# Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[i-am-inside-your-bones]

I would be mentally okay if Sniper and Scout from the hit game and comic series team fortress two were real

[asexualjedi]

Still so iconic of Matt fraction to start his run like anyways off screen Clint and Kate who have met a few times before this run have become besties and are fundamentally now intertwined characters. Like and that’s just canon now. I think more comic writers should be willing to kinda just decide a new status quo like that especially with characters that have been under utilized

[someonesrealityshifting]

Y’all someone told me to put a tw in posts about vegans but didn’t tell me what trigger warning to put and I’m confused so can someone let me know what tw they meant?

[shadelorde]

can we worry about like. actual human fucking beings first maybe

[kurooh]

MIGHT LET YOU MAKE ME JUNO ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring timeskip! miya atsumu, miya osamu, kuroo tetsurō, iwaizumi hajime, & suna rintarou tryin’ to knock up their pretty wife !

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, breeding, cuddlefucking, doggy, talk of kids & pregnancy, fluff, creampies, shower sex, minor cockwarming, squirting, full nelson, mirror sex, mention of lactation, mating press, cum in panties (offscreen), not proofread.

xoxo, juno ★ my namesake?! hehe, cheers to the surviving haikyuu fuckers on my blog <33 ty for your patience!! as always, send in some asks/reblog if you enjoyed, i love reading comments/tags

— MIYA ATSUMU

“go ahead ‘n slut yerself out all over my cock, baby.. fuuuck, jus’ like that.”

atsumu’s lips part around a needy moan, jaw hanging slackly in some kind of disbelief. after such a lengthy, tiring day, he found himself trudging into your shared bathroom to greet you.

he’d gotten hard in seconds, seeing your tits pressed against the glass door as well as your face, lidded eyes and cute pout enticing him to come join you. when he got onto his knees to get you ready, you’d bent over and tossed him a knowing smirk over your shoulder.

“lemme see that ass move again.. shit, ‘s perfect. yer perfect.” you giggle, throwing your ass back onto his cock, eyes rolling back when his tip kisses your cervix just right, sending sparks of pleasure right through your veins.

“tsumu, this isn’t all that fun,” you huff, the wild need for him to truly ruin you growing by the second. “wan’ you to fuck me, and make me yours.”

“baby, yer already mine,” atsumu lands a slap on your wet asscheek, startling you enough for your legs to spread further. “good girl,” he praises, hushed and under his breath. he reaches upwards and pulls the shower head down, pushes it into your hand and changes the setting.

“use this on yer clit, ‘kay? when yer feelin’ like ya wanna cum, don’t. hold it ‘n we’ll cum at the same time, yeah baby?”

you nod, and he smacks your ass hard, leaning backwards. atsumu pushes a hand through soaked gold strands, chuckling lowly although his voice has a serious edge to it. “‘s not how we say yes, is it?”

“y-yes, tsumu. at the same time.”

he draws his hips back, then finds himself advancing forward brutally. he doesn’t think about anything beside you — you, you, you. with the scent of your body wash tangling in the hot air, the beautiful curves and slopes of your body, the noises you make for him only.

your chest heaves when the steady spray of the shower head soon reaches your clit, immediately proving to be overwhelming and intense paired with him fucking you.

“so god damn tight,” atsumu hisses, nails digging crescent moons into the plush skin of your hips as his own collide with your ass. the bathroom is full of steam and the rhythmic clap of skin against skin — it’s hard to keep from trembling with how good everything feels, all over.

frantic panting cuts through the sound of your whimpers as atsumu feels himself nearing his peak. it’s nasty, downright filthy, the way your nails drag down the wall tiles as you desperately hump your ass back into him.

gasps of your name and affectionate nicknames fall from his lips like a sacred prayer, blending into a whiny harmony as atsumu’s thrusts grow rougher.

“baby,” he chokes, voice tight. “ya better be close, can barely last.”

“tsumu, cum inside me,” you beg, skin burning and pussy squeezing uncontrollably, squelching growing louder. “p-please, i can’t— i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” your body tenses, and the shower head falls to the floor with a clunk that neither of you register.

luckily atsumu looks down at the right moment, sees you squirt, pussy gushing onto his pelvis. as if your back arching and your clenching pussy wasn’t enough, he ends up cumming too hard, ribbons of white gushing deep into your awaiting pussy.

“fuckkk,” he groans, overstimulation setting in way too quickly and causing him to pull halfway out of your fluttering cunt.

“no, tsumu,” is all you can heave out, pushing back hard enough to send him into the wall behind him, muscled back hitting the tiles as he lets out a startled oomph. “wanna keep it inside, feels so good.”

— MIYA OSAMU

“samu,” you mumble into his lips, tossing a leg over his hip. he grunts, nose nudging your cheek as he pulls back. “yeah? what’s on yer mind, angel?”

“had a dream about a baby,” the words are spoken softly, and osamu’s fingers lightly graze your chin as he makes you look up at him. “i know it’s kinda stupid, but it was so..” your voice trails off sheepishly and there’s a pause before you admit, “you were such a good dad, samu, ‘n so sexy too.”

your bare bodies are bathed in the morning sunlight, warm and comforting as it peeks in through the curtains. this is the perfect moment with him, skin to skin, his cock still inside you as you kiss and talk about dreams of the future.

in his chest, feelings stir and ideas come to life in his head; osamu presses his hips forward with a hushed moan.

“well, i’ll give ya a baby, angel,” large hands smooth over your hips as he helps you turn away from him; then they pull you close, grabbing at your tits and tugging your nipples between his fingers.

“samu,” you sigh, words fading into a content moan as you feel his hips draw back, then advance forward, against your ass. “i want you to fill me up, give me everything.”

“only if ya take it all,” osamu huffs, tucking his face into your shoulder and closing his eyes as he starts to fuck his cock into you deeply. the thick tip kisses your sweet spot over and over, and if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, your hand wanders towards your swollen clit.

somehow, osamu’s faster than you, releasing one of your tits and swatting away your hand before he’s finding your clit with his index finger and rubbing it in messy circles.

“s-samu, fuck— jus’ like that, don’t stop!”

your back arches against him, hips twisting as a heat spreads through your veins, fiery and intense in the best ways possible. the movement of your body and then the frantic clenching of your pussy is too intense for him; sharp whines escape his throat, muffled as osamu bites into your shoulder desperately.

“i-i— shit, ‘m gonna fill you up,” is all you can make out from his rushed mumbling, and you turn your head quickly, desperate for his lips.

“kiss me, samu. kiss me as you cum inside, please.”

it’s as though the words break him — his face twists as he kisses you, whole body tensing. he presses his cock deep, thickening and throbbing before he’s gushing cum and can’t seem to stop.

“ah, fuck,” he tosses his head back, fingers scrabbling at your nipples as his chest heaves against your back, heart pounding steadily.

you cum with a whine, grinding down on his cock in an effort to get him impossibly deeper. as you ride out your highs together, trembling deliciously, he can’t help but dissolve into giggles of pure happiness.

“angel, ya got that baby for sure, jus’ like ya wanted, hm? ah, i can’t wait for a mini-me or a mini-ya. yer gonna be the prettiest mom, swear.”

— KUROO TETSURŌ

“fuck, babe. you’ve got no idea about what i saw today,” tetsurō huffs, warm breath fanning over your tits as they bounce, controlled by your bra.

spices clatter as tetsurō sweeps his arm across the kitchen counter behind you, clearing the space so you can lean back a little easier. his grip on your thighs doesn’t waver, nor does the ruthless tempo of his hips.

“tetsu, what’d you see?” you gasp, tears threatening to pour over your waterline.

“well, i saw this family,” he grunts, thrusting into you particularly hard now that he’s recalling the memory. “the dad had their kid on his shoulders, and the mom was pregnant. they looked so happy, and it made me think of you.”

“is that so?” you ask, spreading your legs impossibly wider as an invitation. you bite your lower lip, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get his cock deeper.

“tetsu,” he raises his eyes from the mess between your legs to your face, earnest and flushed. “kiss me, baby.”

tetsurō obliges, lets you tug him forward by the chin, mesh his lips with yours. it’s warm and sweet, the aftertaste of the dessert you’d been making as his surprise for when he’d come home. your tongue slips between plush, parted lips and moves with his gently, quite a contrast from the rough way he’s fucking you.

“ah, shit,” he moans, struggling to kiss you back when he feels your sticky walls clenching down on his too sensitive cock.

tetsurō leans forward and buries his flushed face in your shoulder, kissing the tender skin a few times before nipping it and then finally biting down into your shoulder.

he practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into muscle as you push him forward. in a hushed tone and into his ear, you say sweetly, “tetsu, fuck a baby into me.”

“oh, i fucking will, princess.”

although, despite his rough words, he’s wheezing and whining every now and then into your shoulder, hoping it muffles his sounds.

your hand slides up his neck and tangles into dark tufts of hair, pulling tight as your own orgasm approaches. your pleasure mixes with his own, and just before the knot in your belly snaps, you feel a strong pulsing deep within your pussy.

he groans loudly, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. your nails dig hard into his scalp and the sting of pain only seems to make him get a little more vocal.

tetsurō pants into your neck, trying to find his bearings now that his limbs feel like jelly.

“hold me?”

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“h-haji, this was a good call..”

“oh yeah?” hajime’s voice rumbles in his chest, strong and steady against your back as he keeps your legs wide open. “have we ever tried this one?”

“i don’t think so, but we definitely will in the future.”

“feels that good, princess?” hajime chuckles, eyeing your reflections in the mirror mounted across the bed. for a moment, he considers the two of you puzzle pieces — he sees that his cock fits snugly inside you, and the thought that you may be made for each other briefly crosses his mind.

“of course it does,” a sheen of sweat glimmers on your face, skin glowing beautifully in the mirror. “god, hajime, y-you’re so deep..”

he notices your eyes falling shut, head tipping back, and he raises his hand to lightly smack your cheek. “mm, princess, gotta keep watching. i want you to see yourself cum, alright?”

“fine,” you huff, feet dangling in the air and bouncing every which way as he fucks into you, heavy balls smacking your pussy with each stroke.

“what made you wanna try this?” you ask, knowing you should save the question for later, but you’re too curious not to ask. why would your husband come home someday and randomly want to try a new position you’d never heard of?

“well, you know..” in the mirror, you catch the flush on his tanned cheeks. “we’ve both caught the fever recently, and this is a solid position for makin’ babies.”

you gasp sharply when hajime turns his hips ever so slightly, and the resulting sensation causes pressure to build in your pelvis. “shit— right there, haji, just like that..”

he grunts, body stiffening as he tightly holds you in place and fucks into you like it’s the last time you’ll ever be like this together.

“wanna get you pregnant,” hajime groans, abs flexing with the effort of maintaining his merciless pace, “i wanna—shit—wanna breed you.”

“you want it that bad?” you breathe, just barely keeping your eyes open and focusing on your bouncing reflection. “fuck me full, then, haji.”

hajime doesn’t question it, thinks of you with a swollen belly and milky tits all for him to hold and take care of. you, with your glowing skin and beautiful body from all the pregnancy hormones.

the idea of it all is too much to bear, not to mention cumming deep inside your cunt, this time with the intent to breed.

he can’t even muster the words to warn you that he’s cumming as hard as he is; after a choked, tight groan, he falls silent and rocks his hips into you.

“fuck it deep, haji,” you whisper, on the edge yourself. obedient and too far gone in his fantasy, he does exactly what you ask, whining very quietly from the sensitivity.

shaking on top of him and watching the reflections in the mirror, you cum hard, dissolving into unmatched pleasure. and you’re thankful you keep your eyes open, moaning at the very sight— hajime doesn’t even pull out, he’s still pushing his cock in and out of you, but cum races from your cunt in thick white rivulets.

“i’m trying,” he huffs, sensitive when he glances up and notices how intently you’re watching the mirror. his cheeks flush lightly when you both notice that most of his cum ends up dripping down his balls and out of you.

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll cum however many times it takes, sound good?”

— SUNA RINTAROU

“you want a few brats? oh, i just felt your pussy squeeze up. ‘s what you want, huh?” rintarou bites, harshness of his thrusts drawing whimper after whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

“i want it, rin,” you feel one of his palms smoothing over the plushness of your lower stomach, just above your pelvis. “w-what’re you doing?”

he laughs at your stutter, keeps your legs steady over his shoulders. rintarou draws his hips back, leaving just his tip inside your quivering pussy. then, he presses down on your lower stomach and slides in, adding more pressure with each inch.

“rintarou!” you wheeze, jerking your hips to the side in a pathetic attempt to run away from the overwhelming pleasure he gives you with every movement, big or small.

“nuh uh, pretty girl,” his free hand grabs ahold of you tightly, tugs you towards him and then settles to rest on your neck. rintarou’s fingers are loose on each side of your throat, hand placed there in a demonstration of control. but what’s the point of that, when he’s already made it clear by hoisting your legs over his shoulders and folding you in half?

“you’ll take it, all of it.”

“but ‘m sensitive, i’ve cum too many times,” you can’t even recall a number or remember how long he’s been fucking you like this.

you’re both sticky with sweat, your thighs stained white with dried cum from previous rounds and marked with love bites he’d given you in his excitement to get a taste of your pussy.

it’s so fucking messy because rintarou’s the one who can’t stop asking to eat you out and push the cum back inside; you always say yes, then cum until you’re dizzy and can’t see straight.

you taste yourself from earlier on the corners of his lips when he bends forward and gives you a chaste kiss. “l-last time, okay? i’ll give you your brats, pretty girl.”

the sweet pout on your lips that’s quickly replaced with something else and wail of his name that leaves you when he starts jackhammering your pussy turns him on to the max.

incoherent babbling of what he’ll give you and how good you feel blend together, and before you can fully register it, rintarou’s folding forward with a deep groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum so fucking hard, i—”

he shuts up and gives you a few more thrusts before he’s pushing deep and cumming — he’s not done when he pulls out and covers your pussy in cum.

“r-rin, keep it inside,” you whine sadly, watching as he collects it on his tip and then plunges it back inside.

“jus’ needed some extra lube,” he says coolly, but he really just wants to cum all over you. “how’s it feel inside, pretty baby?”

“like i need some more.”

rintarou laughs at the way you turn away, cheeks hot in embarrassment because you were the one who wanted a break. “we are going out later, hm?”

your nod makes him smile, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “how about i cum in your panties and you walk around with ‘em?”

[inseobts]

Hello!! I just found ur blog and I really like ur writing ☺️ I would like a imagine/scenario with fem!reader, she is in a relationship with the captain trio (kid, law and Luffy) just some silly things about them arguing about with boat she should stay for the next time (the captains are not with each other, they kinda "share" the reader) I also would like it fluffy please 😊 I'm sorry if that's confusing, English is not my first language

Three Boats, One Heart

law + kid + luffy x fem!reader (poly relantionship)

a/n: okay idk if I did it good but I loved that I didn't have to choose just one lmao

words count: 3.9k

tags: fluff, captain trio x reader, poly-ish, jealousy, silly arguments, established relationship/s

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind is soft today. The sea is calm. You’re smiling.

You should have known peace wouldn’t last long.

“I told you she’s staying with me this time!” Kid’s voice booms across the small island harbor, arms crossed and lips curled into a scowl. His red hair shines under the sun, making him look even angrier than usual.

“No,” Law says flatly, not even looking at Kid. His cold eyes are on you “She said she’d stay on my submarine this week. We made plans.”

“Plans?” Luffy cuts in, loudly. He’s already clinging to your arm like a koala “But she promised me meat night on the Sunny! That’s way better than boring submarine plans!”

“I didn’t promise—” you try to speak, but your words are drowned out by the three men yelling over each other again.

“She likes spicy food! My chef makes it best!” Kid growls.

“She said she wanted to read that book I found. That’s on my ship” Law shoots back, tightening his gloves.

“I have hammocks! And sea kings to see! And fun! You’re boring, Law!” Luffy huffs.

You stand there, blinking slowly, while your boyfriends, three of the most dangerous men on the sea, argue like kids in a candy store.

“Why don’t we let her choose?” Law finally says, raising an eyebrow “She has a mouth.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna say Kid’s ship” Kid smirks.

“Meat night!” Luffy shouts again.

You sigh, putting your hands up.

“Guys. Guys. GUYS!”

They freeze. All three turn to look at you. Luffy’s eyes are wide. Law’s brow twitches. Kid grumbles something but shuts up.

You smile sweetly “How about… I choose after dinner?”

“No!” They shout in unison.

“Of course you’d wait until after meat night” Law mutters to Luffy.

Kid rolls his eyes “Typical.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh “Then I’m flipping a coin.”

Three voices, instantly:

“No fair!”

“Unscientific.”

“Do two out of three!”

You take a deep breath.

This is your life now.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The sun dips lower in the sky, painting the clouds pink and orange. You sit on a crate at the edge of the harbor, swinging your legs. You should be relaxing.

But instead…

“Y/N.”

You blink. Law’s standing in front of you, quiet and serious. Too quiet. You squint suspiciously.

“What are you hiding?”

“…Nothing.”

He sits beside you. Then, very slowly, he pulls something from his coat.

Your eyes widen “Wait. Is that...?”

“The new novel from the Baterilla Book Fair,” he says calmly “First edition. I used Room to grab it before anyone else could.”

You gasp “Law!”

“I thought you’d appreciate it. Since you ‘haven’t had quiet reading time in weeks’.”

Your heart flutters. He even remembers that?

Before you can thank him, a loud clang rings from behind.

“Killer, give me the tray! Move!”

You turn just in time to see Kid stomping toward you with a whole plate of your favorite spicy dumplings. His metal arm is holding the tray like a fancy waiter. It’s kind of terrifying.

“You like food more than books anyway, right?” he says, shoving the plate into your lap.

“Excuse me?” Law snaps, standing up.

“Chill, Surgeon Freak. You can read your little book while she eats my food” Kid smirks.

You glance between them.

“…Are you two trying to bribe me?”

“No” Law says.

“Yes” Kid says at the same time.

“MEAT NIGHT!!!”

Both men nearly jump as Luffy appears out of nowhere, hanging upside down from a tree branch above you like a happy little menace.

“I saved you the biggest steak!” he grins “And I got Usopp to make you a sea cow milkshake! You have to come now!”

You burst out laughing.

All three of them stare at you.

“Okay,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “this is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous” Luffy mumbles into your hair, now fully clung to your back like a backpack.

“Don’t touch her like that...” Kid growls.

“She’s not yours” Law adds.

“She’s mine right now!” Luffy says proudly, kicking his feet in the air.

You let out a long sigh, smiling at them all.

“Alright. How about this. Since you’re all going the same way, I spend one day on each ship. Three days, three ships. Fair?”

They look at each other. Then at you.

“…Fine” Law says first.

“Tch. I guess that works” Kid mutters.

Luffy hums “Only if I get to keep her the fourth day!”

“What fourth day?”

And just like that, they’re bickering again.

You sit back with your plate of dumplings, the new book in your lap, and Luffy still clinging to you like an overgrown plushie.

Yeah. Life is good.

The moon is up now. The island is quiet except, of course, for your three boyfriends standing in a triangle around you, arms crossed and eyes sharp like you’re about to make the most important decision in the world.

You hold up the coin “Heads is Luffy. Tails is Law. If it lands on the edge, I go with Kid.”

Kid’s eye twitches “What?!”

“Relax,” you smirk “It’s a joke. Two rounds. First flip is Law versus Luffy. The winner faces Kid. Final flip decides who gets me first.”

They all freeze.

“…That’s so dumb it might work” Kid mutters, crossing his arms.

“I accept this tournament” Luffy says seriously, like it’s a sacred honor.

Law just sighs “We’re gambling for time with our girlfriend. Ridiculous.”

“Still playing, though?” you smirk.

“…Obviously.”

You clap your hands once “Alright. First round: Luffy versus Law. Heads for Luffy, Tails for Law. Let the Coin Games begin.”

You flip it high. All three captains tilt their heads to watch it spin.

Clink.

“Tails!” you call “Law wins the first round!”

“HAH,” Law smirks, pushing his hair back “Try again next time, Straw Hat.”

“NNNOOOO!” Luffy drops to his knees like you just told him meat is illegal “I wanted to go first!”

You pat his head gently “So cute. It’s Law vs. Kid now.”

“Easy,” Kid scoffs, stepping forward “He’s going down.”

Law rolls his neck like he’s prepping for a fight “I hate this coin.”

You flip again.

It spins.

Clink.

“Heads,” you say, blinking down at it “Kid wins.”

Kid raises both fists in the air “HELL. YES.”

Law just stares in silence, his soul briefly leaving his body.

“I lost to him?” he whispers.

Luffy’s already back on his feet, grabbing your hand “I love this game! We should do this every week!”

Kid grins down at you “Guess who’s staying on the Metal Queen tonight?”

You sigh, half-laughing, half-panicking.

“Fine. Kid wins this round. But you two get your turns after, okay?”

Law and Luffy both grumble in unison but nod.

You don’t miss the way Law mutters “best two out of three” under his breath.

Or how Luffy is already planning “revenge”.

Aboard the Victoria Punk, the ship smells like oil, metal, and faint spice from the kitchen. It’s loud. Messy. Kind of chaotic. Very Kid.

He walks with you through the deck like he owns the world. Probably because he thinks he does.

“You’re not cold, right?” he asks suddenly, pulling off his heavy coat and tossing it around your shoulders without warning.

“It’s warm” you say with a soft smile, hugging it around yourself.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking away “Yeah. Whatever.”

Later, you sit in his workshop while he tinkers with something strange and sparking. He lets you sit on the counter, tosses you tools when you ask, and only yells a little when you nearly press a self-destruct button.

“I like when you’re here,” he mumbles, not looking at you “Ship feels less… noisy.”

You blink “Kid. Your ship is always noisy.”

“Exactly.”

You chuckle, reaching down to brush a bit of oil off his cheek. He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm like it’s no big deal.

You don’t tell him your heart stutters. He doesn’t need the ego boost.

You wake up in Kid’s room. It’s not as scary as people would think. Sure, there’s a pile of gears in one corner and his desk looks like a mad inventor lives there (he kind of does), but the bed is surprisingly soft.

Probably because he shoved every blanket on the ship onto it last night.

You stretch, blinking as the first rays of sunlight sneak through the window. A heavy weight is across your waist.

You look down.

Kid’s metal arm is draped over you like a guard rail. His face is pressed into the pillow beside yours, red hair a mess, mouth slightly open. He’s snoring. Just a little.

You try to move.

The arm tightens.

“…Don’t” he mutters, still half-asleep.

“I need to pee.”

“…Hold it.”

You snort “Wow. Romantic.”

He finally opens one eye “You got somewhere else to be?”

“I mean, eventually? The deal was one day each.”

“Tch.” He flops onto his back, metal arm now resting across your stomach like a very heavy paperweight “Not a good deal. Should’ve fought harder.”

“You won.”

“Yeah. But now I gotta give you up.”

You pause.

“…Did you just say something sweet?”

“No. Shut up.” He throws a pillow at your face.

You toss it back.

He catches it midair, grinning “You really like that coin more than me, huh?”

You smirk “The coin doesn’t snore.”

“Liar. Coin’s boring. I’m way more fun.”

He leans in and kisses you hard, no warning, no softness. It’s all teeth and heat and Kid. He pulls back just enough to murmur “Next time, I’m not letting that stupid surgeon or Straw Hat touch you for a week.”

You raise an eyebrow “Jealous?”

“Damn right I am.”

You wrap your arms around his neck “Then make this day count.”

He grins.

Challenge accepted.

Later on you stand at the edge of the harbor, bag over your shoulder, Law’s submarine already waiting in the water like a quiet shadow. You can see Shachi waving from the deck. Bepo’s holding a handmade welcome banner. It’s adorable.

Behind you, Kid is scowling like he just bit into something sour.

“You don’t have to go, you know” he mutters, arms crossed. His metal arm whirs softly as he flexes it without meaning to.

“I do,” you say, turning to face him “We had a deal.”

“Deals can be broken.”

“Not this one.”

He glares at the submarine like it insulted him personally “Stupid bathtub ship.”

You smirk “Aww. Are you gonna miss me, Captain Angry?”

“…No” he lies.

You step closer, rising up to kiss his cheek “Well, I’ll miss you.”

He shifts awkwardly, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. But when you start walking away, he follows behind you like an annoyed cat.

You reach the dock. Law’s crew starts lowering a little platform to pick you up.

Kid frowns deeper “This is dumb.”

“Don’t start” you sigh.

“I don’t like this.”

“You agreed to this.”

“Under protest.”

You glance back at him, amused “Come on, Kid. Sharing is caring.”

That does it.

“I share nothing with them!” he snaps, voice echoing.

You turn around slowly, tilting your head. Then you smile. Not teasing. Not smug. Just soft.

“You do,” you say quietly “You share me.”

Kid blinks. His jaw clenches.

You can almost see the NO I DON’T forming on his lips, but he doesn’t say it.

He looks at you and his scowl twitches into something closer to pain “That’s different.”

“I know,” you whisper, stepping up to him one last time. You press your forehead to his “But I come back. Every time.”

He exhales through his nose “You better.”

“I will.”

“You better wear the coat I gave you. It smells like me.”

“…That’s why you gave it to me?”

He shrugs, smug again “Marking my territory.”

You shake your head, laughing, and step onto the lift as it takes you down toward the sub.

Kid watches the whole way, eyes sharp, arms folded tight across his chest.

You wave.

He doesn’t wave back but you know he’s still watching, until the sub door closes behind you.

The inside of the Polar Tang is calm, quiet, and weirdly clean. After the wild noise of Kid’s ship, it’s like walking into a library, if libraries smelled like antiseptic and steel.

Bepo meets you at the entrance with the banner still in his paws.

“Welcome aboard, Y/N! Captain said you’re not allowed to do any chores. And also that we have to ‘give you space’ but I don’t know what that means!”

“Thanks, Bepo,” you giggle “He’s just being dramatic.”

“I heard that” comes Law’s voice from down the hallway.

You walk toward it, dragging your bag behind you, and turn the corner to find him already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look bored.

He looks at you for one second too long.

You raise an eyebrow “What?”

“You’re five minutes late.”

“I know, Kid was being… Kid. But I’ll make up for it.” You smirk.

He glances away “Good.”

You roll your eyes and keep walking “So what’s the plan? Books? Tea? Staring at walls in silence?”

“I made a schedule.”

You freeze “You… what?”

He pulls a folded paper from his coat pocket “It includes meals, reading time, coffee breaks, and precisely two hours of optional nap time.”

You stare “You made me a day plan?”

“It’s important to have structure.”

You press your lips together “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re the one who dates me. And I’m the most normal one here and out there.”

You both smirk.

Later you’re in his room. Wrapped in one of his giant coats. Reading.

Law’s on the couch across from you. Also reading. Except he’s definitely not reading anymore because he keeps glancing over the top of the book every ten seconds.

Finally, you sigh and close yours “Okay. What is it?”

“…What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.”

“You are definitely staring.”

He shuts his book and leans back “You smell like Kid.”

You blink. Then grin “Oh my god. Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Law…”

He mutters something under his breath and gets up, walking over to you. He plucks the coat off your shoulders, drops it on the floor, and replaces it with his own. It smells like clean linen and ink and something you’ve decided is just “him”.

You blink up at him, amused.

He leans down, cups your chin, and kisses you slow and deliberate.

When he pulls back, he mumbles, “There. Better.”

“Still jealous, though.”

“Shut up.”

You laugh and curl into his coat, dragging him down beside you on the bed.

It’s quiet. Warm. Comfortable.

This is his love language. Quiet touches. Shared books. Little things that say, you matter.

He tucks you close, arm around your waist, whispering almost shyly, “Don’t fall asleep yet. You haven’t had coffee.”

You smile against his chest.

“I don’t need coffee. I have you.”

He groans softly “That was awful.”

“You loved it.”

“…Yeah.”

You wake up warm, tucked under smooth sheets. Everything smells like fresh cotton and old paper.

Law is still asleep behind you, breathing steady against the back of your neck.

He’s the kind of sleeper that holds on without meaning to, one arm around your middle, the other curled loosely near your head like a shield.

You shift a little.

The grip tightens instantly.

“…It’s not time yet” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep.

You smile, still half-asleep yourself “We have around twenty minutes.”

“That’s twenty minutes too soon.”

You laugh softly “You made the schedule, remember?”

He groans and presses his face into your shoulder “Mistake.”

You turn to face him. He’s got bed hair, soft eyes, and that quiet pout he doesn’t know he makes in the morning.

“You could just come with me, you know” you tease.

“No.” He closes his eyes again “He’s too loud. And he’s going to jump on me.”

“True.”

You brush a hand over his bangs, then kiss the spot between his brows “But I’ll miss you.”

His eyes open slowly. Golden brown, focused. Honest.

“…I’ll miss you too.”

You both lie there for a little longer before he finally sighs and sits up, stretching “Come on. I’ll walk you to the dock.”

The Thousand Sunny bobs cheerfully at the edge of the water. Luffy is already waving both arms like a windmill “Y/N! Y/N! I made snacks! Hurry before Usopp eats them!”

You shake your head, laughing.

Law stands beside you, hands in his coat pockets, watching like he’s preparing for surgery. His mouth is a flat line, his shoulders a little too stiff.

“He’s… excited” you offer carefully.

“He’s loud.”

“You said that already.”

“He’s going to drop you.”

“I’ll survive.”

“…Unlikely.”

You nudge him with your elbow “You’re allowed to be annoyed. Just don’t kill him.”

Law exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh “No promises.”

You look up at him and smile softly “You know, Kid yelled the whole time when I left. You’re kind of… the opposite.”

“I don’t yell” he says, insulted.

“No, I know. You… hold it all in.”

He glances at you, eyes unreadable “Is that a bad thing?”

You shake your head “No. It’s a you thing.”

You lean up on your toes and kiss him. Slow. Thoughtful. Long enough to make Luffy groan loudly in the distance.

“STOP KISSING, START WALKING!”

You both ignore him for a second longer.

When you pull away, Law presses something into your hand, a folded note. You blink.

“What’s this?”

“A list.”

You open it and read: “Come back safe. Drink water. Don’t fall off the ship. Don’t forget me.”

You smile so wide it almost hurts.

“Romantic and bossy at the same time” you tease.

He shrugs “I multitask”

You take a few steps away, then pause and turn.

“Hey, Law?”

“…Yeah?”

“I’ll come back. I always do.”

He doesn’t smile. But his voice is soft.

“I know.”

You barely make it onto the Sunny before Luffy tackles you in a flying hug.

“YOU’RE HERE!!!” he shouts, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’re a piece of treasure he thought might vanish.

“Luffy! Breathing! Air!” you wheeze, laughing as he spins you in a circle.

The crew just watches fondly, like they’ve seen this a hundred times before.

“You’re late!” Luffy declares, finally setting you down.

“I’m literally on time.”

“But I missed you!”

You open your mouth to reply, but he suddenly cups your cheeks, squishing them “Do you smell like Law?! Ew!”

You grin “He gave me a coat.”

“I’M BURNING IT.”

Later he gives you a tour of the ship again like it’s your first time.

“Here’s your room! Just kidding, you can sleep in my hammock!”

“This is the kitchen—Sanji said I can’t cook anything, but I might have made snacks.”

“This is where Usopp and I tried to make a rocket once! It almost worked!”

He’s chaos on legs, grabbing your hand and dragging you from one spot to the next with endless energy.

But the moment you say, “Luffy, slow down” he stops instantly and looks back at you, worried.

“You okay?”

You blink “Yeah. I just want to be with you. You don’t have to impress me. And I’ve been on this ship thousands of times.”

He tilts his head, smile softening “I know. I just wanna show you stuff. ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You raise an eyebrow “Part mine.”

He frowns, dramatic “Don’t say that!”

You laugh and tug him down to sit on the deck. The stars are starting to show. The ocean sways under the ship like a giant heartbeat.

You lie back.

He flops down next to you, arms behind his head.

“I like this” he says.

“Just lying here?”

“Yeah. With you. It feels like the end of a good meal.”

You turn your head to look at him “That’s your best way of describing love, huh?”

“Yup!” He grins “Warm, full, and happy.”

You nudge him “You’re getting good at this.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“On who?”

He grins wider “On you.”

Later that night you’re curled in his hammock, swaying gently. Luffy’s tangled up with you, head on your chest, arms around your waist, snoring softly.

For someone who never stops moving, he sleeps like he never wants to let go.

You brush a hand through his hair.

“I’ll come back” you whisper, though he’s already dreaming.

He mumbles something.

You lean down.

“Luffy?”

“…Don’t go too long.”

Your heart twists.

“I won’t” you promise.

You’re still on the Sunny in the morning, sitting on the edge of the deck with your legs swinging over the side, sun warming your face.

Luffy’s beside you, leaning against the railing with a toothy grin, snacking on meat like nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

Then you hear it.

A mechanical thunk and a soft hum of teleportation.

You glance back.

Law steps onto the deck with his hands in his pockets. Kid is right behind him, arms crossed, face unreadable. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Luffy waves like it’s a reunion party “You’re late!”

“We weren’t invited” Law deadpans.

“Still late.”

You turn to them both, heart already in your throat.

“You guys came to fight over who gets the next turn?” you ask, even though you already know.

Law shrugs, casual on the outside “I assumed the coin toss would happen again.”

“Yeah,” Luffy says “Let’s flip it! Where’s the coin?! I'm going to win this time!”

You hold up your hand.

“No.”

They both pause. Even Luffy blinks at you.

Kid doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw’s tight. That angry glint in his eye is gone, replaced by something more dangerous, quiet.

And that’s what gets you.

Because Kid is never quiet. He’s yelling, cursing, stomping, alive.

And right now he looks like someone who’s afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll say something he can’t take back.

You step forward, past Law, past Luffy.

“I’m not flipping a coin this time,” you say softly “I’m going with Kid.”

His head jerks a little, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“I said something dumb last time,” you continue “I thought I was being funny. But you’ve barely looked at me since then. You haven’t said a single thing, and that’s… not like you.”

He stays silent.

You step even closer, just a few feet away now.

“I think I hurt you. And if I did… I’m sorry.”

Finally, his jaw unclenches. His voice comes out rough, like it’s been held back too long.

“You didn’t hurt me” he says, not meeting your eyes.

“Then what?”

He looks at you and shrugs, like it’s not a big deal.

“I just don’t like when the person I’d rip the sea apart for calls herself something I have to share.”

Your heart cracks and stitches at the same time.

Before you can say anything, Luffy steps forward and grins.

“Okay!” he says “Then it’s Kid’s turn!”

Law doesn’t argue either. He just gives you a soft look. A knowing one.

“…a week each?” he says, not to Kid, but to you.

You nod and smile softly “That would be great.”

As you walk back toward the dock with Kid, he finally speaks again.

“…You don’t have to come back with me, you know.”

You look up “I want to.”

He looks away, ears a little red “…Good.”

Behind you, Luffy waves “BYE! DON’T DO TOO MUCH KISSING WITHOUT ME!”

Law just mutters something under his breath about idiots and walks away.

But in that silence, those few moments where nobody argues, nobody fights, you know that they understand. Not just you. Not just their place in your world. But they understand each other.

Even if they’d never say it out loud.

[allthatjazz416]

Ushijima NSFW 💎

"Soft Spot" an Ushijima TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Post-game sex! Needy!Ushi! Switch!Ushi! SoftDom!Ushi! PussyWorship! Fingering! Oral (f. receiving)! Creampie! Intimate! SlowSex! BodyWorship! CouchSex! Aftercare! Word Count: 4.1k Note: MY MAN! 🫶 This was supposed to be fluff just rotting in my drafts but then I turned it into smut so yeah. YAY! MORE SMUT ON THIS BLOG igs! I love him so much!

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

You don’t even have to look up from your spot on the couch to know it’s him. There’s a particular way Ushijima Wakatoshi walks—purposeful, steady, solid like he’s always got the weight of a team riding on his shoulders. And maybe he does. Being one of Japan’s top players isn’t easy on the body—or the heart.

But here, at home, he isn’t the stoic powerhouse that people see on TV. Here, he’s yours.

“Hi, baby,” you call gently, peeking over the blanket draped over your legs.

He’s already walking toward you, gym bag half-zipped, hair damp from a quick rinse at the stadium. He looks tired, like the pressure’s still clinging to his skin.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and soft.

You shift the blanket open in invitation. That’s all it takes.

Without another word, Ushijima drops his bag by the door and crosses the room with long, quiet strides. He peels off his hoodie, revealing the familiar contours of his strong frame—broad shoulders, lean muscle, arms that have caught a thousand spikes. Arms that now wrap around you like you're his entire world.

He practically melts into you.

All 90kg of pro athlete presses into your side until you're half lying down, half holding him up. You shift, letting him climb fully onto the couch with you, until you’re lying back and he’s resting on top of you, head tucked against your neck, breath warm against your collarbone. You swear he lets out the softest sigh—like he’s been holding it in all day.

“Tough match?” you murmur, threading your fingers into his hair. It’s soft from the shower, still damp in places.

He shakes his head slowly. “We won.”

You smile. “That’s good.”

He hums. But something’s still off.

You brush your fingers down the slope of his back, feeling tension coiled there. “What’s wrong, Toshi?”

He’s quiet. Then, in that same blunt, painfully honest tone he always uses—on court, in press interviews, and apparently now with his face buried in your chest—he says

“I missed you.”

Your heart clenches.

You curl your arms tighter around him. “You’re here now.”

His voice comes again, muffled. “I don’t like being away from you. It makes my chest feel... strange. Empty.”

God. This big, serious man. Always so composed, so exact with his words. And yet, here he is—clinging to you like something fragile.

“You’re allowed to feel that way,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. “Even aces need to be babied sometimes.”

He huffs. “I’m not a baby.”

You glance down. He’s pouting. Pouting. It’s faint, but it’s there.

“No, of course not,” you tease, brushing your nose against his temple. “You’re my big, strong, six-foot-three husband who needs forehead kisses when he gets overwhelmed.”

“…Yes.”

You laugh, heart full.

You kiss him right on the forehead.

And then again, when he nuzzles impossibly closer, when his hand slides beneath your shirt just to feel your skin, grounding himself in you.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You feel it in the way he breathes easier with every passing second, how the tension leaks from his body the longer he stays in your arms.

To the world, Ushijima Wakatoshi is composed. Cold. Unshakable.

But here, in your arms, he’s just your man.

And he’s never felt safer.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Ushijima doesn’t move much. He just lays on top of you, resting all that heavy strength like he trusts you to carry the weight he can’t speak aloud. And you do. You always will.

Your fingers keep working through his hair, gentle and repetitive. It’s the only motion in the room, besides his slow breathing against your skin.

You whisper soft things sometimes. Nothing important. Just little reassurances.

“I love you, you know.”

His arm tightens around your waist.

“You did good today. You always do.”

Another breath.

“I’m proud of you, even when you don’t say anything. Especially then.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“I like it when you talk like that,” he admits. Quiet. Honest. Voice a little rough.

You smile, tilting your head so your lips brush against his hair. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t have to think as much when you talk.”

Your heart tugs.

“I’ll talk all night, if it helps.”

“…It does.”

And maybe it’s the softness of the moment. Or the way he’s breathing against your neck—slow, then shallower. The subtle shift in his hips. The warm palm stroking just under your ribs like it’s second nature.

But something stirs.

Your hand drifts from his hair to the nape of his neck. Down, over the ridge of his spine. You press your palm to the small of his back and hold him flush to you.

You feel it. The twitch.

Just the slightest grind of his hips—barely a shift, but unmistakable.

His breath stutters.

You smile lazily. “Toshi.”

“…Yes?”

“You’re hard.”

He stiffens. And for once, he doesn’t have a clear answer. You hear him swallow.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

You cut him off, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back. “I know. It’s okay.”

He pulls back just slightly, so he can look at you. His eyes search yours—deep green and open in a way that no one else ever gets to see. You feel him breathe, heavy and warm, and his voice comes a little lower now.

“May I…?”

You don’t even let him finish.

You lean up and kiss him. Slow. Deep. One hand cradling the back of his neck while the other drifts lower, sliding down the ridge of his spine to rest over his ass. He groans softly into your mouth, and it’s like something clicks—like he finally gives himself permission to want.

His hips roll into yours, firmer this time.

You let out a breathy moan, caught off guard by how needy he suddenly feels. How desperate. Like holding it in all day has built into something molten.

“You want me, baby?” you whisper against his lips.

He nods. His voice is tight when he answers. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

Your hand slides up the back of his shirt, slowly dragging it over his skin. He helps you pull it off, tossing it to the side, his chest rising and falling fast. You press soft kisses to his collarbone, his neck, the side of his jaw.

“You can have me,” you murmur. “Come on, get comfortable.”

He shifts above you, big hands trembling slightly as they slide beneath your shirt now, and you raise your arms for him, letting him peel it away. His eyes drink you in—every soft, warm inch of you—and when he leans down to kiss your chest, it’s so gentle it almost breaks you.

His touch is reverent. Careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You run your hands down his back, nails dragging lightly, and he shudders—his hips grinding instinctively into the heat between your legs. You gasp, clinging to him, and he freezes like he’s done something wrong.

“Again,” you breathe. “Do that again.”

And when he does—when he ruts slow and deep into you, fully clothed, grinding his thick cock against your panties like he’s trying to merge with you—you hear the smallest sound fall from his throat. 

A whimper.

God, it goes straight to your core.

You cup his cheek and whisper, “That’s it, baby. Just let go.”

His jaw tenses, nostrils flaring. For a moment, he just looks at you—like you’ve undone something in him he can’t put back.

Then, slowly, Ushijima leans down and kisses you again. Slower this time. Lingering. One big hand slides under your thigh, spreading you wider, until you're cradled beneath him completely—held in place like you’re the softest thing in the world.

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your jaw.

You blink. “Wha—Toshi—”

“I need to.” He’s already moving, already shifting down your body with purpose, lips kissing down your sternum, your belly. “Please.”

He rarely asks for things. Never begs. But there’s a tension in his voice like he’s starving for you.

Your legs part instinctively when his fingers hook your panties, dragging them down slow enough to make your breath hitch. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t even touch you right away—just stares for a second, jaw clenching like he’s trying to burn the image of your dripping cunt into his memory.

“You’re wet,” he says, leaning in to kiss your mound then your clit

“I told you,” you breathe. “You grind on me like that, I’m soaked.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, blown wide and dark. “I love you so much…”

But his voice trails off because his mouth is already moving—already licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your folds—your back arches.

“Oh my god—Toshi—!”

He groans. The sound vibrates straight through you.

His grip tightens on your hips as he locks you down, big hands sliding under your ass to tilt your cunt up toward his mouth. His tongue moves with almost painful control—slow licks, teasing circles, tasting every inch like he’s learning you. Worshipping you.

You reach for his hair, panting. “Toshi, honey…”

“You’re soft here,” he murmurs against you, nosing through your folds. “And here.”

Your thighs try to close around his head, but he presses them apart again—firm and gentle. “Don’t hide from me.”

He says it like it’s a request, but he means it. He’s not going anywhere.

And then—God—his tongue flicks your clit, careful at first, then firmer, and your legs shake.

“You taste so good,” he mutters between licks. “I want you to come like this.”

His voice is low, hoarse with need, and every word is followed by more of his mouth—sucking softly, lapping hungrily. He starts moaning into you when you start grinding back, like your pleasure is turning him on even more than your body.

You start to roll your hips against his mouth, slow and needy, and the second you do, he lets out a noise. Something low and guttural, like it shocks even him.

“You like that?” you breathe.

His answer is to pull you closer—grip firm, head tilting for a better angle—like he’s lost the ability to speak. And really, he has. There’s nothing in the world for him right now but the taste of you.

His tongue starts working tighter circles, flicking up and over your clit with maddening precision. He’s so fucking focused. You can feel it in every stroke. Not just hunger. Devotion.

Your head falls back. “Oh—fuck—Toshi…”

He groans again—loudly—like your voice is feeding him. You glance down and see him rutting into the couch, hips grinding down like he can’t help it. His cock is straining in his pants, swollen and twitching, and he’s not even touching it.

God. He’s getting off just from eating you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, thighs shaking. “You’re gonna make me—Toshi, I’m so close—”

But he doesn’t let up. His tongue gets firmer, lips sucking greedily, and suddenly there’s a finger—his thick finger—sliding through your slick folds, pressing slow and deep into you while his mouth stays locked on your clit.

Your back bows.

Your breath catches, and then you’re crying out—loud and unfiltered—coming so hard your thighs clamp around his head without permission.

He groans into your cunt like he’s the one falling apart.

You’re trembling, fingers twisted in his hair, trying to breathe as the aftershocks roll through you—but he’s not done.

Not even close.

His head lifts for just a second, lips glossy, chin wet, pupils blown. “One more.”

“T-Toshi—wait—”

“One more,” he repeats, kissing the inside of your thigh as he slides another thick finger in beside the first, stretching you wider, slow and deliberate. “Let me make you feel good again.”

His voice is so quiet. So gentle. But his fingers start fucking into you steadily, his other hand coming up so he can rub slow, careful circles over your clit with his thumb—watching your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

You’re gasping. Writhing. All thought slipping away.

“I love how you fall apart,” he breathes. “How warm you feel. How sweet.”

And then—just when your body’s coiled tight again, hips canting to meet every thrust—he leans in, brushing his lips over your inner thigh, kissing the skin softly like he’s trying to soothe the ache he’s building.

You try to catch your breath—limbs still twitching, brain still foggy from the first high—but Ushijima isn’t satisfied. Not even close.

His mouth glistens. His hair’s a mess. His chest is heaving.

And his eyes?

God. His eyes are starving.

“One more,” he says again, soft and sure, like he’s promising something sacred. His voice cracks just slightly—“please”—but his fingers are already moving.

You don’t resist. You couldn’t even if you tried.

The stretch makes your mouth fall open—so full, that its so good—and you let out a noise that doesn’t even sound like you.

He groans like it turns him on more than anything else he’s ever heard.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, watching the way your walls clench around his fingers. “So fucking tight…”

He loves watching you squirm, so he pushes his fingers deeper, while letting the rhythm build. Making you whine, legs twitching, and his lips part like he wants to taste the sound.

“You’re still sensitive,” he says, like it’s a fact. Like it’s precious. “But I know you can take more.”

You moan, helpless, rolling your hips up against his hand.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his pace steady, precise. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

His fingers crook just right, pressing against that perfect spot, and you see stars. Your head falls back against the couch cushion, chest rising in frantic waves as the pleasure starts to build again—hotter this time, deeper.

“T-Toshi—fuck—”

He leans in again, lips brushing just above your mound now, so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers. “I want all of it.”

You don’t even get a chance to catch the words fully before he drops his head again—devours you like a man driven by instinct alone. Not desperate. Just… determined. Worshipful.

His tongue flicks quick little circles around your clit, every motion in sync with the firm pump of his fingers inside you. He’s so good at this—so methodical, so unshakably present, like he could spend all night buried between your legs and never tire of it.

You cry out, hips lifting to meet his mouth, but he pins you down with one big arm thrown across your stomach. Holding you in place. Keeping you spread.

“So sweet,” he mutters against your cunt, so low and hoarse it vibrates straight through you. “I want to stay here forever.”

You moan. Loud. Unfiltered.

His mouth closes over your clit again—this time sucking. Gentle at first, then sharper. Just enough to send a ripple of pure heat through your core.

You arch off the couch. “Oh my god, Toshi—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He can’t. His whole body is moving with you now, like he’s syncing himself to your rhythm, adjusting every lick and pump to chase the edge he knows you’re hovering on.

Your hands fly to his hair, anchoring there. He groans when you tug. Louder when you grind.

“You’re so good,” you pant, dizzy with need. “You’re so fucking good at this—Toshi—Toshi—I’m cumming—”

It slams into you like a wave. Hot, blinding, sudden. You scream his name—unfiltered and raw—and your whole body shakes, thighs clamping around his ears as you come harder than before. Maybe harder than you ever have.

He moans into it. Doesn’t move, doesn’t ease up. Just keeps working you through it like he’s addicted to your orgasm.

You gush. Soaked. Boneless.

And he drinks it in like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

You’re still trembling. Still split wide open, body wrecked and twitching.

But all you can say is “Fuck.”

he stays between your legs like he’s savoring the aftermath—kissing your inner thigh, licking softly through your folds like he wants to clean every drop himself.

Your breath is broken. Your body limp. But your heart is full—aching, blooming, beating so fast it almost hurts.

When he finally pulls back, you see it his mouth flushed and wet, chin slick, eyes darker than dusk. His chest is heaving like he’s just sprinted ten miles, and his hands are still gripping your thighs.

“Can I make love to you now?” he asks.

You nod. Barely more than a twitch of your head, but it’s enough.

Ushijima doesn’t wait for anything else.

He moves fast—still controlled, but burning with purpose—his hand goes to his waistband, dragging his sweatpants and briefs down in one swift movement.

His cock springs free—hard, flushed, glistening with precum. It’s thick and heavy, the head angry-red and already leaking against his abs.

You can’t help the way your breath stutters. The way your thighs instinctively twitch open wider.

He leans over you, bracketing your hips with his own, and lines himself up without ceremony. One big hand curls around the back of your knee, pushing your leg up as he rolls his hips forward—just enough to tease the tip through your folds.

You whimper at the contact—so sensitive, so open—and he groans at the sound, deep and guttural.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice low. “So beautiful.”

Then he shifts—bends lower—bringing his chest flush to yours, bracing one forearm beside your head as his nose brushes along your cheek.

And then he pushes in.

Slow. Unyielding.

You feel every inch of him stretch you open—thick and hot, dragging against your walls like he’s meant to fit there. You suck in a breath, hands flying to his shoulders as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he bottoms out with a quiet curse.

Your back arches. His name leaves your lips in a desperate gasp.

“Shit—Toshi—”

He stays still for just a second, breathing hard against your skin, letting you feel all of him. Letting you adjust.

“You’re taking me so well,” he rasps, voice thick, reverent. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he starts to move.

Slow thrusts at first. Deep. Measured. Each one deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him.

You cling to him, body pliant, every roll of his hips making you feel fuller, closer, burning deeper.

His mouth finds yours in a kiss—unhurried, open, all tongue and breath. He moans into it, swallowing your whimpers like they feed something feral in him. Like you’re giving him everything he’s ever wanted.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against your lips. “So warm… so soft…”

He trails kisses down your cheek, across your jaw, to the hollow of your throat. Every press of his lips is tender, almost worshipful.

“I could stay inside you forever,” he breathes. “Just like this. Wrapped in you. Drenched in you.”

You whine—high, helpless—and your hips buck up to meet him, greedy for more. He groans at the squeeze of your walls, then shifts just slightly, angling his thrusts—

And fuck.

He hits there. That perfect spot that makes your breath catch and your thighs twitch.

“That’s it,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Right there. You feel that?”

You nod, but it’s shaky, broken—your voice lost somewhere in the haze of heat curling low in your belly. He rolls his hips again, deeper, and your mouth falls open in a soft cry.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, he presses in closer—his chest flush to yours, heartbeat pounding hard enough you feel it echo against your ribs.

He’s everywhere. All of him—his hands, his voice, his body—wrapped around you, inside you, like you were made to take him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs into your skin. “So fucking perfect…”

He kisses you again—slower this time, lips dragging sweet and messy over yours as his hips move in a steady rhythm. You taste your own breath between kisses. Feel his tongue sweep your bottom lip. His hand slides up your side, strong and steady, fingers spreading wide to anchor at your ribs.

And the way he holds you—it’s not just control. It’s need. Like he wants to memorize you with his palms.

Every thrust sinks in deeper, more purposeful, every drag of his cock brushing right against that tender, aching spot inside you. You whine into his mouth, clinging to him like you’ll fly apart without him holding you together.

“You take me so well,” he breathes, lips brushing your cheek. “Feel so good—like you’re made for me.”

“T-Toshi—” you gasp, but your voice warbles, overwhelmed by the slow build. “Feels so good, I—fuck—”

He shushes you with a kiss. “I know,” he whispers. “I know, baby… I’ve got you.”

And he does.

He rocks into you with a pace that’s steady but unrelenting, pulling pleasure from you like it’s something sacred. His body pressed tight to yours, the heat of him seeping into your skin, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs your name like a prayer.

You’re melting under him. Quivering. Pleasure licking hot and heavy through your veins, winding tighter with every thrust.

“I’m close,” you whisper, almost in disbelief. “I’m—Toshi—I’m gonna—”

“I want to feel you,” he groans, voice wrecked and thick. “Come for me. Please.”

He angles his hips again, fucks up into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs, and your orgasm hits—sharp and shuddering, tearing through you like a lightning bolt.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream. Your back arches, your walls clamp down around him—and Wakatoshi moans as he buries himself deep, holding you through it.

“Fuck—just like that—”

You don’t stop shaking. The aftershocks roll through you, wave after wave, until your fingers go slack on his shoulders and your head falls back, dazed and flushed.

But he’s still moving—less rhythm now, more desperation.

His mouth crashes to yours again—hot and messy, all tongue and teeth—as he chases his own high. You feel his cock twitch inside you, his thrusts turning erratic, hips stuttering as his whole body goes tight.

And then—with a broken groan of your name—he spills into you, thick and hot, hips jerking one last time as he comes hard, buried as deep as he can go.

The only sound in the room is your shared breathing. Heavy. Shaky. Real.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just collapses over you gently, his arms bracketing your head, his weight solid and grounding.

For a moment, there’s nothing but his heartbeat against your chest.

And then he kisses your temple. Soft. Barely there.

“I love you,” he murmurs, like a truth he’s been carrying for years.

You smile, even if you’re too spent to say it back right away. Your body’s limp beneath him—boneless, blissed out—but your heart’s still racing, full to the brim.

He doesn’t move far. Just shifts slightly, careful not to crush you, his forearm still beside your head as he presses another kiss to your cheek. Then another—your jaw, your nose, the corner of your mouth—each one a little firmer, a little more lingering than the last.

“Toshi,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.

He hums like he didn’t hear. Or like he doesn’t care. Just keeps kissing you—your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—lazy and warm, lips brushing every inch of skin he can reach like he’s mapping you in reverence.

You giggle softly, body twitching under him. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m thorough,” he replies, deadpan—but there’s a faint curve to his lips, a telltale spark of amusement in his voice.

You roll your head toward him, eyes heavy, hand lifting to cup his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’re mine,” he says simply, and the way he says it makes your heart clench all over again.

Then he finally lifts himself—just enough to reach for the throw blanket behind you on the couch. He tucks it over your bodies with practiced care, one arm sliding back beneath your head like a pillow, the other curled around your waist, pulling you close.

You let out a sleepy sigh, face tucked into his chest, still flushed and sticky and a little overwhelmed.

And Wakatoshi?

He just holds you like you’re the only thing he’ll ever need again.

divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine (bow ↑) @/anitalenia (banners under Ushi pic) @/arminsumi (mdni banner up)

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Aphrodisiac

rival!seonghwa x fem!reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of anxiety

Content warnings: oral (f receiving), names (baby, sweetheart, pretty), choking, spitting, a little bit of hair pulling, seonghwa is actually obsessed with you

Summary: your colleague-turned-enemy pulls a prank on you.

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: so i actually got this request like a year ago buttttt life happened and i'm just now publishing it. anyways i hope you all enjoy it and will continue to support this blog by reblogging my work and commenting your thoughts! much love, angels. <3

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“I’m sorry, what?” You both said at the same time, eyes wide.

“Yes, unfortunately we only have one room left. We can prepare a walk letter for one of you to take to another hotel just a few minutes away and we will pay for your stay, but unfortunately we are fully booked.” The front desk clerk offered an apologetic smile.

“Okay…um…give us just a moment.” Seonghwa pulled you back from the desk as soon as you spoke, his expression dark.

“I’m not leaving, y/n, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest you do. I’m more than happy to turn around and go back home.” You sighed, swiping your hand across your forehead. “Listen, if you’re staying here then I need the car. I don’t give a fuck how we do this, I just want to lay down.” Your lack of snark was concerning to him, given your usual form of communication was bickering.

He was silent for a few seconds before letting out a sigh. “Look, why don’t we both stay? You can cancel your reservation and save yourself the hassle of going somewhere else. I’ll get a rollaway bed and you can have the huge bed.”

Your cheeks flamed at the idea and you weren’t sure if it was due to indignance or something else. Even so, you caved quickly. “Are you sure?”

“We used to be friends, we can manage three nights together.” He rolled his eyes. The words ‘used to be’ hurt for some reason.

“Okay. But any funny business and I’ll hurt you.” You gave a warning glare before stepping back up to the desk. “You can cancel my reservation and give him the room.” You said before excusing yourself, making room for him at the desk.

That was how you’d landed yourself in your current predicament. “I’m a fucking idiot for letting you talk me into this.”

“You’re an idiot for less but okay.” He shrugged as he dropped his bag on the bed. “It’s not my fucking fault they ran out of rollaway beds. It’s also not my fault you’d rather eat rusty nails after having your wisdom teeth removed than share a bed with me.”

“Actually that last part is entirely your fault.” You snorted humorlessly as you rifled through your bag for your pajamas. A cold knot of anxiety settled in your stomach once more when you couldn’t find them. “Oh are you fucking kidding me?” You mumbled to yourself as you checked your bag again. Nothing. “Way to fucking go, y/n.” You sighed and held out your hand. “I need the keys.”

“For what?” Seonghwa asked even as he reached into his pocket.

“I can’t find my fucking pajamas.” You sighed again and he watched with concern as you raked a hand through your hair. “I’m pretty sure I left them on my bed when I was packing.”

Instead of the keys, a shirt landed in your hand. “I’ve got some basketball shorts too. They’ve got a drawstring so they’ll fit.”

“You’re being awfully nice.” You said cautiously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m just not prepared to comfort you if you start crying - by the way, you look like you’re about to.” His usual sass was tinged with something else but you were sure it wasn’t concern.

“I am not.” You huffed before squashing your irritation as he handed you the shorts. “Thank you.” You mumbled begrudgingly as you made your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Left alone, he heaved out a sigh. What was he doing? He never really hated you, he was just upset over being passed on for the promotion and was mad that you were offered the position when you didn’t apply for it. He was more mad that you didn’t take the offer. He could’ve gotten over his jealousy had you not turned down the position but it felt like a slap in the face that you wouldn’t take something that was being offered to you when he would’ve pounced on the opportunity.

Now he was faced with the uncomfortable reality that he still had feelings for you and would be in extremely close proximity to you for three nights but you couldn’t stand him. Had things not soured between the two of you, he likely would’ve made a move during a trip like this. Now he was left with his feelings and no hope of having anything more than a series of arguments with you.

His heart stumbled to a halt for a brief moment before kicking into overdrive when you came out of the bathroom, hair wet from a quick shower, his clothes dwarfing your frame. Part of him was dying to get his hands on you, to kiss and claim every inch of you. You looked absolutely delectable wearing his clothes and his possessive streak was about to rear its head.

Instead, he cleared his throat and turned away. “It’s about time. Do you always take forever to get dressed after a shower?”

“Well now I'm tempted to take even longer next time. Don’t play with me.” You gave a fake smile as you circled the bed to where your bag still was. You lifted it off the bed and placed it on the floor by the nightstand then turned the sheets back and grabbed the can of disinfectant spray from a shopping bag. The two of you had already stopped by the store and you’d grabbed a small can.

“Is this really necessary?” He frowned in annoyance even as he humored you and followed suit, moving his things and turning his side of the sheets back.

“Yes it’s necessary. Do you know how many people touch these sheets even after they’ve been washed? Or how dirty those laundry rooms actually are? And don’t even get me started on the duvets.” You cringed as you began to spray the bed down, lifting the pillows on your side before circling the bed and working on his side.

“And we’re about to make it dirty by sleeping here. What is your point?” He rolled his eyes and grabbed his clothes from where he’d placed them on the opposite night stand. “Whatever. Have your fun. I’m going to shower.” And with that, he left you alone.

Once you were satisfied, you placed the can back in the bag and crawled into bed, cutting the light on your side off. You drifted off before he was even out of the shower.

When he returned, still toweling his hair, you were fast asleep. He was quick to turn the other light off to keep from disturbing you, even though he wasn’t ready to bed down just yet. He stood over you and watched for a moment, taking in the planes of your face. You looked so worried, so fatigued. What had changed for you in the time that your friendship had fallen apart? He didn’t think too hard about it and got in bed as well.

————————————————

Your presentation had been a failure and you were currently nursing your wounds at the hotel bar, trying to avoid Seonghwa. You knew he’d mock you and you couldn’t handle that at the moment.

You let out a deep sigh when he found you, turning further away from him when he sat beside you. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Remind you of how badly you fucked that up?” He paused before feigning apology. “Oops. Too late.”

“Seonghwa please just stop.” You felt a lump forming in your throat and reached into your purse for your wallet.

“Why? You’re the one who screwed up, not me. You can’t seriously expect me to feel bad for you.” He did but he couldn’t stop digging the hole deeper.

“Seriously. Stop.” You forced out, rifling through your wallet as pressure built behind your eyes.

“Listen, I'm sorry you’re not good at public speaking or whatever, but that’s not my problem. It’s not my job to be your bestie.”

“Yeah, fucking obviously.” You finally spat as you tossed down a twenty and stood. “Just leave me the fuck alone, Seonghwa.” Your face was red and your vision was starting to blur with tears so you hurried off towards the elevator, not wanting to let him see you cry.

It wasn’t your fault you bombed the presentation. Your anxiety had choked out every word you’d tried to say so you’d fumbled through each slide and he’d stepped up, covering the information in a more coherent manner. If he’d been anyone else, you would’ve found comfort in the support, but he wasn’t someone who did things because he cared.

You stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for your floor before repeatedly smashing the ‘door close’ button but it was too late. He’d managed to get an arm in the door before it shut and stepped inside, an unnerving amount of concern etched on his face. Why was he concerned? He loved seeing you pissed off.

“Y/n…” He reached a hand out but you jerked your arm away as the doors slid shut.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Seonghwa.” Your voice cracked and you turned away so he couldn’t see the tears starting to fall.

“Y/n, stop.” He grabbed your arm more forcefully this time and spun you around. You looked down so he couldn’t see you properly and he just sighed as he pulled you into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Those two words broke something in you and your shoulders shook with a silent sob. He rubbed circles on your back as you cried into his chest, his familiar scent slowly seeping into your bones and calming you as you finally reached the tenth floor after several minutes. Why the fuck was the elevator so slow anyways?

As soon as the door opened, you untangled yourself from him and headed off towards your room without a word. You weren’t sure what to say.

The second the door was shut, he reached for you again. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

“We’ve needed to talk for two years. Why now?” You were tired of trying to figure out what he wanted. Tired of the fighting that only seemed to encourage his irritating ways.

“Because I'm tired of hurting you.” He sighed, gently squeezing your bare shoulders. His warm hands on your skin offered a measure of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Why? You hate me.”

“I never hated you. I was angry at you.” He corrected, urging you towards the desk chair and forcing you to sit before he propped on the desk. “I didn’t understand how you could pass up such an amazing opportunity and I was angry that you didn’t want it as much as I did. It pissed me off that you could want to miss out.”

“Seonghwa, I never wanted that position. I’m comfortable where I'm at.” You sighed and crossed your legs. “Have you ever considered why I didn't take it?”

“I just said that.”

You ignored his snarky tone and carried on. “Not only did I not want the job, I knew that you did. It was partially out of self-preservation and partially out of respect for you.”

“If you’d respected me as much as you say, you would’ve taken the job and not seemed so ungrateful.” He deadpanned and you felt more tears, this time from frustration.

“I just told you I didn’t want it!” You exclaimed, uncrossing your legs and leaning forwards. “You saw what happened today. That would’ve been every day if I’d taken the promotion. It’s embarrassing and anxiety-inducing, something I frankly don’t need more of. I’m not mentally strong enough for that humiliation. I didn’t want to take it because I knew I’d fail.” You said bitterly as you stood and kicked off your heels. “And for the record, I told them you were a better fit. So if you want someone to be mad at, be mad at them. Not me. I tried to get you the job.” You spat and then you stormed into the bathroom, leaving him sitting in silence.

It took you fifteen minutes to get ready for bed and when you emerged from the bathroom, he was sitting on the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to consider the full reasoning behind you turning down the promotion. I was just so angry that you were chosen and still refused.”

“You’ve always been more ambitious than me. You’re more comfortable in your own skin than I am. More confident.” You shrugged and sat on your side of the bed.

“Which is sad, quite honestly.” He smiled humorlessly. “Listen, I know this is my fault. Can we agree to stop the feud?”

“That depends on you. I don’t instigate, I react. So we can only stop this if you stop trying to get under my skin.” You shrugged and laid down, pulling the sheets up to your chin when he stood. “Now go take a shower.” You hummed and flicked off your lamp.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep once he left the room but the next morning, you awoke to a strong arm wrapped around your waist. You realized your head was laying on his other arm so you tried to move away but he pulled you in closer. “Seonghwa.” A sleepy grunt was his only acknowledgement. “Why are you cuddling with me?”

“You’re warm.” He hummed, his voice deep with sleep. Holy hell… “Must’ve moved in my sleep.” He hadn’t. He’d been holding you the whole time.

“Okay but you’re awake now. So why are you still holding me?” Your cheeks were rapidly heating at the realization that he was shirtless this time. He made an unconcerned ‘I dunno’ noise and shrugged but made no move to release you. You tried to wriggle away again and his grip tightened.

“Well now I can’t let you go.” His voice was laced with amusement. “Solely because you want me to.”

“Unhand me!” You cried, a smile already on your face as you struggled to get away again. He laughed and pulled you further against him. “Come on, I thought we were gonna act like adults.”

“I never agreed to that. I just said I’d stop being mean.” He pointed out as his fingers dug into your side, earning a soft squeal as you jolted. “And in the spirit of being nice, I won’t exploit your ticklishness right now.”

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.” You rolled your eyes, still smiling even as he finally released you.

“Go get dressed. I’ll make us some coffee.” He hummed. You did as he said, padding to the bathroom after grabbing your clothes. As soon as you were gone, he shot out of bed with a grin, ignoring how perfect you looked in his clothes. Just because he was being nice didn’t mean he couldn’t still prank you.

He brewed the coffee and mixed in the creamer and sugar like you liked - he’d observed you making your coffee many times and knew how you liked it - then dropped in the chocolate. He knew how much you loved chocolate so you’d be thrilled to have it in your coffee. It was like a milkshake with how much creamer was in it.

When you came out a few minutes later, he handed you the cup. “I added something for you.” He hummed, waiting for you to sip the drink, which you did cautiously. Your face lit up at the sweet flavor and you thanked him, not catching the mischief in his smile as you drank in comfortable silence.

“You know, part of me isn’t sure I should trust you just yet.” You admitted a few minutes after finishing your coffee.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to change that, okay?” You nodded and bit your lip as you settled against the headboard. “We’ve got the whole morning free. What do you want to do?”

“Honestly, I kind of want to go back to sleep.” You chuckled as he gathered his clothes to get ready for the day.

“I mean, you could.” He shrugged as he padded to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

In the short amount of time it took him to get ready for the day, you noticed something was off. You were warm and your breathing was picking up. You felt flustered at the memory of his shirtless form, sweats slung low on his hips, and your thighs squeezed together involuntarily. Why were you so turned on?

Your mouth went dry for a brief moment when he came back before watering as you took him in. He was in all black, his button down hugging his chest just right and his thighs looking powerful in his tight pants, and you wanted to pounce on him. What the fuck?

“You good?” He drawled, lifting a perfectly-groomed eyebrow.

“Yeah, why?” You responded immediately. That was far too quick for your liking.

“Because you look like a tomato and you’re eyeing me like a piece of meat.” He paused and made a show of moving closer. “Wait a minute…” He leaned down and examined you for a moment before grinning, faking shock. “Are you…turned on?”

“No!” You practically shrieked.

“You must’ve really liked that coffee.” He snorted as he righted himself.

Everything clicked at his words and your jaw dropped slightly. “What did you do?”

“Oh you know.” He shrugged as he went to his bag and reached inside. “Gave you a treat.” He grinned as he held up the pack of aphrodisiac chocolates.

“You motherfucker-” You chucked a pillow at him, indignation filling your words.

“Should I have one as well? Maybe we can fuck away the animosity.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he opened the box and pulled out the foil packet. When you hesitated to turn him down, his grin grew. “You want that? Want to fuck away all the bad feelings that ever existed between us?”

Your breath hitched as he broke off a piece of chocolate and lifted it to his lips. Finally, you nodded sheepishly. He quickly popped the candy in his mouth and let out a theatrical groan, both for your reaction and because it tasted amazing.

Your cheeks grew hotter at the sound and you averted your gaze, earning a laugh from him. “You’re too cute, y/n. You never struck me as the shy type.” He stalked towards the bed, lifting one knee onto the mattress as soon as he reached. “You wanna know what I think?” When you didn’t respond, he continued anyway. “I think that the second I get you naked, you’ll be a completely different person. You seem like a screamer. I bet you like it kinda wild.”

You hated how your body reacted to his drawl and you especially hated how quickly he figured you out but didn’t say anything to correct him. Instead, you simply accepted his advances when he moved closer and tipped your head back against the headboard. “Now’s your chance to back out.” He warned, his lips a hair’s width away.

Instead of verbally responding, you closed the tiny gap between the two of you. You felt a jolt of electricity when your lips touched. Immediately, something in him changed. He quickly lost his cool and began to devour your lips, his tongue delving into your mouth the moment your lips parted. You could taste the chocolate on his tongue and your pulse ratcheted up.

Your pussy throbbed when he let out a soft groan and you couldn’t stop your hands from moving to his chest. You deftly unbuttoned his shirt as his hands untucked your blouse and began to lift it. The instant you pulled back, your top was tossed aside and he urged you to stand. You didn’t want to move just yet, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours, but you complied quickly and a moment later he was knelt in front of you.

He pressed his forehead to your stomach as he took a steadying breath, then reached behind you to unzip your skirt. “This fucking thing has been taunting me for ages.” He growled as the material slid down your legs, revealing your already-soaked panties.

He pressed a kiss above your belly button, followed by one right below it, then another right above your panties. “How long?” Your voice sounded strange to you, never having been so rough in your life.

“Doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that I get a taste of your pretty pussy.” His gaze was heavy as his fingertips skimmed along your thighs, making your thoughts fuzzy. “May I?” He asked, fingers finally tracing along the edges of your panties.

You nodded quickly and he didn’t bother moving the material before pressing his tongue to you. The motion was meant to tease, as he quickly replaced his tongue with his nose and took a deep breath, groaning at the scent of your arousal.

Long fingers pushed your panties to the side a moment later, revealing your glistening folds to him. “Shit…” He hissed, his eyelids growing heavy as he zeroed in on your slick. Then his tongue was back on you, lapping at your mess. He locked eyes with you and his hands went to your ass, kneading the soft flesh there as his tongue worked you.

Seonghwa ate pussy like he’d been in the desert for days and your body was the first drop of water he’d stumbled across. Like a man starved. He was beyond enthusiastic and you were certain he’d wring you dry of orgasms before noon.

He sucked on your clit while pulling you impossibly closer and your jaw dropped, eyes fighting to stay open. “S-Seonghwa-” Your voice was a breathy moan as your hands tangled in his hair and he growled against you in appreciation, making sure you felt the vibrations.

You tugged at his hair in response and he gave a harsh suck, making your knees weak. You let out a soft curse and felt him smirk against you but couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed with his cockiness. He was too damn good at what he was doing for you to think about anything else.

Your head tipped back after a few minutes, soft moans flowing freely from your lips. You were doing well at keeping quiet so as not to disturb other guests but he’d change that. He was determined to make you scream and cry for him.

A soft nip to your clit had your spine straightening and your eyes flying open. “Oh fuck me-” You gasped at the pain that quickly gave way to pleasure as he soothed the sensitive bud with his tongue.

“Later, baby.” He teased before diving back in with renewed vigor, his tongue working faster as he felt you tensing under his touch. You shot him a glare but bit your lip hard when he laughed against you.

“Shit-” You whimpered, your grip on his hair tightening. He groaned at the sensation and you made another small sound. He knew good and damn well what he was doing to you and you didn’t want it to end, even as the knot in your belly began to unravel. “Oh- ‘m gonna cum-” You warned and he sucked on your clit once more, harder this time.

Your toes curled with the intensity of your orgasm. Your chest heaved and your head fell back as you let out a string of subdued moans and soft curses. Even as you came down from your high, he continued to lap at you and you felt a burning sensation under your skin. You could handle several orgasms but you needed a few minutes between each one.

“Hwa wait-” You whimpered. “Hold on.” You gently pushed him back and he reluctantly pulled away.

“The second I get you undressed and on that bed, my head is going back between your legs.” He warned as he stood, pulling you against him. His stiff cock strained against the confines of his pants, pressing against your belly, and you couldn’t help but reach out and palm him as he tipped your head back for a kiss.

You moaned softly at the taste of yourself on his tongue as he plundered your mouth, noticing the way his cock twitched at the sound. He wasted no time in unclasping your bra and tossing it aside, lightly pinching your nipple a moment later. You squeezed him through his pants in return and he nipped at your lip as he pulled you impossibly closer.

Impatient, you broke the kiss and began to sink to your knees but he stopped you. “Another time, baby. Let me take care of you this time, yeah?”

“But…”

He leaned in so his lips were right by your ear before whispering. “After all our meetings are done for the day, you can do whatever you want. We can come back here and you can have me however you’d like. How’s that sound, baby?”

You clenched around nothing, both at his words and the sound of his voice, rough with desire. “Anything I want?” He nodded. “You don’t know what you’ve just signed up for.” You grinned mischievously as he righted himself and pulled you against him.

“I’m more than happy to be your toy, sweetheart.” He hummed as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties. “Now let’s get these off so I can keep playing with you.”

He slid the material down your legs and you stepped out of the flimsy cotton only to be pushed backwards onto the bed. He crawled over you with a wolfish grin, one hand caressing your side. “You gonna let me go down on you again, pretty?”

“Please-” You nodded, your voice coming out as a breathy moan.

“Good girl.” He cooed, already moving down the mattress. He knelt beside the bed and hooked your legs over his shoulders, eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “God- you’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

You don’t bother trying to stop his praises, too focused on the way his lips seal around your clit once more. You never would’ve had a chance to respond even if you wanted to.

Instantly, the burn under your skin returned but in a more delicious way. Your hands tangled in his hair, guiding him this way and that. You knew you wouldn’t last long since you’d already had one orgasm so you decided to fully enjoy it and tell him exactly what to do.

Of course, he had other plans. He wanted to appreciate you in ways he’d only been able to dream of before. He wanted to take his time and drown in you. You tasted like Heaven, like he’d always imagined, and he couldn’t get enough.

After several moments of sucking and licking, he decided to try something else. Something he hadn’t been able to do while you were standing. His tongue pressed inside you and you immediately pressed against his touch, his nose bumping your clit at the same time. “Oh- Seonghwa, please-” You gasped out, pulling his hair hard.

He groaned against you at the sting and retracted his tongue only to plunge into you once more. In and out, in and out. He carried on like that for close to a minute before he retreated, tongue flicking over your clit once more. At your whine of dismay, he slid two fingers into you and curled them instantly, finding your g-spot in record time. It was as if he had studied your body for years and knew every inch of you. He’d wanted you for so long that he’d dreamt of doing so.

His impossibly-tight pants were constricting. They were getting on his damn nerves. But he wanted you to be the one to undress him so he didn’t dare try to shimmy them off. Not when he was finally able to bury his face between your legs.

You let out a loud whimper as he scissored his fingers and lapped at your cunt, your back arching off the bed. “Fuck- ‘m close, Hwa-” You warned, thighs beginning to tremble. He was too fucking good and you were too high strung to hold back.

As you clenched around his fingers, coming undone as soon as the words left your mouth, he let out a long groan against you. You felt him shift under your legs but didn’t bother trying to figure out why as you allowed wave after wave of white hot pleasure to cascade over your body, back still bowed off the bed.

He helped you through it, sucking and nipping at your clit until you were certain you’d gone up in flames. You gently pushed him away, chest heaving, and he stood between your legs. “I’m so giving you the sloppiest blowjob later.” You panted, smiling up at him as he moved over you.

“I’ll look forward to it.” He grinned as he leaned down to catch your lips in a messy kiss. You reached for his pants as you kissed and made a small sound when you found a wet patch across the front.

“Did you-”

“Yeah. You tasted too good and looked too perfect for me to hold back.” He admitted shamelessly as his lips trailed to your neck. He was careful not to leave any marks since you had another round of presentations you needed to look presentable for later in the afternoon.

“There’s no reason that should be so hot.” You murmured, slipping your hand inside his soiled boxers. You didn’t care if it was dirty, you needed to touch him. Lewd sounds quickly filled the room as you stroked his cock, pride swelling in your chest when he bucked into your touch.

“Wait.” He stopped you even as he rocked his hips once more. “I need to be inside you. Are you still on the pill?”

“IUD.” You said as you lifted your messy hand to your mouth and began to lap up his cum.

His jaw dropped as he watched you lick your fingers clean, eyes glazing over with lust. “Fucking hell…” He groaned, pulling back abruptly. He wasted no time in kicking off his pants and underwear, trying to clean himself at least a little before he rejoined you on the bed. “You’re going to be the death of me, y/n.”

“There’s worse ways to go.” You teased, pulling him down for another sloppy kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer in invitation. A string of saliva connected your lips when he pulled back, which you quickly leaned up and licked away, earning a soft curse. You leaned up once more to whisper in his ear as he lined up. “Fuck away all the bad feelings, Seonghwa. You promised.” Then you gently clamped your teeth on his earlobe, reveling in the choked noise he made.

“You’re a demon.” He hissed as he pressed in, gasping at how tight you felt. You whimpered at the stretch and tugged him closer, lip catching between your teeth. “So fucking tight for me, baby. So perfect.”

You moaned at his words, clenching involuntarily around him. You loved the praise and he knew as much now. He finally rocked his hips and you let out a soft whine at the friction. “You’re so big…” You moaned as you allowed yourself to fall back against the sheets, hair fanning out around your head in a halo.

Stars danced in his eyes as the sight of you beneath him. This was a religious experience and he was already in the clouds. And you were praising him? He felt like he might die if you continued to comment. Your approval was all he ever needed and to get the validation in bed too was enough to have him on edge. He was fighting hard to stay composed so was trying to distract himself with random thoughts but you were clouding his senses and he couldn’t focus on anything else.

He gave a deep thrust and you let out a reedy moan, guiding his hand to your chest so he’d thumb over your nipples. Instead of simply teasing, he pinched you and your eyes rolled back. “Harder.” You demanded, unsure of what you were referring to. Did you want him to pinch your nipples harder or did you want him to fuck you harder?

He couldn’t tell either but gladly did both, relishing the sound you made. “You like that?”

“So much.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Need more. Please?” You pleaded, gasping when he pinched your nipple again.

“So impatient.” He tutted. “I love it. You’re so desperate for me that you can’t wait. How cute.” He continued, his hand sliding up to your throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll train you to be patient.” His smile darkened as he began to apply pressure to the sides of your throat, cutting off blood flow. His hips slowed and you whimpered but he briefly tightened his grip in warning. “Be a good girl and take what I give you, yeah?” You nodded furiously and he snapped his hips forward, knocking the air from your lungs. “Good girl.”

You weren’t on this planet anymore. You weren’t even in this universe. The whole ordeal was so hot that you were in your own world, focused only on the pleasure and the oddly-comforting weight of his body on top of yours.

“Open.” He demanded suddenly and your jaw instantly fell slack. “So obedient.” He cooed as he leaned closer before pursing his lips. Oh god is he about to do what I think? Fuck. You gripped his wrist as he spit into your mouth, a pathetic noise slipping out. “Swallow.” You did so eagerly, your entire body spasming at how hot it was. His jaw dropped at the way you suddenly clenched around him and he quickly pulled out, cumming across your thighs. “Fucking hell, baby. You like it that much? Fuck.” He panted as he stroked himself through his high, groaning when you nodded and reached to rub tight circles over your clit to guide yourself through your own orgasm.

He looked stunning like that. His jaw hung slack, his eyes half-lidded from the intense pleasure. He looked fucked out. He looked so fucking beautiful. He was art.

“Please.” You whispered breathlessly. “One more. Need to cum one more time. Need you to cum one more time. Please?” You begged, vision whiting when he squeezed your throat again.

“So needy, baby. Want me to fuck you so dumb you drool? Is that it?” His tone was nothing but adoring even though his words were meant to sting a bit and your heart throbbed in your chest. Was this more than fucking away tension and animosity? “Flip over. Lemme see that perfect ass.” He pulled away and you quickly complied, wiggling your ass as soon as you were in position. “God- you’re so fucking perfect, y/n. So perfect.” He praised as he squeezed your soft flesh.

“Seonghwa…” You whimpered his name as you tried to push yourself back onto his cock. “I need you so bad. Please?”

“I can’t say no when you ask so nicely, baby.” He said as he lined up and pressed into you. “Fuck- this pussy was made for me, pretty. Feels so fucking good.” He breathed, setting a rough pace from the start. His hips slapped against your ass as he plowed into you, driving you into the mattress.

You couldn’t help but cry out when he slammed into you so hard he knocked you forward. Your knees would be so irritated from the position and the way the sheets rubbed against your skin but you couldn’t care less. You simply wanted to feel him. He was all you needed at the moment.

He suddenly pulled you up from where your face was buried in the sheets and wrapped his hands around your throat for leverage. “You take my cock so well, sweetheart. Like you were made for it. Were you made for me?”

“Yes!” You gasped, jolting when he brushed your cervix. “Yes, I was made to take your cock and anything you give me.”

Lewd sounds filled the air as he repeatedly slammed into you, your mess running down your thighs to mingle with his. You’d need new sheets brought in by the time you were done. You almost felt bad for the housekeepers who would service your room later this afternoon. Almost. You couldn’t feel too bad with Seonghwa balls-deep inside you.

“You’re gonna make me cum.” He warned suddenly as he released your throat and you bit your lip hard. “Where do you want it, baby? I’m already so close.”

“Everywhere.” Your request was simple and it drove him over the edge. He pulled out as he came, covering your ass and thighs with his release. His breathing grew ragged as he allowed the pleasure to overwhelm him and he let out what was easily the sexiest sound you’d ever heard a man make, his voice pitching low in a way that made you clench around nothing.

Before you could reach between your legs to finish yourself off, he was back inside you and working faster than before, even as he began to get overwhelmed from the pleasure. He could feel you tensing with your impending orgasm and he wanted to be the one to send you over the edge one last time before you had to go shower again. “Don’t you dare touch yourself, baby. I’m gonna make you cum. Understood?”

You nodded quickly, thighs beginning to tremble from the sensation overtaking your body. “Yes! ‘M so close, Hwa. Please make me cum. Please!” You begged and he immediately reached around to toy with your clit. Tears sprung into your eyes at the pleasure flooding your body and fire spread beneath your skin.

“I can feel you trembling, pretty. Why don’t you just let go? Cum all over my cock, baby.” He coached and you couldn’t fight it anymore. A cry ripped from your throat and tears began to roll down your cheeks as your final orgasm crashed into you. “That’s right. Just like that.” His deep voice spurred you on as he tangled a hand in your hair, pulling just hard enough for the most delicious sting to spread out over your scalp. “Good girl.” You let out a choked sob at the name, delirious from the pleasure and gratification.

As you slowly came down from your high, he gently released your hair and smoothed his hands down your back. “You did so well for me, sweetheart. So perfect.” You whimpered softly at the praise as you collapsed against the mattress. He slipped out of you and immediately laid beside you, still rubbing your back with one hand. “You okay?” He asked as soon as he saw your tears. You nodded weakly, utterly spent. “Words, baby.”

“I’m okay. That was just…intense.” You murmured, suddenly exhausted.

“It was.” He agreed quietly, reaching to brush your hair back from your face. After several beats of silence, during which he took his time admiring you and playing with your hair, he spoke again. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

Your cheeks heated up and you fought the urge to hide your face. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded so you continued. “Earlier you said my skirt was driving you crazy. How long? You didn’t answer me before.”

“Too long.” When you didn’t respond, he let out a soft sigh and began to explain. “I always felt like shit for it but I've wanted you since day one. The moment we met, I knew I needed you. And seeing you in that damned skirt week after week drove me absolutely insane.”

“Why would you feel like shit for that?”

“Because we were friends. I shouldn’t have wanted you the way that I did. They always say women can’t have male friends because they all wanna sleep with you and I felt like I was only proving that right and risking our friendship.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, I’ve always found you insanely attractive too and have had my fair share of untoward thoughts.” You grinned and he let out a soft laugh. After a few beats of silence you spoke again. “I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why the fuck did you have those chocolates on this trip in the first place?”

“We should get cleaned up.” He hummed as he sat up, clearly not wanting to answer. He had a secretive smile on his face and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re such a pain.” You sighed in exasperation. “Just tell me.”

“Well I hadn’t anticipated being the one helping you with it but I did plan to inconvenience you a bit.” He laughed and you sat up to chuck another pillow at him.

“You’re such an ass.”

“I’m your ass though.” Your cheeks pinked at the thought and you nodded slowly, liking the idea more than you’d anticipated.

“Yeah. I guess you are.”

[starset21]

Plot Twist |IH6|

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x reader

Summery: You’ve been dating Isack for well over a year, and he knows you write fanfiction. What he doesn’t know is that you write fanfiction about him. Using his real name. And one night he finds out.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: I've seen a few others do this and thought maybe I'd jump on the train here's my first Isack fic <3

You’d always told yourself it wasn’t really lying.

Yes, you were dating Isack Hadjar. And yes, you wrote fanfiction. But it wasn’t like you lied to him about it. You just... never exactly told him what — or who — you were writing about.

It started innocently, before you ever even met. Just a silly crush on a talented, scrappy young driver with a sharp tongue and kind eyes. You wrote a few soft imagines on Tumblr under a fake name, and somehow, it took off.

Then, against all odds, you met. You hit it off. You started dating.

And the fanfic?

Well… it never stopped.

Even after things got serious. Even after you moved in. Even after you started borrowing his hoodies and waking up in his hotel beds, you still wrote your silly little stories about Isack Hadjar and the girl he’d do anything for.

You just didn’t think he’d ever read them.

It happened one quiet Tuesday night. You were back in France between races, curled up on the couch in one of Isack’s oversized Red Bull hoodies, eating cereal straight from the box while he sat beside you, scrolling through his phone. He was quiet — half-watching something on TV, half-dozing off — when a low sound escaped him.

“…Huh.”

You glanced over. “What?”

He tilted his phone toward you, brow raised.

“I just saw a tweet about fanfiction. Someone tagged me in it. Thought it was another thirst edit or something, but…”

Your blood turned to ice.

He tapped the link.

No. No. NO.

There it was. The blog post. Your blog post. A fic you’d published just days earlier — one that had already gained hundreds of reblogs — with the title:

“Stay the Night (Again)” — Isack Hadjar x Reader

He stared at it. Then at you.

You tried to play dumb.

“Huh. People write a lot of fanfiction, right?”

But it was too late.

He opened it. He scrolled.

And when he hit the line where you (well, technically, “reader”) whispered “You’re the only place I feel safe,” in his arms on a Monaco hotel balcony — which you had actually said, in real life, six months ago — he paused.

“Okay,” Isack said slowly. “So this is… incredibly specific.”

You stared ahead, wide-eyed, silently begging for the earth to open up and swallow you.

He turned to face you fully, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Chérie,” he said, voice calm but clearly amused, “you use my real name?”

Your voice came out a full octave higher. “...Define ‘real.’”

“Not like… ‘Zack.’ Or ‘an F2 driver who’s definitely not me.’ You wrote ‘Isack Hadjar,’ full name, and then described my hotel room layout and the exact way I kiss you when I’m tired.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands.

“Are you mad?”

He blinked. “I’m… not sure yet.”

“Okay. Valid.”

He kept reading. “Did you write this one before or after we went to Monaco for our anniversary?”

“…After.”

He put the phone down and gave you the flattest look you’d ever seen.

You cringed. “In my defense, it got over 20,000 notes.”

He just stared.

“I said in my defense!”

“You wrote a scene where I give you a back massage after Quali and then say ‘I could win or crash out and you’d still be my favorite feeling in the world.’ I don’t even talk like that.”

“You said something close once!”

He looked absolutely betrayed. “I was half-asleep!”

You groaned again and sank deeper into the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into the throw pillow. “It started before we got together, and I didn’t want to stop. People liked it. It felt like mine. No one knew it was me — or you — not really.”

Isack watched you, expression softening. A beat passed.

“Wait,” he said slowly, voice full of dawning realization. “That NSFW Alphabet one… was that—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

His mouth curled into the most devilish grin you’d ever seen.

“Oh, you wrote that.”

“I hate this timeline,” you muttered, dragging the pillow over your face.

He was already pulling the blog back up.

“‘K is for Kitchen: where he makes you beg quietly because the wall’s too thin.’ That’s literally my apartment!”

You flailed an arm out and smacked his leg. “Stop reading it out loud!”

Isack cackled, holding the phone just out of reach.

“You’re unbelievable,” you groaned.

“I’m flattered, actually,” he said, nudging your knee. “I mean, who needs PR when I’ve got my girlfriend anonymously publishing erotica about me on the internet?”

You peeked out from under the pillow. “So… you’re really not mad?”

He smiled, a little softer this time.

“No. Not mad.”

You bit your lip. “Embarrassed?”

He grinned. “No”

You tilted your head. “Then what?”

“I’m a little… intrigued.”

You blinked. “Intrigued?”

He leaned in. “So let me get this straight: while I’m out here giving interviews and prepping for quali, you’re writing little scenarios about me — using my real name — where I kiss you like we’re in a movie and whisper things in French?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes?”

He smirked. “And these have, what, thousands of readers?”

“...Tens of thousands,” you admitted.

He whistled. “So I’m basically F1’s main character.”

“In the fic world? Kind of, yeah.”

He hummed. “It’s weird. But mostly just because I had no idea. You’re so quiet about it in real life. Meanwhile, online you’ve got me reciting French poetry in the rain and undoing bra straps like I’ve got a degree in it.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed.

“I take creative liberties.”

“You give me main character energy, chérie.”

He paused. Then, eyes twinkling:

“…Can I request a fic where I win in Monaco and we make out behind the podium?”

You gaped at him.

“Are you seriously making fic requests right now?”

He leaned over, resting his forehead against yours.

“Seriously. I want bonus points if I say something emotionally repressed and French.”

You smiled, your heart still pounding.

“Okay. But only if you stop reading the NSFW Alphabet out loud.”

“No promises.”

Later that night, as you curled up in bed together, he scrolled through more of your blog while you tried — and failed — to take his phone away.

“I knew I recognized this dialogue,” he said smugly, showing you a screenshot. “This is word-for-word what I said when I kissed you after that sprint race in Spa.”

“God, you remembered?”

“Of course I did. I just didn’t think you were going to immortalize it on Tumblr.com.”

You buried your face in his chest and groaned.

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He kissed the top of your head, laughing softly.

“I guess this makes me your muse now.”

You sighed dramatically.

“You always were.”

Isack looked down at you, one brow raised.

"Say that again," he murmured.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Say what?”

He leaned in, voice lower now. “That I’m your muse.”

You swallowed. “...You’re my muse.”

He smirked. “And all those scenes — the ones where I can’t keep my hands off you, where I make you forget your own name — those were based on real stuff too, yeah?”

You hesitated. “Some were... inspired.”

You felt his fingers trail along your waist, under the hoodie. Your hoodie. His hoodie.

He dipped his head, brushing a kiss against your collarbone.

“Then let’s make sure your next fic is even more accurate.”

Your heart practically stopped.

“Isack—”

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Think you can remember the details, chérie?”

You swallowed, heat pooling under your skin. “Vividly.”

He smiled against your jawline, then lifted you effortlessly into his lap, his hands splayed across your thighs like he already knew the next scene.

And you thought to yourself:

Well. There’s your next chapter.

[reiding-writing]

hi author your writing is great btw i just wanted to see when you would post part 2 of copycat??

copycat [ s.r ] | 2 |

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn't work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: relationship between spencer and reader is not inherently romantic, sociopathic reader, graphic details of murder, graphic eye descriptions, mentions of spencer’s addiction and overdose, morgan and reader really don’t like each other, child abuse, childhood addiction, death by overdose, suicide

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 14.3k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: after a whole 22 days of writing this, it’s finally finished 😭 sorry for making you all wait for so long this one was a nightmare to finish-

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @devilsadvcte @marvellover98 @evvy96 @arlovesper @h3rt8k @pathologicalreid @sideshow-b0b @sunflowersndpeaches @mera3luna @madameparkerreid @fandom-mania @melaninsugababy @meyaareads

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The coroner's office, whilst not as bland and beige as the police station was still extremely muted, with light grey walls and a smooth tiled floor that was so shiny you're sure you could see your face in it if you focused enough.

“The second I see a change in your features I am booting you out of the mortuary understood?” Morgan’s tone held nothing but contempt for you as he walked step in step with you like you’d disappear if he looked away for more than a second.

“You keep speaking to me like that and I’ll shove the next rose I get down your throat.”

“Did you just threaten me?” Morgan’s contempt fizzled into a rising frustration, his eyebrows knitted into a tight line and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to puff himself out like a peacock to look more intimidating.

“Threats hold no value,”

“We should go inside now,” Spencer’s voice was much less confident than either yours or Morgan’s, but it held enough volume to be heard over your argument.

He was seriously beginning to question whether inviting you to come along was a good idea. He knew Morgan despised you, and yet he’d asked you to come along anyway out of his own selfish want to crack open your brain like a book and read your neuron pathways like pages.

He just hoped you’d actually find something valuable in the victim’s autopsy so that all of your arguing with Morgan wasn’t in vain.

“Ah, you must be the agents working on the case, I’m Dr. Toth,” The doctor introduced herself politely as Spencer opened the mortuary door, and Spencer gave her a small nod of recognition as the three of you entered.

“That’s right, thank you for allowing us here,”

“Of course,” The doctor walked her way around the autopsy table, where you assumed the body of the most recent victim was lying, covered by a blue sheet from head to toe and leaving only the silhouette in its place. “I should warn you in advance, due to the damage caused to the eyes whilst removing the rose stems, we had to excise them from the body during the autopsy,”

“Do you still have them?” Your question seems to strike a nerve with Morgan, probably thinking that you want to see the victim’s eyes as a part of a sick fantasy running through your mind, but he bites his tongue to keep his mouth shut so that he doesn’t accidentally air the fact that they’d brought a serial killer into a coroner’s office and freak out the pathologist they’re talking to.

“We do yes, they were professionally removed and placed in hypothermic storage, I can retrieve them for you if you’d like,”

“That won’t be necessary for now,” Morgan’s interjection elicits a roll of your eyes. You weren’t interested in seeing them because it would get you off or whatever, you wanted to see what kind of damage they went through to the point where they had to be fully removed from the victim’s body.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, but if you need my assistance please don’t hesitate to ask,”

“Thank you,” Spencer, the peacekeeper that he is, gives the doctor a polite smile as he picks up a pair of latex gloves and pulls them over his hands, and you and Morgan follow suit after him as he takes place at the end of the autopsy table.

“You’re looking for differences, not entertainment.”

“Yes yes, I get it, Jesus Christ.” You scoff at Morgan’s tone, tugging the sheet down from the victim’s head until it was halfway down his torso.

“His name was Alexander Youlier, age 22, died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem,” Spencer read through the autopsy file as you examined the boy’s face.

He was pale, much too pale for a normal person, but you suppose that’s what happens when you barely have any blood in your body, and the blood that he did have completely lacked oxygen. His cheeks were sunken, his lips almost blue from the lack of oxygen, and of course, in place of where his eyes would be, there were instead two holes lined with a dark reddish pink muscle that made it look like the cavity was much deeper than physically possible.

The minute you looked at his face you felt like you were going to throw up. So much for being ‘entertained’.

“Oi.” Morgan’s voice ripped you from your state of disassociation. “What did I just say, you’re here to identify the differences not get off to the victim’s body in your head.” He turned his attention towards Spencer with a disapproving look. “I told you we shouldn’t’ve brought them here,”

You didn’t respond to Morgan’s chastising with anything more than a tiny twitch of your eyebrows as you tore your eyes away from Youlier’s face.

“Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice was considerably softer than Morgan's, his eyes big and round, glistening with worry underneath the overhead light in the room, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern at the way you’d suddenly shut down.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” The end of your sentence is marked by you tearing the gloves from your hands and leaving them in balls on the floor as you retreat to the door of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed to just leave. You wanted to be here. You chose to be here. So you’ll do your goddamn job.” Morgan’s anger falls unrecognised as you open the door and slam it behind you after you leave, and he begins to follow after you only to be stopped by Spencer at the door.

“I’ve got it,”

Morgan’s glance is unconvinced, and Spencer reiterates himself once more. “I’ve got it, I promise, they’re less likely to get angry if it’s me and not you,”

Morgan doesn’t get the chance to argue before Spencer runs off down the hallway to catch up to you, leaving him alone in the mortuary to continue his analysis of the autopsy by himself.

“Hey!” Spencer calls out to you as he jogs in your direction, catching you right as you open the door to leave the coroner’s office. “Wait up a second-” You don’t stop at his callings, but he can tell that you’re also not trying to deliberately get away from him, your pace slow and even as you leave the coroner’s office with him hot on your tail.

He’s very clearly out of breath by the time he reaches your side, but he pays no attention to his lungs’ cry for him to take a second to breathe and supply them with more oxygen as he begins questioning you. “Are you okay?”

“I‘m fine,”

He’s not at all convinced by your statement despite your tone conveying genuity. You looked paler than usual, any natural flush was gone from your cheeks and your lips, and you were absentmindedly picking at the nail bed of your thumb with your middle finger, something he assumes is a self-soothing act for you.

People getting disturbed at the sight of a freshly dead body wasn’t exactly something for Spencer to be astounded at. It was a natural human reaction to the incomprehensible knowledge of death that your brain desperately tried to work out with no results.

But you didn’t exactly fit the definition of ‘normal’. You were a sociopath. So for you to be put off by the sight of a dead body was something for Spencer to be astounded at.

Sure he was aware that sociopaths could still feel things like dread and fear of the unknown, but you weren’t just a sociopath. You were a sociopath who killed eighteen people.

You’d seen your fair share of dead people, manic episode or not. So why was this body making you react like you were?

He supposes it’s just another layer he’ll have to peel from your mind like the skin of an onion.

“Did you know that sociopaths have heightened emotional pathways? Every emotion sociopaths experience is allegedly 3 times stronger in intensity than that of someone without it,” He didn’t exactly know what to say to you considering you’d shut down any attempt to talk about how you were doing emotionally, and so he fell back on what he always did, niche facts and statistics.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Your hardened expression didn’t falter, nor did the underlying monotony in your tone, but you did finally look him in the eye.

“I always feel more at ease when I fully understand whatever I’m dealing with,” Spencer smiles at you softly with a shrug of his shoulders, attempting to empathise with you the best he could.

“I already knew that fact,” You take a seat on the small half-wall lining the outside of the coroner’s office, gripping the edge of the brick with your hands. “And it doesn’t make me feel any different,”

“Well…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as he takes a seat next to you, running through things in his head that might hold some sort of value to you. “Did you know that roses symbolise different things based off of their colour?”

He was definitely grasping at straws now, but he didn’t want to end your conversation yet. He wanted to know what had you so perturbed that you felt the need to leave the minute you got a close look at the victim’s body.

If anything he’d expected you to follow Morgan’s accusation about getting some sick gratification from the body, not actually feeling sick because of it.

“Why do you think I used white roses? I’m not stupid you know,”

He’d never thought of that. “You used white roses for a specific reason?”

You shrug, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of the wall. “When I was younger we had a dog, and when it died my parents planted a white rose bush over where they buried it,”

Your tone is rather emotionally removed as you divulge this little snippet of your past to him, like you were recounting something you’d read from a fictional story rather than an event that most children would find extremely distressing. “Mom said that the roses were white because they symbolised mourning and new beginnings, something about how it would help him pass over into heaven or whatever, and I guess even in my episode I held that knowledge subconsciously,”

“You don’t believe in heaven?” Spencer’s eyes scanned your face as he tried to decipher your micro-expressions, noting the small softening of your eyes once you brought up your parents. Looks like you did indeed still have some humanity.

“Do you believe in heaven Dr. Reid?”

No. Maybe? He knew that once your brain functions stopped working your consciousness was permanently ended and that was it. “I thought I saw the other side once,” His admission shocked himself more than it shocked you. Great, he was spilling his traumas to a sociopath he’d known for less than a week. What a riveting social life he had.

He could see the flicker of intrigue in your eyes at his sentence, and he pursed his lips into a line before deciding to continue. “I uh- 11 months ago I was kidnapped and forcefully injected with Dilaudid, and I- was overdosed…”

He could see the cogs turning in your head as you connected the fragments of earlier conversations with him in your mind to form a cohesive story, and you nodded at him as if encouraging him to continue with his story.

“I blacked out first, but it felt… warm? and I could see the beginnings of a light and I honestly still don’t know what to think of it,” He could feel himself squirming from the recollection. He was a man of science. Someone who only believed in what he could physically see and test. But that brief moment where he was sure that he’d died and was experiencing an afterlife that he didn’t think existed had carved a hole into his brain and settled itself into the back of his mind.

“I hope there’s an afterlife,” Your tone continues to carry that same monotonous drawl, but he can see the genuity in your eyes and the way your hands clench around the edge of the brick wall.

“Me too…”

It’d be easy for Spencer to forget you were a serial killer in moments like this. Sure you were still extremely emotionally stunted, but you felt human. And he’s sure that that’s the real difference between a sociopath and a psychopath.

Psychopaths were born without human ‘defects’. Sociopaths were made.

“Were your parents good to you?” Spencer’s question was full of hesitation. He didn’t want to assume anything, after all, your parents were the one topic you seemed to treat with genuine care in your words, but he knew something had to have happened. Something had to have made you the way that you are.

“My parents were perfect.” Your eyebrows knit into a small line, as if defensive at the fact that Spencer would suggest your parents were anything other than the perfect model of what two caregivers should be.

“What about your biological parents?” He could feel himself retreating back into his own mind the further he pressed for answers out of you, his conscience begging him to just stop talking before he accidentally crossed a line and ruined any branch of communication he’d formed.

“I don’t remember them,” You shrug lightly and your expression cements your nonchalance.

“You’ve never wanted to… seek them out?” It wasn’t entirely surprising that you don’t remember your biological parents. Most children who get adopted really young don’t.

“They’re dead.”

Oh.

Right.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly at the revelation.

By this point, he’s completely forgotten about the fact that he’s supposed to be convincing you to go back into the mortuary to continue looking at the victim.

You had a great adoptive family and a pair of dead biological parents. Was that what broke you? Was them dying what caused your mental state to shatter and rebuild itself as a fragmented version of its previous state?

Maybe that’s why you didn’t remember them. Maybe your brain had built a wall in your memories to protect you from your own trauma of losing your parents. But he wasn’t sure it was enough for you to have a mental break like you did. There had to be something more.

“I can do some digging on them if you want,” He airs the suggestion like he’s not going to do it even if you say no.

“I have no interest in learning about them,”

Oh well. He’d get Garcia to do it anyway. Maybe you’d find more interest in the topic once there was actually something for you to learn.

“Are you- feeling alright now?” Spencer knew he was going to have to bring up the topic eventually. They couldn’t stay out here for too long both for the sake of the investigation and because if they did Morgan would probably jump to the conclusion that you’d killed Spencer and run off somewhere.

“I told you I was fine,”

“I don’t think I believe you,” Spencer could see the small shift in your expression at his hesitant accusation. But it wasn’t anger this time, it was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Something caused you discomfort, and in order for you to be able to help us we need you to be relaxed,”

You turned your face away from Spencer as he spoke, eyes fixed on a bird flying overhead and then on the cloud that was behind it.

“What was it that caused you to feel like you didn’t want to be there anymore?” There was clear caution in Spencer’s tone as he questioned you, although that had essentially become a staple of every conversation you had with him by this point. “We can fix it,”

Spencer’s compassion for you left you feeling a little confused. You were a spree murderer. He was supposed to dislike you for that. That’s how the human mind works is it not? People are supposed to have a distaste for those who break the moral codes of society, and you did it 18 times over.

“I�� don’t know,” It felt like every second you allowed yourself to be confused the feeling multiplied tenfold until you weren’t even sure that you could remember your own name if somebody asked you for it.

Your emotions were written all over your face, not like you really had the capacity to hide them even if you wanted to, but it was clear as day just how internally confused you were with your own feelings about the situation at hand.

“Let me help you figure it out then,” Spencer’s tone continued to carry that gentle compassion in it and it wasn’t helping you sort out your thoughts.

“I don’t need your help, I can figure it out on my own,” You knew enough about Psychology to be able to figure out your own thinking processes. At least you thought so. You didn’t go through three laborious years at university wishing during every hour of it to be doing something else to not even get anything useful out of it at the end.

Spencer took that as a direct invitation to shut his mouth and just let you think to yourself, although his eyes continued to scan your expression and your body language as he waited for you to come to your own conclusion on how you were currently feeling and what exactly made you feel that way.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Despite your gaze focused downwards towards the pavement your frustration at his lingering gaze made it sound like he was making direct eye contact with you.

“Sorry,” Spencer averted his eyes from you immediately after your order, flickering them around the parking lot of the coroner’s office and absentmindedly reading all of the number plates he could see from a distance so that he didn’t frustrate you anymore than he already had.

You gave up psychoanalysing your own mind after a few minutes, partly because it was an effort you didn’t want to expend and partly because it felt safer for you to just lock your emotions behind a wall of glass and leave them for another day.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to the doctor sitting next to you and watched him as he watched his surroundings.

“Your eyes are very alive,”

It’s an odd thing to say Spencer thinks. The concept of his eyes being ‘alive’. Of course, he’d heard the term ‘dead eyes’ before in reference to the lack of emotion shown on someone's face. He’d consider you to have rather dead eyes if he was thinking about it. Although he’s not sure if you’re referring to his eyes in terms of expressiveness or genuinely being ‘alive’ in a physical sense.

“Alive?”

You give him a short nod. “They have a lot of life in them,”

“Thank you?” He chooses to take your odd statement as a sort of compliment. Surely having ‘alive eyes’ couldn’t be a negative thing, right?

Now that he’s thinking about it you really did seem to have some sort of fixation on people's eyes. You constantly chased eye contact with the people you spoke to. You apparently had a habit of studying people’s eyes and how ‘alive’ they were. You pierced roses into the eyes of your victims.

Spencer’s gaze focused on you as he came to the conclusion in his head. You’d become uncomfortable in the mortuary because you couldn’t see the victim’s eyes. Because instead of being able to judge him based off of the look in his eyes you were instead greeted with a blank slate where they were supposed to be.

But why? Why was your judgement of somebody based off of what you could see in their eyes? Something had to have caused it.

“Why did you put roses in your victims’ eyes?” He could see the flicker of intrigue in your expression at his question, although he was unsure whether it was conscious or not.

From the way you’d spoken earlier about your discomfort, it seemed that your apparent fixation was unknown to even you, a subconscious thought process that even you were unaware of for whatever reason.

“I told you this already, I held subconscious knowledge about what they represented.” You furrow your eyebrows at his question, one that you’d answered a little over five minutes ago. Why was he asking you again? “I thought you had an eidetic memory.”

“I do-” Spencer’s not sure whether to be surprised that you remembered that small snippet of information or not. “I mean, why did you put them… you know, in their eyes specifically?”

A small amount of discomfort seeped into Spencer’s tone as he asked the question. As much as he’d become desensitised to the gruesomeness of what his job held, actively thinking about having somebody’s eyes being physically pierced with a blunt object was something that anyone with two functioning eyeballs would feel uncomfortable about.

“I don’t know, I just did,”

So it was subconscious. Something that the dark void in the back of your mind was aware of but wouldn’t let your conscious self have any knowledge of.

“Would you like to help me analyse the victim’s eyes? The pathologist said they were still being stored,” Your eyebrows turn from furrowed to raised, clearly confused by Spencer’s sudden fixation on eye-related things.

“They could be a useful asset to the investigation,” Spencer shrugged softly, lips pressed into a line, an awkward smile present on his face as if his suggestion was completely unrelated to the conversation.

You found yourself agreeing to Spencer’s suggestion despite that lingering discomfort in the back of your mind, and as the two of you stood up to re-enter the coroner’s office, Spencer pulled out his phone to send an email to Morgan.

‘Cover the victim’s face.’

Morgan had clearly read the message before the two of you arrived back at the mortuary, shooting Spencer a glance of confusion as you entered the room ahead of him, eyes already locked on Youlier’s body as if you were drawn to it by some unexplainable force.

Of course, with the blue sheet now placed back over the victim’s head, you couldn’t actually see anything, but you still had the image of his face in your head, causing a sense of unease to remain in your stomach, although not as bad as when you were originally presented with it.

Spencer gave Morgan a small shake of his head as if to shut down this conversation for later, leaving your side to seek out the pathologist so she could retrieve Youlier’s eyes from storage.

He returned not two minutes later, freshly gloved with a glass jar in hand, two vaguely spherical shaped objects floating inside it.

Morgan saw them before you did, his expression widening and then furrowing at the sight of just how ripped up these eyes seemed to be. “How on earth did they end up like that?”

Morgan’s question is enough to pique your curiosity and rip your gaze away from the victim's covered-up face, walking up behind Spencer to look at the jar over his shoulder.

“Dr Toth said the damage was from the thorns on the roses,”

You examine the jar as Spencer explains how they ended up in the state they were in, and you had to agree that Morgan’s bewilderment was right.

They barely even looked like a pair of eyes anymore. They were more ovular than spherical, with two gaping holes where the pupil and iris should be, and countless tear lines all over the scleras, presumably where the killer had struggled to push the stems through the eyes from the resistance of the thorns. Although, you couldn’t deny that seeing them somehow ailed any lingering discomfort in your stomach.

“Well that’s just stupid,”

Spencer jumped from your statement like he hadn’t even realised you were standing behind him, almost fumbling the jar out of his hands in the process.

“…maybe you’re just stupid…” Morgan’s muttering doesn’t go unnoticed, and you shoot a glare in his direction that he mirrors right back at you with just as much venom.

“What’s stupid?” It takes Spencer a second to regain his bearings, but once he does he turns his attention to you with round eyes and a slightly tilted head, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

He watches as your focus shifts back and forth between the eyes in the jar and his own as if you were trying to visualise what he’d look like with the ripped-up excuse for a pair of eyes instead of the ones he currently had.

“Obviously you should de-thorn the roses first,” Your tone carried your phrase like you were telling him that you shouldn’t put metal in a microwave rather than de-thorning a rose before piercing someone’s eye with it. “This guy’s on what, their fifth victim? You would’ve thought they’d figured that out by now,”

You take the jar from Spencer’s hand to get a closer look at the remnants of the victim’s eyes from a better vantage point.

“I mean come on, I figured it out after my first try,” You’re edging into a rant about the intricacies of how to most productively pierce somebodies eyes with rose stems now, and it was beginning to remind Spencer that you had in fact actually done all of these things and it wasn’t just hypothetical. “It literally takes like ten seconds per rose if you know what you’re doing and then saves you five minutes of effort,”

Morgan takes the jar from you like you’re a child with a bottle of bleach, a scowl still etched on his face as you give him an incredulous look.

“I’m not going to like eat them or whatever, god-”

“Knowing your track record I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Morgan places the jar down on the small table by where the victim is lying.

“One, that’s disgusting, two, what the fuck?” Spencer finds your bewilderment at Morgan’s suggestion that you might eat the victim’s eyes quite amusing on a surface level, your response sounding like something a high schooler would say rather than a prolific serial killer.

“What? You’re the type of sick bastard that would probably get off on that sort of thing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders as he turns back around to face you once more.

“I was experiencing a manic episode, I’m not some weird sadist who has a fetish for eyeballs,”

‘Not a fetish, but something,’ Spencer chooses to keep to himself during your squabble this time, walking over to the autopsy table to hike up the blue cover sheet and check for other injuries lower down on the body.

There’s nothing truly substantial, with no defence wounds courtesy of the blow to the back of his head before the attack, another staple of your spree to keep your victims complacent. The only thing of note was the two gashes across each wrist, severing both radial arteries, the source of the bleeding-out portion of his death.

He had to give you props on that part. The average time it took somebody to bleed out was only 3 and a half minutes, meaning it was a pretty effective way to kill somebody with minimal effort and ensure they were completely dead before any first responders might have time to arrive even if they were called immediately after the gashes were made.

It was very controlled, much more of an execution than a murder if he was to really think about it, especially considering all of your victims were unconscious when it happened and therefore probably didn’t even feel anything aside from the original blow to the head.

For a serial killer, it was actually very humane. Even if you did go out of your way to desecrate their eyes afterwards. But was the real harm in that, they were already dead anyway, it’s not like they felt it.

It ruled out any sort of sadism from your spree, one of the reasons he thinks your story of a manic episode was so easily accepted in court. You weren’t killing people for the fun of it. You didn’t drag it out or make it unnecessarily painful. It was like you were just following the steps of how to kill somebody with as minimal effort as possible to satisfy whatever violent urges you had in your head at the time and then fulfilling the apparent subconscious fixation you had with eyes by covering them with roses.

“Wow, this guy really has no idea what he’s doing-” You again cause Spencer to almost jump out of his skin as you appear behind him once more, looking at the gashes over his shoulder.

You reach out to touch one of them, stopped by a harsh hand on your wrist from Morgan, who continues to glare at you like you’d set his house on fire. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking out the shitty incision work from this stupid ass copycat?”

“Put some gloves on you idiot,” Morgan drops your wrist with a scoff, walking across the room to pull out a pair of latex gloves from one of the boxes and shoving them into your palms.

You roll your eyes at his attitude but tug on the gloves anyway, making a show of raising your hands up in his face once you had them on. “Happy now?”

With a swat of your wrist away from his face Morgan concedes to stop antagonising you for now and let you focus on whatever you were originally doing, which you turn to do immediately like you’d completely forgotten about Morgan’s existence as soon as he exited your peripheral vision.

“What is it?” Spencer’s eyes follow yours down to the victim’s left wrist, and he watches as you prod at the gash with your gloved fingers as if trying to pry it back open.

“This is probably the shittiest attempt at bleeding someone out I’ve ever seen,” You bend down with narrowed eyes as you examine the wound. “It’d probably take like 20 minutes from a cut this shallow,”

Spencer can’t help but agree with your assessment. The cut was extremely shallow, so much so he’s sure that this victim probably could’ve survived it if he’d gotten immediate medical attention. He checks the other wrist just to be sure, and he’s granted with the same sight, an extremely shallow cut for somebody actively trying to kill people.

“So, what? He just sat around for twenty minutes whilst Youlier bled out so he could put the roses in his eyes?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows at the revelation. “What sense does that make?”

Can they be sure that they were inserted post-mortem?

Spencer walked around the table towards the autopsy report to re-read the file in case he’d somehow missed that detail whilst reading it the first time.

Alexander Youlier. Age 22. Died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem.

He hadn’t missed anything. But then that didn’t make sense. There was no way that the killer would just wait around for almost half an hour for somebody to bleed themselves dry, especially considering that Youlier was found under an open gazebo in a dog park. That would just be reckless. For it to work the roses would have had to be inserted whilst he was still alive.

“Having an epiphany over there or something?” Spencer turns his eyes upwards at your comment, leaving the report on the side table as he walks into Dr Toth’s side office without giving you an answer.

You and Morgan share a glance at his sudden departure, probably the most civil interaction the two of you had ever had, fuelled by the joined want to know what was running through Spencer’s mind.

The door of the office opened less than a minute later, Dr. Toth leaving her office with Spencer hot on her trail. “-reports from the main office so that you can cross-reference them all,”

You only catch the end of their conversation as they enter back into the mortuary, and Dr Toth leaves the room to assumedly go and gather whatever ‘reports’ she was on about from the main office, leaving you and Morgan blankly staring in Spencer’s direction with confused expressions.

“I think that our unsub might be inserting the roses into the victim’s eyes whilst they’re still alive,”

The revelation that the unsub was purposefully dragging out the death of their victims made the team have to rebuild the profile from the bottom up.

Spencer took the opportunity to do some digging. Or more accurately have Garcia do some digging.

He had her pull everything humanly possible regarding your biological parents, their life, their death, and most importantly, how they treated you.

They were 29 and 32 when they died, you having been born when your mother was only 23. They both had a history of substance abuse, and according to their autopsies, both of them had lethal levels of diazepam in their bloodstreams at their time of death.

What was interesting about their deaths though was that they were dead for three days before they were found, rotting in their own house with a six-year-old left living with them. Now that was something that could cause a mental break. A six-year-old, left for three days with the corpses of their dead parents and only found when the neighbours complained about the smell.

The file Garcia had faxed over also happened to have images from the scene when the bodies were recovered, and they were just as disgusting as he’d imagined they’d be. The two were sat paired on a couch, skin pale and turning slightly grey with the beginning signs of decay, small insects roaming on their skin, and the clothes they were wearing.

But the selling point for Spencer was their eyes. Wide open and staring blankly into open space with clouded pupils and ruptured irises. It freaked him out and he was looking at it through a piece of paper. He couldn’t imagine how it made a six-year-old child who lived with them like that for three days feel.

There was the origin of your eye fixation, and he honestly couldn’t blame you for covering the dead stare of your victims so you wouldn’t have to relive that.

The more he read the more devastating the report seemed to be. When asked why you didn’t call for any help from neighbours or the police you stated that you “just wanted them to sleep for a while,” and that your mother would “give me the sleepy pills when she wanted me to go to sleep, so I did the same for her and daddy,”

In an effort to get your parents to go to sleep so they would stop presumably treating you horribly, you’d unintentionally overdosed them both.

You were in a paediatric rehabilitation centre for almost four months after you were recovered from the house. A six-year-old. Being rehabilitated for an addiction to diazepam because your parents would solve any blip in your behaviour by feeding you sleeping pills instead of treating you like the child you were.

All of a sudden forming an addiction at 25 didn’t seem all that detrimental anymore.

He supposes that’s how you knew right off the bat. Addiction recognises addiction and all that. Although by the look of it, you’d made a full healthy recovery by the time you were adopted into your new family.

You’d been diagnosed with ASD after you were removed from the house, and Spencer is surprised by the fact that the mental impact it had on you only seemed to be acute, although, he’s sure that in hindsight the psychiatrist that diagnosed you would’ve made sure to be more thorough in their examination of your mental state.

Still, what happened had happened, and although Spencer nor anyone else could do anything to change that, he could form a greater understanding of who you were and why you did what you did.

Except he still didn’t really know why, he knew the origins, but what was the trigger that caused you to deteriorate mentally until you were back at your lowest possible point?

That wasn’t important right now.

He needed to focus on the actual case at hand and not the closed case of a serial killer from four years ago. It didn’t matter how much of a fascination he’d formed with your psychology, he needed to focus so that no one else had to die.

It was insane to think about, just how distracted he’d get with uncovering your past like it was a mystery novel that required the reader’s involvement to solve.

But now he really needed to knuckle down and actually put his intelligence forward to help the team find the unsub they were looking for or else earn a chastising from Hotch and up to 13 more victims if they followed your pattern to a T.

Why you though? Why was this unsub following your crimes specifically? Sure some people were mentally deranged enough to want to gain the same notoriety as the killers they replicated, but your case was in a small city and didn’t even make national news. Not only that, it was new. Really new.

Most copycat killers replicated national or even international-level crimes that had decades to form a legacy and settle into the back of people's minds. Your case wasn’t like that. Not to the full extent anyway. The state of California had recognised you as a prolific killer but in any other state your name was unknown.

So why you?

Spencer watched intently as the team scribbled down notes and ideas on the whiteboards taking up most of the room, leaving him sitting at the head of the conference table with his files on your background and you engaging yourself in the pass-time of making origami cranes out of discarded bits of paper to stop yourself from getting bored.

A serial killer replicating your crimes almost step by step. Bleed out the victims, put roses in their eyes, move on. Same victim pattern. Same time frame. But still with distinct differences.

This unsub bled their victims out considerably slower than you did. They used red roses instead of white roses like you did. They left the thorns on the rose stems when you pruned them beforehand.

Why did this unsub not de-thorn the roses first? After five separate murders, why would they not make their process easier by discarding the thorns to stop them from tearing up the victim’s eyes?

‘I figured it out after my first try.’

“Hey uh-” Spencer turns his head up towards you, tapping his pen absentmindedly against the table. “Do you remember what happened to your first victim? After your parents?”

“What?” You furrow and then raise one of your eyebrows at his sudden question, especially because he’d been sitting in his own little cocoon for the last thirty minutes.

It was quite a long shot of a question if you had been experiencing mania at the time, but you seemed to be remembering select details about your spree, so your first victim surely should be present in your mind at least somewhat.

“How did you… You know-” Spencer’s roundabout question was half amusing and half frustrating from your viewpoint, and you take a break from your paper crafts to indulge in it.

“Well…” You drag out the word and you divert your eyes from him to stare upwards towards the ceiling like it’ll aid your memory. “I incapacitated her first, with a… brick I think? It might’ve been a regular rock I’m not sure-”

“Him.” Morgan’s venom seeps into his correction of your account. “You killed eighteen people and you don’t even have the decency to remember the gender of your first victim? Seriously?”

“I do know my own victim pattern thank you very much,” You override Morgan’s correction with just as much ferocity. “ And it was definitely a woman. I chose her specifically because she’d be easy.”

“That’s not what our files say.”

“Then your files are wrong? What do you want me to do about it?”

Spencer runs over your victims in his head. Your first filed victim’s name was John Brandy, found lifeless on a park bench after a woman walking her dog called it in to the police.

He tried to remember any other things he’d read about your case that might indicate that Brandy wasn’t your first victim. Nothing. John Brandy was the only thing he could affiliate with the identity of the first victim from your spree. And most notably, Brandy was very male.

“…What did you do after you incapacitated her?” Spencer slowly edges his way back into a conversation between you and Morgan, mind on full alert as it continues to run through all of the details he knows about you and your case.

“I moved her against the like wall of the street we were down and then did the rest of it,” You shrug your shoulders in mild scepticism of Spencer’s sudden interest in this specific kill of yours. “You know, cut the wrists, wait a few minutes, then stick in the roses. Although I’m pretty sure I got one rose like half in because the thorns were being difficult and I gave up when she started twitching,”

You exhale exasperatedly. ”That’s probably why she’s not ‘in your files’, because the rose I did try and do wasn’t even fully inserted and probably just fell out or something,” You glare pointedly at Morgan, tilting your head back and forth in condescension. “It was my first time alright? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

Sure everyone’s gotta start somewhere. When it comes to working a job or starting a hobby. You don’t usually ‘start somewhere’ when it comes to murdering people.

It’s the fact that you say it so nonchalantly that gets to him, talking about your murder spree of eighteen people like it was you learning how to bake a cake. Nineteen people. You’d actually killed nineteen people in your spree, and your poor first victim probably didn’t even get given the light of day that the rest of your victims did when it came to justice.

“Morgan,” Hotch’s voice proved to pull Spencer out of yet another spiral consisting of endless questions surrounding your psychology, even if not directed at him. “Call Garcia and have her pull up any unsolved murder cases that involved two slit wrists and trauma to the eyes in Malibu during the time they were active as a killer,”

“On it,” Honestly, Morgan would’ve taken any excuse to get out of your presence for a few minutes, feeling the overwhelming urge to punch you square in your face grow stronger with every snippet of information about yourself that you shared out loud without a single care in the world.

Did it have anything significant to catching this copycat? No. But that victim deserved just as much justice as any of your others.

One profiler down, the rest of the team turned back to fleshing out the profile, and you turned back to your half-finished paper crane, muttering to yourself under your breath about something that Spencer couldn’t quite hear.

“Okay, so we’ve ruled out mania as a possible cause of the kills because of how long it took for them to bleed out, we’ve ruled out paranoia because of the victim pattern following the original to a T instead of being random, it could be some form of ASD but that doesn’t really make sense with the rest of the profile-” Emily scans over the notes of the whiteboard as she speaks, picking absentmindedly on the red polish covering her nails and leaving small flakes of it all over the table by where you’re sitting.

“Would you stop doing that?” You make a show of wiping the table with your hand, and Emily doesn’t respond to you with more than a glance as she stuffs her hands in her pockets.

“Alright babygirl thank you,” Morgan sends a kiss through the phone before hanging it up and putting it away in his pocket and you swear you almost gag at the sight of it.

“Nothing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders half out of resignation and half out of frustration as he takes a seat opposite you on the table. “There are no unsolved murders matching the description you gave us,”

He glares into your eyes like he’s trying to burn them right out of your eye sockets. “So? What is it? You get a kick out of lying or what?”

“Do I look like the type of person who makes the effort to lie? Because news flash, I don’t, it’s not like saying I killed one more person than I actually did benefits me in any way,” You furrow your expression with a scoff, leaning back in your chair to rest your ankles on the table.

“Right, sure, because someone like you totally doesn’t care about how they’re perceived by other people,”

“Why would I want to say I’ve killed more people than I actually have, it just makes me look more crazy than you already think I am-” You weren’t backing down on this. You were adamant that this person was your first victim and that you weren’t lying to him.

“Then why isn’t there any file of her whatsoever?”

“What if she’s still alive?” It’s like all of the puzzle pieces fall into Spencer’s mind at once, and he interrupts your arguing with Morgan yet again, except this time it’s not about keeping the peace.

“You said you gave up because ‘the thorns were being difficult and she started twitching’, was she alive when you tried to put the rose in her eye?” Spencer turns his gaze towards you, a completely different air surrounding his expression than the mildly awkward and apprehensive one you’d gotten used to.

“I don’t know, maybe?” You shrug like his question was absurd, watching as he stands from his seat to look over the whiteboard detailing the autopsies of each of the victims.

“Reid?” Hotch’s raised eyebrow asked a hundred different questions, and Spencer answered every single one of them with a single phrase muttered under his breath.

“…PTSD by proxy-”

He takes a second to study the photos on the board before continuing. “It’s a psychological disorder where victims of PTSD will project their trauma onto others,”

He pulls a few of the images from the board to lay them out on the conference table. “Of those who develop PTSD from traumatic incidents, roughly 2% then go on to try and satiate their trauma by projecting it onto other people,”

“If what you remember about your first victim was true and she survived, then there’s a high chance that the new killer we’re looking for is that first victim,” He arranges the autopsy photos in two groups, with one of the wrist gashes and the other of the eye damage.

“The victims bled out slowly, which in a lot of cases with first-time murder or murder attempts happens unintentionally because the killer doesn’t know how deep a cut like that has to be for it to be fatal,” He points towards the photos on the left first.

“And then the eyes would be pretty self-explanatory,” He turns one of the photos towards where you and Hotch are sitting. “If your first victim was in fact alive when you tried to pierce her eyes then that could explain why these victims were also still alive when the roses were inserted,”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Emily chimes in with her two cents as Spencer gives his explanation. “We’re in a completely different city,”

“And it’s been three years since the original spree,” Rossi swirls the coffee in his mug with a furrowed expression.

“Well Las Flores is only an hour's drive from Malibu,” Spencer moves from the table to go back over to the annotated map on one of the boards, marking an invisible line with his fingers. “Maybe she decided she needed to get away from her trauma, 46% of individuals who experience life-changing trauma do,”

“But why now?”

Spencer’s eyes turn back towards you at Rossi’s question, as if you held all the answers to what the stressor was for this sudden murder spree. Your answer of course was nothing more than a shrug and an expression that asked ‘How am I supposed to know?’, which put a halt to Spencer’s theory.

That, and the fact that they hadn’t even confirmed if this woman was still alive let alone living in Las Flores.

“Alright,” Hotch cut through the team’s conversation with a wave of his hand. “Morgan, ask Garcia to track down women who went into the hospital for ocular injuries three years ago and have moved to Las Flores since then,”

Morgan gives him a determined nod as he leaves the room once more, Hotch then turning his attention towards you.

“What have you done in the last few months that would’ve been told to the public?”

“I don’t know?” You give him an exasperated expression and raise your hands in a defensive manner. “Why would I know that? It’s not like I have someone telling me when I’m on the news,”

Hotch furrowed his eyebrow at your immediate defensiveness, reminding himself to be patient and bear with your short fuse because it technically wasn’t your fault.

Although it didn’t make it any less frustrating either way.

He turned his eyes towards Spencer, gesturing towards the door and then towards you as a silent order for him to speak to you privately outside.

If anyone was going to be able to get a piece of information out of you, consciously or subconsciously, it would be Spencer.

It took him a few seconds to compute Hotch’s message, but as soon as he did he stood from his seat, mug in hand.

“I’m going to make some more coffee, do you want some?” Spencer gives you a small and slightly awkward smile as he looks at you, and you raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“You don’t know how to make my coffee,”

“You can show me,” Spencer raises his eyebrows enthusiastically, lips pressed taut into a line as he silently prays for you to take the bait. And you do.

You don’t respond with more than pushing your chair away from the table to stand, but Spencer follows after you as you leave the meeting room nonetheless, gaining a small nod from Hotch that he returns with one of his own.

In the break room, Spencer watches you prepare your coffee, taking mental notes of the precise amount of creamer and sugar you add. He's careful to keep the conversation casual, asking about your preferences and subtly steering you towards the topic of recent events.

"I got a new therapist a few months ago," you admit, stirring your coffee. "She recommended having me moved into psychiatric care." The implication hangs clearly in the air.

"Psychiatric care?" Spencer echoes, his mind eagerly piecing together the information.

“Mhm,” You give him a small nod and you leave the teaspoon on the counter, taking a sip of your coffee.

Now that was something that might’ve been made public. If you had been recommended by a specialist to be moved out of a high-security prison and into a psychiatric institute the local news was bound to know about it.

"You being moved to a psychiatric facility would definitely make the news," Spencer mutters, drawing your attention back to him. "That could be the trigger point for our unsub,"

“Me going to a hospital? Seriously?” You scoff like that being a motive is pathetic.

“Yes, seriously,” Spencer replies, his expression serious. “It could signify a turning point, a change in your situation that the unsub might interpret as you escaping justice. It could be the catalyst that pushed them into action.”

He abandons his coffee mug on the counter as he ushers you back into the meeting room with the rest of the team, and all it takes is Hotch getting a single glance at Spencer’s expression to know that there was indeed a trigger for this murder spree.

“A few months ago, their therapist recommended moving them to a psychiatric facility," Spencer shares the information as soon as you both re-enter the room, "That could have been publicised, potentially triggering our unsub-”

“We found her,” Morgan interrupts Spencer’s explanation as he hurries into the room, phone still pressed against his ear as he reaches over to scribble down the name and address Garcia had recovered.

Louise Nueves, aged 29 was born and raised in Malibu, never having left the city for more than a week her entire life. That was, until she was hospitalised for three days for a severe ocular injury to her left eye.

She left the city less than a week after she was discharged, and supposedly never returned as she settled down in Las Flores instead.

She settled down, got married, started working in a small bakery, and overall just seemed to have a well-rounded and stable life after the trauma that she had endured back in her home town.

Morgan knocked harshly on the front door of her house, gun held firmly in his hand just in case Nueves deemed the threat of their presence as an incentive to act violently. “Louise Nueves, this is the FBI,”

The silence from the other side of the door seemed only to heighten the adrenaline running through the veins of the team.

It didn’t take long before Morgan was looking for permission to force the door open, and once he gained a nod from Hotch that’s exactly what he did, kicking the door handle loose and forcing the door open as the team filtered into the house to search for their suspect.

You were an exception of course, being confined to the entranceway with Spencer as your personal babysitter in case you managed to get yourself into any trouble or think about running off.

You hear an echo of ‘clear’s from the group as they sweep the house, seemingly completely devoid of any human presence outside of the FBI team. Until…

“You guys might wanna come see this,”

Emily’s voice sounded from upstairs, and she backed out into the stairway as she gestured for the team to join her up the stairs.

You give Spencer a look before walking over to the stairs, and his curiosity overrides his need to try and keep you in the entrance as he follows after you with the rest of the team following closely behind.

“This little bitch-“ The sight you were greeted with would’ve been extremely disturbing under normal circumstances, a corpse of a man - presumably Nueves’ husband - lying in its first stage of decay on the bed of the house’s master bedroom, a red rose resting on his chest.

Instead, your response was more angry at the blatant lack of originality in the way he was killed.

"Copying my kills is one thing," you spat out, your eyes burning with rage. "But having no innovation or creativity of their own? That's just pathetic." You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze fixed on the lifeless body in front of you.

"Unique or not, it proves our hypothesis of who the copycat is," Morgan retorted, his gaze hardening at your callous words.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance. "Great."

Ignoring your sarcasm, Hotch spoke up, "We need to find Nueves before she kills again. Morgan, Reid, you're with me. We'll check her workplace. Rossi and JJ I want you to track down some of her friends, maybe they've noticed something off."

As they left, Emily turned to you, her eyes scrutinising. "What about them, Hotch? Do we just leave them at the station?"

"No," Hotch replied without missing a beat. "They’ll stay with you as you monitor the area. Keep an eye on them. We don't know how they might react now that their 'legacy' is being threatened."

With that, they left you in the company of Emily, the silence in the room amplifying the eerie sight of the corpse on the bed.

The tension was still very apparent despite you and Emily having no previous background, and you could tell that she wasn’t exactly thrilled with your company as the two of you left the house just as the authorities arrived, presumably called by Hotch as they left the scene.

“How does it feel to babysit a grown adult instead of doing something important?”

Emily shot you a sideways glance, her lips forming a thin line. "I'd like to think that keeping an eye on a serial killer counts as important, don't you?" she retorted, her voice icy.

“You’re supposed to be finding a serial killer, I haven’t done anything in years, what makes you think that I’m the threat?” You can’t help but scoff at her intonation as she speaks to you, it feeling oddly derogatory considering that you couldn’t even remember what her name was. “That’s some audacity alright,”

Emily narrowed her eyes at you, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "You may not think so, but your presence here is still a potential risk," she said, her tone sharp. "And until we know more, I'm not taking any chances."

She quickened her pace, leaving you to catch up as you followed her out of the residential area and into a nearby public park. Emily’s eyes scanned the area like a hawk as she walked, making you roll your eyes. “You really think she’s just going to be hanging around right next to her own house?”

Emily's gaze flickered toward you, her expression unyielding. "We're not looking for Nueves herself. We're looking for any clues, any signs of her recent activity or whereabouts," she explained tersely. "Every detail matters in a case like this."

She continued to lead the way through the park, her pace steady and purposeful. Despite your scepticism, you couldn't deny the intensity in her demeanour, the determination to solve the case weighing heavily in the air between you as you reluctantly tailed her like a toddler on a leash.

As you walked, Emily suddenly halted, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of a lone figure sat on one of the park benches with their back to the two of you.

“Oh come on, it’s the middle of the day, of course there are people in the park.”

“Be quiet.” Emily approached the individual with her words barked out between her teeth. As you drew closer, you could see the figure was a woman, her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Emily called out to her, her voice firm yet cautious. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?"

The woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, quickly wiping at her cheeks. "Just... just having a moment." Her eyes seemed to flicker downwards towards Emily’s vest in confusion but she didn’t make any move to mention it.

Emily studied her for a moment longer before nodding, her hand slowly retracting from her weapon. “Alright. Just be careful out here, okay?” she advised before motioning for you to follow as she continued on the path.

You glanced back at the woman, her eyes following you in a mix of her previous sadness and confusion, seemingly unsure of how she should feel at an apparent FBI agent approaching her out of nowhere and then advising her to ‘be careful’.

“It’s you.” The new voice turns both of your heads in its direction.

Standing a few feet away was a woman and her dog, her demeanour tense yet strangely familiar. She looked at you with a mixture of surprise and recognition, her eyes lingering on Emily’s vest for a moment before returning to you.

“Excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow at the bluntness of her recognition of who you were, furrowing your eyebrows dismissively like she didn’t have the right to have recognised you in whatever way she had.

“You don’t know me?” Her tone carried a clear betrayal, as did the furrow in her eyebrows as she took a step towards you, one which Emily retaliated to by forcing you behind her with a heavy grip on your arm, one which you did not appreciate whatsoever as you pulled yourself from her grasp.

“Mrs Nueves?” Emily’s voice held a mix of apprehension and concern as she spoke, and she reached into her back pocket to thrust her phone into your hand before holding her fingers ready over her gun holster.

“You don’t remember me, do you? The woman ignored Emily completely, her voice tinged with bitterness as she stared at you, her features filled with betrayal as she realised you weren’t even looking at her, too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Emily had given you her phone.

“Mrs Nueves, my name’s Emily, I’m with the FBI, I understand that what you’re going through right now is extremely difficult but-”

“Shut up!” Nueves’ voice was harsh and drenched in ice as she spoke, holding her hand up dismissively. “I don’t care about you or your FBI friends-”

You had your back to the two by this point, and after a message had come through from Spencer about Nueves not being at her workplace you figured that the reason Emily as given you the phone was to get backup from the team.

oh. Right.

‘shes in the park by her house’

Of course she was. Because she was continually proving to be one of the stupidest people you’d ever encountered. Who decides to take their dog for a walk in the park two minutes from their house whilst being actively pursued by the police? Stupid people, that’s who. God, couldn’t the person copying your crimes at least be a competent one?

‘We’ll be there in ten minutes. Hold tight.’

“Look at me!” Nueves’ raised voice caused multiple heads to turn from the people wandering the park, including your own, and you turn your eyes away from the phone screen with a furrowed expression of annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much I suffered because of what you did?” Nueves’ outbreak was very quickly garnering an audience from passersby, and could could practically feel the tension rolling off of Emily in waves as she tried to figure out what to do.

“You lived, get over it,” You were not helping.

The look on Nueves’ face at your words was almost incomprehensible, like she didn’t know what emotion she was supposed to be feeling at your nonchalance about what happened. Like you hadn’t ruined her entire life and caused her eternal suffering.

“Get over it? Look what you did to me!” Nueves barked out her words as she brought her left hand up to her eye, pulling at it until the sclera fell into the palm of her hand, leaving a dark pink void in its wake.

Your eyes immediately widened at the action, eyebrows furrowed in clear distaste for what you’d witnessed and that uncomfortable feeling that you’d experienced in the coroner’s office rising in your stomach the longer you looked at her.

“This is my life now.” She held up the piece of glass in her hand. “This is what I have to live with because of you.”

“Mrs Nueves-” Emily took a small step forward in her direction with both hands raised to appear as not threatening as possible.

“Don’t move-” Nueves dropped her dog’s leash at Emily’s advance to pull a small kitchen knife from her pocket, similar to one that would be used to cut vegetables or peel a potato.

Emily’s shoulders tense at the emergence of the weapon lips pursed into a tight line, and you’re sure that you might’ve been mildly concerned yourself if the knife blade wasn’t smaller than its handle. It didn’t make her look as intimidating as you assume she thinks she is, more like a teenager who carries around a switchblade in an attempt to make themself look tougher than they actually are.

Then again, this woman had actually killed people. Just not very well.

Still, if she thought that was a ‘big’ knife then her husband must’ve not been very satisfactory when it came to the bedroom.

"Put the knife down, Louise," Emily's voice was stern yet calm, her gaze unwavering. "We can talk about this, help you get the help you need. But first, you need to put the knife down."

Nueves seemed to consider this for a moment, her grip on the knife wavering. But then, her expression hardened, her eyes filled with a cold determination. "No," she stated firmly, "I won't."

“Mrs. Nueves,” Emily tried again, her voice laced with a calm authority, “you're not a killer. You're a victim, and we want to help you.”

Nueves let out a bitter laugh at this, her gaze never leaving Emily's. “A victim?” she echoed, her voice filled with scorn. “I stopped being a victim the moment I stopped letting them control my life.” She thrusts her arm forward with the knife in hand to point it in your direction, thankfully too far away for it to actually be anywhere near harming you. “You left me alive and it ruined everything.”

“I had to live with the pain, the nightmares, the constant fear. I had to watch my life fall apart while you just moved on to your next victim and left me without so much as a footnote in your confession." Nueves continued, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "You think I'm the one who needs help? You're the monster, not me!”

“You had a hard time. Boo-hoo. But guess what? You're not the only one who's had to deal with shit. You're not special, Nueves.” You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nueves' eyes flashed with anger at your dismissive words. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't get to belittle my pain. You don't get to decide how I should react to what you did to me."

"Actually, I do," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm the one who put you in this position. I'm the one who made you who you are today. And you know what? I'm not sorry. Because without me your life would’ve been completely insignificant.”

“Maybe I am a monster. But you, Nueves, are just a sad, pathetic little girl pretending to be a serial killer.” Nueves' face twisted with rage at your words, her grip on the knife tightening. But before she could react, Emily stepped in, her voice calm and authoritative.

“Enough,” she commanded, her gaze fixed on Nueves. “This isn't helping anyone. We're here to bring you in, Louise. To make sure you get the help you need.”

“I don't want your help,” Nueves spat back, her eyes still fixed on you with burning hatred. “I just want them to pay for what they did.”

“They are Louise, they’re paying for their actions every single day in a high-security prison,” Emily stated, her gaze unwavering as she shook her head gently. “They’re getting their punishment, you don’t have to do this, please, just put down the knife…” Emily’s eyes caught the SUV that parked on the side of the road as she talked. Looks like she’d managed to buy enough time for backup to arrive.

For a moment, it looked like Nueves might actually consider following Emily’s suggestion. But then she glanced back at you, her gaze hardening at your stare of indifference. “No,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “I won't let them get away with this. I won’t let them have control of how I live my life anymore.”

Nueves’ ramble deemed her oblivious to the agents approaching her from behind, ushering the few lingering witnesses to a safe distance away so that they could contain the area, and your eyes caught Dr Reid carefully scooping up the leashed dachshund into his arms after it’d scampered away from Nueves in her fit of rage.

“You don’t remember me?” Her eyes turned from seething to desperate in the split second she looked at you, voice raised as she tried to force your attention back onto her from your seeming uninterest in the confrontation. “You will.”

Morgan didn’t even have time to un-holster his gun before Nueves utilised the knife in her hand. Not on Emily, nor on you, but on herself, impaling the blade of the knife directly into her operational eye and forcing it deeper by slamming the palm of her hand into the wooden handle until it was almost completely encapsulated into her eye socket.

The sight was ghastly, blood spurting out of her eye as she fell onto the ground, convulsing from the pain and shock. You watched, a morbid fascination in your eyes as Emily quickly called for medical attention, her gaze flitting between you and the dying woman on the ground.

As the medics rushed to stabilise Nueves, Emily looked at you, her face pale. “You-” She said, her voice barely a whisper, “stay here.” She then hurriedly joined the medics, leaving you behind. You watched as the medics tried to recover her, but it was clear that her chances were slim. The sight of her writhing in pain, the blood pooling around her, was oddly satisfying to watch. A small, twisted part of you felt a sense of triumph at the confrontation's results, if not a little discontented with just how dramatic this woman proved to be.

The rest of the team moved to properly secure the area now that it was officially a crime scene as Emily, still with the medics, was applying pressure to Nueves' wound, her hands smeared with blood.

As you watched the scene unfold, a bizarre sense of calm washed over you. This chaos, this pain, was a result of your actions, your legacy, and despite the horrific circumstances, you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

From a distance, you could see Hotch talking to Emily, his expression unreadable. Emily nodded, her eyes briefly meeting yours before diverting away. She looked shaken, the dark red of Nueves’ quickly oxidising blood on her hands a stark contrast against her pale skin.

You tried to imagine the emotions she was grappling with. After all, she was a part of a team that had sworn to protect innocents from people like you. And now, because of you, she had blood on her hands.

The medics finally lifted Nueves onto a stretcher, rushing her towards the waiting ambulance. Emily stood there for a moment longer, watching as the ambulance sped away, before finally turning her eyes towards you, unfocused on how Morgan was gently trying to usher her towards another pair of EMTs so that she could be checked over.

There was zero chance Nueves was going to make it to the hospital in time.

Emily’s gaze was hard, filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something you couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps? Or maybe disappointment? Regardless, it was clear that the events of the day had left a deep impact on her.

As you watched them walk away, the satisfaction from earlier began to fade, replaced by a strange emptiness. You were alone again, left with nothing but the aftermath of your actions. And as you stared at the spot where Nueves had fallen, the blood still fresh on the grass, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all worth it.

But then, you remembered the look on Nueves’ face, the horror in her expression at her own pain. And you knew, without a doubt, that it was. Maybe she was right, you just might remember her for that stunt she pulled, although most definitely not in a positive light.

“Are you alright?” The ever-calm voice of Spencer Reid pulled you away from mulling over your own feelings, and you give him an animated sway of your head back and forth as a silent communication of you not falling in either emotional direction.

It truly was fascinating how removed you were from everything, and as twisted and convoluted as it might sound, Spencer wasn’t looking forward to your departure from accompanying the team. It meant that he didn’t get to speak to you anymore. Didn’t get to slowly peel away the layers of protection you’d built over your psyche so that he could pry at your inner workings.

And he didn’t exactly mind having you around. But that was something he was going to keep to himself for a multitude of reasons.

“It’s all too over the top for my taste,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, stretching your arms above your head. “Here, it’s the one with the ponytail’s,” You hold the cell phone out between your thumb and index finger like it might give you a disease if you hold it properly.

“Why-” Spencer starts his question and is immediately interrupted by your answer. “She gave it to me to message one of you where we were,”

So it was you who’d messaged him then. He thought the punctuation was different.

“Right, that makes sense,” He takes the phone from you with an awkward smile as he puts it away in his back pocket. “Thank you,”

You give him a short hum in reply, crossing your arms over your torso and leaning back and forth on the balls of your feet like you were becoming bored with just standing around. You’d just been a potential hostage at knife point and then watched someone graphically commit suicide specifically to gain your attention and less than five minutes after it was over you were looking for something new to capture your attention.

It utterly fascinated him. You were fascinating.

And you were leaving.

Literally.

You were walking away, obviously having had enough of Spencer’s silence and wandering off to find Hotch and maybe experience something more enticing.

“Hey-” Spencer called out to you as you began to walk away, and you stopped with a glance over your shoulder and a raised eyebrow. “What are you feeling right now?”

You stuff your hands in your pockets at his question, turning 180 degrees to face him once more with a slightly furrowed expression as you tried to figure out the motive behind his question.

“I wonder if she saw the afterlife.”

Spencer’s shoulders drop at your admission, his expression morphing into a mix of understanding and confusion, contradiction written all over his features.

You seemed more objectively curious than humanly concerned, but you still were curious nonetheless.

That was another fascinating part about you, or just about sociopaths in general, he supposes. But he wasn’t speaking to every sociopath in existence, he was speaking to you. So it was less about sociopathy and more about you specifically.

“Do you think she saw the afterlife?”

“Logically, she didn’t have any eyes so she wasn’t ‘seeing’ anything, but metaphorically I’d like to believe so,”

Spencer has to stifle a surprised laugh at your morbid joke about Nueves’ condition, pressing his lips into a tight line with a small nod as he tried to focus on the second part of your statement. “Me too,”

There was a small sense of deja vu surrounding your conversation as the two of you fell into a mutual silence, hastily interrupted by Hotch calling the two of you to gather with the rest of the team now that the case was officially over.

You noticed the distaste in Emily’s gaze immediately, looks like you’ve gained yourself another detractor. She and Morgan stood side by side with matching expressions as the two of you joined them, although neither had time to make any comments as the team loaded up in the SUVs to head back to the station.

It was rather hard to believe it’d only been six days in Las Flores, but dates don’t lie, and by the time you stepped back onto the BAU’s private jet, it felt like you’d only left it for a matter of hours.

Nueves’ face was fading from your mind by now, as was her name, and as you plopped yourself down on the same seat you’d occupied on your flight from Quantico, you’d almost forgotten that she even existed.

Your mind was more preoccupied with what was going to happen next. You were going to fly back to Quantico, be recovered by California state officials, and taken back to the concrete hell of the California Correctional Institution until your appeal to be moved to an inpatient psychiatric care facility was considered and ultimately rejected because they still deemed you ‘too dangerous’ to be around vulnerable individuals despite sharing mental issues with a lot of them.

Spencer gave you an awkward wave as he walked down the aisle of the cabin and stopped at the seat opposite you, hoping the movement would grab your attention.

“Do you-” He half gestures to the seat facing you with his hand, and you dismissively wave him into it as you return your attention to the window. “Thanks…”

You give him a hum at his politeness but otherwise remain uninterested in his presence, fastening the seat belt over your lap as the jet pilots prepare for the five-hour flight back to Quantico.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer abandons his original plan to sleep through the entire flight the second he sees the pondering in your expression.

You glanced at Spencer, contemplating whether to confide in him about your concerns. Out of everyone, he was probably the one person you’d met on the team who seemed genuinely interested in your experiences. He was one of the few who could understand the complexities of your situation. With a sigh, you decided to open up a little, "Just thinking about what happens now. Back to the concrete hell of my enclosure I guess.”

“I thought you were appealing the decision? That’s why you agreed to help, isn’t it? So the officials are more likely to accept your appeal?” Spencer tilts his head slightly in your direction, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he curled his legs under him in his chair.

“You really think that it’s actually going to do anything?” Your voice is dripping in sarcasm as you let your head fall back against the seat. “They’re seething enough that I didn’t get the death penalty, there’s no way they’re going to cut my sentence,”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” Spencer blinks at you with a mildly furrowed expression. “You’re not an active threat to anybody, and having the help that you need could greatly improve your quality of life,”

“Yeah well you’re not the person who’s going to be analysing my case, so your opinion doesn’t really matter in the greater span of things does it, Dr. Reid?” Your tone carries no malice in your statement, although it comes off much more rude than he’s sure you mean it to be.

His opinion could matter. He knows that as a part of the evaluation you’ll have to go through Hotch will have to write a report on how you acted during the case. Maybe he could put in a few extra things he’d experienced with you. He’s sure that the psychiatrist assessing whether you were actively violent would benefit from knowing how much you adored your parents, how you wondered if your childhood pet was in the afterlife and how you engaged in a genuine emotional conversation with him despite all of your social stunts from your disorder.

You obviously still had your humanity, so he didn’t see why they wouldn’t allow you to have the facilities to improve your mental state to a point where one day you could possibly be a functioning member of society, or at least be in a position to help researchers understand more about your condition.

“Having optimism about an upcoming situation has proved to actually affect the outcome of said situation, with 36% of people who had been optimistic about negative situations physically affecting the outcome of those situations based on their outlook alone,” Spencer presses his lips into a line, another one of those awkward smiles that you’d become used to over your time with him.

“I prefer realism, but I suppose I’ll take that into account,”

“That’s all I can ask,” Spencer gives a soft exhale at your inadvertent agreement to take his advice, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll visit you once your appeal has gone through,” The statement fell out of his mouth without any real thought behind it, simply a reflection of his brain deciding he wasn’t quite done with your company yet despite the case officially being over.

“Of course you will,”

Spencer gives a short laugh of mild embarrassment. “Of course I will.”

[lucy-literates]

Hello! Hope you're doing great :D

So like I'm absolutely enjoying Lewis arriving to the paddock on his motorcycle (I'm a huge fan of motorcycles i ride one myself) its just an absolute delight to watch even if its a little thing🥰

May i pls get one where reader sees lewis on his bike and just gets so excited and asks him to take her for a ride then she would ask to take it for a spin herself🤭

Thanks, have a great day☺️

A/N: That’s so cool, I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike but I’m a bit scared 😅 Guess you could say I’m in the same boat as the reader! Anyway, hope you enjoy it, my requests are open! And, exams are doneeee so I’ve got all the time now.

Can I ride?

Working as Ferraris photographer was the best use of your photography degree that you could think of. It was your job to take pictures of Charles and Lewis, and you love it. Especially since Lewis started showing up on his motorbike.

It gave you the perfect opportunity to take some amazing shots. You waited for him in the parking lot everytime he arrived.

You always welcomed him with a warm smile and a nod. He appreciated it every time.

Little did he know, you were dying to ride his bike. Your dad had one when you were a little girl, and you missed the roar of the engine as the world sped by.

After Lewis goes inside, you always circled around to check out his bike again and he never knew, until today.

He had left his phone in his bike and ducked back outside to grab it. That’s when he found you sitting on the floor, staring at his bike.

“Y/n?”

You snapped out of your daydream to find Lewis standing in front of you, your heart immediately sped up.

“Yes?”

“Why are you staring at my bike?”

“Oh, um, right” you mumble as you stand up “Sorry”

He chucked “it’s all good. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, fine. Just… reminiscing”

“About?” Lewis looked at you curiously

“My dad’s old bike.” You told him. The recounted the memories like they happened only yesterday.

Lewis nodded, grinned, and reached for his bike. He pulled out two helmets and offered one to you, “want to ride?”

“Really?” you asked, and Lewis nodded

“Yes!” You told him excitedly.

He helped you tighten the helmet strap once it was on your head, and helped you on the bike.

Your hands held onto his shoulders, until he took your hands and wrapped them around his waist as he said “hold tight”.

He took you for a couple laps around the block, then brought you back. As he hopped off you asked

“Would it be ok if I took it for a ride?” You didn’t have high hopes, almost knowing he was gonna say no when he shifted you forward on the bike and hopped on behind you.

He gave you a quick crash course on how to use it, and let you give it a go.

You also did a couple laps around the block before pulling back into the parking lot.

“You’re a natural!” Lewis complemented.

“I’ve got a good teacher” you recorded back with a smile.

Tag list:

@alexxavicry

@k-160922-blog

@alyislost

@supersanelyromantic

@astrlape

[gingernut1314]

The Water's Embrace ch. 7

Summary: You and Silco talk about recent events happening within your friend group before one simple act has everything exploding in your faces.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, young Vander, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, young Felicia, young Connol, Nadia & Nikolai are Viktor's parents, silco POV, fear of rejection/ruining friendship, rejection, reader has water manipulation, smoking, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, Felicia & Connol)

Word Count: 5.9K

Tag List: @miffysoo , @teriyakiitae

A/N: So.....that series finale.....how we feeling about it? I'm feeling unwell SOB. Anywayy here is the next chapter and I hope you all enjoy!!

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Three years later

“Felicia’s pregnant!” You gaped at Silco from where he sat on the edge of the small pool of water you swam in. It was a pool located in the cave you once called home, though nothing but a rotting, makeshift bed remained of that past. Even Janna had left this place.

You had noticed she hadn’t been around much for a year. A long time for her to be away at sea…if she was even out at sea at all. 

To say her disappearance didn’t worry you would be a lie. She may be an emotionless wind spirit but she was still the thing that had raised you. You still found love for her in your heart. 

You ducked under the surface of the inky black waters, swimming forward till you popped up at the edge of the pool. Silco unbent his legs from his chest only to criss cross them, making it easier to lean closer to you and your utter shock. 

“Shocking, right?” Silco's seafoam eyes tracked you as you placed your arms on the stone floor beside him. 

“Shocking is quite the understatement.” You let your feet kick aimlessly through the waters, enjoying the feel against your skin. It’d been too long since you’d been swimming like this. “She--with who? Connol?” Silco nodded. 

“It would seem.”

“Damn… damn .” Silco nodded in agreement. “What--I mean--I’m happy for her.” Silco raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you?” He teased. 

“ Yes .” You huffed back. “I’m just…worried.” Silco again nodded.

“Yes…as am I.” You scooted closer to him then. “She made us promise to make Zaun a reality for her child.” 

“And it will become reality.” You confirmed only for Silco to sigh deeply. 

“It’s been years .” He murmured. “We’ve continued to let Piltover stomp all over us. We are no closer to freedom let alone Zuan.” 

“You’re giving up?” Silco leveled you with a fierce look. 

“Hardly. I’m just tired of waiting and waiting for the “right moment”.” You hesitated before placing your hand on his knee, rubbing your thumb over the fabric. Silco’s eyes tracked the touch before they found yours again.

“I know we’ve all been patient for a long while, but I think we need to be patient a bit longer. Especially now that Felicia is expecting.” Your mind went down a dark train of thought. Of the reality that pregnancies down here so rarely made it to full term. To the reality that, even if her child was born safe and sound, it could kill her. To the reality of just how little food there truly was to go around and how babies were such fragile things that had a tendency to die before they reached the age of one. “We don’t want to stress her more than I’m sure she is now.” 

Silco nodded, eyes darkening in those very same thoughts you had just had. He placed his hand over yours, turning it so that it would rest in his palm. 

“Do you--” Silco began but seemed to think better of it. You gave his hand a squeeze, pulling yourself further on land to peer more closely into his eyes. 

“Do I…? Come on, don’t hold back on me now.” Silco looked over your face slowly. A slowness he had been doing a lot more recently. Not that you minded. You quite liked his attention but it still didn’t help you in your mission to keep your feelings for him smothered. 

“Do you wish for children?” You blinked up at him. And blinked again. And again.

“Me? Have…a kid?” Silco shrugged. 

“Just curious. We’ve never talked about such things before.” A pinkish hue began to spread over his cheeks. A pinkish color you had missed seeing on him. 

“Well, I’ve never really thought about it before. I…really didn’t think I’d make it this far in my life.” Silco smoothed his thumb over the back of your hand in a comforting manner that had you fluttering your feet in the water a bit more. “And not to mention I would be a horrid mother.” Silco scoffed. 

“Hardly. You are great with kids.” 

“What kids have you seen me interact with?” 

“Those kids you helped get away from those enforcers.” You thought back to that day which had happened a year ago. All because a few of them had stolen something for some Topside douchebag. It seemed to give those enforcers some grand idea to not only ruin a perfectly nice day, but to invade the stream and connecting lake kids went to swim around in and use unnecessary force to find the little thieves. 

You had been working when it started. Had only showed up because you had been… called there by some tug you still didn’t know what it was. Some tug that felt too much like magic. You’d gotten there just in time to find enforcers trying to drown some of them, others getting dragged away and beaten up, and others trembling in fear looking like they were praying to some god that you knew wouldn’t show up to help them.

You just assumed it had something to do with your magic and their connection to the waters the enforcers were using to try to harm the children with, so you stepped in and ended it.

Of course, you didn’t tell any of your friends that.

Not even Silco, who knew of your magic and who you practically told everything to. 

You just told them you had left work early because you were feeling unwell and stumbled upon the scene by accident. 

You tried to call out to Janna afterward to see if she knew what that--that calling had been but she had never shown and was nowhere to be found. It was then you first figured out she was missing. Had been missing for a while before.

“They don’t count.” You quickly said.

“Why?”

“Because I hardly even spoke to them,” A lie. They had tried to talk your ear off afterward about your magic, but Silco didn’t need to know that. “And because I said so.” Silco huffed.

“Fine. It doesn’t matter because I’ve seen you interact with Viktor and you do so very well.” You chuckled, a smile blooming at the thought of that kid. 

“Viktor is a sweet thing. Only reason I’m good with him. Most kids are like you and I were. Bad-mouthed little ankle biters.” A smile pulled at Silco’s lips. 

“I suppose you're right.” You both huffed and chuckled at the thought of your younger years. 

“What about you?” You asked as your amusement died out. “Do you want a kid?” Silco fell quiet for a long while. You saw a thousand and one thoughts rush behind his seafoam eyes. 

“You have.” You beamed, pulling your hand from his only so you could plant it on the ground, pulling yourself further upward, now at eye level with the very much blushing Silco. “Oh tell me about it, pretty please.” Silco almost seemed to lean away from your eagerness, eyes scanning and scanning over your face as if he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“There’s--nothing to tell.” You rolled your eyes on a groan. 

“I told you what my opinion on the matter was.” 

“Your opinion was hardly a true answer.” You huffed. 

“Fine. No. I don’t think I will have kids. There. Now tell me what you’ve thought of.” A heaviness filled his eyes. A heaviness you’d also been seeing him show more and more often. Always when watching you. Always when you said something to him. You thought maybe you had upset him somehow but he was always quick to speak and shove the look away. 

“I’ve just thought about it since Felicia’s going to have her own.”

“And…?” You egged him on. 

“And I don’t think it could ever become a reality.” You watched him closely. Watched that heaviness flicker through his eyes again.

What was he thinking about? What was he feeling to make his eyes look like that?

“But you would want one? In an ideal world. In Zaun?” Silco watched you just as closely back.  

“I…suppose.” You grinned up at him, legs kicking upward and making the water splash about. 

“I think you would be a good father.” Silco rolled his eyes. 

“Are you just saying that because I said it about you?” You shook your head. 

“Nope. You also are good with Viktor.” Silco gave a small huff in amusement. 

“Well, Viktor is the ideal child. Very sweet. Doesn’t steal flasks from random strangers off the street and explode them before their very eyes.” Your grin only grew wider as he spoke of your very first meeting. 

“Well, I also don’t think he would beat other children up and then refuse help for his boo-boos.” Silco narrowed his eyes, leaning ever closer to you. 

“I didn’t get any boo-boos and I won those fights fair and square.” 

“And I did go through all that trouble to replace your flask with a much nicer one.” You responded, bringing a finger up to tap at the flask which sat in a pocket on the inside lining of his jacket. 

“It is very nice.” You smirked. 

“You’re very welcome.” Silco gave another small laugh, lips relaxing into an easy smile. His seafoam eyes started up their scanning of your face all over again. A scan that made your heart beat painfully against the cage you had trapped it in to ward it against whatever deeper feelings you had for him. 

Your breath lodged itself in your throat when he brought his hand up to brush away a droplet of water from your cheek. And then to do it again closer to your lips. 

You--you didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether to pull even closer so that your noses might brush or jump back into the inky waters to disappear from view. 

But what you did know is you liked the touch. You wanted it to keep going on and on despite your struggle to fight back your feelings. 

Silco said your name softly in question and you thought shit was this--was he going to lean in closer?

“Are you…are you human?” The question took you off guard. Made quickly reel back all those feelings you had stupidly let slip from your iron hold of them. 

“What kind of a question is that?” You huffed, letting your body dip back into the waters, your hands the only thing still holding you to the surface. “Of course I am.” But Silco continued to watch you too carefully. “Why did you even ask me that?”

“Because…you feel different somehow.” Silco shrugged like you weren’t talking about the one topic you avoided speaking of like the plague.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Silco sighed your name.

“I’m serious. Magic is rare.” 

“You know I don’t like talking about it.” You fully let go of the pool edge then, making to disappear like you had first thought until Silco’s hand shot downward, grabbing hold of your wrist. The action nearly had your heart stopping in your chest.

“You once told me you trusted me enough to tell me those things. That you wanted me to know.” That pink cross over his cheeks once more, burning brighter than before. “It's…just me.” 

Even when you wished to forget about your feelings for him, even when you wished to not talk of your magic, you knew you couldn’t deny him. 

Not ever. 

It was a flaw. Something that should have been corrected a long time ago but was left to fester and grow within you like a fungus. 

“I…know I was born. Only humans are born, right?”

“Magic is mysterious.” You huffed. 

“You don’t need to tell me that.” You thought of Janna. Of all the things she had told you in your youth. 

You thought of that calling . Of how those kids had been praying for help before you had arrived. 

“Maybe…maybe I am but I’m…not?” Silco blinked at you, looking just as confused as you felt. “You remember I told you how my guardian found me, yes?” Silco nodded. 

“When you were small. In the water.” You nodded back at him.

“She’s…well she’s not human.” Silco's eyes sparked at this. 

“Truly?” 

“Annoyingly so. Her “human” body isn’t even human. It’s more elven and even then you can tell she’s other.” Silco gently pulled you back towards the edge of the pool as you spoke and you let him without any fuss. “She spends most of her time as The Winds. She’s old. Came here when The Gray first came to be.” 

“Winds… your guardian is--she’s real?” Of course, he knew of Janna. Most miners did. She uses most of her energy trying to keep them safe from the choking smog that seeped through the tunnels they were forced to work in; it was only natural for them to appreciate her, even when some didn’t believe.

“Yes, but she’s a lot more irritating than you all give her credit for.” Silco chuckled then. 

“She took you in because of your magic?” You nodded. 

“She says our magic was what led her to me. I don’t know much else besides that.” You answered, worrying your lip between your teeth. “You said I feel different? Like in a bad way?” 

“What? No. Like--other. Like…you’ve always given me the feel of the sea, even when I’ve never been sailing out on it. Like if I were to close my eyes right now, you might melt into the very waters you are in.” He paused for a moment, eyes flickering over your features once more. Something like…worry? Nervousness growing at what he was about to say. “When you hold me, I feel as if I am in the water's embrace.” 

“And…is that a bad feeling? Feeling like water has hold of you--like it might drag you under?” You asked, voice coming out low as if scared of the answer. 

“No. Never.” He spoke quickly. “I find…peace.” Your heart beat just a bit faster then.

“You don’t let me hug you often. How can I believe you?” You asked, partially teasing so that you could try to regain some semblance of control over yourself. You thought, almost hoped , he would tease you back, but what you hadn’t expected was him to stand and begin pulling his jacket off. “W-what are you doing?” Your eyes flew wide as he kicked his shoes off, leaving him in his patched-up socks. 

Your eyes only grew wider when he pulled his shirt off. The first grayish-white layer came off, followed quickly by his bright red shirt, giving you a full view of that thin, yet undoubtedly strong body he typically kept hidden beneath it all. 

You weren’t completely unfamiliar with seeing him shirtless. You had once lived at The Last Drop and the boys had a tendency to sleep in nothing but their boxers. 

But it didn’t matter because you hadn’t seen him in such a way in years . And you couldn’t help yourself as you looked over every inch of exposed skin. Drank in every scar, bruise, and lean plain he was made up of. Drank in that blush that grew richer and spread down the sides of his neck.

Couldn’t help but feel yourself grow restless at the sight of him.  

“Silco, what are--what are you doing? ” You repeated, not knowing what else to say in that moment. 

“I can’t swim.” And before you could ask another question or shout at him to stop, he was cannonballing into your pool. You panicked at his warning, diving instantly after him. 

It didn’t take you long to find him, your magic helping you feel for him in the darkness. You quickly grabbed and yanked him back to the surface, where he gave a gasp for air. 

“What the fuck!” You hissed, struggling a bit to keep both of you above the surface. To ease the struggle you commanded the waters to flow beneath him to keep him up. But he didn’t seem at all bothered by this, because the sound of his laughter filled your ears. 

Laugher that had your annoyance dissipating nearly all at once.

“Since when can you not swim?” You shouted as you began to swim him across the small pool till your feet found the sandy bottom in the shallows. You watched him move a bit of his long hair that had fallen out of his bun behind his ear as he found his footing. 

A loose bit of hair your fingers itched in their want to move for him.

“Since forever.” He spoke between his dying laughter. 

“Well get ready 'cause I’m going to teach you. Ridiculous.” You huffed with a playful shake of your head. You knew he was stubborn and hesitant to ask for anything for himself but this was something you could have taught him a long time ago. 

You had taught Sevika to swim so she wouldn’t be so nervous to sail on your Boss’ ship. Taught Vander and even helped teach Viktor, despite his leg. 

Swimming was essential. It could make the difference between life and death. Especially since your friend group was always messing around on the docks. 

You went to pull your arm away from where you had it wrapped around his waist, but Silco grabbed your forearm, stopping you. Your skin began to burn so hot you thought it might evaporate the water clinging to it. 

“If you insist.” His voice came out softer than you would have thought it would. 

Why was--you were again confused. 

Confused about him jumping into your pool and about why he was trying to be so…so close to you all of a sudden. 

“Yeah. I do.” You playfully snapped back. Silco’s lips pulled into an easy smile, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your skin that was making your brain buzz loudly . Making you feel all fidgety on the inside. 

Making you suddenly remember he was shirtless. That you were practically shirtless except for the ratty sports bra you typically wore to swim. 

“But…why?” Silco’s seafoam eyes glanced towards your lips as you spoke. 

“To show you.” He simply said. Words that only further confused you. 

“I--show me what?” Silco chuckled, bringing his other hand up to brush more water off your cheek. To hold it. To make your mind switch off and leave you only able to think about him touching your face and arm. At how close he was. 

“To show you that I don’t think anything about you is a bad thing.” Your lips parted on the slightest shuddering inhale. “That I would willingly slip away in your waters because I would be surrounded by you. Because it's you.” 

“Silco--I--” You didn’t know what to say. What to do . Could hardly even think past the pounding in your ears. Not when he was coming closer . 

How was he getting that close? 

Why ? 

“I don’t--I don’t know what to say to that.” You managed to breathe out, eyes flickering from his thin lips to his seafoam eyes which were full of that--that heavy look again. 

A look that, now that you were so close, made you think it was longing . 

Longing for--for you?

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wish.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth back, only for your lips to all but gasp back open when you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. 

“What…what are you doing?” You whispered, fingertips digging lightly into the skin of his side as if to ground yourself. To make sure that this was real. That this wasn’t some messed up dream. 

“Showing you.” He whispered right back, breath ghosting over your lips. 

He inched closer ever slowly. So slow as if to give you a moment to say something more. To push him away. To stop him. 

Lips brush against your lips, sending a shock through your spine. A tingling warmth that stuck to your lips and pressed closer till he was kissing you. 

This…this was happening. 

It was finally happening after years of pining after him. After dreaming of this very moment.

It was-- intoxicating . 

Driving you to seek more to sate that drug-like addiction his lips were poured into you. A rough yet gentle hand moved over your skin to find rest on your back. A hand that guided you ever closer . 

And yet--yet even though you finally had it, your brain began shouting at you. 

Why?

Why now? 

Why when he had never once tried before? 

Why on some random Wednesday? 

Why when just last Wednesday you had seen him with another girl? A girl Benzo had laughingly congratulated him on finally winning over. 

Why when he had been pining after someone else?

Why, why, why?

You shoved abruptly away, water sloshing at your legs as if to try and soothe your hurt. 

“Are--” Silco started, breath heavy on his lips from the recent lack of it. “Are you alright?” He sounded almost--nervous. Anxious as you continued to place distance between you and him. 

Game . 

He likes to play the game. You’ve seen it multiple times before. 

He’s bored. He got bored and wanted a challenge. Or maybe he thought he could win the game against you easily? 

You didn’t want to play. Not when you truly had feelings for him. Not when playing would only get your feelings hurt.

Your eyes burned as you started out of the water, grabbing for your bag which held your overlayers. 

“I should get back.” You somehow managed to get out past your tightening throat.

“Back? Get back where?” The sound of the water moving alerted you to Silco’s exiting the pool. You quickly tugged the dress you had packed on over your soaked skin and clothes. 

“I--uh--Sevika. She’s waiting for me.” You pressed your fingers into your right eyelid, trying to rub away that burning. 

“Sevika--wait a moment.” But you didn’t wait. You slung your tote over your shoulder and started for the cave mouth. “Wait--” Silco grabbed your wrist in his hand, fingers feeling even colder thanks to the chill air and their dampness from the water. “I--are you not going to look at me?” You ran your free hand over your mouth to keep him from hearing your elevated and shaky breath. “I didn’t mean--I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just--well I thought…” His voice died out then, leaving his words hanging in the air. 

“It’s okay.” You schooled your face as best you could into that of its normal easy-going features before you turned to face him. His face was in that same calm it usually sat but his eyes--his eyes were raging like a stormy sea. So many emotions flashing through those eyes you could hardly even pick up on one of them. 

“No. No, it’s not. I--I overstepped. I can see I’ve upset you.” You shook your head, all but yanking a smile to your lips. 

“It’s okay. Really. I just--I have to get going.” Silco watched you for a moment longer. A moment when that heaviness returned to wrestle with the rest of those emotions in his eyes. 

“I--why do I feel like you are?” He asked softly. And just as softly you pulled your wrist from his hand. A hand whose fingers dragged along your own as if to weakly try to keep you there. 

“I’m fine.” You held your hand to your chest as if his touch had burned you. As if to keep your heart shielded. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Silco watched you as you began to back away again. 

“Okay.” You gave him one last, all too forced smile before rushing from the cave. A rush that grew into a run as your eyes blurred and your mind screamed at you for letting him get so close. Screamed at you for being such a coward.

Silco stood in that dank cave for a while. Just staring at the exit which you had rushed out of. Just thinking and thinking and thinking about what had gone wrong? About why the hell he had tried to kiss you in the first place when you didn’t want to. 

He thought you wanted to. He thought he finally saw that you might want to…with him . 

He was wrong. 

Very much wrong and now he had upset you. 

Very much so. 

Silco pulled his clothes back on and made his way out of your childhood home. 

Why had he done that?

It was so stupid. So, so stu--

Gods but he had wanted to. Had wanted to ever since you had saved him from that gang on the docks when you were teens. Had wanted to ever since you had told him you wouldn’t tell Vander of his failure and meant it. 

He’d chased many girls before. Had caught many of them too, but you-- you …he didn’t want to chase them like he wanted to chase you. You who he would risk drowning in the sea if it meant he could be by your side. 

But…you didn’t want that. Obviously, you didn’t want that. He was just trying to figure out why he had been so stupid in his thinking you might want to chase him back.

The Last Drop was rather packed for a Wednesday night. Though, he guessed it made sense, wanting to have a little fun and drink your sorrows away when cave-ins had started to become more frequent. When enforcers were marching through the streets looking for blood anywhere they could get it. 

Silco glanced towards the table he and his friends usually occupied and instantly regarded doing so. Regretted it because Sevika sat there, blunt between her lips as she smirked triumphantly at an easy win against Connol and Felicia. 

You were nowhere in sight. He scanned over the entirety of the bar to make sure of it. 

“Did she come find you?” Silco couldn’t have stopped his feet and mouth from moving even if he had wanted to. Sevika hardly glanced up at him as Connol began to deal out more cards for a new game. 

“Who?” A frustrated hiss shot from Silco’s grit teeth at Sevika’s words, hand all but slamming down on the table before her. Sevika blinked slowly at this. Blink slowly, leaning back in her seat to look at him near bored.

“Who else would I be looking for?” Sevika pulled her blunt from her lips, blowing a line of smoke into his face he only narrowed his gaze at. 

“I don’t know, Silco. You go lookin’ around for lots of girls.” Silco gruffed, pulling away from the table. 

You hadn’t come to find her. You would be by her side trying and failing to win the game if you had. 

He couldn’t help the small hurt that flashed through his chest at the lie you had given him. At your…your rejection of him. 

His eyes snagged on Felicia then, who was giving Silco an almost knowing smile. Caught on her pink painted fingernails running through Connol’s short cropped hair. 

A small touch. One Silco ached to feel from you. 

“You okay?” Felicia asked, pulling Silco from his hurt-filled thoughts. 

“I’m fine.” Felicia hummed, looking like she didn’t believe him at all.

“You two got into a fight huh?” Silco narrowed his eyes down at his friend. 

“Hardly.” She gave another hum, keeping that amused disbelief plastered on her face.

“Really? She is the only one who gets you all fussy like this.” Normally, Silco would laugh and play along but--but not now. Not tonight. 

“Keep your nose out of it. It’s none of your concern.” Silco snapped too harshly. A harshness Felicia only shrugged at but one that pulled Connol’s rust-colored eyes to look up at him. 

“No need to take it out on Felicia, yeah?” He spoke calmly. A calm that carried a very loud warning to back off within it.

“You heard the guy. Nothing to take out. She’s not bothering him. He’s unbothered.” Sevika chimed in, only making Silco’s mood worse. Felicia rolled her eyes, patting Connol’s shoulder as she started to stand. 

“Let’s talk, Silco.” Felicia nodded towards the bar.

“There is nothing to talk about.” He tried to keep the bite from his voice, but it slashed through his words regardless. “There was no fight. There was nothing. Nothing--” 

You came through the doors then, dripping water everywhere. More water than you had left the cave with.

He knew instantly you must have run to the docks and dove into the waters there. 

“Here we go,” Sevika muttered, only adding fuel to the fire burning in Silco’s belly. 

You caught sight of him and almost paled . Like you thought he wouldn’t be here. Of course, he would be here. He lived here. 

“Go for a swim?” Silco couldn’t stop the words from spilling from his lips as you came closer. 

“Uh--yeah.” You spoke as you came to a stop before him and the table. 

“You said you needed to go find Sevika.” You glanced Sevika’s way like she might give you an answer. An answer Silco knew she wouldn’t provide just by the sound of her shuffling cards. 

“I can’t go swim?” 

“You had just come from a swim.” He could see your frustration beginning to boil in your eyes. Could see he was toeing a very dangerous line and he knew he shouldn’t be this--this hurt. Knew he was only lashing out to lash out but he just couldn’t stop himself. 

Why couldn’t he stop? 

Why couldn’t he just walk away ?

“What does it matter to you?” You quickly questioned back. 

“It matters because you lied .” He responded just as fast. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m not in the mood for this.” You huffed, but Silco wasn’t done. 

“If you lied about such a simple thing as going to see a friend, then how do I know you aren’t lying about other things?” Stop . He needed to stop but his hurt was too strong. Was awakening his anger which he had been trying to keep under control ever since he was a kid.

“What--” You have a huff in your own anger. “If I lied then you lied.” 

“There was no lie.” You watched him for a long moment. A moment that had your own hurt flash through your eyes. A hurt he had seen flashing through them when you had left earlier. 

“I am not in the mood for your game, Silco. Never have been.” You all but hissed at him. Game? What game? He didn’t know what you were talking about. “But there are plenty here that might want to give it a go.” Silco pulled closer so that he could lean down to catch your eyes fully. 

He thought of your lips. Of how soft they had felt against his. How they held a bit of salt from the waters you both had just swam through. How you had kissed him back .

Why had you kissed him back? Why did you run away?

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You bore your dagger-sharp anger right back into his eyes. 

“It means go find someone to fuck and leave me be.” Silco felt those daggers skewer right through him at your words. 

“Maybe I will.” Again that hurt flashed through your eyes. Hurt you quickly masked with anger. 

“Go do it then.” You shot back. 

“Fine.” Silco shrugged. 

“Fine.” You mimicked. Neither of you moved. Not until Vander’s voice filled the space between you.

“What’s goin’ on you two?” You were the first to look away. He watched your eyes shift when they fell onto Vander. Soften.

Oh , it made his blood boil. Made his fists clenched so tight his fingernails dug into his palms.

“I was just leaving.” You pulled a half smile to your lips that had Vander sighing.

“You just got here, sweethea--”

“Don’t call her that.” Silco snapped before he could even think. Vander turned his cool, gray eyes onto him then, a frown pulling deeply at his lips.

A finger was shoved into Silco’s chest, a small pain blooming there. It was you and you looked very much over his poor behavior. 

“He can call me whatever the fuck he wants to call me.” You bit, pressing your finger harder into him. “You don’t get any say in that.” 

“Oh yes, I--”

“ Enough ,” Vander commanded, cutting Silco off from saying anything further. “What the hell’s got you two like this now?” 

“Nothing!” You and Silco both hissed. You both turned to find the other's eye again. 

Hurt . That’s all he saw in your eyes. 

Gods Silco was an ass. Gods Silco had messed up. 

“Nothing happened.” You spoke in a too- quiet voice. Said it like you were speaking directly to Silco. Your finger fell away from his chest then. He wanted to grab your wrist to keep it there, but his body couldn’t seem to move. “I just came to say hi. I’m…busy.” Vander sighed through his nose at your words, but nodded. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” The nickname had always grated at Silco’s nerves, but it shredded at them tonight. 

Silco watched you walk back through the bar. Watched you slam open the doors and let them slam shut behind you. 

He almost ran after you. He should have run after you but…he was still too angry. Too hurt. Too stubborn .

Felicia gave Connol another loving pat on the shoulder before rushing after you herself, not sparing him a single glance as she left. Sevika grumbled at this, throwing the cards back into the table. 

“What happened?” Vander asked again, voice more stern then it had been with you around. Silco waved him off. 

“You heard her. Nothing.” He made to walk past Vander to head to his room, but his brother grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. 

“You two butt heads a lot. Enough I can see this was different.” Silco yanked his arm from Vander’s hold on a scoff.

“Leave out of it.” 

“You made a move on her?” Silco leveled Vander with a look that had made many before turn tails and beat it. But not him. Not his brother. 

The worst part was that Vander had always hit the nail on the head when it came to Silco’s feelings for you. 

“Just talk to her. Tell her what you're feeling . ” Vander had told Silco many many times over the span of time they’d known you. Silco had always brushed his brother off. Always denied his feelings for you. But Vander was no fool. He knew. 

“Nothing happened.” Silco insisted, though his voice having lost a bit of its bite was a sure give away that something did . 

“I hope to the gods you meant it. She’s our family . Not someone you can have your fun with and leave.” He let go of Silco’s arm then. 

He wanted to hiss sharp words at his brother. Wanted to use the man as his own personal punching bag, but Silco’s feet were moving before they even caught up with his brain. 

They brought him up the stairs, down the small hallways, and up onto the roof where he fit a cigarette between his lips and watched as you marched off back through the dark streets. 

His lips itched to call out for you to come and have a smoke with him. To come sit with him and talk about anything . 

But again, he didn’t. Just watched and willed the heavy smoke filling his lungs to ease the onslaught of thoughts and feelings rushing through him.

Nothing.

There has always been nothing.

Though it didn’t hurt any less, knowing he could never have you.

Previous | Next

[crowsofdarkness]

Dorogaya: Chapter Two

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: It has been a few years since Bucky and Reader went into hiding. Just when they thought they were slowly building a life together, the past comes back with a vengeance.

Authors Note: This is the sequel to Soldat! You should read that series first. This takes place during Civil War. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist

Whoever created the saying ‘you can cut the tension with a knife’ had never been more wrong. Someone would need a power saw to cut the tension between Bucky and I. After the little disagreement we had, we both went to sleep with our backs turned towards each other. It was well into the morning and not one word had been spoken between us. 

Bucky was in the bathroom, getting ready for our market trip, while I was standing at the counter with my back turned towards the bathroom and making a list of everything we needed. Despite the bad end to my night, I had managed to make decent money at work so we were able to buy more than usual. 

Sensing Bucky’s warmth behind me, I continued to ignore him as I double counted the money. It became incredibly hard to ignore him when his scent filled my nose, sending chills throughout my body. We stood shoulder to shoulder as he looked over some of his knives before pocketing them. 

“You haven’t brought your knives with you in almost a year,” I spoke softly. 

He shrugged and I felt him slip one into my back pocket. His hand lingered for a quick second before pulling away. 

“I have a weird feeling.” He admitted. 

Bucky went to walk away but I placed a hand on his broad chest to stop him. His eyes looked into my own and I could sense the disappointment lingering off of him. 

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’ve been so upset with what Hydra did to me that I forgot for a second of what you went through. It was wrong of me to be so ‘woe is me’ when you’re going through the same thing; only worse.” 

He sighed and placed his flesh hand over mine that was still placed on his chest. He gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have shut you out the way I did. The past few days I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that something is going to happen.”

I looked at him confused. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “We should get going.” 

Bucky dropped my hand to place his hat over his head and he went to hand me mine but I declined. 

“I think my new hair color is going to be enough of a disguise,” I joked while throwing it up into a messy bun. 

“I still can’t believe it changed that quick,” Bucky said. 

A large groan left my lips. “I know. I thought about dying it to my original color but who knows that it won’t change back.” 

Bucky shrugged. “I kind of like it.” 

“Oh you do, huh?” 

I could stop the small giggle I let out as the air around us shifted. The anger between us dissipated and was replaced with sexual tension. Bucky closed the distance between us in one large step and his metal fingers tangled in my hair, releasing it around my face. 

“I also like it when it’s down,” Bucky mused, his voice getting deeper. “Easier to grab.” 

His fingers gently grabbed the back of my skull and pulled my lips closer to his. 

Clearing my throat, I tried to think of something to say back. But with the intense sexual feeling that was warming my insides, my brain went to mush. Lust clouded around us, creating a small bubble with only the two of us. We were blocked out from the rest of the world. I stumbled over my words and could feel Bucky’s warm breath fanning over my lips. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. 

“Yes?” 

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words to say. But he wasn’t able to speak because my phone ringing from the counter brought us back to reality. I felt him start to pull away so I gently grabbed his hips. 

“I have voicemail,” I reminded him. 

He shook his head, embarrassment causing his cheeks to turn red. “It’s okay. We should really get going.” 

And suddenly the bubble around us popped. 

Letting out a sigh, I reached for my phone. Bucky slipped on his glove over his metal hand so he hadn’t noticed the look of shock on my face when I read the new text message. 

Make sure to bring an umbrella today. I’m seeing a chance of rain.

The number may have been unknown but I didn’t matter. I knew who it came from. 

“Who was it?” Bucky questioned from behind. 

“No one,” I shook my head while pocketing my phone. “Ready?” 

Bucky knew I was hiding something but thankfully he decided not to press the issue. We both walked out of the apartment and I suddenly had the same feeling that something was about to happen today. 

Something we weren’t prepared for. 

Giving the old lady a quick smile of thanks, I placed the bag of apples in the one I had brought from home and looked around for Bucky. He mentioned that he needed to run a personal errand once but that was a while ago. I started to worry that something might have happened to him, especially after receiving the text message earlier. 

“Looking for someone?” 

Jumping at the deep voice, I looked over my shoulder and smiled at Bucky. “Find what you need?” 

He nodded before slowly pulling out a small box from his pocket and handed it towards me. I took it without saying a word and when I opened it, a small gasp left my lips. Inside was a small necklace. A black gem shaped as a circle was in the middle and gold surrounded it. 

“What is this?” I asked. 

“Happy Birthday.” 

My eyes snapped away from the necklace and over to Bucky. His hands were deep in his pockets, something I noticed he did when he was nervous. 

“You remembered?” 

It was right when we first arrived in Bucharest, one of the earlier nights, we stayed up as he listened to me go on about my life before SHIELD; my childhood, my family, and the time I spent in the FBI and SWAT. 

Bucky nodded. “I know it’s not much but it’s all I could afford.” 

Immediately shutting him up, I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “It’s absolutely perfect, Bucky. Thank you.” 

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I turned my back to him, allowing him to place the necklace on my neck. Bucky’s breath fanned over the back of my neck and chills took over my body. His hands rested on my hips from behind and his soft lips left a kiss on the side of my neck. 

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m taking things slow between us. I’m trying to remember how to do all of this.” Bucky admitted with a hushed tone. 

“It’s alright. I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. 

My fingertips played with the necklace and my heart warmed with the thought that Bucky had wanted to get me a present. 

Bucky brushed his lips against the side of my head and motioned towards the plum stand that was a few feet in front of us. 

“Alright, let’s get some plums then head back home.” 

His metal arm wrapped around my shoulder as he led me towards the stand. I remained quiet as I watched Bucky converse with the lady in Romanian, asking if the plums were good today. After he bought five, he looked down at me with a small smile. 

“What?” He asked.

“I like it when you speak Romanian,” I admitted while biting my lip. 

Suddenly the air around us shifted and Bucky noticed it as well. He pulled me closer to him and looked around the market. His body went rigid with tension and I quickly took the bag of plums from the lady then we both rushed our way home. 

We came to a stop as we were getting ready to cross the road, however, Bucky’s eyes landed on a man that was working at a newsstand. The man watched our every movement with fear in his eyes. 

“We’ve been made,” Bucky muttered. 

My eyes doubled. “What? Are you sure?”

He discreetly nodded towards the man, who now left his stand, and we both crossed out way over to it. Bucky looked around while my eyes went straight to the newspaper from today and what I read on the front page dropped my heart straight to my stomach. Even though I couldn’t read Romanian, the only words I needed to know were Winter Soldier. 

“Bucky,” I stammered while showing him the front page. “What does this say?”

“I’m wanted for bombing the U.N in Vienna.” 

His heart hammered in his chest and his breath quickened. After he threw the paper back on the stand, he brought me into his chest and started walking back towards our apartment. It was only a few minutes from the market so thankfully we could get out of hiding fast. 

“What are we going to do?” I trembled. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky reassured me. “Let’s just get home. We’ll figure it out.” 

Once we were safely inside the complex, Bucky and I both rushed up the stairs but he came to a quick halt right outside the door. His shoulders went straight and he brought out a knife from his pocket. 

“What is it?” 

“Someone’s inside,” he muttered nodding towards the door. 

“Seriously? Who found out where we live?” I thought mostly towards myself. 

Bucky went to go inside but I stepped in front of him to stop him. “Let me go first. Police are looking for you, not me. If they’re inside, I can distract them long enough for you to make a run for it.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you, Y/N.” 

“I’ll be okay. We’ll meet at that place in the mountains.” 

We had a small house up in the mountains that we were using as a safe house in case something like this were to happen. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, I entered the apartment with the knife clutched hard in my hand. I sensed a body as soon as my feet crossed the threshold and once I saw who exactly was in the apartment, the knife clattered to the ground causing him to turn on his heels, shield drawn high ready to fight. 

All of the past feelings slammed into me like a brick wall and even under the mask, I could tell that his face was showing the effects of how tired he was, his eyes shined a little less than they used too. 

We stared at each other for a few long moments before he placed the shield on the counter. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.” 

Swallowing the very large lump in my throat, my voice had come out way more shaky than I had intended. 

“Steve.” 

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me - You Miss Me - Six

Sup, I finally wrote the next part. Mostly because of someone trying to find it via the fic finder blog, which gave me a big ol spike in anxiety about the lack of update.

Part One .... Part Four - Part Five

---

“Rob, no.”

“Don’t you tell me ‘no,’ Steven Dingus Harrington!”

“You can’t drive to Hawkins and kill the guy.”

“Oh yes I can! I'll take your bat with me!”

“Babe, you still don’t know how to drive, and I have work in the morning so I can’t take you.” 

“I’ll figure it out on the way!”

She wouldn’t. She wasn't going to drive to Hawkins. She would definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent kill Munson if she had the chance and Steve didn’t talk her out of it, but Robin wasn’t going to leave him alone when he’d had a breakdown an hour earlier. She wouldn’t let him sleep alone for the next few days, and she would go to work with him in the morning, and she’d probably skip her Stats class so she could stick by him after work too. 

It took Robin about thirty seconds to realize something had happened. 

That was the gap between her opening the car door, and Steve speaking. All he said was “hey, Robs” and she cut off her ramble about chlorofluorocarbons. The same way he could tell by the sound of her stirring soup, or which color eye shadow she wore, she knew immediately something had happened. 

She touched his arm.

And he had a breakdown in the college parking lot. 

Steve updated the tag on the side of the box and put it back on the shelf. He was,technically, working. Robin was ranting and using a tie-dye shirt as a prop. 

“You don’t need to crash our car trying to go kill a guy I’m not even mad at.”

“Ugh,” she flapped the shirt at him and slouched against the edge of the shelving unit. “Why not? Why are you not mad at him? How? I’m mad at him! He took the kids away from you! They’re annoying little shitheads but you loved them and he jus---”

“Rob,” he interrupted softly. He couldn’t get into that side of it right now. 

“Sorry. Sorry. But you’re not this nice, Stevie. You’re wonderfully bitchy and petty and it’s one of my favorite things about you, and I don’t get this. He sucks! This was super shitty! Why aren’t you mad at him for being an asshole?”

“It’s not his fault.”

“He said it was his fault!”

Eddie blamed himself, and maybe it was his fault, but it didn’t matter. Not in comparison.

“Are you going to inventory anything tonight, or is this just going to be me?”

“No! And why are you working?”

Because if he stopped, if he let himself turn his full attention towards it, he was going to fall apart again, and stupid as it was, checking inventory used up just enough of his focus that he couldn’t drown. Steve flicked through the stack of size smalls, and wrote it down on the list. “Uh, because we’re at work?”

“We both work tomorrow tonight and there is no way that Mary or Nick have ever looked at the stock sheets in their life, they aren’t going to look tomorrow either. No one will know.”

“I’ll know.” He glanced up to make eye contact for a second, and she caved with a groan. 

“If you were anyone but my soulmate, buddy…” She folded the shirt terribly, shoved it into the gap between the cardboard and the other shirts, and finally closed the box. 

Letting the silence settle gave Steve a minute to breathe, and reset himself without the rising tension. She knew that, and waited until, unspoken, she knew he was ready to keep going. 

“Steve.”

“I am mad, Robs. I am. You know that it’s.. At the kids, and at Hopper, and at myself for agreeing to this stupid idea, but I’m not mad at him.” 

“Why does he get special treatment?”

Hearing how that sounded, he tried again, “No, uh. I’m mad at him, but, like, the same way you get mad when the grandma in the crosswalk is going really slow and then drops something and goes back, and you end up stuck waiting again even though you should have made it through the light before. Yeah, it sucks, but it’s not like grandma was doing it specifically to fuck with you. She’s just, you know, shopping or whatever. 

“It wasn’t like there was a friendship there that he betrayed. He did something for his own life and it was sorta sucky, and it sucks for me, but he feels really shitty about it, so I don’t think he meant for them to, you know, vanish.”

Robin thumbed down the stack of Levis, whispering the count as she went. Three more sizes got counted before she responded. 

“You carried him out of there. You saved his life.”

Steve hummed absently. “He wasn’t bleeding that bad. His trash lid kept most of them off. I panicked when I saw blood and picked him up.”

“And that doesn’t make you friends?”

“It’s not like I only saved him because it was him. Not like I stopped and thought about whether I should get the bleeding guy to the hospital. Lifeguard, remember?” 

The other half of the thought, he bit back. He’d had nightmares about Billy after Starcourt. Dreams where he could have saved him, and didn’t. Where he could have saved Max from having to see that, having to recover from that. He saw Eddie bleeding, he saw one of his kids screaming, and there wasn’t a thought in his head. Just the need not to let it happen again. Not again. Not Dustin too. 

He kept his eyes on the inventory form so she didn’t see that part. 

“Still think it should have mattered more. Life saving creates friendships.”

“He was unconscious. I know you don’t know much about how guys act with each other, but generally both dudes are awake when they become friends.”

She snorted at his weak joke, throwing her pencil at him. It wasn’t anywhere near her. 

“New record, champ,  that one wasn’t even close enough for me to pretend to dodge it.”

“Ugh, I hate you.”

“Love you too, Robs.”

He got through a full set of kids dress shirts in peace, counted and listed. Then he pulled down the crate of kid’s dresses, next on the list to check. 

The whole can of worms would tear open when, if, when Eddie showed up with something from the kids. There was no version of that day that wouldn’t end with him falling apart. If he skimmed them, if he burned them, if he read them, if he wrote back, if he refused to take them at all, it didn’t matter. He was going to fall to pieces. 

If they wrote and it was real, if it was petty, if it was anger, if it was grief, if it was gloating he was gone, if it was begging him to come back, if it was proof that it was always fake, always a temporary placeholder until they found someone they actually like. The imminent breakdown was going to be bad no matter what. 

Like those safety videos in school about seat belts. 

Like knowing the car crash was coming, knowing it couldn’t be stopped, and knowing that nothing he did was going to make it any easier to bear. Slow motion, watching a car come -- a beat up old van come towards him. No time to put on a seat belt, no way to brace for it, just accept that it was going to happen and hope you survived.  

Robin cleared her throat to get his attention, and Steve blinked back to himself. 

“Did, uh, did you say something?”

Robin watched him for a minute. He let her this time. It was easier to let her see what he was feeling than try to turn it into words, and he needed her to let it go for now.. 

“I’m going to skip my bio lecture on Friday afternoon.”

“Birdie, you don’t--” 

“You are going to call in sick at the skate rink. We are going to make snickerdoodles and brownies and the cracker bark thing, and order pizza, and we’re going to make ourselves sick eating too much, and we’re going to watch some random movie on mute and make up our own story and dialogue. Got it?”

“Got it,” he smiled.

And it wasn’t going to make it all better. Eating two pounds of butter in a day wasn’t going to make it easier when Eddie showed up, but it was like hitting pause on that video. Car crash was still coming, but he could look away for a while. 

***

Steve clung to the pass shelf from the kitchen as the expected car crash hit him on Monday. John, always eager for the chance to throw someone out of the diner, looked over Steve’s shoulder. It was a nice moment. A nice little thought before he had to face what he’d agreed to. If he asked, John would throw Eddie out. Literally. Nice image, but not the one he got to see.

Instead, he declined the offer, and grabbed the plates. 

“Gimme a minute,” he mumbled to Eddie, heading to the sweet elderly couple celebrating the birth of their second granddaughter with a leisurely breakfast. If he spent an extra minute talking to them, complimenting the polaroid of what seemed to be some kind of mashed potato swaddled in white and pink, it was to get a good tip, not because he was stalling. 

Eddie hadn’t moved when he got back. He was a step back from the counter, stiff, holding a paper grocery bag under one arm, eyes trained on the ugly teal of the stool’s seat.

“Well?” Steve asked bitchily, “Did you bring milk and eggs and bread, honey?”

He put it on the counter, clutching the folded top hard, like he was making sure it stayed shut. 

Like it was full of spiders or something. Mutual sentiment.

Steve grabbed it, tossing it onto the shelf where they kept personal belongings and the leftovers they’d called dibs on. He hadn’t expected Eddie Munson to be up to Franklin at eight am on a Monday. Eddie wasn’t a morning person. Steve thought he’d have a few more hours to brace. Now he had to deal with customers while that bag burned a hole in the back of his head. 

Luckily, Rebecca was serious when she said he could get mean with guests if he wanted to. Today wasn’t a want. It was going to be a necessity. 

Eddie was still standing there. 

“You can tell them I got it, or whatever,” he tried to dismiss him.

Something that looked like the tortured remains of a smile flickered on Eddie’s face. He gave up after a second and nodded too many times. “Thanks. Thank you. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, right?”

It took a minute for Steve to catch up to the question. 

“I haven’t said I’m going to answer them. Or open them. Or keep them.”

Eddie was quiet for a minute, still not looking up, and Steve’s Travel-Size-Robin was vibrating with the need to make him so they could guess what the hell he was thinking. 

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday mornings?” he repeated. 

“Yeah. Sure, yeah,” Steve gave up. 

Eddie left, and Steve did the entire day’s front of house prep before Susan got in, trying to keep his head away from that damn bag. 

***

Steve didn’t open it. 

He fell asleep in Robin’s bed, grateful he didn’t have other work that evening, and doubly grateful when she made him eat some crackers and drink some water before they passed out for the night. 

If he was waiting for the impact the day before, seeing Eddie again the next day was so unexpected that the crash whooshed past him without an impact. He didn’t sit down, and he looked a little rough, probably from driving to Franklin in the early morning twice in two days. 

“Do you have…?”

“No? No,” Steve boggled at him, “How could I have anything for you to even -- No. Man, no.” 

Eddie nodded. 

Eddie left. 

***

Steve stared at the bag instead of taking a nap before their shift in the stockroom. Didn’t open it, that was way, way beyond him, but he did manage to look directly at it, and it was only a few saltines, but he did successfully eat. 

Robin, angel, light of his life, soulmate and perfect person got in the car after class, handed him a kinda gross protein bar that she stole from an athlete in her class who she didn’t like, and made him eat it. 

She didn’t make him talk about the bag shaped elephant in their apartment, and she spent the entire shift explaining the way Ann Carson’s translations of Greek plays had totally shifted how people read them, making them more accessible, and how the push to do the same with Shakespeare was incredible. 

When he went to crawl into his own bed that night, she grumbled, brought her favorite pillow, and climbed in after him. 

***

Eddie walked in at quarter to seven, right after three four tops seated.

“No.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Eddie looked small, probably because he was speaking at a normal volume, sounding like a normal human, which ran opposite to how Eddie was in Hawkins. He also looked like crap. 

“Why are you here, dude? You hate mornings. You don’t have to leave that early, I work until one.”

Eddie scrunched his face, but didn’t answer that. 

“No?” he asked instead.

Someone at table six shouted ‘waiter!’ 

“I’ll bring your coffee in a damn minute!” Steve yelled back, half turning with the carafe in his hand.

“Steve?”

“Look, I don’t have anything for you. Nothing. You don’t need to waste your time. I haven’t opened it.”

“There’s more than one -- oh,” Eddie scrubbed over his face. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Do-- Are you going to? Open it.”

Thinking about opening it made him want to run away to Canada. 

Thinking about never knowing made him want to puke. 

Whatever weird face Steve made was something Eddie could translate. He only raised his head for a moment, just long enough to look. But then he covered his face with both hands, taking a deep breath that shuddered on the exhale. 

“See you Monday,” he said as a goodbye.

“Where’s my coffee?” the same guy yelled. Steve didn’t have the energy to deal with customers and whatever the fuck was going on with Eddie’s early morning emotional mess. 

“Wait a second,” he complained to both of them at once. Steve grabbed one of the big mugs, the ones they used for the expensive hot chocolate, filled it with coffee, and set the pour jar of sugar next to it. He looked from Eddie to the cup, pointedly. “Don’t crash. Bring the cup back with you.”

The asshole yelled for him again, and Steve turned on the terrifyingly polite smile that Robin had helped him hone. Then he deployed it on the asshole at table six. 

---------------

We are headed towards Steddie, on a path that will, hopefully, not feel like I brushed off all this to get there. However. Wow, they're hurting right now. You can't have Eddie's pov yet, it would spoil things, but. just. trust me. ow.

Still don't do tag lists. Once I know how many parts it'll be, this will go to Ao3, promise.

[di-42]

Amazingly, May has been a blessed reading month both quality AND quantity wise! Don’t get used to it, as when I start writing again the reading time will unfortunately go down, and I'm itching already. But in the meantime enjoy these treasures I’m offering you! 

Uncharacteristically, there are a couple of already very popular fics in this list, and they well deserve to be, but worry not! If you've already read the popular ones scroll up or down and you'll very likely find that hidden gem you're looking for! Because we all know it by now, don't we? We don't judge a fic by the number of kudos! 

As always, I’m tagging the writers’ usernames I know, and, as always, if you want your fic removed from this list please let me know!

All the (complete) fictions in this list will be added to the nice and accurate lists of di-42, witch, so keep an eye out for updates on my side blog.

But enough chit chat! At last, let me tell you about the wonderful things I loved about 

May’s Memorable Fictions

WIPs:

Scorn And The Saint-Maker, by beardo @e-rated-beardo. Rated E, chapters 40/?

Meet the protagonists of this story, Angel Fell and Anthony Crowley, a librarian and a professor at the university of Aberdeen. When they find another professor dead in what looks like a summoning circle, their lives get thrown upside down. This fiction is so, so good!  A mystery, an incredibly elaborate plot, delicious chemistry, and electrifying smut. The characters’ voices are perfect and the narration beautiful and touching. Humour, angst and elation alternate in this fantastic nearly-but-not-quite human AU. Yeah, you heard me, but you'll have to find out for yourself.

The Trouble With Hell, by @beerok23. Rated E, chapters 6?19.

Unfortunately, I have only been able to read the first two chapters of this WIP, and I can't wait to have a bit of down time next week and catch up on the rest (and then be miserable when I get to the point where I need to wait for weekly updates). But even in the first two chapters only the story is very compelling and I'm hooked! A mystery! Two podcasters! Our beloved ineffables starting off as rivals while attracted to each other! Don't wait for me to tell you more next month, go and read it now! (Inspired by the film I Love Trouble, 1994. No, I haven't seen it either, and yes, you can still very much enjoy the fiction).

Complete fictions:

There's No Algorithm For The Ineffable, by @thinkinginscripts. Rated T, 12k. P. Sep 24.

Aziraphale runs a matchmaking agency for queer professionals, and he's very successful at his job. Crowley has come to accept that he might need help to find a lifelong partner; unfortunately there seems to be something quite wrong with all three candidates Aziraphale introduces him to. Zero angst, this fic is heartwarming and adorable. 

Friends Don't, by @missunderstoodlyrics. Rated E, 33k. P. Dec 24.

Honestly, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I loved this story. In my comment on the last chapter I said that it was like an unexpected day off at work: precious, exciting, comfortable, you know it will be over all too soon but it’s one of those gifts that make life happier. In this enemies (meh!) to friends (ha!) to lovers (yay!) Crowley and Aziraphale work as advice columnists for two rival newspapers in Tadfield. The newspapers are bought by the same media company and our two heroes find themselves co-hosting a podcast. How will they cope? Oh, they’ll cope very well indeed, let me tell you. This fiction is uplifting and funny, the banter is clever without ever feeling like they are overdoing it, and the Ineffables react to their feelings in an insecure, fragile, but all too relatable -and fairly realistic- way. It never feels like the writer is pushing it. It became instantly one of my all time favourites.

Courage (A Reverse Trope Story), by @spectrallydistracted. Rated E, 30k. P. May 25.

This funny, deep, fluffy enemies to lovers human AU made me feel all the feels and ended safely on warm and fuzzy. Crowley and Aziraphale despise each other, but find themselves accompanying Maggie and Nina on holiday out of loyalty. It’s going to be a long week. Romantic and sexy, the fic explores the many ways courage can manifest, from the courage to recognise your mistakes to the courage to let yourself be vulnerable (and everything in between). Superfluffy ending.

Postcards From Paris, by ghostrat @mrghostrat. Rated G, 12k. P. Oct. 23.

I very seldom reread whole fictions, but I'm so glad I reread this one! (Thank you and shoutout to the Good Omens Fanfiction Club Community on Tumblr!)

Human AU. Crowley has recently moved to a new flat and he receives postcards meant for the previous owner.

Ghostrat managed to tell us the building of a lovely bond only through short messages.

I love Crowley's quiet and relatable vulnerability in this story, and I absolutely love Aziraphale’s mask of confidence shining through Crowley's POV.

The gentle jokes, teasing and feelings: all felt very well balanced, but not less emotional because of it. A classic.

Growing On Me, by @hermiola. Rated M, 120k. P. Jan 25.

I subscribed to this fic when it first came out and had been wanting to read it since then.

I'm SO glad I finally got to it! (Thank you Good Omens Fic Club on Discord!)

I loved it. 

Enemies to lovers, forced proximity human AU. Crowley is a rockstar in need of a lyricist. Enter erotica writer Aziraphale.

The humour throughout the story was a treat and more than once I got looks from my fellow commuters because I was giggling or snorting laughter. 

Crowley and Aziraphale's slow journey into introspection was very sweet to witness. 

I'm always partial to fictions that feature the Them and Warlock, and their characterisation here was spot on and really entertaining; I will love Hermiola's Warlock for life! 

This story was captivating, entertaining, sexy, incredibly funny, and made me want to read more whenever I had to put it down. Virtually no angst. A new classic!

To Catch A Ghost, by anatomicgirl @anatomic-girl. Rated T, 17k. P. Feb 25.

Such an intriguing ghost story! Spooky and sweet in equal measure. Human AU in which friends Aziraphale and Crowley are vloggers dealing with paranormal phenomena. On their way to Tadfield they find themselves stuck alone in a cottage belonging to an old lady and her niece. Even skeptic Crowley has to eventually concede that the cottage is haunted. Obliviousness in action, this fic was lovely!

Is There A Version? By @lookingatacupoftea. Rated M, 41k. P. May 25.

It’s no secret that I’m very, very picky about Season 3 fics. Mainly because of the way Aziraphale is usually portrayed, but also because I tend to prefer stories that are in (what I feel is) line with the vibes of the original material, so tension and danger without real angst, comedy, plot, craziness and the most varied theories. Action, side characters and romance, all thrown in. This fic delivers on all fronts! A very clever and original theory, with an even more original twist, the general tone is light even though the world is ending, Aziraphale has done nothing to be forgiven about, there are friends and team work and everyone gets a happy ending. It was a refreshing treat, I loved it so much! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing it!

One-shots:

Real Fire And Brimstone Stuff, by jessykast. Rated G, 5k. P. Aug 19.

I love the rare stories involving Warlock, and those where he is one of the main characters or are told from his POV, are a real treat. In this post season 1 fiction, uni student Warlock has a flatmate who's into occult stuff. Warlock is unaffected by it all, until he sees photos of someone his flatmate says is a demon. Warlock agrees to help summon the demon. Sweet reunion ensues. Lovely and funny. 

Ineffable Prankster, by SpaceGiraffe @nightshiftcaffiene. Rated G, 5k. P. Jul 24.

Written after S2 but set after S1, this adorable fiction is an account of how Crowley the menace gets the angel’s attention and -more importantly- why. Several pranks lead to fluff, confessions, and a new beginning.

What God Has Joined Together Let No One Separate, by alarmingly. Rated T, 10k. P. Feb 25.

The prose in this fic is so delicate and poetic and evocative. Unusually for the fics in my list, this story has a bittersweet ending and a somewhat angsty tone, but it’s oh, so beautiful. It starts the moment Aziraphale gets out of the lift in heaven, but it’s not a post S2 fiction, not really. It’s so much more. Without wanting to spoil it too much, I strongly recommend reading it if you like canon divergent AUs. Or, you know, if you like very good writing. But be ready for a heartache.

There Was Never A Dream To Compare, by @on1occasionfork. Rated T, 3k. P, May 25.

A Sequel to Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, this fic touched me just as deeply. It’s no secret that I’m partial to young master Warlock, and this fic is narrated in his POV, although in a human AU version of our Ineffables. This story is tender and delicate, it exudes love in all its different forms and it just makes you want to hold on to things. And to people. And I’m not crying, YOU ARE! But dry away those tears, this story has a happy ending!

The Pope Leo XIV/Good Omens Chronicles, by ireallyneedmoretea. Rated T, 333 words. P. May 25.

Hilarious snippets about the newly elected pope (Plus Gabriel, Beelzebub, and… Arnold Schwarzenegger!)

Blow Me, by @puzzl3cat. Rated T, 203 words. P. May 25.

Hilarious and sweet scene in which Aziraphale doesn’t shy away from what needs to be done. 

A Convoluted Conspiracy - A GOAD Writers Guild Word Of The Day Fic, by SazzyLJ @sazzyfics. Rated T, 3K.

Incredibly funny post S2 fiction, told partly in Muriel’s, partly in Eric’s POV. The demon Eric is up to something, and Muriel is determined to find out what. I don’t want to spoil it, so I won't tell what the bottomline of this story is, and what I loved most about it, but it’s extremely dear to me and to my headcanon.

The Art Of Being Seen, by @cheeseplants. Rated G, 3k. P. Aug 24.

Lovely and sweet strangers to lovers human AU. Aziraphale asks Anathema for advice on how to know whether he’s in love with someone, and Anathema tells him to stare into their eyes for two minutes and he will know. Such a shame that handsome, clever, funny date just won’t take his sunglasses off. Obliviousness in action!

Ambisexual, by fishey_me. Rated G, 2k. P. Feb 25.

Very sweet human AU where Aziraphale has been pining for Crowley for 20 years.

CATastrophy, by Savyl (Aerenii). Rated T, 8k. P. Mar 25.

This is a very original, adorable Ava furry take on 1941 part 3! Look, I'm not even a cat person, but I loved this story! Did you know that Mrs Henderson was a witch??

Poems:

Look Back, by @firstvisittoearth. Rated T. P. May 25.

This poem tore my heart open. Crowley’s last, silent plea before Aziraphale steps into the lift. So, so beautiful and so, so painful. The poet told me that what they wrote here in the poem is not their headcanon, and nor is mine. But the ache is still there. That kind of ache you want to bathe in to find comfort. Beautiful.

Read April's list here.

Read June's list here.

[jo-zed]

Can I be honest? Too many of you act like everyone ships with or likes men, and I’m sick of it. Stop using “he” in your posts to mean “they.” (Why can “he” be used in a gender-neutral context, but not “she”? I won’t spell it out for you.) Lesbians should not have to create separate tags and blogs to feel a little included in an exclusive, man-obsessed community with misogynistic tendencies—yes, even if you are a woman. No, I don’t care if you’re heterosexual or only have male F/Os. I also don’t care if you’re a gay man. If it wasn’t clear, your orientation is not an excuse for misogyny.

They practically beg you all to give their woman-centered work the same love. And what do you do? Ignore them. Why, because it’s not relatable? You don’t ship with women, so you scroll past it? You don’t know if any of your followers ship with women, so it’s a “waste.” It’s a waste to show lesbians you care because care obliges you to act. You like doing nothing (and your men). Then, when these blogs stop posting, deactivate, or tell everyone they hate the community’s diehard misogynists, you pretend to care.

Fix it, community. Stop telling lesbians that you care about our misogyny problem when you don’t. You fucking don’t, but you lie anyway. This goes past seeing male F/Os as the default now. Fix your misogyny, your male centrism, your woman-excluding ways, or lesbians will never feel safe here. It’s not hard. It’s not hard to care about the ones who only like women or exclusively focus on their female F/Os. It’s not hard to make the community less hostile to lesbians. It’s not hard to be better for lesbians.

If it is, you’re just a misogynist. Simple.

NO DISCOURSE TAGS. I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU TAG THIS AS DISCOURSE.