#but they're both excruciating!!

[bet-on-me-13]

Captive AU

So, the GIW has been around for a while.

Ghosts have been a problem for centuries, the US Government wouldn't have waited until the 21st Century to figure out a way to deal with them, so the GIW has been around for years. And the general Public knows about them, it's a common household name like the FBI or the CIA. They are simply seen as another government organization doing its job, no need to care about the Ghosts they capture, they're Non-Sentient anyways.

Over the years of their existence, they have acquired their own little prison full of Ghosts. And among that collection of Ghosts, 4 stand out.

Because they are somehow Ghost-Human Hybrids.

The first was captured a while before the others. A College Student studying Ectology had been admitted to the Hospital after a Lab Accident, where he had been diagnosed with an, as of yet, unknown and incurable Disease. He had Green Boils popping up all over his Face, and he was in excruciating Pain.

The GIW had sent a team to investigate, and they had found that the College Student was slowly transforming into some type of abomination. He was still partially human, but he was also partially a Ghost. They had him declared Dead and shipped him off to a Blacksite Facility to be experimented on.

...

The Second One came about 10 years later. Coincidentally, it was very similar circumstances. The very same pair of scientists who had been acquainted with their previous subject had just admitted their 5 Yr old son into a local Hospital. He had been in a Lab Accident that had stopped his Heart for a few minutes, and out of curiosity the GIW had sent a Team to investigate.

And what did they find, but a perfect recreation of their favorite Test Subject.

They declared the Child Dead, and sent him off to the same Facility they kept the other one in.

...

The 3rd of the Hybrids was actually created in a GIW Lab, 3 Years Later. In an experiment to see if the Hybrids condition could be recreated, a GIW Scientist had taken the DNA of the 2 existing Hybrids and had cloned them.

Of the Test Batch of 15, only 1 Subject survived. It was deemed only a Partial Success, because while they did manage to create a New Hybrid, it was Unstable and prone to melting if overexerted.

They placed it in the same Containment Unit as the other 2, and left it at that. No more Cloning Experiments had been conducted afterwards since the project was deemed an overall Failure.

...

The 4th and Final Hybrid was found in Gotham City of all places, 2 years later.

A GIW Operative had been visiting Family when their Van's Ecto-Detector had gone off. Soon after that they found the Subject in an Alleyway, seemingly disoriented from its recent awakening.

DNA testing had revealed the Hybrid to be deceased Jason Peter Todd, the adopted Son of Bruce Wayne who had been killed 6 Months Prior while studying in Ethiopia. By the Scientists Best Guess, an Anomoly in Space-Time had caused a Natural Portal to open right on top of the Teenagers Corpse, fusing his Deceased Body and nearly formed Ghost into One.

They shipped the Teen off to the Blacksite, and placed him in the same Containment Unit as the others.

...

So now the GIW have 4 Hybrids, all created from different circumstances, all different ages.

One was formed from the Slow Death of a College Age Student, after a Lab Accident had flooded his system with Pure Ectoplasm.

One was form from the Instant Death of a 5 yr old Boy, after a Lab Accident had flooded his Body with a dimensions worth of Ectoplasm.

One was created in a GIW Lab in a Cloning Experiment. She was created to be 3 Yrs Old upon Birth, and was Unstable as a Result.

One was created from the Fusion of a Long Dead Teenage Corpse and a nearly formed Ghost, in a random Space Time Event that forced both together.

...

All the Halfas are basically a Family together. Vlad is the oldest, at around 35, and takes the Paternal Role.

Danny and Ellie are the Kids, and are 10 and 5 respectively.

Jason is the Oldest Child, and takes his Older Brother role very seriously. He is 15 when he is brought in.

They all take care of eachother, through all the experiments and tests the GIW force them through.

One of the most common experiments is to have them battle the other Ghosts in Captivity. Although that is just a thinly veiled dog fighting ring that the GIW scientists like to Bet on. Sometimes they are put up against eachother, but they refuse to fight until they are electrocuted into submission.

They were also forced to Push all of their Powers to their Limits every day, just so the Scientist can see how they are growing. This had drained them, since they only got the absolute minimum amount of Ecto to survive off of, and they were forced to use it all up every day.

This goes on for 3 more years.

...

Until the day when the GIW messed up.

During one of their Constant Dog Fights, they had made the mistake of putting two Electricity Core Ghosts against eachother. The resulting battle had created an Electromagnetic Wave that fried all systems in the entire Facility.

It was a Disaster. Dozens of Scientists were killed when the Door Locks failed to contain the captive Ghosts, and even more were injured when a few of the Ghosts managed to break into the Armory on Base.

It was only hours after the whole ordeal was Finally quelled that they realized that their most Valuable Test Subjects were missing.

Vlad, Danny, Jason, and Ellie had taken the chance to run away during the commotion. Vlad had unfortunately been injured during the escape, and Ellie had been forced to use her powers causing her to destabilize a little, but all in all they had managed to escape on one piece.

But now they were fugitives on the run from the Government, with an injured adult and a sick child.

Jason had an Idea though. While he didn't have very clear memories of his life, a side effect of his late resurrection, he did remember that he used to live in Gotham. And they all remember researchers grumbling about how their scanners always malfunction when they passed nearby Gotham.

So, Jason led his little Family to the most Familiar place in the city he could think of.

Crime Alley.

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dcxdp #Dc x dp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #GIW #Guys In White #Ghost Investigation Ward #The GIW is actually Compent #They have been around for years #They capture Vlad when he is first admitted into the Hospital #They catch Danny when he is admitted into the hospital as well but as a 5 Yr Old #They make Ellie and keep her in Captivity #And they Catch Jason the same day he is revived as a Halfa #Just to clear up the Ages #Vlad was captured at 20 and is released at 38 #Danny is captured at 5 and is released at 13 #Jason is captured at 15 and is released at 18 #Ellie is a bit more complicated #She is Born as a 3 yr old #She is physically 8 but actually 5 when she is released #The GIW was seen as a good thing for decades by the Public #So even the JLA agreed that the Ghosts needed to be locked up #The JLA is horrified when JLD tells them that Ghosts are both Sentient and Sapient #Especially since the GIW researchers they question seem to be oddly defensive about the whole thing #The GIW knew all along but they kept it a secret because they are assholes #Jason leads his little family to Crime Alley #He finds a few good hiding spots for his family and eventually decides to start helping out around the neighborhood

[pellucid-constellations]

My Everyday

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate. 

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Minor injury, idiots in love <3, some angst, pining

a/n: My first fic in a century!! Thank you so much for reading if you’re still here. Depending on how this does I hope I’ll have motivation to write more! College athlete Bucky never fails to get me inspired :)

Masterlist

~~

“What’s this punks name again?” 

The breath you let out was long and excruciating. “I am not repeating myself.” 

“C’mon, y/n,” Bucky whined, knocking his head back on the couch. He watched you bustle around the kitchen from his inverted vantage point. “How the hell am I supposed to swoop in and save the day if I don’t even know the kid’s name?” 

“Okay, well, first of all—” the fridge door clicked shut with a swift motion of your hips “—he’s not a ‘kid’. I’m pretty sure he’s a few months older than you.” 

“Semantics.” 

“And second of all,” you stressed, pointing a butter knife in his direction. “There will be no ‘swooping in’. I’m going to have a nice date and you are going to go hang out with your puck rabbits or whatever they're called. There will be no thinking about me and no swooping in my vicinity.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, kicking up from the couch and rounding the kitchen counter to pick at your sandwich. You knocked his hand away several times, but you both knew it was futile. In the months you’d been living with the hockey player—who was far too big for the small, shoebox of an apartment you leased—you’d learned that food was non-negotiable for Bucky Barnes. 

There were many other things you’d learned about him as well. He sang in the shower, but only when he thought you weren’t home. He had an annoying penchant for using your $30 lotion—again, when he thought you weren’t home. And he loved to throw his massive, smelly gear just about anywhere it would land right when he got home from every practice. 

He didn’t really care if you were home for that last one. 

Bucky was the last person you thought you would be rooming with when you posted that ad last summer. A small, quaint room previously occupied by your now engaged (and traitorous) best friend, you assumed someone like-minded to yourself would have taken you up on your offer. The price point wasn’t egregious and the building was relatively close to campus. 

But weeks ticked by, and you started getting desperate. Your landlord wasn’t a nice lady, something you were positive she took pride in, and she decided that a rent increase was the perfect way to ring in the new school year. You were on the verge of destitution, and as it so happened, the only other person as desperate as you was the starting center for your college’s hockey team. 

You hardly got along. It had taken weeks for your eye to stop twitching every time he tumbled through the front door at three in the morning, and even longer for you not to feel an infuriating aggravation at his random, nighttime smoothies. You supposed he probably felt the same about your cleanliness rules and your incessant reminders about trash days. Because Bucky was in charge of bringing the trash down those long, apartment steps. Not you. 

But you’d be lying if you said things hadn’t gotten easier as of late. Conversation flowed more smoothly, things that made you seethe before were only mildly annoying, and Bucky was being… considerate? You weren’t quite sure what to call the random cups of coffee he brought home on occasion. Or his sudden urge to warm up your car when he had a morning class before yours. 

There was also the case of that party last weekend. A frat party with far too many drunk men and not enough common sense, you had had the urge to leave the second you got there. But Wanda had dragged you along for the sole purpose of driving her home after she got hammered, so you were essentially stuck. 

It was fine at first. Hot and crowded and loud, but fine. You kept a general eye on Wanda and scrolled aimlessly on your phone in the armchair you claimed. And then it wasn’t fine, because a man twice your size was encroaching on your space and unrelenting. 

“What kinda girl comes to a party and doesn’t even wanna talk to anyone?” 

“You want to come up to my room and watch a movie or something?” 

“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch.” 

You weren’t even aware that Bucky had been at that party. It wasn’t surprising—the line between fraternities and sports was blurred at your college—but the space he took up as he intercepted the man in front of you was.

~~

“There a problem here?” Bucky posed, crossing his arms over his chest, his presence looming above your seated position. His weight shifted to his toes.

The man didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you. Move.” 

“Wanna fucking tell me what to do again?” 

“Fuck you, man.” 

A harsh shove to Bucky’s chest was all it took for a right hook to echo in the living room of the frat house. There was chaos. Grunts and screams from the drunk people surrounding the unnecessary fight created a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to get the attention of someone in charge. The man—Brian, you had now learned based on screams—was pulled back from Bucky and getting chewed out by some president or manager of something. 

And Bucky was seething, chest rising and falling laboriously as he wiped at the new bruise forming on his face.

Fights were not uncommon. But this one had been about you. For you.

“Bucky?” you asked when the crowd calmed and Brian was no longer in the room. 

You watched his back release its tight coil. He turned. “Are you okay?” 

The words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd, but he was close enough that they created a tactile vibration across your skin. His pupils were dilated and he looked so disheveled it would have been charming if there wasn’t also a cut forming on his brow. 

“Y/n.” 

It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t answered him. Your response fell out of you as if you’d been shoved. “I’m—I’m fine.” 

He grunted, but it was more of a puff of air. “The fuck was that guy?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied, realizing by the way you swayed that you had stood up at some point. “He just—” 

“We’re going home.” 

“What? I can’t, I’m here with Wanda. I’m driving her, Bucky, I can’t just leave.” 

He grabbed your wrist, the grip achingly soft compared to the blows he was landing minutes before. “She left with that British guy she’s been on and off with. Asked me to tell you.” 

That explained his random appearance. Your brows pinched as you took in the information, eyes cast down to the angry red marks marring Bucky’s knuckles. He’d been in fights before. So many fights. On the ice. 

This was different. 

“I haven’t been drinking—I can drive myself home. You don’t have to leave,” you shouted over the music now bumping in the room. 

He didn’t respond, not verbally. He pulled you to his front instead, leading you through the impossible crowd until cool night air began melting into your skin. His silence was strange. Bucky’s favorite activity was talking your ear off until you told him to shut up, but right now… nothing. Even his earlier words had been clipped. 

You felt responsible for easing the tension in the air as Bucky continued to guide you to your car. You hadn’t told him where you parked, but he seemed to know the exact location anyways.

“You really don’t have to leave with me,” you mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything.” 

“It was a big deal.” 

~~

The drive home had been silent. The walk to the door had been as well. Bucky spent a few minutes appraising you in the overhead light of the living room when you got inside, but after that there was nothing. He went to his room and you went to yours. 

There was no discussion about it the morning after, either. Bucky apparently wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, so you respected that. Even now, you ignored the fading cuts on his hands as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Bucky’s next words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Well where’s this dude taking you at least?”

“Ice skating.”

The cough and sudden exasperation was very expected out of the man next to you, Bucky’s next words hardly containing syllables. “Huh?” 

“We’re going ice skating,” you reiterated. You picked up your lunch and headed for the living room, ignoring the slightly heaviness in your chest. “It’s winter and ice skating is festive. The rink on campus has decorations.” 

“Without me? Y/n, you’re gonna let some guy who probably doesn’t even know how to skate—” 

“Bucky—” you attempted to interrupt. 

“—drag you around the rink like a rag doll?” he continued, holding his hand up to mute your incoming speech. “I’ve asked you to come by the rink, like, a ton of times. You’ve never shown any interest.” 

You rolled your eyes and shot him a cross look as he picked your feet up from where they rested on the couch and dropped them into his lap. He went on with his rant for a little while longer, knocking his head back against cushions and accusing you of being a bad roommate. You had a few rebuttals of your own, but there was a reason you had never accompanied him to the rink. 

A good reason. 

You didn’t date athletes. 

It was true that simply going to visit Bucky at a practice, or letting him be the one to drag you around the ice like a rag doll, wouldn’t mean you were in a relationship by any means. But it would be an extra step. And if you were being honest with yourself, it would only take a few of those extra steps for the irritation you felt towards Bucky to melt into something else. 

And you didn’t date athletes. 

You did not. 

You didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to put up with the cheating, the anger issues, or the crazy schedules. And there wasn’t a single athlete you’d met at your sport-centered university that was willing to compromise on any of those subjects. Especially the cheating. You’d learned that the hard way after dating a lacrosse player for approximately one month before receiving the dreaded DM from a girl you had never met. 

The man hadn’t even given you the courtesy of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. He just admitted to his wrong-doing and shrugged. Shrugged. 

So athletes were not exactly in your good graces when it came to dating. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky cut through your thoughts, patting your shin in impatience. 

You blinked and reoriented yourself, focusing on the hairs that fanned across Bucky’s face. “Of course I am,” you lied. “But my answer is still the same. I’m going on my date and you are not going on my date.” 

He groaned, apparently giving up as he cradled your legs closer to him to lean over and grab the remote from the coffee table. He flipped the channel to ESPN—typical—and you ate your sandwich, silently cursing him. He had a TV in his room. 

“When is it?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had knitted itself into a comfortable blanket over the room. 

“Tonight,” you answered plainly. 

The arms atop your legs tensed. 

~~

The dichotomy of the man sitting beside you was impressive. On one hand, he was so full of himself that he had missed almost all of your conversation starters due to being so transfixed by his reflection in the rink’s glass. He had yet to ask you a single question about yourself and had insisted that the four other girls skating tonight were in love with him. 

On the other hand, he was, quite possibly, the most uninteresting person you had ever met. You were usually very quick to laugh, but every word out of his mouth was almost painful. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, gave you one word answers about anything other than baseball, and was honestly really terribly at ice skating. You were no pro either, but you found yourself on your back every time he tried holding your hand.

The tumble five minutes ago had you seeking out the penalty box on the side of the rink. You needed a break, you had told him, hoping he would continue on making a fool of himself and give you a moment alone. But he followed you instead, and was now sitting beside you, talking about baseball.

You supposed that was better than making you fall while talking about baseball.

“I bet we could do that,” he remarked, pointing out onto the ice and catching your attention. A couple who clearly had more experience than you was twirling each other around. “We definitely could. I pick up good speed.” You cringed. “I really don’t think we should try, Sean. My tailbone is already pretty bruised.” 

“Oh, c’mon! I won’t try the throwing part, just the twisty stuff.” 

“We are literally on rental skates. You will kill me,” you deadpanned. You were tired at this point and seriously questioning why you thought ice skating was a good first date idea. 

Well, there actually was an answer for that. But you were not going to think about the hockey player that popped into your head when Sean asked you on a date in the dining hall last week. 

Definitely not. 

“I’m not going to let my date think I’m boring,” Sean groaned, yanking you up from your seat. 

You gave a few tugs and words of resistance but they were ultimately useless. You figured it would be just as useless to tell the guy you already thought he was boring. He probably wouldn’t even hear you. 

On unsteady skates, Sean guided you to a mostly cleared corner of the rink and gripped your forearms. He squinted as he surveyed the area, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your stomach roll. This entire date had been a bad idea.

“Maybe we should just watch them do it,” you tried, words wavering. 

“No!” he grinned. “No, we got this. It’s gonna look so cool.” 

And then you were spinning. You’d never been spun against your will before, but it sucked. Your skates kept getting stuck in the divots in the ice and the grip on your forearms was close to bruising. You were starting to get dizzy and Sean showed no signs of caring. God, he really was dragging you around the rink like a rag doll. Bucky was going to get a kick out of this.

“Okay, ready?” Sean called, an unwarranted jubilation in his tone. 

“What?” you yelled. 

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he let go, and you went flying in another direction without a clear path. It only lasted a moment, but the sound of your head smacking onto the ice signified the end of that movement. You landed on your arm next, and then your back. Again. 

This time felt different though. Your head was spinning and there were muted pinpricks trailing up to your wrist. The ache there was dulled compared to the biting iciness in your back, but as soon as you tried leaning on it to get up, it became sharp.

“Oh shit!” came Sean’s laughter-filled gasp. “My bad. I really didn’t mean to let go.” 

You blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision but it proved unhelpful. “I think… I think my arm’s broken.” 

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, wobbling down to a seat beside you. 

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Everything okay over here?” a voice interrupted. You tried blinking again to take in the man that towered over the two of you, but the lights overhead washed him out. 

You recognized him…maybe? You felt like you were going to throw up. 

Sean answered for you. “Yeah, man, we’re fine. She just fell.” 

“Y/n, are you okay?” the man asked, ignoring your date completely.

“Do I know you?” you slurred.

You thought you heard a curse. “What made you think throwing her around was a good idea?” 

“Dude, it wasn’t even that fast. Or my fault. She just couldn’t keep her feet under her.” 

“Well, dude, maybe you should go home.” 

Sean scoffed. “Right, and who’s going to take this one home?” 

Your head was starting to hurt with all of the back and forth. The man that just joined, the taller one, kneeled down beside you. His blonde hair cast a harsh glare that had you squinting again. 

“You want me to call Bucky?” he asked.

Bucky? How would he know Bucky? Blonde hair began morphing into a man in your memory, and you reached for the material of his shirt, looping it between your fingers.

“Steve Rogers?” you mumbled. 

The man, now identified as Steve, sighed. “I’m calling him. Go home, Sean. Her roommate is coming to get her.” 

There was more discussion, something about Steve having the authority to kick him out and Sean not understanding what all of the fuss was about. Steve warned him about something and Sean scoffed as if the situation was beneath him. And then he left. 

Steve was then in your line of sight again, brows pinched together and a bright orange vest covering his shoulders. His hands hovered in front of you as if you’d break if he touched you and you almost found it funny. Steve was a huge guy with a lot of authority on Bucky’s team, but right now he looked like a scared animal. 

“Why are you dressed like a construction worker?” you asked. 

A small smile graced his face. “I’m working at the rink today. Everyone on the team has to take shifts during the holidays.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed. “I think my arm is broken.” 

“I know. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?” 

You tried to nod, but that hurt too much so you let Steve assist you in shakily standing up. He guided you to the seats by the rental skate counter with a soft but sure hand on your back, asking some guy named Antonio for an ice pack. Everything around you felt like a fever dream. 

Gentle touches rolled the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal a swollen wrist that Steve immediately covered with an ice pack. 

He cursed again. “Well he’s gonna be pissed.” 

“Who?” Your head swayed with the question. 

Steve looked up to meet your gaze, lips parting to answer, when he was replaced by a different face. Your brain was having trouble keeping up with everything, obviously, because Bucky was in front of you now. He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your face and you had no idea where Steve went. 

“What the fuck?” you blurted out. 

“Hey, y/n.” Bucky spoke your name low and soothing, his fingers moving to your eyes where he pried them open one at a time and looked for something you couldn’t see. His next words were directed over his shoulder. “Maybe a concussion. Tell me what happened again?” 

“Sean Marcus was being an ass. Flung her all over the place,” Steve replied. 

“Why are you here?” you interjected, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “I told you not to come on my date.” 

Bucky moved his assessment to your arm next, shifting the ice pack. “Never really agreed to those terms.” 

He turned back to Steve after that, having another discussion that you barely understood. Bucky absentmindedly fiddled with the material of your jeans as he spoke, and you put all of your energy into not face planting on the ground. This past week had truly been a series of terrible events with terrible men. 

After some amount of time elapsed, you were walking to the parking lot with a jacket thrown over your shoulders and Bucky continuously jutting a hand out each time you took a step. He was very well versed in concussions, apparently. 

“Okay, in you go, killer,” Bucky prompted, opening the passenger door. 

You eyed the front seat, scrunching your face up. “My arm hurts.” 

The man in front of you seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping on a long exhale. “I know, sweetheart. But we gotta go to the hospital to fix that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I should just call Wanda. Or Nat. You don’t have to be the one to take me.” 

“I can take you just fine.”

“Why do you want to you? Aren’t you busy?” 

Another long sigh, this one accompanied by hands on your shoulders, fingers at the base of your neck. “Get in the car.”

His eyes were boring into yours, searching for something, or maybe already finding it there. You still had your arm cradled to your chest and you titled your head to the side as you observed him. There was something else to his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. It reminded you of his expression after he came home from a rough game. Angry. Discontent. 

“You’re being weird,” you commented, breaking the silence you had created. 

“You broke your arm and smacked your head on the ice,” he simply replied, as if the statement was an explanation. 

“Yeah, but—” 

“And then that douchebag did nothing about it,” Bucky interrupted. “So please, y/n, get in the car so I can help you before I find him and kick his ass. Because you know I’m not above fighting people.” 

You blinked, and then slid into the front seat. 

The drive was quiet. You’d never been in Bucky’s car before, but the spinning in your head didn’t give you much space to inspect it too closely. You caught hockey gear in the back, a keycard to the rink dangling off the rearview mirror, and a small collection of hair ties in one of the cupholders. One caught your attention.

“Hey, this one’s mine.” You picked up the purple band and rolled it between your fingers. “Thief.” 

Bucky snatched it back. “Mine now.” 

He made a sharp turn that had you sucking air between your teeth and repositioning your arm. Bucky sent you a quick, achingly apologetic look. 

“Sorry, almost there.” A long beat of silence and then a mumbled, “I should keep your hair tie. You won’t be able to do your hair alone with a broken arm anyway.” 

~~

Your wrist was fractured, not broken. You also only had a minor concussion. This was all great news to you, especially since they told you after administering a hefty amount pain reliever. To Bucky, this was apparently terrible, life-altering news. 

After practically body slamming into the front door of your apartment, he chucked his wallet and keys down on the kitchen counter and began grumbling to himself as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets. You watched from a distance, half amused, half concerned for the rusting hinges. He finally found what he was looking for—a cup—and continued to mutter to himself as he filled it with gatorade. 

“Are you… okay?” you asked tentatively. 

Bucky ripped the freezer open and manhandled three to four ice cubes. “I’m fine. You are not.” 

“I’m okay now,” you assured. Bucky stalked over to you anyways, pressing the sports drink into your hand that was not wrapped in a cast.

You looked down at the glass and sent him a baffled look. He nodded at it and raised his brows, a silent demand for you to drink. 

“Okay. And why do I need to drink gatorade?” Your words were slow. 

“You were just on the ice and haven’t had any water for at least three hours.” 

“Bucky,” you began. “I was ice skating recreationally for about thirty minutes. I don’t need to replenish my electrolytes.” 

“Will you just… will you just drink the damn drink?” he groaned, gesturing to it with a firm hand. “Jesus, I can’t take care of you when you go and get yourself hurt by idiots. So just let me do what I know I can do, alright?” 

“You don’t have to take care of me.” You were beginning to raise your voice, matching some of the frustration in the room. 

Bucky threw his hands in the air, tugging at his roots on the way down. He moved further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with stiff, rod-like arms propping him up. And then he sighed, long and profound as if this was the hardest conversation he’d had all year. His head hung heavy between stiff shoulders and you felt the environment shift. 

You almost wanted to intervene on his thoughts again, to make some comment about the dishes in the dishwasher or pretend you were going to go take a nap. But he had something to say, something you needed to hear, and so you stayed. You blinked and clenched your fist in the uncomfortable silence, but you stayed. 

“Y/n, I want to take care of you,” Bucky breathed out, words still directed toward the floor, almost too low to make out. “I’ve been tryna get you to see that for weeks now, but you’ve either got no clue or you want absolutely nothing to do with me.” 

You stopped blinking, stopped fidgeting, stopped breathing altogether. You watched as Bucky drummed his fingers against the counter and still refused to look up. You swallowed hard because you weren’t clueless, but also because you wanted everything to do with Bucky Barnes. 

And nothing at the same time. 

“Bucky…” you began, with a tone of surprise you weren’t sure was believable.

“Don’t do it yet,” he stopped you. “Don’t…don’t tell me no yet. I’m still pissed as hell that you got hurt and you shouldn’t be alone with a concussion. I don’t need you avoiding me when you can’t even drive a car.” 

“You’re being presumptuous.” 

He snapped his head up, his eyes rushing back and forth between your own. The drumming on the counter ceased, instead replaced by balled up fists turning white under days old cuts and fading bruises. He didn’t say anything. You searched the empty air for a reply. 

“I wouldn’t avoid you. I don’t know if I could avoid you—not anymore. You’re sort of a big part of my life now.” A good start, you thought. Not a real answer, but not a rejection. 

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and eyed the drink still perspiring in your hand. You set it down at his observance, moving closer to his slumped posture in the kitchen. 

But Bucky stood up straight at your movement, becoming guarded, stiff. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad timing, just forget it. You should try and get some sleep.” 

“I don’t want to forget it,” you softly spoke, shaking your head.

He clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to hear that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you. Not right now. I feel like I’m going insane, watching you go out on dates and having my best friend tell me that my girl—that’s not really my girl—is all banged up on the ice because of some asshole.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky kept going, now pacing in the kitchen. “I mean, y/n, you’re my everyday. I wake up and you’re making coffee. You text me in class to ask what I need at the grocery store and then I call you after practice to make sure you got back to the apartment. I think about you so god damn much and I can’t believe there was a time in my life that I didn’t get to end my day in a home that has you. And you’re just my roommate. You want nothing to do with athletes, I get it—” he added, catching your eye in the middle of his rant, “—but, shit, I haven’t even looked at another girl since… well it doesn’t even matter.”

“Tell me,” you whispered. There were a million other things you could’ve said, a million explanations that would have made sense. But the two soft words stopped Bucky from tracking holes in the ground. They shoved him from his shallow breaths and made him look at you. 

And, god, did he look at you. You must have been worse for wear. A hospital visit mixed with one too many tumbles onto solid ice probably had your hair in disarray and your face pressed with exhaustion, but his gaze was revering. Candy-coated red with soft blues melting below brows that fluxed with the movement of his lips; Bucky was beautiful, and he was looking at you as if you matched.

His tone confirmed as much, light and saccharin as he said, “That dumb movie a few weeks ago, the one about the superheroes. Your friends wouldn’t watch it with you so you made me. You were so excited even though it was awful and you were out like a light within the first hour. You rolled over onto me and I wasn’t gonna wake you up so I sorta just held you.” 

He paused, trailing his eyes up to the light fixtures. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, it felt like I had you, you know? Like we were going through all our usual motions, but after I annoyed the hell out of you and you told me off, you were mine. I can’t… I can’t really picture that with another girl.” 

There were very few times you had considered yourself speechless. But with Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, red-faced and vulnerable and still wearing the stupid hospital nametag they made him put on in the waiting room, you had no words. There was none of the arrogance you usually associated with him, no short-temper or pestering taunts. It was just Bucky, and he was pouring his heart onto the kitchen floor. For you. 

“You get why you can’t tell me no just yet?” he asked, trying to get something out of you. Anything. “You can break my heart, but let me just make sure you’re okay first. And I can’t beat the shit out of Sean if we aren’t on speaking terms.” 

The laugh that left you was one of disbelief, but the breathiness and accompanying tears fit the heaviness of the room. Your glossy eyes met Bucky’s and something flashed on his face, but it was soon out of your line of sight because you were kissing him. You were kissing him hard and your bodies were too close for the cast between you but it didn’t matter. 

He didn’t respond at first, hand hovering at your back. But then he did and the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor was gone from your bare feet. He sat you on the counter, so gently, as if you were glass, and you let your hand brush against the cracks and divots of your home. The one that Bucky came back to every night to see you. 

The one that had housed so many nights of confusion and longing and denial.

The one that had Bucky kissing the life out of you on the kitchen counter. 

He pulled away first, forehead pressed to yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.” 

“You can do it again.” 

“Oh, I will, baby.” 

Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many instances like the one he shared before where you were left questioning boundaries and feelings and lines. But, you figured, there would be so many opportunities to tell him. So much time together. 

“I texted Wanda that night,” you shared, interrupting the kisses he was pressing to your cheek. “After I woke up and you had taken me back to my room.” 

He smiled against your skin. “What’d you say?” 

“I told her I was an idiot—that I was falling for the enemy.” 

Bucky ran a soft hand along the back of your head, a smirk lighting up his face. He was slotted between your legs and kept his other hand firmly pressed onto the kitchen counter, caging you in, making sure your arm didn’t hit the cabinets. 

“And is that true?” 

“I don’t know,” you hummed, connecting your foreheads once again, wanting to stay impossibly close. “Try to cure my broken bone with gatorade again and we’ll see.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #marvel fanfiction #college!bucky

[ffsg0jo]

tw: grief, death, illness, and angst - i wrote this in like half an hour and i was really in my feels, so pls excuse me if it's bad

uncle sukuna, who's been in and out of jail, is always seemingly in trouble with the law and couldn't give two shits about it. ever since leaving home and his twin brother behind, he's only lived for himself and himself only. he'd be damned if he lets anyone change that.

he receives a voicemail from his brother one day, telling him he's had a little baby boy called yuuji. jin wants to put everything in the past behind them and would love for his brother to meet his precious son. sukuna only scoffs and deletes the voicemail almost immediately.

it's only when jin texts him a video of yuuji (who he's surprised to see almost looks exactly like him, minus all the tattoos) 8 months later babbling what could be interpreted as "papa", does he falter. the kid's adorable, but sukuna isn't ready to face his brother just yet.

many more months go by, and jin seems to have taken the hint. except he gets sent another video, this time on his birthday. he clicks on the video, unable to resist and its yuuji, wobbling on two legs, clapping his hands, and singing his own version of happy birthday (??). he's gotten so much bigger and looks so much like his father.

the only word sukuna recognises from yuujis incoherent nonsense is 'kuna', and his heart softens. he messages back a "cute." and leaves it at that. jin sees the message and doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

jin messages him again a week later, only this time sukuna's heart drops. kaori's dead, and her funeral's next week. he's only met her twice, but she was good for his brother, and she was always good to him too.

he sees his brother for the first time in years at the funeral. jin's hair is a mess, his face unshaven and sunken in; grief seemed to have aged him 10 more years. sukuna's many things, a bad brother included, but something in him breaks when he sees yuuji screaming in his father's arms, not understanding where his mum's gone.

he doesn't know why, but he walks up to jin and offers to take yuuji instead. the toddler immediately calms down in his hold, now more confused as to why there's a man that looks exactly like his dad but with sharpie all over him. jin breaks down, stammering out a thank you, and excuses himself, leaving sukuna alone with his nephew. he'll hunt down his brother later, but for now, he'll keep the brat occupied so his dad can grieve.

sukuna hears from his dad that jin's fallen ill months later. he's speaks to his brother more often now and has even met up with both him and yuuji a couple of times. but jin's never mentioned being sick. he's been looking worse, for sure, but he just put it down to being a single father to an energetic toddler.

he moves in with them the next week. jin keeps getting worse and even little yuuji's noticed.

sukuna tries his best. he really does. he's not been there for jin previously, but he makes sure he's there now when it matters. it's all new to him, caring for people. he tries to cook the most nutritious meals for jin, making sure they're yuuji friendly too. he makes sure the house is always clean, even though yuuji's making a mess every 10 minutes. he changes diapers (both yuuji's and jin's), bathes them both, and tucks them both into bed. he even reads yuuji a bedtime story just to maintain normacly even though he hasnt read since he was a child.

he checks up on jin, constantly seeing if he's feeling okay and gives him his medicine. he holds onto jin with the utmost care (almost carrying him) when they go to visit kaori's grave or when yuuji insists on both of them coming to the park with him. when jin can't sleep at night due to being in excruciating pain, he's there. by his side and holding him. he's never been this affectionate, but he's also never had a dying brother before.

it's still not enough, though. the last couple of days were the hardest, and even yuuji knew enough to be on his best behaviour.

sukuna silently sobs into his pillow at night, when the whole world's asleep. he's filled with regret and hatred for himself, but he knows it's too late now. he tells his brother he loves him and that he promises to take care of yuuji no matter what. jin only smiles, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and tries to kiss his cheek as a thank you, and i love you too.

jin died with one arm holding yuuji, the other holding sukuna's, and his wife's name on his tongue.

sukuna was left all alone, once again. except this time, he had no brother to give yuuji back to. as he promised jin, the stars as his witness, he'd do anything for yuuji and to keep him safe.

his life was no longer his own. he had his nephew to think about.

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

#🌻.sunspell #why did i cry writing this 😭😭 #jjk #jjk writing #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #jin itadori #itadori jin #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #🌻.uncle sukuna au #uncle sukuna

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 2 - A.H

a/n: had sm fun writing this one yall

im so down bad for him ugh

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader flashes hotch AGAIN, drinking on government property lmao, drunk reader, suggestive comments

wc: 3.2k

You were restless, to put it simply. Every conceivable activity within the BAU had been exhausted, and you had explored every nock and cranny of the office, leaving no corner untouched. At this point they should start paying you for tour guides because you'd be an expert.

You were bored, frankly, and lonely--the team had been on a case all week and you were stuck here. How Garcia managed was beyond you--the walls seemed to close in on you as stir craziness took hold. You kept busy with work, offering as much help as possible while staying put, but it really wasn't the same.

You missed the team, and a particular member's absence you felt just a tad more, though you wouldn't admit it. Thankfully, they were supposed to be back any second now. While Penelope had a special place in your heart, the thought of sitting through another round of her and Kevin's awkward flirting was almost too much to bear. Without Hotch to keep it in check, it was all the more excruciating.

"Bye, Kevin," you chimed in unison, your voices intertwining just as the door clicked shut behind him.

Once you were sure he wasn't coming back, you shot Pen a knowing glance, arching an eyebrow as you pointed one of her fuzzy pens at her.

"Ease up on the death stare, will ya?" Penelope chided, as she wheeled her chair back to her computers, her finger twirling towards you. "You get so broody when the boss man's gone."

You lobbed the pen in Penelope's direction. "No," you replied with a huff. "I get broody when the whole team leaves me behind."

"Gasp," Penelope declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Can you believe it? They're genuinely concerned for your well-being. The audacity!"

"Okay, but seriously, what's the bigger priority here--my life or my sanity? Because it's a fine line," you said with a shrug, pushing your chair back dramatically.

But, before the chair could gain any momentum, you found yourself abruptly against the wall, your head cushioned by an unexpected softness. Without a moment to comprehend, your chair was spun, your eyes growing impossibly wide as Hotch's belt appeared abruptly in your line of sight. You raised your eyes to meet his.

"Your life, I would wager," he said evenly, "but then again, I might be a little biased."

You sprang to your feet, too quickly, your foot catching, sending you lurching forward. Almost instantly, Hotch's hand was securing around your arm, preventing you from landing straight on your face.

"Oh, Hotch, sir, hi," you said, flustered and slightly disoriented. "I didn't realize you guys were back."

"We just got back," he said, his hand falling away from your arm, and you hated yourself for how you felt a subtle coolness that replaced the comforting heat of his touch. "Do you have those reports I asked for?"

"Oh, absolutely, they're ready at my desk," you assure. "I'll bring them to your office in a sec."

As he nods and exits, your scoop up your belongings from Penelope's desk, raising a finger. "Don't even say it, Pen."

You ignored the way she cackled as you left, moving to your desk to grab the needed papers. You attention was captured by Spencer and Emily standing by her desk. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around them both, pressing them against you.

"Ugh, I missed you guys so much."

They both laugh, their hands taking you in quickly as you lean against them.

Emily grins, ruffling your hair as she nudges you. "A week away and you're this clingy? We'll have the start weaning you off us, huh?"

"Don't tease," Spencer starts, his hand resting on your shoulder, "But out of curiosity, how many times did you check our desks while we were gone?"

"Too many times to count," you admit begrudgingly, a sheepish grin on your face. As you glance up, your eyes catch Hotch's through the glass pane. "Oops, almost forgot why I came down here."

Approaching Hotch's office, you tap on the door frame and enter. "Here ya go, sir." you offer, extending the documents toward him.

Your fingers lightly touch as he takes the papers, and for a moment, you're rooted to the spot, the brief contact sparking a surge of disarray in your senses. God, it's almost beyond belief that one man could have this kind of effect on you.

Hotch nods his acknowledgement. "Thanks," he murmurs. As you pivot to leave, he adds, "Could you sit down for a moment?"

You cast a teasing look over your shoulder. "I hope I'm not in trouble," you say. His expression doesn't change. "Wait, am I? Because that would definitely be enough to push me over the edge, sir."

"No, you're not in trouble," Hotch assures you. "I've received updates concerning your case."

You lowered yourself into the chair, hands perched in your lap, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. "Please tell me it's good news because I'm starting to forget what my own bed feels like."

"You've been here just over a week," Hotch states, matter-of-fact.

You blow out a breath, arms crossed over your chest. "Hotch, it's scary at night."

He clears his throat, "Anyway, it's good news. We've got a lead on the hitman, though it's not the all-clear you're wanting."

"Well, that's something at least," you concede with a nod. "But I don't get why I can't be involved in this investigation."

As Hotch opens his mouth, you jump in, deepening your voice to copy his. "Because you're too close to it."

He regards you steadily, clearly not amused.

"Yup, okay, I'm done, sorry, I'm leaving now," you relent, getting to your feet quickly and striding towards the door, but a hand beats you to it, closing it abruptly and effectively barricading you in.

With a quick turn, you ended up flush against the door, Hotch's hand resting against the wood just above your ear. You felt like you were short-circuiting, your eyes growing wide as they met his. He says your name, but it doesn't quite register--too engrossed in the heady scent of his cologne, the pressing warmth of his body, the nearness of his chest, so close that an inch's movement could mean a soft kiss to his neck. Not like that would be totally inappropriate or anything.

"What?"

"I said, I'm worried about you."

You wanted to kiss him, man, you really wanted to kiss him. You bit the inside of your cheek to refrain from doing so.

"Why?"

It was barely audible, more air than sound, not daring to disturb the space too much, afraid of him suddenly becoming aware of just how close he was.

"You're very quick to make light of things, to make jokes, but I'm asking you to be real with me here. What are you feeling?"

His hand left the door, settling on your shoulder, his thumb hovering just shy of the hollow of your neck. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning into the gentle pressure.

"That sounded sarcastic, Hotch," you noted, your tongue briefly sweeping across your lips, which seemed to dry out as you talked. "You're not implying my jokes need work, are you?"

His lack of response and narrowing eyes made you cave.

"Okay, fine, Hotch. You want the truth? I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I have nightmares every night? That I can't sleep?"

Your breaths came faster, teeth meshing tightly as you stared up at your boss. His hand found your cheek, his thumb sketching a path across your skin that ignited a trail of goosebumps over your whole body, making you hyper-aware of your every pore.

"What can I do to help?"

Stay with you, kiss you, fuck you--numerous thoughts ran raced through your thoughts, but none of them seemed wholly appropriate.

"N-Nothing, Hotch, really, I'm okay. It's not something that can be fixed, which is why I didn't say anything. Plus, everyone on this team has been through worse. I can handle it. I'm tougher than I look."

"I know you are, but I—," his words were cut short, a sudden knock at the door silencing him mid-sentence.

His hands fell away from you, but the sensation lingered, the heat of his touch seeming to brand you, marking where he had been. You ran a hand through your hair in an attempt regain some form of composure, just as he opened the door to reveal JJ.

Her eyes darted between the two of you, finally focusing on Hotch. "Sorry, guys, I have that footage from the press conference--is that what you needed?"

"Yes, right." Hotch nodded, pulling the door open further for her, then returning his attention to you, observing your flushed cheeks and uneven breath. "We'll continue this later, okay?"

"Yeah," you exhaled sharply before ducking out of the room.

You need to get a grip, or maybe a Xanax, probably both.

Once the office had emptied, leaving you alone, you sat pitifully on your bed. It was Friday, but there was not much cause for celebration when you were stuck here, surrounded by stale office air. You sprawled out on the mattress, tracing the patterns of the popcorn ceiling overhead. If someone didn't figure out this hitman situation, you were going to take him out yourself.

Not really, that would definitely be a death wish. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of muffled shuffling outside your door. Sitting up, you slid into your slippers and stepped out into the hallway.

"There she is!"

You snickered as Penelope extended her arms with jazz hands, while JJ and Emily lifted their arms to show off their wine stash. Gratefully grabbing a glass from Emily, you pulled them all into a group hug. "I can't help but feel like we're about to be the subject of a very specific memo from HR after this."

Giggles from JJ accompanied the wine pouring as you stepped back. "Hotch is surprisingly on board we this—encouraged it even. Can you believe it?"

Warmth dusted over your cheeks at the thought. You wanted to kiss him even more, if that was even possible.

"Trust me," Penelope insisted, shaking her head as she paused for a drink. "I wouldn't dare cross HR again. Once was more than enough."

You wanted to say you were a classy gal, confident in your ability to drink responsibly--it was only wine, after all, not Everclear. But as the night went on, your voice rose a decibel too high, your balance a bit unreliable, and your displays of affection way too unrestrained.

You were already a touchy person, ask any of your team members, but with a few drinks, you're giving high school sweethearts a run for their money in the PDA department.

Your arms were flung around JJ's neck, peppering her cheek with kisses as you sang along to whatever music Pen was playing in between smooches. JJ was laughing, tilting backward on her heels, nearly knocking you both over.

"I love you guys. So so much." you said, each word stretched and muddled as you reached out to Penelope, who happily linked her fingers with yours.

"You are so drunk!" Emily accused, her palms squishing your face as she chuckled.

"'M not," you protested, words stifled by compressed cheeks.

She freed your face to grab more wine, Penelope not far behind, as you situated yourself on your desk chair.

"You know who I also love?" you questioned to no one in particular as you slid your phone out of your back pocket. "Morgan, Reid, Dave, and--,"

You paused, your nose crinkling as you bit down hard on your tongue.

"And?" Penelope pressed, brows raised as she looked at you expectedly.

"Hmm?" You hummed innocently, blowing a kiss her way as you shrugged off her question. "I'm gonna call Morgan."

Your eyes darted down to your phone, only to find the room swirling like a carousel. It took a heartbeat to register--someone's voice was already coming from the speaker.

"Hello? Morgan? How'd you know I was going to call you?"

"It's Hotch."

Your eyes grew comically large, a hand flying over your mouth, smothering the laughter that threatened to fall. "Hotch! It is so late! Why are you calling me?"

You shushed the group with a finger to your lips, the girls' curious eyes on you as JJ practically crawled towards you to eavesdrop.

"You called me." He paused. "Are you okay?"

"Hotch," his name was more of a whine than anything as you tossed your head back. "I'm fine, like, the definition of A-Okay. I'm with my friends and we're all kinds of okay."

You shot Emily a thumbs up.

"Good. Okay." Another pause. "Maybe drink some water, yeah? No more wine."

You gasped. "Agent Hotchner, I am a federal agent of the government. I know when I should be cut off."

"Oh, my god, get her off the phone."

You don't know who said it, but it sent you spiraling into another round of giggles, the phone slipping through your fingers while JJ pounced on it.

"Hey!"

She held up a hand, keeping the device just out of reach.

"Yeah, she's pretty drunk." JJ said, then frowned. "Hotch, listen she's more of a lightweight than we realized." You slumped against the chair. "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

JJ ended the call and placed it back into your hands. "I cannot wait until you remember this in the morning," she sang, before casting a glance to the others. "Also, a heads-up--Will's almost here."

"No!" It came out louder than intended, almost a shout, as you stood, sending Spencer's pens tumbling. "Whoopsie." You latched onto Penelope, murmuring, "Stay here, don't leave me."

Penelope's laughter rang out, her hands cradling your head. "Worry not, I've set the security guy straight--if you get even a scratch, I'll make him regret the day he was born."

"See, this is why you're my favorite," you whispered.

"Heard that."

Will eventually texted JJ, letting her know he had arrived. As the they waited by the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Hotch standing there. A squeal escaped you, matched by his single raised eyebrow surveying your condition.

Your cheeks were painted a rosy tint, hair in a delightful tangle, and your shirt hanging askew off your shoulder--you were an adorable spectacle of disorder, and he found himself suppressing the small smile that threatened to reveal his amusement as the other girls filed into the elevator.

He had made them promise not to leave until he got there, not keen on the idea of you being left alone like this. It might have been an exaggeration, but when you butt dialed him and he heard the sound of your slurred speech it had him envisioning all sorts of worst-case scenarios. Sure, he had seen you drink during team nights out, but nothing like this.

"Hotch!" You shouted, moving to him with a rapidity that might be, well definitely, was ill-advised.

He stood motionless as you looped your arms around his neck. You smelled so nice--a sweet hint of vanilla instead of the anticipated alcohol. After a brief hesitation, his hands slowly found their way to your waist.

"What are you doing here, silly?" You ask, pulling back just enough to see his face. "Wait a second, please don't say we have a case."

A subtle smile played on his face, his hand not budging from your back. "No, there's no case."

"Oh, good," you murmured, your head bobbing lightly in approval. The light touch of your fingers at the base of his neck spread a warmth through him. "You want a drink? I think there's still some wine left."

"No, I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat and taking a step back. "I think you need to get to bed."

Your hands lingered at his neck, softly exploring his hair as you looked up with a smile that made his pulse race unexpectedly.

"Is that an order as my boss or a suggestion as my friend?"

He raised his brow. "Both?"

"Well, okay," you shrugged as you took a step back. "Wanna see my room? I don't think you've seen it yet. Everyone else has."

Without giving him a chance to object, you dashed down the hallway. He trailed behind with reluctance, knowing just how dangerous this could be for him. He was all too aware that he shouldn't be here, let alone in your room in your current, wine-fueled state.

You fumbled for the light, fingers slipping before finding the switch as you stumbled into the cramped room. It was pink. Very pink. The pullout couch was lost beneath a mountain of pillows, excessive by any standard. Your closet was bursting, and a collection of gadgets and gizmos had overtaken the room, but he liked it, a lot.

Your collapse onto the bed sent pillows scattering to the floor, his mind wandered about the unseen details of your bedroom at home, and even more so, the thought of what a shared space between you two might look like.

A sigh escaped him as he stood over you. "How about changing into your pajamas first, hm?"

"No thank you."

"You're going to hate yourself if you wake up in jeans tomorrow."

"Fine." You pouted, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Top right drawer please."

He shot you a look but obliged anyway. There was something about that puckered out bottom lip that made him think he'd do just about anything you asked, like he was putty in your hands. Pulling out the most conservative pair of pajamas from the sparse selection, he made a mental note to ask about that later.

"Thank you," you said with a smile. He really liked your smile. "You know, you're really such a nice person, Hotch. Or—Can I call you Aaron? Just tonight?"

He felt a sudden emptiness in his chest as the air was knocked out. "You can call me Aaron. Just tonight."

A high-pitched squeal escaped you as you began shedding your clothes. He offered a stifled cough, quickly averting his gaze and nudging the door closed with his free hand.

"Well, Aaron," you said plainly, "I really like you."

The effort it took for him not to pivot on his heel was immense, particularly when your voice sweetened like honey at the mention of his name.

"You're a great boss."

"I like you too, Agent."

"No, you don't, well, I mean—you can turn around now," you said. "You like me, but I really like you. It's not the same."

As he turned to face you, he could sense his cock twitching in his pants, a physical reaction to the sight of you fumbling with your shirt, your tits exposed in full view, as if begging to be touched.

"Christ," he hissed, gripping the ends of your shirt and yanking down. He was sure you were going to hate yourself in the morning. "You're not making sense, and I think you need to sleep it off."

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes warmly meeting his as you gave him a lopsided smile. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in such casual clothes, Aaron. You look very handsome."

He needed to get you to bed before he did something he'd regret. He softly nudged your shoulders backward, offering no verbal response. You surrendered to the motion with complaint, your remaining strength insufficient for anything else.

Softly, he settled to blankets around you, taking a moment to study you, with the intention of memorizing you completely (even the part of you that was far too drunk).

"Goodnight, Aaron."

He summoned all his restraint to keep from crashing his lips into yours. He smoothed back your hair, allowing himself that as he shot you a tired smile. "Goodnight."

He hadn't even touched the doorknob when your plea reached his ears. "Aaron, I—, will you stay with me?"

And who was he to deny you anything?

taglist: @chronicallybubbly

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotchner #ssa hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #Spotify

[appleblueberry-pie]

You asked Yan!Miguel requests and I shall deliver

Yan!Miguel with a spider!reader that wasn't bitten by a spider but rather was experimented on (Alchemax still doing shady stuff) and has the same superpowers as Miguel (only that their venom is deadly).

However even after surviving the tragic things their canon indicates, they're a ball of sunshine.

oh yeah. it's all coming together.

MINE, ALLLLL MINE.

Miguel was having mixed feelings. He was coming to a point where it was hard to focus on his important work. It was hard to ignore his anxiety stomachache. Hard to ignore the usual annoying people that just wouldn't leave him alone in his man cave. And it was especially hard to forget about you. It wasn't ever possible to not think about you, but he just couldn't push you to the back of his head for at least two minutes. It was hurting him. It was also hurting his technology he kept destroying(he crushed two keyboards and threw his printer).

Why can't he just figure you out? Since Jess found you in your universe and immediately gave you the green flag to help his team of spider-people, he's found out so many things about you. But every time he is given an answer about one thing, it just digs him into a deeper hole of realization that he really doesn't know you. For starters, there's no legal government information of you anywhere. He's been watching you through his monitor for at least 2 hours a day, and most of your day consists of you beating ass. Like you have no other thing to do in your life, not to mean it in an insulting way.

It's just weird, because almost all spider-people have lives outside of them being spiders. But the more he observes you, your superhero life just reminds him more and more of....himself. You didn't have the obvious genetically-enhanced spider build that usual spiders do. Which was taller and slimmer. You were for sure taller(he did his research, you sprouted by 6 inches in height), but you were more on the muscular, bigger side. And this way, you would benefit more for close combat to take down enemies, instead of almost entirely relying on your webs. Similar to how he was. Another example to further explain, is he was watching you on his monitor while you had a mission to bring another universe's Green Goblin back to their universe. He found that your webs were obviously bio-engineered. Either you made these yourself, or someone made them for you. So, you were physically more powerful than the usual spider, had bio-engineered webs, and the way you fought.....

You had chased down that Green Goblin like he killed your family. It's not an exaggeration. GG was fast, but you were faster. He took multiple jerks around corners and through narrow alleyways, flying to get away from you. But you caught him. Slammed his body into the brick wall, damaging it. He screamed bloody murder to get away from you, and you just kept hitting him. He watched as your fist collided with his face multiple times. And when you finished, he saw you basically unhinge your jaw to show your long, venom-dripping, white fangs. They showed beautifully through the video footage lighting. They had to hurt when they protruded, it had to. But you didn't seem to care about anything in that moment besides finishing off your prey. You sunk your fangs into his neck, piercing them into his flesh as deep as you could, your regular teeth almost breaking into his skin as well. GG's scream of excruciating pain faded into complete silence. Miguel watched the man go limp in you arms. Was he dead? You held him to your body as close as you could to hide your catch from anyone who could've found the both of you. It concerned him so much with how you went about finding him, he had to interrupt you by calling your watch. You seemed to snap out of whatever trance you were in and removed your teeth from the now limp villain.

"Hello?" Your sweet voice rang through his watch and he couldn't find the right words to tell you to just bring the poor guy back to base. When you did, three doctors had to help resuscitate Green Goblin. What the hell did you do? You were asked this multiple times and you just felt more and more guilty when people continued to say it to you. Miguel decided to step in and remove you from the emergency room and just told you to take a few days off. All he could say to you is you deserved it, so you took his word. He immediately turned his monitors back on when you went back home, because it wasn't the end of your continuous mysteries.

When you go home, you clean up and then disappear. This wasn't news to him. But it was confusing because the cameras couldn't catch where you possibly went, even at different angles. It was somewhere in your bathroom. You'd open the shower curtain, step into the shower, close it and then not come out for the next 5 minutes. You did this once every two weeks. Other times when you were gone for the day, he tried to find the secret room you obviously had and...nothing. He couldn't find a damn thing. The wall was solid, it didn't seem like it was hiding anything. He scanned it multiple times with different gizmos he had up his sleeve, but nothing. So, after installing a small robotic fly that he placed into your home, he got lucky and managed to slip into a room hidden behind your shower when you went in at the dead of night. The room was almost entirely dark and all you had in there was countless metal bottles of some sort of a glowing serum and you would inject it into your shoulder. Something very similar to what he does to himself. He was surprised to next week with this information. What made it worse was that right after you injected yourself, you found his fake fly. So now you know someone was watching you. He can only hope you don't find out it was him who implanted it.

But now he was sure. You were just like him. It made him as happy as it made him frustrated because you had him all figured out. You knew he used injections, that he wasn't a natural spider, you probably also knew he loved you to the moon and back. He had a soft spot for you, and it showed so much it was pathetic. You could walk into his cave and call out for him with your siren song, and he would immediately turn off everything and drift your way, sweet nicknames for you sliding off of his tongue like sugar. He only ever wanted to please you. And he felt like you knew this. But even with everything he just found out about you just today, he still seemed in the dark.

All he knew is that you were a happy-go-lucky sweet girl. He didn't know why you did the things you do. Why you inject yourself, and why you are so predatory and ruthless when you basically hunt villains down. So, he asks you.

"Miguel?" He swipes all of his holographic screens away and turns off the rest of his devices, making a 180 to fully face you as you hop onto his platform. The smell of Empanadas wafted up his nose as you give three separate containers to him. "The cafeteria guy said he had extras, so I brought as many as he would let me for you. I know you don't eat much since you're really busy." His heart swells with affection as he coos at your sincere kindness, opening one to take his first bite. "Ohhh, querida, you didn't have to."(My dear)

You watch him place the rest on his desk and he finishes chewing to talk to you. "Thank you......So.....I wanted you to see me so that I can talk to you about how you handle the anomalies in other universes, and maybe even the regular villains in your own universe." You nod understandingly and Miguel had to ignore his increasing heartbeat at your eyes staring up at him.

"I'll be honest with you, amor. When groups are out to capture an anomaly, I usually don't have to monitor them because I have other people to do that for me. But Jessica and I sent you off on your own, knowing how much we can depend on you to carefully capture the anomaly with no troubles, which I know you don't. But, still, I take precautions and monitor you every now and then to make sure if you're alright or if you need any support. But when I see you through the my screens....you are....particularly rough with them. And it's more rough than the usual spider would be." You seem to know what he was talking about and advert your gaze, messing with your suit. (Love.)

"Y/n, you almost killed Green Goblin the other day." You purse your lips and nod in agreement. "Yes, I....."

You hesitate to speak. You didn't want anyone to know about your past. Did he have to know? You guessed so, since you are a part of a really big multiverse-saving company. It was so hard to escape Alchemax when they fucking tortured you every single day for their own pleasures. That stupid serum you can't live without? You stole enough to live for the next 3 years. And that's all you really needed. You took an Alchemax worker's apartment that you found deep in their records, knowing that if you fake your emails and his work, you could live in secret. You didn't want to live on like this forever. You knew that after those three years ended, then they ended. And you would follow.

Your only hope for the rest of your life is to live in secret and to help people as much as you can before you died. The serum just makes you a little.....violent. Just the way that the scientists liked it so that you could run on it for longer than usual. So, here you are. But how are you supposed to explain that to your boss?

"......Y/n?" He softly calls your name, concern etching his face as he reaches out to touch your hand. He almost didn't want to, not knowing how you felt about it. But when his finger very lightly grazed your warm and soft palm, you blinked back to life, grabbing his hand back. A breath entered his lungs and he seemed to be reborn at your sudden advancement to his touch.

".....Yes. I do have something to tell you." His eyebrows scrunch as he nods and pulls up a random chair to sit and wait for you to talk. You told him everything. About how you are an experiment on legs, how you were from Alchemax, and that they were the people that really owned you. And you being a spider-person is just you doing as much as you can for the city you loved so dearly. How you only had three or less years to live with the serums you had hidden in your home. How you literally don't care if you die anytime before that, and you're doing your part in life that doesn't make you as useless as you thought you were.

Miguel watched you say all of this. He watched your face. He watched how you....really didn't care. You were so calm about all of these life threats that you continuously had hovering over your head. You live life every day as if it was your last. What if someone burned your house down? What if Alchemax found you?? What would happen to you then?

"I can help you. Lyla." He almost seemed to work on autopilot. "Bring me documents of the chemical makeup of my own serum for me. While you're at it, turn all of the equipment in Floor 4's laboratory on for me." All of his tech equipment were back on again as he pulled his own serum, meant for next week, out of his drawer. "Miguel...?" "Y/n, can you bring me one of your own serums? I'll be in the lab when you come back. Find me on the fourth floor. Lyla can show you the way."

"Miguel!" He pauses and looks down at you. You shake your head as a shaky smile is brought to your face. "I don't need you to do this for me. I'm fine with the way things are." Miguel scrunches his face and steps towards you. "Qué? Te estás escuchando a ti mismo? Y/n, I don't want you to die. Nobody wants you to die. Y-you need to be here, No entiendes? Do you want to be a spider for the rest of your life, violently killing people the way you were taught? You can be given a regular life. A new life, here with me! You deserve more than just....being a machine. Because you're more than just a weapon. You're human."(What? Are you hearing yourself?)(Don't you understand?)

Miguel went too far with his speech. He said too much. Every word that continued to spill out of his lips dug him into a farther hole. You were crying, but it still didn't help the fact that you now know that he probably is infatuated with you. He tries to save face by saying more, but instead, his hand reaches out to wipe the tears off of your face. It couldn't possibly be real, the way you leaned into his touch. Your wet face touched his palm and he stuttered endlessly. Fuck, he had to get out of here.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that to you. It was unprofessional." You shake your head and lift your face out of his hands, staring up at him with those glistening eyelashes, your beautiful shiny eyes looking up at him. "No.....I'm glad you told me that. I.....thank you." He looks away bashfully and takes a step back....another....and then another until he walks off out of the cave to go down to the laboratory.

What is he going to do about you? He loves you too much to let you continue doing this horrible job. It was killing you.

Something feels off about this, but I am going to post it anyways because it's been bothering me like a collar tight around my neck all day. Needed this badly.

#yandere #yandere x you #reader #yandere x reader #yandere character #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel 2099 #miguel fanfic #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You're not sure you're ready to come back. Hotch has total faith in you. Or, your transition back into the team after your abduction doesn't go as smoothly as you'd hoped. 

6k words, fem!reader, bau!reader, some mutual pining, reader is suffering from effects of ptsd, allusions to kidnapping + torture, hurt/comfort, hotch has a soft spot for you (as do most of the team)

༺༻

Reid was abducted, once. 

You can remember the anxiety of it like a hand around your throat. It feels cruel to say that his abduction and torture had effected you more than if it had been a stranger, but you meet so many people, so many victims of cruelty, that the fear starts to blunt. 

Though it doesn't blur. You find it impossible to forget the people that you've failed, and failing a team mate? That had been excruciating. 

Only when you'd been taken yourself had you realised it wasn't a failure at all. 

You wish the others would understand that. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Prentiss asks as you sit down. 

You suppose you had gone down a bit hard. "Mm?" you hum in question, pulling a copy of the initial case file toward you. 

"You looked a little wobbly." 

"Long night?" Morgan asks.

There's both sympathy and mirth in his voice. If you did have a long night, it wouldn’t be from anything fun. He knows that. Everybody knows that. That's why they're treating you like glass. 

"I actually slept really well," you say softly, returning his smile with one that's entirely genuine. 

"That's good, considering," he says, bracing his forearm against the conference table. 

He's been your number one supporter since you came back. Probably because he feels very guilty about what happened. You'd been paired up at the time. 

"Actually, it's common for people who've been abducted to sleep incredibly well for a long period afterward. It's similar to the leisure sickness phenomena- Your body would have been in defence mode, and-" 

"Reid," Hotch says firmly, stepping into the room with his usual lowbrow. 

"Sorry." 

And the spiel begins. JJ lays out the details of the case she's triaged and the team gives their first input. The barest beginnings of a working theory. You try to contribute and find your tongue a leaden weight in your mouth. Ever since you got back, you've been useless. 

You can't do your job, but thank god you can sleep at night, right? 

You miss the start of his sentence, your focus latching onto Hotch's conclusive, "Wheels up in thirty." 

Your team are standing in seconds, trained in the art of quick departures. You used to be good at this part. You're a good agent, even when you're a mediocre profiler. 

"L/N?" 

You blink. "Mm?" you hum, meeting your unit chief's concerned look with a perfected blasé. 

You've come to a stand in front of the table, and everyone else has left. It's you and Hotch alone. 

"If you're not ready to go back into the field, that's okay." 

If you were Reid, or Prentiss, or especially Morgan, you'd get defensive here, and you would lie well, but you’re a bad liar and Hotch is a great detector for them, so you tell the truth. 

"I'm not sure that I'm ready, but I'd like to go. I won't be a burden. I can work effectively." 

"I know you won't be a burden." 

You tilt your head to one side and feel your hair shift over your thick sweater. You haven't felt like showing much skin, lately. Everybody has noticed, because they notice everything, and nobody has made you feel bad about it. In fact, your fellow agents have made numerous comments about the chilly weather. It's July. 

Hotch's eyes fall to your long sleeves for a split-second. 

"Do you think he's alive?" you ask.

"Sorry?" 

You nod your head toward the board, where the portrait of your kidnapping victim hangs in full colour. "Do you think he's alive?" 

"Unless there's evidence that would suggest otherwise, we shouldn't assume. You know that." 

"I know that that's the answer you're used to giving." 

His voice goes too soft, like he's talking to somebody in grief. "I think he is." 

You honestly can't stand it when he talks to you like this. You tilt your head a little further and see him the way he'd been that morning, his tenderness, his fear. He'd opened the door and suddenly you'd known you were safe. 

He hasn't looked at you right since he found you.

"I have all my best clothes in my go-bag," you offer. 

"Well, go get it. This might be a long one." 

—

The jet is a really nice jet. 

It's hard not to feel impressed by it. It's a vehicle that can take you from one crime scene to another, and it's a necessary expense, but it feels lavish. The clean smells, the comfort, the kitchenette. It has a full-sized toilet. 

"Missed this?" Morgan asks knowingly. 

You wheedle your way into one of the four seats surrounding the main table and smile when he drops down next to you. "Missed using you as my personal pillow, maybe," you tease. 

"Table hogs," Prentiss complains, sitting on the armrest of the couch in defeat. 

You laugh under your breath. Morgan pulls out his laptop and turns the screen so everyone can see Garcia, and as soon as the jet's taken off the second round of speculation begins. 

You regret sitting where you had quickly. You can feel Hotch's analysing gaze where he sits opposite. He doesn't believe you're ready to come back. 

You lick your lips.

"Why would she cut him open just to kill him straight afterward?" JJ asks. "I mean, if she didn't assault him?" 

"It's unlikely that she's a sadist," Reid infers. 

"Disembowelment is a pretty painful, horrific way to die. Maybe she realised that and killed him," Morgan suggests. 

"Remorse?" you murmur. "Could mean she's… younger. And revenge killers don't always see it through." 

"Why take another one if you can't commit to the first?" Prentiss asks. 

"Maybe that's why she took him. She wants time to work herself up," you mutter. 

You hide your hands under the table. It's hard to ignore the similarities with the current case and the one you're investigating. The unsub who'd taken you had been narcissistic and self-righteous, punishing the BAU for stopping her second murder — you'd predicted her next victim and moved him before she could take him. 

So her victimology had changed, and she'd stolen you. 

She couldn't commit to her first session of torture: hesitant cuts, loose ligatures. By your turn she'd improved, but her tentative resolve had remained and she'd run after three days. It's the worst thing she could've done, buying herself less than a week on the run and leaving you with no outside communication. 

You'd almost died of dehydration. 

"She's choosing from a specific group," Reid says. He holds up a photograph of the first victim. He'd been murdered in his bedroom, and the walls are plastered in playboy. Kill all men has been written across his forehead in red lipstick. "Our abductee, he was wearing a t-shirt featuring popular bikini model Miss Olympia. In a state of undress." 

“Is that specific?” Prentiss asks wryly.

"She's angry," you say. 

Hotch leans forward and clicks Garcia's call button. "Garcia?"  

"Sir." 

"Are there any prolific feminist groups in the area? Radicals?" 

They fall into conversation, a pulling and pushing of information. Something about online forums, flame wars, political arguments. 

It's not the strongest theory in the world but they can make it work. You should be making it work with them. 

The flight is an early morning longhaul to Idaho and you work the case the entire time you're in the air. There's an abundance of coffee that you reject because you're worried it'll rehash your on-again off-again migraine, and while your teammates are offering theories, intertwining details with bright eyes and bushy tails, you struggle to keep up. 

There's a lull before landing where everybody parts ways. JJ moves to sit with Prentiss where they talk in hushed but conspicuous giggles. You hear the words Will and dishes and back rub and decide to stop listening for your own sake. 

Morgan laughs, having heard what you just heard and liking it a far deal more, and stands. "Coffee?" he asks as you yawn.

You shake your head sluggishly. "Be quick, we'll be landing soon." 

"I know, sweetheart, I heard the same announcement as you." He takes your empty water glass with a supportive squint. "Let me get you another." 

"Thanks." 

You'd regretted your seat as soon as you'd taken it, the feeling of being boxed in having grown and grown over the course of the journey, and Morgan’s brief departure gives you some much needed space.

You squeeze your hands together until your knuckles ache. 

"L/N?" 

Hotch is looking at you. You know exactly what he sees. Someone who isn't ready to be back in the field. Someone who isn't being effective, as you'd promised. 

"You okay?" 

"Just warm,” you lie, pushing your hair away from your neck. 

You're a bad liar. He gets up to turn on the air conditioning anyway. 

You slouch down in your chair and pretend to nap for the rest of the flight. 

—

Crime scenes where people died smell bad. It's a fact. They smell like pee, the sharp stick of ammonia, and the metallic aftertaste of blood. You're trying hard not to fall into your own memories of the two. 

You need to move past what happened. The only way you're gonna be able to do that is to re-desensitise yourself, and that includes volunteering for the nasty stuff when Hotch tries to relegate you to questioning witnesses. 

"I'm not good at interviews," you'd said plainly. 

And he'd taken it for what it was and let you do what you usually do: you look for clues. If anybody could hear you think that you'd be ridiculed, but they can't. You enjoy yourself. 

Let's Scooby Doo this bitch. 

"Careful," Hotch says, holding a hand near your hip. You'd almost stepped into the largest puddle of blood still wet in the very middle. 

Right. He'd let you take the gross job but now you're being babysat. 

What did she do in this room? Why did she kill him here but abduct the second man? 

"If it weren't for the photos, I'd never link this victimology," you confess. 

The photos. The unsub had sent pictures of her abductee with Kill all men written across his forehead. In lipstick. 

What changed the MO? Why kill the first at home and steal the second? 

The political theory feels more plausible. 

"I think you would've." Hotch casts his gaze over the desk. "This is a messy one. Opportunistic but personal. Our unsub, she…" His voice turns to a mutter, as it tends to do when he hits a roadblock. "She wants attention, because the first murder didn't do what she'd hoped." 

"What is she hoping for?" 

He picks up a piece of coloured paper and holds it up to his chest so you can see it. It's a flyer for speed dating at a Café Martini, every Friday at 6PM. 

"Where was Paul last seen?" you ask. 

"Good question." 

He takes his phone from his pocket to call Garcia. 

You listen to their conversation for a while, his serious questions and her flirtatious answers. 

You look back to the floor and push the white toe of your tennis shoe into the rug until the rubber's red with blood. It's not good practice. You're now a walking biohazard. Why is the blood still wet? It should've sunk into the carpeting hours ago. How much did he bleed? 

When you'd been abducted your unsub hadn't been keen on torture. She'd made small, quick cuts over your upper arms, more to punish you than because she truly enjoyed it, and she'd hit something important by accident. 

The blood had pooled in the crook of your elbow. It had stayed wet for a long time. You remember trying to clean yourself up with your t-shirt, too drugged up to move right, and eventually the drugs had worn off and it had really, really hurt. 

This boy had been cut from hip to hip. 

"Maybe you should go sit in the car," Hotch says. 

"Why?" 

"I've been talking to you."

"I've been listening." 

"Don't lie." Hotch takes a step forward, black shoe close to your white. "Look at me." 

You look up, eyebrows raised as you try to blink yourself awake. His eye contact is something you've always struggled to hold, knowing he's learning a lot more from your expression than you are from his. You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks and find them hot with embarrassment. 

"I'm really sorry," you apologise, eyes aching. Not burning, just aching. Like a bruise. 

Hotch nods, expression impassive. "It's okay. Go sit in the car." 

He outranks you as an SSA, he's your boss for every intent and purpose. He's your friend, sometimes, and you've yet to see him make a bad call. You listen and go back out and down to the car. You've already broken your promise not to be a burden. 

Best to play along and play well. You don't want a desk job. You don't want to lose the team. 

In the car, things feel better. It smells like new and you take some time to breathe it in with slow, deep breaths. The pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror is still soft and wet to touch. You rub it between two fingers, pensive, until Hotch appears from the house. He looks severe and solemn as usual when he opens the car door and climbs inside. 

"Tell me if you can't do this," he says. He never beats around the bush. You wish that he would. 

"I don't know." 

"I need a yes or no." 

You're screaming at yourself to say yes. Hotch stalls with his hand poised at the ignition, waiting for your answer before he turns the key. If you say no, I can't do this, he'll take you back to the room. You know he won't hold it against you because he'd tried to persuade you to take more time off, as much as you needed. 

Being alone reminds you too much of your abduction. You hate how you can't stop thinking about it. At work, at home. What if this is it? This is the only thing you're going to think of for the rest of your life. 

Unless you can get some new memories. 

"I can do this." 

"I know that. Do you know that?" he asks firmly. 

You lean your head back against the headrest and turn your face to look at him fully. You hadn't been expecting any praise, any softness. You're fucking up on a time-sensitive case — he should be reprimanding you. He should send you packing to Virginia. 

"I'm sorry," you say softly.

"For what?" he asks. His eyebrows pinch up at the starts, his lips curve into a frown. 

It's startling to see so much emotion on his face on the job; Aaron Hotchner has a switch. He comes to work and he turns off everything that doesn't help the case. Only on rare occasions do you get to see him as a friend — his laughter over group dinner dates, his gentle smiles when he'd kept you company in the hospital. 

"For being- For being disorganised," you explain choppily. It is not the right word. 

He turns the key and reverses out of the parking space before speaking. "You are an asset to this team. If you can't be an asset right now, that's fine. If you need to go home-" 

"I don't need to go home." 

He doesn't seem offended at being interrupted. "Your wellbeing is more important than your effectiveness as a profiler. But you can't get in the way." 

"I won't." 

"I know you won't. Just…" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, dials a number. He's not looking at you when he finishes, "Calm down. Stay present. We need you with us." 

You turn your face to the window so he can't see your smile. He hasn't been this nice to you since your birthday. 

—

The thirty six hour mark comes to pass quickly and you find yourselves no closer to a positive ID on the unsub or their location. Any leads you follow dry up, witnesses won't cooperate, nobody has slept properly (besides yourself), and the boy's parents are hysterical. Hysterical and an irritant. 

You can hear them arguing with Hotch and the police chief in the other room. 

"You look amazing," JJ says tiredly. You can't tell if her annoyance is genuine or not. 

"Did you sleep?" you ask. 

JJ looks amazing herself despite what she might say, all perfect skin and lovely blonde hair like a moving sheet of silver-gold. You revere her pretty thin sweater with poorly hidden envy as she yawns and stretches against her straight-backed chair. 

"I slept. Bed was about as comfy as this chair," she says ruefully. 

"Ninety percent of all abduction victims are killed within the first thirty-six hours," Hotch says as he enters the room, in what Morgan would call his drill sergeant's drawl. "Every hour past that point, the percentage increases." 

Everybody in the room knows that statistic. His passive aggressive reminder serves to electrify a dozing Reid and a slumped Prentiss, both of which sit up in their chairs and pretend to be busier than they are as he makes his way into the room.

"Actually," Reid whispers to you, voice rough with fatigue, "the math isn't that simple." 

"Do you want to explain it to me?" you whisper back. 

You can't admit to really truly listening to Reid's explanation. You want him to feel heard even when you don't have the capacity for it, so you nod and hum as he explains, heads bent together as the rest of the team trade new theories. He talks surprisingly quickly for all his fatigue, and before you've realised it he's talking about something new. 

"Reid," you intrerupt gently, "can I ask you a question?" 

"Go ahead." 

You look up. Everyone seems too busy to be listening to you. You take what semblance of privacy you can and push your chair an inch closer. 

"Do you think I've been an efficient agent these last two days?" 

He juts his head forward. "You've been distracted. Tired, unfocused. But your insight on the unsub's age and what you said about her propensity for regret are both incomparable parts of the profile." 

"But easily something someone else would've suggested?" 

"Not necessarily." He smiles at you, a mirthful quirk. "Psychologically, the effect that working a case so close to your own trauma," — you bite your tongue in surprise — "would render the average person prone with memory. It also gives you a thought pattern that not everybody else would have." 

"You have it." 

"Let's focus on the behaviour pattern," Hotch says. 

You'd agreed to run point today. Or rather, Hotch had said, "L/N, you'll run point," and you hadn't argued. After all, yesterday had been telling on how much you can handle. Crime scenes are a no go. 

Not that there's any crime scene left to analyse. Your team have spent hours and hours trying to draw blood from stone. The case hadn't felt so impossible on the jet, and now… 

"I'm benched," you murmur. 

"You're not benched," Morgan says, which is irksome because you'd been talking to Reid. "If you were benched you'd be back in Virginia typing up my paperwork." 

"She doesn't care about the crime scene, she doesn't care about the crime itself. There's nothing in it for her besides making a statement. So why take a hostage with no ransom, no instruction? Why tell us you have a hostage and cut communication?" 

You rub your eyes at Reid's questions and find you have no theories to offer. You have nothing. 

"Work the problem," you mumble to yourself. "Work the problem. Where would she go?" 

She cut that boy from hip to hip. She killed him quickly after rather than leave him in pain, but she disembowelled him for the statement it would make. For the… mess? 

You feel off-kilter enough to stand. You weave through people and hesitate in front of Hotch where he's reading over the timeline, waiting for his face to turn before you talk. 

"Hotch," you say tentatively, "what if she's like… an arsonist? Disemboweling is messy. The blood was still wet when we got here two days later, and it ruined the floor." 

He thinks for a second. "Her escalation from a private mess to a public one would make sense."

"We thought the pathway from murder to taking a hostage was a step backwards, but what if it's not about the murder at all, it's about the blood?"

"It's common for arsonists to suffer paternal violence," Reid chimes in. "Could explain the unsub targeting men with outward misogynistic attitudes." 

You turn to find the whole team looking at you, a familiar drive on each of their faces. 

They rebuild the profile. Reid fiddles with what you've said, they specify, they redirect. 

Your moment of clarity dissolves quickly but you try to help as they move on to possible locations. If the unsub wants to make a scene, light a metaphorical fire, there are plenty of places she can do it this weekend. 

Surprise surprise, Garcia confirms a 'men's rights' rally happening in around two hours, and suddenly everybody's in motion. Hotch lists instructions and the team disperses. You've done it all a hundred times before, Hotch quadruple that, Rossi octuple.

"L/N," Hotch says. 

You lift your face to his. 

He's really quite close. 

"Do you want to stay here?"

You take note of his wording. Do you want to stay here? 

His phone is already in his hand. You don't wanna waste anymore of his time. You're pretty useless during movements anyways. 

"Is that okay?" you ask. 

He doesn't say yes or no, his head doesn't give the slightest nod or shake. His eyebrows remain in their usual pushed down position. "Expand the profile. Make sure we haven't missed anything." In case the unsub isn't where you think. 

And then he leaves. 

You take your seat at a now hastily vacated table and spend an hour on the laptop with Garcia. She's mostly at the beck and call of the rest of the team, but it's nice to listen to her clicking away. 

She hangs up when the team are about to storm the rally venue and things get difficult. 

You'd passed all your psych evaluations to return. You can be an effective agent. You can work. 

You know all of this. 

It won't stick. 

You don't have a clue how long you spend staring at the table when your phone starts to ring. "Morgan?" you ask, pressing the screen to your cheek. 

"Hey, sweetheart, we got her. And Paul, safe and sound. You ready to go home?" 

"Uh," you say, trying to understand what he's said. "I'm not sure." Your migraine is coming back. 

When a person gets dehydrated your head starts to pound. It's like a heartbeat, a pulsing ache at the base of your skull and your temples. 

You know that it's all in your head, but ever since you got back you've been victim to what feels like a hundred headaches. 

Your head hurts, and you look at the floor and suddenly the floor isn't the dull blue carpeting of the police station, but the plywood of your unsub's warehouse. 

"Are you there?" 

"Morgan, I don't feel well," you say. Your mouth is full of cotton. 

"What?" 

You cast your gaze around the room. 

You leave your phone on the table, unsure if you've hung up, and make your way out of the conference room they've delegated to the BAU. You're in two minds. You know where you are, and who you are, but you feel like you're back there. The walls look like the police station walls but the floor looks like the base plywood of the warehouse. 

I'm just thirsty, you think. When you'd been kidnapped you'd become dehydrated somewhere between the fourth and fifth day, and that had come with some minor auditory and visual hallucinations. Dark spots in your peripherals shaped mildly like people, murmurings that could've been the cicadas. Right now, there's a low pitched ringing in your ears. I'm dehydrated. I'm fine. I need a drink, and I'll be okay. 

You don't have the facilities to smile at the people you pass, easing your way through officers and into an empty break room. There's nobody here. 

You round the table in the middle of the room and move to the cabinets and the sink basin. You take a mug into shaking hands and turn the faucet on. 

The water is frigid and soon your fingers are like ice. You part them in the stream, watching the water worm down your palms and wet the cuffs of your sleeves. 

"Agent L/N, is everything okay?" 

You turn with a smile, ready to assuage any fears, but it's her. 

It's obviously not her. It's not her, but she looks like her. Same face, same hair. You turn back to sink and fill your mug. 

"Agent L/N?" 

"Please," you say quietly. 

"Agent L/N?" 

"Detective, would you excuse us?" 

His voice. Your shoulders relax just enough to ease the ache in your neck. You hear the woman depart, but you're disorientated enough to ask, "Is she still here?" 

"She's not here." 

“She looked-“ like her. You press your wet hands to the bottom of the sink. It's silver and covered in scratches, a thousand scratches that glow white with the fluorescents. "I don't think I should be here," you mumble. 

"I think you're overwhelmed." 

"I am." You cringe at the numbness spreading up your arms. "I don't know how to make it go away." 

Hotch isn't just your boss. He's a father. He was a husband. He knows how to comfort somebody and he's proven that to you already, but you're still surprised when he pulls your hands out of the sink. He holds both in one palm while he turns off the faucet, and then he tears off a wad of paper towels and starts to dry your fingers. 

"You're not in any danger here," he says, turning your hands palm up. "There are a wall of people out there who would stand in front of you. Nothing is going to happen to you." 

Despite his careful reassurances you're curling in on yourself, trying to hide. You don't want to be here. You're not sure where you want to be. You have the self-awareness to know you're being awful, that this is embarrassing, and you've put Hotch in a position he likely doesn't want to be in, too.  

You blink at his chest. "Where's your suit jacket?" you ask. Your voice sounds far away in one ear and too loud in the other. 

"I left it in the car," he says lightly. "We just got back from the rally. You were waiting for us here." 

"I didn't go." 

"No. You haven't been at your best." 

"I'm trying." 

"I know," he says softly, thumbs rubbing over your warming fingers. "I know you are. You're doing really well. Why don't we sit down?" 

You let him lead you backward into a hard-backed chair. He doesn't sit with you, but he doesn't let go of your hands. They're limp in his and smaller, colder. 

You think he might be the only thing keeping you here. 

"I've never been that scared before. I've had a… gun to my head and… it wasn't even her-" You choke on it. "Her. She hurt me and it wasn't even the worst part." 

He frowns down at you. "What was the worst part?" 

You let your fingers unfurl across his open palm. He pulls your hands to his chest, sandwiches them between his own hands and his crisp white shirt. His tie feels silky soft. 

"I didn't want to be alone. I," — you close your eyes and press your chin to your chest, hiding, always hiding — "knew I wasn't going to last long by myself. I could see that bottle of water on the table and I couldn't reach it and I just kept waiting for somebody to open the door and pass it to me, and I was so scared that nobody was ever going to do that.

"I close my eyes and- and I see it. I see the wood flooring, and I see the table. I can't remember anything that she said to me anymore, but I remember thinking you weren't ever coming to get me." 

You can see the way the light from a crack in the corrugated roof had lit the water bottle up like a lamp. You barely have to think about it and the image of it is there. Your mouth had ached.

You can see him if you try a little harder. The door flying open. Hotch in his vest with his hair falling onto his forehead, a gun in one hand and a flashlight held high in the other. His broad, quick sweep, and then the way he'd leapt for you. His voice, shouting, screaming instructions. You can feel his hand behind your head, his fingers pushed roughly into your hair. 

"You're okay," he'd said. 

You trust him with your life. You've never had cause to doubt him. But you hadn't believed him then, and you're not sure you do now. 

His expression changes slowly. He moves both of your hands into one of his own and squeezes them reassuringly as he cups your cheek. It's a quick touch, a half-second of contact. 

"You made a mistake, in that case," he says, hand moving from your cheek to the hill of your shoulder. 

You tamp down a wince. "Yeah." He's being generous. You'd made hundreds of mistakes. Every opportunity to save yourself wasted. 

"Your mistake," he says, holding your eye, his voice gritty with severity, "was thinking I wouldn't find you.”

He turns to a blur the longer you stare at him, panicked tears welling up with nowhere to go. You tip your head forward so he can't see them, and he steps closer in turn, ushering your face into his abdomen. 

His hand falls to your trembling back. 

"That was your only error. You did everything else right." 

Your tears come thick and fast. Hotch doesn't baulk. 

—

You agree to take some more time off. 

Realistically, you can't be an effective agent or a reliable member of the team whilst smothered in memories as you are. You don't take it personally when Hotch insists, as he takes great care to explain to you what's happening. 

This isn't a punishment. You need more time. 

You're a safety risk. Not that your consultation isn't valuable, it is, you're still a good profiler — an amazing profiler, if your team are to be believed — but you're in the aftershocks of a traumatic event. 

A wound can't heal if it's being picked at. 

"He said that?" you ask quietly, bed sheets upto your chin. 

Hotch's voice rings scratchy with tiredness down the line, "He said you can have all of the blue ones." 

"He's generous. He gets that from his dad." 

"He's much kinder than I am." You hear a small voice on the other end, and then a muffled, "Yeah, g-man, I'll tell her. I'll tell her right now. Okay. Y/N?" 

"Yeah, still here." 

"Jack says," he recounts, parent tone in play that tells you his son is nearby, "that you can have all the blue and all of the green band-aids, if you need them." 

You stare up at the white plaster ceiling of your apartment, a tiny smile playing on your lips. 

"Tell him I said thank you. I'm sure they'll make me all better in no time." 

He tells Jack what you've said. You hear his lovely voice saying something too quiet. "What was that?" Hotch asks him. 

"I said," Jack says, voice close to the receiver, "she just needs a kiss because they always make me feel better." 

"I've been getting lots of kisses!" you promise him, turning to look at your nightstand. 

Propped up proudly is a picture of you and your team in that restaurant in Las Vegas, where Reid hadn't been able to use his chopsticks, and where Hotch had laughed so loudly you'd felt your heart skip twice. It's surrounded by a sea of 'Get Well Soon' cards, and backdropped by a small bouquet of sweetpeas. 

Tell me when they wilt, Reid had said. And I'll get you another bunch. It's been proven that flowers have a long term positive effect on moods. People who received flowers regularly reported less agitation, less depression, and an overall sense of satisfaction. 

Beside the sweetpeas, in pride of place, is a handmade card from none other than Jack himself, though the message inside was penned by an older hand. 

"I'm well looked after," you say, smiling softly. 

"You're well loved," Hotch adds. 

That, too. 

༺༻

again, im not that used to writing hotch so despite my character study he may feel a little ooc that's my bad, hard to show him pining bc he's such a professional at work. thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging i promise it means so much to me ♡

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #bau!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader

[chrollosbm]

Jujutsu Kaisen Men + Period Sex

basically my take on if i think they would be down for period sex, and how far they would go

characters mentioned: gojo, geto, nanami, choso

female reader, no mention of her features but i'm black so, established relationship, slight aftercare with geto and nanami

cw: blood (duh,) cramps, unprotected sex, piv sex, begging, rough sex, overstimulation, cum eating, blood drinking, it's pretty nasty but i'm a kinky fuck, lowercase, barely proofread

Satoru Gojo:

y'all he is so down

what isn't this man down for?

he would definitely fuck you on your period, and he wouldn't be grossed out or anything by your blood

he would in fact enjoy it because he loves how much more lubrication there is

he loves how much your tits swell and how they're so sensitive to the touch and how your nipples are erect without him having to do anything

he does anyways, using his talented, thick tongue, but makes sure to be gentle after a scolding from you about how much it hurts when he uses too much pressure

he gives you that toothy grin with an apology even though he's not really sorry, your tits seems to grow almost a full cup size according to Satoru, so he's going to relish in it

he is such a boobs guy to me so he's super excited to stuff his face in your cleavage randomly throughout the day

you act like it annoys you but you find it funny how obsessed your boyfriend is with them

it freaks you out how he just knows you're on your period just by taking a look at them though

"hm...looks like someone's about to start bleeding from their vagina" he'd throw out casually out of nowhere, electric blue eyes fixated on your covered bosom, causing you to give him a creeped out stare, partially from the way he'd phrased that sentence, the other part from his odd hypothesis

that night in the bathroom you would wipe and see he was in fact very spot on

anyway, when he's super horny and you're not in the mood due to excruciating cramps, he convinces to get nasty with him by reminding you that orgasms help with the pain

which proceeds him to start eating you out as you're basically on your death bed, heavy flow and all

you try to tell him how much you're bleeding, but he really does not give a fuck at all

so he goes to work on your clit, not caring about the extra metallic taste of your pussy, just flicking and sucking and making out with your sensitive clit, driving you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

like you don't know if it's from the sensitivity from your time of the month, or if Satoru is purposely trying to drive you to your orgasm quicker than usual, but he has you grinding on his face, forgetting that it's a blood bath down there.

he was right, after he has you seeing stars the pain from the assault on your uterus ceases to exist

when he comes up with that red sheen on the pale skin of his nose, and bottom of his face, your cheeks get so hot from embarrassment that they start to hurt, but he reassures you that he loves the taste of you, even your blood

like he's grinning like you just took him to get his favorite treat from his most frequented bakery

obviously fucks you afterwards

tries to be gentle but ultimately loses himself in the process because of how wet you are, the squelches from both your arousal and blood are driving him insane

your warm walls are suffocating his large cock with the way it's squeezing around him each time he presses that gummy spot inside you

his pretty eyes are rolling to the back of his head as he holds your legs towards the ceiling, releasing his hot, potent cum inside of you shortly after and just creating a mess of fluids onto the towel below the two of you

he's smiling again, the bottom of his face a dark red color now and you can't help but laugh

"oh you didn't cum? let me help you with that" and he's going to down below again, not caring about the mixture leaking out of you

your man is such a nasty fucking freak and you're so lucky

Suguru Geto

not super into period sex, but would try it once with you just to see what it's like

wouldn't suggest it, you would have to ask for it

he would say yes of course, out of curiosity and because he'd read somewhere that orgasms can ease your pain

and he adores you and doesn't like seeing you in agony, so he'll do anything to help

loves the feeling of your tight cunt as he's thrusting into you gently with his breath heavy, strands of his hair sticking to his skin, his lip caught in his teeth as he's smirking down at your pretty, fucked out face, glad this seems to be helping

he's sure to be gentle with you, as he knows you're in pain, which you appreciate

he enjoys how much wetter it is, and how you seem to be enjoying it as well with how much you're vocalizing your pleasure, rather than the whines of pain you were letting out beforehand

would still last pretty long, trying to drive that orgasm out of you before he releases his load into you

he's not a selfish lover by any means, so even if he does cum quickly, he would go another round for you, regardless of how oversensitive his girthy cock would be

would not eat you out

he's open to a lot but not that open

probably wouldn't want to look at the scene below the two of you after you've finished, knowing your blood was probably stained on his pelvis and your thighs

not grossed out or anything from it, he just doesn't want to know what your body is doing to you, it would make him feel your pain with you

would still carry you to the shower to wash the both of you up though, he wants to make sure you're comfortable and clean before putting you back to bed

he's whispering sweet nothings into your ears and kissing your cheeks as he washes in between your legs, the red hue running down the shower drain

would probably do it again, just wouldn't make it a regular thing

Kento Nanami

it's a regular thing between you two

like he's a simple man, a period doesn't stop anything but a sentence to him

the two of you have a routine with sex, you have an understanding of when you can and can't, it's usually a couple times a week when he isn't too tired after work

like i said he's pretty normal about it

you'll just be like, "oh, Kento i started my period," and he's like "i know, the app on my phone told me"

then when you're about to get nasty he'll grab the towel and proceed as usual

he wouldn't eat you out, though

sorry i have the mindset of Kento being slightly vanilla besides the whole rough sex and hair pulling thing, so although giving you head while you're bleeding doesn't gross him out or anything, he just doesn't prefer to do it

he would if you asked though, you would just have to put a tampon in and he would focus on your clit, knowing exactly how to drive you wild that way

would probably take you two minutes tops to cum, he pays attention to your reactions and knows what you like so he can get you there pretty fast

when he's inside of you he's very gentle, almost too gentle really

like you'll roll your eyes and get irritated with the way he's treating you like you're fragile

"baby, but you are fragile right now" he'd say sincerely and you would whine with your bottom lip quivering, so frustrated and emotional and fucking horny

how could he resist giving you what you wanted?

so now he has you bent like a pretzel, plowing into you roughly just like you asked and you feel fucking fantastic, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you're sputtering your words of gratitude throughout the room

neither of you last long of course, with the way he's thrusting into you and the way your warm, gooey pussy is sucking him in has the both of you seeing stars only minutes later

the aftercare is immaculate of course

he runs the two of you a bath with muscle relaxing bath salts

his large body is behind you, kissing your sticky, moist forehead and giving you praise of how well you did for him

you cling to your thoughtful, lovely boyfriend and fall asleep in the bathtub with the warmth of the water and the complete erasure of your cramps, feeling safe and protected in his arms

Choso

another freak i'm telling you

doesn't give a fuckkkkkkk

he's going to town on your pussy, he can never get enough of it, so why would a little or a lot of blood stop him?

he's the one who's in fact begging you to let him fuck you

like this man prefers period sex over normal sex

"Choso it's gross down there, i don't want you to see me like that" you'd said the first time he'd asked to try it out pretty early on in your relationship

that pitiful pout on his face would make you reconsider what you said almost too quickly

"baby, please, 'wanna fuck you so bad, 'wanna make you feel better" his voice came out so pathetic, so unrecognizable, with his pupils shaking as the grip on your hips tightened from his large hands

so now he's going down on you, slurping up your blood and juices so loudly, moaning and talking into it of how good you taste, how wet you are, how sexy you look with your swollen tits

another boobs guy

he's using his fingers too, thick digits sliding in and out your hole easily from the extra lubrication, not ignoring your g-spot and pressing into it over and over again, and you're delirious from his ministrations

he doesn't neglect your boobs, with them looking extra large and perky, being sure to bring his blood-stained hands up to your upper half, gently fondling with your nipples, creating a a sticky mess on your chest

you cum hard, tears coming out your eyes and legs trembling and he uses his arms to lock you in as he opens his mouth wider to clean you up, not stopping until you're the one begging

he loves when you ride him, so you're sitting on his abnormally large cock, bouncing up and down roughly, creating splashes and large squelch sounds, blood running down his thigh and onto the towel he'd laid down

Choso looks like he's in fucking heaven, wetness coming out the side of his dark red-stained mouth and you continue to rock your hips on him, driving yourself closer

it's fucking messy

so messy you'd wished you'd laid out multiple towels, because now you're going to have to change your sheets at two in the morning

he loves looking down at the crime scene below you, witnessing how dirty the two of you have gotten makes his dick twitch inside you and he's letting out fucking whimpers

he's never been one to last super long while inside of you, so when he brings his wonderous fingers down to your clit and starts rubbing vigorously on the wet bundle of nerves, you know he's close

he's on a mission so as soon as you're feeling that sweet sense of relief, with your eyes fluttering shut and your pretty moans filling the room loudly, he shoots hot ropes of his cum into your throbbing cunt

he's just a pussy whipped freak, so he'll do anything as long as it means his head, hands, or cock are in between your legs

my masterlist

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x black reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto suguru #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #choso x reader #geto x female reader #geto x black reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter twelve

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): none

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The rest of March passed by at an excruciating pace. True to his word, Harry had essentially isolated you from everyone you held dear. He glared at you in the corridors when you passed by and you felt the familiar gutting feeling of guilt every single time. Especially when Ron had finally been released from the Hospital Wing.

You found out that Ron was finally out through Neville Longbottom, who had asked if you'd spoken to Ron since he'd returned. He looked surprised by your confused face and told you that he would be officially out after lunch that day. Not even Hermione had come to find you, not that you were entirely surprised. You had made your way towards the ward with Pansy's elbow crooked in your own, for stability, when the trio and Ginny exited the double oak doors.

The look that Harry gave you was gutting, but the look of utter betrayal on Ron's face made your heart stutter in your chest.

"Ron-" you begin, but he cuts you off before you can even begin to explain yourself.

"Don't." he spat, voice raspy from sleep. "Harry told us what you obviously weren't ever going to."

You inhaled harshly, the arm looped with Pansy's tightening imperceptibly. "Let me explain, please."

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses, Meadow." the way he said your name was so foreign to you. "How could you fuck the enemy? Seriously, you know who his father is."

He's not his father! You wanted to scream; to shout to the rooftops. But words had evaded you. Tears filled your eyes immediately and you barely hear as Pansy shouts at him, no qualms for the fact that he had only recently recovered from being poisoned by her friends.

Hermione and Ginny barely spare the two of you a glance as they push the two pissed off boys away and down the corridor, the sound of Hermione defending you and chastising Ron for his cruelty is merely a whisper to you.

Pansy puts a hand on your forearm, thumb tracing soft circles. She breathes your name so delicately that you're surprised you even hear it. "Meadow? They're gone."

Your breath hitches minutely and your lip trembles as the tears that had been collecting in your eyes, finally fall.

"Oh, honey." she murmurs before pulling you into the tightest hug ever. "It's okay." she says over and over as she comforts you. "If they can't see how extraordinary you are, then they didn't deserve your friendship in the first place."

You only sob harder.

"Let's go to my dorm, yeah." she says. "Have a girl's day, just us two?"

You nod once and allow her to guide you down to the dungeons, both of you ignoring the circle of your friends in one corner of the Slytherin common room, who look at the two of your passing figures in bewilderment.

You spent a whole weekend with Pansy. But the hole in your chest never seemed to go away, no matter how much the two of you gossiped and laughed.

~∞~

True to his word, Mattheo tried to help in his own way, by providing ample distraction in the form of siphon training. He had told you that his friends were willing to help you, too. It was the least they could do, he had said. And thank Merlin that they were so willing.

You had finally mastered effectively drawing an adequate amount of power from random magical objects that Mattheo would spell, but you couldn't fight the dizzying feeling that overtook you each time you succeeded.

One day, he came to you in the library, Blaise in tow.

"Hi boys." you say with a small smile, but Mattheo could tell that you were hiding your emotions from them – Harry, Ron and Hermione were only sitting a few bookshelves away from you and you had never felt more alone.

"Hello, love." Mattheo mumbled as he pressed a featherlight kiss to your cheek, taking the seat beside you and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before his hand rested on the top of your thigh. He watched as your pretty eyes brightened almost instantly, but the faint sound of Ron's guffawing laughter made them dim as if the light had never been present in the first place. His hand squeezed your thigh affectionately.

Blaise took the seat opposite the two of you and having grown used to the two of you acting 'disgustingly coupley' over the course of the month, he didn't react to Mattheo's blatent concern. You noticed that he toyed with some sort of spherical object as he made himself comfortable.

"What's that, Blaise?" you ask, and he holds it up so you can see a transparent glass sphere that was barely the size of a golf ball. You tilt your head curiously.

"It's a conduit." he says, dark brown eyes tracing the smooth edges with precision. "When you siphon from anything with a form of magic imbedded within it, like the ground or a person, you can transfer it into this and it will hopefully take on the strain of the power, while also giving you access to it."

"So in simpler terms," Mattheo says, hand stroking up your thigh lightly, "you'll be able to do what you've been successfully practicing without worrying about passing out. In theory."

"What do you mean 'in theory'?" you ask, turning to Mattheo, who looks contemplatively at the conduit in Blaise's hand.

"Well there's no information about it helping a siphoner. Only that wizards use them to trap an extra bit of their magic in, just in case their magical core is compromised."

Like a horcrux. You thought to yourself, not noticing the way Mattheo imperceptibly tenses. He had a constant foothold in your mind, because it brought you comfort. But he could hear every one of your thoughts.

"So we – well actually Theo – thought that it would work in the same way." He hesitated to mention that Theo had had a hand in helping you. You still had not spoken to him. Not since you found out about his obvious involvement in poisoning Ron. You hadn't so much as uttered a word to him: not when you're in class and certainly not during patrols. "He just wants to help."

"Right." you hummed, "Well hopefully it does. I don't particularly feel like passing out today."

Blaise and Mattheo exchanged a look that you failed to miss. You huffed.

"Thank you Blaise." you say, and through gritted teeth, you ask him to thank Theo too.

~∞~

By the time April had come around, you had made peace with the fact that your friendships with the Golden trio and company were well and truly over. Your time was spent with the Slytherin group in their common room, instead. You wondered how you'd gone so long without fully knowing the whole group (you knew it was because you couldn't think of anything worse than jeopardising your existing friendships at the time of getting to know Theo and Pansy last year). Being around them filled a void that you didn't know existed in the depths of your very being.

Blaise shared your affinity towards muggle literature (he was currently reading the Great Gatsby and the two of you found immense joy when raving about eachother's annotations and perspectives).

Enzo was one of the funniest people you'd ever met and both of you enjoyed pissing Draco off to the maximum. He was also very sweet and caring under his nonchalant exterior but his wit was sharp as a knife – your twin snark was received abysmally from everyone else.

Draco was a little harder to get along with, considering the hatred he harboured for Harry, but he was, perhaps, the most sympathetic with you (besides Pansy, Theo and Mattheo) over your lost friendships.

These people were the only ones who did not outcast you, because they understood you – even your own housemates saw how you had become distanced from your old friends and they began to grow weary of who kept you company instead.

You were a group of pariahs, a wide berth always separating you from the rest of the student body.

You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You finally talked to Theo and he apologised profusely for his part in Ron's hospitalisation, as did Enzo and even Draco. But like Mattheo, they seemed to find great difficulty in explaining themselves to you, clutching at where their hearts were as he spoke, as if it was trying to claw its way from each of their chests.

That's how you figured out the Unbreakable Vow that came hand in hand with the Dark Marks marring their left forearms. Mattheo, Theo, Enzo and Draco could not utter a word of what they were tasked to do, otherwise they would die a slow and painful death. It gave you even more incentive to get them out somehow. It would be difficult, but you'd never stop trying.

The conduit that Blaise had given to you, lay against your collarbone on a dainty chain of sterling silver, gifted by Pansy. It had developed whorls of varying shapes and sizes as you practiced siphoning day after day and you could feel the hum of power within it. It would only be released upon you shattering the glass. You were gaining control with each practiced session.

You were sat with Mattheo in a quiet corner of the Slytherin common room, focusing on a box of marbles that he had charmed individually for you to practice. The hum of your magic was faint, but the indigo glow was bright and pulsing as invisible hands sifted through the glassy orbs collecting the surges of magic with each stroke, reflecting rainbows of colour across your faces.

He had thought of this idea one evening while you laughed with Enzo at Draco's expense. He had been admiring the way your head tilted back as you heartily laughed, the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders and over his hoodie that you donned, how your eyes sparkled under the low light of the common room. He thought it was possibly the most ethereal sound he'd ever been blessed to hear.

Mattheo began with small objects. Putting a little bit of his magic into them for you to siphon out. Your magical cores mingled and danced around eachother every time you did so successfully and your conduit would glow with a symphony of colour before it would extinguish until the next time you channelled the combined power into it. He found you extraordinary.

He knew he was treading on dangerous waters. He should've never let this thing – this beautiful thing between the two of you – get as far as it had. He should not have been the cause for your broken friendships. But he couldn't help it. He was addicted to you in all senses of the word.

He couldn't get enough. And maybe that made him selfish. But everything he did in this life was for his friends, his family. So he wanted to be selfish, just this once.

Because Mattheo Riddle was in love with you.

You had integrated into his found family with ease. He protects his family. So he would protect you, too. You had lost your old friendships, but new ones had formed. Fresh, pure and innocent.

But war has a funny way of sullying the beautiful things in life. It's only a matter of time before it's ravenous claws ripped through his brief moment of peace.

~∞~

i don't really like this chapter because of all the time jumps but i needed to speed through the timeline a bit lol

and it was mean tto be slightly more fluffy than the last few, but it seems that i just can't resist writing angst.

thankyou for all the love on chapter eleven though, it means so much 🥹🫶🏼🫶🏼

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18 @moni-cah @taylorann2013 @unstablereader @gisellesprettylies @nat1221

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #pansy parkinson #pansy parkinson x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini #draco malfoy #ron weasley #harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #flangst #found family #serendipity series

[lesbian-kyoru]

feeling incoherent about the last chapter of svsss vol 3 and particularly the sex scene—i knew Vaguely what to expect and was prepared but i was not prepared for how deeply? it would move me emotionally? the grotesque and painful nature of it was so perfectly suited to the story, and i love what it got across how excruciating and uncomfortable it is to be Known intimately by another person and submit yourself to being loved by them.

it's ultimately necessary and freeing to shen qingqiu to give himself up to that Ordeal, and the forced & ultimately fatal nature of it is what allows him to actually let himself want it. and for luo binghe, even without an awareness of what he's doing, it's very humanizing to be accepted so fully and wholly for the most uncontrolled, desperate, lonely version of himself. the line "luo binghe seemed to have found some small sense of security" really struck me, the juxtaposition between the recklessness paired with that gentle realization of safety.

the terror & discomfort of the scene don't feel undesired somehow, either physically or on an emotional level, like they're just an inevitable part of what it means for bingqiu to finally embrace each other—that the love is so strong that it's worth weathering the sheer intensity of it & being consumed by it. it all just felt like a super fitting microcosm of bingqiu's relationship of absolutely clawing and clinging to each other, despite the pain and insecurities it forces them to grapple with, both together and within themselves. it's all very bare and pink and bald-faced! gahhh!!!!

#svsss #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #mxtx #i haven't written meta in ages so i am just word vomitting #i am fucked up! #zoe.txt

[pharawee]

It's Friday Sunday, and that means it's time for more omegaverse shenanigans. 🥳

Sadly, this will be my last Pit Babe novel commentary post for a while because the main story only has 25 chapters. But worry not! Apparently there's a few extra chapters and if anything significant happens you'll be the first to know (but don't be surprised if it's just chapter upon chapter of kinky sex - that's just how Daddy and Papa Charlie and Babe roll).

If you want to catch up, you can find parts 1, 2, 3 & 4 here.

As for this part - expect major spoilers, shenanigans (both omegaverse and not), family reunions, family reunions... and fun card games. But more on that later.

For now, let's get back to Babe, who's apparently rich enough to own a white Ferrari. Show-off. He's currently on his way back to Khun Tony, and he's such a brat about it that he fools the guards into letting him through. Things escalate from there. Babe threatens to bring Tony to justice once and for all, to which Tony reacts with mild bemusement. He's no longer interested in Babe since he's lost his powers, and he even taunts him with Charlie's (supposed) death. No, Tony didn't want Charlie dead. He merely wanted to incapacitate him in order to bring him back home (because car accidents are such a precise science...). It's a pity that Charlie died but, really, at least he's free now. Or something.

This man must have stupid amounts of money to throw at all of his plans because, quite honestly, they're shit. Oh well, at least we know where Way learned his... well, unnecessarily long-winded (TEN YEARS!!) ways.

Babe has heard enough but sadly Kenta steps in before he can get his hands on Tony. This leads to more taunting and the appearance of Way, who casually slings Babe over his shoulder and forcibly removes him from the premises. Which leaves the guards like, "who tf even was that weirdo?" Oh, to be a guard in Khun Tony's employment...

(photoshop is my passion)

Meanwhile, Charlie (alive and, uh, relatively well) is still busy having his stolen powers exorcised by Babe's long-lost dad (the real one this time). The more he uses a particular ability, the longer it takes to meditate out of him. No, seriously, Reval and Charlie are basically just sitting in a room mind-palacing the powers away. Apparently it's very draining.

They also talk about Charlie's guilt, and how he believes it's best to stay away from Babe as not to hurt him again. Sure, he could leave the final decision to Babe but even that, he fears, might be selfish of him as that leaves Babe with the burden of having to decide in the first place. No matter what he does, it will cause Babe both happiness and pain - just like when Charlie's initial selfishness brought him closer to Babe and then almost drove him away entirely. Charlie's mind is going in circles. He's so protective of Babe that he doesn't realise - no matter his intentions, no matter his inaction - he can't untangle himself from the hurt he's already caused and will cause going forward.

Oh, and by the way? That moment when Charlie "died" in the hospital and Babe thought he was getting his powers back and had to listen in on every excruciating detail of Charlie's body shutting down? Yeah, turns out that was Charlie causing (mass) hallucinations and slowing down his body functions. Poor Alan had to go identify Charlie's body in the morgue while Babe was in such a bad way that he basically stopped functioning.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: what the hell, Charlie, you positively traumatised the poor boy. Could you maybe have kicked the bucket a little less dramatically? Did you really have to enact all of Babe's worst nightmares to make it more convincing? Just because you mean well (and didn't do it over the span of TEN YEARS for weird omegaverse breeding purposes) doesn't make it all right.

But more on that later.

Babe has made his way to a safe house. There, he meets Pete - the oldest of Tony's sons and currently AWOL, same as Babe. Pete is adorable, all sunshine and puppies and right-hand man of a local mafia boss. Or something. Because, you see, Pete figured out early on that the only way to leave Tony was to seek the protection of someone even worse. So he started working with the mafia, as you do. Apparently, he's so good at his job that he's convinced them all to go straight. Now he's studying to become a doctor. Oh, and also planning Tony's demise by preparing a really effective presentation.

That's where Babe comes in. Him visiting Tony's mansion was all a distraction - a sleight of hand, if you will. Even though he complains about Way manhandling him (Pete offers to get him a masseuse for the pain) it was all part of their plan:

While Babe distracted the guards by making a big stink, Way snuck into Tony's evil room of plotting (or something) and stole all of his evil data. When he later dragged Babe outside, he used the opportunity to slip the data stick into his pocket. On it there's evidence of all of Tony's evil business transactions. It would be easy to give it to the police, but Pete cautions against it. The evidence would simply vanish - something that has apparently happened many times before. Instead, Pete plans to reveal all of Tony's evil deeds in a way that makes it impossible for anyone to ignore.

We cut to Charlie and Babe sharing a cute moment. Wait, what?

"I've never loved anyone this much before." Babe's voice was soft, as if he didn't really want to accept reality, but he couldn't help but share those feelings with [Charlie]. "I'm afraid that if I love you too much, it will make you uncomfortable. [...] I'm afraid I can't love you as well as you love me."

Is it a dream? A memory? A (shared) vision? Whatever it is, before Babe wakes up from it, he and Charlie share some fundamental truths about themselves. About how Babe doesn't really know how to act now that he's in a relationship because he's never been allowed to be in love. About how he feels vulnerable and unsure, afraid of taking too much instead of giving back. But Charlie reassures him that he likes Babe just the way he is. He feels very loved, and anyway, he's also never loved anyone before so it's not like he has any grounds for comparison.

Meanwhile, Charlie also just woke up. He's given away the last of his powers and he's very exhausted. Jeff is with him to keep him company. Outside, it's just stopped raining. The rain makes Charlie think of Babe because it accompanied them throughout their relationship: when they argued, when they fought, and when they first became boyfriends.

"And the first day you became a normal person, it also rained," Jeff added with a small smile [...]. "But you couldn't see it in time. Only I saw." "Yes, when I woke up, the rain had already stopped." "Maybe that's a good sign." "A good sign?" "Yes," the young man nodded lightly. "Because the rain has stopped. [...] The sky is clear now."

What is this? Allegory? In my omegaverse novel??

There's always been a shadow hanging over Charlie and Babe's relationship - heavy and dark like a rain cloud, constantly reminding them of their past, their powers and the lies it took for them to even meet. Charlie has worked hard to rid them of their powers, and Babe is busy taking action against Tony. Maybe honesty and trust are all that stand in the way of them getting their happily ever after...

Until then, all they have is last night's dream, because as it turns out Charlie shared Babe's vivid memory. Babe's powers were the last to get exorcised and perhaps it created a momentary psychic bond between them. You never know with these omegaverse x-men.

What follows is the moment we've all been waiting for: the grand finale. The Ides of... whatever month this is but I hope Khun Tony gets stabbed to death by all of his adopted children. Et tu Way!

Meanwhile, Khun Tony is throwing a party. And by party I mean a human trafficking auction where he sells off some of his beloved children to fellow rich people. Charming. Why bother with a plan at all? Why not set everything on fire?

Right, because Pete really, really wants everyone to see his presentation.

Currently, Babe is disguising himself as a waiter. We all know waiting (and retail) staff are invisible to most people so no one recognises him except for one lone guard who's so smitten that he asks Babe out on a date.

Pete is also in disguise while Way pretends to be a good son and accompanies Tony for some good old-fashioned evil mingling. Their plan is to disrupt the auction and reveal all of Tony's illegal machinations.

This is a very questionable idea because I don't know about you but if I was at an auction trying to buy a child I'd probably not care if the auctioneer was evil. I'd probably ask for a slice of the evil pie.

Just as Babe is about to set their plan in motion, he's interrupted by Kenta. Uh-oh.

But, much like Pete and Way, Kenta too has had enough of Tony and was just waiting for the perfect moment to act. He assures Babe that he won't interfere. In fact, it was him who let Way into Tony's evil room of plotting to gather all of the incriminating info on him. Et tu Kenta!

"About helping you guys, this is a personal matter. [...] I have a brain, I can think for myself, and I know what to do. [...] But not everyone has many choices. Especially me. I can't make the same choice as you. [...] So, this is the best I can do. [...] You can handle the rest yourself, right?"

And so, Kenta leaves this story (presumably with some of Tony's financial assets) never to be seen again. What a shame. Kim's existence in the series will hopefully fix this.

Meanwhile, the auction is about to begin. I mean, the... uh, fundraising for poor, underprivileged children who also happen to have powers. Everyone's delighted - except for the poor kids who are led on stage one by one and then sold off like priced cattle. The thought alone makes Babe sick. Would the same have happened to him if he hadn't run away that day (no Babe, I thought we had established that you'd have been part of the breeding program...)?

And now, after having watched episode 5 of the tv series, I wonder if this is where the plot will lead us in lieu of the omegaverse plot. Tony mentioned an auction. I wonder if his goal is to sell Babe (and any other of his adopted children) for profit.

Anyway.

Babe's thoughts are cut short by a guard patrolling in front of Pete and his hiding place. Babe decides to check things out but he's quickly overwhelmed by the much stronger guard. He starts choking Babe and things almost go from bad to worse until someone unexpected comes to Babe's rescue.

That someone is Charlie - and there's a short, sweet and intense reunion between them that proves all of his fears wrong:

"I'm sorry." "It's okay," Babe let go of the hug and immediately responded without stopping for a second, his palms framed the other man's cheeks, before kissing his entire face: his forehead, nose, cheeks and lips. "It's okay, Charlie. Really, it's okay." The beautiful alpha hugged the tall young man again while repeating "It's okay" over and over again until the listener felt guilty.

Well, that was easy. But more on that later.

Charlie, Babe and Pete quickly catch up and then join forces. Pete is amazed that Charlie gave up his powers to escape Tony's clutches, going so far as to even fake his death to protect his loved ones. He's also amazed that he'd even dare come here - powerless and without a nifty presentation.

(And also, how does this whole having no powers thing even work? Did Reval - and in turn Charlie when he stole Babe's powers - rewrite Charlie's whole dna? Because how else would that even affect Tony's evil breeding program? And why am I so concerned about the specifics of omegaverse shenanigans? For all I know none of these characters even know or care about dna.)

It's quickly decided - probably due to Charlie's lack of nifty presentations - that they'll continue following Pete's plan. But wait, where is Jeff? There's no way he'd have let Charlie come here on his own!

Back at the auction, another child is led onto the stage to be sold. It's none other than Jeff. The auction grinds to a halt while Tony attempts to save face. This leaves Jeff with enough time to introduce himself and his powers. His name is Jeff, he's a 20-year-old omega and he can see the future.

"In no more than ten minutes, everyone in this room will have the same future." Jeff looked around the room with a bright smile before saying his next sentence which made the entire meeting room fall silent. "That is, death." The little Omega smiled broadly as if his own prediction was very pleasant.

I love Jeff so much. Make them suffer!

He then adds that there's a bomb hidden in the building and it will go off if even one person attempts to leave. Who even needs nifty presentations when you've got... Oracle Omega (no seriously, this is what the novel - or rather, the machine translation - calls him. Maybe it's his code name).

Everyone is then forced to watch Pete's presentation. I really, really hope it looks something like this:

I'm not joking, it has talking cartoon dogs. Interactive talking cartoon dogs overlaid with incriminating voice files of Tony.

Turns out Tony's guests are okay with human trafficking and buying children but they draw the line at violence and murder embezzlement. Everyone is all shocked and clutching their pearls and secretly very glad that their names don't come up in this weird cartoon dog powerpoint presentation.

Tony's acting all cool until the cartoon dogs reveal that this presentation is broadcast live and for everyone to see - this includes live footage of the auction.

But it's never too late to fix your past mistakes so Tony draws his gun on Jeff because he would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling kids!

Luckily, Way quickly intervenes before Tony can fire his gun, but even though Tony's many guards are somewhat suspicious of a little guy with a bomb and someone who hypnotises people for a living, they're quickly overpowered. In the control room above, Charlie, Babe and Pete don't fare much better.

Everything seems lost until there's a loud crash.

It's Alan in a black supercar and he's crashed through the doors leading to the auction hall.

They're on the second floor (it is sadly later revealed that Alan didn't drive up the stairs - the car was already parked in front of the doors because this is what rich people do to impress other rich people, I guess).

But Alan isn't alone. He's brought several other racers, among them Six (Babe's old rival who was probably turned into either Kim or Winner in the series). Six is a powerful alpha who can cause mass hallucinations that are so strong that they're banned by law.

Yeah.

Tony's guards are going down!

Meanwhile, Tony has had enough. He locks down the whole mansion so no one can escape. Charlie, Babe and Pete make their way up to the roof because there might be a skylight without security doors. They have guns, the many guards have guns, but it's okay because this is where Pete enigma powers come in.

You see, Pete has super control over his whole body, meaning that he never misses a shot.

I guess this explains this bit in the series (except for the part where the arrows are all over the place). But also congrats to Way for his future boyfriend with amazing body control.

While Pete is busy being awesome, Charlie and Babe lament the fact that they're probably going to die here when there's so much sex still to be had. :((((

Things are looking dire indeed. They're surrounded and out of bullets. One of the guards takes aim at Babe but before the bullet can hit him Charlie intervenes by jumping into its path. Miraculously, he's okay.

But that's because a few steps away Way has also jumped into the bullet's path and it's hit him instead. Babe is in shock. He hates Way for what he's done but in a way he's still his best friend. While Alan unsuccessfully tries to stop the bleeding Babe comes closer:

"Babe…" Way's dry voice called out his name as soon as he knelt beside him. "This is all I can do." Babe was silent, he just stared at his former best friend's face, tears flowing silently, without him even realizing it. "I know whatever price I pay, it probably won't be enough. But this is all I can do." Way's voice is very soft, as light as his breath. "…. I'm sorry for being a friend like this.."

And then he dies. Babe is inconsolable, sobbing and tightly hugging Way's lifeless body. He's still angry with Way, and he'll never forgive him for what he's done, but he didn't want him to die.

They better change this whole part in the series or I'll riot. I watched Nut Supanut die once in Something in my Room and I still haven't recovered.

Their victory is overshadowed by Way's death. Tony is apprehended alive and taken into custody. His evil alpha trafficking and breeding program is no more.

A little while later, Charlie finds Babe sitting alone in the mansion's garden. They talk, and Charlie apologises once more for letting Babe believe that he was dead. If Babe wants him to, he will disappear from his life and even stop racing cars so that they'll never have to meet again. This is all he can do: give Babe the freedom to decide for himself. But Babe only asks him if he truly wants to leave, and of course Charlie doesn't. And that's that. Babe has made his choice. He has decided long ago that he wants Charlie in his life.

Their long-lasting painful lives ended in the garden of the mansion that raised them to grow up like caged animals, allowing them to meet and fall in love. Today, everything has ended. It ended with the falling rain washing away their blood stains, sweat and tears, as well as a sweet kiss that he had been thinking about for a long time, making him feel able to stand in the rain without feeling afraid.

Oh, the rain allegory (and also oh, the bad machine translation)!

The novel ends quietly with Way's funeral, eerily similar to Charlie's fake funeral a few weeks prior. It's attended by the same handful of people. Even the clothes they wear are the same (which is convenient, I guess, but also... ouch!). Despite his many wrongdoings, people loved Way - and this includes Babe. And as it turns out, it was Way who got rid of whoever caused Babe's racing accident. He never told anyone about it.

Babe stays behind with Charlie and mourns his friend. He recognises that his feelings of friendship and betrayal are both valid and important (and later on it's established that Babe actively works on processing his traumatic experiences with the help of mediaction and therapy - and you know, I really appreciate the novel's nuanced approach to a character's mental health. It's an incredibly rare thing to see in Thai BL and an even rarer thing in most kinky stories). He won't forgive Way but...

"In the next life, please be kind to me. Don't deceive me again [...} Be a good friend, idiot!"

Which is as much of a peace-offering as anyone can hope for - wishing to meet each other again in the next life under better circumstances. Negl, I teared up because it's such a bittersweet thing to say. 😭

Meanwhile, Alan and Jeff have gone ahead and are talking in the car. Their ending is vaguely romantic (with their growing relationship hopefully developing further in the bonus chapters) but for now, all Alan asks of Jeff is to accept him in his heart as his brother. Please, don't phi nong me, novel!

And because this is Pit Babe the novel, we get one last drawn out sex scene that consists of Charlie trying to cheer Babe up by suggesting a game of naughty cards. A bit like strip uno, I guess. Naturally, Babe wins, but Charlie is allowed to leave his glasses on - and wear nothing but an apron while he gives Babe the bestest and longest and absolutely mindblowing (yes, there's a lot of blowing too) dicking of his life. Babe, my man, enjoy. You truly deserve it.

The End.

No wait, the novel actually ends with Babe and Charlie racing again for this year's title of King of the Hollow. Charlie is very skilled now, and it's very close but I'm relieved to say that Babe's experience and talent isn't all for nothing and OF COURSE HE FUCKING WINS.

The End.

Hold on, wait. I forgot about the part where Charlie takes Babe to see Reval - his real father. And of course Babe forgives him and it's all very sweet and they live happily ever after.

THE END. For real this time. Except for the bonus chapters. And unless the mpreg happens there (I mean, Jeff and North are technically available...), that's it for the omegaverse shenanigans.

When I first started writing these commentary posts I never thought they'd become so detailed and long - or that people would actually be interested in reading them. Thank you so much to everyone who left replies and tags. Sharing the insanity and reading everyone's reactions was honestly the best part of it all. May Pit Babe the series treat us kindly, and may none of us ever pop up in a cartoon dog powerpoint presentation. 🙏

#pit babe #pit babe the series #pit babe spoilers #pit babe meta #bl meta #jane watches stuff #it took me days to write this and i hope it doesn't show #the length got somewhat out of hand but i hope it's still fun to read #man what a ride #(and i'm not just talking about charlie and babe's favourite pastime)

[heartfullofleeches]

What would happen if somehow, someway loser reader gets a human, maybe a yan religious person whos aware of the sex demons and how to keep them away from our dearest reader?

"bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold."

A rhyme used to teach them how to tie their laces as a child, but worked just as well for lunch boxes. They cooked meals for all manners of occasion and person. Teachers, shelters, holidays - but none quite mattered as much as the plentiful feasts they created for their dear neighbor and longtime crush - you. From what they'd witnessed, you couldn't do a thing on your own. They washed your clothes, scheduled doctors appointments, and so much more than they could count on one hand. It was like you were already married. As of late, you haven't asked for their help and even changed the locks on your doors to prevent them from getting into your apartment. While the pain was excruciating, they knew you weren't at fault.

It was them. Those demons.

From a young age they could sense the supernatural. A gift bestowed on the first born of a new generation. The door of your apartment oozed with their scent, and so did you. It's human instinct to give into temptation, and their biggest regret is that they hadn't confess to you sooner. If they express their love the day it bloomed you could've been married by now and they would have claimed the role those devils had taken. How cozy and warm your bed must be. A taste of the heaven you're both bound for once they save your soul from their wicked clutches. It was only a matter of time before they could free you, but first - they simply had to study their rivals.

Knocking on your front door, your neighbor raps their knuckles against the frame twice, breaking with a short pause before the final beat. The thick wood muffles a barrage of obscenities as someone crashes out of bed and to the door. You answer with disheveled hair clinging to your sweaty face and bruises along your neck - figure covered up with a stained bedsheet. Your neighbor averts their eyes, shame brewing as their drawn back to your exposed chest and legs. You yawn, stretching until there's a soft pop from your spine.

"Yeah?..."

Your neighbor smiles. "Y/n! Good morning! I assume all is well? I made a bit too much for breakfast this morning and, oh - well, I'd hate for it to go to waste so I brought you the rest."

"Oh... Thanks, Elio. I was kinda hungry." You reach out for the meal - shuttering as warm lips meet your neck.

"Aw, but I was just about to make you your favorite meal. You cheating on us with a new cook now, baby?"

This creature. Even in human disguise, its stench was over powering. Eilo was sure the tears in the corners of their eyes was from it, and not the way that demon clung to you so. They're stronger than that.

You swat them away. "I told you not to do that while I'm talking to people."

The demon chuckles, tugging at the band of the shorts you threw on. "Sorry, baby. I forgot. Guess you'll have to teach me some manners, hm?"

Elio clears their throat. "Either way, I'd appreciate it if you take this. Give it to a.... friend - or save it for tomorrow?"

The demon's smirk falls. "Yeah, yeah. Hand it over."

It extends its hand to take the box, reeling back with a ghastly screech as their flesh sizzles from the brief contact. Their eyes darken; teeth barred. Eilo smiles innocently.

"Is there a problem?"

"You fucking bitch."

The demon lunges for Elio, but you hold them back and shove them inside - pinning them with your weight as best as you could. "Calm down! You'll get us caught!"

The demon thrashes beneath you, nearly successful in bucking you off if they hasn't been reduced to mortal form.

"I said - calm down!" You crash your lips against their fangs, biting down on their serpent-like tongue to snap them from their frenzy. Their limbs goes taught, lips finding yours in an open kiss. Two shadows appear beside you, one lifting you off the floor and the other holding their middle finger out as they slam the door. It breaks Elio's heart to do so, but they take their leave. You pick up the lunch box after they depart. The cloth around it is drenched in water.

Three. There were three of them. This will be easier than they originally thought.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere oc #Loser reader #Saint Yan #Elio my oc #yandere teratophilia

[konigsblog]

Could I request Cthulhu!König and Cthulhu!Krueger general headcannon please? Like them getting their gear ready and such? Having to deal with tentacles? Please?

two cthulhu's?! yes please :3

tw/cw; hybrid (cthulhu), monster fucking, tentacles, RAPE/NON-CON/DUB-CON,

they're probably brothers, but both fell infatuated and obsessed with you and your precious, weakened body. both of them wanted you; a mortal, something precious. könig's hands wandered you both while his tentacles undressed you. pealing off your panties after you'd washed up on shore after nearly drowning.

you owe them something for saving you... why don't you stay still and let them take what they want as a reward for being so, so protective and kind? they could've left your sorry ass in the sea, letting other sea god's devour and slaughter you in cold blood, pitilessly and mercifully.

krueger's tentacles entered your asshole, while the other gripped around your neck firmly. dizzy, you gag and squirm, only falling limp from the excruciating pain between your soft thighs — the sensation of something large, thick, and slimy slide into your lower regions. your ass ached, it felt raw and bruised. the sounds of muttered german and curses, strings of praise and worship were audible. you panted, gasped before passing out from weakness.

könig and krueger pounded into you, taking the opportunity infront of him for granted!!

“so ein dummes, hübsches ding. Ist ihr einziger zweck, uns zu gefallen? es sollte sein... ein dummes, kleines ding wie sie hat ohne unsere aufmerksamkeit keinen wert.”

krueger breathed out heavily as könig chuckled, gripping your lifeless face and slapping you lightly, watching as you stirred and cried out.

you were so scared — unable to see, your vision unfocused. unable to scream as a thick, large, lengthy limp blocked out your screams and sobs are they brutalised your once perfect body.

translation: “such a stupid, pretty thing. is her only purpose to please us? It should be...a stupid little thing like her holds no value without our pressence.”

#orla speaks #tw: dubcon #tw: non con #tentacles #eldrich horror #eldritch #cthulhu könig thots #tw: rape #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig call of duty

[wrestletotheground]

gingerbread house - matty healy x reader

christmas prompt courtesy of @abiiors ♡

festive dad!matty

cw: fluff, f!reader, slight nsfw at the start, pregnancy announcement, just wholesome dad matty <3

wc: 1.6k

- december 12th 2021 -

matty dips his finger in the bowl of icing, smearing a dot of it on your nose with a giggle before you can protest. 'fuck off,' you laugh, pulling away and grabbing ahold of his wrists before he can do it again. 'oh, sorry, you have someth-' he reaches towards your face again playfully, before giving up and throwing his hands up in surrender as you duck away from him, wiping the white blob off your nose. both of you are in fits of giggles again, buzzing with pure love for each other.

'don't let me distract you darling, this gingerbread house isn't gonna make itself,' he adds, turning his attention back towards the slabs of biscuit on the counter.

he then realises his finger is still coated in icing. he stands there looking down at his hand, contemplating his next move for barely a second before you reach over and take it in yours, wrapping your lips around his index finger and swirling your tongue around the sugar coated tip. his jaw hangs open as you stare at him with siren eyes the whole time, sucking on the digit that's pressing down on your tongue. he lets out a low groan, biting his lip when you release it with a pop and go back to work as if nothing happened. 'fucking christ,' he mutters to himself, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief as he tries to focus on the biscuits again. 

you can see him out of the corner of your eye busying himself with something else aside from the house; alternating between different coloured icing tubes and guarding his mini creation away from your view. he looks focused, the same concentrated expression he has when he's writing down lyrics or guitar melodies in his studio. 'what are you doing? looks like there's more dilly dallying and less construction work going on over there, healy,' you grin, never taking your eyes off the little sugary jellies that you're placing ever so carefully along the top of the slanted roof.

'oneee second.... bam'. the colourful tubes clatter onto the table and he spins around to face you holding two little decorated gingerbread men. one of them has peaks of black icing on its head for hair, along with thick stripes of white and black vaguely representing a shirt and trousers. the other is in a messy black dress, three curved stripes on either side for your hair and bright dots that match your eye colour surprisingly well.

'us!!' you exclaim, instantly forgetting the task at hand and clapping your hands together in excitement. 'us!!' he repeats, his face breaking out into a grin at your reaction. 'i'll put them right here outside the door, look! it's like they're holding hands,' he says, gesturing excitedly towards his creations.

an idea springs to mind and you put it to action before you have time to think. it's daunting, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little terrified of his potential reaction, but it has to be done. you pick up a red jelly tot and place it on the plate between the two figures. your heart races as you do it, knowing what's about to come of the seemingly insignificant act. you'd only been keeping this secret from him for a few days, but waiting for the perfect moment to tell him felt excruciating.

'that's our little baby,' you say in a half-joking tone, looking up at him tentatively. 'pff, yeah, some day,' he replies obliviously, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin in the crook of your neck. 'matty...' your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, trailing off into nothing. he pulls away and you turn to look at him. he looks confused but grips onto your arms reassuringly nonetheless. 'what's wrong darling?' he asks, voice laced with concern. 'what if i said... that some day is coming soon...' you can nearly see the cogs turning in his head as he stares at you blankly, trying to figure out what you mean. his eyes widen as you take his hands and cautiously place them on either side of your belly. 'really!?' he whisper-shouts, leaning down to you. you shakily nod your head, biting your lip and smiling nervously.

'i'm pregnant, matty' you reply. 

- december 12th 2023 -

bing crosby's white christmas floats through the air from the radio as you sit at the kitchen table with matty and your 18 month old daughter, harper. you'd been having a bad day earlier until matty went out with harper, returning an hour later with a gingerbread house kit and a bottle of wine to cheer you up.

your heart melted at the gesture, especially at the fact he remembered and pointed out that it was two years to the day since you were sat in the same place and you'd told him the most important thing you'd ever had to tell him. from that day onwards he'd been nothing but supportive and loving, always there to help in any way he could and you were so eternally grateful.

'last time we made one of these i was only finding out harper was in mummy's belly wasn't i?' he says, bouncing her up and down on his leg. 'you were, and mummy was bricking it over what daddy was gonna say!' you reply, both of you laughing. casual conversations usually turn out like this nowadays, with you and matty talking to each other but directing every sentence at your daughter, as if she'll suddenly be able to answer. 

she reaches up and makes grabby hands at the gingerbread biscuits spread out on the table. 'you wanna get up and help?' she lets out a little happy scream and starts wiggling as you pick her up from matty's lap and put her sitting on the table in front of you, moving up against her back so she doesn't fall. she's instantly drawn to the bright colours of the sweets and icing, smacking her tiny hands on whatever she can reach.

she's fascinated, scooching around on the table and bouncing excitedly when you reach around her to open the bag of powdered icing. you pour it into the bowl of water that matty had set down earlier and she immediately grabs at the powder, making it erupt in a white cloud that covers herself and the table. 'woah, easy on the icing there baby,' you say. her big brown eyes sparkle in the reflection of the christmas lights as she falls down with laughter, making the two of you melt.

~

the festive playlist drones on in the background mainly unnoticed, but as soon as jingle bell rock plays you and matty's eyes light up. it's your favourite song this time of year, especially now you get to share it with harper. you take hold of her arms and dance with her, making her giggle as you move them around to the beat. matty laughs, taking his phone out to take pictures of the two of you, covered in icing sugar and having the time of your lives.

~

the decorated gingerbread house sits in the middle of the table like a trophy, but the three of you are exhausted after spending all evening on it. 'would you mind putting her to bed while i clean up?' you ask, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 'course, love' he replies, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before making his way over to where she's now sitting in her high chair.

he unclips the chair and picks her up, cooing at her softly. 'time for bed munchkin,' he says, kissing her head and getting her settled in his arms, her sleepy head lulling over his shoulder. you smile to yourself as he disappears upstairs, footsteps barely audible as he does his best not to disturb her. 

after what feels like ages, you finish up the dishes, throw the towel back over the cupboard handle and make your way upstairs to the bathroom. as you reach the top of the stairs, you hear a gentle voice coming from harper's bedroom. the door is wide open, the only light being the warm yellow of the lamp on the landing flooding through the doorway and the soft pink glow of her flower shaped night light. you peek your head into the room to see matty perched on the little stool by the open side of her cot, book in hand. '..and then, a magical cloud appeared over the snowman..'

harper is lying tucked in under her favourite blanky and surrounded by plushies as he reads to her. her eyes are gently fluttering shut, although she's clearly trying to stay awake, gazing up at her dad in awe through yawns. you tiptoe over as quietly as possible. matty's eyes flick up towards you and he smiles before returning to the story. you stand listening to him, wondering how you got so lucky.

after a few moments you lean down over her and gently place a kiss on the top of her head. 'goodnight angel' you whisper, rubbing her soft cheek with the back of your hand before stepping back and letting matty finish the book. she's fully asleep by now, so he mutters a little 'blablabla, the end. goodnight munchkin'. he leans down and places a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, making sure she's fully tucked in and covered before making his way back to you. 'fancy a bit of that wine?' he asks, closing the door over and stepping into the landing. 'ugh, you know me too well', you reply, kissing him before moving towards the stairs.

if you could have it your way you'd exist forever in that room, where you finally feel safe and truly comfortable. you and matty's little safe haven, forever <3

~

#christmas75 #dad!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy oneshot #matty healy x reader #matty healy #trumanblack #the 1975 #matty healy fluff #matty healy imagine #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfic #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann

[sevensoulmates]

where you look at it as tim confirming buddie is happening the way he's talking about bucktommy purposely echoing buddie means that he's replacing buddie with bucktommy or buck and another guy and that makes me sad.

I really don't want to be snarky here, but I do truly feel like some people in this fandom are just looking for reasons to be upset. I understand that optimism is a learned and practiced skill and that this fandom has a disproportionate amount of people who lack media literacy, but for a lot of you, I truly think you won't ever be happy with anything you see on screen, even when buddie do finally get together, you'll find something to be unhappy about.

This is your burden for not being able to comprehend the story that's being told, even when tons of people in this fandom have put in countless amounts of time and emotional energy to try to explain it to you all in excruciating detail. I feel really sorry for the people who just can't sit back and enjoy the story unfolding and have to spend every waking minute trying to find something to make them mad.

Truly good stories take time. The current world we live in has trained us to crave instant gratification, and this time you aren't going to get that, plain and simple. Deal with it.

I'm glad the writers aren't just jumping headlong into buddie to appease impatient people who have never experienced the beauty of delayed gratification in their whole lives.

If you truly want to learn how to analyze media with a logical eye rather than just having purely emotional/reactive responses like this, I would recommend picking up some books or YouTube crash courses on the craft of storytelling, the art of foreshadowing, red herrings, unreliable narrators, dramatic irony, thematic patterning, etc, and also probably some books on the history of queer portrayals in the media, both in fiction and in marketing.

Lastly, if the show is causing you this must distress, you should log off tumblr.com and stop watching the show. Find a show that suits your needs better. They're out there. This one might not be for you.

#911 abc #buddie #media literacy #guys I'm really not the one who's going to sit here and coddle y'all to make you feel better about every little thing #either have some patience and some faith #or stop watching and come back in future once buddie goes canon #it'll probably be a shorter time than you think #bye #I'm so tiredt

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Request for Nico di Angelo!

Hello! If it's okay, may I request Nico with a (GN or male) reader whos got like, super serious mommy issues? Like, they'll be in a bad mood during the last day of summer solely because of the fact that they have to see their mom once they get home. And it's not even bc they're a misbehaving kid, it's just because their mom absolutely sucks. Maybe where their mom has a bunch of pointless rules, too. Like, nothing to do with cats, praying every morning, going to church every Sunday and church school every Monday, etc. And readers just done with life during the year. They'll purposely go on quests the last week if they get the chance just so they don't have to go home, too. Lmao, just realized this is sorta venting in a way, so sorry. It's alr if you cant do my req. Take care and have a nice day/night!

this is a short one but I really like it, so... and by the way, if anyone ever wants to just vent in my inbox please feel free too, there's no judgement on this blog and you're so strong <3 <3 <3

You don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own---Nico x reader with a shitty mum [fluff, dw] »»————-　★　————-««

-Nico would be that person who’d offer to kill anyone you hated

-But he would be completely serious

-Like, no fucking around. He knows how much you despise your mum. But it’s so very hard to hate parents because they're still your parents. Godly parents are a whole different story, but the mortal ones are hard to loathe without feeling shit about it inside, so it becomes this sort of silent resentment. 

-Nico knows that. Sort of… well, from knowing you, really. And he may have planned out your mortal mother's death in a very excruciating way, with a few backup plans just in case.

-You shut that down when he mentioned it subtly, so he went back to rubbing your back and bringing your favorite snacks from the stash Cecil had secretly [everyone knew] imported from the mortal shops, then hissing at people like a rabid cat when they asked where you were. 

-He’s very good at scaring campers off.

-You’d be eating shitty junk food and sweet red strawberries in your cabin and listening to Harry Styles’ song Matilda [Hazel had bought you his record for your birthday last year] pretending your head wasn’t spinning with thoughts about how much you wanted to run away from home, and then the shadow’s by your bed would thicken and your boyfriend would just launch himself onto you.

-You’d gotten pretty used to it, obviously, and now you were pretty much immune to jumpscares. 

-It was a handy skill to have considering how many horror movies you and Nico would watch together. He liked to critique how realistic the deaths actually were, and you liked to watch his nerdy face and tease him for jumping when Ghostface crept out from behind a doorway. 

-But sometimes, mainly the days before you had to return to your mother and the house filled with crosses and rules and arguments and not enough pet cats for your liking, not even movie marathons and picnics in the strawberry fields could help your mood.

-So, Nico would resort to his back up backup plan [not the murder one, the happy boyfriend one], which was cuddle piles. 

-It had taken him quite a while to get used to touch, but between Jason’s ‘how to ask out that random dude you're obsessed with’ classes [you were the random dude] and the fact you liked to hold his hands, he would say that he was quite the expert on hugs now. So he’d wear the biggest jumper he could find, probably one of Hazel’s flowery ones, and drag you into bed. 

-Thankfully his bed was no longer a coffin [they had been turned into bookshelves] and was big enough for you both to squish in. So he’d stroke your hair and nod understandingly when you scoffed about how stupid it was to send a literal child of a Greek God to a church. 

-It wasn’t even a nice church, apparently. It smelt like socks. 

-He had a very good speech for these complaints, which you both knew the words to by now.

One day, very soon, you’re gonna get a job, or a smart person class at college, and you’ll never have to go to Sunday school again. We’re gonna get our own house too. With lots of tea and toast. And rescue cats. And we can name them after your favorite famous people and book characters and we’ll have a huge squishy couch too we can watch horror movies on. 

There’ll be lots of posters on the walls and no one will tease you about being a little kid and you can wear whatever clothes you want. Maybe not orange ones though. I think we’re all sick of oranges. 

And all of our friends can visit whenever they want to, and we’ll have all of their snacks as well. And toothbrushes.  

And we can have Christmas there, without all of the bad stuff. We can decorate the tree really badly. You don’t have to invite your mum. At all. And if she shows up, her coffin will be shaped like a fish. They’re a real thing, you know, fish-shaped coffins. 

You’ll never have to see her again. We’ll have our own place. I promise.

You can throw a party full of everyone you know, and not invite your family, 'cause they never showed you love. You don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up.

I promise. 

»»————-　★　————-««

#nico di angelo #nico pjo #nico #nico di angelo x reader #nico x reader #nicodiangelo #pjo hoo #percyjackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus

[outtoshatter]

This week's author spotlight is: the wonderful @raisesomehale! So many delightful fics to choose from!!

One-shots:

Beyond the Canyon Nook | T | 7k tags: spark Stiles, magical realism, found family Summary: Stiles has retrieved countless children from the shadows.

But Eli is the first child Stiles has found alone.

All I Want for Christmas, is You | E | 6k tags: post-canon, pack feels, Christmas fluff Summary: The sight of him is like whiplash.

Stiles and Derek have managed to keep up a reasonably active text-ship for the last few years (heavily due to Stiles’ undying persistence on the matter) but Derek’s recent inclination to jump around between continents paired with Stiles’ grueling school schedule has resulted in them not having been in the same room since Stiles left for Brown the summer after he graduated.

He’s broader. Taller. Hair buzzed short like it hasn’t been since he was a sophomore in high school, a scar nicked into the corner of his left eyebrow that Derek remembers hearing the story about (a frisky leprechaun with a bad sense of humor and a hard-on for blades.)

And when Stiles’ eyes catch sight of Derek across the room, his grin glitches into shock and he lets go of the door.

Which must be safety-weighted, considering the force with which it slams backwards against Scott.

Club Serenade | T | 822 tags: DJ Stiles, Bartender Derek, sexual tension Summary: Stiles, popular DJ at the Hale's club The Wolf Den, catches the attention of the bartender and part owner, Derek.

Serenading ensues.

Multi-Chaptered Fics:

Define "Dating" | T | 7k | 6 chapters tags: 5+1 things, oblivious Stiles, didn't know they were dating Summary: “You and Derek text each other memes?” she sounds both surprised and delighted - but more surprised.

“Well,” Stiles says, “I send memes. Derek sent me a picture of a newspaper comic strip, once.”

Lydia says, “Oh my god.”

- OR the 5 times people point out that Stiles might be dating Derek + the 1 time Derek tells Stiles they're dating himself.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold | E | 87k | 18 chapters tags: magical creatures, BAMF Derek, Creature Stiles, angst, mutual pining Summary: Seven years after being tricked and imprisoned by the Argents, Derek Hale finds himself off the blistering coasts of Antarctica aboard the Argentum Domina, an illegal prison ship out of which the Argents operate their behemoth, underground poaching empire. Bitter and packless, Derek spends his days working off his servitude by poaching creatures for Gerard to sell on the Black Magic Market, no future or end in sight. Until, Allison Argent brings him a capture case with a reward price so ludicrous that he has no choice but to accept.

The only problem is, the target creature shouldn't even exist.

Derek is flung fast into the deep webbings of a bigger mystery than he could have ever imagined. And discovers that, like this enchanting creature, not everything is as it seems.

Bonus wip:

light a spark | T | 37k | 9/15 chapters so far! tags: canon divergence, fluff and humor, energy bond Summary: “It’s not” - Derek cuts off as quickly as he starts, teeth gritting with frustration - “It’s not like the others it’s… There’s a reason I came to your house last.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise. This is hands down the weirdest Derek has ever acted around him, and it’s making him curious. 

“And that reason being…?” He rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows and leans against his desk to start untying his shoes.

“I need” - Derek grits through clenched teeth - “Your help.”

Stiles just blinks at him, shoes in his hands. “That was excruciating to witness, just so you know.”

Go check out raisesomehale's AO3 page and don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos and maybe even a comment!

#sterek #sterek fandom #teen wolf #author spotlight #raisesomehale #stiles stilinski #derek hale