#Holy shit there is layer upon layer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miedei · 4 months ago

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so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves.

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others.

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest.

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end.

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been.

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did.

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar.

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy.

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings.

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it.

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen.

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it.

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder.

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder.

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct.

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same.

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti.

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him.

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing.

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there.

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it.

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist.

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he?

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.”

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?”

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face.

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.”

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes.

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work.

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze.

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows?

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden.

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette.

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.”

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt.

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue.

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol.

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders.

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out.

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you.

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene.

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought.

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.”

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear.

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.”

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters.

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house.

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully.

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief.

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan.

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain.

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.”

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land.

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried.

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there.

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic.

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings.

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this.

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them.

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened.

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building.

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance.

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers.

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it.

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears.

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone.

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway.

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance.

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty.

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm.

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway.

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms.

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern.

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor.

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face.

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed.

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in.

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping.

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out.

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working.

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut.

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over.

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers.

“I’m still here, sweetheart.”

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it.

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored.

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness.

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face.

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now.

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly.

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs.

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land.

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?”

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn’t know about the blood on his hands.

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you.

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you.

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more.

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body.

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?”

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him.

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight.

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left.

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee.

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write.

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow.

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried.

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes.

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now.

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?”

Hotch shakes his head no.

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

“Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.”

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly.

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of.

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him.

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling.

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off.

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice.

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf.

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why?

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts.

“Spencer. Spence!”

JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze.

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin.

Wait. Lines?

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script.

‘Spencer

unsub in stable

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours.

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.”

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds.

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear.

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm.

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch.

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately.

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written.

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around.

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly.

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for.

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there.

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes.

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other.

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head.

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?”

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across.

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her.

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again.

“I- I could never be afraid of you.”

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away.

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all.

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying.

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights.

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice?

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him.

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely.

“Hey.”

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours.

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

As someone who lived in the middle of nowhere, Amity, the ocean both terrified and enthralled Danny Fenton.

The first time his parents took him to the beach, it was the middle of the day and he’d been stuck in the prototype GAV for hours upon hours on their “quick, ghost rumor hunting field trip.”

It wasn’t quick, and they caught exactly zero ghosts. When Danny saw the expanse of sand underneath the summer sun, he and Jazz both bounded out of the van like feral little monkeys. Danny and Jazz sprinted down the sand, their parents ambling behind them with their arms loaded up with towels, a first aid kit, and an ungodly amount of mildly ecto contaminated food that they already fought before getting onto the beach.

Danny had splashed into the water, yelped at the freezing temperature, and then promptly found a shell to keep. His mom taught him how to swim with the waves, having come from Surf City herself, and his dad taught Jazz how to dive.

It was a day full of fond memories, especially the memory of the Great War of Sand-Castle Crushing he and Jazz waged against each other.

They stuck around for the sunset, the ripples of colors and peacefulness that swept across the vast waters caught Danny in its hold.

He hadn’t forgotten that moment. Not even when he died.

After a particularly hard day as Phantom, Danny would fly to the coast and loose hours just sitting on the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. And when those nights were clear? It felt like a slice of his own personal heaven, with the stars shining on his shoulders and the encompassing crash of the waves sheltering his heart.

And on some days, when being Danny left him frustrated, Danny would fly out to the coast and use his intangibility to walk beneath the waves. Near the coast, it’s cloudy with swirls of moving sand and disturbed waters. He walked, and walked, and floated and floated beneath the waters, taking contentment from the way the moonlight of his stars filtered through the water. He admired the way light would glint on the scales of fish and crustaceans alike as he floated beneath the surface. On those days, Danny would pick up trash and polluted things and bring them to shore, to place in the trash cans and all of the recycling cans. He picked up shells and decorated the beaches he frequented, because if it were decorated, perhaps people would refrain from chucking their waste into the sea.

Well, usually, it’d be trash.

Danny watched speechlessly, jaw cracked open just a smidge, as an explosion happened right over his head. The distortion of the water did not hide the fact that there were large chunks of plane pelting down at him, a different figure flying away from the explosion. Danny went invisible and intangible as large metal pieces plunged into his current water space.

“Gosh, people these days,” he huffed. “This is gonna take forever to…”

Danny trailed off, seeing a humanoid shape crash into the water, clearly unconscious. Danny didn’t hesitate before shooting towards the drowning person, glowing green and fully visible again. The stranger’s eyes- holy shit, that’s Batman- turned towards him before closing behind cracked open lenses. Batman slumped falling unconscious. That’s not good.

Danny rocketed out of the water with the vigilante in his arms. If it weren’t for his supernatural strength, there’s no way lanky teenage Danny would have been able to carry Batman’s grown ass built like a tank self to the shore. Likewise, if it weren’t for his strength, Danny wouldn’t have been able to start chest compressions through the layers of armor.

Danny leaned back with a sigh as Batman coughed out only a bit of water, because Danny hadn’t taken all that long to get to him, and held up his hands in a “I don’t have weapons” way as Batman whirled to him.

“Hi. Are you alright?” Danny asked, ectoplasm and instinctive ghost speak fuzzing his words a bit. Damn, Batman must have nearly died a lot. He’ll freak out about meeting Batman later.

“You saved me,” an awkward pause. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. The other guy went that way.”

Danny waved vaguely.

“…What are you?”

“Oh my god, Batman, you can’t just ask someone what they are!” He immediately replied, inwardly smacking himself for the joke. He watched Batman’s face, watching for any sign of discrimination against ghosts, or any sign the man had a sense of humor.

“…”

Neither, apparently, was the answer.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just here to clean up the beaches. You humans really like to pollute the beaches. It’s quite rude, you know. That plane of yours, well, it’s not your fault,” he amended. “But it’s gonna damage sea life. And I don’t know if you’re in the habit, but please don’t litter on the beach or in the water, especially with your unconscious body. It’s tedious to clean.”

“…I see.”

“Stay. I’ll take out your plane. Make sure it doesn’t stay on the sand, alright?”

With that, Danny stood. Unaware of the way the moonlight lit up his hair like white flames and accentuated the sharp points of his ears, Danny turned away and flew back to the plane site, dragging the pieces up with ease.

Batman sat on the sand, likely exhausted from his fight, and watched him carry the pieces of the aircraft up.

“Here. All done. I gotta get going,” because Danny has school and this just lost him two hours. “Will you be alright?”

Batman nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” Danny went invisible, watching Batman sat up straighter, glancing around in a suddenly visible awareness. Oh, well. Tucker’s gonna freak out.

——

Three years later, Danny’s moved to Gotham for university.

And after midterm season, Danny went for a ghostly walk, but this time, in the waters surrounding Gotham.

When he surfaced, Batman was crouching on a lamp post, waiting for him.

“Oh, it’s you,” Danny said. “Hello. Did you know that people are polluting these waters with bodies too?”

“Yes,” Batman said, graveled voice resounding on the shipping containers around them.

“You should do something about that. Do you like places that are polluted?”

Batman sighed. “What are you?”

Danny hears a small, tinny voice by Batman’s ear, coming from a comm.

“Oh my god, B, you can’t just ask someone what they are!”

Mind flashing back to the night Danny drug a waterlogged Batman out of the ocean, Danny cracked a smile.

“Phantom,” he said, decisively. And, because this isn’t Amity anymore, “the Beach Clean Up crew from the flip side.”

——

Bruce, waking up on the sand: wtf

Bruce, seeing a child next to him who probably saved him: wtf (in “adoption”)

Bruce, seeing Danny’s skin glitter like stars, hair aflame, and pointy ears: wtf (in “I can adopt fae folk, right?”)

Bruce, seeing that Danny doesn’t leave any footprints: wtffff (detective mind goes brrrr)

——

Bruce, after Danny leaves: *donates 20 mil towards beach clean up efforts and anti-pollution causes*

——

Bruce’s Goggle Search History, documented by Oracle:

Sea spirits

Sea vampires

How to parent supernatural kids

How to thank your sea child

Are shells a good gift?

Ocean conservation efforts

Sea spirits that glitters under moonlight

Sea spirits that cleans up beaches

Wayne corporation waste disposal

Companies that dump trash into the sea

*outgoing call to Lucius Fox*

What is “mean girls”

——

Bruce, learning “current pop culture” from his kids:

Bruce, remembering the kid who saved him and realizing he’s probably as old as his own kids are: *adoption tendencies intensifies*

#batman #danny phantom #dc x dp #Danny picks Batman up like a waterlogged shoe #like this isn’t supposed to be in the sea #I live near a beach #please do not litter on a beach #I saw someone leave one of those plastic mesh bags for oranges and a seagul got stuck in it #beaches are precious #fight me #bamf danny phantom #bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne: I’ve seen a sea spirit #Danny Fenton: Batman is littering on the beach with his plane #dc x dp crossover #oracle #oh my god Batman you can’t just ask someone what they are #sea cryptic! danny AU

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kissingmilfs · 3 months ago

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📿 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞…| 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 📿

18+ minors and men please dni

a/n: this is a multi-part series. reader does present as a “woman.” first part is devoid of smut because i’m setting up the story. there will be two other parts and potentially headcanons here and there. smut in the consecutive parts <3

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆

“…among such a holy-day.” one of the alter boys holds out a dated golden plate. a dainty teaspoon craved with details from the final station of the cross lays in the bowl. the dip of the spoon already holds a layer of salt.

reaching for the spoon, you carefully sprinkle the salt amongst the other bowl filled with purified water. more of the psalm stumbles from your lips.

“the lord hath said: salt is good, but if you have—“

a voice interrupts the blessing of the water. “father. someone is here for confession.”

averting your gaze from your watery reflection, you find the voice of your interruption. it’s another priest but he is new to the parish. and quite capable of taking confession.

“i am busy, father girard. is there a reason you’ve come to me?”

“she is a woman.” he puffs his chest out as if he’s below taken the confession of the opposite gender.

sighing, you find yourself longing for the days your fellow clergymen paid your gender no mind. as the older generation passed, so did their free thinking. now at the parish you’ve resided since orphanage your devotion is tested by nonsensical men. men who are somehow absolved from taken the confession of a woman. as if our devotion is not upon the holy mother herself.

“very well. please finish blessing the water then.”

father girard curtly bows his head and swiftly finds him replacing your position. you hear him begin the psalm all over again. irritation boils in your veins but your feet carry you down the aisle—away from the temptation of violence. two confession booths are tucked away in the back corner of the church. a soft yellow light illuminates the lattice partition of the left booth.

sliding open your respective side of the confessional booth, you can only make out a large shadow through the partition. one of your hands presses flatly over your slicked back ponytail. attempting to rid the nerves that were threatening to overtake. father girad’s misogynistic indignation settled under your skin far more than you anticipated. releasing a steady breath of air, you mime the sign of the cross.

“how long has it been since your last confession, child?”

the shadow morphs and if you were paying attention you’d see the person shifting towards the partition. “when did they allow women into the clergy?”

ah. the usual question. your eyes remain on the rosary decorating your fingers. “special circumstances. it’s your turn to answer my question, child.”

“what was the question again?” a sly smile spreads on the confessor’s face.

“last confession.”

she reclines back on the wooden bench. “i dunno…a month ago?”

you nod your head and continue mindlessly reciting the hail mary in your mind. “very well. your heavenly father never scorns or denies a lost lamb. what’s on your mind?”

“i wouldn’t necessarily call myself a lost lamb. can’t you just call me by my name?”

your fingers stutter over one bead. you lose track of the prayer. “alright then. what is your name?”

“sevika. and what shall i call you? father? mother?” you can hear the shit eating grin in her words.

“mother is reserved for the mother superior.” you attempt a neutral tone. “i’m content with father, sevika. or will my gender prevent you from such respect?”

sevika barks out a laugh. you’re convinced you can feel the vibrations rattling the faux wooden sheet walls. your confessor settles her laughter with slap on her knee. “i like you, father. before i bear my sins—is your gender a hinderance to hear my symphony of sins? they’re not the typical sins.”

your fingers clutch tightly at your beads. “do not underestimate my penchant for acceptance. i am certain your sins will not shock me. our heavenly father has heard and seen everything. i am merely a vessel.”

“uh-huh. you from piltover or zaun?”

“what does it matter, sevika?”

sevika chuckles and shrugs. “indulge me. it’ll make me more trust you more.”

rolling your eyes, you cast a brief glance at the divider. “the und—sorry, zaun. not many orphans in piltover is there?”

“hm.” sevika takes a moment. your correction of the people’s named preference for city raised a lot more questions. “i suppose i can begin my confession then.”

a strained smile cracks and you nod. “very well. what brings you to confession, sevika?”

sevika taps her fingers on the ledge dividing the booth. “many things. i’m thinking of betraying someone close to me.”

the words hang in the air. silence adding weights on both your shoulders. betrayal in zaun usually means life or death. “i see. thinking of betrayal isn’t a sin though. and neither is betrayal. not necessarily.”

“ha. that’s a load of crack shit.” there’s a pause from sevika, a notable lighter flick then an exhale. “i could potentially get the poor sucker killed. isn’t that a sin?”

your eyes tick back and forth processing sevika’s words and sounds. “are you…smoking in my booth?” you posture turns more upright as the familiar smell of tobacco overwhelms. “please put that out.”

sevika scoffs and blows smoke through the partition. “but i just light it.”

she states it so matter of fact—you actually pause and re-consider your command. “you are not allowed to smoke in the church. please put it out, sevika.”

“i like when you say my name, priest-y. okay, fine.” sevika inhales her last puff then intentionally presses the light end in the direct center of a cross carved into the door. “better?”

you allow yourself the moment to close your eyes and deeply inhale. your brain recites a scripture regarding patience. “please continue with your confession.”

“well i’ve been so up in arms about what i’m supposed to do…i’ve been drinking more. staying out later to gamble. any money i win, well…i end up staggering into that lovely establishment babette runs.”

“are you ridden with guilt then? knowing your decision may get a man killed?”

sevika shrugs. “yeah, maybe.”

you massage a bead between your finger. “i see. and your vices…the alcohol, the gambling, the sex…is any of it fulfilling? any of it assuage your guilt?”

“obviously not if i’m coming to confession. so what is it then? ten hail marys?” sevika twiddles with the lighter—flipping it open and close. a warm flame glowing on her brown skin.

“i think that’s far too easy, sevika. confession is about penance in the end. absolving your sins. while all sins are equal—forgive me—you know better. don’t you?”

sevika’s jaw twitches with a tick of anger. despite the reality of your words, she cannot believe a priest is holding judgement. through gritted teeth sevika spits out, “i suppose i do, yes.”

you nod. “good. absolving sins, to me, means more than prayer. are your confessions always so short?”

“short?”

“yes, short. you’ve spent more time antagonizing me than confessing. you use confession differently than most parishioners. i’ve had confessions run for close to an hour. my point is…i do not think you are benefiting from in and out confession.”

sevika grumbles incoherently. she outstretches her fingers, interlacing them, before cracking her joints. realistically sevika could walk away. but when has she ever backed away from a challenge? “you want to hear every detail about my sins? fine. i knew you priests were perverts anyway.”

“sevika. please refrain from making generalizations. i am only here to help. if you are uninterested you are always free to leave.” for the first time since entering the booth, you peek at the shadow of sevika through the lattice partition. holding your breath wondering if she will leave.

the silence hangs heavy in the air. you’re almost convinced it will materialize. but then you hear a long sigh. the sigh sits on your skin — not sure what the implications mean.

“you priests are always so high and mighty. you think you know what’s best. you’re supposed to listen to my sins and let me do penance.” sevika’s irritation is clear as day. “so what if i’m a quick in and out? so what if your other confessors are high and mighty and ready to grovel to their virgin mary. they’re idiots for thinking she remained a virgin her entire life.”

you are accustomed to the blasphemy people tend to indulge in during confession. heck, you’ve listened to your fair share of nuns and priests confess perverted thoughts and some perverted actions. where there is a god there are does willingly or unwillingly defiant to his will. it has never bothered you. the mother, herself, is privileged to the thoughts running amuck in your mind.

your nails calculatedly tap on the wooden ledge. sevika shuffles uncomfortably in the bench—listening to your silence. you hum thoughtfully. “i also do not believe mary remained a virgin her entire life.”

“what?”

“what, what? what, as in, you did not hear me or what, as in, you are taken aback by my agreement?”

sevika releases an audible breath of annoyance. “i heard you. you agree with me? why?”

you shrug. you could divulge in a long explanation. “i am a free thinker despite a member of the clergy, sevika. i do not let the church dictate all of my thoughts. it seems unreasonable a married woman remained a virgin her entire life. catholicism, while not a fairly new religion, did not come about instantaneously once mary birthed jesus. and realistically…even if it did…one can assume mary’s life did not revolve around a religion.”

“you’re so…strange.” sevika laughs along with your words and nods. unintentional or not—you’ve lightened the mood for sevika.

“am i?” the question slips out without hesitation. it’s one filled of curiosity and intrigue. a small smile cracks on your lips.

sevika laughs again. “yes, very strange. but not in a bad way…yet. you here everyday, priesty?”

“for confession? indeed.” you want to tell sevika you’re obligated and forced to take the confessions of women now. you are not practically jumping at the idea. there’s other places your talents are needed. if you’re stuck in the church awaiting for female confessors or even pulled away from duties…no, it’s okay. the church saved you when the streets of piltover refused to. even if you believe you’ve repaid your debts—God’s sense of humor means you’re tested everyday.

“ah, perfect. i got some shit to do but i’ll be around. don’t miss me too much, priesty.”

“will you bother to ask for my last name, sevika?”

your confessor cackles once again. “not yet, father. i’m not interested in it. only your first name.”

your eyebrows knit together and you turn towards the partition. “meaning?”

“mm…you’ll figure it out soon enough. until next time, father.”

sevika slips out of the booth and you rise on your feet. it’s not frowned upon to see your confessors face—most of them attend mass anyway. as you push the flimsy door aside—you only catch a glimpse of sevika leaving. her tall frame, her defined and prominent muscles, and the setting sun reflecting off the metal of her prosthetic arm. she walks with a noteable swagger as if she’s packing something massive in those tight fitted pants.

before you’re caught lusting ,watching, you walk the opposite direction. your heart pounds viciously in your chest. two temptations a mere 30 minutes apart. you mutter, “father…please give me the strength.”

taglist: @sevikaslatinawife , @ruelezz

#sevika #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika arcane

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snoopledrooplecheesedoodle · 6 months ago

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New Oc: "Mermaid" Cult Leader

Hey all I apologize for not finishing my Yanmas strong so I thought I'd pop in with the little inspiration I have and create another beautiful man for you to simp over. Truth is their gender is complicated as they are born male but have taken on the role of "goddess" so feminine pronouns are used by all worshipers. Only you may use masculine pronouns.

Don't have a name yet and am researching for my long fic, post any name you feel will fit in the comments.

Yandere's tail and appearance is based off the blue-lipped sea krait.

Cult Leader "mermaid" is an ethereal beauty with jade white skin and eyes the color of the ocean abyss. His long silken ebony colored hair flowing freely and accentuated by his black and azure ringed tail.

You are a researcher who happens upon this simple fishing village. As their waters are less polluted than most you are overjoyed by the large biodiversity found there.

At first many of the villagers are skeptical of you, being told that outsiders are no good by their "goddess".

Their "mermaid goddess" came to them when a large sea monster was ravaging the coast side and scared off the sea monster with "her" holy presence. Plenty and healing all attributed to the mermaid.

"Mermaid" in question was the sea monster, rather sea serpent that grew bored of ravaging their coast and attempted to communicate with mortals. Big mistake as he is now trapped in a sacred spring that is much too small for his full tail. This "goddess" persona did have its perks but no matter how much power he weld he knew he could never leave.

They needed "her" guidance.

However, word of this "outsider" caught her attention, my don't they get bolder by the day. She hadn't had outside company in quite some time, and if this person proves to be boring.

Human flesh was something he hadn't had in a while

You are roughly manhandled guided to the shrine where a goddess waits impatiently, long striped tail lashing impatiently out of the water, while the brainwashed humans groveled in front of her.

She looks at you with a sharp and dissecting look tearing through layers of skin to your soul and picking it apart. You weren't much oh well guess you'd make a fine feast for the "goddess".

Using his fake soft voice, he ordered for you to come closer purring in a voice honey sweet. He knew how beguiling he was and wasn't afraid to use this form to tempt mortals into his waiting maw.

You are frozen in shock at the very real mermaid in front of you, the most beautiful person in all the world (androgynous yet feminine think Haku from Naruto, feel free to send pics of other androgynous long-haired cuties you think the cult leader might look like).

The merman isn't surprised by your enthusiasm as many are easily swayed with false promises and coaxing.

He wasn't ready for you to ask all these personal questions about being a "mermaid". What business do you have knowing his mating practices? How vulgar!

Perhaps it's your irreverent treatment of him or your passion for the ocean and all its creature (which must include him right?). The "goddess" finds herself wrapped around your rougher human fingers (she has the luxury of the finest skin care).

She is bratty and used to getting her way will often try sweet talking you and if that doesn't work...he loses his shit! How dare you deny him your attention?!

Much like his species his very flexible with environment and personality. She knows a thing or two about masks and is willing to pretend to be all sweetness and light, so long as you worship him and only him.

Thinks that he wants to be worshipped but really longs for understanding and true love (bros clingy).

Interesting Facts:

Clingy and touch starved but keeps and regal coldness for quite sometime. She doesn't care about you, she just thinks your human skin is atrocious. You must let him apply his scented oils and lotions until you look even more enticing.

Curls tail around any body part he can, you're so dense can't you see he's showing he's ready to mate.

Nudges you regardless of sex (nudging is a mating ritual that male sea snakes do to show females they're interested)

Will sing for you with his hypnotizingly rich voice, strange how they're all love songs.

Commands the people of the village to treat you as her prized "concubine", has eaten villagers for "not showing enough devotion" or "too much devotion"

Throws a tantrum if you talk about studying other sea creatures/merfolk. He's right here, why not him?!

You are the only one who isn't blind to his lies, and he'll admit it with a usual haughtiness (who will believe you over a literal "goddess")

Will force you to live in this village forever and lets you stay in the shrine, furnished with the best the villagers can provide.

When you are unable to go anywhere the sea snake will become a lovestruck puppy all for you, he's weak for you and only you. Try an exploit it and you might find out what his venom does (only enough to be in pain and not die).

Bottom line is you're screwed

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myinconnelly1 · 7 days ago

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Slow Down 2

Pairing - John Walker x Reader

Word Count: 2,422

Warnings: Italics for flashbacks, smut, PIV, mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy), mentions of abortion (see previous), ANGST (oops), John Walker being a stupid Asshole, Panic attack, canon violence/gore, minor character injury mentioned.

Summary: Months after you and John get together, he has completely ruined your relationship, or has he?

inspired by this song for @dark-silhouette

Part 1 - optional

“Fuck!” John shouted after you had turned the water of the shower on. He didn’t want you to hear him, but he was so on edge with this mission. He knew Bucky wouldn’t send you with him had there been any other choice, but he had needed backup and no one else was available.

John looked around the safe house where you were crashing in. The mission had not gone well so far. Undercover was not his specialty, and when the cover had been blown the target had blown themselves up, right in front of your faces. Walker didn’t have his shield and had only managed to use his body to cover some of yours. You both had a multitude of injuries and a constant ringing in your ears. You had limped here together waiting for your chance to go back in using your professional capacity to steal the information that still needed to be recovered.

He was wearing a hole in the carpet that he was pacing over as his mind spiraled out of control. You could have been killed in that explosion, and it would have been his fault.

“Hey, John,” you called from the bathroom. His chest hurt every time you said his name. All he could think about was that first night in the motel. How you had moaned his name underneath him. It felt like so long ago now. So many things had happened, and he felt like he took his chance with you and stomped on it.

“I don’t want to tell the team yet,” John said as you both put your clothes back on. You were moving slowly and carefully. He smiled to himself proudly since he knew if he had his way you wouldn’t be walking straight for a while.

“You don’t?” You asked quietly. He wanted to instantly calm your fears and insecurities. But he was afraid. He was afraid of being close to anyone. He didn’t think that he could survive losing the love of another person like he did when Olivia left him. But he was too selfish to not continue to fuck you.

“I just want to keep you to myself, I’m not ready to share you with the world, or even the team. I’m selfish like that, Sunny” He grinned trying to hide his lie with a small layer of truth.

“What do you need, Sunshine?” He was standing outside the bathroom door, not out of respect for your privacy, but because he didn’t think he could be in the same room with you naked. It might kill him to not touch you.

“I, uh, I have glass I can’t reach,” you said quietly holding out the tweezers and grimacing. The way you crinkled your nose and looked away from him reminded him of how innocent you were. He had been disgusted with himself early in your relationship, feeling like a creep for taking your virginity without taking you on a date or really even being nice to you beforehand.

“Got it.” He steeled himself as he took the tweezers and you lifted your shirt to expose your back. “Holy shit,” He cursed upon seeing all the small cuts and pieces of glass that littered your skin. You weren’t like him; you hadn’t had any serum and therefore didn’t heal quickly like he did.

“So, you guys are a thing now?” Bucky asked him. You and John had been going steady for a couple of months now. Going steady might not have been a good way to describe it. You were fucking like teenagers. Keeping it to yourselves had turned out to be a fun endeavor of fucking in any place at any time you could without getting caught. Honestly, John didn’t think he would have been able to keep up with you without the serum.

“What?” He asked trying to keep his poker face.

“Come on, man. You called her Sunny on comms yesterday. And I just caught you checking out her ass. I’m old, not stupid.” Bucky chuckled.

“It’s- uh-“

“It’s sweet. She needs someone in her corner. And you both seem happier.” Bucky patted him on the back before walking away.

He was on Bob duty that night. The rest of the team was getting the debrief from Val, and he got to stay back at the tower and make sure that Bob had someone if things went haywire. After the two of them ate dinner, generally enjoying each other’s company, John excused himself to his room to change into his ‘home’ clothes as you called them. He was tidying up the bathroom from shaving when he saw it.

“John, you okay?” Bob asked as John practically stumbled out of his quarters holding something small in his hand. John felt like the world was closing in around him. The world was a small pinpoint as he tripped over the step into the main sitting area and Bob dragged him to the couch taking the small white stick from John’s hand. “Where did you find this?”

“Bathroom,” John said reaching to clutch the center of his shirt. He couldn’t even process what he had just found.

“Sunny’s pregnant?” Bob asked, looking between the test and John. The whole team had adopted the nickname for you as your face lit up the room when John said it. The control line was plainly visible and dark and there was a faded greyish line standing starkly next to it in the test window. From what John remembered when Olivia was pregnant, two lines meant you were pregnant. There were almost never false positives. “Hey, you’re okay, breath.” Bob had dropped the test onto the couch and was squeezing John’s shoulder to get his focus away from the spiral.

“I can’t, I can’t do it again,” John said, his voice quivering slightly. “I’ll just screw it up again, she’ll leave me.”

“She’s not like that. Hey!” Bob shouted, snapping his fingers in front of John’s face. “She’s totally in love with you. Just talk to her when she gets back to the watchtower. She probably didn’t tell you because she had to leave.”

“You’re right,” John said as his breathing evened out. “We’ll be okay.” He nodded his head.

“Maybe you should sit on the chair so I can get a better angle on these,” John suggested. “You can wash after that.”

“Right,” you huffed sitting down. “Do you need help?”

“No, Sunshine, I don’t get hurt like you do,” he said harshly. Too harshly he realized when she flinched at his tone. “You’ve got to stay out of the way when shit hits the fan. I can’t –“ He stopped himself from saying ‘I can’t lose you’. “I can’t finish the mission if I have to carry you.”’

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Walker.” You stood, grabbed the tweezers from him, and headed back to the bathroom. “I’ll ask Yelena to help me when we finish the mission.”

“Come on, Sunny,-“

“Don’t!” you snarled at him cutting him off. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s just a nickname. Don’t act like I ever meant anything to you.”

“You were everything to me. How dare you play the victim when you were the one that threw it all away!” You were shouting now, tears streaming down your cheeks. It broke John’s heart. He had hoped that he had broken everything between the two of you so that you could move on easier. But that was apparently not the case.

“Hey,” John said sitting on your bed when you came back from the briefing with Val.

“Hey yourself,” You smiled coyly as you started to slowly take your clothes off.

“Wait,” John said putting his hands up. “I think we should talk first.” He had practiced what he wanted to say to you with Bob. The man had insisted that this kind of roleplay helped so that he didn’t sound like an idiot later.

“Well that sounds ominous,” you giggled as you moved to the bed where he was sitting and knelt down in front of him. “Maybe you can talk, while I do something else.” You looked up at him as reached out for his belt.

“Jesus, Sunny, this is serious!” He shouted harshly as he pushed your hands away from him. And just like that everything that he and Bob had rehearse about being there for you, and wanting you to be happy together, and falling in love with you slipped from his fingers. “You’re acting like a fucking child! I can’t believe that you would hide something like this from me. I thought you would just tell me about it later, but here you are acting like nothing is wrong when our lives are literally about to end!”

“What?” You asked, falling back onto your rear as you sat on the floor and stared at him.

“Come on, Sunshine, I’m not stupid.” He held up the pregnancy test. Your face shifted from confusion to something approaching anger as you saw the test in his hand.

“I was late, and worried,” You scoffed.

“I would have been worried with you!” He shouted. “But instead, you were going to hide it from me!” He was starting to spiral. All his insecurities bubbled to the surface. “Were you gonna get Yelena to take you to a clinic, or did you just expect that I would be happy about this?” Your face broke at his words and he finally registered what he said. “Fuck, Sunny, I’m sorry-“

“No!” You cried over him. “I’m not pregnant. That test is hours old, you asshole. That grey line shows up more than ten minutes after a negative test result. You really thought I would get an abortion and not tell you?”

John realized now that he was never going to trust you. He could never believe that you would really love him. He ripped the Band-Aid off so you could get over him and move on.

“Who knows, Sunshine, you women are all crazy. But thank God, you’re not pregnant. That would have been the worst thing to happen to us.” He regretted everything that had happened tonight. Tears fell hot down your cheeks as you stood up and slapped him.

“You’re wrong, John. You are stupid.” You walked away and slammed the door to his room.

“I’m sorry,” John said. “I was being an asshole. You can take care of yourself, and you don’t need me watching over you,” John said from his seat in the safe house.

“You, John Walker, are sorry?” You asked, stopping to turn and look at him.

“Yes, for everything.” He replied. “I was an idiot, and I was afraid. I was afraid you would leave me.”

“You left-“ You started before he put a hand up to cut you off.

“I thought we would start some amazing life together, have a kid, fall in love. Bob and I practiced what I was supposed to say to you. I still remember even though it's been months.” He chuckled numbly. “But then all the fear and self-doubt got into my head. I thought after Olivia, no one would love me. Not enough to stay when things were bad.” You walked over to him and sat back down on your chair looking at him. “I hurt you, and I pushed you away. I was trying to give you a way to be mad at me so you could move on.”

“You’re still so stupid,” You sniffled. John reached out and brushed tears off of your cheeks, letting his thumb rub against your cheek. “You’re the only person that I’ve ever been with. You were the only person that I ever wanted to be with. I thought I was going to die when you ended things with me. I hid in Yelena’s room for three days.” you huffed. “I kept hoping that you would come and tell me everything was fine and that you love me like I loved you.”

John snapped. He leaned forward and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, holding your face with his hand. You instantly melted into him and kissed him back, oh so hopefully.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your lips. “I love you, Sunny.” He pulled you from your chair into his lap and wrapped an arm around your back.

“Ah!” You squealed as the pressure against the cuts all over your skin got to you.

“I’m sorry,” He gasped. The moment was frozen. Both of you staring at each other.

“You love me?” You whispered, letting your fingers trail over his face.

“Yes. I’m still scared, but I can’t take not being with you,” he said. His hands fell to your hips, and he held on to you tightly. “I’ve missed you, Sunny.” You made the first move this time, mouth on his tongue and teeth dancing against his. Your hands started to unbuckle his belt, and he lifted you slightly to pull your pants off. You were both still mostly clothed, not wanting to part from each other.

“Slow down, Sunny,” he chided. “It’s been a while, I’ll hurt you.”

“Don’t care,” you sighed against his lips. “I need you inside of me. I want to give you all those things you were afraid of. Fall in love, have a kid, amazing life. Please,” you begged him to love you as much as he could.

“Fuck, ride me, Sunny. Wanna cum inside you,” he groaned. You sank down on his cock right there on the chair. The stretch of him was delicious but you did not want to be patient. You wanted to feel him. You wanted to feel him for days. He leaned you back and fucked himself into you taking you almost to the breaking point. It was too much, but you wanted all of him.

“Kiss me, I’m gonna cum,” You gasped. He did without restraint. You soaked his cock over and over again that night. He seemed to be a man on a mission to make you cum for every fuck up that he had ever committed. And finally, when you were so sensitive that you could almost come from a kiss he emptied himself into you.

“Gonna do that every night until we make it,” he whispered in the dim afterglow a 4 am.

“And when we make it? When we’re in love living our amazing life?” You asked, voice shaking as his fingers trailed over your body.

“Then I’ll do it every night to make sure it sticks.”

#john walker #john walker x reader #angst #smut #bucky barnes #bob reynolds #Sunny & Honey

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whenlostinthedarkness · 2 years ago

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Ellie x reader where they take nudes of each other on a Polaroid camera they found on a patrol and completely forget about them until someone finds them🫣😭

May or may not have written a whole ass one shot because this got me so inspired lol. Thank you for requesting this; Enjoy anon xx

Warnings: Sexual overtones and some sexual stuff sorta but not really, swearing, & use of marijuana.

Word Count: 2.5k

Anytime you and your girlfriend Ellie were put on a patrol route together, you could feel the giddiness exploding between both of you.

On a usual day where one of you had the day off and the other was out on work duties, the one at home would be sitting around, bored, and attempting to busy themselves until their girlfriend returned safe and sound. But today was one of those lucky days where you both were needed on the patrol route.

The start of patrol was pretty chill as both of you alternated between sifting through withered buildings and riding along on your horses, allowing time to appreciate the scenery of the area around in the downtime you had.

"Hey, let's check out that building with the camera sign," Ellie spoke as she rode on her horse directly next to you, pointing her finger in the direction of a storefront sized building.

You peered in the direction she was pointing at before looking back at her with an accepting shrug, "I'm down if you are."

The both of you guided your horses over in the direction of the building before leaving the animals to stand side by side, just a few feet from the broken glass door that went into the, what you assumed to be, old camera store.

"Check this shit out", Ellie said with excitement in her tone as her bright eyes marveled at the colorful, peeled wallpaper and exposed brick in a building that had to have been the ideal modern storefront before all of the infected shit happened.

You squealed as you quickly walked over to a massive bookshelf set on a wall. Several scrap pieces of cardboard and glass littered the shelf, but what your eye had been after was the books that were some how still set on the shelf as if the world hadn't completely shifted since they were first placed on the shelf.

You picked one of the books up, shoving off the layers upon layers of dust and debris that had gathered over the years, until you could make out the title on the cover, 'Camera's Throughout the Years'.

"Shit, look at this babe!"

You glanced over your shoulder to Ellie who was holding what appeared to be an oblong, square shaped, object.

Immediately, you walked over to her as she stared at this object that nearly looked futuristic to the both of you.

" What is it?", you said, tracing your finger along the thing in question.

"Hell if I know," Ellie shrugged, pressing all of the buttons on the mystery item in hopes that it would somehow start talking or moving or..doing whatever the hell its purpose was.

"Let me see if its in this book".

Quickly, you removed the cover of the book and flipped through the pages, scanning the table of contents in search of info, until you came across a diagrammed image of what appeared to be the very thing set in Ellie's hands.

"El, I think I've got it!"

Ellie was quick to move the camera away from her face and look down at the book you held in the palms of your hands.

"Looks like it's something called a Polaroid Camera." Your eyes were still scanning the book as quickly as you could as your fingers followed along with the typed words on the page.

"I think if you press the button over..here on the right..," your eyes were fixated on the object in Ellie's hand and she couldn't help but admire the way your eyes were squinted in concentration as your tongue slightly peaked out between your parted lips.

"...and just lift up on this part...it should open up."

It took you a couple tries, but eventually the top part began to move upwards until it was sitting straight up, exposing a fully intact Polaroid Camera.

"Holy shit dude!", Ellie exclaimed, eyes wild and smile never ending as she examined everything (and I mean everything) about the cameras exterior.

You rattled off the instructions on how to use it as Ellie continued to marvel at the object.

"Looks like we need films in order to use it El," you said with disappointment in your voice, "...unless."

Ellie could tell the wheels in your brain were turning as you looked the camera up, down, side to side; quickly, she handed it over to you.

"Holy shit, there's still film in this thing."

"You've got to be shitting me?!"

"Look!" You exclaimed, showing Ellie the little box of film that was still snugged inside of the square shaped compartment at the very bottom of the camera.

"Should we...test it out?"

"Oh most definitely", you replied to Ellie as you pulled the camera up to your face and looked through it's small view finder.

"Smile for me El."

Immediately, Ellie pulled up her hand to cover her face from the camera, "No fucking way."

You pouted, but continued to follow Ellie with the camera persistently, "Please El."

"What's in it for me?" Ellie smirked, bringing her hand down in order to cross both of her arms in front of her body, just below her chest.

You removed your eye from its focus on the viewfinder and lowered the camera down away from your face with an annoyed, yet amused grin.

"Oh god."

"What?"

"You know what Ellie."

Ellie walked over to you until her feet were planted on the cracked wood floor with the tips of both of your shoes touching. "Enlighten me then."

Smugly, you moved your face ever so slightly towards Ellie, which didn't go unnoticed by her. "You're never fair with your little games."

"What games", Ellie shrugged, fully playing the part of an innocent victim (which she wasn't).

"Mmmm okay."

"Okay," Ellie mimicked, trying to match your tone.

You weren't one to back down from a challenge to one up your stubborn girlfriend and now wasn't any different.

"You really wanna go there?" You moved your body forward, making Ellie nearly fall backwards from your gentle, yet sturdy nudge as she stood directly in front of you.

"Go where?"

"Shut up Ellie," you continued your nudging, but this time you didn't stop. The both of you continued on with Ellie walking backwards and you walking forwards directly into her.

"Make me."

Ellie watched as, the moment the words left her mouth, your innocent eyes seemed to cloud with devilish intention.

Gently, you placed your free hand on top of Ellies and guided until it was landing on your clothed chest; Ellie's pulse instantly began to quicken as her mind and emotions shifted from playful to aroused.

FLASH!

A strong beam of white light over took the dimly lit store as the sound of the film being spat out of the camera took over the only sound in the store, that is until Ellie let out a "What the fuck!"

You backed away from your girlfriend with a playful smile as you moved the camera away from your face and shook the film in your hand; again, doing just as the book advised.

"Babe cmon on," Ellie protested, trying to grab the film out of your hand.

"El, don't you want to see what your face looks like when you grab my boob?"

"No actually, I'd rather just see your boob."

You playfully scoffed, "Maybe you will if you stop being so difficult."

At that, Ellie stopped attempting to grab the photo in your hand, "You better be for real."

You shook your head, "You're ridiculous, you know that,"

Ellie's soft yet playful smile made you crack a genuine smile as you reached out for her hand, intertwining the tip of both of your fingers.

"Awww Ellie", immediately you cradled the photo to your chest with your free hand.

It only took a quick look, but the photo was preciously adorned with Ellie and an awestruck look on her face that made her features seem so soft and relaxed.

Ellie rolled her eyes, still wearing a smile that let you know she was appreciating your admiration for her looks, "Yeah yeah."

"You look so cute dude. I'm going to put this up in my place."

Ellie couldn't help her smile now, not even bothering to attempt to cover it up as you clutched it to your chest with two hands now, gleaming right back at her.

"I guess, it's time for your end of the deal now," you spoke slowly, raising the camera up and out to hand over to Ellie.

"What do you mean?", she questioned.

You smirked, moving your arms out of your shirt until it was lifted up & over your head.

"Wha-what are yo-you.."

Before Ellie could finish her stuttering sentence, your shirt was being discarded onto the ground, leaving you standing in your dusted jeans and grey sports bra.

Your hand out stretched to Ellie, beckoning her to come closer to you, which she happily accepted.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ellie said as she now stood just a bout a foot or so in front of you.

"Helping you get your picture." Suddenly your hands were slowly reaching for the bottom hem of the only fabric that was covering your chest.

"Babe."

"Hmm?", you hummed, lifting the fabric off of your top half until it was discarded alongside your shirt, leaving your chest naked, much to Ellies pleasure.

"Holy Shit." Ellie admired quietly, her eyes naturally raking over your chest and then back up to your eyes. "Are you asking me to take a picture of..you know," Ellie motioned her hand in the general area of where your tits were.

The mix of nervousness and astonishment in Ellie's voice was something you wished you could recored to play on repeat for those days when she was out on patrol without you.

As you stared at your girlfriend, giving her a smile, she didn't think twice about lifting the camera up to her face.

"All you do is put your eye in that little Hole right there and press the red button on the side," you explained, but if Ellie was being honest, she was only half able to comprehend any of your words. She was much too preoccupied with the way your tits were naked for her to devour with her eyes..and now to capture and have for..whenever the occasion arose.

As Ellie peered through the viewfinder, her cheeks reddened as you shifted your shoulders back, making your tits that much more pronounced and ready for her to bring her lips to.

Ellies pointer finger held down the shutter as the familiar noise of the film ejecting itself echoed through the store.

"It'll take a second for it to-"

Ellie interrupted you by quickly placing the camera and it's fresh film onto the nearby shelf and pining your back against the red brick accent wall, surely leaving slight scratches along your bare back.

You gleamed up at her as you wrapped your arms around her neck; it didn't take long for her lips to come into contact with yours in a harsh kiss that was dripping in longing.

Ellie let out a chuckle as her lips removed themselves from yours, "Maybe we should take this along so we could..take some more."

------

A Week Later

"Shut the fuck up Jesse," Ellie nudged her friend with her shoulder as the alcohol in his body made him giggle like a school child next to her.

Ellie and her friend in tow were crunching their way through the snow covered roads as they got closer and closer to the front door of her house after a night out of catching up.

Ellies hand twisted on the doorknob as she flicked on a lamp and stabbed her knife into a nearby table.

"Let me find my weed real quick then we can smoke up."

Jesse nodded, removing both his boots & coat before flopping down on Ellie's couch.

Jesse had been to your home many times before, probably having it subconsciously memorized if you had quizzed him on all the contents of your home...but something caught his eye this time that seemed out of place.

As Ellie went to her bathroom, grabbing the small tin that held potent smelling greenery, Jesse's curiosity got the better of him.

Peaking out from underneath one of Ellie's sketchbooks was the corner of...something..an object that Jesse couldn't fully make out. Looking around quickly, Jesse sneakily thumbed the corner of the object, sliding it out from underneath the leather bound book, until...it was revealed.

His cheeks grew red at the polaroid of you and your naked chest staring back at him, making him forcefully tuck it back underneath the sketchbook.

"Two pre-rolled joints coming up," with every word, Ellie's voice came closer and closer until she was in full view and plopping down on the couch next to her sheepish looking friend.

"Here", Ellie's long fingers pinched the edge of the joint as she passed it over to Jesse, but he didn't take it right away.

"Jess?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry", Jesse's eyes must've been deer in the headlights worthy as Ellie scanned him with a furrowed brow.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"You don't seem fine," Ellie chuckled as she held the lighter up to the white stick in her mouth until it was smoking at the end.

Jesse took the lighter Ellie held out to him, lighting his joint with a look of disassociation still evident on his face.

"Dude, what's up with you?", Ellie questioned as she exhaled.

Jesse gulped after taking the first hit and breathing the smoke out through his nose and mouth.

"You uh..you may want to try to hide this better."

Ellie looked confused at her best friend, "Hide what?"

The substance was beginning to relax Jesse more as he felt the weight on his shoulders soften and his once mortified eyes beginning to fall more closed than usual.

He chuckled, moving his eyes down to Ellie's sketchbook, doing his best to give her the hint without him having to actually say that he found her girlfriends nudes.

"What the hell are you on Jesse", Ellie chuckled, deeply inhaling and eyeing her friend.

Jesse sighed before bringing his hand down to Ellie's sketchbook, tapping his finger against the corner of the polaroid picture that had been revealed to his eyes just minutes ago.

Suddenly, Ellie's squinted pupils grew wider than ever as she came around to what he was talking about.

"Shit," she said, grabbing her sketchbook quickly, but forgetting that the intimate photo that Jesse found wasn't the only one set underneath the journal.

Jesse's eyes subconsciously dragged over to the..not so safe for work images of you, Ellie, and one of Ellie's hand wrapped around what he assumed to be her girlfriends neck.

"Fucking hell Ellie!" Jesse covered his eyes quickly as if somehow that would magically erase the images that were sure to burn into your mind for the foreseeable future.

"Damn it-Fuck, fuck fuck," Ellie swore as she grabbed the remainder of the images, placing them completely hidden under her sketchbook that was now on her bedside table.

"I-I'm so sorry Jesse."

But Jesse was much too fucked up by now to be able to be bothered by the accident, all his mind thought to do was begin laugh vigorously as his hand vibrated as it rested on top of his abdomen.

"Hey, fuck off," Ellie said as she began to lose the embarrassment as she playfully taunted her friend before once again sitting down next to him on the couch.

"I see why you date her," Jesse quipped, his laughter still spilling out to the point where it was difficult for him to get even one word out.

Ellie wasn't sure if it was the weed beginning to do it's job, the situation that had just happen, or a good combination of both, but she too began laughing hysterically and playfully hit Jesse's shoulder.

"Erase that shit from your brain dude."

"Oh don't worry," Jesse nodded through red rimmed eyes, "I'm going to try to."

#Ellie williams #Ellie williams x reader #Ellie fic #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #Ellie the last of us #Ellie williams smut #kinda?#my writing

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orions-choker · 9 months ago

Note

I HAD A BIG OLE THOUGHT WHILE WATCHING

S&M!!!! okay, so 1999 Jamie and reader who is part of the San Fran Sisco band, and she plays flute or like a "danty" instrument. Reader has never been like flirted with by older dudes and gets nervous around James. I'm thinking like sweet smut at the end (possibly virgin reader) if ur comfy with it. U were the first person I thought of when I was gonna request this I loooove ur writing 😚😚

Warnings: Nsfw, Loss of virginity. Word Count: 3,863

The harsh lighting beat down across Y/N’s back. A light layer of sweat formed across her skin beneath her concert blacks. The fabric of her blouse sticking to her skin. She didn’t fully understand why they needed every house light on to do rehearsal, the heat was almost unbearable.

As she lowered the gleaming silver instrument from her lips she was quick to place it in its case. The final notes reverberated off the walls and Y/N was standing from her seat. She along with the rest of the orchestra members shuffled off the stage. Her fingers coming to undo the top buttons of her shirt in a desperate attempt to cool her skin.

Still she couldn’t complain, there weren't very many Twenty-Something year old's apart of a professional orchestra such as this. Let alone ones who could say they were about to play with one of the biggest powerhouses of music. She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as she moved backstage, she may be most accustomed to playing classical music, but her personal preference was metal.

When she had been told they would be performing alongside Metallica she could hardly contain herself. Lost in her thoughts amongst the rush of people moving to the dressing room’s Y/N found herself face to face with someone's chest. She stumbled back, rubbing at her now throbbing nose from the collision. “Shit, I'm so sorry I didn’t see you there.” She hissed as tears sprang to her eyes.

Her gaze drifted upwards, through her now watery vision she could hardly make out the hulking man Infront of her. “You okay?” His voice was smooth against her ears. Even without her vision she was positive she knew exactly who it was standing in front of her. There was a heavy hand on her shoulder and suddenly her knees were buckling.

“Holy fuck.” She mumbled, blinking once, then twice. Suddenly James’s face was clear now. His lips were downturned, concern etched into his strong features. Sure she was well aware she was about to be on the same stage as him in about an hour, but nothing could compare to being face to face with the James fucking Hetfield. “I am so sorry,” She repeated herself, at a loss for words.

James’s brows furrowed further as he shook his head. “Hey stop apologizing, you’re good.” He assured her, his hand still present on her shoulder. She could feel a soft tingle run down her body. “Sit down for a second chick.” He moved her to the side easily, planting her down on one of the benches lining the now emptying hallway.

She moved on his command easily, still rubbing at her nose, she was thankful it wasn’t bleeding. His chest could only be compared to that of a brick wall. “Y/N,” She offered her name to him shakily. Surprise flooded her features as he sat beside her, his eyes still scanning her face.

James’s smile that followed upon learning her name had Y/N’s cheeks burning. “Cute name, suits you.” He hummed thoughtfully. “What instrument do you play?” He asked, head nodding towards the laminated pass around her neck, signifying she was part of the band. It felt like holes were being burned into her skin as his gaze landed on the top of her chest. His eyes lingered across the hint of cleavage beneath her blouse from where she had popped open her buttons.

The whole interaction had her practically squirming in her seat. Slowly her hand came down from her face, coming to rest awkwardly in her lap. “I'm second flute.” She managed to speak, though the shakiness of her voice betrayed her nervousness. The tips of her fingers dug deep into the fabric of her black slacks.

James leaned back against the wall, an eyebrow raised. “Obviously they don’t choose based on appearance, otherwise you would be first.” He seemed overly pleased with the joke, the corner’s of his lips turning upwards. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now, James Hetfield was flirting with her.

Obviously she had no idea what to do. Like a knee jerk reaction she corrected him. “It’s uh…actually called being principle flute, not first.” As his smile fell slightly she kicked herself mentally. That was not how you reciprocated the advances of a literal god. But then he chuckled easily. A small sense of relief flooded over her.

Slowly he got up and Y/N found herself panicking, she wasn’t done soaking in his presence. “Our turn” His back cracked lightly as he stretched it out. “Don’t go smashing your face into anybody else, I wanna see it tomorrow night.” His smile was almost devilish as he bid his farewell, heading down the hall towards the stage.

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. The only thoughts in her mind being that of ‘holy shit what was that interaction’. She practically floated back to the shared dressing room for the symphony. Ignoring the pleasant chatter amongst her bandmates as she placed her stuff in storage and stripped down to something more bearable to wear in this heat.

Logically she knew this wouldn’t go anywhere. Rock Stars were like that, they pretty much flirted with anything that moved. Even if James had been serious, she was at least 10 years his junior, not to mention completely inexperienced with the opposite sex. Not gonna happen in a million years. She shook the thoughts from her head. Leaving any hopes of sharing another moment with James at the door, she left the venue for the day.

Unfortunately, those thoughts were waiting for her at the door as she returned the next day. Like an obedient dog it overwhelmed her upon return. It caused her hands to shake violently the entire time she got ready. Looking over her shoulder every few seconds in hope she could even catch a glimpse of him. She would be screwed if she messed up her performance tonight because of this.

She had never been nervous for a performance in her entire career, yet now as she heard the increasing sounds of concert viewers entering the lobby, she was scared. Just as she was about to take her place on stage there was a rough voice behind her. “Do good out there, I’ll be watching.” She jumped, spinning around to find James leaning against the wall. “I’ll give you something if you do.”

A lump formed in her throat, all she could do was nod lamely before being ushered out to her seat on stage. A sudden sense of familiarity washed over her, the weight of her instrument in her hand calming her. This was her speciality, she knew what she was doing. She thumbed through the sheet music in front of her as the lights began to dim. She raised the instrument to her mouth, placing the lip plate in place. It was a sudden flood of music, the roar of the crowd fueling her adrenaline as Metallica took the stage in front of the symphony.

Y/N had an unfortunately good view of James from where she sat. His figure was imposing even from behind, the way he had to lean down into his mic. The broad span of his shoulders and the gentle rippling of his muscles as he played the guitar. Still her brows furrowed as she concentrated, eyes dropping down to the sheets in front of her.

This performance would be the best of her life, she was determined to make it so. Before she could comprehend it she was on the third song of the night. A bead of sweat trailing from her forehead down the bridge of her nose. It was sudden, the shadow over her. She hadn’t even noticed the vocals weren’t present at the moment.

James had a small break from singing as Kirk’s guitar solo raged on. He was right in front of her, holding the chords for the rhythm steady. He glistened in sweat, his hair a little damp on the ends. But he looked in his element as he smiled at her. It was inconspicuous enough to not raise questions from the players around her, but she could feel the intent behind it.

Y/N’s finger slipped for just a moment, undetected by anyone else but she cursed herself nonetheless. Even the most gorgeous man in front of her couldn’t distract her from this. Her eyes dropped once more away from him as she played on. In her peripheral vision she could see his retreating form.

Based on the energy from the crowd she could confidently say the night was a success. A wide smile plastered on her face as they closed out the show. They all took a moment on stage to take in the praise. The lights dimmed and Metallica was first to leave the stage. Y/N almost got caught up in the wave of people exiting the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd for James’s much taller figure.

Suddenly there was a strong hand grasping onto her wrist, tugging her out of the herd. She didn’t need to see him to know who it was. Wordlessly she was pulled down a side hallway, into a dressing room that was clearly labeled ‘Hetfield’. “Woah,” Y/N gasped, stumbling into the room.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, I didn't want to lose you.” James’s voice was smooth against her ear as he pressed himself to her back, closing the door behind them. She visibly shivered at the sudden scratchy feeling of his beard against the side of her neck. “You did great out there.”

The praise went straight to Y/N’s tightening core. “I-it was really all you guys.” She stuttered out. Her body turned in James’s grasp so they were facing each other. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. His piercing blue eyes bore straight into hers with no mercy.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest casually on her hips. “What’s got you so nervous?” He asked teasingly. As he did, his hips were pressed against hers and there was an unmistakable hardness between the two of them. It knocked a gasp out of her lungs.

This was going exactly where she thought it was going and she didn’t know if she could handle it. “I- uh,” She was stumbling over her words like an idiot. “I just, I’ve never…done this before, and you’re so much older than me with so much experience I'm worried about being bad.” The embarrassment from her confession settled as a blush on her cheeks.

Suddenly James took a hesitant step back. “Shit, how old are you?” He asked nervously. There was a clear panic in his face. His hand’s no longer touched her and she whined at the loss. She could see the frantic gears in his head turning so she shook her head quickly.

“I’m twenty two!” She assured him, though she wasn’t sure if that was enough to ease his concerns about the large age gap between them. “I don’t care that you’re older, I just don’t want to disappoint.” She tried to save the situation as best she could, scuffing the tips of her shoes against the floor.

James sighed loudly in relief. “Shit babygirl, don’t scare me like that.” His hand was suddenly cupping the side of her face, forcing her to look up at him directly. “That’s fine, by never done this before do you mean a hookup? Or fucking in general.” The crudeness of the question had Y/N gasping.

James’s chuckle did little to ease her nerves. “Sex…in general.” She confirmed. She blinked as she looked up at him, his eyes pierced into her soul. “If that’s okay with you I want to try.” Her hands hooked around his arms, squeezing his biceps tightly as she used him for leverage to hold herself up.

It was quick the way in which he captured her lips. He tasted mostly of booze and cigar smoke but it was intoxicating nonetheless. His experienced movements guided her easily as he maneuvered the two of them onto the dressing room couch. Never breaking apart once. His hands were working on undoing the buttons of her blouse with a skilled expertise that left her shaking.

Slowly she was granted air again, greedily drinking it in as James’s mouth moved down along the underside of her jaw. Her chest was suddenly exposed to the room, quickly she shimmied out of the sleeves, allowing the fabric to pool beneath her on the couch. Warm calloused hands cupped her breasts through the lace of her bra. She sighed contently, her legs spreading just enough for James to slot himself in between.

“I don’t feel like I'm doing enough.” She voiced her concerns. Her hands were tangled in his hair as he continued to nip and suck at the flesh of her neck. His hands trailed down from her chest to the button on her pants. “What can I do for you?” She asked breathlessly.

James pulled back with a slightly wild look in his eyes. His fingers popped open the button, pulling down the zipper slowly. “Nothing, You don’t have to do anything, baby girl I’ll take care of you.” Y/N lifted her hips to assist him as he tugged her pants down past her legs. Quickly he pulled off his own shirt, exposing the few tattoos he had on his arms.

The sight knocked the air out of her lungs. She was left dumbfounded as she drank in the sight of him. Suddenly both of them were left in nothing but their underwear and she couldn’t help but feel a touch self conscious. She curled in on herself, hands coming down between her legs to cover her sheer underwear.

He clicked his tongue at her, his large hands coming to grab hers and pin them above her head. “No.” He commanded her gently. “Wanna see all of you.” He held her down on the couch with one hand as his other hooked in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down. The cold hair hitting her warm skin caused her to gasp. “Knew you were pretty everywhere.” He sighed.

Leaning back on the couch, James released his grip on her hands to push her legs further apart. His grip was heavy on her inner thigh as he spread her open. A flush covered her whole body in embarrassment as she felt like she was almost being examined. Suddenly there was a prodding at the wet heat between her legs. “Oh my god.” Y/N whimpered as two thick fingers sunk into her.

“Fuck you’re tight.” James grunted as he gently pushed his fingers in deeper, curling them slightly in a way that had Y/N’s back arching off the couch. “You’re doing so good though.” He praised her gently. There was a slight sting as James scissored his fingers apart, stretching her further. She winced lightly in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Slowly James found a rhythm as he fucked his fingers into her. A chorus of moans and whimpers spilled past Y/N’s lips, her fingers gripping onto the couch cushions beneath her. The room was filled with the wet sounds of her body sucking him back in with every pull of his wrist. There was a building tension in her stomach that left her writhing. “James, I think I’m gonna…” She trailed off.

The words only seemed to encourage him. James’s rhythm stayed steady, adding in the rotation of his thumb across her sensitive clit. “Good let go baby, I got you.” The pads of his fingers pressed up inside her, hitting the spot that caused her to let out a shaky moan. Her body going limp beneath him as she rode out of the high of her climax impaled on his fingers. She could feel the warmth drip between her legs down onto the couch. Her breaths were heavy and ragged as he pulled out with an almost embarrassing ‘pop’.

James grinned down at her as he slowly got up off the couch. He leaned over to one of the side tables in the dressing room, grabbing a foil wrapper. Y/N watched wordlessly as he tugged his hard cock out of his briefs. She didn’t have a reference for size but he looked impossibly big. He easily pulled the latex from the package, rolling it down his length. “That's not going to fit.” She said dumbly, her eyes wide as she watched him settle back down between her parted legs. A fear bubbling inside her as the head of his dick knocked against her overstimulated clit. She whimpered, her body pulling away from the touch.

“It’ll fit baby dont worry.” He assured her as his hands landed on her thighs once more, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. “If it’s too much just tell me.” His voice was so gruff but she felt comforted by the words nonetheless. She allowed herself to trust his experience over her and nodded slowly. Her body relaxing once more. His smile was almost blinding as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, holding on to her for leverage. His other hand left her thigh to grip the base of his girth.

It was a slow glide as he directed the head of his cock to Y/N’s waiting entrance. With each inch that pushed in it pushed the air from her lungs. James let out a low growl as he sunk deeper into the heat. The stretch was overwhelming, feeling like she was being split in two her hands flew up to James’s shoulders, her nails digging deep into the skin. She bared her teeth as she braved through the pain.

Suddenly James’s hips were fully pressed against her. She couldn’t believe it as she looked down between them where they were connected. If she had the mental power to make note of it she would have been impressed with herself for taking him all in. “Fuck,” She mumbled out, looking back up at James with wide eyes.

“You did so good Y/N.” He grunted, a bead of sweat formed on his eyebrow as he held himself back from moving more. He leaned forward, capturing her lips to distract her as he slowly pulled his hips back. Starting off with shallow thrusts as she gre accustomed to the feeling. “So fucking good.” He whispered across her lips.

The gentle movement was enough to send her wailing. Her blush deepened as she couldn’t hold back the embarrassing noises, though James seemed to be drinking them in. Her eyes looked back down, watching as James cock repeatedly disappeared inside her. It was mesmerizing. Slowly the burn dissipated leaving her with only an overwhelming sense of pleasure. “Y-you can…m-more.” She managed to stutter out.

With that permission the floodgates opened. The gentleness melted away as James set an almost brutal pace. The couch creaked beneath them as he pressed her down into the cushions with the force of his thrusts. He was mostly silent aside from the animalistic grunts rumbling deep from his chest. Y/N’s nails dragged across the skin of his arms as she lost her hold on him. It was relentless the way he chased his own release inside her.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Y/N chanted out. It felt like her insides were being rearranged as James made space for himself. Subconsciously she thought she would be forever ruined by him, nothing could compare to the way her body molded to him. His forehead was pressed against hers as he loomed over her.

Her hand flew down between them, her fingers furiously working her own clit. It caused her body to tense around him as she easily came again. The sudden gush of her release making the slide easier, wetter, sloppier. “Fuck, Y/N.” James choked out. The way he growled reminded her of the way he sang, raw and violent. His thrusts grew sporadic as his own climax raced towards him.

In sync their chests heaved as he pushed himself as deep as possible inside her. His head dropped to her shoulder as moaned in her ear. There was a pulsating sensation and she clenched down around his cock, squeezing him as he finished. His body was heavy against her, their skin sticking together with the sweat that had formed across them.

They lay like that for a long moment until the heat between them grew too unbearable. Slowly James pulled his softening cock from her cunt. The sudden emptiness had Y/N whining, her hips bucking up to chase him. James laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as he pulled off the filled condom, tossing it into a nearby garbage bin. “You okay baby?” He asked, settling back down onto the couch and tugging her naked body into his arms.

She sighed in relief at the comfort of his touch once more. Slowly she nodded, resting her head against his chest. “Yeah I’m good,” She sighed. James' hand came to tuck a strand of slightly damp hair behind her ear, away from her face. “Thank you,” She mumbled, looking up at him appreciatively. “For being my first.”

There was a soft tenderness in his eyes as he returned her look. Being this close Y/N could see the faint crow’s lines forming at his eyes, just the suggestion of wrinkles forming in his skin but it seemed to make him all the more handsome. “Yeah?” He said, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Wouldn’t mind being your second as well.” Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, confusion evident on her features as she tilted her head curiously. “Were in town a couple more days, let me take you on a date?” He asked her sweetly.

“I thought this was just a one time thing?” She pulled away from him lightly, not missing the way his arms tightened around her to hold her in place. “I would love to.” She nodded sweetly. In a sudden swift movement her body was hoisted into the air. She yelped in surprise, wrapping her arms around James’s neck as he walked them across the room.

She tilted her head, seeing the shower stall and she laughed lightly, understanding the mission at hand. “You’re lucky, we don’t have showers in our rooms.” She said as she was placed back down against the cold tile floor. She was thankful for the stream of cool water pouring over her. It cooled her burning skin as James pressed himself beside her. Truthfully there wasn’t enough room for the both of them, but with James pressed up behind her she couldn't complain. “I could get used to this.” She hummed.

“You will.” James mumbled against her shoulder as he pressed a kiss there. It almost seemed like a promise. A promise for this and more. She liked the way his words wrapped around her like a blanket of comfort and she found herself hoping it would ring true.

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica/reader #james hetfield/reader #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield

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onlyonetifosi · 1 year ago

Note

Are you gonna do a chapter based on Joris’ birthday

Bonus chapter: Joris bday

sorry to be late for this been very busy with assigments

WARNING: SMUT!!!! (at the beggining only) then its lots of fluff

The sun kissed the city of Montecarlo, casting a golden glow over the bustling streets. It was a special day for Joris, and Y/N couldn't wait to celebrate his birthday.

Soft and lazy kisses trailing slowly down his bare chest have Joris’ eyes shifting behind his eyelids as he wakes up, unwillingly being pulled into the start of the day. A small grunt sounds from his chest in refusal to open his eyes, yet the soft little pitter patters now walking down the dips of his abs stir the butterflies in his belly.

His attention draws to the fingernails hooking under the waistband of his boxers, the somewhat ache in his crotch seeping through the thick layer of sleep he was in.

He hears shuffling under the covers, suspecting what - or who - that could be, causing a smile to creep up his lips. He lifts his hips willingly for his shorts to be pulled down, just for his cock to be taken hold of by two soft, warm little hands.

And then, what he didn’t expect but hoped for - silky, warmth and wetness all wrapped around his tip as the lips are wrapped around him.

She was determined to make Joris’ birthday as special as it can be, hence she started by giving him head. “Holy shit, baby,” Joris’ voice is deep but there’s a hint of desperation in it as you give him head “Fuck you’re crazy today.”

“Just spoiling the birthday boy, amour,” Yn smiles at him, tapping his cock against her tongue and ensuring he watches while she does it.

“Je t’aime tellement chérie” he says with a breathy voice.

"Je t’aime aussi, bon anniversaire, mon amour!" Y/N exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Merci" Joris replied, returning the embrace as both of them lay on the bed entangled in each other. "Are you ready for today?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Absolutely," she replied with a smile. "Let's make it unforgettable."

They embarked on a day filled with Joris' favorite activities, from making the most of the sunny day and sailing on Charles’ yacht (which she had to plead him for but Charles after knowing it was for Joris’ bday couldn’t say no), to going shopping at his favorites boutiques and having lunch in the same restaurant they have being going since they can remember and whose owners know them as it’s a very small restaurant not in the most tourist zone of the principality and most of the clients are Monaco natives.

As evening descended upon Monaco, they made their way to a chic restaurant nestled in the heart of the city. The air buzzed with excitement as they took their seats, anticipation building in her for the surprise they had planned for Joris.

As the waiters dimmed the lights, Yn could hardly contain her excitement. She glanced at Charles, who winked in response, their plan about to unfold.

Suddenly, the room erupted into cheers as the waiters emerged, carrying a decadent birthday cake ablaze with candles. Joris' eyes widened in surprise, his laughter echoing through the restaurant as his friends surrounded him, sharing in the joy of the moment.

"Surprise!" they chorused as the waiters appeared carrying a birthday cake with candles and bengals.

"Joyeux anniversaire, Joris!" Y/N exclaimed, her heart swelling with happiness as she caught his delighted expression.

"Merci, merci à tous!" Joris exclaimed, his eyes shining with gratitude.

They savored the exquisite meal, sharing stories and laughter late into the night. With each toast and shared moment, Y/N felt a deep sense of contentment wash over her. These were the memories she cherished most—moments of pure joy spent with the ones she loved.

As the clock struck midnight, they bid farewell to the restaurant and ventured into the lively streets of Monaco. The club was already alive with the sounds of laughter and music as they stepped inside, the neon lights casting an electric glow over the dance floor.

"Let's make this a night to remember!" Charles shouted over the music, his voice filled with excitement.

Y/N laughed, feeling the rhythm of the music coursing through her veins. This was home—surrounded by loved ones, lost in the magic of the moment. As she glanced at Joris, his smile illuminated by the neon lights, she knew that this birthday would be one they'd never forget, knowing that as she saw Joris’ very happy face as he conversed with Charles and their friends in their booth.

taglist: @love4lando@gcldtom@im-mi@hiireadstuff@celesteblack08@reblog-princess@sunf1ower16@janeholt3@athena-artemis-dorian-gray@minkyungseokie@tesi1

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bathic · 3 months ago

Text

16. Two different types of insects holding two differing meanings.

Word Count: 5.1k

Chapter Warnings: Implied/referenced sexual content, threats of bodily harm, making fun of someone’s current/past trauma, crude language.

Seonghwa remained as chivalrous as one could be when in the presence of someone they didn’t really like nor care about. Once your hair was rinsed and you had discreetly scrubbed your body clean, the man had procured a bundle of clothes that had been sitting on the ledge of a washbasin near the door. You failed to notice it upon first entry, all attention having solely been focused on the sudden sight of Seonghwa.

“Change into these. I will be outside. Knock when you are finished.”

You let out an indignant snort, “What? So you’ll stick around when I’m practically naked and help me bathe but you won’t linger while I redress. That’s quite the moral compass you’ve got there, Seonghwa.”

He looks down at you past his nose, “Mind you I saw nothing of your body nor would I want to. You lack any sort of appeal to me. A worm has—“

“Holy shit, do you ever shut up?? I get it, you find me repulsive. Trust me, I think I’ve gotten the message loud and fucking clear.” Clouded by the sudden onslaught of hurt and anger, you stand up in the tub despite your earlier efforts to remain completely out of his sight. But here you were, in perfect line of any and all scrutiny.

Seonghwa frowns at your outburst, even more at the scowl now overtaking your face. It seems he hit a nerve or two. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t mildly interesting to see.

“Try to be quick. We’ve already wasted enough time as is.” He retreats to the door without another word, leaving through it in the next second and letting it close with a soft click.

You mumble several terse words underneath your breath as you step out of the tub. Your underwear clings uncomfortably to you as you tread over to the pile of clothing. You regret keeping them on. Upon rifling through the stack do you come to the conclusion that you would not be provided the protection of panties and a bra. Rather there is a tank top provided along side a rather baggy linen blouse. Assuming you are to wear that beneath the bigger shirt. Instead of pants, there is a layered skirt of mismatched fabric long enough for the lower hem to brush against the tops of your feet. You begrudgingly settle with the conclusion that you’ll have to suffer wearing your wet underwear for the time being. There’s a shiver running up your spine at the fleeting thought of how unsanitary the ordeal is but you tamper it down quickly, just one more thing to worry over. You would ask Seonghwa if they had any to spare but seeing as none of them are women and you would rather face your fear of water again than to borrow any of their’s.

Chancing a glance at the door just in case it isn’t fully closed and an audience hasn’t gathered for a private show, you reach behind your back to unclip the clasp of your bra and let it peel off your front. It’s quickly thrown over the faucet to dry.

The tank top is a bit scratchy against your skin, the fabric uncharacteristically stiff as if dunked in water and left to dry out under a formidable sun for an undisclosed amount of time. You usher the linen blouse over your head, making sure to yank the ties close and knot them securely so that no part of your chest is seen. The skirt stretches at the waist by an elastic band— pleated and bunched— making it easier for you to tug it up your legs and onto your waist. The shirt is kept untucked, you saw no reason to try and make the outfit look more put together. Looking like an unkempt slob in face of these men provided a small safety net for you. Not that any of them seem rather keen on doing anything to you aside from the offhanded comments of torture and death.

You realize after a few passing glances around that the bathroom lacks any kind of reflective surface— no mirror in sight. The bath water was the only thing that could hold an image in it but with the lighting being as dim as it was, you wouldn’t be able to see much of yourself. And you’d rather stay away from the tub for now.

Slowly but more-so begrudgingly do you head towards the door. Only, something stops you. Your skirt catches onto something sticking out from the floorboards. Peering down once the hem has been maneuvered away none too carefully, a little tear separating the fabric into a small slit against your ankle. You kneel down, ignoring the popping in your joints to see what exactly had snagged your attention. The head of a rusty flooring nail has shifted upwards and away from the plank it’s nestled in. You reach for it, firmly gripping the area that’s stuck out and attempt to pull it up. It refuses to budge however.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze, glancing up to see both San and Seonghwa peering down at you from the entryway of the bathroom. You hadn’t heard the door open, too focused on the nail and the fleeting possibility that if it had been loose enough you would’ve had a weapon at your disposal. You clear your throat, standing up in a slight rush to appear unassuming.

“The bottom of my skirt got snagged and I was trying to free it. Couldn’t get it loose without tearing it a bit.” You shift the fabric so that the tear was visible to both men. It wasn’t a lie. It had been caught, but you weren’t in the throes of freeing it when they suddenly entered the bathroom. To which… “Thought you said to knock when I was finished.” You pointedly look at Seonghwa.

He looks away from the tear in your skirt to you, “I also told you not to take so long. Which you were, might I add.”

“Actually, you said to be quick. Which I was. I just didn’t immediately storm the door, you know, because that means I’d have to be forced to see either one of you.” You glanced between the two. There was something about being freshly bathed and draped in clean (you’ll assume as such for now) clothing that gave you the confidence to mouth off.

Seonghwa lifts an unimpressed brow, “I see almost drowning didn’t snuff out that splendid attitude of yours. Perhaps,” He takes a step forward, to which you mirror by taking one backwards. “I’ll turn a blind eye next time. Considering I was the one to pull you out. Wouldn’t be so hard to suddenly find something else to do.”

You grit your teeth, fisting the fabric of the skirt into your hands. San is watching the exchange with an indiscernible expression.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Sticks and stones, mayfly.”

San tilts his head at the moniker. He was the one assigned by Hongjoong to figure out a new name for you and yet here was the eldest of their crew already pinning one to you. Furthering that thought, he remembers something Wooyoung had said earlier when San went to retrieve you,

“A bath couldn’t hurt, firefly. You do smell pretty sour.” His nose wrinkles teasingly.

Another epithet administered by one of his mates. Firefly and mayfly. Two different types of insects holding two differing meanings. Although he isn’t really sure what Wooyoung’s correlates to but he’s aware of why Seonghwa has chosen mayfly. It’s a bit tasteless, or at least he would think that if he cared at all. But he doesn’t. In the meantime, he’ll just catalog both names for future reference.

“First meal should be served soon. We need to go to the dining hall.” San takes a step towards you but Seonghwa intercepts him with a hand to his chest.

“Hongjoong wants to see her beforehand.”

“But—“

“Captains orders. Go on ahead to the dining hall, this shouldn’t be long… hopefully.” Seonghwa jerks his head in the direction of the door. San still hesitates, looking between you and the other man before departing with steady footfall.

You watch him leave with an uncertain frown. It wasn’t like you wanted him to stay, far from it, but if you had to choose between being dragged like a rag-doll to the dining hall or facing Hongjoong— clearly the latter would win by a landslide. The last thing you wanted was to be in the presence of anyone here— let alone the captain.

“Can’t I take a rain check—“

“If you value your head remaining where it sits then no, you can’t.” Seonghwa fixes his gaze upon you, unblinking and dark. There’s no room for argument, yet he seems to find more words to gather forth with a shadow of a very coy smile. “Unless that’s what you want. Then be my guest, nobody will stop you.”

You bite back against the creeping shiver crawling up your spine. He’s fucking with you, you’re sure of that but it doesn’t stop the hair at the back of your neck from raising in alarm.

“Come on, the longer he waits the more of a pain in the ass he will be.” Seonghwa is past the threshold of the bathroom in just a few long strides. You follow after him with less enthusiasm in your steps.

Hongjoong greets the both of you at the door on the second knock, Seonghwa just barely withdrawing his hand from the wood when the door fly’s open. He’s got a very cattish grin on his face, stepping aside with a casual ‘come in, come in’.

You try to keep yourself in the shadow of Seonghwa but the man moves in elongated strides towards one of the ornate chairs positioned in front of Hongjoong’s desk. That leaves you exposed to the soul-peeling gaze of the captain. When you spare a glance towards him, he’s already looking at you. From your damp-frizz hair to the loose billow of your loaned shirt down to the patchwork skirt. Your feet are still bare, toes peeking out from the end of the hem.

His lips purse, “Not my choice of clothing. But alas, it’ll do.” He seals the door closed with a soft click.

You look at him questionably, “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong practically struts to his desk. He’s wearing dark suede pants, a white peasant shirt under a leather vest stretched tight over his chest and the same boots he wore the previous day. Jewelry ever-present on his hands, neck and ears. His hair is hand-mussed, slightly tasseled and a bit bed-kissed. You chide yourself for observing him down to small insignificant details.

Seonghwa had taken his place in the left-most chair with a heavy sigh. There’s an encroaching ache in his temples that wasn’t there before. Being in the captains quarters always put him in a foul mood no matter the reason— pain or pleasure— he’ll leave in some form of hurt or upset. Even now, he could feel his shoulders drawing taut.

“What I mean,” He drawls your name at the last second. The sound of it coming from his lips feels like the thin blade of a razor across your skin. “Is the atrocious outfit you’ve been given to wear is not what I had chosen for you to adorn. Now, I can only wonder where my belongings have run off to if they are not in your possession.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes over to the other man, looking at him lazily through thick lashes.

Seonghwa leans back into the chair with a cross of his arms, “Pining the blame on me, are we?”

“You were the only one I gave those clothes to. I doubt they could have sprouted legs and misplaced themselves somewhere on my ship.”

Your brows furrow slightly. Ship? What ship? If anything, wherever you were being held captive was merely wooden boards built into oddly fleshy walls. There was really nothing boat-like about the place.

“That may be so but mind you that your loaned clothing had been brought to the bathroom and placed on the corner of the sink. However, when I turned my back to draw the bath, anything could have happened to them.” Seonghwa shrugs, leg kicking up and draping over the opposing knee of his other. “Not like I was the only person who’d stepped foot in the bathroom.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, painted nails tapping in a daunting rhythm atop his desk. “Pray tell, who else had been in there? Any… watchers?”

The insinuation makes your skin crawl. Seonghwa snorts indignantly, “Nobody is interested in your type of perversions. Especially with her. They all avoid her like a fly trap.”

“Not what the grapevine says. In fact, a busy bee has let me in on a little secret.” His eyes glide over to you still standing near the door. “Tell me, how did you sleep last night? Wooyoung is quite generous when it comes to the helpless. And it seemed like after the minor inconvenience in the dining hall, his bed was just the thing to offer in a time of utter distress.”

There’s a coldness that settles heavy within your feet, like standing on a block of ice. He’s staring you down with such an intense look, dark and heavy and stirring up something wicked.

The other man uncrosses his arms, a perplexed wrinkle between his thick brows. “What are you talking about?” He shifts a bit in his chair, just a slight turn, to settle his attention also on you. “You slept in Wooyoung’s bed?”

The ice melts in an instant and a blazing flame licks between your toes and up your ankles. You glare at Hongjoong, watching the way his lips curl in the same way a felines tail would when struck by a playful urge.

“Not by my choice. He dragged me to his room after I fainted.”

That only raised more questions and Seonghwa was hellbent on getting answers if not for Hongjoong interjecting.

“Ah, a damsel in distress.”

Seonghwa chooses to ignore the comment, “That explains nothing.” He pauses, “Not that I care in the slightest but it isn’t natural to just faint out of nowhere.”

You scoff, “Of course it isn’t normal but what the hell do you expect? After being abducted, thrown into a cell for hours, interrogated not only once but twice with the first compromising my shirt in the process and the other having a gun forced against my eye while restrained to a chair, dragged around from point A to point B where I am told to sit obediently like a fucking dog and eat a meal prepared by the one person who’s responsible for me even being here— which I know you all loathe—“ You pause to catch your breath, realizing that you’ve rambled yourself dizzy but that wouldn’t stop you from rattling off the rest. “That prick dumped the food onto the floor and forced my head into it with the bottom of his fucking boot— and that asshole who brought me to the bathroom— stood there and watched it happen!”

Your shaking, under the weight of your anger or the sudden onset of emotional distress coming at you full force, you aren’t sure. But what you are sure of is that the tears burning trails down your cheeks are more telling than any emotion you could possibly pinpoint.

With a strained voice, you continue, “So yeah, what part of any of that is natural? Please, enlighten me because I… I can’t fucking tell.”

You laugh a bit to yourself. It’s watery and snotty and a hiccup breaks the pitiful sound. The room had fallen long into silence once your tirade first began and now while you tried to reign in your emotional state (because let’s be honest— you’ve begun to feel the heavy pressure of embarrassment starting to creep up on you) it still remained as such. Well, almost.

Granted it was only a few short minutes between your sudden breakdown and the sardonic round of applause to begin. Hongjoong stares at you with a large toothy smile on his face, hands parting and rejoining in his amusement. He finds your outburst to be a big joke, you’ve realized. Taking the piss out of such a low moment from you. Seonghwa was no better. Although he wasn’t joining in on the clapping, the man had seemingly lost any semblance of emotion himself. His face remained blank, eyes unblinking.

“Bravo! I don’t think even our resident crybaby could have pulled such a pathetic display as the one you just did. It was almost compelling enough to make me want to go hunt down each of my little crewmen and rip out their wings and hang them by the open wounds until they bleed out.” His head lolls to the side, smile never wavering despite his attention shifting to the other man. “Right, Hwa? Could you nearly taste the pity? It was almost as thick as honey and as—“

“Shut up.”

The words were out of your mouth without a second thought.

“Oh? Hit a nerve, did I?” Hongjoong made to move in your direction but Seonghwa decidedly took to his feet and partially stepped in the way of the captain.

“Wooyoung has offered a suggestion in place of her real name… as have I.” He keeps his voice low, calm, nearly intimate. Even reaches forward to weave his fingers between Hongjoong’s decorated ones, thumb stroking the web of skin connecting the shorter man’s own thumb to his palm.

Hongjoong’s gaze slides over to Seonghwa, preening a bit under the unsolicited affection. Watching the display made your stomach coil uncomfortably. You couldn’t imagine ever loving a man as vile as him. As if reading your thoughts, the ring on your finger suddenly feels tight, nearly suffocating against your finger. It was cruelly reminding you of the life you’d been living before you dived into the pit. But that was different— you never loved that man— but Seonghwa does, same for the rest.

“I thought you wanted no part in naming her,” Hongjoong tilts his head, “and last I checked, San was assigned to the task. Furthermore, how did Wooyoung find out about the entire thing?”

“San told me he couldn’t think of anything so I offered one in exchange and Wooyoung wasn’t aware. You know how he is, has a penchant for giving anything a name, even the dust bunnies under his and Yunho’s bed.” Seonghwa decided not to acknowledge the first part of the other man’s recollection. Despite it being the blatant truth. He hadn’t been interested in the slightest regarding the topic but dangerous territory was being treaded beforehand and for the sake of his own skin and that of his fellow mates, it was best to calm the storm before it raged forth.

“Hm.” The sound is almost dismissive but Hongjoong fixes Seonghwa with an impatient look when the latter remains quiet, “Well, go on then, I want to know now not later.”

“Wooyoung coined ‘firefly’.”

You narrow your eyes at the back of Seonghwa’s head. How he knew about Wooyoung’s sudden inclination to calling you firefly was beyond you unless San had mentioned something to him after he stepped out of the bathroom to let you redress.

Hongjoong hums, “And you?”

“Mayfly.”

There’s a snort, “A bug with a light on its butt and a bug that can swim. Clearly you two know something I don’t.”

You feel a rush of heat run over your skin. A mayfly, a bug that can swim. He only started calling you that right after the incident in the bathroom.

“You asshole.” Instead of rushing at him, you turn on your heels and storm the couple feet needed towards the door. Your grateful deep down that you kept close to the only exit, it made escaping more easier.

Seonghwa barely registers your voice nor the opening of the door and the slamming of it within the same second. He keeps his eyes on Hongjoong, specifically on the small scar peeking out from his hairline by his left temple. It’s such a small, delicate detail. Fragile compared to the splitting grin filled with pointy canines turned in his direction.

“Somebody hasn’t been playing nicely it seems. Do tell me… what’s gotten mayfly in such a sour mood?”

Nobody is out in the hallway. You almost expected San to be standing by the door despite Seonghwa having shooed him off previously. To you, he was like a guard dog attached to once’s ankle by his very own teeth. You tried take a few calming breaths, tell yourself that getting worked up will solve nothing (hasn’t so far) but to think someone would take such a vulnerable moment and make it into an insult only kept your hackles raised. It wasn’t like you thought any less of what you already did in regards to Seonghwa or any of the men involved in your captivity but to be made the butt of some sick joke made bile churn like rough waters in your stomach.

You stomp off to the right, down the hallway to some undisclosed direction. Nothing was identifiable. The walls were wooden, the floor was wooden, the ceiling was wooden and the wooden doors lacked any indicator as to what they hid or what resided behind them. You knew somewhere down the line the corridor ended and the narrow space would balloon into the wide open dining hall. You hated the idea of returning there.

But where else could you go?

Turning a corner brought you almost chest to chest with Yeosang. He looks a bit startled by your sudden appearance, however it is fleeting as his usual stoic demeanor quickly slips back into place. You aren’t swift enough to miss stubbing your toe against the end of his boot, immediately hissing at the throbbing jolt of pain.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He looks around you and down the way you came, “Where is San?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” You grumble. But you do know, Seonghwa had sent him off to the dining hall.

Yeosang lifts a brow, “He’s in charge of you, so you should care.”

You scoff, “In charge of me? I’m not a fucking kid! I don’t need someone attached to my back every damn second.”

“Not my problem.” He fists the fabric of your shirt knotted tightly against your upper chest and yanks you along unceremoniously down the corridor.

You’ve begun to assume that this was how they normally handled people— by dragging them about.

Wooyoung slumps his forehead against the sweaty skin of Mingi’s back, right between where his wings grew. If he was truly desperate for a drink, he’d stoop low into the realm of depravity and just lap at the moisture collected within the crevice of the other man’s spine. But sweat didn’t provide the same quenching qualities as regular ole water did. Mingi is huffing loudly against the counter of the island, the crate he had brought in earlier was tilted sideways from his grappling hand and the remnants of the vegetables and the single can had spilled out across the island and onto the floor. At least he managed to save one carrot, the orange elongated body held between his teeth.

He hated to be gagged but Wooyoung insisted that his moaning would only draw attention and a not-so nice tongue lashing from Seonghwa who preferred to keep the kitchen void of bodily fluids. A rule only put into place about two moon cycles ago when San accidentally made the eldest blow his load all over the food prep he had just finished washing and was preparing to cut and store away. From then on, any salacious activities were to be kept far from the kitchen.

But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And it wasn’t like Wooyoung or Mingi were very good at listening anyways. Wooyoung places a soft kiss to a stray beauty mark, his hands running delicately up and down the other man’s waist and hips. His cock was softening, spent from fucking Mingi into the counter, each calculated thrust a reassurance to the taller’s verbally expressed worries.

Mingi groans softly when Wooyoung pulls out and away, leaving his entire backside exposed to the dead air. His own cock hangs limp between his legs, the last of his cum clinging stubbornly to his ruddy tip. On the floor between his booted feet is the rest of the milky substance, splattered into goopy droplets and abnormal lines. The carrot in Mingi’s mouth is spat out, his nose scrunching at the earthy taste of it.

“Okay, princess?”

“Mhm. Feelin’ good.”

Wooyoung grins, glancing down to watch Mingi’s rim flutter and a small globule of his seed trickle out. If he wasn’t burdened as the crew's honorary chef (and currently disobeying Seonghwa’s rules) he would have buried himself right back into Mingi but duty calls and he would very much like to keep his head (and his dick).

“Come on, pull your pants up before Seonghwa comes sniffing around.” Wooyoung gives one of Mingi’s buttcheeks a teasing smack, causing the man to jolt.

The other man whines but shuffles away from the island to readjust his pants back onto his hips from their temporary position around his knees.

“Did you mean what you said—“

“Min,” Wooyoung fixes his mate with an exasperated look, “Princess, not to sound mean but your insecurity over the prisoner is stupid. She’s not going to replace you or anyone here. Hongjoong isn’t going to suddenly proclaim her as his new wing-bound and throw you out to the stags. He wouldn’t compromise what we’ve all built— what he’s sworn to keep forever entwined by his own blood before the moon herself.” He stares Mingi down as the latter shifts uncomfortably in place, sighing after a brief lapse in silence, “You doubting him is doubting our fated ties. Do you think that lowly—“

The taller of two is quick to wave his hands around, flustered by the rehashing of his self-doubts. “No! I don’t— I don’t think poorly of any of you. It’s just me… my brain, my thoughts being a dumb mess but I don’t…” His sputtering dies off into an unsure mumble, one that practically weighs his shoulders down into a slouch.

Wooyoung reaches out to tug Mingi into his arms, rubbing a soothing hand against the nape of his neck. “If I could, princess, I would crawl through your ear and into that silly head of yours and beat the shit out of that pesky brain.”

Mingi laughs, body shaking enough in the process that it rattles the other man. But it’s enough to know that things are smoothing out even if just a little. Wooyoung knows those insecurities won’t exactly go away just because he pops a joke or two or offers a distraction through sexual intimacy.

“Do you think you’d be able to hear my thoughts if you were in there?”

“Moons above I hope not. I don’t think I could survive listening to the sound of crickets chirping constantly.”

“Hey!”

Yeosang brings you exactly to the place you were simultaneously trying to avoid and find at the same time.

The dining hall.

Sitting at the tables already are San, Jongho and Yunho. Yeosang unfurls his hand from your shirt and stalks towards the tables without a single word to you. Not that you really needed him to say anything.

At his approach, San looks up first, his one eye zeroing in on the man with an unusual amount of softness. Jongho also looks up but he’s peering past Yeosang and directly at you. He’s got a dastardly gleam in his eyes. From San’s right, Yunho also has his attention on his mate, a small barely there smile on his lips.

You keep yourself rooted in place, by the entrance where escaping if needed was possible (but not achievable). Jongho still has his gaze on you, and the lack of acknowledgement from him seems to garner the attention of the other men present. And suddenly, Yeosang is signaling you over, beckoning you into the lions den. “You’re blocking the way for Wooyoung and Mingi. Better have a seat unless you want to be trampled into a pulp.”

“No point in warning her when she won’t listen to reason.” San stared at you with an unenthused frown.

“All the better for us then. An idiot isn’t worth the time or effort or wasted breath.” Yunho hadn’t once looked over at you, inclined his head a bit to the side when you were addressed but otherwise kept his attention elsewhere.

Completely different was he from the time spent as cell-neighbors. Or even before that when he was panicked over Wooyoung’s fuck-up.

His back is positioned slightly towards you, wings folded against his beige shirt. You glossed over them and looked to Yeosang, “It’s really hard to tell which of you is the bigger asshole around here.”

Before anyone could really respond, a boisterous voice sounds out right behind you. It’s enough to make you slide to the side. Wooyoung stands there with a tray covered in several steaming dishes with Mingi at his back carrying another tray with equal proportions. He’s got a wide smile, nearly infectious to everyone but you.

“Soups on!”

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Masterlist

#ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #hybrid ateez #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #song mingi #jeong yunho #choi san #choi jongho #jung wooyoung #kang yeosang #bathic's:pit #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fic

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