience, Ren’s temporary self-awareness (snow scene), Nora’s determination, and Oscar’s hopeful attitude, they might actually accomplish something moving forward. I know we keep talking about the possibility of a time skip where Team RWBYJ return to find a dystopian Remnant, but it would be hilarious to me if they returned and found that things... weren’t that bad, actually. Yeah, Salem is still out there, but we’ve  united the world and made good strides towards holding her off. Because oddly enough, leaving the fate of the world to this impulsive 17yo was a bad idea and the second she was removed from the picture, what do you know, better decisions were made! At the very least, the Vacuo group should be able to debate ideas now without the ever present expectation that Ruby will a) come up with something eventually, b) everyone must wait around until she does, and c) whatever she decides, no matter how stupid, that’s what they’re going with. 

#Anonymous #rwby #mymetas