#I feel bad because it's like.. I know I WAS THE ONE who reached out to you but also I have depleted all of my energy stores and have like no

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready��” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

[jazzyoranges]

Late nights - drabble

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: sorry anon, i accidentally deleted the request 😓 but they asked for me to write a fic with tara in fem!reader’s hoodie (aka cuddly tara strikes again)

Words: 0.9k

A/n: hopefully a lil something to get me out of my writing slump. let’s hope this isn’t too bad considering i haven’t written in a few months 😅

You really didn’t mean to be out for so long

First your boss asks you to do one favor, then another, and next thing you know you’re at work for 4 hours more than you’re supposed to be. The asshole didn’t even pay you for all the extra shit you did! You made a mental note to go job hunting this week.

Maybe the gay club was looking for a stripper? Nah. Your girlfriend would get jealous

So you were angry. Angry about your paycheck

Next a few storm clouds roll up that night. Of course you forget to bring your rain jacket that day. Not to mention, rain feels like hail stones when you’re on your motorcycle. Apparently it’d be a cold day in hell before you dressed right for the weather

So along with being angry, you were cold and wet. Shitty might’ve been the lightest way you could’ve described your day

At least you could come home to your wonderful girlfriend in an apartment of your own. It took lots of convincing and hundreds of game nights to convince Sam to even accept the idea of you and Tara being alone together. Fortunately you were blessed with patience and homosexuality — two things that could withstand Sam’s will to protect her sister

Was the older Carpenter’s place on the floor right above you and Tara’s?

…

Yes. Yes it was.

But if it made your girlfriend and her sister happy, you had no reason to not be as well. Other than the elevator that never fucking worked but that was out of their hands

Your shirt and hair were absolutely soaked in rainwater by the time you reached your apartment door. The was a small trail of water behind you from where you walked but that might’ve been the least of your concerns. Fishing around in your damp pants for your keys, you fortunately find them without much effort

Opening the door with as little energy you can, you lock the door behind you and triple check you locked it just like Sam told you

Not wasting any time you slide off your wet shirt in the middle of your living room, throwing it on a chair and missing the younger Carpenter waiting on the couch for you half asleep

“Baby?” Tara rubs her eyes. You stand in the middle of your hallway like a deer in headlights. You were awfully vulnerable while wet and almost naked. Who knew.

Before you can respond, there’s shuffling behind you then something weighted and warm on your back. Tara’s leaning into you with her arms around your torso while you’re wet and almost naked in the middle of your hallway. What a sight.

“Why were you so late? You’re working tonight…” Your girlfriend’s hand dips a bit below your waistband and you have to resist the urge to shiver. From the cold? From Tara? Only god knew

“My boss had me do extra shit. I’ll find a different job that doesn’t have me out so late” You turn around to face Tara while her arms were still around you “I promise”

The younger Carpenter only hums into your chest without any sign of moving. So you don’t. It gives you the chance to really soak in the moment along with the rainwater on your skin. You only pull away when your girlfriend also starts to shiver

Of course she’s wearing nothing but a hoodie

Specifically, Tara’s wearing nothing but your hoodie

“How long have you been fighting sleep? Go to bed, love” You pick up your girlfriend with her legs wrapped around your waist and her arms loosely thrown around your neck

“Since you decided you hated me” Tara mumbles into your shoulder

“When was that?”

“When you didn’t come home on time”

“And I gave you a reason why I was late”

“Which doesn’t excuse you, because you could’ve hurried up” Tara plays with your bra strap as you stop walking toward your shared bedroom

“What I’m hearing is, you don’t want to take a late night shower with me? Even after a long day of work, where you could help me de-stress?” You say with a certain smugness in your voice

Your girlfriend whips her head up at your offer but you’ve already made it to your shared bed, not wasting a second to plop her down

“Waitbabypleaseididn’tmeanit-“ You’re already in the bathroom as Tara’s trying to scramble to you

“What? Sorry, love! Can’t hear you over the shower”

You had a childhood cat that always followed you around when you were younger. Tara reminded you of when your cat would scratch at the door whenever you went to the bathroom. Your girlfriend even had the scratching down just like your cat

When you were about to hop in the bath for a quick shower, something stops you from getting in. The imagery alone that Tara is probably leaning against the door waiting for you to get out is enough to pull at your heartstrings

You weren’t mean. You missed Tara as much as she missed you. It’s why she always wore your hoodies and you always took her shirts that fit you

So against your better judgment and the water bill you’re going to have to take Advil for, you unlock the bathroom door but you don’t open it

You’re both in the shower and you’re in Tara less than a second later

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #scream #scream 6 #tara carpenter scream #sam carpenter

[fraugwinska]

I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''

WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!

Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Mother O'Mine

Not the kitchen. Not the lobby. Not the bar. Not the radio tower. Not his room.

You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.

If Angel had just shut his damn mouth. Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.

Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.

Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.

Alastor's mom.

"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."

The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.

Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.

It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night. Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing. But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses. When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.

"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."

He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep. Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.

And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.

Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...

A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.

"Is this seat taken?"

The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking. A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude. You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.

Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.

It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.

"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"

"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.

Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise. "Then you may sit, darling."

After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.

"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength." He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.

"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white. “But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself." He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."

You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.

"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.

"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."

"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"

His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.

You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.

"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"

"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."

"Then, I'll recite it for you."

"Why?"

You gave him a sad smile.

"Because I want to."

He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.

The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.

"If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.

"If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."

His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.

"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."

Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.

"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."

You held him tighter.

"I know, Al... I know."

You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.

It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken. He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."

You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #quickfic #light angst #comfort #alastor is a mommas boy #alastor needs a hug #and a good cry #and some sleep

[utterlyotterlyx]

ooo i have an idea

just something fluffy where reader loves hugging azriel because he always wraps his wings around her? maybe a little comfort fic after reader and az go on a rough mission together

Your wish is my command x

You Are My Shelter

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - No one can comfort you like Azriel can, and after a mission goes wrong, you need him wrapped around you more than ever before.

Warnings - blood, injury, angst, lots of fluff and comfort, happy-ish ending

It wasn't a rare occurrence for you to accompany Azriel on the odd mission. He would never admit it, but you, his mate, was definitely his favourite partner.

You were quick and nimble, observant, and you held yourself with a feline prowess that had him awestruck each time he saw you prowling through a woodland or the bridge of rooftops clad in your matte black second skin and hugged and kissed ever single curve of your body.

Azriel may have been the Spymaster of the Night Court, the King of Shadow, but you were death incarnate, his Queen.

Though, he and your shared family saw a side to you that no enemy would ever be able to catch a glimpse of. Deep down, beneath that harsh exterior, you were the softest thing any of them had ever encountered, and as Azriel lingered back, watching you stalk along the rooftops of Windhaven, did he know that as soon as you reached the cabin that you called home, would you beg him to hold you, to wrap you up in his arms and furl his wings around your form.

It was your favourite thing in the world, your greatest comfort. Despite knowing of his largest than most wingspan and the certain benefits of it, there was nothing you loved more than to have his wings curl around you and block out all of the negativity of the world. As long as you were with Azriel, nothing bad could ever happen to you.

The situation hadn't been so different that night you had met him and your entire life had changed.

Azriel had been your target once upon a time, the one you had been sent to trail, to learn more about, and the moment you laid eyes on him, the tug you had felt in your soul for your entire life had become unbearable. The feeling didn't stop you from doing what you needed to, sauntering after him down the dark alleys where he stalked, sticking to the shadows of his shadows and going by unnoticed.

It was easy to tell how surprised he was by you the moment he had found himself pinned beneath your body, unable to move as could only watch as his shadows danced to the rich tone of your voice.

The infamous Shadowsinger had heard of you, the assassin whose reputation superseded his own, born in Autumn and the personal spy of Beron himself. Azriel should have been disgusted by you, but as your eyes connected and he saw that gentle fire spark within them, he knew that you had no other choice, no other option but to do what you did best. Kill. Azriel could sympathise with the notion.

Beron's assassin was his mate, and there was no way that he was ever going to let you fall back into the clutches of Autumn, he knew what Beron would do if he knew of the bond between you.

Fond eyes followed you, you could feel Azriel peering upward past the treeline as you hopped from beam to beam, not wavering for a single moment, even when he appeared behind you on that thatched rooftop.

"Don't throw me off of my game, Az," your voice was low and tinted with warning as it sang to him, and he had to reign his shadows in from dancing toward your melodic tone. They had a job to do too.

There was no way that you were going to refuse to stay cooped up in your cabin in Velaris whilst Azriel hunted the males who had took it upon themselves to continue to barbaric act of wing clipping.

Rain pattered against the wooden beams and thatched roofs, the gentle sound of it covering the sound of your cat-like movements as you searched every home, every clearing for a sign of those males, excited to tear them apart for even thinking that they could harm a female and get away with it.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," he purred softly to you, his blue siphons dimly glowing in the night, the rain plastering his hair to the sides of his face.

Azriel ran his callused fingers through his locks and looked to you, "You're extra cold today, my love," he motioned to you, namely to the mask you had put on that evening, a mask that even he found intimidating, so gods help anyone else that crossed you that night.

Damn him.

Twin blades idly twirled in your gloved fingers, you had unsheathed them from your thigh holsters the moment you had landed on the thatched shelter, just in case any Illyrian male was stupid enough to attempt to meet you there. Countless moments had gone by when Azriel had watched you take down men three times your height and build, you were as quick as the speed of light, your agility was something that even he couldn't stand against, and he loved you for it.

He had finally met his match and found his equal in one fell swoop.

The tight coronet that Nesta had styled for you glistened in the moonlight, two thin slices fell over your face and they whipped against the breeze as you turned to face him, "I'm just feeling extra broody today is all."

Azriel cocked his head to the side and smirked, too entranced by you to notice his shadows slithering up his legs and coiling around his thighs, "You're due on your cycle soon."

Your eyes narrowed and you took a single step toward him, the beam creaking under your weight but you didn't falter, you didn't wobble, your balance was pristine, "That has nothing to do with it."

Silly moments like that were what made you happy, how, even in the midst of a mission, he could still find ways to tease you and make you smile. Azriel opened his arms to you, his wings unfurling from the tucked back place behind his back, inviting you in, "Do you need a cuddle?"

You could never say no to that.

The resolve within you fractured and fell, and you wasted no time in sheathing your blades, shrugging innocently, you told him, "It would be rude to deny you the comfort."

"It really would."

Azriel was too focused on you, on your bright eyes and curled lips to notice his shadows darting about in warning, and he didn't realise until it was too late.

A metallic tang tinted the air, and you inhaled sharply, stumbling backward a couple of steps before your foot slipped and you were sent tumbling off the beam. Azriel dove off after you, he didn't waste a second, he saw the pain twist in your features, but he wasn't quick enough, and you landed on the ground with a sickening thud, a soft cry flew from your lips.

Arms were around you instantly, his fingers were flittering around the arrow that was burrowed into your shoulder and the nausea hit you like a horse as all of the fire within you vanished from your body. Footsteps thundered from all around you, but you couldn't pinpoint the exact direction of their origin as your world span.

Muffled words enveloped the world where you lay, "Get out of here, Az. They're coming."

Azriel knew it, he could hear their shouting and stalking footsteps, and he cursed himself and his siphons for meddling with you whilst you were so high up, so vulnerable to their arrows. Azriel had stolen your focus.

Faebane held a putrid scent, it had always made his nose burn and crinkle, he clasped your face in his hands, noting your weary eyes that were getting heavier by the second. The arrow was protruding from your shoulder and he could smell your blood mixed with the poison, there was a lot of it, you were loosing too much too fast.

"I'm not leaving you here," he hoisted you up in his arms, cooing soft apologies as you groaned in his embrace with every turn his shadows barked at him to take, half of them scouting ahead whilst the other half wrapped themselves around your wound, applying pressure and doing their best to keep you comfortable, "Eyes on me, Angel."

The sound of his desperate plea gave you enough strength to keep your eyes open, you fought the darkness as hard as you could until you felt the hope that you'd gotten far away enough for Azriel to stretch his wings and soar into the skies.

It was usually a thing you loved, flying with Azriel, he made any excuse he could to take you flying, just so that he could hold you close to him. Not like he needed any reason at all to touch you, but he would always find one.

You had never felt so weak, or so stupid, or so helpless in that moment. Azriel held you close, pleading at you to keep you pretty eyes open, to stay awake, and you tried, you really did, but it was too hard.

Only when Azriel landed in Velaris did your consciousness jolt, purely due to the sound of his roaring voice shouting for Rhys who had appeared moments later with Madja in tow, commanding Azriel to place you onto the bare table thanks to Nesta's quick sweep that sent an array of plates and glasses crashing to the floor.

Sickly paleness clung to your skin, sweat coated your brow and you were shivering so violently that your teeth were rattling in your mouth, and your gaze shifted to Madja whilst Azriel told Rhys, Nesta, and a newly appeared Cassian what had happened with a strained voice.

"Is she going to be alright, Madja?" Rhys' voice echoed, he felt so far away, but from the stoic hand he had rested on your forehead, you knew he was much closer than you thought.

Madja was silent for a moment, her lips were tight as she pulled the arrow from your torn flesh, sympathy flashing in her eyes at the powerful cry that she had pulled from your lips, "She's lost a lot of blood," that much was clear from the red coating the tabletop, "But she'll be fine," Azriel was by your side, releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding, pressing his lips to your hairline and stroking the matted hair away from your face.

Gauze become embedded into the wound, coated in a healing tonic that made you hiss and trash in Azriel's grip when it touched the gaping hole in your shoulder, and Madja worked as softly as she could as she wrapped thick white bandages around it. Madja left with strict instructions.

Rest. Fluids. Comfort.

Rhys hadn't even finished thanking her before he saw Azriel cradle you in his arms from the corner of his eye and whisk you to the room you two had shared before you had moved to your little cabin in the woods.

He had never been as gentle with anyone like he had been with you, you placed you onto the bed like a feather, pressing a cold cloth to your forehead to cool you down and rid your brow of sweat before he peeled his own clothes from his body and fell into the comfort beside you.

Weakly, you reached for him with trembling fingers, wincing as he pulled you into the position he knew that you needed. Head on his chest so that you could listen to his heartbeat which was racing in that moment, with your fingers tracing serene circles into the muscles of his pecs as his own hands wound around you, his wings drooping over your frame and binding you in their warmth and protection.

"I'm so sorry," he voice was wounded, strained with guilt, his fingers found the back of your neck and he worked slowly to unpin the coronet Nesta had styled for you, dropping the pins to the floor and unwinding the braids as you sighed softly at the tightness diminishing.

A hoarse hum rumbled at your lips, "It's okay, Az," you shivered again and he pulled you in tighter, being careful not to cause you any pain, and his wings curled tighter around your frame, waves of warmth seeped into you and your relaxed, "I'm here, I'm okay," your voice was a hush above a whisper, laced with exhaustion.

"I love you so much," his shadows grazed over your skin, and for a moment you believed that Azriel's hands were roaming over you, but they weren't, it was his shadows waving across every inch of you that they could, soothing you, cooing to you, "Go to sleep, Angel. I'll be here when you wake up, and we can spend all day like this tomorrow. How does that sound?"

The smile that graced your lips was peaceful, your lips parted to answer and Azriel waited, but when soft snores filled the room, all he could do was rake his fingers through your hair and swear to himself that he would never dare to put you in such danger ever again.

Author's Note

Just a little post-work drabble for you all x

#acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine #azriel x reader #rhysand #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x y/n #rhys acotar #acotar oneshot #acotar drabble #azriel fluff #azriel angst #nesta #cassian

[letshavedeernnertogether]

Sleepyhead, part two

the plot is: you have nightmares and can't sleep because of it, luckly alastor knows how to help you.

here is the part one

tw: none, just keep on being cute and sweet

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

You were lying in bed on your back pulling the blanket right up to your chin. Your eyes were wide open, and you gazed into the darkness. The living shadows swirled around your room. They were the uncontrolled tentacles made of darkness, that haunted you every night.

Every time you went to bed and turned off the light, the moment when you almost fell asleep, the dark figures came out and tried to catch you. You opened your eyes, followed their stirs and couldn't move. You perspired profusely, you hardly breathed, and you felt like your own body floated above the bed, as if your spirit left your shell.

The most frightening thing was the feeling, that they were real. They were not a dream. It seemed so to you, because you never noticed, when you fell asleep and began to dream, and also you didn’t notice, when you woke up. Morning came, and the eerie shadows receded, and only then you could fall asleep. But every night they returned again.

These tentacles never touched you, but you were afraid to leave your bed, thinking that it was the only refuge. You knew that if they grabbed you, they wouldn’t let you go, they would strangle you, and you'd become a shadow like them. They were hungry and hated those who could live in the light of day.

Light?

You were lying in bed sweating with fear. The blanket pressed on you like the sky on the shoulders of Atlas, and the time seemed stopped. It seemed the morning would never come. Morning...

Suddenly you thought about the light. These dark creatures never came during daylight hours. They were probably afraid of the light.

A lamp stood on your bedside-table, but it was too far to reach. And you didn't want to make any moves to not get the figures dander up. But if you make a sudden harsh move... If you suddenly jump out of bed, get to the door, jerk it open, then a light must pour out from the corridor, which had never been extinguished there.

Taking a deep breath and mustering your courage up, you jumped out of bed, ran between the tentacles, that almost grabbed your ankles several times, and ran out into the hallway, slamming the door behind you.

You screamed out, when you pressed your back against the door and felt a push. They wanted to get to you. Were you still awake?

You dashed for the main hall, away from your room.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

When you were downstairs in the dim lit lobby, you heard a slowly jazz music coming from the kitchen. You headed for the sound, expecting to see there the man, who once lulled you with his song. Getting closer, you smelled something savoury. Your mouth filled with saliva.

When you entered the kitchen, Alastor was standing in front of the gas stove and cooking something. He took off his froak coat and worn a light red apron. His cane was placed nearby, and the music was coming out from it with a drowsy buzzing. He was softly humming the melody.

Alastor heard some movings behind him, when you sat down on a chair next to the table. His eares twitched, and he turned his head back. He looked at you in surprise,

"It's strange to see you awaken at the dead of night, my dear. Why aren't you in bed?"

You looked down, "Nightmares," You muttered sadly.

Alastor looked at the rice in the frying pan, reduced the heat and looked at you again.

"Why my dear!" He exclaimed, "You always sleep so sweet, I never thought you could have bad dreams."

"It's only at night," You yawned and continued still looking at your knees, "When the night comes, and everything sinks in the darkness, these shadows creep out of somewhere, and I can't fall asleep because of the fear..."

You were so tired and exhausted with this night. Being here, in the warm kitchen, filled with appetizing smell, when a softly slow jazz swirled around you and Alastor, made you fell into a light doze.

"Hmm," Said Alastor, "You said nightmares, but described it like reality."

"Because I don't understand what it is!"

Alastor heard that your voice began to break, and you lifted your hand to wipe a tear running down your cheek.

"I know I'm not dreaming when I see them, and moreover, they pushed the door after I left. I'm wondering how I managed to escape..."

Tears were running down your face, but you didn't sob. Tears left silver traces on your skin, but in the lighting of the kitchen they seemed bronze. Alastor thought how beautiful you were even in your sadness. But he liked you more with a soft smile on your face, when you slept near him.

Alastor took off the apron and came to you. You didn't see it, you just felt how he gently touched your face. His thumb wiped the tear from the corner of your eye. You looked at him. He held your face in his hands. His soft gaze awakened something inside of you. You didn't want anything but to stare in his big glowing eyes.

You licked your lips and said sniffing,

"I think your dinner is burning."

He raised his eyebrows, his lips formed a silent "O", and he went up to the gas stove.

When he turned away from you, you wiped the rest of your tears glading that Alastor couldn't see your blush as your skin was totally black.

He added some broth in the pan and stired the dish. Breathing in the savoury smell and listening to the music, you thought, why couldn't you fall asleep. The problem wasn't in your bed, you slept there well during the day. The darkness or the night? Well, it seemed more like true. And you thought that your helplessness to the shadows were stupid. But then you remembered how the narrow tentacles wriggled under your feet trying to seize you, when you slammed the door shut. They were moving under the door, and it didn't seem like they were actually afraid of electric light.

You flinched remembering it. But then you remembered how you had a nice sleep at night in the hotel. It was your first night and the night a week ago.

You couldn't say what was special in your first night, after when Alastor had taken you to your bedroom, as it was dark and you were alone as always. you didn't know the truth.

But last week you spent the whole evening with Angel in his room. You were talking about your lives for several hours and ate a lot of unhealthy snacks watching your favorite romantic comedy from when you were alive. You both laughted at stupid decisions of characters, and you both were touched by the same romantic scenes.

Leaning against Angel's shoulder, breathing in his sweet vanilla smell, you fell asleep. You woke up embraced by all his four arms in his bed, just where you fell asleep. In the morning, when Angel woke up, he said that you were too sweet and too cute to be disturbed, so he didn't woke you up. But he didn't say, why he hadn't carried you to your bedroom, and you didn't ask him about it.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

The darkness and loneliness might had been the reasons of you being haunted by the living nightmares.

Alastor looked at you again. He thought that the nightmares were another curse of you. What an unfortunate darling you were. You told him about your life and how you avoided reality for all your life. And now you were cursed to never get enough sleep, and at night you were surrounded by your own fears and couldn't even close your eyes. Too much for a poor thing like you, thought Aalstor.

"I can't sleep in the dark and I can't sleep alone," You said. It seemed to you, that you had a good sleep then, because Angel was by your side. Maybe these shadows were powerless when you were not alone?

"Alone?" He asked tilting his head.

You nodded.

"Hmmm," Alastor looked up thinking on something. You noticed that he'd already covered the frying pan with a lid. Now his dinner was slowly braised.

"Well, my dear," He said coming up to you, "it's a shame that a sleepyhead like you can't have enough sleep during the night, so she must sleep all day long depriving me of the opportunity to spend time with her. This cannot go on."

He gave you his hand.

"But your dinner?"

"Don't worry, Starry eyes," He said bending in his waist still giving his hand, "I can absent myself for a time. I just want to offer you something, it won't take long."

You took his hand and stood up. He pulled you closer to him, so your bodies touched. Three upper buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and you blushed understanding that it was the first time you saw him being so informal.

"Hold on tighter, darling," He wispered in your ear, before you sank into the dark light.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You opened your eyes to find yourself in the unfamiliar room. You pressed yourself close to Alastor, his hands were on your shoulder-blade. The wind from the window chilled you, and you cuddled closer up to him. You turned your head to look around and understood, that it wasn't the wind from the window. It was the wind from the forest. The place, where Alastor took you, was half room and half the woods. You both were standing in the room in dark red colors with dark wood furniture, and the other side of the room was a night forest. You heard rustling, chirring, twittering coming from it. It was actually real.

"Welcome to my room, darling," Said Alastor letting you out.

So, it was his room. Before any other thought came on your mind, Alastor placed his arm on your waist and led you to a bed, that was in the center of the room.

"What? What are you doing?" You stopped and looked at him.

"My dear, this place is the safest in the whole hotel, and even in whole hell, if I may say. Here no one and nothing will hurt you. None of your eerie fears will find you here." He carefully placed his arm on your shoulder. His static voice made goosebumps ran down your back. He turned you back to him and pointed at the bed with his cane, "This room, this bed are your refuge. You don't need to be afraid here."

You looked at the bed. How cozy, how warmly, how alluringly it looked. You yawned. What was the use of refusing? After crying your eyes were tired, you wanted to close them and fall asleep. The bed seemed just perfect. The room was warm, and the chill of the forest helped you not to feel too much hot.

You glanced at Alastor. You didn't mind using his bed at all, but if he offered it to you, where would he spend the night then?

"And what about you?" You asked.

"Oh, darling," He softly smiled at you, "I'm the exact antithesis of you. While you always want to sleep, I have insomnia."

"Ohh," You pronounced. "Poor thing," You thought, "It might be difficult not to sleep, and not to see dreams."

You turned to the bed and then turned to Alastor again. He looked at you expectantly.

You slowly climbed into bed. Bed linen was soft and it smelled like... It smelled like Alastor. It was the same scent as when he had pulled you closer to him, before you both faded away in his shadow and turned out here.

You lay your head on the pillow and sank in its softness. But it wasn't too soft. It was just perfect. Like all his bed. Like all his room. A smile spread across your face.

You turned on your right side to look at Alastor and thank him. But you didn't have time to say anything, because he wrapped you in the blanket like a child. He tucked the blanket in, so you wouldn't get cold. When he leaned lower over you to tuck the blanket behind you, you tilted your head in the way so your lips "accidentally" met his chin. He froze still leaning over you.

You were lying between his hands, his face was in two inches of yours. He saw a sly yet shy smile on you. He smiled back, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought how beautiful he was. Maybe even too beautiful. You could drown in his crimson gleaming eyes, that hypnotized you.

Very slowly Alastor lifted his head to leave a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Goodnight, my love," He wispered.

You didn't open your eyes still feeling his lips on your forehead, and only when you heard a rustling, you opened your eyes and turned to the right. Alastor had just disappeared in the shadow.

Did he call you love?

You blushed so bright, that if there was anyone in the room, they would had seen the explosion of the supernovae on your cheeks.

It was just like in your best dreams.

You made yourself more comfortable still smiling because of the sudden tenderness of Alastor. You breathed in the smell of bed linen. It savoured with his astringent cologne, with fur and a little bit of smoke, because of the fireplace opposite the bed. You thought, this was what home smelled like.

You were lying with your eyes closed waiting for sleep to come. Firewood softly crackled, crickets chirred in the woods. Suddenly a radio on the piano turned on, and you heard a sweet female voice. The radio played quietly, and the singer's voice sank in static. You noticed that this buzzing of the radio was a comfortable sound for you, as it brought drowsiness to you.

♪ Night winds seem to have gone to rest,

Two eyes, brightly with love are gleaming ♪

You heard it through the somnolence and smiled.

The radio kept on playing quietly until you fell asleep in the room, that was yours now...

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor returned to the kitchen. His dinner was already done. He turned off the fire, mixed the dish and put some in a plate. The rest of the dish he put off in a basin and left it to cool, so that he could put it in the fridge later.

Usually Alastor didn't think about something secondary during a meal enjoying the food. But this time he couldn't help think about Sleepyhead. He remembered how she said, that she couldn't sleep alone. Could it be that all this time she was tormented by nightmares and did not sleep? Alastor remembered how he carried this tiny demon to her room at the first night. And how he stayed by her for all night long and watch her sleeping. She seemed had a very pleasant dream then. She always looked just as cute when she slept during the day, leaning on his shoulder.

Now he didn't even want to leave her alone in the bedroom. But he thought, that she might feel herself uncomfortable, if he stayed next to her and watched her until she fell asleep. Moreover he was extremely hungry. For the whole day he couldn't put something in his mouth, and now he was ravenous, so ravenous he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't suddenly eat her. After all she smelled very good.

Alastor raised his eyebrows in surprise, when his staff turned on the music. His hand with a fork froze on halfway to his mouth. From the staff a woman sang a lovely song. Alastor finished his dinner, rested his head on the hand and listened.

This singer was famous when Alastor was alive, but he never took a great interest in her. But now he liked the song and the voice.

♪ Come to my arms, my dear one,

my sweetheart, my own ♪

Alastor stood up and put on his froak coat. With a snap of his fingers the dirty plate became clean and it came in the kitchen cabinet.

♪ Kind night, bringing you nearer,

dearer and dearer ♪

Alastor beat the ground with the cane and the music stopped.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

When Alastor came to the bedroom it was already deep night. He saw you wrapped in the blanket, lying facing the forest. He came up to bed and heard your softly breathing. Alastor made the lights dimmer and, coming to the other side of bed, his clothes changed into the satin dark red pajamas.

Alastor saw a sweet smile on your face. You brought your hands to the face squeezing the edge of the blanket in your fists. You looked like a little doe, so small and innocent. You curled up, and Alastor took out a woollen blanket from a commode. He climbed into bed and covered you with the wool.

"Alastor..." You murmured in sleep.

He froze. He heard millions times before, how you talked in your sleep, but you'd never talked about him. Hearing his name on your soft moist lips was more than he could stand. His heart beat faster, and he felt ache in his stomach. You were so close to him, he felt your milky scent and felt your breath on his lips.

You stretched out your hands and embraced him. He fell next to you on the blanket. You wispered his name again, and his heart melted.

"You'll never go back to your bed, dear," He wispered buring himself in your fluffy hair and embracing you. He placed a kiss on your crown, and you smiled.

Alastor yawned. How strange, he never felt drowse lying in bed, but when he was next to you, felt your warmth and heartbeat...

He didn't notice how he fell asleep, with his head resting on yours, which you laid on his chest.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

invitation for deerner: @serapinaxx @noraunor

p.s.

sorry for it taking so long, another busy week at university, and now i feel myself like Sleepyhead herself hahaha

i hope you liked the part two and i wish you all sweet healthy sleep and kind fluffy dreams ♡ ♡ ♡

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n

[frntbttmsstn]

Thinking about the Bad Kids because Elmville is a relatively small town right? So even if Adaine/Fabian moved into town later (god knows I don’t remember if this is true or if I made it all up) it’s semi likely that Riz, Gorgug, Kristen, and Fig would have known at least some of the Rat Grinders as kids right? Like in theory we know of an elementary/middle school in town, I have to wonder what it would feel like to watch kids you might have vaguely knew on the playground, or kids who annoyed you in middle school, suddenly show up and become absolutely murderous. I have to wonder if any of the aforementioned Bad Kids ever stopped to think about the Rat Grinders when they were young? Did Kristen and Buddy ever meet at church? Did their parents suggest they become friends? Did they trade friendship bracelets at camp? Does Kristen remember it was his, does she still wear it? What about Gorgug and Lucy, always the tallest kids in class, were they always next to each other in class photos? Get paired up for gym class games? Did Lucy’s parents recommend clothing stores to Gorgug’s? Did Fig and Kipperlily do cheer together in middle school? Did she get invited to the sleepovers? Did she turn on Fig when her horns came in? Did Fig temper her rage like Lucy eventually would? Did Riz and Ruben always get paired up for being small? Did they trade sweaters because they were the only ones who fit? Did they play hide and seek in school and trade hiding spots? Did any of them get invited to birthday parties for the others? Did they all play games at recess? Did they share a language class in middle school? Did any of them notice when their friends/classmates/kids they recognized in the halls became hateful? Do any of the Bad Kids regret it, regret not staying in contact, regret not checking in? Even when they’re older, they shared classes with all of them, do you think any of the Bad Kids are quietly just thinking to themself: “How did I not notice?”

The thing about growing up where everyone knows each other, is that everyone knows everyone in some small way. I have to wonder how many of the Bad Kids have paused to wonder if they had done it all differently (they couldn’t if they tried), if they had been more aware (they couldn’t have been), if they had just reached out (why would they? why would something be wrong?) if they wouldn’t be here.

#fhjy spoilers #fhjy #d20 #d20 fantasy high #dimension twenty #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #fig faeth #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #the bad kids #rat grinders #dimension20 #dimension 20 #kristen applebees #lucy frostblade #kipperlilly copperkettle #kipperlilly clerickiller

[lanadelnegan]

Ghost - Part 5 (final)

Negan x Glenn'sSister!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, angry sex, p in v, anal, sex on Negan's bike, slight daddy kink, situationship

Part 4 here // Part 1 here

“Knew I’d find you here, doll.” Negan got off his bike, sighing before he sat next to me on the steps of the cabin. “Wanna tell me why the hell you just up and left?” His leg pressed against mine as I stared ahead at the ground, unable to look at him. 

“Just needed time to think.”

“Look at me.” His voice was deep, demanding, and I could hear the pain dripping from it. I refused to look at him.. refused to blink. All I could do was stare at a walker pinned to a tree in the distance like it might save me from this moment. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Negan nod disappointedly before looking away and my heart sank.  “We’ve both had enough time to think, y/n.” His voice cracked when he said my name like tears were forming in his throat. “On the drive over here, I had every intention of fighting for you. For us. But then I thought, I don't want to be with someone who isn’t certain they wanna be with me too.”

I nodded acceptingly. “That’s fair.” I refused to cry, not wanting him to see how this was affecting me. I’d be brave now, and feel sorry for myself later like always. “So why are you even here, then?” I asked and the question made Negan scoff. “Because I at least have enough respect for you to tell you goodbye.”

“I guess you don’t remember our first night together.” I scoffed back at him. 

“How can I ever fuckin’ forget? … and that? Is the problem. Buuut…” His voice changed suddenly, like he switched into the asshole character I saw at Alexandria the first time. “...If I can survive losing Lucille, I’ll damn sure be okay losing you, darlin’.” 

His words felt like a punch to my gut, leaving me numb and speechless. Negan stood after a few moments, whistling as he walked back to his bike but I was behind him before he could reach it. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” I whisper-yelled, not wanting to draw the attention of the dead. 

Negan quickly turned to face me, smirking while he towered over me. “It means.. I’ll go back to my wives at the sanctuary. And you? can sit here for the rest of your lonely little life.. wishing you still had me.” 

My only response was my hand colliding with his cheek hard enough to sting my skin and draw blood from his lip. Negan grinned wider, showing his white teeth as he wiped a drop of blood away with his thumb. There was a darkness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before and it made me wonder how I was stupid enough to ever believe there was good in him. 

“Fuck you.” My jaw clenched as I spoke and mindfully held back my fists at my sides, desperately wanting to press one into his arrogant skull. 

“Yeah?” He asked, tilting his head. “Okay.” He breathed before pulling me forward by my wrist and smashing his lips into mine. I tasted the lingering blood on his mouth and sucked harder at his lip like it was some miracle drug that would heal me from his hurtful words. 

He bit me back and I shoved him away, breathing heavily. A low grumble came from his throat before he pulled me back to him and wrapped his fingers around throat. “You want me to stop? Tell me.” His grip tightened around my neck and my lips remained closed. His head fell back as he let out a loud chuckle and returned his heavy gaze to mine. My eyes watered from the pressure building in my neck and his eyes softened along with his grip.

Negan looked away before letting go of my neck completely. For a moment I thought he felt bad about it, until he grabbed my wrist and maneuvered me to bend over his bike. I gasped when my stomach pressed into the seat and knocked the wind out of my lungs. Before I had a chance to stand, Negan yanked my shorts down along with my underwear and lined his already hard and ready cock up to my entrance. 

"You ready to stop with the dramatics, darlin'? We both know we can't stay away from each other." He slid into me with one deep push and kept himself there for a moment. "Feel how perfect that is? We were made for each other, baby." He began thrusting and my moans grew louder as heat flooded my core. 

His hand found my ponytail and he jerked it harshly, making me yelp and my back arched while his dick reached a deeper level inside me.

"Negan, fuuuuck, feels so good."

"I know baby, I know." He breathed heavily, keeping his pace fast and steady. Letting go of my ponytail, his hand dropped to my ass while the other remained squeezing my hip. I exhaled a pained breath when I felt his thumb force its way into my other hole.

"So pretty and tight." He said, looking down to watch his thumb and cock slide in and out of me simultaneously. Then suddenly he removed both and I whined at the empty feeling.

He circled the head of his dick around my asshole and my eyes went wide with the sudden painful stretch of his tip entering.

"Fuck." Negan grunted before pushing the rest of length inside me until his balls were pressed against my pussy lips. We both moaned in unison as his pace sped up. "Shit, baby, look at you. Taking daddy's cock like a fucking pro. So fucking proud of my girl." He yanked my ponytail again, hitting a spot that made me see stars.

"Negan!" I practically screamed.

His other hand reached in front of me, covering my mouth. His fingers gripped painfully around my face, bringing tears to my eyes while he ripped my insides apart.

"Goddamn it, doll. Gonna fill that little ass with my cum and watch it drip outta you. You want that? Huh?" He pulled you back further towards him, biting your neck after whispering the filthy words in your ear.

The heat continued to build in your core and you felt yourself getting close. "Yes, please Negan. I need it, please!" I begged desperately.

Negan chuckled darkly and pulled back, leaving you empty again. He finished himself off with his hand, grunting as he spilled onto the ground.

I turned around, pulling my shorts back up quickly. "What the hell?" I asked, confused at his sudden change of plans.

"Ahhh." He said relieved, buttoning himself back up and adjusting his clothing. "Something wrong, darlin'?"

I scoffed, staring at him in disbelief. "No, not at all."

"Good. Because I'm done pleasing you, sweetheart." Negan smirked at you, throwing a leg over his bike and starting the engine.

"Just like that, huh? You're just.. giving up that easy? Did I mean anything to you?"

"Of course. Always will. And when you work out your own shit and realize you fucked up, I'll be here. I love you, y/n. Nothing will change that."

I watched him disappear in the distance as he drove off, taking my heart with him.

Three weeks later:

I've settled back into Alexandria, slowly making amends with the group. The Saviors had a falling out the day we attacked the Sanctuary and we haven't seen any of them since. Except Negan.

After our escapade at the cabin, Negan had apparently drove to Alexandria and surrendered. He's been a prisoner here since the day he showed up and my heart hurts for him. I haven't been to see him, and by doing so, I'm only hurting myself. I guess its my punishment to myself for letting him go. But its been three weeks now and I can't wait any longer.

Everyone knows about our past situationship after I felt it necessary to come clean. I figured we would never be able to move on unless I told the truth. At first it didn't go well, but time mends everything and I think they're starting to forgive me.

It was getting dark when I knocked on Rick's door, explained the cause of my desperation, and he reluctantly gave me the keys to Negan's cell. Arriving at the door of the basement, I took a deep breath, and walked down the stairs into darkness. The only light in the cold room was the moonlight shining through one small window by his cell and it reminded me of our moment together in the trailer - the day I took a bullet for him. I knew then I was in love him with him and nothing has changed since.

"Negan.." I whispered, walking closer.

He lied on his back on his cot, looking up at the ceiling with a hand behind his head.

Silence.

"Please talk to me."

Nothing. He wouldn't even look at me.

"Ok, I'll talk then." I leaned against his bars. "I'm sorry it's taken me awhile to come see you. I needed some time to work out my shit - as you put it." I paused, giving him a moment to react but he didn't. "Well.. it's worked out. If you care?" I said teasingly.

His head fell to the side as he looked at me, trying not to smile. I took that as a welcome sign and quickly opened his cell door with the key. He barely had time to stand up before I ran to his arms and kissed him like my life depended on it.

He lifted me before laying me down on the cot and climbing over me. His mouth stayed connected to mine and without words, we made a million promises to each other in that moment.

We'd never leave again.

A/n: This final part was slightly difficult for me to finish. I have so many other one-shots in process that I'm ready to focus on, so I'm sorry if this felt rushed. But this entire story was so fun to write. Thanks so much to whoever requested it! <3

Tag list: tag list: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee @used2beee @easystreet07 @princess-23-xoxo @twdxtrevor @dilfsandmartinis @sarahhxx03 @minaxcarter @kukka-roo @rinsdesires @6kaja9 @sasiiik9174 @fanficwriter5 @theoraekenslover

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[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 2

Summary: Jungkook gets mistaken as your father but jumps at the opportunity to show them exactly who he is to you. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.6K~ Warning: Suggestive language but nothing crazy lol a/n: So this is another ask by an anon and it was something I'm sure y'all have been curious to see so I figured why not make it a little longer 🤭 p.s. written in one sitting so barely edited Start from the beginning

"Here you go!" the lady at the register says, handing Jungkook one of the shopping bags.

She had been looking at the both of us, no doubt trying to figure out our relationship but went with the one that might seem the most logical with an age difference as big as ours.

"You're lucky! I wish my dad would still buy me clothes at my age. I miss those days where I wouldn't have to worry about anything, especially money" she says, no doubt trying to make conversation while she folds the rest of the clothes and places them inside the second bag

"No you see he's not my-" "She does call me Daddy but I can assure you, I'm not her father" Jungkook jumps in, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer, making things a lot more intimate than they had been before.

"I- um-" I stammer but Jungkook decides to make matters worse, looking to gain my confirmation. "Right Bunny" he says, placing a kiss on my neck and making me shudder, completely mortified by this whole situation.

"Oh would you look at the time! We better get going if we want to make it to that thing in time" I say while shaking off his embrace, trying to get away from here as soon as possible.

When I reach out to take the second bag Jungkook gets to it faster and already has a comfortable grip on the handle. "It's okay baby, I got it" he says, going out of his way to sound sickeningly sweet but also extremely intoxicating at the same time.

I smile painfully at him and squeeze out a quick thank you to him and the poor cashier and hightail my way out of there.

"I'm sorry sir I shouldn't have assumed" the girl apologizes but Jungkook tones down the playful nature and assures her that he understood where she was coming from.

"It's alright. I just like to embarrass her when I can" he admits and she laughs, understanding our dynamic just a little bit more. "Have a good day sir" she say, wrapping up the conversation and he returns the sentiment and thanks her for her help.

When he finally decides to leave the store he saunters out to me, his eyes clearly showing his continued amusement from the little spectacle he put on back there.

"I hate you" I pout and he chuckles in response. "Why do you have to do that every time?" I question, dragging out the last word and it only gains me and even more playful Jungkook.

"Because you look so pretty when you're looking at me like that" he says, placing both bags in his left hand and using his right to pinch my cheek, no doubt warm to the touch from the embarrassment I couldn't help but feel back there.

"Let's just go" I say, rolling my eyes at him and making my way out of the shopping center, him following with a bounce in his step before he catches up to me and grabs my hand, making me stop to look at him.

"Let me make it up to you yeah?" he say, the once playful eyes changed to one's full of hunger. I can feel my cheeks start to warm up again, this time from desire instead of embarrassment because I know exactly what's in store.

I don't bother to dignify his words with a response and simply continue on my quest back to the car but the fact that I've held onto his hand and made sure he was following me still made him chuckle, finding me absolutely adorable.

"That eager huh?" he asks and I huff in response. "I'm done with being in a bad mood today so you've got a lot of work to put in mister" I grumble and he laughs at my reasoning, knowing deep down I'm buzzing with excitement. 

"Don't I always?" he says and I stop in my tracks, glaring up at him, "So you think I'm a piece of work huh?" I growl and he holds back his laughter, finding my efforts of being intimidating so endearing. 

"No, I just love taking my time with you" he says, caressing my face and making my sour mood start to fade away, "Isn't that right Bunny" he says, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on my lips leaving me wanting him even more. 

"Shut up" I say and stomp away, done with his teasing and needing him to put his money where his mouth is. If he's claiming he wants to make it up to me then he's doing it in a very strange way. 

"You know I thought this shopping trip was supposed to be fun and make me feel better" I say once he's finally caught up to me right before I take the crosswalk to get to the parking lot. "I'm having fun. Aren't you?" he teases, acting completely oblivious making me even more upset. "No, I'm not" I say through gritted teeth. 

"Come on Bunny you know I'm just teasing" he says popping the trunk and placing the bags in it before closing it and going to open my door. 

"Hey" he say, grabbing me by my waist and pulling me close, "You know I love you right?" he says once I've cuddled into his chest and I nod, breathing in his scent which always brings be a sense of comfort. "I love you too" I mumble and he kisses me on the forehead before letting go and opening my car door. 

"Let's go home okay?" he say and I nod walking closer but before I'm able to sink down into my seat he smacks my ass. "OW! What was that for?" I whine, rubbing the spot he abused as he dryly chuckles. "That was for rolling your eyes at me back there Princess. Think I wouldn't notice huh?" he says in a deep taunting voice that he knows can push me into submission. 

I shake my head and he gives me a mischievous smile before telling me to get in the car. 

"I thought you were supposed to be making it up to me" I pout once he gets in the car beside me. "Don't worry Darling, once I'm done with you, you'll forget that you were even mad at me to begin with" he says so casually, making my stomach do a flip, my thighs always clenching together, thinking about what lies ahead.

"Just let Daddy take care of you yeah? Gonna make you feel all better" he teases and although I act like I hate it when he talks to me like that, I know he'll always make good on his word. "Don't call yourself that" I groan, trying to hide how easily the simplest words can make me so needy. 

How has he trained my body to react to him so well. I guess it's my fault for letting him have his way with me time and time again. After all, he was my first and I wouldn't want it any other way. 

"You okay baby?" he asks, concerned that he's truly made me upset from how I had spaced out for a second there. "I'm okay" I say plainly and he nods, putting the car into drive and starting on our short journey back home. 

"Thank you Daddy" I say playfully making him choke on his spit, not expecting me to call him that since I had been so against it just moments ago.

"For what?" he questions through coughs and I can't help but laugh. "For all of the things you bought me today" I say and he leans over and grabs my cheek, turning me to face him to share in a sweet kiss while stopped at the red light. 

"You're welcome baby" he says, rubbing his nose against mine before pulling back and sitting properly in the drivers seat, placing one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh as we continue on our journey once the light turns green. 

"Don't think you're getting away with not showing me how pretty you look in them once we get home though" he says squeezing my thigh and and letting me know exactly what he meant but he chooses to voice it anyway. 

"Need to fuck you in that babydoll nightgown I got you" he growls, "Been thinking 'bout it since I saw it" he growls and I feel myself getting even more wet with every sinful word that drips from his lips. 

"You can't just say that" I say, hiding my face in my hands and he chuckles, using one hand to spread apart my thighs with ease, rubbing a finger along my clothed center to see the damage he's already done.

"Baby's so worked up that she could probably cum from my words alone huh?" he taunts and he doesn't let up the entire time, making me absolutely helpless against him. He knows exactly how I want it and he lets me know that I'm not leaving to bed today, or tomorrow and maybe even the next day. 

"Gonna fuck this little attitude right out of you" he says, pulling into the garage and shutting it behind us. "Upstairs. Now" he commands when he turns off the car and opens the trunk to pull out the bags, making sure to bring up everything because he meant what he said.

Wouldn't be surprised if some of the lingerie doesn't even last a day. But then again it never really does... 

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[mayaree-darling]

Only in the Cover of the Night // Sung Jinwoo

pairing: sung jinwoo x reader

synopsis: your headache is not helping you remember that you have a boyfriend ready to care of you

from aree: guess who caught the dengue virus lmao i have three different sicknesses rn i wish i was joking. this was made for my bestie @fuyuu-chan coz she was dying from a headache but i needed this more apparently

content: pure fluff; no plot just vibes ngl; you have a headache and jinwoo is there to help/bother you

fic length: 1.7k~ (unedited)

There's a glass of water and some medicine on your bedside table when you reach out your hand for your phone. You're glad you didn't knock anything over - only grazing the glass with your pinkie finger and the aluminum under your palm. It would've been completely fine to have them there - welcomed even - since you did have a bad headache right now, but you shoot up in bed when you realize.

You did not put those there.

You immediately regret the sudden movement when your headache comes back swinging, pounding into your brain like a drum. You eventually fall back into your bed with a hard thump. Even when the lights are off, it feels like the room is spinning. There are stars dancing in your eyes that are just a tad too bright, but definitely more than a tad annoying.

You sit up but slowly this time, gauging whether you need to lie down and sleep the next hour away again. When you don't feel like throwing up, you open your eyes and blink at the corner of your room. You know you're seeing lights right now with the migraine treating you like a punching bag, but…

Are they supposed to be purple?

You don't quite remember if the stars in your vision are supposed to be stationary, either. You move your head this way and that, but the lights stay in one particular corner of your room, staring straight at you. Staring seems to be the right term, the lights making you think of two, purple ey-

No. No, you look away and lean on your side, taking a steady breath in before shakily exhaling.

You are not gonna get killed by some ghost when you're already facing the migraine of the century.

You ignore the lights - you can deal with the ghost when you're all better and ready to throw down with the supernatural, but not now - and turn to where you remember your bedside table was. Where was your phone?

At that moment, you hear the familiar ring of a notification going off. You squint, expecting the unwelcome bright light of your screen, but it's not coming from your table. You freeze.

It's coming from the other side of your bed.

Surely you just rolled over and left it there at some point? Right, yes, of course. You're overthinking things. Your mind is just stuck in a hazy fog made by your sickness. Your paranoia is just stemming from the inability to process common sense. You're starting to think someone is in the room with you just because you-

The bed behind you tips from a foreign weight.

You jump from the bed, but your movements are more than clumsy. You make a hasty turn, trying to face whatever is behind you, but you get caught in your blanket. It envelops the lower half of your body and before you know it you're falling. You try to hold on to the bedside table but your movements are sluggish and you miss it by centimeters. You brace yourself for the impact-

But it never comes.

You feel warm. Arms are circled around you, hands on your upper back and around your waist. A chest is pressed against your own, both heartbeats racing as if trying to catch up to one another. You're overwhelmed by a woody scent (and something… burnt? it's not much but it's there). Although you have an afterthought that it should have made your migraine worse, it ends up comforting you more than anything. So familiar. The figure in front of you leans back, pressing you closer to them as they make sure you're both kneeling safely on the bed.

You're warm. Their warmth is a welcome distraction from the migraine that threatens to make you black out. They loosen their grip ever so softly only when your heartbeat calms down. Almost as if sensing their effect on you, they pull your head to their chest, the hand on your back coming to scratch lightly at your scalp.

There's a new beating in your head, in your ear, but this one is pleasant and makes you feel like you're in a dream you don't want to wake up from. You see a pair of purple eyes in the opposite corner of the room. They blink at you once before becoming one with the dark.

"Did I scare you, sarang?" The voice is muffled. Is it because of your headache again? But you feel it numbly vibrate through your head. You barely feel soft lips against your hair, but it's there, and the knowledge that it's present calms you impossibly more. "Sorry, I should have come through the door."

You reach up and grasp the back of their, his - Jinwoo's - coat. You run your hand up and down his back, trying to bring yourself back to the present with each feel of his coat's texture. Without meaning to though, the action makes him shiver underneath your fingers and you hear him suck in a breath. You feel more awake than you've ever been as you let out a muffled laugh into his sweater.

"You definitely should have come through the door," you mumble, burying yourself further in his chest. He definitely smells burnt. "I thought someone broke in."

"That would be a stupid move on their part. Beru would have slit their throats the moment they touched the door knob," Jinwoo scoffs and you can almost see the smirk on his face.

You groan as Jinwoo shifts in position. He holds you close still, making sure you're nestled in his arms. He leans on the headboard. "It's great you're not a burglar then. I don't feel like cleaning up blood right now."

He hums, tucking your face in his neck and placing his chin over your head. "Bold of you to assume I would've let you clean that. The only thing you would have to worry about is the floor being slightly wet with hydrogen peroxide."

"Can't let them find any evidence." You breathe out a laugh.

"I can even go the extra mile and make sure no one ever looks for him if you want."

"Thanks for the offer. I'll make sure to remember it." you manage another small laugh and Jinwoo offers a small scratch to your scalp in response.

A quiet fills the room and if not for your boyfriend's overwhelmingly comforting presence, you'd think you were still alone with your thoughts and pounding headache. Thanks to him, you were able to forget about the pain for a few minutes. You would've been able to be lulled to sleep again if not for something tickling at your senses, especially now that you're so close.

"What are you doing here? You should've gone home after finishing your dungeons."

"Who said I went to any dungeons today? I could've just been lazing at home for a change and thought about checking on my wonderful significant other," Jinwoo gasps mockingly, and when you look up at him, you find purple glowing eyes looking at you mirthfully.

You laugh blankly. "You talk like I don't know you. I think you'd keel over if you stopped going to dungeons. Also, your clothes are all burnt. I can smell it clearly even with this headache."

"Oh, sorry about that." He holds your shoulders, ready to move you away from him, but he doesn't. He just holds you, not quite sure or willing to push you away. "Should… should I go take a shower first?"

"No, don't go. I was joking," you huddle yourself closer to him. "Do that later. But not right now please."

He lets out a chuckle before relenting and bringing you back in his arms. "Anything I can do to help you feel better?"

"No, no, I'm good I just-" your words are cut short with your stomach rumbling. You don't say anything, and neither does he, but you know he's looking at you like you're a liar. You can feel yourself flush. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little hungry."

"I'll get you something to eat, then. I'll make you something good." he shifts his weight, ready to either get up or sink further into the sheets.

"Don't burn my kitchen again, Sung Jinwoo, or I swear this is the last time I'm letting you into my house." you poke at his side and he winces.

He takes the hand poking him and he pulls it up to his lips, kissing your wrist. You're thankful he can't see your face right now. Or maybe he can? You're not about to test that theory. "Bold of you to think you can keep your boyfriend out."

"Bold of you to think I can't break up with you. If I break up with you then it's considered trespassing whenever you enter my house uninvited, isn't it?" you try to fight back the grin that threatens to push at your lips.

The grin disappears, however, when you're suddenly thrown onto your back. Your fall is cushioned by a soft mattress and even softer arms. Jinwoo's weight is shifted on top of you as he hugs you, head on your chest and body slotted in between your legs. He buries his head in your chest, before reaching up and putting your hand over his hair. When the initial shock has passed, you grin and scratch at his scalp, too.

Jinwoo's voice is muffled. "…Please don't do that."

You laugh, lightly pulling at his hair. "Mhm, yeah, that's what I thought."

Jinwoo lifts his head enough to see your face, purple eyes almost glittering in the dark. "I promise not to burn your well-maintained kitchen with my awful skills."

He reaches over to the bedside table to flick the night light on, but you feel him stop short. His arms return to wrap itself around you once more and he buries his head back into your chest.

"Jinwoo?"

He groans before tightening his hold on you. "Let's stay like this for a while more, is that okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'd like that, too."

So you stay in the dark. You think you see purple lights in the corner of your room again. Watching, curious.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo reader insert #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling reader insert #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling fanfic

[bitchinbarzal]

Happy Never After | T Meier

summary: not everything has a happy ending

this is a re-write

-

"I don't understand you sometimes!"

"What's not to understand Timo?! I drop everything for you all the time and you just don't care-"

"I care!"

"No you don't! I dropped everything for you when you were traded to Jersey, I left my job and sold my apartment to follow you and I put up you you being absolutely miserable every single day because of it! I moved around the country now we’re in Jersey without my home and job!"

A weight lifted off your shoulders, finally speaking your heart. Timo shifted awkwardly infront of you.

"Glad you got that off your chest" he grumbled, angrily

"you're not the only one who sacrificed stuff you know?"

You laughed humourlessly "what could you have possibly had to give up?"

It was like he was searching for something to say "| missed out on like everything it was to be a rookie because I was tied down to, to you!"

Your eyes went wide and Timo bit his lip, regretting how he'd said it.

"You 'missed out'?" You put air quotes around your words and quirked your eyebrow

He gulped

"On what exactly? The drinking and partying? The hooking up every other night? Every Sunday I came over Kevin had a new girl in his bed! Is that what you want?"

"What? No-"

"That's what you said! You just said that!" You wave your hands around with no reason, just feeling frustrated.

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"That's what you said!" You screamed, as if raising your volume would get the point across better.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed "God would you stop being such a bitch-"

Nope.

The sound of your palm meeting the side of his face sounded through his apartment. He grabbed his cheek which was turning red now while you stumbled back, tears in your eyes and gasped.

"Don't you dare, don't you dare call me names!" He reached out for you, to console you but you pulled away "No, No don't! Don't touch me! God, I can't even look at you"

"Babe, please just listen I didn't - woah what are you doing?" He rushed, watching as you picked up your coat and bag.

"I'm leaving, I'm going home"

"Please don't leave! C'mon I'm about to leave on a two week long road trip let's not do this"

You looked at him, breaking his heart as he took in your red nose and tear stained cheeks while you sniffled

"I can't Timo"

When the door shut he stood in the silence wondering

what the fuck just happened?

When he woke up the next morning he had hoped you were there, you weren't. You hadn't answered any of his calls and texts.

The devils were about to leave for a two week road trip and he didn't want to leave this on a bad note but he had no time before the flight was due to leave.

Before take off you received a text

Timo 🤍

i love you and I'm so sorry. please just call me, I wanna hear your voice.

You read the text, like all the others but never replied.

Instead simply throwing your phone away to sit and sulk.

Day four of the trip and he still hadn't heard from you.

The first sign of life was when Jack's girlfriend posted a photo on her instagram stories of a bunch of denim jackets with the boys names and numbers on the back for the wags annual brunch.

He spotted his own name on a jacket, heart content to know you were there. However a couple of hours later he saw another story post of the same brunch and could see that same table with one jacket lay on it, the number twenty eight standing out to him clearly.

It had started taking a toll on his play around Vegas.

Nico spoke to him but was shut down quickly as Timo insisted there was nothing wrong and that he was sorry. Nico didn't care about his play, he was worried about his friend.

A week into the trip you visited Timo's apartment with a cardboard box in hand. Packing up everything you wanted to take with you. At some point you'd gotten so emotional you sat down on the couch to breath and turned the tv on.

It flickered to the last channel it was on, hockey. You watched the screen as it panned across the devils and the canucks. You watched as the screen showed Timo, holding his chain in hand and kissing the pendant that hung on it - your pendant.

"Oh T..." you sighed, biting your lip and turning the TV off.

When the road trip ended Timo couldn't wait to get home and see you, try to resolve this clear issue.

Opening the door, he immediately felt off. His eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was different.

Your favourite blanket that hung over the couch was gone.

Your shoes weren't littering the floor next to the front door.

You weren't there.

Timo scrambled for his phone, calling you and texting you to be hit with the voicemail.

37 voicemails.

146 text messages.

27 instagram DM's.

6 twitter DM's.

1 email.

You never replied.

It wasn't until a few days later you called him when you knew he'd be at practice unable to see his phone so you could leave a message.

When he returned to the locker room and saw his missed call he cursed, rushing to listen to the voicemail.

"hey timo, I know it was shitty to ghost you like that but I feel like if I didn't do it this way I would make it worse for everyone. I feel like we need time apart, you made it clear that being in this relationship made you miss out on things so I want to give you the chance to explore that lifestyle! I'll always be your biggest fan, from San Jose to Jersey I've got you but I think I just gotta have you from afar for a little while"

Timo looked at his phone for a moment before he threw the phone onto the floor and stood on it repeatedly.

Completely unaware everyone was watching the scene he was causing.

It was Jonas’ hands on his shoulders that snapped him out of his bubble "C'mon man, let's go some-"

"She left me"

"Okay, come on buddy not here"

He looked up at his friend and let out a soft, shaky breath before he shoved his head on his shoulder and began to sob.

"You're alright, it's alright"

The pounding on your front door that night startled you, leaving your desk to answer the clearly urgent guest

The door wasn't even open enough to see you before you heard "What the fuck is going on?!"

"Hi Lauren, come in, lovely to see you" you joked, rolling your eyes as she barged into your apartment.

"Timo is on my couch right now crying, what is going on? More importantly are you ok?" She asked, eyes fluttering over you to check.

You smiled softly "I'm okay Laur, I'm sorry I didn't talk to you l just - my head has been fried"

Her eyes softened "hey listen, I'm here for you okay? I just don't understand what's going on? Jonas brought him home and we are both as clueless as each other"

"I broke up with him"

"You What? This is a joke right?"

"Laur, i feel bad enough please don't make me feel worse" you groaned.

She stood there looking at you "I don't get it, you're Timo and Y/N. You don't break up"

"Yeah well.." You trialled off.

You went into all the details. Explaining the cause of the fight and all the things he said to you amidst it all.

By the end you were both in tears and when Lauren hugged you, you felt relaxed for the first time in a long time

"We love You, so much! and we support you always-"

"But Jonas-"

"But Jonas nothing, you are our friend too and it'll take some getting used to but we support our friends"

When Lauren returned home that night she didn't speak to either of the boys. Clearly seeing how much Timo was hurting right now that being angry at him wasn't an option.

He returned home, to an empty house on day three.

He felt like he was becoming a burden in their home.

So he moved the pity party back to his place.

Life carried on as normal as it could, he played hockey, he practiced and he slept. He did everything he would usually without you. He tried not to think about you too much but it was hard living in the place he had never been without you.

The days and month kind of moulded into one.

Halloween passed, Christmas passed, New Years all without you.

Timo downloaded tinder and bumble. He let his friends set him up. Nothing was working. He hated this.

The next time he saw you was New Year's Day.

Lauren had asked for you to come along to the game with her as the Devils were playing the Flyers in the stadium series and her future in-laws would be present.

You'd been friends with Jonas since high school and his parents always enjoyed seeing you.

Jonas obviously hadn't passed on your news to his parents.

"We're super excited for the wedding! And you must be too sweetheart, oh you and Timo will be next huh?"

Your face went red and you stuttered until Lauren replied "actually, Nutchara. Timo and Y/N broke up in September"

She looked shocked "Oh no, sweetheart I'm so sorry ! didn't know!" Pulling you into a hug to console you.

The hug was showcased on the jumbotron, Timo watched from the bench, his heart in his throat.

After the game the Siegenthaler’s were gathered together with you chatting away and Timo overheard Nutchara speaking as he passed.

"Oh now you're single maybe we can finally set you up with Nico, he's a bit hopeless with romance"

You laughed, making a comment about "Poor Neeks" Timo about-turned bumping into his teammate behind him and poking a finger into his chest before grumbling "If Nico puts his hands near my girl, tell him he's a fucking dead man"

You did not go out with Nico. Jonas made sure his parents didn’t meddle.

January passed and the rest of the months ran quick.

You were helping Lauren out with wedding stuff, constantly flying back to Canada to visit the venue, speak to catering, order flowers. You name it.

The devils never made it to play offs.

You watched them the night they failed to qualify.

You wrote out a text to Timo

i'm sorry. you deserved that one.

You didn't send it.

The wedding planning soon started coming into play.

Bachelorette parties and Bachelor weekends commenced before the big day.

You spent the week before trying to fix everything to be perfect for their big day.

The Friday night was everyone flying into town. You couldn't be there to pick people up as your own flight out of Newark had been delayed but the team pulled through with Nico and Jack taking point as welcome committee.

Your new flight landed hours later, while everyone was supposed to be at dinner. You texted Jack to ensure someone could pick you up and he told you he had it it sorted.

You wanted to kill him when you exited the airport and you saw Timo waiting for you in the loading zone.

He was leaned up against his car, rushing forward for your bags when he saw you

"I thought Jack was picking me up"

"He ran out of fuel and I had a full tank so he sent me"

Your sighed "Well alright then"

The ride back to the hotel was quiet and awkward.

Nobody tried to make small talk.

When you arrived at dinner you swiftly knocked Jack's head and said "Never do that again"

Saturday was the rehearsal dinner and you weren't feeling so great.

You had put on the dress and headed across to the venue. You did your due diligence and welcomed in both Lauren and Jonas’ families.

Jonas was mingling with people but didn't miss how Timo’s stare hardened when Nico walked up to you and hugged you hello.

"Please don't murder him, this is my wedding after all"

Timo took a drink and grumbled "I make no promises but I'll at least hold off until after his speech" continuing to watch your interaction.

Jonas laughed and walked off with a "Thanks bud"

Timo kept an eye on you all night long, feeling something was off.

You didn't look right.

After everyone was sat for the meal and speeches had been done you wandered off to the bathroom and hadn't returned for quite a while.

A break in the meal service gave him the opportunity to slip away to find you.

He found the ladies bathroom, he knocked and said

"Y/N, you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. What's up?" You croaked. Timo frowned before saying "I'm coming in"

"Timo, no-" it was too late, he'd already made his way into the bathroom to find you on the floor hunched over the toilet.

He walked over, pulling his suit jacket off and draped it over your shoulder and then pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail to the best of his ability.

"You don't have to-" "Just hush, I'm here"

You were silent but grateful, continuing to spew for the next twenty minutes.

"I think I just ate bad chicken on the plane" you mumbled, defeated and laying against the tile wall.

"Let's get you to bed" he decided, pulling you up from the wall. Your body, weakened, fell into him and you groaned

"But the dinner " "can be done without you come on"

He slipped the two of you out the back door and called a cab back to the hotel. For a moment you forgot your situation, opting to think this was all normal.

When Timo took you up to your room and helped you get ready for bed, all normal.

You knew you shouldn't have but when Timo tried to leave you cried out "Please stay, I can't be alone like this"

It didn't take an awful lot of convincing, Timo knew you and he knew you were right. You never really got sick but when you did you always needed help.

He stayed.

He stayed all night while you slept, his fingers tangled in your hair scratching lightly at your scalp to soothe you.

At five that next morning he left you in order to return to his room and get ready for the wedding.

When you woke up, slightly confused you found a note on the pillow next to you.

morning, I had to go get the boys up. hope you're feeling better, I'm sure you'll look beautiful today. advil and water on the nightstand < 3

You smiled lightly, looking over to see a plastic water bottle and the aforementioned pills waiting for you.

You picked up your phone from the other side, a few texts from people checking you were ok was all along with a message in the bridesmaid group chat about getting ready together.

"She's alive!" Was yelled when you entered the room.

You smiled "Yes, yes I'm here I had food poisoning"

"Timo took care of you though, that was sweet" one of the other bridesmaids said, curling her hair and looking at you in the mirror.

You nodded, picking up a champagne glass from the table "Yeah, he left to go get Jonas up this morning-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lauren yelled "He stayed over?!" Yeah nodded sheepishly "Uh yeah, I guess I asked him too when I was tired I think I was just used to him helping me out when I'm sick"

Lauren gave you a look but you didn't press it further, after all it was her wedding day.

The ceremony didn't last long, Lauren had always said she didn't want people being bored and just wanted to party.

You'd found your space at the head table, right next to Nico and you couldn't help but think Jonas’ mom had something to do with the table plans.

You were talking after dinner with Nico about everything going on in his life when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.

You turned to see Timo smiling down at you "Hey Neeks, mind if I steal her for a bit?"

Nico smiled "Nah man, she's all yours. I'll see you in a bit y/n"

You smiled back before pushing the chair out and grabbing Timo’s hand to be directed onto the dance floor.

You didn't speak for the first few minutes, just basking in each other's company until you said "Hey thanks for last night you didn't have to do that"

"I couldn't leave you to fend for yourself"

"I'm not your problem anymore T"

"Not by my choice" he noted and you huffed "Timo-

"No, please just hear me out because l've been waiting for the right time to speak to you and I mean what are weddings for if not love, eh? Whatever that stupid fight we had was about was not worth loosing you over. I hate myself for that and the things I said because I love you so freaking much and I was so stupid for allowing myself to loose you. When you left me I was broken"

You sighed, looking up at him for any sign of a lie.

There was none "Timo... I miss you too but you know it's not that easy to just get back together"

"I know, I just needed you to know how I felt" he nodded.

"Well Thank you, i appreciate it. Maybe we can talk again whenever we're back home in jersey?"

"I like the sound of that"

You nodded, Timo twirling you out in the dance and when he pulled you back in he said "You do look beautiful tonight I guess I predicted that right"

Back in Jersey come the fall it had been a while since that night at the Siegenthaler wedding.

The devils home opener was packed with fans.

You were sat with a beer in hand, looking out on the ice at the red jersey's looking at all the new names around.

Your thoughts were broken when you felt something drape over your shoulders, turning you saw Lauren alongside other girlfriends and wives all smiling at you.

"Hey!"

"Hey sweetheart we didn't think we'd see you here, we saw you from the box" Lauren points up to the 'wags' box.

You blush "Yeah, i uh haven't been up there in a while"

"Well we thought you might want this back, a little birdy told me you might need it" you pulled the jacket draped over your shoulders off and looked at it.

The black denim jacket displayed the number twenty eight alongside Meier so nicely.

You smiled "That little birdy would be correct" you answered and the girls all cheered.

"Ugh, finally they're back together! We're so happy for you"

"Thank you guys honestly, it's been a massive journey but we're here now!"

Come the end of the night the boys were on a winning high and Timo didn't think it could get better than this.

That was until he came out of the locker room to find you with your back turned to him he saw the name and number on your jacket.

He groaned "Oh god I forgot what a beautiful sight this was" slipping behind you, arms travelling around your front to land on your abdomen and kissing the side of

You leaned into him "You like it?"

"Like it? I love It" he announced, leaning in closer to your ear to whisper "I'd like it better on our floor”

You straightened up "Oh we've gotta go guys! We've got stuff to do. See you all next week!"

You were halfway out the door when someone shouted

"they really never changed!"

#timo meier x reader #timo meier imagine #nhl imagine

[soberqueerinthewild]

I’ve written about this a lot before but it bears reiterating now.

I’ve seen some takes that essentially say Taylor was callous because she broke up with Joe because he “couldn’t get over his depression” and how cruel that is when she said she loves him.

And I think that a lot of the people who think that are identifying with Joe, and empathizing with him and suffering from a version of somewhat understandable main character syndrome. I see this a lot in advice on how to be there for someone struggling with their mental health. It says things like “keep reaching out even if they ignore you. They appreciate it.” “Keep inviting them to do things even if they say no” “Continue letting them know you are there for them to talk to even if they repeatedly shut you out.” And I’m not saying this is bad advice, but it makes it sound like there is one person who struggles with their mental health surrounded by supporting characters who are 100% healthy and able to give an endless supply of emotional energy and that they never have mental health struggles that are impacted by this. (My mental health for instance tanks when I reach out over and over and get rejected because I feel like no one likes me)

From what I can tell from her music (which by the way is the only indication we have that Joe struggles with his mental health, so if we are accepting that premise we need to accept everything else she says about it) Taylor followed a lot of this advice for a long time.

Years of labor locks and ceilings

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

Always rising from the ashes

There was nowhere for me to stay but I stayed anyways

And she tried and tried until it was having a hugely detrimental impact on her mental health which she relates

She discusses how she had to revert into a dream world because of the impact of it:

I dreamed about it in the dark the night I felt like I might die

She talks about how holding on to the relationship made her feel:

I know my pain was such an imposition

My white-knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment

My spine split from carrying us up the hill

Wet through my clothes weary bones caught the chill

She had a huge amount of anxiety about the relationship so much that her friends noticed how it was impacting her

My friends say it isn’t right to be scared every day of a love affair

My friends tried but I wouldn’t hear it/watched me daily disappearing

She got to the point where she wasn’t sure he even wanted her

Every breath feels like rarest air/When you’re not sure if he wants to be there

Is it really your anxiety that keeps you from giving me everything or do you just not want to

I wouldn’t marry me either

Her mental health was deteriorating, so if Joe deserved a partner that would support him when his mental health was struggling, doesn’t Taylor? There’s no evidence that he was able to give that to her and she felt very misunderstood by him

My face was gray but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick

How can you say you love someone you can’t tell is dying

You never read into my melancholia

Nobody noticed my new aesthetic

You say you don’t understand and I say I know you don’t

He don’t understand me

A pathological people pleaser/who only wanted you to see her

Why is his mental health considered more important than hers? One person doesn’t get to call dibs on being the one with mental health problems while the other person is assigned to be the supporting character forever.

It’s also clear she had hopes and dreams for a future that involved marriage and kids that he couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. So should she should give those up so as not to leave her partner who is depressed and be labeled a bad person?

It isn’t his fault that he’s depressed but Taylor clearly has mental health struggles too and one is not more important to the other. They were unable to be good partners to each other due to this, so ending it was the right thing. Were there better ways to do it, yes! But she was clearly struggling so incredibly much that I for one, will give her grace and understanding

#taylor swift #mental health #tw sucidal ideation

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬 

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you. 

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you. 

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe. 

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go. 

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.” 

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest. 

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.” 

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck. 

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.” 

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it. 

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again. 

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.  

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence. 

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair. 

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.  

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

#don john #much ado about nothing #don john x reader #don john keanu reeves #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

[kamig4mes]

We need friendship headcannons with kisski and hanma it can be seperated or as an trio,you can make one platonic and one as an love interest i dont really care!!!

I'm still excited that you made this request, anon bc this duo has been making eyes at me these days. I thought about kisakixhanmaxfem!reader. I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope u like it, nd enjoy it!

#pov: friendship headcanons with Kisaki and Hanma (platonic/love interest)

★ warnings: fem!reader, realistic hc, fluff, funny, friendship, love interest, established relationship, platonic facts, school mention

→ a/n: H&K = Hanma and Kisaki

—friendship (+ platonic facts)!

The three go and return together wherever they go, both boys coming to pick you up at the entrance of your house and leaving you at the same even when classes are over! This pair makes sure you're in one piece by the end of the day.

The races to determine the unnecessary speed between you are never lacking. A few meters to enter the school, Hanma challenges them to a race to see who gets there first and you accept, and as always you do the countdown.

"Alright! in your marks, read-.. HUH?!

And before you know it Hanma took the dirty lead by shooting out first, taking the lead and leaving you biting the dust

"STOP, STUPID CHEATER!"

You run in search of him screaming complaints between laughs trying to reach him while Kisaki just keeps walking at his pace like the normal person he is, catching up with them minutes later.

At least three times a month they attend karaoke together. They try to use all the power of friendship possible to convince Kisaki to go together, trying not to upset him with his nonsense the previous days. After two attempts, the blonde accepts, renting the most minimal time rate they have to stop listening to the stormy concerts that you and Hanma give it.

It's natural for Hanma to bother you every day, almost as if that's his mission in this life. Sometimes it makes you very angry, is Kisaki who intervenes asking to stop. But once both stoics made you cry out of pure rage so you stopped talking to them for a whole week. They both spent that time following you around in silence and apologizing by buying your favorite sweets.

Hanma accompanies you to almost any nonsense you can think of, until it puts the three of them in a bad position. The bicolor loves the adrenaline rush, but if he feels that his asses can end up in difficult problems to handle he absolutely aborts the mission.

H&K are your protectors. Whether with intimidating looks/postures or verbal threats, both guys make it clear to everyone that you are their best friend and they can't try any moves on you. Yes, that's the way they are.

That's why Valentine's Days were really sad for you because, for some alien reason, you didn't receive any gifts or letters that day. Much less declarations of love or anonymous confessions. NOTHING. And the reason is that in reality, H&K were furtively responsible for eliminating (not literally) anyone who tried to make any move on you regarding the date, the two allying themselves to scare away and intimidate.

"I'm sorry, brat" explains the bicolor blocking the way to the classroom to the boy one grade below you "this girl is already busy"

"B-but I-"

"And don't try anything behind our backs, or you won't want to regret it later," Kisaki muttered, making the poor trembling boy pass out loud saliva when he clattered his knuckles noisily.

This is how your two best friends were always there to comfort you and fill that void of the day with walks or gifts only from them.

The three of them would run away from classes, but only when they are extremely bored of listening to the teacher.

H&K care a lot about your health, even if it doesn't seem like it. They offer you water or some nutritious drink, buy you breakfast and even make sure that you don't consume a lot of fried foods or sweets.

Their jobs are close to each other, so it's easy for the three of them to meet at a specific place and then stop by for a drink or just walk home.

—(+) platonic facts!

The first time H&K saw you wearing a swimsuit for a beach meet-up that you organized with your friends, they gasped. Kisaki felt that her face would explode because of how good your body looked while Hanma quickly glanced at you every time you passed by him.

H&K are the kind of guy in love who contemplates you at every opportunity he can. Kisaki by his observant and discreet nature manages to spy without being seen by anyone while Hanma does it blatantly without caring if it's very obvious or not. You actually caught him once seeing you, and his reaction was to let out a little giggle and look away when he realized that you caught him. You could notice the soft blush on his cheeks.

They enjoy taking pictures of you doing random things. Especially Hanma (he has a whole album of you and kisaki on his phone), and only occasionally Kisaki warns for a good take.

"Take out your phone, Shuji"

"Huh? And for what the hell-?"

"Look over there, is y/n"

Kisaki points at you covertly, and the two-tone nods, catching his friend's intention as he quickly pulled out his phone. Seconds later the flash does its job. They both smile seeing you captured on the screen.

"Good angle" celebrates the blonde "very cute.."

"Yea' she looks fcking beautiful"

Yes, whether it's taking you or going to pick you up, taking a walk to the park for a while and things like that, at first H&K keep track of which one of the two has to share time with you. That's why it's not uncommon for you to feel that they take turns.

Kisaki would leave you a lot of small gifts throughout the week anonymously because he is embarrassed to deliver them to you in person. At first you thought it could be a stalker with ninja skills because you couldn't catch him in the act, but soon (and in the dumbest way) you found out it was the blond one (I have a little pov for this hc, I'll upload it after this!)

—love interest!

Hanma calls you "baby" most of the time, and would use adorable nicknames like "babydoll" or "fcking princess" just to annoy you. I'm not sure with Kisaki, I think "honey" might work for him. But both of them, without a doubt, call you "darling" a lot of the time.

Hanma, unlike Kisaki, is more concerned about your feminine needs. I feel like he has a sharper sense for that kind of thing. On the other hand, you can safely entrust the financial part to Kisaki because that man will cover all your whims.

Maximum princess treatment with some moments of rough love (the latter courtesy of Shuji Hanma). They like to pamper and pamper you a lot, just allow yourself to enjoy it.

On dates YES OR YES the three of you go together. And the one who is usually planning spontaneous outings is Hanma. For more important events that require more planning (such as special dates) Kisaki takes care of, for the rest of the outings/appointments he just gets carried away by the rhythm of you two.

Their plans for an intimate afternoon is to warm up the three of them together between sheets and sweets while watching eternal marathons of movies or documentaries (hanma falls asleep after two films and you always wake him up before the marathon ends so that Kisaki doesn't notice).

Their first date as official couples was at an amusement park by your decision. It was quite an exhausting day for the three of them but they would be able to repeat it a thousand more times if with that they manage to see the exact definition of happiness in each other's smiles again.

When you and Hanma start a tickle fight, you run away in the direction of Kisaki's private studio hiding behind him because he never allows Hanma to enter that place. And you know it very well. That place is your safe zone. But once you take one foot out of there your immunity ends, and Hanma makes sure to get revenge by cornering you between the sofa and him with no escape option. Kisaki gives a soft smile when he hears them laughing in the distance.

At the same time, you and Hanma are good partners, teaming up as an unconscious act to make fun of anything Kisaki says or does.

Broadly speaking Kisaki in a refined, calculating, thoughtful, more elegant and formal type than any ordinary person. In this way he manages to keep his surroundings (and his inner world) under control and at peace. But unfortunately Kisaki can not go against the hyperstimulated souls of their partners. So when a situation in which his presence is completely protagonist and necessary gets stressed. Specifically because the ideas you and Hanma come up with can become terrifyingly exhausting for him. Going to fairs, concerts, parties, birthdays and similar events these are some examples.

Kisaki harbors a buttery side that melts faster when she's resting in your arms, whether you're stroking her hair or listening to her thoughts out loud. Not with this he says that he loves you more than Hanma, only you transmit to him a greater warmth and security compared to the noisy and annoying immature actions of the languid boy. Hanma, in turn, gets cheesier when she's alone with you. He feels that he can release his more cloying cuteness with you because he knows that you tolerate that kind of treatment more, and that you are not going to reject him or get irritated like it happens when he tries to be the same way with Kisaki. Still, none of you have preferences, all three of you love each other equally.

Hanma shows them how much he loves them and how important they are to him by spending quality time together: walks in the fresh air, outings to eat, watching movies at the cinema or at home, playing with board games/video games, etc. Anything that allows him to share his time with the two of you he will put into practice. Kisaki, on the other hand, applies physical contact: hands on the waist, caressing sessions, linked fingers, kisses on random areas of the body, massages, etc. In these ways Kisaki tries to convey to both of you all the love and appreciation he feels for you two, showing you a side that he doesn't have with anyone else.

Of course, this pair is a dangerous bombshell of jealousy and possession. Oh yeah, anyone who tries to step out of the line or even flirt with you won't have any functional organ or limb left to tell about it.

They also don't like to share you with others, no matter if it's your family or friends. Hanma is the most impatient and impulsive of the three, he won't even spend two hours when he's already holding your hand to take you with him and get you out of wherever you are without letting you properly excuse yourself. Kisaki is more patient and serene, entertaining his mind with other things until he can't stand it anymore and demands that you return by means of a call or he just goes to look for you. You better not ignore this couple when jealousy gets the better of them, or you're not going to have a great time afterwards.

©2024 ／ ENJOY ♡ — aaaand I was finally able to finish it, I was too busy with classes 🥲🥲 I'll keep writing more about this trio eventually. Thank u for all your love and patience 🙌🏻 tkm

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers hanma #tokyo revengers kisaki #tokyo rev #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokrev #tokrev headcanons #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev kisaki #tokrev hanma #shuji hanma #hanma shuji #hanma shuji headcanons #hanma x reader #tetta kisaki #kisaki tetta #kisaki tetta headcanons #kisaki x reader #kisaki x hanma #kisakixhanmaxreader #anime games #anime x you #pov #x reader

[comradekatara]

Can you go a bit more in depth about your post about Sokka in the Burning Rock episode? You said that it was basically his suicide mission, which I agree with. I'd really like to hear more of your thoughts on it.

okay yeah i mean i'm sure i've covered all these points before extensively because i love weaving a tapestry of sokka's fucked up psychological landscape more than anything in the world, but every so often someone will comment on one of my posts and be like "i think you're reaching i think sokka is the paragon of mental health actually" and i'm just like um. did we not all watch the boiling rock. did we just ignore the apotheosis of sokka's entire character arc. like katara's apotheosis in "the southern raiders" is both very overt and impactful and also, arguably, subtler than sokka's, because they don't explicitly spell out the themes every five seconds, but like. if you didn't watch the boiling rock then you cannot understand sokka. and weirdly enough i also believe that zuka shippers are the biggest culprit of this despite this episode being thee zucchini episode because they somehow still have the audacity to characterize sokka as "goofy sunshine who exists to comfort zuko" when like. the entire point is that sokka is legitimately suicidal here and zuko is doing everything in his power to support him thru what is quite literally a mental breakdown. like their relationship is legitimately interesting i don't understand how people have taken that and made it deeply boring.....but i digress.

the boiling rock is quite obviously sokka at his lowest. the worst thing that could ever happen to him – fumbling a mission that was squarely his responsibility, from its conception to its execution, due to not being able to sufficiently compartmentalize his emotions, leading to the mass imprisonment of most of his comrades, including the men of his tribe whom he idolized his entire life and felt immense pressure to live up to, including his father who he is deathly afraid of disappointing (for reasons that have nothing to hakoda being malicious or neglectful in any way, fwiw), and thus being directly implicated in the failure and the harm caused by said failure – happened. sokka is someone who is especially bad at dealing with failure, because a) he is exceptionally talented, and thus has less experience dealing with failure in both minor and major ways, and thus lacks the emotional resilience developed through the process of struggle and growth that normal people (such as, incidentally, zuko) go through and b) to sokka, whose primary desire at all times is to protect and provide for others in any way he possibly can, for someone else to sacrifice themselves for him constitutes a fundamental disruption to the order. there is a perverse wrongness to kya or yue or hakoda or suki making sacrifices on their own volition, because it means that sokka has existentially failed to protect them by martyring himself. like, he somehow feels so guilty about suki being imprisoned that when azula reveals this piece of information to him, it literally distracts him from his own mission. and mind you, there's absolutely no way sokka could have known or been responsible for suki's imprisonment. but he still feels guilty nonetheless. and azula knows that, knows exactly how to twist the knife to make him break, because, well, it's honestly pretty obvious.

sokka obviously cannot retroactively save his mother or his first girlfriend, but he can save his father and his current girlfriend. in "the awakening" aang says he has to restore his honor after the guilt and shame of his failure in ba sing se (aang is also an incurable gifted kid perfectionist, btw, as is azula. posts for another time...) and sokka repeats zuko's line again in this episode, after experiencing the guilt and shame of his failure during the eclipse. the driving motivation of zuko's entire character, feeling like he has failed in some ontological way and must therefore redeem himself or die trying, is reinforced through aang and sokka's respective experiences mirroring that drive. aang goes out in a storm and nearly drowns to redeem himself in some vague, nebulous way, because he isn't thinking rationally. and likewise sokka, who usually always has a plan and always thinks things through, feels that caution and foresight is pointless, because he came up with a genuinely brilliant invasion plan and it didn't work, so clearly there's something wrong with him (just as he always suspected) and no amount of planning even matters, because he's a capital F Failure and always will be. and so he vows to save his father, as he promised him he would when they parted on the day of black sun, or die trying, because if he can't even do that then what is he good for; at least he'll die a martyr, which to him, is basically his ideal situation. because to sokka, dying as a martyr is basically the highest form of fulfilling his purpose (being needed, protecting people) and so if he dies a martyr, then maybe his catastrophic failure (that is entirely his fault and rests squarely on his shoulders btw) can be forgiven. so his plan is basically just to sacrifice himself for his father so that he can die "redeemed." very normal, rational, healthy behavior, i would say.

sidenote, i also see people claim that "the boiling rock" makes sokka look stupid because why wouldn't he take any of the insanely talented benders to a prison in a giant volcano surrounded by a boiling lake, and it's like. sokka literally admits that he's not being rational, that he doesn't think he's going to survive this, that this is not a good idea. it would go against sokka's entire modus operandi if he brought the children who he feels a deep, presiding responsibility to protect on a suicide mission that he's lowkey hoping will fail (because he not so secretly loves courting death. it's like she's the moon or something). he only lets zuko come with him because he doesn't actually care whether zuko lives or dies at this point. sokka has absolutely no faith in zuko whatsoever (and frankly, why would he, zuko has yet to actually prove himself to him. he didn't even kill combustion man; sokka did) so he has no idea that zuko is actually going to be helpful and supportive in a meaningful way. and frankly, if he had known that at the beginning, or even remotely liked zuko as a person, he probably wouldn't have caved so easily when zuko invited himself to join. if he didn't think that zuko was objectively worse than him and basically worthless as a human being, i doubt he would have let himself be so vulnerable with zuko in the first place. meanwhile zuko is eating it up bc he's like "omg he's confiding in me he's letting me help him we're basically besties" because he doesn't actually know sokka well enough to realize that sokka doesn't actually do that shit with people he remotely respects. shit like "my first girlfriend turned into the moon" and "i had a feeling this was going to be a one way trip" are simply not things that sokka would say out loud 98% of the time. the fact that he is admitting something real is not a testament to the trust he places in zuko, but rather the opposite. sokka spilling his guts (you know, for him) to his resident collateral damage, sokka bringing his lovingly crafted space sword on this mission, sokka not even confirming whether or not his father is actually there beforehand – he's simply stopped giving a fuck, he doesn't care whether or not he lives to see another day, because to him, he has nothing left to lose.

but of course, that also isn't true at all. i mean, for one thing, zuko still needs to teach aang firebending, so he does serve a pretty important function to the group, and zuko simply telling him to do hot squats in his absence does not qualify as significant tutelage. but also, even more importantly, sokka is integral to the fabric of the group. when he's gone for a day in "sokka's master" they literally all just shut down and start complaining about how much they miss him (we don't actually see any b-roll of the gaang hanging around the western air temple because the episode is simply too busy for that, so who can say whether the same thing occurs twice). sokka cannot afford to simply die just because his first plan failed, he still has a major responsibility to his friends. fucking idiot. i've said before that sokka has the emotional resilience of like. a pathetic wet newborn kitten caught in the rain. but like, come on man. i mean, as someone who has also suffered from debilitating perfectionist issues and never had to be responsible for a failed military invasion that cost my people their freedom, i do get it, but still. not his best moment. although there is something genuinely admirable about the fact that after he finds suki, he decides that saving suki is enough, and genuinely does want to succeed in his mission going forward. like his love for suki is one of the only things that consistently makes him happy and makes him forget that his greatest dream in life is to be murdered, and that's so beautiful to me.

the entire point of this episode, by the way, is that sokka is wrong. if that isn't obvious. sokka's entire worldview, that he only has value insofar as he exists to provide for others, and if he fails to protect people in any capacity, he has fundamentally failed to uphold the one reason he even exists on this earth, and thus he does not deserve to exist unless he is bearing the weight of everyone's suffering or otherwise proving his worth through sacrificing himself for others, is um. fucking stupid???? and incorrect. and stupid. the thing is, unlike zuko, sokka can't really point to any one person who taught him to see himself this way. he can't just face his father and tell him that his abuse was cruel and wrong, because hakoda is a good father who has never not supported and believed in and encouraged him, done everything in his power to protect him, loved him unconditionally. hakoda has inadvertently damaged sokka's psyche in various ways, of course, but never with any intention to hurt him. like, ozai tried to kill zuko, on multiple occasions. it's a pretty obvious indicator of the primary source of harm in his life. but sokka is equally if not more Unwell, and there's no one single figure he can blame, because his complex lies within a tangled web of what my best friend fanon calls the "massive psychoexistential complex" of the colonized subject. he is being dehumanized not through interpersonal abuse, but through the violent logic of imperialism. sokka's formative traumas inform his psychology as he understands that he only has value insofar as he is protecting the people he loves (namely his sister) from being murdered by imperialists, much like his mother did. and that logic is continually reified through the violence he is being subjected to, until he truly absorbs the belief that his life has no value on its own, that he is genuinely Less than [human] in some fundamental way. which is obviously deeply tragic, but also lowkey kind of comical because he also happens to be the specialest boy in the world, who literally did come up with multiple working escape plans at the world's most secure supermax on the fly, mind you! but whenever anyone tries to point that out, including piandao literally saying "you're the most exceptional and worthy person i've ever met in my life" sokka is just like "um. that is incorrect actually." like NO ONE should depersonalize themselves and feel that their only value lies in their ability to serve and sacrifice themselves for others, but it's especially ironic that sokka literally does not think he has any value as a human being, and yet he is also objectively exceptional. like, do you understand why i adore this character so much. do you.

anyway. the point of this episode isn't that sokka has worth because he's exceptional, either. that's lowkey the point of "sokka's master," but also a) sokka doesn't really internalize it and b) the more important part of the episode lies in how much the gaang just misses his company because they miss their neurotic control freak big brother who makes bad jokes. but even if he couldn't come up with multiple working escape plans on the fly, suki and zuko still stay by his side anyway because they care about him. they are demonstrating that they would risk their safety and possibly even their lives, in the exact way that sokka is always trying to for everyone else, for him. that sokka doesn't need to be the one who always protects everyone else, and that he isn't a failure for letting people who care about him help him and protect him. and sokka has to accept their help, because suki and zuko are simply too stubborn not to force him into letting them support him. they are standing in a literal maximum security prison in the middle of a volcano and they are still choosing to prioritize sokka's mental health and wellbeing, which is honestly crazy, but also exactly what he needs in this moment. suki has known sokka for what, 3 days maximum? yes they're soulmates but like, girl get up. and in zuko's case, "girl get up" is magnified tenfold, because he literally risked his life to go with him to the boiling rock (also largely motivated by the guilt of not being able to stage his own prison break with iroh, but still!) and let himself get imprisoned despite being the fire nation's most wanted criminal, stayed by sokka's side no matter what including getting thrown into a literal torture chamber for him, jumped across a gaping boiling chasm with no guarantee that he'd survive except for the implicit expectation that sokka would catch him on the other side. like zuko is so fucking pussywhipped and sokka didn't even value him as a human being until like halfway through their entire mission. insane.

in conclusion: "the boiling rock" is a beautiful story of the most mentally ill boy on the planet (he took first place ever since jet died rip jet forever in our hearts), and his two ride or die bitches who he met like yesterday, and also his dad, and a casual homophobe named chit sang, all working together to demonstrate to him why killing yourself is a bad idea in most cases, probably. it's also the story of the most insane dyke drama of all time, but that's for another post (of which i have of course made multiple, most recently, here). i said it's the apotheosis of sokka's arc, and by that i mean it's the most overt acknowledgement of what his fundamental issue is, and the first steps one must take in actually resolving it (namely, accepting help and support from your peers and loved ones). do i think that sokka is magically cured after returning from the boiling rock? no, probably not (in fact, because i'm somewhat sick & twisted myself, i like to imagine that once the war ends, he actually gets worse). but he does seem genuinely happier after they return. and maybe that's just bc kyoshi warrior pussy hits different, but like. he was able to rely on others for help (including mai my best friend mai) who supported him unconditionally and prevented him from simply giving up, and that's so incredibly important. that kind of support is always important, to everyone, of course, but as we've established, it's especially important to sokka specifically, at his lowest (quite possibly ever), in this situation. no one has an obligation to risk their life for someone else, but sokka is something who thinks that his purpose is to risk his life for other people (namely katara), and so for people who really have nothing to gain and everything to lose in standing by and promising not to leave without him, to actually show that they support him unconditionally is huge. if sokka has no fans then i am dead and so is suki zuko hakoda toph aang piandao iroh the mechanist etc etc etc. perfect episode <3

#suicide / #writergracethepanda #asks #analysis #sokka #sokkaxsuki #cinematic masterpiece the boiling rock part 2 #(technically i use that tag to talk about maizulee but swagever) #this post is basically just stream of consciousness unstructured rambling so i hope you find it valuable in some way... #at this point i've given up on trying to do Readings of and make Arguments about sokka #and i'm just rambling. i posted a whole fucking. ACTUAL essay about him yesterday and no one read it #but this is not that. this is. who even knows. it's certainly not an ''essay'' #my thesis statement: i love sokka so much #my body paragraphs: hes a weak willed mentally ill fucking IDIOT #just trust me ok. trust the process

[dinogoofymutated]

Hey!!! Thank you again for Remy's one shot, it was amazing!!

I saw that you would like ideas for Cable and Warren, and I may have a few...

Especially for Warren....

I'd love to see Warren and mutant! Reader that "hate" each other, and reader thinks she has no chance with him, so she goes on a date. Warren is jealous and watches over her, and swoops in once the date goes sideways.

Words are said, feeling we shown, and Warren giver the fairytale kiss. (Could end with them going at it on a rooftop...)

Could be sfw or nsfw, either way I'll enjoy it immensely!!! I can't wait to see more of your work ❤️

Sfw! Warren/Fem!reader

OMGGGG UGG I LOVE THIS SM!!! I have a slight obsession with prompts like this- soooo yeah lololol. Oh! Also, I feel like I should mention this is more based off of comic and show warren, and not the version of him from the apocalypse movie. Hope this isnt too OOC!

Tws: Bad date, Warren is kind of an asshole but we love him. Kissing in the rain.

Warren Worthington is a dick. He's always teasing you, snatching your books, and pencils, and really everything you meed and holding it out of reach. He'll thwak you with a wing on purpose, always saying some stupid excuse like "Oh I didn't see you there." When you know damn well he did.

And he's not even like this to anyone else! It's incredibly frustrating, especially with how often he'll just up and completely ignore you to go flirt with Jean- who's still with Scott, might I add! Ugh!

It shouldn't matter to you whether or not he flirts with other people- the guy was clearly uninterested in you. But you just... can't help it. You really liked Warren, more so before this whole event started, when you didn't know him that well but couldn't help but blush at some of the things he did. You knew he could be kind, and he had a sweet side to him despite the cocky persona he's always pushing. (Because is it really a persona at that point?) But he just seemed so out of your league. Around the time you started pulling away from him was when the teasing started up, and to be honest, it had just confirmed your thoughts that Warren didn't like you.

Whatever, though. You'd get over it. You wanted to get over it. And the opportunity was presented to you to do just that. You had been out shopping one day with Jean when a man had approached you- not Jean, but you. It was really surprising, as most men would completely skip over you to talk to your beautiful best friend. You didn't hold any resentment towards her, it's not like she can help it. But when a rather attractive man approaches you, asking you on a date? You couldn't help but be flattered.

    You were excited! Really, really excited for this date. You had put on a cute outfit, even throwing on a little makeup, dresses to impress you know? Plus, your date was really attractive, and for some reason, you felt like you needed to spruce yourself up a little bit to impress him. It had taken you forever to be happy with your look, with Jean reassuring you over and over that you looked perfect and that everything would be fine!

    Eventually, his car pulled up in front of the mansion to pick you up for your date. You only had to glance at the window before you were running down the stairs excitedly. Of course, leaving couldn’t be all that easy, could it?

    “What are you all dressed up for?” You hold in your groan at the sound of Warren’s voice. He’s leaning against the foyer wall, cocking an eyebrow at you with a smirk that makes your heart do something funny. Didn’t change the fact that you kinda wanted to punch him. 

    “If you have to know, I’m going on a date.” You say, rolling your eyes. His smirk drops immediately, but you don't really notice as you put your shoes on. 

    “A date? With who?” Warren Pushes himself off the wall to approach you, grabbing hold of your arm to keep you from running off just yet. You make a face at him, confused and a little annoyed at his attention. 

    “A guy. He asked me out while Jean and I were at the mall, not that you really need to know.” You snark. Warren scoffs at that, looking a little frustrated. He begins to talk again, but he’s cut off by the sound of a horn honking from outside. Your face falls, and your stomach drops at the sound. Your date must be impatient. You don’t like the implications of that. Warren looks angry, letting go of you as he takes a step back.

    “You’re really going to leave with a guy who doesn’t bother to ring the doorbell?” He asks. You can’t find any words to say, feeling a little hurt. You turn away from him, quickly opening the door to leave. Warren can see your face light up a little as you wave at your date, closing the door behind you. Warren’s wings sag a little, left in the foyer looking like a lost puppy without you. 

    “You know, if you were nicer to her you probably would’ve had a chance.” Warren sighs dramatically at the sound of Bobby’s voice, turning to see that he had been watching the whole time, eagerly munching on a bowl of cereal.

    “Can it, dude”

    The fact that you're going on a date doesn't sit well with Warren. There's a pit in his stomach that he can't seem to shake, and when he tried to talk about it, Bobby and Scott just waved him off, telling him he was just jealous- and well, he was. But that wasn't the point! He didn't like that you were going on a date with someone random, or anyone besides him, really. He just had a bad feeling about it all.

    He knows he doesn't really have the right to be as jealous as he was. The two of you weren't together- but at some point, he thought you would be. He liked you. More than friends should. He had for a while, but you started to pull away from him- so he started to do anything he could to get your attention. Sure, he wasn't exactly being nice, but he wasn't being mean. He wasn't trying to bully you or put you down, he was just… teasing. 

     Warren had been couped up in the library as the evening went on, staring out the window with a sigh as it had started to pour. He had been thinking a lot about what Bobby had said earlier, dwelling over it constantly. Normally when he was so caught up in thoughts like this he would fly around the mansion to clear his head, but with the storm outside that definitely wasn't going to happen. He sighs, resting his head against the window while his eyes begin to drift close, but a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.  He sits up a little bit, squinting at first to see whatever it is through the rain. When he finally realizes, it is like he was hit over the head with disbelief. 

...

     The rain was cold. You were shivering as you walked along the asphalt driveway up to the mansion doors, sniffling the whole time. You knew you looked like a mess, mascara running down your cheeks in inky black streams, soaked to the bone without a jacket to keep you warm. The date was a bust. You should have known better. Been smarter. Hell, you should have asked someone else to drive you so that you wouldn’t be stuck in this situation in the first place. Or at least brought your wallet so that you could’ve used the payphone to call someone to come get you. But here you are. You were sad, wet, and despairing over the long walk up the driveway, but at least you were back at the mansion. 

    It’s hard for you to see through the heavy rain, so you keep your head down towards the ground to keep the rain out of your eyes. You don’t even realize that someone had run out to get you until you hear footsteps splash through the puddled driveway. You try your best to wipe the tears from your eyes, praying that they won’t be able to tell with the rain, but it is hard to hide the puffy red face the tears left behind. 

    You don’t really want look look up when you feel the rain stop, already knowing who it is by the sound of his gait. Warren holds the umbrella out to you, and you take it. He has his trench coat over his arm, and he uses the extra hand to wrap it around your shoulders. It’s awfully big on you, but it’s warm and dry, and you're thankful. You wipe at your eyes again when Warren takes the umbrella back, trying hard not to start crying.

    “What happened?” Warren asks. You finally look at him, and the concerned look on his face just makes you feel worse. Your face scrunches as you tear up again, and you look up at the umbrella as you try to avoid the embarrassment. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t really want to say anything right now. But you do.

    “He didn’t know I was a mutant.” You say, voice shaking a little. Although, you can’t help but let out a pitiful laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “He thought that the school was just some place for rich kids. I mentioned it offhand because I assumed he knew- and he didn’t. He wouldn’t drive me home so…” You make a vague motion at your soaking clothes. Warren looks angry. Angrier than you’ve ever seen him before. He opens his mouth to say something and decides better of it. Instead, He wraps an arm around you and begins to guide you back to the mansion. You blush a little at the action, but realize he probably just has to stay close to keep the both of you under the umbrella- not that his wings even fit, by the way.

    “You’re gonna be soaked.” You say, pointing towards his wings. Warren glances back, flexing the limbs just slightly, and shrugs. 

    “I’ll get over it. Wouldn’t be much of a hero if I let a pretty girl walk in the rain, would I?” Warren flirts, sending you a wink. You send him an incredulous look, before bursting out in laughter. Warren gasps, putting a hand over his “wounded” heart. 

     “Seriously? That was a good one, and you’re just laughing?” Warren complains, which only makes you laugh a bit harder. 

    “Oh please, that one was so cheesy!” You manage to say through the laughs. Warren is smiling, and it’s different than the smile he wears when he’s being an annoying jerk. His hair is wet, and his clothes are damp, but to be honest, you really start to understand why they call him Angel. You look away when you realize you’re blushing, but you can’t seem to wipe the smile off of your face. 

    “That guy was an idiot, by the way,” Warren says after a moment. Your smile falls a bit at the reminder of the start of the evening. “He really has no clue what he’s missing out on.” You snort at that, unable to keep yourself from rolling your eyes.

    “You sure have a lot to say for a guy who doesn’t like me all that much.” The words come out before you can really think about it, and you’re caught off guard when Warren stops walking. He doesn’t remove his arm from around your shoulders, but he moves so that he can look at you better.

    “What do you mean by that?” Warren asks, His face twisted in an expression you can’t quite figure out. The question and the seriousness in his tone surprise you, and you don’t quite know how to respond at first.

    “I- Huh?”

    “You don’t seriously think I dislike you, do you?” Warren asks again, worry bleeding through his tone. You furrow your brow in confusion.

    “What?? Warren, you’re not exactly subtle about it.” You mention, and Warren’s recoil is unexpected.

    “Oh my god, you do.” Warren holds his face in his hands for a quick moment, wondering how he had done so wrong. “Why would I dislike you? I literally spend every waking moment trying to get your attention!” You can’t help but let out a noise of confusion, mind working overtime to get the gears working in your head.

    “By tormenting me, you mean.” You say, and Warren vehemently shakes his head.

    “No! That’s not what I…” He begins, but he trails off. He’s trying to figure out something to say. Some way to let you know about how he feels, and his thoughts, but he just can't seem to find the words.

    “Okay then, Prove it.” You eventually say, crossing your arms defensively underneath his coat. Warren frowns at you.

    “What?” He asks.

    “Prove it. Prove that you don’t actually hate me.” You repeat again. You’re not exactly sure what you are expecting him to do or say. To be honest, you half expected him to give up altogether, but you were wrong about a lot of things.

    “I- you seriously want me to show you. Right now.” Warren asks again. You shrug your shoulders in response.

    “Yup.” Warren seems to take a moment for the confirmation to process, and then he smiles just slightly. Like he’s in disbelief about what he’s about to do. Before you know it, warren has dropped the umbrella, cupped your face with both hands, and pulled you into a kiss. 

    You’re wide-eyed for a moment, simply letting him kiss you in your disbelief as the rain pours down on you once again. Your mind still hasn’t quite caught up yet. Warren is kissing you so deeply, so lovingly, that you almost feel like you’re dreaming. He separates from you for a quick moment before kissing you again, this one a little less intense, and finally you find yourself catching up to the situation. You kiss him back, heart thundering in your chest. You can feel Warren physically relax, his wings fluttering just slightly behind him as you fully lean into the kiss, hands latching onto his shirt as you move closer. You feel him sigh into the kiss, and despite the cold rain, all you can feel is warmth. 

    When the two of you finally separate, Warren rests his forehead against yours. His pretty eyes look at you with fondness, and you find yourself wondering how you’d never seen it before. All he really wanted was your attention, didn’t he?

    “...We are so gonna get sick after this.” You mumble, brain still stalling a little bit. Warren lets out a laugh, pulling away to pick up the umbrella again. He pulls you a little closer than before as the two of you finally make it to the front steps.

    “Yeah, Probably.”

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #warren worthington iii x reader #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #x men warren worthington #warren worthington iii #x men angel #x men angel x reader #angel x reader

[animentality]

Do you think Gortash would still love Durge even after their bad ending (you know when they betray Bhaal and choose to surrender themselves to prison at the end) and they’ve gone mad?

For example, let’s say in an alternate scenario where Gortash survives at the end of the game. All the other companions have abandoned Durge, do you think Gortash would step in and try to help them? Do anything?

I've wracked my brain at night thinking about it.

On the one hand, the part of me that looks exclusively at in game Gortash says that Gortash wouldn't love them without power and without reason.

Because the more canon aligned Gortash is more pragmatic than emotional and although I do think his feelings verged into the impractical, he still fundamentally needs balance.

He's a domineering kind of guy, he gets along with Durge because they refused to be cowed in any way by him, and he dared not pity them or treat them with anything less than the utmost respect.

He can't sweep them under his tidal wave of personality, he crashes upon their shore, and they chip away at each other, grain by grain, in a tumultuous but steady balance.

they had a tango, you know. two partners working together. sex and love stemmed from something other than practicality, but it was practicality that brought them together initially.

He loves the Dark Urge for their power and reason, and without those two things... maybe he wouldn't seek them out.

especially not after they betrayed him.

and I don't know. the more assholish Gortash would see their alliance as having reached its inevitable conclusion. the more... emotional but distant Gortash would say, goodbye, old friend.

I wish you could've escaped your master, as I escaped mine.

and he wouldn't see them again.

but canon aligned Gortash is underwritten anyway.

so I'll do Larian's job for them and say...

well.

it could go either way.

I can see Gortash abandoning them because he is literally unable to look upon his former love, completely without freewill, and not feel soul crushing, life ending despair.

I could see it being too painful to see them when he knows he can't help them and they can't be helped by anyone, and they're gone, and he has to accept that.

again.

but I can also see...

a determined Gortash.

who has nothing now, except perhaps a desire for revenge against Durge. but as they are, mad and alone and insatiable, why even bother, right?

Bhaal has tortured them more than Gortash ever could.

maybe he keeps them locked in a basement somewhere, and at first it's just to lord it over them. mock their failure, their inability to prevent themselves from becoming like this.

in the beginning, he's still bitter about his plan failing and he blames them. to him, maybe it's a cosmic justice...

he says you could've ruled the world with me at your side and Bhaal and Bane at our backs.

but you chose this instead.

but as time goes on, his heart softens and he starts wondering if they're in there somewhere.

the only person who could understand him.

whom he could understand truly.

and maybe they're down there somewhere, trying to be understood again.

so he shows them things he hopes they remember about the life they shared together for a brief but important time. maybe books they talked about. blueprints he showed them of his future inventions. their notebooks, left behind. their old clothing, left over after long nights spend fucking and arguing.

maybe he tries to find a cure. he has some medical expertise, right? from dissecting people. maybe he tries to find a solution, some way to bring them back. maybe he pours himself into studies of bhaalspawn and deeper magic, trying to find some way to bring back a person whose mind has been ravaged into nothing.

but worst case scenario ...

he has to give up on all that... and give them the death he knows they would've asked for, had they been conscious.

so.

yeah.

anon. I've thought of it.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash