#come to the dark side. we have... mud

[xiiiwayfinders]

*meanwhile in the Realm of Darkness*

Terra: I’m telling you guys *eats mud* pure nutrients and protein!

Ven: Should we worry about Terra?

Aqua: We should always worry about Terra.

[authorhjk1]

Dreamy Pink

(Shin Ryujin X Male Reader)

By @i-am-lifeform24

“The pink one is Ryujin being an actual princess (haven't decided on the time period yet). This one is completely the opposite to the black one. Here is Ryujin in control. And her advisor is the guy she uses when she needs to get off.” - Inspiration quote from @authorhjk1

“No.”

“Your highness, they are all very accomplished, winners of multiple wars!”

“Accomplished, but ugly. No.”

“Princess, these nations have stood with us for centuries. Surely you can think it o-”

Ryujin stares down the impassioned minister, crossing her arms, her pink, flowing dress sparkling as she looks up at the man from across the round table. “I see no reason why I have to do anything, minister. I will not be marrying any of these slimy men.”

You sigh, shooting the old man an apologetic glance as the other members of the council fidget in their seats. The princess has always been… difficult. Even standing behind her, you can feel how uncomfortable the room is getting. Funny, that all the most powerful lords and ladies of the country can’t get through to a much younger girl.

Steeling yourself, you take a step forward, “My apologies, minister, perhaps the princess misunderstands.” Ryujin’s catlike eyes dart left, the princess giving you a warning, shifting her lithe body in the pink mass of cotton so she can better stare up at you. You can feel the other members of the table hold their breath. Here it comes.

“Misunderstand what exactly, advisor?” Her voice is icy, pointed, like she can’t imagine why you would say something so stupid. Well, it is your job after all, and whether she likes it or not, you were put in this position to keep her in check, so keep her in check you will.

“That while you are the most beautiful princess on the continent, you are also the leader of the most powerful country on this side of the world.” You start, gesturing to the other nobles of the table. They straighten up, morning sunlight peeking through stained glass to illuminate their battle-worn features, as if they’ve broken free from the spell of a very bratty princess.

Ryujin raises her eyebrow at you, slightly nodding for you to go on. You watch her dress shine in the soft light, taking a deep breath, “You have to at least listen their proposals out. Agree to the minister’s plan to let the princes visit you.”

Ryujin scoffs, “I don’t want their mud on my floors. This castle was built by my father, and you want to bring these grungy foreigners here? To my paradise?”

You lean forward, and Ryujin’s eyes widen as your strong voice echoes throughout the ornate chamber, “A paradise built by alliances. Strong, long-lasting, powerful alliances. Do you believe that your honorable parents fell in love by the grace of God, your highness?”

Ryujin’s eyes narrow, and the whole room holds its breath. You glance at the minister across the table, the man slowly sitting back down, eyes wide, his robes shifting as he tries to sneak back into his seat. Your heart catches in your throat. It’s never a good idea to mention the late King and Queen in front of her.

Maybe if you apologize before it sets in, she’ll forgive you. You meet Ryujin’s gaze, stammering, ‘N-not to say that your parents were without grace. I’m sure that they would be very proud of you, your high-“

“You’re right.”

Wait, what?

Ryujin smiles at you, her dark eyes crinkling as she exhales, breaking her stare. She turns back to the council. “My Advisor is right. I apologize for my own lack of foresight in the matter of my engagement. Minister, let it be know that I will receive these… princes. I will leave the details up to you.”

“A…. A wise choice, your highness! We shall begin constructing the plans right away.” The old man shoots up with a wide smile, the other council members filling the room with excited applause. You look down at Ryujin, and the princess cracks a smirk at you, as if her jolt of anger was all one big, convoluted, prank.

You gulp, giving her a quick smirk back, stepping behind the sovereign’s large makeshift throne as the council chatters on. Ryujin straightens her back, adjusting her tiara to sit on perfectly on her neatly combed locks. Here, at the head of the table, she almost seems like a real ruler, not an aggressive orphan made to reign way too early.

Soon, the meeting concludes, and you find yourself at the large mahogany bowing to every council member that takes their leave. “Thank you, duchess. And yes, we will make sure that the princess attends your name day celebration!” You lean forward, holding the gloved hand of an older woman, the smile lines on her cheeks deepening as you smile at her. She leans beside your ear, letting the other nobles pass behind her, “Thank the Lord for you, advisor. The poor girl barely has things together as it is…” You straighten, giving the older woman a sideways grin, “Now that’s our sovereign you are talking about, duchess, with how large the kingdom is, I would say that she is doing much better than any of us could.”

The duchess opens her mouth to respond, “Oh no advisor, i’m sure….” Suddenly, her eyes widen, staring at the doorway behind you, and she trails off. “Nevermind! I shall see you on Saturday. Your highness.” She curtsies, and you turn around, just in time to see Ryujin, with her guards flanking her, and her arms across her chest.

“P-princess! I apologize, I'm blocking your way.” You start, stepping aside in an ill attempt to escape. With a bang, the large doors swing shut, and the guards shift uneasily as Ryujin grabs you by the ear and pulls you along the hallway.

“Ow! Princess! I was just escorting the duchess out! I didn’t mean anything by-” You grimace, the sharp pain coursing through your body as she drags you past ornate paintings and ancient keepsakes. The royal is surprisingly strong, her long legs strutting confidently on the velvet carpet. You wonder what set her off this time. She handled the meeting well, really, really well. If anything, you’re more than proud that she managed to avoid exploding at the council, or at you, for once, so what could she possibly want with you now.

Eventually, the thump of her heels on the soft flooring stops, and you find yourself in front of a large, gilded door. The guards follow closely behind, gloves gripping the hilts of their swords tightly as Ryujin addresses them. “Leave us, now. And make sure that none enter this wing for the next few hours. I will have a few words with my advisor.”

You shoot a pleading look at the knights, almost feeling their pity through their plated armor. ‘Sorry, boss. We’ll make it up to you.’ they seem to say, bowing quickly before marching away to the entrance of the castle wing. God, you’ve really done it now.

Ryujin drags you inside, not wasting a second, pushing you up against the warm wood. Your breath catches in your throat, the messy, victorian style bedroom a lazy backdrop to the princess’ intense stare. She pushes her covered breasts onto your chest. Arms, they stay pinned at your side, like she’s pressing a painting into a wall. Ryujin slowly cranes her lips beside your ear, “I barely have things together?”

You gulp, heart catching in your throat as you look down at the beautiful woman. Her gaze is icy, hands slowly rubbing the outside of your trousers. “P-princess, the duchess simply worries for you, we don’t have to do this again.” you squeak, like a mouse, hunted by this very turned on, catlike royal.

Ryujin does nothing but smirk, pulling your underwear down quickly, dropping to her knees as the cold morning air wraps around your erect member. Your hands slowly droop down, but you stay plastered on the wood, like she’s still pinning you there, like her body is still on you.

“Heavy. Good. You’re filling me up today.” The princess cups your balls, her fingers dribbling against the puckered skin as she squints up at you. Amidst short breaths, you can’t help but marvel at how the orange-yellow light glazes her skin, the thin, pink fabric of her dress covered in dark spots as Ryujin’s wetness spreads from her legs. She’s beautiful, and after that disaster of a meeting, she needs a way to relieve her stress.

Ryujin’s tongue darts out, teasing the leaking tip of your cockhead as she grips you by your base, “Hey.” Informal. Casual. Crude. She looks up into your eyes, and you stare back down at her, sweat forming on your forehead as you can’t help but throb in her soft hands. “Yes, princess?” you reply, your voice breathy.

Her gaze softens, her eyes now half-lidded as she slowly licks up the length of your shaft. Her dress has creeped up her thighs at this point, and you can’t help but notice her bare pussy lips in between her kneeling legs. Ryujin stares at you, a firm warning exiting her precum smeared lips, “Don’t ever embarrass me again… daddy.”

You harden at the words, wanting nothing more than to grab the princess by the neck and throw her onto the bed. Ryujin can tell, making a show out of keeping one hand jerking on your cock, while the other pulls her dress down her breasts, the mink revealing perfect, perky breasts.

She smiles, “I’m going to drain you now, and you don’t get to cum until I say so, alright?” Ryujin accentuates the last word with a kiss on your cockhead, the skin wet with her spit. You give her a slow nod, gritting your teeth. She’s asking you for the impossible.

But she’s also your princess. You are sworn to her.

“Yes… your highness.” You croak out the words as Ryujin smirks at you, “Good daddy, now come to bed, i’m riding you until you fill me with your seed.”

You stumble forward, watching as your princess sauntily sways her now naked hips. No undergarments in the council meeting? You’d have ot tell her off later, but in the meantime, the idea only does more to keep your cock hard and ready. Her pink dress stays bunched up around her tight waist, and you watch as her ass sways in the morning light, the dresses and books strewed around the floor nothing but obstacles for her long, supple legs.

Ryujin crawls onto the bed, peeling the rest of the pink fabric off her body, then kneeling on her heels as she crosses her arms, “Faster, daddy. I have a kingdom to run.”

Hastily, you strip, sitting on the edge of the bed, then swinging your legs so they are on either side of the kneeling girl. You’re careful not to meet her eyes. No matter how turned on you are, she’s in charge.

Soon, you’re lying down on your back, the expensive, gold patterned furs digging into the small of your back as your princess straddles you. Ryujin’s hair falls around her face in the soft yellow light, and you watch as her petite tits rise and fall, the princess grabbing you by the shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her pussy lips as she stares down at you.

Her eyes roll back into her head, “God, daddy, if only that old hag could watch me handle this.

“Fuck!” You groan. With a slap, the princess’ ass bounces on your thighs as she roughly takes you to the hilt. She’s always rough, calling you daddy even if you’re her toy, but a part of you loves it, loves letting her take control, loves letting the princess, in a twisted way, worship you with her body.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ryujin moans, grabbing handfuls of the blankets around her as she bounces on your cock. You feel her walls get accustomed to you, the tightness suffocating, wringing you in a wet embrace.

You look up. She’s not even looking at you. Her Tiara stays skewed on her head, her breasts jumping with every bounce, her small hands resting on your thighs as the princess arches her back, gyrating her hips onto your waiting cock.

“P-princess, it’s so good.” You moan, hands reaching down to grab her soaked ass.

A slap resounds through the large room. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to touch me until I milk you dry, daddy.” Ryujin warns, her tongue coming out of her moaning mouth as she slaps your hands away, continuing her impassioned ride.

You give up, resorting to grabbing handfuls of cloth, watching as your beloved princess cums on your cock, over and over again, her breasts lathered in sweat, her taut stomach rippling under the force of her bouncing.

Ryujin opens one eye, panting, to grab you by the neck, “Kiss me, daddy…” You hesitate for a moment, wishing to savor the feeling of her drawing circles on your crotch, the glorious sensation of her royal pussy grasping onto every ridge of your unworthy cock, but in the end, you sit up.

“You’re beautiful, princess… please, i’m so close.” You beg, letting the girl hold you by the cheeks as your tongue explores her mouth, her hips still riding you, albeit slower, more deliberate, as if she wants to savor every moment too.

Ryujin looks up at you, her dark eyes mesmerizing as you feel the blankets shift. “Here, you belong to me… all your cum, daddy… it belongs to me…” She whispers slowly, pausing to grimace, as if your cock is somehow surprising her with pleasure after all these trysts.

You exhale, feeling it bubble in your core. Something about your aloof, icy princess demanding for you, demanding for your seed, burns all thoughts of stopping away. You need to cum in her, now.

Your lips find Ryujin’s neck, sucking on her clear, unblemished skin as your rough hands find her ass. This time, she doesn’t turn you away, the princess’ smile only getting bigger, as if she’s been waiting for you to take charge.

”Mmm, fuck! Fuck! Breed me! Breed your princess!” Ryujin screams, her hips now still as you fuck into her fast and hard. She’s sitting on your lap now, your chests pushed together, her breasts warm as you hammer into the royal’s pussy.

“Y-yes princess! It’s coming!” You grit your teeth, focusing on delaying your release for as long as you can, until the princess wraps her long legs around you, rocking her pussy lips on the base of your crotch. “Oh… oh! Daddy!” Ryujin groans, grinding her pussy onto you, not allowing you to thrust, her walls clenching, begging for your seed as she pins you down with the flower between her legs.

“I’m coming!” You roar, kissing Ryujin’s jaw as the princess’ eyes shoot open. She moans loudly as you fill her, your hot, virile cum making her body relax. You feel her in your arms, her tits shaking, her ass trembling as you fill the next in line to the throne with your seed.

It’s almost comical, that she’d get so frustrated with a stupid meeting, that this.is the only way she could relax.

Hey, you’re not complaining, sighing as Ryujin topples onto your chest, her hot, deep breaths in your ear her pussy still milking the last dribbles of cum from your cock.

You look down at her with a grin, “Is that all for this morning, your highness?”

Ryujin rolls her eyes, nestling into the crook of your neck, the fur blankets around you damp with the heat of your sex. “Mmm,..”

She flips you over, her legs spreading as you crouch above her, your cock exiting her pussy with a pop. Ryujin smiles, “No, daddy. This time, you’re going to use me.”

You smile, watching her bite her lip as the morning light fades. “As you wish, your highness.”

----------

Hi everyone!

This chapter was written by @i-am-lifeform24 . Thank you so much for the great chapter!

I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Stay healthy!

[parkerslatte]

Down Comes The Blade

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: blood and injury.

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, Y/N’s mind gets taken over and she only has one thought on her mind. Kill Azriel.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The rain poured down heavily as Azriel and Y/N surveyed the small cabin from the dense forest. There was a flicker of candlelight through the window signalling someone was inside. Next to him, Azriel felt Y/N shiver. He had noticed it more than once since the rain started over an hour ago though Y/N never mentioned anything about it. 

Slowly, Azriel wrapped his wing around her body, doing his best to block out the rain. The movement caused a stir in the trees sending a few leaves falling to the floor and branches to shake. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet. 

“You are cold,” answered Azriel, taking his eyes off of the cabin for a brief moment to look at Y/N. If it were anyone else, he certainly wouldn’t have done it. 

Y/N shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“I did tell you to wear your winter leathers,” Azriel said as his gaze returned to the cabin. 

“It wasn’t cold when we left,” Y/N said. “And they are getting too small for me now. It’s been a while since I wore them.”

Another shiver from Y/N caused Azriel to pull her closer to him by his wing. His arm twitching by his side in desperation– desperation to wrap it around her body and pull her flush against him. 

“Surely this isn’t practical?” Y/N asked, her gaze slipping from the cabin to glance at Azriel. 

“You being cold isn’t practical,” Azriel said, flexing his hands which were beginning to become stiff with the cold. 

As he rested his hands back on his knees, warmth encased his hands and Azriel couldn’t help but look down to find Y/N’s glove covered hands wrapping around his. 

“You being cold isn’t practical either,” Y/N said, her body shuffling closer to him and Azriel felt his heart beat a little faster. 

Y/N didn’t let go of Azriel’s hands, even as she fixed her gaze on the cabin once more. Once Azriel followed in her footsteps, he suddenly remembered the reason they were sitting in the pouring rain. The patience Azriel had was high but it was wearing thin. All he wanted to do was return home and relax, preferably with Y/N by his side– if he could ever muster up the confidence to confess to her.

A crack of a log behind them diverted the duo’s attention. It was pitch black through the trees. 

“What was that?” Y/N whispered. 

Another crack. 

“Stay here,” Azriel said. “I’ll go and look. It might be nothing.”

And it was nothing. 

There was nothing at all and Azriel sighed as he trudged back to Y/N through the rain. He hadn’t even wanted to go on this mission in the first place as it didn’t seem to be a priority. However once Rhys mentioned that Y/N was to accompany him, Azriel immediately accepted it. He still hated sitting in the rain in the dark. 

Azriel slowed his pace as he came to the area where Y/N was sitting not even a few minutes ago. She wasn’t there. A quick glance around the area confirmed that this was where she just was. The same two trees that began to intertwine the further up they became. The same fallen tree not even a metre away. Y/N should have been here. 

“Y/N?” Azriel whispered as he frantically looked around. “Y/N, where are you?”

The thumping of his heart quickened as Azriel scanned the area for any sign of her. There were not even footsteps in the mud below his feet. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Azriel looked toward the cabin. The door was wide open and a familiar figure stood in front of it. 

Without thinking, Azriel rushed forward. “Y/N,” he whispered. 

Y/N didn’t turn to him, not even as he was standing an arm length away. He spared a glance to the open door of the cabin, there was no one inside. The flickering candles were nearly burnt out. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said. “We should go.”

Once his arm found its way onto her bicep, Azriel noticed Y/N slowly pulling the blade strapped to her side free. 

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, his normally calm voice rising with a hint of panic. “We need to go now.”

It happened fast. Y/N’s blade flew past his head and embedded itself into a tree behind him. Azriel let go of her arm and took a step back. There was no time for a rest as Y/N drew her other blade, the one Azriel had gifted to her just before they went on this mission, and held it tightly in her hand. She lunged at him. 

With a quick dodge, Azriel was out of the way but that didn’t stop Y/N as she only lunged again. And again. And again. 

“Y/N!” Azriel exclaimed as he tried to hold her off but Y/N knew every single move he made, even going so far as to prejudice them before he made them. It was incredibly useful when they were working side by side. But now as she continuously tried to slice him with her blade, it wasn’t ideal. 

“Y/N, stop!”

Y/N didn’t stop even as Azriel procured truth teller. Metal scraped against metal as their blades met. With one arm, Azriel managed to hold onto Y/N’s wrist, holding her hand with the blade out to the side just as he pulled her back against his chest, breathing heavily. Truthteller hovering close to her. 

“Why are you doing this?” Azriel asked, desperation evident in his tone. He didn’t want to fight against Y/N. He didn’t want to hurt her. 

Y/N thrashed in his hold, grunts of frustration slipping from her lips. She sounded almost animalistic. With a thrash of her head that was when Azriel noticed it. It was small but it was there. A small slice across her collarbone where her leathers had been ripped away. It had been too dark to notice it at first. The skin surrounding the cut was purple and black. Poison, Azriel concluded. 

Guilt crept up Azriel’s spine. He shouldn’t have left her. He should have known that those sounds were simply a diversion. 

“Y/N,” Azriel whispered, his voice softer as his lips grazed her ear. “Please.”

Y/N screamed and tore out of Azriel’s grasp. Truthteller slicing her cheek in the process. Azriel stilled as blood poured from the wound. It wasn’t a shallow cut, he was sure he felt the blade touch her bone. He had caused that injury. If he hadn't been holding truthteller at that specific angle…

Everything was quiet as Y/N stood before him, her chest heaving, blood pouring down her face. It was clear the poison, along with controlling her mind, was also taking her energy. Those eyes that Azriel loved so much were clouded over with a haze. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice shaking. “I know why you are doing this and I know you cannot help it. The poison will make you fight me until either I drop down dead or you drop down dead. I could fight you until either Rhys or Cassian arrive to help but I won’t do that. I can’t do that.”

There was still no recognition in Y/N’s eyes but she didn’t seem to lunge at him so Azriel continued. “I won’t fight you.” Azriel dropped truthteller to the ground. “I will not hurt the person that I love. So if you want to fight, you will need to kill me here because I would rather die than let you get hurt again by my hand.”

Slowly, Y/N stepped forward, the grip on the blade loosening. A spark of hope lit up within Azriel. His gaze didn’t break from hers as she stood close to him now he could smell the familiar and comforting scent of her, even in the rain and through the blood. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said softly, his hand coming up to caress her face. “I love y–”

The phrase wasn’t completed as a cold blade found its mark in Azriel’s side. His eyes widened in shock. Y/N pulled the blade out and blood poured from the wound. Stumbling back, Azriel crashed onto his back in the mud, coughing up blood. 

Y/N looked down, the haze over her eyes lifting. Azriel wished he was dead. He wished the moment Y/N stabbed him he would have died instantly. 

He watched as the horror of what she had just done wash over her features. She screamed his name as she scrambled in the mud to get to him. Nothing she said was clear as she put pressure on his wound. 

“Why didn’t you fight me back, you stupid male,” Y/N said through her tears.

“I couldn’t hurt you,” Azriel said, resting his hand on top of hers. 

“Hurt me all you needed,” Y/N said. “Anything to stop me from doing this.”

Azriel shook his head as he closed his eyes. It was getting hard to keep them open. “I couldn’t hurt someone I love.”

Despite Y/N’s pleading and begging for him to stay awake, Azriel welcomed the darkness not knowing if he were to wake up again. 

***

When Azriel woke, he was surprised. It felt as if only moments had passed since he had last closed his eyes but as he moved his hand and felt the stubble on his face, he could tell it had been longer. Beside him in the chairs, Rhys and Cassian sat sleeping soundly, though looking quite uncomfortable. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Azriel asked, his voice hoarse. 

Rhys opened his eyes and sat up straight in the chair. “No hello for Cass and I?”

Azriel didn’t have time for Rhys’s attempts to cheer him up. “Where’s Y/N?”

Rhys sighed and shared a look with Cassian. “Y/N hasn’t left her room since we saved you a week ago. She explained what happened and locked herself away from everyone. Madja didn’t even have the chance to treat that cut on her face.”

Azriel solwy sat up. “I did that to her.”

“And she stabbed you,” Cassian said. 

Azriel growled. “She didn’t do it on her own accord, Cassian. I need to see her.”

“You need to rest,” Rhys said. 

Azriel ignored him. “Order me all you like. I’ll only ignore them.”

Even if it had been a whole week since Azriel was stabbed. His body was still in pain and he groaned as he stood up from the bed.

“At least rest until the pain is bearable,” Cassian suggested. 

“No,” Azriel responded and before either Rhys or Cassian could stop him, he allowed his shadows to encase him and before he knew it, he stood inside of Y/N’s room. 

The curtains were closed and she was laying down in her bed. From the sound of her breathing, it was clear she wasn’t asleep. 

“Y/N?” Azriel spoke up. 

“Please leave, Azriel,” Y/N replied, her voice muffled by the blanket she was cuddling. He knew exactly what blanket it was and it wasn’t even hers– it was his. She has most likely taken it from his room. 

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N,” Azriel pleaded, limping over to the bed. 

There was no response from Y/N as Azriel climbed into the bed, facing her back. His wings were uncomfortable hanging off the edge. He wanted to reach out to her but if Azriel knew anything about Y/N, it was that she would simply flinch away from any kind of touch after anyone was hurt on a mission, especially pain she had caused. 

“Can you look at me?” Azriel asked. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Y/N turned over in her bed. The wound on her face was mostly healed and Azriel could already tell it would leave a prominent scar. Guilt crept up his spine once more. 

“I’m sorry. For doing that.” He gestured to the scar.

“It’s not anything I don’t deserve,” Y/N replied.

“No, don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Y/N you didn’t know what you were doing, you couldn’t control what you were doing.”

“You’re wrong on one of those statements,” Y/N confessed. “I knew everything, Azriel. I saw everything I was doing. I was aware of everything but it felt as if something else had taken over my body and I was simply a spectator. I begged myself to stop, I couldn’t sit there and watch you be killed by my own hand. But nothing I did seemed to work.”

Azriel’s hand moved until it was placed next to Y/N’s on the pillow. He didn’t touch her, allowing her to make the first move if it was something she wanted. “Y/N, please listen to me very closely. There was nothing you could have done. What you were poisoned with, I have read about it. There was no way to get it out of your system without either you severely injuring me or me killing you.”

“I wish you would have killed me,” Y/N muttered. 

“Killing you would have only killed the both of us,” Azriel replied. “I could not have lived with myself if I would have killed you.”

“And you think I can live with myself for nearly killing you?” Y/N exclaimed. 

“Yes, because you are stronger than me, Y/N,” Azriel said. “Yes, you would have been upset about it. Perhaps you would have done exactly what you are doing right now, locking yourself away, not interacting with anyone. But I have known you for many years. I know that you would have eventually found yourself moving on, intentionally or not. Because I know you and I know that you want to live, you love your life and you love your friends and family. You know that they will help you through anything.”

“They would do the same for you,” Y/N said. 

“I know but I am not as strong as you, Y/N. If I were to kill you, I would lay down in my bed and I would never rise from it. I would die there and follow you into the afterlife. I would never forgive myself for it. Whereas you had no choice or control if you had killed me, I would have had full control and it would have been my actions that would have caused your death.”

There was no response from Y/N but her fingers gently brushed Azriel’s before she laced her fingers with his. 

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked.

Azriel knew what she was talking about. “I did.”

“At first I thought you were only saying it to get through to me,” said Y/N, shuffling closer to Azriel in the bed. 

“I was saying it to try and get through to you,” Azriel said with a squeeze of her hand. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it.”

“I wished you would have told me sooner,” Y/N replied. 

“I wish I did too,” Azriel said. “There have been so many times where I wanted to but didn’t have the courage to say it. Call me a coward if you wish.”

“If I were to call you a coward, Az, then it would be extremely hypocritical of me,” Y/N admitted. “Whenever we are alone I have the urge to confess my feelings to you but I always hold myself back. Afraid of your reaction.”

Silence consumed the room, although it wasn’t uncomfortable. Azriel continued to look at Y/N while she looked at their clasped hands. Of course he had held Y/N’s hand before but there was something different about it this time. Perhaps it was because of the indirect confession lingering over them. 

“Can you stay here with me?” Y/N asked. “I haven’t been able to sleep while you have been recovering and knowing that you are here will help I think.”

Gently, Azriel unclasped their hands and opened his arm for Y/N to slot against his chest. “Come here,” he said softly.

Her warm body pressed against his and Azriel practically curled his body around her. Somehow her touch lessened the pain in his body that it wasn’t his primary thought. He was consumed by Y/N as he had been for many years now. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his torso as she buried her head into the crook of his neck and breathed him in before relaxing fully. Azriel assumed it was the first time she had relaxed since she locked herself in the room.

“I love you,” Y/N muttered. 

“I love you too,” Azriel replied with a kiss against her head. 

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” Y/N asked.

“You would actually need to kill me to get me to leave,” Azriel replied.

“Not funny,” Y/N groaned and buried her head deeper into his neck, her lips brushing over his skin. 

“Of course I’ll be here,” Azriel said softly. “I’ll be by your side for eternity if it is what you wanted.”

“As long as you promise me the same thing.”

Azriel held her a little tighter. “I promise.”

With that promise, Azriel felt himself drifting off into a peaceful sleep with the female he loved in his arms. 

[pennyserenade]

Pls make a fanfic with a dark Tommy + misogynistic themes!

and who by fire? | tommy shelby x you

rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | pre-established relationship, toxic relationship, misogyny, unprotected sex, pinv sex, dubcon, dirty talk (a little), tommy being a dick, a little exhibitionistic word count | 1.7k+ a/n | i wrote this kind of quick, so if there's any typos i'm sorry. also sorry it took so long, and i know this isn't entirely a dark tommy in a traditional sense, but i hope you still like it.

“Thought you were an actress, not, uh—a whore." Tommy cinched the thin fabric of your dressing gown around your waist, accentuating your scantily clothed body beneath it. His blue eyes flashed dark beneath the dim light, and you were eternally grateful for the fact that the narrow hallway that you'd led him down was abandoned, save for the two. of you He smoldered. “Or what? Has it finally become all the same to you?”

Placing your hand on his chest, you created distance between your bodies. "Don't be silly, Tommy," you said. "It's only a costume and you know that. If you'll step out of the way, I'll put on my regular clothes and we can leave."

"I don't want to leave. Not yet." He stepped forward, boxing you more securely in, and ignoring the hand you placed between you. There was an earthy scent to him -- as if he'd been digging in the mud or caught in the rain, but he was dry and clean. Cleaner than you'd seen him in a long time, in fact.

With your shoulders pressed squarely against the wall, you let out a huff. "This is why I don't invite you to these things."

"Mm," he considered, dropping his head to your neck. He nudged the tip of his cold nose against your skin while his hand bunched up the bottom of your gown. "I think it's more than that. I think it's because you're worried what your fuckin' artsy theater people will think of me."

"Tommy--"'

He killed your words with his tongue, lavxing it knowingly over the column of your throat. As you reached up to grab him, you knocked his hat off of his head. He left it there, pushing his body into your own. The skirt of your gown was pressed between you, held up by the pressure he'd created between you

He killed your words with his warm tongue, swiping it knowingly over the column of your throat. As you reached up to grab him, half startled by the suddenness of his action, you knocked his hat off of his head. Tommy abandoned it in favor of pressing his body further into yours, now freed by your hand.

“Bet you didn’t have to reach very far in yourself to play that character.” His fingers snaked up the inside of your thighs, and you let out a quiet sigh against his shoulder. You pressed your eyes shut and focused on the slow movements of his hand as it rose, higher and higher. “Did you tell them how good you are on your back, or did they just assume?”

He was such a wicked bastard, and if you knew any better, you wouldn’t take it so personally—but you didn’t. You shoved at his chest, once, twice, three times, before he curled his fingers around your wrists and shoved them down between your bodies. “Let go of me,” you growled, shifting beneath him.

“You never did like to be told the truth.”

“Let fuckin go of me!”

He cupped a hand over your mouth. “Just gonna get yourself in trouble yelling like that, and then what?” His voice was low, full of grit, but not mean. He leaned forward and brushed his nose against your cheek, whispering, “They don’t really want to know what a dirty whore you are—they just think they do. S’not like me, not like the people from where you come from. These ones wouldn’t understand.”

Tommy unwrapped his hand from yours when you stopped wrestling frantically against him and he began pulling up your gown again. Holding the cloth up with one hand while his other one moved your underwear to the side, he chuckled lowly. The angry mass that formed in your chest was still there, but it was too violent, too bright, to allow you to speak softly as you needed. So you didn’t.

A part of you — a deep, rational part — knew that none of this was personal. This was just Tommy. If there had once been anything kinder in him, you barely remembered it now, because these days it was all just different shades of dark. Some part of you hated him for it, probably. It just hadn’t grown as strong as you needed it to to resist him.

“I’m not your whore,” you managed to spit out, just as he undid his belt buckle.

Tommy looked up. “That’s the thing with whores—“ he unzipped his pants and took himself out. You could feel the tip of his cock nudge against your stomach as he leaned closer to your face. He hovered over your lips, licking his own as he measured out his words. “—they don’t belong to anyone. Only a fool would think that—and I’m no fool.”

He kissed you then, hard, and with such intensity you were sure your lips would bruise.

Tommy halted your leg up around his hip while his tongue pushed past your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, mentally bracing for the stretch of him as his cock rubbed against your entrance. You weren’t nearly wet enough, but you were sure you’d soon be. Truthfully, you didn’t even care anymore. So much of life with Tommy now seemed to be a matter of bearing and waiting until the bad passed.

If you were stupider, he could trick you into thinking it was cruelty that drove him to it, but like him, you were no fool; you were a piece of his pack he had let slip away, and he felt a strange inclination, primal like an animal, to track you down whenever you were near and claim you all over again. Humans offered rings, gave devotion. But not Tommy. He smelt of soil and rain and fucked.

He pushed inside of you, emitting a soft grunt against your lips as he did. Your body tensed beneath him, the ache of his cock stretching unbearable. “God,” you winced, your fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat. “That fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah,” he said, less a question than a statement. “Bet you fuckin’ like it, too.”

You refused to justify that with an answer, and he didn’t wait for one; Tommy rutted up into you, again and again and again. Every goddamnit thing he would never say to you, you felt when he did this: a tidal wave of all his silence rolled into you, loud, echoey, too much until your body made more room for it.

You cradled the back of his neck with your hand and his lips twisted up, his whole body focused on the force of his thrusts. Pressing your eyes shut, you focused too: on the warmth of his body, on the desperation of his want; on the sound of his huffing, on the hot air he emitted against your sensitive skin. Eventually, all the focusing turned to desire, and added into the mix was the sound of your bodies coming together, two things in desperate need of each other.

Tommy fucked you, disregarding any and everything besides the simple rut of his hips into yours, and you let him—because that’s what you always did. It’s what you always would do.

“You’re such a cunt,” you told him, gritting your teeth together as he rammed into you, “fuck. Can’t stand you.”

“Mm,” he hummed, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hate—“ Tommy groped your ass, pulling you down on to him, making you match his rhythm, “—you. Hate everything about you.”

He lifted his head, meeting your eyes as he arched up into you again. Tommy was hitting a place inside of you with his cock that you felt he had no right to be in. You were struggling to keep silent—especially when he looked at you like that. His eyes burned with a quiet intensity, a thing you could register plainly as hunger.

You felt yourself clench around him and he held you closer, his thrusts shortening. “Feels like you hate me, yeah,” he mumbled wickedly, his mouth grazing yours. You moaned into his mouth and he nodded. “What would they think of you now?”

“Tommy—“

“Think someone’s coming—“ He smiled. Sure enough, you could hear it too; the heavy shuffle of feet somewhere close. You panicked.

“Tommy, please.” You pushed at his shoulder, pleading.

“Ah, ah, finish what you started,” he said, wedging his hand between your bodies. His fingers trailed down your stomach and into your underwear.

As he grazed against your neglected clit for the first time, you bit your lip to stifle your moan and darted your eyes down the hall. The footsteps were getting louder and louder, and you knew Tommy was just fucking wreckless enough to not stop until you both came.

“Tommy,” you whispered, “please. Please” You could hardly tell what it was you were begging for.

“Yeah.” He sounded so smug, so fucking sure of himself. He rubbed his fingers against you in circular motions as his hips drove up. It felt incredible, as all things you shouldn’t want to do. You gripped helplessly onto any part of him you could as your orgasm began to form inside of you.

It wasn’t right how easily your body betrayed you for him—for his touch. As he panted in your ear, you knew he was getting close, too. The footsteps were nearly there—

“Oh,” you gasped, warmth rushing from your head to your toes as he rubbed faster at your clit. It felt like a wave of sunshine, something entirely too nice to come from something as fucking mean as Tommy. But it did. You kissed him because you couldn’t remember how else to be—couldn’t remember what anger felt and tasted like.

He pulsed inside of you but got wise, pulling out just in time to get it all over your fucking costume.

“Hello? Sir–? Sir, no one is meant to be down here,” a man called. Tommy pushed you quickly in front of him, shielding you with his coat.

“We’re fucking busy here, can’t you see?” Tommy shouted, still struggling to catch his breath. “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh—uh, sorry,” the person stuttered. You listened as they padded away frantically, somewhat mortified at what they might’ve seen, before pushing Tommy away from you. He smirked at you, not at all ashamed.

“Fuck you,” you spat, frowning.

“Ah, and the character just started growing on me too,” he clicked his tongue.

[especially-obsessed]

Far Behind

Summary: Jacob doesn’t know what’s right in front of him

Pairing: Jacob Black x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, jealousy, depictions of depression, fluff, Jacob being a dummy

Word count: 2.8k

a/n: ik no one asked for this but I did it anyways (; I also have no mechanical knowledge and used what I’ve heard from friends talking about their vehicles

Masterlist | Jacob's Playlist

You wiped the grease from your hands on your worn-out jeans, smudging dark streaks across your thighs. The sound of Jacob’s laughter rumbled through the garage as he leaned over the truck’s engine, flashing you that lopsided grin that made your heart stumble.

“This thing’s a piece of junk,” you muttered, pulling at a stubborn bolt.

Jake just chuckled, handing you a wrench without missing a beat. “Maybe, but it’s my junk. You’re just mad it’s fighting you.”

You smirked, elbowing him playfully. “You gonna help, or just stand there looking pretty?”

He shot you a look, eyes warm and teasing. “Both.”

That was Jacob: a blend of strength and softness, always knowing how to make you smile. You’d been by his side for as long as you could remember, practically raised in the warmth of his family’s garage. Fixing cars, wrestling in the backyard, teasing Embry until he tackled you into the mud. You were always just one of the guys.

But then Bella came back.

It had been one of those rare, good days. You were hanging out at Jacob’s place, helping him and Embry piece together a custom surfboard rack that Jacob insisted would make the garage look “less like a junkyard.” Quil was sprawled out on the old couch, tossing a wrench into the air and catching it lazily. The garage was filled with the familiar smell of sawdust and oil, and mixed perfectly with the occasional burst of laughter whenever Quil dropped the tool or Embry accidentally smashed his thumb.

Jacob was on his knees beside a pile of driftwood, measuring pieces and sketching out plans on a scrap of paper. You couldn’t help but grin when he frowned at the diagram, chewing on the end of his pencil like it had personally offended him.

“Pretty sure that’s not how math works, genius,” you teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He shot you a playful glare, shoving your hand away. “You’re just mad you didn’t come up with the idea first.”

Quil snorted from the couch. “Dude, it’s a surfboard rack, not the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yeah, but it’s gotta be sturdy,” Jacob argued, holding up one of the larger pieces of wood. “These boards aren’t light.”

You took the plank from his hands, pretending to weigh it dramatically. “Oh no, the mighty surfboard! Whatever shall we do?”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but his smile never faltered. He was about to fire back with some smart remark when the distant rumble of an engine made everyone pause. You glanced over your shoulder, recognizing the sound of an old truck pulling up.

Embry squinted, tilting his head. “Is that…?”

Before anyone could answer, Jacob straightened up, eyes wide and alert as the old red Chevy came into view. His entire demeanor changed, like someone had flipped a switch. He dropped the wood without a second thought and was already moving, practically sprinting out of the garage.

You turned to look just in time to see him skid to a stop in front of the truck as Bella hopped out, looking a little unsure. Jacob didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her like she was weightless.

“Bella! Where the hell have you been, Loca?” he laughed, voice full of warmth and relief.

Your stomach dropped. The way he looked at her—so effortlessly happy—made your chest ache. You couldn’t take your eyes off them, even though every second felt like a knife twisting deeper.

Quil cleared his throat behind you, clearly caught off guard. “Damn… lhe didn’t even say bye,” he muttered, tossing the wrench back into the toolbox.

Embry shot you a look, catching the way your shoulders had tensed. “Guess he’s got his hands full,” he murmured, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a weak smile. “Yeah. Guess so.”

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. You’d seen Jacob happy before; seen him tease you with that same bright grin. But it was different when it wasn’t directed at you. You hadn’t realized how much you depended on being the reason behind that smile.

Jacob kept talking to Bella, his hands lingering on her shoulders, his smile never faltering. You didn’t even hear what they were saying anymore, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Quil nudged your arm lightly. “You good?”

You couldn’t look at him. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Just… didn’t know she was coming by.”

Embry muttered something about needing to find another part, slipping outside to give you some space. Quil stayed put, shifting uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to do.

Jacob didn’t even glance back at the garage, too busy catching up with Bella, his smile brighter than it had been in days. You couldn’t help but feel like you were watching something slip right through your fingers, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, it was already gone.

Quil moved towards you and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “He’s just…caught up, you know?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

You just wished it didn’t hurt so damn much

Quil nudged your arm lightly, his voice softer than usual. “You good?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid your face might give you away. “Yeah,” you mumbled.

Embry leaned in on the back doorway and huffed out a breath, glancing at the scene unfolding just outside. “Man, I didn’t think he’d ditch us that fast.”

You forced a weak laugh, trying to keep your voice steady. “Neither did I.”

The atmosphere in the garage felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in, and the air had gotten too heavy to breathe. You wiped your hands on a rag, even though they were already clean (or as clean as they could be without washing them), trying to keep busy.

Quil glanced between you and the open garage door, his face twisted in mild discomfort. “Maybe we should just…head out. Give him space or…whatever.”

Embry nodded in agreement, not needing to be told twice. “Yeah. I could use some food anyway.” He shot you a careful look, like he was trying to gauge whether you’d follow or not.

You swallowed the tight knot forming in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The three of you moved quietly, slipping out the back of the garage so you wouldn’t have to walk past Jacob and Bella. The cool air hit your face as you stepped outside, and you shivered. Embry and Quil were already chatting, trying to lighten the mood with some joke about the last bonfire. Instead of walking with them to the left, you turned right.

Once you were alone, the tightness in your chest only got worse. You pressed your palm against your ribs, as if you could physically hold yourself together. Your throat felt raw, and you didn’t understand why the urge to cry was suddenly so overwhelming.

You hated how pathetic it felt to want to cry over something that shouldn’t matter this much. You stopped to lean against a tree, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to breathe slowly. You couldn’t cry over this. You had no right to cry over Jacob being happy, even if it wasn’t with you.

But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest refused to go away. You wiped at your eyes before any tears could fall, pulling yourself together.

Taking a shaky breath, you shoved your hands into your pockets and kept walking.

In the weeks that followed, you tried not to let it bother you. Bella had been his friend long before you even knew what love felt like. But things were different now. Bella wasn’t just a friend to Jacob; she was a magnet, and he was drawn to her without a second thought.

Jacob had always been like a brother to you. That’s what you told yourself, at least. That’s what you’d always thought. But when he wasn’t there anymore—spending all his time with her—you started to realize just how much of your world he really was.

You hadn’t noticed how much you relied on him, how the little moments—his hand squeezing your shoulder, his laughter bouncing around the garage, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you a wrench—had made your day lighter. Without him, everything felt heavier. Darker. You tried to shake it off, but it stuck to you like damp clothes, dragging you down.

The boys noticed too. Embry would invite you out, and sometimes you’d force yourself to go, but it didn’t feel the same. Quil would try to crack a joke, and you’d laugh, but it was hollow. You found yourself spending more time alone, wandering the beach or hiding in the garage, hoping the familiar grease and metal smell would remind you of the old days.

But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

You hadn’t meant to fall into this quiet sadness, but it happened so gradually you didn’t notice it at first. The long nights where you couldn’t sleep, staring at your phone and willing Jacob to text like he used to. The days where you didn’t bother to eat lunch because your appetite had faded. Your energy drained out of you like a leaky faucet, slowly and then all at once.

You didn’t tell anyone. You couldn’t. How could you explain that you missed your best friend so much it hurt to breathe sometimes? Or that every time you saw him with Bella, your heart clenched like it was being squeezed too tight?

One afternoon, the boys invited you out to La Push. You hesitated at first but agreed. Maybe Jacob would be there. You threw on your wetsuit, packed your board, and tried to muster some excitement. Some energy. Maybe this would be the day things went back to normal. Hopefully.

But when you got there, it was just Quil, Embry, and a few others from your social circle. You looked around, searching for that familiar tall frame, but he wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s Jake?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Quil shrugged. “Said he might meet us here. Guess he got caught up.”

Your stomach sank, but you didn’t say anything. You followed the boys into the water, paddling out, but it was hard to enjoy it. Your mind kept drifting back, wondering if he even remembered that he said he might come. You couldn’t help but feel stupid for hoping.

After about an hour, you gave up and dragged your board onto the sand, sitting alone while the guys kept surfing. The usual noise of waves crashing and the boys yelling didn’t drown out the ache building in your chest.

You were poking at the sand with a stick when Embry came up beside you, water dripping off his hair as he flopped down. He nudged your shoulder with his own, a small smirk on his lips.

“Why the long face, grease monkey?” he teased, though his tone was softer than usual.

You shrugged, kicking a shell with your toe. “It’s nothing.”

Embry scoffed, brushing some sand off his arms. “I call bull. You’ve been moping around since Bella came back. Thought you “didn’t care”.” He said, using finger quotes dramatically.

Your stomach twisted, and you glared at the horizon, feeling the cool sea mist sting your cheeks. “I don’t care. Just…sucks when your best friend drops you for someone else, you know?”

He sighed, giving you a side-eye. “We all see it, you know. You and Jake. Everyone knows you’re crazy about him. Except maybe him.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shot him a look. “Shut up.”

He just laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “He’s crazy about you too.” He paused for a moment, then added, “If I were you, I’d stop waiting around. You’re too good to be his backup plan.”

You didn’t say anything, just leaned into Embry’s side, wishing his words didn’t hit so hard. The ocean waves crashed in the background, but the rhythm didn’t soothe you like it used to. Instead, it just felt like a reminder that everything kept moving, whether you were ready or not.

Embry squeezed your shoulder gently, his voice more serious than usual. “He’s dumb, you know. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

You gave him a weak smile, not really believing it. “You’re just saying that because you hate seeing me mope.” You give a weak smile and lean into his side.

He just shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s true. You’re too good for him, even if he doesn’t see it.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just let the words hang in the salty air. The ache in your chest doesn’t ease, but it felt a little less suffocating with Embry beside you

You were lying flat on your back on the old car creeper, half-buried under the truck as you tinkered with the stubborn exhaust pipe. You heard the familiar heavy footsteps approaching but didn’t bother to look. You already knew who it was.

“Hey,” Jacob’s voice called, tentative and soft.

You kept working, your movements more forceful than necessary. He shifted his weight, his shadow blocking some of the dim light. “Where you been?” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Around. With Bella.”

Your jaw clenched, but you stayed focused on the truck. “Hope you’re having fun.”

Jacob let out a frustrated breath. Before you knew it, his hands grabbed the edge of the creeper, yanking you out from under the truck. You yelped, hands automatically bracing against his chest.

“What the hell, Jacob?” you snapped, but he just loomed over you, eyes narrowed.

“No more hiding,” he muttered, kneeling down and keeping a firm grip on the creeper’s edge so you couldn’t slide back under. “What’s going on with you? Where have you been lately?”

You huffed and wiped a smudge of grease off your cheek. The audacity of him to ask where you had been, as if he hadn’t ditched the last dozen things you or the guys invited him to. “Nothing,” you bite out. “Just didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t around.”

His brows drew together, guilt flashing across his face. “Why would you think that?”

You glanced away. “You’ve been busy.”

Jacob sighed, his voice softer now. “I guess I didn’t think it was bothering you this much.”

Just say it you coward.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the garage ceiling, unable to look him in the eyes as you mutter, “feels like I’m just one of the guys to you.”

Panicking, you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You shoved at his arms and got up, brushing past him as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Forget it. I’m done feeling like I don’t matter to you.”

Jacob’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and spinning you back around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his voice rougher than before.

You glared at him, yanking your hand free. “It means I’m done playing second to her. I’m done being the one you come to only when she’s not around. I’m not your backup plan, Jake!”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something between anger and hurt. “You’re not a backup. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s how you make me feel!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Like I’m just one of the guys,” you say in a mocking voice. “Just a friend you used to hang out with before she showed up and took you away!”

Jacob took a step closer, and you didn’t back down, even though your heart was pounding. “You know that’s not true,” he argued, voice dropping lower.

“Then what is it, Jake?” you challenged, shoving at his chest. “Why do I feel like I’m not important to you anymore? Why does it feel like I’m the only one who cares? You show more interest in those damned bikes than you do-”

His hands moved faster than you expected, cupping your face and pulling you in before you could process it. His lips crashed into yours, fierce and desperate, like he was trying to prove something with the way his mouth moved against yours. You froze, hands instinctively going to his wrists, but then the anger melted, replaced by heat spreading through your veins. You kissed him back, your fingers digging into his skin.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “You’re not just one of the guys,” he whispered, his voice softer, rawer. “You’re everything. You always have been. I just—I didn’t know how to say it.”

Your hands slowly moved up to his jaw, your heart still racing. You bottom lip trembled as you spoke: “then why did you leave me?”

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away a stray tear. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you. And when Bella came back, I thought…I thought maybe it was better to just let you go before I screwed it up.”

You couldn’t help the weak laugh that bubbled out, more relief than humor. “You’re such an idiot.”

He smiled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

You couldn’t help but smile back. A weight lifted from your chest, no longer suffocating you. Jacob came back.

Jacob.

Your Jacob.

Masterlist

a/n: I just binge watched the series and now feel like I need to reread the series <3

Taglist:

Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist < 3

[dreamersworldduh]

BEYOND THE FUTURE

• CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — You and Conner reunited with the future version of Conner, and other two your children—Cole and Cameron—each of whom reflects a unique blend of your legacy and Conner's strength. Over the course of a single day, you reconnect with each of them, learning who they've become and quietly mourning the years you missed. What began as a heartfelt reunion becomes a declaration of war.

This is no longer just your fight—it's a battle for your family, your legacy, and the future.

WARNING! FLUFF. Violence.

WORDS! 12.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Sorry for the wait, babes! We have ended the semester and freed up some time for me to get this up! How are we liking the picture of an old Conner- I tried to do it in 10 minutes and that's the result. There’s more fics upcoming, so keep a lookout. Enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

PREVIOUS PART! — THE PAST

BY THE TIME morning arrived, the soft lighting of Mount Justice had already shifted from its cool night glow to a warmer, more natural hue, simulating the rise of a calm, early sun. The base was quiet, save for the subtle hum of technology and distant footsteps echoing through the corridors as systems returned to life. You and Conner walked side by side down the hall toward the Zeta-Tube chamber, your pace steady but filled with anticipation. Sleep had come in fits, broken by dreams and emotions that still hadn't fully settled, but the quiet intimacy of the night had steadied you both.

As the doors to the Zeta Bay slid open, your eyes were immediately drawn to the two figures waiting at the base of the platform.

Casey and Corra were already there, dressed not in their hero uniforms, but in something entirely different—something that struck you more deeply than you expected. They wore casual, modest clothing that bore the unmistakable flavor of Smallville, Kansas.

Casey had on a flannel button-up—faded red and black—and a pair of well-worn jeans tucked into dark work boots. The sleeves were rolled just below his elbows, and a soft gray hoodie hung loosely around his waist, knotted by the arms. It was the kind of outfit that didn't come from fashion, but from habit. Practical. Earthy. Familiar.

Corra leaned against the wall beside him, wearing an oversized denim jacket layered over a soft, wheat-colored sweater. Her jeans were cuffed just above her boots, and a baseball cap rested backward on her head, pushing a few stubborn strands of hair down over her forehead. Even her posture had shifted—less the poised, tactical field leader from the night before, and more the confident, grounded young woman who knew how to mend a fence or drive an old truck down a dirt road.

It wasn't just their clothes. It was the way they stood, the way they carried themselves. There was something deeply Midwestern about it—humble, familiar, tied to the land. And it told you one thing loud and clear: you had a home there.

When Casey spotted the two of you entering the room, he straightened from his casual lean against the Zeta controls and gave a faint smile.

"Morning," he greeted, voice light but still carrying that quiet depth of emotion that had become familiar in such a short time. "Hope you slept okay."

Conner nodded. "Well enough." He glanced at Casey's flannel and smirked. "You raiding Grandpa's closet or something?"

Casey gave a small chuckle. "Nah. This is just how we do it in Smallville. Didn't want you guys showing up in the future dressed like city boys."

Corra pushed off the wall and walked over to you, giving your arm a small nudge as she took in your sleep-rumpled clothes. "We're going into Dad's house, remember? He'll notice if your shirt's not tucked in or if you track mud onto the porch." She gave you a wink. "Just a heads-up."

You blinked, the realization settling more fully now.

You were about to walk into the house where your children had been raised. Where the future version of Conner—your partner, your other half—had spent years alone, trying to hold together the pieces of the life you'd once shared.

And now... you were going to step back into it.

Back into a life you hadn't yet built.

Casey approached the console and tapped a few commands. The Zeta-Tube flared to life, its light swirling in anticipation. "It's synced to the local receiver in Smallville," he explained. "We'll land just a few steps outside the house."

Corra slipped her hands into her jacket pockets and tilted her head, glancing between you and Conner. "You ready for this?"

You met Conner's eyes, searching the quiet tension behind his gaze. He nodded once, and then you turned back to your children—your grown children, who somehow still looked at you with wonder in their eyes.

"Let's go home," you said.

And with that, the four of you stepped onto the Zeta platform—two fathers, two future children, bound together by time, love, and a farm in Kansas waiting to greet you.

THE MOMENT the Zeta-Tube light faded and the quiet hum of Mount Justice vanished behind you, you were enveloped in the warm, open air of Kansas.

But not just any Kansas—the future Kansas.

It took a second for your eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness of the countryside. The sun was higher here than it had been in the base, casting long golden rays across sprawling fields of wheat and wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of freshly turned soil, honeysuckle, and something that could only be described as home drifted in the air.

You stepped down from the receiver pad, which had been cleverly disguised within an old, worn-down shed near the edge of the property. The familiar crunch of gravel under your boots grounded you as your gaze swept the landscape.

It was... peaceful.

And beside you, Conner had stopped moving altogether.

He stood stock-still just a few feet ahead of you, his broad shoulders squared as he took in the view. The farmhouse sat proudly at the top of the gently sloping hill, the whitewashed siding now a soft cream from years of sun exposure. A wraparound porch with a freshly painted railing circled the front, and a wind chime clinked gently near the door.

But it wasn't just the house. It was the fence line that curved along the edge of the property, repaired in places with new wood that hadn't quite aged yet. It was the red barn, taller now, expanded and reinforced. It was the family garden, thriving along the side of the porch in neat, structured rows.

Everything had been touched, altered, aged—lived in.

Conner's chest rose with a slow, deep breath as he looked at the place that had once been his safe haven—the place where Martha Kent had taught him how to plant tomatoes, how to fix a broken tractor, how to find peace in silence. A place that had grounded him when the world felt too loud.

His voice, when it came, was rough with emotion.

"...It's the same." He swallowed, then shook his head slightly. "But not. Everything's grown, rebuilt, improved... but it still feels like her."

You stepped up beside him, watching as the breeze shifted his hair and tugged at the hem of his shirt.

"This was your home," you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "Even after all this time."

Conner gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on the farmhouse ahead. "Other than you... and the Cave... this is the only place that ever felt like mine."

Behind you, Casey and Corra gave you both space, standing a few paces back with soft expressions. Casey smiled faintly, his voice low as he stepped closer.

"Dad never left it. Even after everything." He glanced toward the house. "He stayed here. Raised us here. Trained us here."

Corra chimed in with a softer tone. "He said it was the only place that reminded him of who he used to be... and who he loved."

You and Conner exchanged a glance.

The weight of this place pressed into your chests—not in a suffocating way, but like a memory that hadn't yet happened.

And as you all began walking toward the house, your boots crunching against the packed dirt path, the fields swaying around you, and the wind whispering through the leaves, you realized something important:

You were already part of this future.

Even if time had tried to take you from it.

THE FRONT door creaked open with a familiar groan, the kind that came from years of wear but had never quite been fixed—left as-is because it was a sound that meant home. Corra stepped in first, her boots thudding lightly against the aged hardwood floors, followed by Casey, who held the door open for you and Conner as the warm, late-morning Kansas breeze drifted in behind you.

The moment you stepped across the threshold, something shifted deep inside you. The air smelled like aged wood, flour, cinnamon, and earth—so distinctly Midwestern, so Kent. This place didn't just feel like a home; it felt like a memory you hadn't made yet.

You and Conner paused just inside the foyer, your eyes instinctively drawn to the left wall, where a long stretch of framed photos lined the hallway like a timeline of lives lived fully. You stepped toward them slowly, your footsteps almost hesitant, as if approaching sacred ground.

The earliest photos made your breath catch in your throat.

There you were—both of you—younger versions of yourselves holding a swaddled baby in a hospital room. Conner beaming with proud, tear-brimmed eyes. You looking down at a tiny sleeping infant—Casey—with awe and disbelief etched on your face. The next few photos showed first birthdays, tiny toddler shoes, a birthday cake shaped like a rocket, little handprints pressed into plaster.

And then came Corra. One picture showed you and Conner each holding one of the children while sitting on the porch swing, her wild dark hair already escaping its bows, her tiny hands pulling at Conner's collar as she giggled.

More followed: Cole, scowling even as a toddler, standing stubbornly in a patch of mud while you knelt behind him, clearly trying not to laugh. Then Cameron, shy and quiet even in photos, always nestled in someone's arms or pressed into your side, clutching one of your sleeves.

For a moment, it was overwhelming. The joy, the warmth, the love—it was all there. Frozen in time. Proof that you had been a father, and not just in title. You were present. Involved. Loving. Essential.

But as your eyes moved farther down the line, you noticed the shift.

By the time Casey reached around thirteen, Corra nine, Cole eight, and Cameron five... you were gone from the photos.

In the later images, Conner stood alone—his face a little tighter around the eyes, his smiles a little more subdued. Sometimes he was behind the camera. Sometimes he was beside the kids, arms around them. But always without you.

The absence was deafening.

Conner stood beside you, jaw tight as he took in the same realization. His fingers brushed lightly against the edge of one of the frames—a family dinner photo where a high chair sat at the table, but only one parent was there.

You didn't speak. You didn't have to. The silence between you was filled with understanding, grief, and quiet determination.

Then, somewhere deeper in the house, the stillness shattered.

A loud voice rang out from upstairs—young, frustrated, and unmistakably a sibling-in-command kind of voice.

"CAMERON! I swear, if you don't get your slow ass down here before Corra and Casey show up, I'm telling Dad you were the one who crashed the grav-cycle!"

You heard the thud-thud-thud of boots stomping across the upstairs floor, followed by the unmistakable slam of a bedroom door opening.

Corra rolled her eyes with a fond groan. "And that would be Cole. Never quiet. Never subtle."

Casey smirked beside her. "He's got Dad's temper and Pa's sarcasm. It's a disaster waiting to happen."

Conner snorted at that. "Sounds about right."

But even as the banter passed between your children, your eyes drifted back to that last photo with you still in it—Cameron perched on your hip, arms looped around your neck, while the rest of the kids crowded in around you, all beaming at the camera.

It was a life you hadn't lived yet.

And it was time to reclaim it.

The sound of footsteps thundered down the hallway—a sharp, relentless rhythm pounding against the wooden floorboards, each step faster than the last. They echoed with the urgency of someone already mid-argument, someone whose frustration had momentum. Then came the telltale thud of someone hopping the last stair, followed by a second of silence—a breathless beat—and finally, the whip-crack sound of a body turning sharply at the corner of the hall.

Cole appeared, coming into view, all lean muscle and attitude. His black T-shirt clung to his broad chest and shoulders, stretched slightly and smudged with streaks of motor oil—obvious signs he'd just come from the garage or the barn, elbow-deep in gears and grease. His jeans hung low on his hips, worn in all the familiar places, the cuffs bunched just above scuffed boots that hit the floor like thunder. His dark hair was a little messy, his jaw set in that unmistakable way that meant he had something to say, and it wasn't going to be quiet.

His mouth was already open, mid-complaint—about Cameron, no doubt—but the moment his eyes locked onto the figures in the hallway, the words choked off before they could even form.

He skidded to a halt.

First, his eyes landed on Corra and Casey. A crease formed between his brows, a flicker of annoyance and confusion surfacing—probably expecting to find them already handling whatever mess Cameron had left behind. But then his gaze drifted past them. It caught you.

And Conner.

But not his Conner—the tired, timeworn version who bore the weight of a thousand decisions and too many lonely nights. This Conner was younger, more vibrant, sharper in the eyes and shoulders. The sight alone was jarring.

And then there was you.

Time seemed to stop around him. The sound in the hallway dropped away, the air itself thickened. His breath caught in his throat. You could almost see the flicker in his eyes as recognition tried to claw its way through years of disbelief and grief.

His body froze, muscles locking up like a system overload. His expression twisted—first into confusion, then something wide-eyed and raw. His mouth opened slightly, as though he meant to say something, but couldn't find the words. He blinked, slow and hard, like maybe he could shake the image from his vision.

But you were still there.

Still real.

You watched as his gaze searched yours—desperate for confirmation, for understanding, for something to anchor him. His chest rose and fell once, sharply, like his lungs had just remembered how to breathe. His face, usually so guarded with stubbornness and pride, softened with something heartbreakingly childlike.

"...Pa?"

The word fell from his lips like a ghost being set free. It cracked the air open.

You swallowed hard, barely able to speak past the emotion crawling up your throat. You took a slow, steady step forward, your voice a gentle thread. "Yeah... it's me."

But Cole didn't move. He stood there, rooted in place, eyes locked to yours like he was afraid any sudden motion would shatter the illusion. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, caught in the war between disbelief and desperate hope.

Conner shifted beside you, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back in a grounding gesture—quiet support. But Cole's eyes didn't leave you.

That's when Corra stepped forward, her voice quiet but unwavering. "It's really him," she said with a soft smile, her eyes shimmering. "They came from the past."

Casey nodded, his voice firmer, trying to be the voice of logic. "We brought them here. It's not a dream. Not a trick. No shapeshifting. No magic. They're real. They're ours, Cole."

Cole gave a small shake of his head, like the words weren't computing. You saw his throat bob with a hard swallow, the shine in his eyes becoming harder to hide.

"You were gone," he said, barely getting the words out. "Since I was eight. I don't..." His voice broke. His jaw clenched. He stopped himself before the emotion could splinter too deep.

You took another step forward, your heart heavy, your voice laced with apology. "I never meant to leave you."

That undid him.

He didn't hesitate anymore.

Cole surged forward in a single, desperate stride and crashed into you, arms wrapping tightly around your frame as he pulled you into him like he was trying to fuse time itself. His fists clutched the back of your shirt, knuckles white, face pressed into your shoulder like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, his entire body seemed to melt against yours—not in weakness, but in the exhausted surrender of someone who had spent too long bracing himself against the ache of your absence. His fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt, clutching you like a lifeline, like letting go might somehow send you slipping back through time. You could feel the strength in his grip, not just physical, but emotional—every year, every missed moment poured into this one desperate hold.

Your hand cradled the back of his head, fingers sifting gently through his thick, tousled hair, still smelling faintly of oil and the outdoors. He trembled faintly in your arms, even as he fought to stay composed. You pressed your cheek to the crown of his head and closed your eyes, swallowing the bittersweet lump in your throat. There was a peace in holding him, a soft, aching peace that ran through your chest and out through your fingertips.

But then—upstairs—a door creaked open.

The faint sound of a voice drifted into the silence.

"I'm coming, Cole, alright? Calm down, I was—"

It wasn't loud or booming. It didn't crackle with irritation like Cole's had earlier. This voice was quieter, rounder, full of that melodic, slightly stubborn edge that still somehow sounded like kindness.

Your heart stuttered at the sound. It shouldn't have been enough to shake you—but it did.

Because you knew that voice.

You had never heard it in real life, but you had felt it in every story, every bedtime memory told secondhand by Conner or one of the older kids. You had imagined it a thousand different ways. But never like this. Never this real.

Cameron.

Soft, measured footsteps descended the staircase, lighter than Cole's. They landed with careful rhythm—like someone who'd learned how to move gently through spaces, like someone who thought more often than he spoke.

He came into view slowly, like time itself was pausing to let you see him properly.

He looked young—so heartbreakingly young. His dark hair was a soft mess, flopping lazily across his forehead, and his eyes were a pale, luminous shade of your own, wide and blinking in the morning light. He wore a loose green sweater that nearly swallowed him, the sleeves tugged down past his wrists, making him look smaller than he was. There was still sleep in his eyes, confusion pulling faint lines across his brow as he adjusted to the scene before him.

And then his gaze landed on you.

He stopped on the final step, his body going still, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared—not at the room, not at his siblings—but only at you.

You and Cole, locked in that quiet, reverent embrace.

His lips parted slightly, but the breath caught in his throat.

His expression fractured into disbelief.

His eyes—so open, so heartbreakingly clear—filled with something indescribable.

And then, in a voice so faint it nearly disappeared into the quiet...

"...Pa?"

It was barely more than a whisper.

But it cracked something in you.

The way he said it—it sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for years, too sacred to speak aloud, too painful to hope for.

You turned to him slowly, your hand still resting gently on Cole's back, and extended your other hand toward your youngest boy, your heart in your throat.

"Hi, Cameron," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

He blinked, once, then again, and his lower lip began to tremble. You could see it happening behind his eyes—a battle of hope and fear, of disbelief crashing against something buried too deep to name.

Corra moved beside him, her hand a comforting presence at the center of his back. "It's real," she said, her voice gentle, as though speaking too loud might break him. "He's really here."

That was all it took.

Cameron took one tentative step.

Then another.

And then all at once, he was running.

He sprinted across the hallway in a blur, his feet barely making a sound as he closed the distance between you, his arms already outstretched.

Cole stepped back just in time as Cameron collided into you, arms flinging around your waist, his face burying into your chest with the sheer force of a boy trying to make up for lost time in a single second.

You wrapped your arms around him immediately, pressing him to you with everything you had. His body shook with quiet sobs, his fingers gripping your sides through your shirt as he clung to you like he might never get another chance.

"I missed you," he choked out, voice muffled and raw, breaking in the middle. "I missed you so much..."

"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice catching against the weight of your own tears. "All of you."

You held him like you were afraid the moment might vanish—like time would come and steal him back again. Cole stood just beside you now, his arm still brushing yours, close enough to lean in again if he needed to. And there you were, surrounded by them, your boys. One tall and quiet with motor oil on his hands. One small and trembling, buried against your chest.

And in that quiet moment, in the center of a house that had gone on without you, you held them both.

For the first time in years.

For the first time ever.

Conner stood a short distance away from the scene, just outside the intimate circle of the embrace unfolding in front of him. His arms hung loosely at his sides, shoulders square but still, and his eyes—blue-gray and fathomless—were locked on the three of you. His expression was difficult to read at first—his face composed, mouth set in a line, brows resting low—but there was a storm simmering beneath the calm. You saw it in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to do something.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. But his silence said more than words could've.

He watched as. Cameron hadn't let go. He stayed pressed to your chest, clutching at your shirt like if he loosened his hold, you might vanish again. His shoulders trembled faintly, the top of his head tucked beneath your chin.

And still, Conner watched.

But it wasn't jealousy in his gaze. It wasn't anger either.

It was ache.

Because he had carried all of this—these children, this home, the weight of your absence—alone. Because he had been the one to soothe them through tears, to lift them when they fell, to tell them stories of who you were, to believe in the memory of you even when it got harder and harder to remember the sound of your laugh.

Because he had done it all—without you.

And now, here you stood, like time had gifted you back to them. Alive. Whole. Real.

It was a beautiful moment. But it trembled with tension, too—like a glass sculpture perched too close to the edge.

Then came the sound that shattered the silence: the soft, familiar creak of a door swinging open at the back of the house.

A moment later came the measured, heavy thud of boots stepping onto tile—confident, grounded, practical.

Then a voice followed, distant but distinct—gruff and sure, low like a slow river over gravel. It carried no urgency, just the casual weariness of someone returning from work.

"I'm home. Someone left the barn door open again."

You felt Conner beside you—your Conner—go rigid. Not visibly, but you sensed the shift in him. The way his breath slowed. The tension in his spine. The subtle straightening of his stance.

The voice came again—closer this time. A tone you hadn't heard, but knew, like a song you'd forgotten the lyrics to.

"Where is everybody? Cole? Cam?"

Footsteps approached with purpose, solid and familiar. The sound echoed faintly through the kitchen until, at last, he stepped into view—into the hall.

The older Conner Kent.

He emerged through the doorway, wiping grease from his fingers with an old cloth, his boots heavy with the day's labor. A dark, flannel-lined jacket hung over a fitted black T-shirt, his jeans faded and frayed at the knees. Earth clung to the soles of his boots, and his presence filled the space without even trying.

But it wasn't just the clothes. It was him.

Older. Weathered. Not broken, but worn by time in the way a tree becomes strong—scarred and rooted. There were streaks of silver threading through his hair near his temples, and faint lines carved around his eyes. A full, well-kept beard framed his jaw, adding a certain gravity to his already strong features. His frame was still powerful, still broad-shouldered and straight-backed, like he hadn't let the world bend him no matter how much it tried.

And then he saw you.

He stopped.

Dead still.

His eyes—the same eyes as your Conner's—swept the foyer, quickly taking in the scene. Cameron, still pressed into your chest. Cole, lingering at your side with wet lashes and parted lips. A version of himself standing a few feet away, wide-eyed and rigid, staring back at him like a reflection stolen from another life.

And then... you.

His gaze landed on you, and it stayed there.

You watched the recognition flood into his face—slow at first, then sharp and consuming. The way his eyes widened slightly, the way his lips parted like he was about to speak and forgot how. The way his entire body shifted, not back, but forward, drawn in by something primal.

"...You," he breathed.

His voice was quieter now. Hollowed out by disbelief. There was no anger in it—only awe, raw and trembling beneath a shell of hard-earned restraint.

You nodded slowly, your throat thick, your heart pounding as you echoed softly, "Yeah. It's me."

Time itself seemed to fold in on the space between you.

The older Conner stood there, unmoving but completely undone behind his eyes. You could see it all—the memories rising like ghosts, the years without you, the nights spent aching for answers, the weight of fatherhood that never let up. And now, here you were, alive and real, looking at him with the same love he had carried like a burden for decades.

And behind you, your Conner stared at his future.

He saw the lines etched by sleepless nights, the stiff spine from too many years of standing alone, the shoulders grown broader from carrying four children's pain. He saw what he would become—who he had to become—if you never made it back.

And Conner—the older one—looked into his past. The man he used to be. The man who still loved you. Who never stopped.

THE SILENCE that fell over the room was suffocating—thick and unmoving, like the air had congealed into something heavy enough to crush lungs. No one dared to speak. No one even shifted. The overhead fan continued its slow, methodical spin above them, and the ticking of the clock on the wall marched on—both sounds suddenly deafening in the stillness, in the gravity of what had just unfolded.

Older Conner remained rooted in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, one hand still gripping the grease-stained rag he'd carried in, forgotten. His eyes were locked onto you—hard and unblinking—as if the mere act of looking at you took everything he had. His chest rose and fell in deliberate, restrained movements. But there was nothing steady about him. You could feel the tremor beneath his stillness, the tension vibrating through the air like electricity before a storm. His heartbeat wasn't just fast—it was furious, a silent percussion you swore you could feel thudding through the floor beneath your feet.

He was caught between two instincts—run to you, or run from you.

His gaze shifted, breaking from yours for only a moment as it scanned his children.

Cameron still clung to your side, arms wrapped tight around your waist, his head buried into your chest like a boy who hadn't aged past the moment you'd vanished from his life. Cole stood just beside you, still trying to stay composed but visibly shaken, eyes flickering between the two versions of Conner—his brain struggling to reconcile the man who raised him with the man who had suddenly returned.

Corra and Casey stood apart, closer to the staircase, but the anxiety radiating off of them was palpable. Corra's hands were clenched in front of her, as if holding herself still would somehow keep the moment from fracturing further. Casey stood like a soldier—tall, square-shouldered, resolute—but his jaw was tight, his hands curling slightly at his sides.

Older Conner's eyes landed on him last.

And that's when the question finally left his lips—scraped raw and hoarse, like it hurt to speak.

"...What did you do?"

There was no awe in his voice. No joy. Just the brittle edge of disbelief laced with an old, festering pain.

His gaze darkened, narrowed. "How is this possible?" His voice hardened. "How is he—how are they—here?"

Casey didn't back down.

"I brought them," he said simply, each word measured and unflinching. "From the past."

Older Conner blinked. Hard. His body flinched like the words physically struck him. "You what?"

"I used a time tether," Casey said, eyes never leaving his father's. "Zatanna helped me. I found her, convinced her. It took weeks. It was dangerous. But it worked."

"You used magic—" Conner cut him off, his voice rising like a thunderclap. "You tampered with the timeline? With—him?"

He jabbed a shaking hand in your direction. The word stuck in his throat, the emotion behind it too thick to swallow.

This wasn't fury born from arrogance—it was anguish. It was the terror of a man who had spent years surviving loss, only to have that wound reopened.

"You don't understand what you've done," he continued, his voice cracking, his hands beginning to tremble. "The timeline—our lives—the world—everything we've fought for—he—"

"He was going to die," Casey snapped, his voice rising now to match his father's. "You both were. Olympian went back to their time. We were losing. I wasn't going to wait around and let it happen again."

"You had no right!" Conner shouted, taking a step forward, his face twisted in disbelief and betrayal.

"I had every right," Casey barked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You weren't the only one who lost him. I did. We all did. I saw a chance to save him—and you. And I took it."

A breathless silence settled again—this one different. Not suffocating, but shell-shocked.

Older Conner stood completely still, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched. His chest was rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths, like the storm inside him was trying to break loose.

And then, his gaze drifted back to you.

His eyes softened—barely—but it was enough for you to see it. The break. The crack in the armor he'd spent years welding together.

"I buried you once," he said quietly, voice like gravel. "I carried your body. I had to tell them you weren't coming back. I've lived every single day knowing what it's like to wake up without you. I can't..." his voice wavered, "I can't do that again."

You opened your mouth to speak—to tell him you weren't going anywhere. That this was different. That it wasn't some illusion, some cosmic fluke.

But you never got the chance.

In a single, jagged motion, he turned on his heel. The rag slipped from his hand and fell to the floor like a shed skin.

The sound of his boots echoed down the hallway, hard and fast, the air behind him thick with grief and fury.

The back door flung open with a sharp click and then—

SLAM.

The screen door swung shut behind him with a final, violent rattle, and he was gone.

Gone like he had been trained to disappear. Like pain had taught him that walking away was the only way to survive it.

The silence left behind was deafening.

Casey stood frozen, his chest heaving slightly, his face a war between guilt and defiance. His hands shook, though he clenched them tight, determined not to let anyone see.

Corra turned away slightly, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach like she was trying to contain the swell of emotion rising in her throat.

Cameron stayed pressed against you, eyes glassy and scared, small fingers tangled in your shirt as if the slamming door had threatened to take you with it.

You stared at the door.

The space he had filled. The silence he left behind.

And you knew, without question, what needed to happen next.

You'd have to go to him. You'd have to find the man behind that wall of pain and time.

But not yet.

You'd give him the space to breathe, to break, to feel what he needed to feel.

Because when you went to him—you wanted him to be ready.

And you'd be there, waiting. For him.

THE FRONT door creaked faintly behind him as Younger Conner stepped out, letting it close with a soft click that was swallowed quickly by the open air. The Kansas morning wrapped around him like a memory—warm, slightly humid, tinged with the scent of rich soil and sun-warmed grass. The sky above was a canvas of soft gold and pale blue, the early sun stretching its light across the land in long, honeyed streaks that dappled the edges of the farmhouse and the worn gravel driveway.

He stood still for a moment, letting the sounds of the farm settle into him. Birds chirping lazily from the tree line, the occasional buzz of a bee passing too close, and the rhythmic clink of metal tools from near the barn—deliberate, steady, unhurried. He followed the noise with his eyes and found him.

His older self.

Just past the barn doors, Older Conner was crouched beside the weathered frame of a long-retired red tractor, its paint chipped and dulled by time. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle and sun-worn skin. He was focused on tightening a stubborn bolt, muttering under his breath when the wrench slipped, and then tightening it again like his life depended on the motion. Like if he kept doing, he wouldn't have to feel.

Younger Conner took a slow step forward, gravel crunching lightly under his boots. He hesitated, watching.

The man in front of him was undeniably him, yet not. His frame was heavier with time—stronger, yes, but slower, steadier. His once-coal black hair now held thick streaks of silver, especially around the temples. His beard was full and salt-and-pepper, neatly trimmed, but aged him even more than the years had. And his face—hardened. The youthful sharpness of it had been carved into something more stoic, more weary. Every line etched by stress, by grief. By you.

Because now Conner could see it.

What Corra had meant.

He wasn't just seeing a version of himself that had grown older. He was seeing a version that had grown lonelier.

There was a weight in every movement, a heaviness in the way Older Conner stood, in the way his brow furrowed even when he wasn't speaking. He didn't move like someone carrying responsibilities.

He moved like someone carrying a void.

And that void had a shape.

Your shape.

Younger Conner exhaled quietly, then finally stepped closer, his tone light—gentle. "You're really giving that bolt hell."

Older Conner didn't glance up. He gave the bolt one final turn, tested it with a nudge of his thumb, then reached for a different tool.

"You don't get an old machine to keep running by taking it easy," he said, his voice low and rough. "Everything worth keeping takes effort."

Younger Conner didn't crowd him. He leaned against the edge of the barn doorframe, arms folded, gaze soft as he watched his future self in silence.

Time passed between them—not empty, but charged. The quiet wasn't awkward. It was thick with understanding neither of them had the words for yet.

"I saw the photos," Conner finally said. "In the hallway. I saw the point where he stopped being in them."

Older Conner's hand paused on the wrench. Just for a second. His fingers tightened, his knuckles whitening. But he didn't turn.

Younger Conner swallowed and kept going. "I didn't get it at first. I thought maybe it was just... the way things played out. That people drift, or something happened. But I get it now. What it must've done to you. What it meant."

At that, Older Conner finally straightened. He didn't speak immediately—just looked out across the open fields beyond the barn, where wheat was beginning to ripple beneath a light breeze. His shoulders rose and fell once before he said anything.

"He died twelve years ago," he murmured. "Felt like the world cracked down the middle."

Younger Conner stayed still, barely breathing.

"One minute, he was there," Older Conner continued, voice even rougher now. "Standing in front of us, glowing. Burning brighter than anything I'd ever seen. Pushing back everything dark that wanted to swallow us. The next minute..."

His jaw flexed. His eyes closed.

"Gone."

Younger Conner lowered his head, letting the silence speak for him.

"He wasn't just my husband," Older Conner said, voice quieter. "He was my best friend. My partner. My reason to keep going. He reminded me who I was, when the world tried to make me forget. I didn't build a life. I built one with him. And then—"

He stopped, then gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

"I never planned for what came after."

Younger Conner looked down at his own hands, his voice soft but sincere. "I wouldn't have either."

Older Conner turned his head just slightly. Their eyes met—his older gaze heavy with memory, grief, and a sharp understanding. He looked at his younger self not with disappointment, but with knowing.

"You will," he said. "If you love him like I did—do—you'll understand. Every inch of it. Every price. And it'll still be worth it."

"I already do," Younger Conner replied immediately, without hesitation. "That's why I came out here. I didn't want to argue. I didn't come to question what you've done. I just wanted you to know... we're not here to reopen anything. We're here because we still have a chance."

Older Conner finally turned to face him fully. His arms lowered. His face—still guarded—softened just a fraction.

"It's not the wounds I'm afraid of," he said after a moment. "It's the ghosts. They don't scream. They whisper. All day. All night. And when you live with them long enough... they're the only voices you remember."

Younger Conner stepped off the frame of the barn and took a slow step forward, stopping just a few feet away.

"Well... he's not a ghost today," he said gently. "He's standing in that house, holding our boys, breathing, smiling. Right now. We don't have to imagine him. We don't have to remember."

Older Conner stared at him.

Not as a man looking into a mirror.

But as someone looking at the possibility of healing—and being terrified of it.

And yet... his expression shifted. The tension in his brow loosened. His hands relaxed at his sides. His eyes shimmered faintly—not with tears, but with life beginning to seep into old cracks.

He gave a single, slow nod.

"No," he said, voice barely more than a whisper. "He's not."

And for the first time in over a decade... the door inside him began to creak open.

THE SCREEN door groaned open, its hinges protesting against the morning breeze as two sets of footsteps crossed the threshold—measured, unhurried, in sync without effort. One set was lighter, younger, familiar with movement yet not heavy with burden. The other was older, deeper, each step resonating with the weight of time and memory. The footsteps traveled into the warmth of the house, where the scent of home clung to the walls like something sacred—sizzling eggs, golden toast, the faint sugary perfume of cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven.

You sat in the heart of it all—at the center of the farmhouse kitchen table, surrounded by the world you thought you'd never see again.

The table was crowded, alive with voices and food and the kind of chaos only a well-loved family can create. Casey was posted at the far end, animatedly cutting into a towering stack of pancakes as he gestured through a half-told story. Corra, effortlessly comfortable, sat sideways in her chair with one leg folded underneath her, nonchalantly stealing berries from her twin brother's plate. Cole batted her hand away with a groan but didn't actually move his plate, smirking all the same.

And then there was Cameron.

Still shaking off the sleep in his bones, he leaned drowsily into your side, head tilted ever so slightly against your shoulder, letting your arm rest around him like it had never left. His plate sat barely touched in front of him, and your other hand held a mug of coffee, warm against your fingers. His presence was quiet, but solid—anchored. Like the world had finally stopped shifting beneath his feet.

You smiled, soft and full. The kind of smile that only came when something lost had been found.

In that moment, to anyone looking, it was as if you had never left. As if time had stitched itself back into place, no seams, no gaps. Just home.

Then came the creak of the door again.

The hush before a storm—or something gentler.

The footfalls crossed the threshold and stopped just inside the hallway entrance.

And slowly, instinctively, the room turned.

It wasn't planned or rehearsed. It was reflex. Every face shifted toward the doorway, every conversation dropped off mid-sentence. Eyes moved like a silent current toward the figures now standing at the edge of the kitchen.

Younger Conner stood there first—his frame taut, alert, his hands loosely clenched at his sides. His gaze was calm but watchful, as if bracing for a ripple he couldn't quite predict. And beside him, towering just slightly more, was Older Conner.

Bearded. Weathered. Steel-eyed. But different now.

Softer.

There was a stillness in him that hadn't been there before. A kind of fragile peace resting in the space where pain had lived for too long.

The warmth of the kitchen dimmed into quiet as every pair of eyes took him in. Your children didn't flinch. They didn't recoil. But they didn't speak either. They waited.

And then—his eyes found you.

Time didn't freeze, but it bent. Just enough.

You held his gaze across the expanse of the room, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. He didn't look away. He didn't try to guard himself like before. He simply stood—watching you, breathing you in, the faintest tremble in his exhale betraying everything he felt but couldn't yet say.

His eyes traveled the room slowly, resting on each of his children—Casey, Corra, Cole, and Cameron—all of them alive, all of them together. And then back to you.

And then... he stepped forward.

"I owe some apologies," he said, voice low and sandpapered but no longer clenched in fury. "Especially to you, Casey."

The words carried weight. More than just acknowledgment—they were a surrender.

Casey, midway through a bite of pancakes, paused and looked up, lips parted. He didn't speak right away. He watched his father with quiet caution, waiting to hear the rest.

Older Conner shifted his weight, hands twitching slightly at his sides, as if speaking the truth was harder than lifting mountains.

"You did what you thought was right. Because you love him. Because you love us." His eyes flicked briefly toward you, then back. "I was too angry to see it. I didn't want to believe anyone had to make that choice. But I understand now. You just didn't want to keep losing the people you love."

Casey lowered his fork. His nod was small, but it was enough. "I didn't want to lose you either," he said quietly.

Conner swallowed hard.

His gaze turned to you.

"And you..." His voice faltered—just a little. But he pressed on. "I didn't mean to walk out on you. I didn't know what to say when I saw you. I still don't. I've been angry for so long. Not at you. At everything. At myself."

You rose slowly from your chair, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floorboards. The table faded away. The kitchen faded away.

All that existed was the space between you.

"I understand," you said, voice gentle, your eyes never leaving his.

He nodded—barely. His jaw clenched again, fighting for composure. But the storm behind his eyes had calmed. The years between you had dulled, just for a moment, enough for love to find a way through the cracks.

And then—

"Does this mean Dad won't yell at me if I skip dishes today?" Cameron piped up, his voice light, teasing, hopeful.

There was a beat of silence—just one.

Then laughter burst across the table. Rich, free, and warm. Corra snorted into her drink. Cole rolled his eyes. Casey grinned and tossed a berry at Cameron, who caught it in his mouth with a triumphant grin.

Older Conner shook his head, a small huff escaping him that was almost—almost—a laugh.

"Nice try," he said.

But then he looked at you again.

And this time, the pain was still there—but so was the healing. Something in his gaze had changed. A door had opened. The shadows weren't gone, but the light had found a way in.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

THE GOLDEN haze of afternoon had given way to the soft, amber tones of early evening, casting long, sleepy shadows across the Kent farmhouse. Outside, the fields glowed like sunlit oceans of wheat, swaying in a gentle breeze that whispered through open windows and carried with it the scent of tilled earth, honeysuckle, and late-summer warmth.

Inside, the house pulsed with a kind of quiet magic—not from powers or fate, but from the simple, sacred rhythm of family. It was the rhythm of a home in motion, familiar and foreign all at once. The sound of your children laughing, the clatter of dishes, the echo of music humming faintly from a speaker somewhere in the background—it filled the rooms like sunlight, chasing away the years you'd missed with something far more real.

And you'd spent most of the day watching—drinking in the sight of them not as soldiers or missions or headlines, but as your kids. Flesh and blood. Heart and soul. People who had grown up without you but still, somehow, carried pieces of you inside them.

Casey was every bit the soldier you'd heard about—calm, efficient, sharp-eyed. But beneath that perfect posture and tactical precision was a young man who struggled to turn his brain off. He filled every spare moment with action: reviewing data logs, drafting new patrol routes, analyzing mission reports with all the seriousness of a general. You'd watched him furrow his brow over a report at lunch, the others teasing him for it, and you'd felt both pride and heartbreak.

Corra was a whirlwind wrapped in contradictions. Wild, witty, full of opinions and utterly uninterested in being told no. She spoke her mind like a weapon and laughed like a firecracker. But then you'd seen her disappear into the corner of the porch later, sketchpad in hand, drawing with a delicacy that didn't match her brash energy. Faces. Always faces. She didn't want anyone to see them, but you caught her looking at you once as she quietly flipped to a new page.

Cole—gods, he was a handful. The sarcasm practically leaked from his pores, and his arguments with Corra were already legendary. But there was depth behind the bravado. He worked with his hands, disappearing for hours into the barn or the garage, reengineering things that didn't need fixing just because he could. He didn't brag about it, but there was a tenderness hidden in the things he built. You noticed the way he followed Cameron with his eyes, always a few paces behind, pretending not to hover. But he did.

And Cameron. Already more attuned to emotion than most adults. He didn't say much, but his silences weren't empty. They were listening. Feeling. You caught him once standing by the window, fingers trailing the frame, just watching the sunset like it was speaking to him. Later, Corra told you he kept a box of dried flowers under his bed, collected from every place he'd been. A silent collection of beauty gathered in the cracks between missions. A quiet archive of everything he'd survived.

You'd missed so much.

But now, with the sky bleeding orange and lavender and the scent of dinner curling through the hallways, you were here. You were part of it.

By the time the sun had slipped behind the hills, the house had become a warm cacophony of clatter, chaos, and comfort.

Corra and Cole were currently locked in a full-on wrestling match in the middle of the living room rug, shrieking with laughter as limbs tangled.

"Say it!" Corra shouted, pinning Cole's arm behind his back. "Say I'm stronger!"

"NEVER!" Cole barked back, red-faced and thrashing beneath her grip, his voice muffled by the couch cushion.

"Say it or I'm gonna make you eat that stupid sock you call a beanie!"

"IT'S VINTAGE!"

In the hallway, Cameron guided Younger Conner through the den, stopping in front of a long shelf lined with trophies, medals, and keepsakes. "That one's from the peace summit on New Genesis," he said softly, tapping a glass orb filled with silvery dust. "I helped stop a civil war by translating emotion through shared dreams. No violence. Just... understanding."

Younger Conner blinked. "You're telling me you pulled off intergalactic therapy?"

Cameron grinned shyly. "Dad says it made him cry. He denies it, though."

"Hell, I believe it. That's some next-level empathy, kid."

Meanwhile, the kitchen had become its own warm ecosystem.

The aroma of garlic and rosemary drifted thick through the air as Older Conner stood over the stove, focused and precise, stirring a dark, bubbling sauce with military attention. He wore an old, grease-smudged apron, and the corners of his mouth twitched every time the oven timer dinged. The clink of metal utensils, the low sizzle from the roast, and the occasional mutter under his breath filled the space.

Beside him, Casey stood at the counter, chopping carrots like he was disarming a bomb, sneaking glances at his father between every cut.

"You don't have to hover," Conner muttered.

"You burn the bread every time," Casey replied, sliding a tray toward the oven.

"That happened once."

"Three times. M'gann's rations remember."

Older Conner scoffed. "You wanna cook?"

"Not unless we want tactical failure by dessert."

That's when you stepped in.

You dried your hands on a dish towel as you entered, the glow of the kitchen lights catching in your eyes. You paused for just a moment, leaning against the counter, taking it all in—Conner and Casey side-by-side, sharing quiet jabs and glances, moving together in a rhythm only built through years of love and resilience.

"I figured I'd come help," you said, casual, your voice soft but certain as you stepped forward.

Both heads turned toward you.

Older Conner met your gaze. There was a beat—a pause in the air thick enough to press against your chest—but he nodded slowly, then motioned to a colander of washed vegetables.

"You can prep the salad," he said. His tone was gruff, but there was no edge to it. Just something warm. "And keep Casey from over-engineering the dressing."

"Hey," Casey said, smirking. "Don't knock molecular gastronomy."

You rolled your eyes with a smile, sliding in beside them and reaching for a knife. The cutting board thudded gently beneath your hands, the simple rhythm of dinner prep grounding you more than anything else had since arriving.

And there you were.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with the man who had carried your memory for over a decade, and the son you didn't get to raise—but already admired.

It wasn't a dramatic moment. No speeches. No big declarations.

It was chopping lettuce. Stirring vinaigrette. Passing a spoon. Sharing space.

And in that quiet, unremarkable task—amid the scents of rosemary and warm bread, the bubbling laughter from the living room, and the sound of your children being home—you weren't just a guest in their lives anymore.

You were back.

Not as a ghost. Not as a memory.

As part of it.

A father. A partner. A piece of the family they had tried so hard to keep whole.

THE OVEN let out a low, steady hum, its warmth bleeding into the kitchen like a soft heartbeat. The scent of rosemary, roasted vegetables, garlic, and slow-cooked meat hung thick in the air—comforting, familiar, and grounding. It mingled with the golden glow of early evening, spilling through the kitchen window and bathing everything in soft, amber light. The room, once bustling with chatter and overlapping voices, had settled into a rare, well-earned stillness.

It wasn't silence that felt empty. It felt full—weighted with all the things said, unsaid, and finally starting to heal.

Somewhere deeper in the house, the distant sounds of life carried on. From the living room, laughter erupted, followed by the unmistakable thump of someone—likely Cole—falling off the couch again, accompanied by Corra's triumphant shout. Muffled music buzzed from Cameron's room, underscored by the soft cadence of conversation filtering faintly through the hallway.

The house was alive. A heartbeat. A home.

But here, in the kitchen, it was just the two of you.

Older Conner stood across from you, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his posture relaxed but laced with something deeper. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows of a well-worn flannel shirt, and his beard caught the kitchen light in thin streaks of silver and warmth. His gaze wasn't on you—not directly. He stared at the pot simmering on the stovetop, but his eyes were far away, caught in memories too fragile to voice yet.

You stood at the cutting board, the gentle thunk of your knife slicing through cucumber the only real sound in the room besides the hum of the oven and the faint tick of the wall clock. You weren't really paying attention to the salad anymore. Your focus kept drifting to him. The silence between you was thick—not tense, but tender. Like standing on the edge of a moment neither of you wanted to rush.

Then, quietly, you broke it.

"Casey's... remarkable," you said, your voice soft. "I've only been here a day and already I can see it. How grounded he is. How sharp. How deeply he loves all of you. I can't believe I missed getting to watch him become that."

Conner didn't answer right away, but the corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, or maybe a memory passing through him.

"He always had that fire," he murmured. "Even as a kid. He wanted to fix things. Protect people. He didn't wait to be given permission—he stepped into the role. Always two steps ahead. That part..." he looked up, finally meeting your eyes, "that part's all you."

You looked down, heart swelling and aching at once. "He has your strength. And your stillness. He sees everything."

Conner's gaze softened. "He's ours."

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening. "I still remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified. J'onn thought it was a mutation at first, something unstable—because I wasn't supposed to be able to carry. And then... suddenly, I was. With him."

Conner straightened, the memory flickering like a light inside him. He stepped forward, closer, his voice low and cracked with a kind of reverence.

"That day..." he said, eyes fixed on yours, "was one of the happiest of my life."

You blinked, surprised by the conviction in his voice.

"I remember you coming into the Cave," he went on, quieter now. "You'd just had that check-up with J'onn and Bruce. You walked straight toward me, but your hands were shaking. You didn't say anything at first. And then you did. You whispered it. And for a second, I couldn't breathe."

He gave a faint, breathless laugh. "Like the world just... stopped. Like all the war, all the missions, all the noise had quieted to give me that one moment."

You said nothing, afraid if you did, you'd lose your hold on the emotions flooding your chest.

"I used to talk to him," he continued. "Every night. While you slept. Even when there was nothing to feel yet. I'd press my hand to your stomach and tell him how much I loved you. How we were going to make this work. Give him a life that felt safe. That felt like home."

A long, quiet beat.

"And for a while... we did."

You closed your eyes, drawing in a slow breath to keep yourself steady. But the guilt settled over you like an old, familiar ache.

"I'm sorry I left you to do it alone," you whispered, voice barely audible.

Conner turned toward you fully then, his expression solid, eyes bright with a kind of fire that hadn't dimmed, even with time.

"You didn't leave," he said, firm and immediate. "You fought. You died protecting us. Protecting them. You didn't walk away. You didn't run. You saved us."

He paused, stepping closer until he was beside you, until the warmth from him was real and close and steady.

"You just didn't come back."

The words struck deep—soft, painful, but true. And somehow, they brought a measure of peace.

You looked at him then—not as a memory or a scar, but as a man. The boy who once kissed you in the rain behind the Tower. The father who had raised your children without you. The soldier who carried the weight of grief like it was armor.

And the man who never stopped loving you.

He reached out, his hand finding yours on the counter. His palm was calloused, rough at the edges, but warm—solid in a way that made you want to lean into him and never let go.

His fingers closed around yours.

"But now," he said softly, "you're here. Even if it's borrowed time. Even if the world pulls you back again... I needed this. I needed you. Just once more."

You blinked fast, the heat behind your eyes threatening to spill over. "I needed it too."

Neither of you moved after that.

The soft tick-tick-tick of the oven timer was the only sound that lingered in the kitchen after your quiet exchange with Older Conner. It filled the air like a metronome to your thoughts—slow, constant, reminding you both of the fragile thread holding this moment together. The kind of stillness that comes after an emotional tide—when words have done their part, and all that remains is breath.

And then, from the next room, a low crackle broke through the silence.

The stereo—old, slightly dusty, clearly temperamental—whirred to life with a soft hiss before spilling music into the house. A slow, soulful tune emerged from its speakers, all faded vinyl warmth and aching melody. It was the kind of song made for twilight moments—the ones that exist between conversation and silence. The kind that wraps around you like old sheets and distant memories.

You knew the song. Not just in the way people know lyrics, but in the way it lived in your bones.

You'd danced to it once. In a different kitchen, maybe. Or a bedroom with the lights low. Barefoot. Laughing. Wrapped in his arms while the world spun quietly outside your window.

And now, it played again. Like the universe had rewound the clock for just a little while.

You turned slightly, eyes drawn toward the soft hum of the music bleeding in from the living room. A smile tugged at your lips—nostalgic, tentative, real.

Before you could speak, Conner shifted beside you.

And then... his hand reached out.

Palm open. Steady. Offering—not demanding. A quiet invitation, spoken not through words but through the weight in his gaze. A gaze that held grief and memory, but more than anything else... longing.

"Dance with me?" he asked. Barely louder than a whisper.

Your heart caught, your breath stuttered—but only for a second.

"Yes," you breathed.

You slid your fingers into his. His hand enveloped yours, warm and steady, and he guided you gently—out of the kitchen's narrow space, toward the center of the room, where the worn hardwood caught the fading golden light just right.

He pulled you close—not roughly, not even with urgency. Just close.

The space between your bodies vanished. His arm slipped around your back, drawing you in, while his other hand rested against the back of your neck, fingertips brushing your hair like he couldn't believe you were really there. You felt his chest rise against yours, then fall in a quiet, steady rhythm.

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his collarbone without thinking. The scent of him—earth, spice, the faintest trace of engine grease—surrounded you like an embrace all its own.

He started to sway—slow, careful, as if he were relearning how to move with you. One step, then another. Barely dancing, really. Just holding. Rocking. Breathing.

You could hear his heartbeat beneath your cheek. Slow. Steady. Anchoring.

And neither of you said a word.

There was no need.

Because in that moment, it wasn't about what had been said—it was about what hadn't. About the years that lived between you, and how, somehow, you had found your way back to each other across the ruins of all that was lost.

It wasn't romantic, not in the way the movies tried to sell it.

It was real.

In the doorway, unseen by either of you, four figures appeared.

Casey was first—leaning just enough to see. His brow furrowed at the sight, then softened. Corra stepped beside him, lips parted, one hand lifting to her chest, as though something deep in her had cracked open. Behind them, Cole folded his arms and muttered, "You guys are so sappy," but didn't move. Didn't blink.

And Cameron... Cameron just smiled. Quietly. Brightly. Like something unspoken in his chest had clicked back into place.

They all watched for a few seconds longer—long enough to feel it. The gravity in the room. The history. The ache and the healing. And then, like shadows, they retreated—silent and reverent.

In the hallway, they found Younger Conner leaning against the wall, arms crossed and casual, though his eyes betrayed far more than his posture suggested.

"What?" he asked, eyebrow raised, tone half-curious, half-defensive.

Corra smirked, nudging him playfully. "You still got moves."

Casey chuckled under his breath. "And a vice grip. He's holding Pa like if he lets go, the world might end again."

Younger Conner didn't respond right away.

Because he'd seen it, too. Felt it.

Not just the love—but the depth of it. The need. The ache. The sacredness of a bond that had endured time, tragedy, and death itself.

And somewhere, behind the glimmer in his eyes, a thought took root.

I don't ever want to have to hold him like that.

Not because he couldn't—but because he didn't want to know what it felt like to lose you.

Back in the kitchen, the song played on.

The light dimmed further, gold fading into soft, muted lavender. The house exhaled around you. And you... you were still there. In his arms. Swallowed by the melody, grounded by the weight of his embrace.

He held you like a man who had been forced to let go once before.

And this time, he didn't plan to loosen his grip again.

You remained nestled against Older Conner's chest, your cheek pressed to the solid warmth of him as the soft song spun through the kitchen like a slow-motion dream. It wrapped around the two of you like a shared memory made real again, each note more tender than the last. The overhead lights glowed low and golden, casting a halo over the moment—catching on polished countertops, reflecting off the glass of the cabinets, and dancing across the windowpanes. Outside, the horizon had dipped fully into twilight, stars just beginning to pierce the deepening sky.

But in here, all you could see was him.

His arms tightened around you, a subtle but undeniable shift in pressure—as if every inch of him still feared this was a trick, that if he loosened his hold, you'd vanish like smoke. You leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up toward him. His eyes met yours immediately—clear, piercing, ocean-deep. They were older now. Worn. Carrying a thousand battles and years of grief. But they were still his.

Still the same blue that once saw straight through you.

You reached up slowly, your fingers finding the edge of his flannel shirt, curling into the fabric for reassurance as your heart thudded wildly inside your chest. You studied him—every crease at the corner of his eyes, every fleck of gray in his beard. Your thumb brushed gently along his jaw.

"Conner..." you whispered, your voice delicate, shaped by emotion too large to name.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

His head dipped just slightly, his breath brushing across your lips. The space between you narrowed, impossibly fragile. You leaned forward, your eyes drifting closed, the promise of a kiss hanging in the air like a heartbeat away.

And then—the world ruptured.

A deafening CRACK shattered the silence as the kitchen window exploded inward in a vortex of burning violet light. The force slammed through the glass, through the wall, a wave of raw, corrupted cosmic energy that howled with an unnatural pitch. It wasn't just fire or wind or impact—it was like the universe itself had been ripped open and hurled through your home.

You didn't even have time to scream.

Before your mind could register what had happened, Older Conner's body was in motion.

He moved with supernatural speed—faster than thought—shoving you behind him, arms outstretched, every muscle tensed with primal instinct. The blast struck him squarely, flaring violet against his back as it detonated, engulfing you both in the eruption.

The kitchen imploded.

You were airborne before you even realized it, flung like a ragdoll through cabinets, walls, through everything. A chorus of wood splintering and glass screaming filled your ears, followed by the deafening crash as your bodies blew through drywall and collapsed into the living room in a hail of dust and debris.

You landed hard—shoulder-first into the floor, a flare of pain shooting through your ribs. You hit and rolled, instinctively curling in on yourself, hands flying to shield your stomach, your child. A heartbeat later, Conner's body slammed down beside you, skidding across the floor in a haze of broken wood and pulverized plaster. He didn't cry out—just grunted, arms still reaching in your direction even as a beam collapsed across his back.

The music cut off mid-note.

Silence fell for a beat—shattered only by the electrical hiss of sparking wires, the groan of settling walls, and the ringing in your ears.

And then—

"Dad!"

"Pa?!"

"Get them out—NOW!"

Familiar voices. Panic. Movement.

You blinked against the dust, vision swimming. Everything hurt. Your fingers flexed against the floor, and you tried to lift yourself, but your limbs felt heavy, disconnected.

Then hands—warm, frantic, familiar—were on you.

Casey. Cole. Corra. Cameron.

They were there, clawing through debris, lifting splintered beams, tearing apart the wreckage with desperation only children fighting to save their parents could possess.

You coughed, the motion sending a wave of pain through your side. Your mouth tasted of dust and blood. Through blurred vision, you turned—Conner—

He stirred beside you with a low groan, his arms still outstretched as if they'd never stopped trying to shield you. Blood streamed from a cut on his temple, his flannel torn, body covered in plaster dust and fragments of wood. But his head snapped up the second he found you, his eyes wide, terrified.

"Are you okay?" he rasped, already reaching.

You nodded through the pain, voice hoarse. "Y-Yeah... I think so—just—"

You were cut off by the sharp CRACK of impact as Younger Conner burst through the wreckage like a comet, his body glowing faintly with energy, his fists sparking with raw power. His eyes scanned the carnage, then found you, then the gaping hole where the kitchen wall had once been.

"What the hell was that?!" he shouted, voice shaking with fury. He dropped to one knee, hands flying to the broken pieces trapping you and Older Conner, tossing them aside like they weighed nothing.

Then, a second blast fired.

BOOM.

It scorched across the far wall, narrowly missing the roof as it seared a molten path from one end of the room to the other, punching through family photos, memories—everything.

The ground shuddered. Lights flickered.

Violet light bled through the hole like an open artery, flickering in rhythmic pulses that made the shadows twitch and the air hum with cosmic distortion.

Older Conner reached for you, his grip firm, anchoring. His hand slid into yours like it had always belonged there, and he pulled you to your feet in one swift, protective motion. There was a new urgency in his eyes—a fire that hadn't burned this bright in years. He held onto you like if he let go now, he might lose you to the stars again.

Younger Conner stood beside him, muscles coiled like a loaded weapon. His jaw was locked, fists clenched at his sides, and his body trembled not with fear—but fury. Raw and barely restrained. His eyes, once soft when they looked at you, now burned like twin supernovae fixed on the source of this chaos.

Behind you, the sound of movement was quick, clean, trained. Casey's voice barked commands low and sharp as he tossed weapons and tech out of a hidden drawer, each of your children moving like instinct had taken over. Corra rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles, energy thrumming at her fingertips. Cole moved in precision—fluid and fast—pulling twin energy blades into being with a flick of his wrists. Cameron stood still, centered, calm—but his eyes glowed faintly, hands lifted, his power already dancing at his palms like a storm waiting to be called.

And then—that voice.

Low. Hollow. Dark.

It drifted through the shattered front wall like smoke through cracked stone.

"Come outside."

You went still. Everyone did.

That voice was carved into your bones now. Olympian.

It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even a challenge.

It was a summons.

Conner squeezed your hand once, then let go as the group moved like a unit—every step synced in silent resolve as boots thudded down the front steps and onto the ruined porch. The last light of day had vanished, consumed by storm clouds that weren't quite natural, swirling with streaks of dark violet lightning. The air itself was wrong—too heavy, too still. Like time was holding its breath.

And there he was.

Hovering above the yard, as if gravity had no hold on him. Olympian.

His black armor gleamed like obsidian in the light of the pulsing crystal embedded in his chest—deep, violet, almost alive. Each pulse sent a ripple through the air around him, distorting it like heat rising from broken asphalt. His crimson cape billowed behind him, slow and ominous, as though it were drifting through water. The very space around him warped, bent—not just visually, but spiritually. He didn't belong here.

And yet he had come.

He didn't raise his arms in threat. He didn't need to.

His voice cracked through the storm.

"I don't want them." His head tilted slightly, eyes glowing behind the helm, gaze flicking to each member of your family before returning to you. "You know why I'm here. I want you."

The words hit like a thunderclap, pressing against your ribs, stealing your breath.

You stepped forward slowly, fists clenched. "I don't even know what it is you want."

"You will," Olympian said, voice dripping with certainty. "You carry something inside you—something ancient. Buried in your blood. Power that was never meant for this world. It was stolen. And I will have it back."

A cold pressure curled in your stomach. That pull you had felt before—that strange, cosmic thrum that responded to him—grew stronger, vibrating just beneath your skin like a calling only he and you could hear. The connection was real. Tainted. Undeniable.

But you didn't waver.

Casey stepped beside you, his stance wide and grounded, arms beginning to shimmer with celestial light. "You'll have to go through all of us first."

Corra smirked, fire dancing in her hands. "Seriously. Try me."

Cole cracked his neck, blades fully drawn, the soft hum of energy ringing at his sides. "You should've stayed in whatever black hole spat you out of."

Cameron stood a step behind, quiet but unmoving. "You're not laying a single finger on him."

Younger Conner stepped forward too, voice like a blade. "If you want him," he said, chin tilted high, "you're gonna have to fight the man he loved before you ruined his life... and the man who still stands by him now."

Then, Older Conner moved up to your side—shoulders squared, body still bloodied from the blast, but steady as ever. "You attacked my home. My children. My family. That was your last mistake."

You looked at them all—your family.

Conner and Conner.

Your children, radiant and ready, no longer the little ones you'd held in your arms, but warriors now. Guardians.

And something shifted inside you.

This wasn't about mystery anymore. It wasn't about destiny or some ancient bloodline.

It was about them. About us.

About love, and legacy, and choosing not to let anyone take that away from you again.

You stepped forward, standing at the front of your family, your voice clear and sure as it cut through the still air.

"Then come and try."

Because this wasn't just a standoff.

This was the beginning of a war.

And your family had already chosen their side.

[moonlight-prose]

“look me in the eyes when you do it” with manny as you have to kill him, HEAR ME OUT!!! he gets bitten and he gets wants you to be the one to kill him. Bringing the gun to his chest with shaky hands, he tells you this wrapping his hands around yours bring the gun to his heart okay BYE

damage gets done

a/n: you wanted a sad angsty fic with this man i will deliver it. this was a dangerous ask to send in babes because i have held back on full fledged pain. but now i am happy to indulge in the absolute angst i can dish out! so to preface this, have some tissues, have a nice fluff piece (obviously not found on my blog sorry), and be prepared to cry. enjoy!

summary: he was tied to you from the first kiss. wrapped like vines around an aching heart. you just never expected his memory to haunt you - the gun in your hands marking an end to something extraordinary.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: manny alvarez x reader

warnings: BE WARNED CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD, angst, unhappy ending, death, violence, grief, trauma of losing a lover, infected plotline, tw blood, angst atop angst atop angst, (i listened to ashley johnson's rendition of through the valley. take from that what you will.)

His eyes would haunt you.

The kind of brown you’d find in the bite of an early morning mug of coffee, in the melted chocolate he found at the back of an old kitchen cabinet. The dark hue of forest floors and fallen trees and the mud that clung to filthy clothes and blood stained skin. You’d see them when you slept, burned behind tightly shut eyelids, face buried into a jacket that still smelled like those shitty cigarettes he found in an abandoned house weeks before La Muerte came to hold your hand.

He’d show up in dreams, the figment of his body beside yours in small cots and uncomfortable sleeping bags. Tricks of light beside fires that barely kept you warm. He existed in the words of those around you, his memory stained on each of your hearts. A small spark of humor to mask the pain that coursed through his chest—pressing down on shoulders that curved forward and a weary face.

The moment would remain carved into a beaten down soul, rising in the night like the faint glow of moonlight.

Stupidity was following him on a small outing, hunting for some food that would keep the group alive in the winter weeks to come. Love was fighting off infected by his side.

The gun ran out of ammo two infected ago, his knife slicing through what remained, dead brown blood dripping down the hand that clutched the handle. Knuckles pale and face stained red with the effort of battling in the cold. You were certain you fared no better, wiping the carnage from your face with the sleeve of your coat—trying not to gag at the feel of it.

“Was it worth it?” you joked, breathless and yet still alive despite it all.

He huffed, eyes rolling beneath drooped lids. “Was what worth it?”

“Disobeying orders?”

“Orders? Mierda you’re fuckin’ worse than them.”

Sighing, you tried to ignore the flare of irritation brewing at the base of your stomach. “We shouldn’t be out here by ourselves. There’s who knows how many more of those fuckers.”

“So you want us to starve?” Sliding the knife home, he checked the remaining bullets on an aged and barely working gun. “Didn’t know you were cruel like that mi alma.”

“Cállate,” you bit out, teeth digging into a curved bottom lip. But your smile was caught by the prying eyes of a man who knew you better than you loved.

How easy it felt to exist in his presence; the ease of his laughter, his snarky remarks that left you grasping for a piece of him to hold close. He was your lifeline in this world. Infection tainted the very ground you walked on, blood stained the footprints of your past, but his touch washed it away. You could remember vows whispered in the middle of the night, the cold press of jewelry against your neck lingered with every step you took by his side.

The promise to protect one another existed with ease in each breath you took.

Until the day it all ended.

“Let’s head back before we find anymore,” you called, trudging up the small path carved by two decades of people seeking safety.

Manny didn’t move, his fingers curled into a fist, face pale against the bright sun.

“Vida Mea?”

His eyes screamed everything before he could form the words on shaky lips and a thick lilted voice. The brown hue punctured by the anguish of promises he never wanted to break—vows of forever marked by the passing of people you once knew. One day La Muerte would come to claim his soul, this he knew.

He simply wished he had more time.

“Manny what’s wrong?” Rushing over to his stock still form, you reached for the hand that hung listlessly at his side. “Hey talk to me-”

He ripped his palm away, staggering back into the trunk of the tree behind him. The branches arched over your heads, blocking what sunlight raged across a clear blue sky. You wanted to press him for answers, find what changed his mood so suddenly. But a part of you knew the cruelty life could hand out—the agony you’d witnessed more times than humanly possible.

“Show it to me,” you rasped, surging close enough to catch him off guard.

“Mi alma-”

“Show me…the fucking bite Manny.”

A hand shaky and coated in more than just the insides of the infected he killed pressed to your outstretched palm, eyes glassy with what he knew might come next. He wasn’t afraid to die. He knew it would happen, an inevitable turn of fate no one could run from.

He feared what you might do after he was gone.

“Shit,” you breathed, transfixed at the sight of teeth marks indented on his skin. “W-What do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do.” The gruff response pricked open a festering wound you never knew could exist by his own hand. “It’s fucking done.”

“Manny-”

His fingers tore through unruly hair, eyes wild with the fear of all he’d been running from. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he breathed. “We were meant to have more…fuck!”

The gaping maw of your soul screamed for him to survive, for a miracle to occur and the bite to scar over. It begged for an outcome that led to anything other than this. You started to laugh, tears spilling over hot cheeks, as reality gripped you by the throat. Slowly suffocating what remained. The man you love stood a foot away, terrified to place his hands on your body—a walking death sentence that had been signed without his consent.

The least you could do was give him the choice.

“What do you want to do?”

He exhaled slow, long enough to drop time down to mere milliseconds. “Just promise me one thing mi alma.”

“Anything.”

The lifeline went flat, your heart turning to ash along the forest floor when his hand curled around the handle of his gun. Anything but that. Anything but destroying everything right down to the bottom. You always wondered what it might feel like to watch it all collapse, your life built stone by stone—fighting past unimaginable horrors.

Now you’d give anything to stop it from happened, hands gathering ash and cracked stone and the bones of a lover you shouldn’t have to bury.

“No Manny…”

His grip on your wrist felt reverent—an unbreakable connection for all that would never get to be. “Look me in the eyes when you do it.”

The sob cracked from a caved in chest, bubbling past a burning throat that wanted to scream for someone to fix this.

La Muerte stood over your shoulder, clutching your wrist in her unbreakable grip. Death was the better option, quick and painless as opposed to what began to crawl along his veins. Wrapping tight around nerves and a mind that still felt clear. He knew who you were right now, watching every expression play across the face he traced in pitch black nights. The nose he kissed and cheeks he cupped.

“Please don’t…” You gasped for air but nothing came. An empty expanse of what was never meant to be.

“It has to be you,” he whispered. “I need it to be you.”

You’d recognize the thump of his heart anywhere, yet never thought you’d feel it beneath the barrel of a gun. How strange to know someone this way. The feel of their life resting in the palm of your shaking hands; distrust nowhere to be found between two bodies that would know one another in every life. He’d find you in the next. This you were sure of. You just couldn’t fathom the idea of waiting.

“Te amo,” he said, clear and loud for the first time in his life.

The infection would spread, his body would become unfamiliar—unnatural with the vines and roots of what begged you to follow. It would be so easy to let his teeth sink into your flesh, indent his permanent mark anywhere he wished. A far better ending than this.

“I love you.” Things you should have said long ago, unspoken no longer as the world burned around you.

He smiled, eyes a mark on your soul you wouldn’t soon forget. You’d love him until the end. This you knew to be true.

The trigger pulled with sickening ease, the thump of a heart tied to your own ceasing with a deafening bang.

“Oh god,” you choked, dropping the gun in the dried grass—arms flinging around his form. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.”

Warmth seeped into your coat, staining the thick fabric a muddy red. You knew it would happen one day. You’d give up fighting, you’d finally die by the hands of that fucking infection. You just never thought you’d be alive to witness the aftermath. Manny’s hand—limp and stained with dirt buried deep in the lines of life and love—fell to your lap.

“I’ll find you,” you forced out, eyesight a blur of hot tears that spilled down blood covered cheeks. “Okay vida mea? I-I promise.”

I’ll find you.

[strawburry01]

Ain't No Love in Oklahoma

Summary: Tornado wrangler Tyler Owens and his crew find themselves on your farm as a tornado touches down

2.2 k words, nothing crazy.

“What a view,” Tyler mused as he looked out at the great country landscape unfolding below him. Oklahoma wasn’t known for hills or anything that really detracted from its flat-ness, so finding a spot like this where someone could see a far distance out into the expanse was rare. For storm chasing- it was a downright game changer. Like now, him and his motley crue of chasers there was a dark gray cloud formation starting to look interesting to the north. 

“Dude this is so great. The thumbnails are going to go crazy if we can see one from here,” Boone agreed next to him, already swinging his iPad side to side to try and get it all. The crew of them had just been driving when they saw a break in the fence letting them get closer. Sure it might have been trespassing but who was going to care about them all the way out here? 

There was a loud crack that split the silence and the ground next to Tyler sent mud flying into his pant leg. He quickly turned. 

Jesus. 

You sat perched on top of a brown horse, a few yards away, shotgun balancing on your hip. A wide white cowboy hat on your head covered your features, but he was equally turned on and terrified at the same time.

“Y’all got 30 seconds to start moving or the next shot won’t be as friendly,” you called out from your horse. You could see the tallest man chuckle and say something to the shorter one next to him before turning and leisurely jogging to you. What thoughts were running through his head to convince him running towards a woman with a shotgun was a good idea?

“Afternoon ma’am! Pardon my crew and I, but I feel like we’ve started on the wrong foot,” he said as he got closer. He looked straight out of a magazine cover. Chiseled face, scruff, blonde hair peeking out from his cowboy hat, with a red button down that was one button too unbuttoned. You did feel a pang of guilt for almost hitting him.

“Perhaps we did. I just don’t take kindly to trespassers on my property,” you said, swinging your horse to the side so you could face him better. Tyler rubbed his neck. Ah shit.

“That’s my bad ma’am- see we’re storm chasers, we’re always trying to find an edge to get ahead of the next storm or tornado,” he said, gesturing to the darkening sky. You slowly nodded. “My name’s Tyler Owens, you might’ve heard of me on Twitch,” he added with a charming smile as he held his hand up for a handshake. You slowly shook his hand, taking in the weird man.

“My name’s Y/N. What the hell is a Twitch?” you asked after letting go. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but decided it was fruitless. 

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you miss Y/N. Apologies again for stepping into your land, but we’ve got the looks of an EF-4 starting out there on the horizon and damn it’s going to be a good one,” he said, turning back to the crew and the sky. 

“Hate to tell you Tyler but we don’t get tornadoes out here. It’s been years,” you said with a nod, but following his eyes to the sky, leaning closer to your horse and patting his neck whether for your own anxiety or his. As if on cue, a rumble of thunder rolled overhead which caused your horse to whinny. 

“Global warming Y/N. Spots in Oklahoma that have never gotten hit before are getting struck. It’s up to you, but-” he said as he turned back, the clouds getting lower, “I’d get low,”. Rain started to fall in big drops as you tried to think.

“I’ve got animals Tyler, I can’t handle losing this farm,” you said as you chewed your bottom lip. 

“My crew will help. Before we head out,” he said instantly as he started waving to his crew. 

“IT’S COMING TYLER!” Boone shouted, waving the iPad above his head, “IT’S A BIG ONE!”. Another roll of thunder went overhead and your horse brayed again, getting antsy. Okay maybe these strangers had a point. Seeing their suped up trucks and RV showed that they either had way too much money and free-time or they could actually be trusted when it came to this stuff. Fuck it don’t be stupid.

“Get on, I have to get the cows, but you’ll tell me if it gets closer alright?” you stammered over the rain, holding out your hand to Tyler, “tell your guys to head straight for 5 minutes, there’ll be a barn and a house,”. Tyler nodded and relayed the message to Boone as he slowed the truck down passing you. Boone passed a walkie talkie out to Tyler with a nod, and waved politely to you.

“Don’t you worry ma’am you’ve got the best on your side!” he chirped, before peeling out on the truck sending a wave of mud behind him and leaving a large dent in the ground. Best? Tyler sucked air in through his teeth and sheepishly turned back to you. Before you could try to help him up he was already behind you. Obviously not his first time getting on a horse which did catch you off guard. You slung your shotgun over your back as you started heading back to the house. You felt Tyler move closer to you, gripping his hands onto your sides as your tightened your grip on the reins trying not to overthink this. Dammit you can be horny when this is over, not when a tornado is about to come through. It had been a while since any man had been so chivalrous or intriguing to you. The rain started coming down harder, making it tough to see, which only increased the worry in your stomach as you reached the cows. 

“I’m gonna open the gate, you stay here!” you shouted to Tyler as you jumped down into the muddy grass, before hauling your ass to the wooden gate where the cows were already anxiously pacing by. You unlatched it and swung it open before jumping back onto the horse to start cornering the animals back to the barn. Luckily you only had a handful of cows this season, but it was still tough enough. You shouted over the rain to keep the cows moving and Tyler started doing the same. He turned his head and held a hand up to his forehead to try and get a better view.

“Y/N I don’t mean to alarm you, but I believe there’s been landfall,” he said, breathing close to your ear. You wanted to turn and check, but you also knew your job right now was keeping these animals safe. 

“Just tell me if we’re in danger Tyler,” you shouted back, willing your horse to move faster. By the time you got to the barn a few minutes later the rain had turned into hail. You slid off your horse as you tried to unlock your barn gate, but the adrenaline and water made it hard. Tyler appeared next to you and gently tried his own hand at unlocking the door. 

“The lock is 5999!” you shouted, the small number lock keeping the bigger doors shut. You mentally cursed this decision to have it locked at all. Tyler finally got the lock loose and threw the door open. You started pushing and shouting the cows to get inside, where the sides were already shuttering. Tyler grabbed your horse’s reins and brought him inside as well before he ran off in the chaos.

“Is that it?” Tyler asked in the doorway, wind whipping his shirt. You wiped your hands on your jeans to try to focus and dry off before nodding. Tyler suddenly grabbed the shoulders and faced you in the doorway.

“It’s going to be okay Y/N,” he said, locking eyes with you, “we have to get underground now though,”. You nodded furtively, going back to real life and focusing on the task at hand. Tornado, stay alive. You threw the barn door shut and locked it before grabbing Tyler’s hand and pulling him towards the house. The wind whipped against your face and caused your hat to fly off. 

“Shit!” you screamed as you watched it get blown away in the blink of an eye.

“Come on!” Tyler shouted back, pulling you forward again towards the house. Boone was on the porch holding the door open shouting at the two of you to get in. 

You two jumped into the house before Boone slammed the door shut behind you. You wanted to lay down and curl up right there, but Tyler’s crew were all trying to ask you if you had a basement or somewhere to hide or somewhere to keep down. Tyler placed his hand on the small of your back to try and help. “Hey guys one at a time alright,” he said, quieting the group. 

“There’s a basement, it’s not much and I don’t know if it’s storm-proof and all that but-” you said as you moved to lift up the small door that was in the corner of the kitchen. There was a dark staircase downstairs and you shouted for everyone to get in. You screamed as the kitchen window bursted in, letting rain and hail into the house. Tyler grabbed your waist and dragged you down into the basement, door slamming shut behind you both. Everyone was huddled in the corner, light illuminating from their phones as they watched the storm overhead, continuing to chatter.

You slumped against the wall and finally took a breath. You felt the presence of someone slide beside you. 

“How you feeling?” Tyler asked. 

“Tired. I don’t know how you do this for a living,” you laughed as you looked up at him, laying your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure how I do it either all the time,” he sighed, “being able to help people feels good though. Knowing that the more we understand these things the safer the future can be,” he continued.

“Noble,” you remarked.

“When Boone isn’t recording all of it at least,” he chuckled looking over at Boone who was sure enough recording it all on his phone.

“So you’ve got fans?” you asked.

“Lots. Well, okay a fair amount? A million? Saying that to you makes it feel kind of stupid though,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said, “a million is a lot of people watching you, that’s crazy,”.

“It’s nice and all, but damn. You have it all out here. Alone. Not needing a million people watching you. Just seems nice,” he explained, placing a hand on your knee as he waved his hand during his explanation.

“Lonely though. I bet you’re never lonely,” you murmured. He shrugged.

“I have friends, it's hard to keep a lover with this lifestyle though,” he said absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I can relate to that,” you said softly, “uhm, if we get out of this tornado thing, I’ll give you my number,” you quickly said, before hiding your face into your shoulder. Ugh what were you a high schooler? You felt his chest rise as he laughed.

“You’re cute Y/N, and I’d love to see your farm under less stormy conditions,” he grinned. Your chest fluttered. 

“I’d love to show you it,” you nodded. The two of you kept chatting as the storm went on for another 30 or so minutes. Luckily the basement did a sufficient job of keeping everyone safe, but you couldn’t help but think of the barn and the rest of the house upstairs. You talked about your time growing up in Oklahoma and Arkansas. About how he went to school for meteorology, and how you dropped out of OK State to take care of the property, but you had really wanted to go back later.

“Seems safe guys!” Boone said as he stood up and kicked open the door. The kitchen was still there, and so was the house. You checked out the window, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the barn was still there.

“Cut right through- spared your stuff by like 50 yards!” Tyler said, relieved. Seemed like the best case scenario here happening. You helped his crew get set up to head back out and slowly lead the cows back out to their slightly damaged pasture. 

Tyler stepped into his truck and rolled down the window. You stepped up onto the running board of the truck to get closer. You handed Tyler a post it note with your number scrawled onto it.

“Like I promised,” you said with a smile. Tyler grinned and stuck it to the computer screen in the middle console. He took off his cowboy hat and put it on your head.

“Since you lost yours. I’ll be back for it though,” he said as he moved your hair behind your ear. 

“Alright tornado cowboy,” you smiled as you stepped down.

“It’s tornado wrangler actually,” he noted before blowing you a kiss and rolling up his window. 

It was a few hours later when you were finally making dinner when your phone buzzed. 

Hey Y/N, hope you’re doing well. Sitting at a motel. Wondering what you’re doing.

AN: let me know if anyone wants a one-off of you trying to get divorce papers to your insane storm chaser husband in the middle of the midwest ->(https://www.tumblr.com/strawburry01/756685031316062208/all-yourn-summary-you-visit-your-husband-tyler)

[shiningjustforreid]

you missed my heart

— based on this song <3 even though title is title of another song ;)

where bau!fem!reader, Spencer Reid, and the bau deal with a case very close to home for reader.

word count: 5kish

a/n: i wanted to try to write something with a little more story line!! thus, this was born. it’s mostly angst because i fear that’s my forte, but there’s a little fluff and implied intimacy, as is my typical route <3 also wanted to mention i’m not from the town in this fic, but i am from the midwest, somewhat close to there! enjoy!!

warnings/tags: 18+ for dark themes and implied intimacy which reader cries after bc this case is a lot, referenced childhood neglect for reader, reader has trauma but she’s working on it, typical canon-level violence and dark content for criminal minds, case fic, season 10ish Spencer, spencer and reader are dating <3, Spencer is absolutely in love with reader (as he should be!), no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Cheery and bright December has molded into a bleary January, and it’s on one such morning that Penelope, dressed in an - almost garish, but who’s Spencer Reid to complain? - orange and yellow dress, to ‘combat the gray’, as she chirps, tells him they have a case. With three teen girls, all already found dead. Wincing, because he never understands why these local police forces wait until there’s multiple people dead when’s it’s clearly serial, he follows Morgan to the briefing room.

When he glances back to see if you’re coming, he finds your desk vacant, chair pushed in and files in a tidy pile, as is your nature. Frowning, he hurries to catch up with Morgan, only to find you already sat, all the color washed from your face, as Hotch discusses something clearly serious with you.

Then again, everything is serious with Hotch.

Before he can sit by you, at least to provide some comfort, Kate finds that chair, and Penelope is starting the presentation, her voice quiet, tight, as it always is when the cases make her a little more on edge.

“We are sending all of you lovely crime fighters to the small, and less lovely, town of Constantine, Michigan.”

Oh. So that’s why Hotch was seemingly deep in conversation with you.

That’s where you’re from.

“Three girls—“

She flicks through the pictures and their names, and you look absolutely sick to your stomach. Spencer fights the urge to walk to your side of the table and take your hand - you just look so scared. Taking a deep breath, Penelope braces herself to just force out the next part.

“—have been found dead just outside of town, dropped along a river that runs right along there.”

Morgan’s brows furrow, as Penelope taps through the images of the crime scenes, clearly thinking.

“This guy is bold. Dropping these girls at night is a precaution, sure, but small town like that, right by those houses, he’d get noticed.”

Rossi nods, while all Spencer can do is look at you and your tense shoulders and the way your jaw is clenched.

“He’s obviously a local. And doesn’t care if these girls get found. Sure, they’re clearly concealed some—“

He glances up at the pictures, of the teen girls wrapped in weeds and river mud,

“But he isn’t taking major precautions. I wonder why.”

Hotch nods, at each of their deductions, before he uncrosses his arms, glancing down at you before he speaks.

“Either way, three girls in 3 weeks, with the cooling off period decreasing, we need to get there soon. Wheels up in 30, no less.”

As the briefing room clears, Spencer’s at your side without pause, his palm resting against the cotton of your turtleneck, against tight muscle.

“Angel, you know you don’t have to work this case.”

You shake your head immediately, although he notices you don’t stand, hands still gripping the table in front of you with enough force to whiten your knuckles.

“I need to. I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Plus, if there’s any way I can be of more help, since I know the area and the roads, it’d almost be wrong not to help, right?”

“Hey, breathe. I know. But Hotch already told you that you should sit this one out, didn’t he? And you told him no.”

One small movement of your head, and you finally meet his eyes. His heart twists - the apprehension in them is clear.

“I told him whatever memories this drudges up for me doesn’t compare to the lives I can potentially save. That makes sense, right?”

The hand moves from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair from your face, thumb soothing down your cheekbone, a cold contrast to the warm flush of your skin.

“It does, angel, it does. But if you feel-overwhelmed, or too anxious, or even just a little off, please, let—“

“I’ll be fine. I can visit my hometown without having a mental health crisis.”

You didn’t mean to snap, cut him off. Sighing, you swallow thickly and look away.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that-that I should be able to do this.”

“Should and can are two different things, my girl. You’re not weak, you-you couldn’t be. Trauma has literal physical consequences for the brain, such as making your amygdala hyperactive. Additionally, reduced activity in your prefrontal cortex can lead to—“

Letting him ramble soothes your nerves, just enough, as the two of you head to the jet. The nearly two hours of flight, where the team discusses the crime scenes and the potential profile, doesn’t have you saying much. Once, JJ asks what you think about the murder weapon, a knife, and how it relates to the unsub’s feelings about these girls. Spencer jumps in when you meet the blonde’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights look, claiming you ‘didn’t sleep well last night’ and just ‘need some time to wake up.’

In a plane full of profilers, no one believes this, of course. Rossi and Morgan’s eyes both say, you’re kidding, Reid, while JJ and Kate both sigh in tandem. Flashing Spencer a ‘thank-you-so-much-I-love-you-endlessly’ look, you then open the case file again, heart in your throat.

And your most integral organ doesn’t leave its spot in your throat when you land, and drive down a bit south to your destination, January here even more blech and dull than January in Quantico. As the SUV holding you, Spencer, Morgan, and Kate makes its way down 131, your eyes are glued out the window at the familiar landscape.

Lifeless cornfields, decorated only with gray snow and currently useless irrigation systems. Green-brown grass peeks through certain spots, and for a majority of your drive, the only buildings you pass are houses with a shutter or two missing, dirt coating the sides, shingles missing in sections, blown off by wind. The soft despair and growing hopelessness of this land is not lost on you. It never was.

As Morgan brings the vehicle into town, he grimaces, taking in the small, falling apart homes and once-was businesses.

“This is dismal, huh? I wonder how long until this place is a ghost town.”

Spencer doesn’t miss your soft sigh, or the way your fingers twist around the deep navy edge of your FBI windbreaker. When both SUVs park outside the local police station, he sets his hand on yours, just for a second.

I’m here. I’ve got you, angel girl. I love you.

Heading inside is at thankfully a somewhat new experience, at least at first - you’ve never been inside this police station, not even when you lived here. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are already inside, and what you hoped for - that no one would recognize you on first glance - turns to be a foolish pipe dream.

“Aren’t you Paul’s girl?”

One of the officers asks, his eyes narrowing once they land on you. Suddenly, it seems like every body in this damn tiny precinct is turned your way, and you gulp down your insecurities, trying to stand tall and not turn and dash right back out that door onto salted sidewalks and into winter slush.

“Yeah. I am.”

Quiet confirmation on your part leads to surprise on your teams’ faces - sans Hotch and Spencer, of course - and a mixture of bland dislike and ambivalence amongst the officers in the room.

“Thought so. Look at you, all high and mighty. FBI, huh? I for one, would have never guessed—“

“That’s enough. She’s my agent, on this case, and you are to have no other issues with her. Am I clear?”

You thank any deity that’s listening for Hotch and his firm command, ending that officer’s insults. If he knows your dad, who knows what else he knows, and right now, you don’t want to talk to any of these men, let alone your team, who are bound to have a slew of questions.

“Kate, Morgan, I want you two to head to the morgue. Look at the wounds and see what you can add to our profile. Rossi and I will head over to the crime scene and look around. JJ, Reid, I need you to interview our victim’s families, see what we can learn about these girls.”

As half the team heads to the SUVs, you turn to Hotch, confused.

“Hotch, you didn’t tell me where I’m going.”

The unit chief sighs and glances around before turning back to you.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with. I can send you with Morgan and Kate, if you want?”

You shrug, still feeling people’s stares like sniper’s lasers, and meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Yeah, I could. I-I also thought I should go home. See my parents, I don’t know. They might have seen something valuable.”

Dark brows raise, and his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“If you go, take Reid. It won’t do any good to go alone.”

As much as that makes you cringe - how little does he think you can handle? - you also know, at the bottom of your heart, that he’s right. That going home after all this time will do nothing but put you right back in that headspace you clawed your way out of not so long ago.

“I’ll go with Kate and Morgan. Thanks Hotch.”

He nods, and you shoot Spencer a quick look of I’m okay before you jog to catch up with your selected teammates for the day. As you climb into the SUV, both of them turn to look at you, questions in their eyes. Biting back a groan, you keep it short.

“I grew up here. Got out first chance I got. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Kate looks sympathetic, and Morgan nods, soft.

“Yeah. I get that. No pressure. If you wanna talk about it ever, I’m all ears.”

Tension eases out of your muscles at Morgan’s words. Your drive to the coroner is next to silent, but as you look over the girls, covered with those white cloths, you let your mind dip into profiling mode; removed, and carefully curious.

“One stab wound, straight to the heart, no defensive wounds. That precision implies that they were unconscious when he did this.”

You muse, as you take in the colorless, innocent face of the girl in front of you.

Did I know her? Or her sister? Brother?

“There’s no marks from being restrained, either, so he had them knocked out before he did anything.”

Maybe I know their parents.

Morgan nods, looking at another one of the victims.

“They all have abrasions on the back of their heads. Enough blunt force trauma, that would knock them out.”

“He must of got what he wanted, and then disposed of them so the secret- died with them.”

Kate adds quietly, and you and Morgan both look unwell, for differing reasons. It’s not quick enough that you can drive back over to town, even though you’re dreading seeing those officers’ faces again.

Thankfully, what you see first when returning is Spencer’s face, and you make a beeline for him, as he stands by the tiny map of the - your - town. Resisting the urge to cry out the last few hours of feelings into his sweater vest, you instead take his hand, subtle, you hope. Concern immediately floods his features, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Hey, you okay? Typically, you’re the one reminding me of HR’s policies regarding interdepartmental relationships and uh, ‘PDA.’”

“Mhm. One stab wound, straight through the heart. Victims knocked unconscious beforehand, which means the unsub can’t subdue them unless they’re out first.”

The hand holding yours climbs to your bicep, fingers smoothing over the crinkly fabric of your windbreaker. He hears your checked-out tone, and knows he’ll help bring you back out of the fog later.

“Makes sense. That lines up with what Hotch and Rossi learned too. Apparently, these girls walk home from school, and this guy, whoever he is, offered them rides home because of the weather. That’s all anyone has seen, but no one has a plate number yet or any good description, just, ‘tan sedan.’”

It’s not him. God, stop it, it isn’t. Lots of people drive those cars.

Nodding, you turn to pull away, go find Hotch, presumably, give the profile, but the fingers latched in your coat tighten.

“Hotch told me that you want to go visit your parents. Is it because of the case, or—?”

“Why did he tell you that?”

Groaning, you turn back to face him, clearly just itching to give this damn profile and go hunt this unsub.

“Because, angel, he knows that you would be better off if I go with you. You know that. Besides, I’ve-well, I’ve never met your parents, and as your boyfriend—“

Spencer’s ears turn the slightest shade of rosy, and you grin, barely,

“-I’d like to. Okay?”

Screw this and his sweet smile and his puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. After the profile, I’ll go see my parents. And you can come. I guess.”

Before you can hardly think, the seven of you have gathered in front of a small group of cops. Chin held high, you stare just over their heads, and the back of the room, where a dusty clock is hung.

“Our unsub is a 40-50 year old male who lives in the area, and probably has for a while. He manages to secure his victims by offering rides to teen girls, from the high school, back home, to help them avoid walking home in the cold weather.”

Hotch starts, voice calm and sure, and then Spencer chimes in.

“Based on our geographical profile, he definitely lives in the area, and close to the St. Joe river, where he’s dumping the bodies. He has to be able to walk them there, so no one sees his car.”

“That’s why he’s picking smaller girls. So he can lift them and carry them a short distance. Additionally, so there’s less chance of resisting. He might stalk these victims beforehand, but, since this is such a small town, and he’s a local, he might already know what time their parents get off work.”

Derek explains, arms crossed, until Kate adds her piece.

“He could also be using some ruse to take them back to a garage or basement he has. Once he has them subdued, he doesn’t appear do anything else - just stabs them through the heart, ending things quickly.”

“He could be using these victims as substitutes for a girl he holds resentment for. Perhaps he feels like he’s been wronged in the past, and he’s taking out his anger.”

Rossi finishes, as the team nods along. Thank God Hotch said you didn’t have to say anything.

“Based on the acceleration rate of these kills, we guess he’ll attempt another soon. However, please don’t do anything more to make it known that we’re here - it could cause him to panic, and flee. Thank you.”

JJ tells the officers. The entire profile runs through your head on a loop, all consuming - local, 40-50 year old man, tan car, stabbing, dumped by the river, clearly confident, barely contained rage - so much so that you don’t even see Hotch coming over to you, and say your name.

“The rest of the team is going to do some interviews with potential witnesses at the high school, and look at men that fit the profile. I figured you could use this afternoon to visit your parents, with Reid.”

Discomfort pools in your stomach. Teeth catching on your chapped bottom lip, you nod, trying not to sound ungrateful - because you’re not, not really, just anxious as hell.

“Yeah. I-that’s fine. I’ll have Spencer drive us over, or I can walk, or—“

“Take a car. It’s chilly, and I don’t need either of you sick. If they’re not proving helpful to our investigation, you can always leave.”

He’s giving you an out. If you feel like you’re drowning, you and Spencer can swim right out, and Hotch knows that you need it. Nodding again, you tug your jacket tighter and nod.

“Thanks sir. I’ll- thank you. If they don’t have anything to say, we’ll go help somewhere else.”

That’s how you and Spencer end up in a squad car, with him behind the wheel - “I can drive, I can, just let me, okay, beautiful?” - and you let him, because you honestly feel like you could lose your lunch at any moment. Hands twist in your lap, and, it’s mere minutes of quiet until the tires of the car sink into the mud that’s your parents’ driveway.

Spencer almost jumps when you immediately speak, ending the silence.

“I don’t want to do this. I can face serial killers of every variety, but I can’t go in my childhood home.”

You stare out the windshield - the house hasn’t changed. The front still needs a power wash, the siding almost gray instead of white, and that one shutter is still hanging loose, barely there. Dead grass is visible through the browning slush that once was fresh snow. Vaguely, you realize that your parents gave your swingset, which sat rusting and paint peeling for years, to your neighbors. But you don’t live here anymore - and it never really felt like home, anyways.

“This is ridiculous. I need to just go in. I’m being stupid-“

“Stop it.”

Spencer interrupts, quiet, but firm. It stops your self-deprecating spiral, at least. Your eyes stray over to the mailbox, which is nearly fallen over from when those boys bashed it in with a baseball bat. Dad never fixed that. Typical.

“You have every reason to be hesitant, okay? To not want to go in there makes sense. They made your life hell for 18 years, sweet girl. As far as I know, I can’t name anyone who wants to return to hell.”

Something sort of like a smile makes its way onto your face, and you turn to meet his eyes, the coldness in your stomach warming marginally.

“But I should do this. They might know something.”

“They might. I’ll follow you anywhere, angel. You know that.”

Running shaking hands over your face, you nod, trying to collect yourself into coherent sentences.

“Mom’s probably home, but it’s-Spencer, it’s going to be a mess, and she’s not going to be welcome, just so you know in advance, and-“

Spiral slashed through again, this time because of his hand on your arm.

“Baby. Breathe. I’m not going to think any less of you. I know.”

He only calls you that when he’s talking you down from some anxiety-induced hill, coaxing you back to reality.

“I already know what I’m going to see, and I-honestly, if anything, it just gives me more respect for you. Okay?”

So, in you go. The porch creaks when your boots and Spencer’s Converse make contact, and in your mind, when your fingertips brush against the screen door and turn the knob - unlocked, how can you be surprised? - it almost feels like you’re just coming home from school.

You got out. You got out.

That mantra never left your head until almost a year of college. Inside, it’s dim - the kitchen lights are off, and that sick smell of cigarettes - ew, do you smoke? You always smell like it - hits your lungs, and you almost turn right on your toes, until you bump into Spencer. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can breathe again, the ash cleared from your lungs.

“Paul? That you?”

“No, Mom. It’s me.”

Passing through the kitchen, trying not to look at the cracked linoleum or the days old dishes in the sink or the overcrowded countertops, you head into the living room - there she sits, in the patched together red sun faded armchair. Smoke in hand, ratty blue Bears hoodie, graying hair in a frizzy ponytail. She says your name like it’s something that somehow tastes worse than her cigarette.

The conversation you have isn’t pleasant - it never was. After she finishes making you feel as small as you ever have, you manage to give her the profile, as Spencer sits tensely next to you on the couch.

“Nah, I ain’t heard nothing.”

Sighing, you look over at Spencer, too stressed to look at body language, look for tells, to profile her, for goodness sakes. He meets your eyes, warm hazel that only shows you love, and then all that love melts away as he turns to your mother.

“Thanks, for your time, we’ll be leaving-“

Because he knows you’re on the edge of some sort of collapse, and he has his warm hand on the small of your back, when the screen door creaks again, and you freeze as boots stamp across that decades old laminate in the laundry room entry way. Keys jangle and then get hung on a worn hook, and tobacco, freshly smoked, wafts in anew.

They say you never forget the sound of your Dad coming home.

In that moment, something thick and viscous fills your lungs, and your head, and your ears ring. You hear Spencer murmur something to you, probably your name, but it doesn’t process through the molasses in your brain. He comes around the corner, and looks your way.

First comes a blip of surprise, then that lazy smirk that’s imprinted inside your eyelids when you close them for too long. Leaning against the half-wall that divides dining from living room, he looks you over. Suddenly you’re twelve, begging him to help you with algebra, and you’re nine, being called ungrateful when you ask why the heat’s off again, and you’re five, and asking when dinner is, because you just wanted to know. On instinct, you step away, and Spencer’s hand finds the curve of your back once more, grounding and sure.

“Thought I heard you. Hey kid.”

“Hi Dad.”

It’s amazing how one person can make the whole room seem so much darker, the late afternoon winter light duller now as it bleeds in through dusty curtains. When you manage to find your voice again, and tell him why the FBI is here, in this tiny Michigan town, he laughs, shaking his head, sighing.

“Damn Feds think everything is serial. I know it’s just some lowlife on ice. They won’t probably even catch him.”

Spencer makes a face, and opens his mouth, probably to make some point about the intelligence of these crimes, and someone high wouldn’t be able to do this, but you speak first.

“We should go. Help down at the station. Lots of victims’ families to interview.”

Turning to go, you flash your mom a weary smile, and then a tighter one at your dad and turn to leave, but not before cold fingers hold your arm, where your jacket’s pushed up, like a vice.

Remember remember remember remember—

“You go ahead and tell your little buddies to head home, you hear me? Both of you.”

You don’t look up, staring down at the dismally gray rug under your feet.

I slipped on that. Cut my forehead open. Let me go.

“I’ll try. See ya.”

Spencer is tugging you out the door, away from the smell of mold mixed with something distinctly bleach - mom must have been trying to clean it. He watches you, carefully, as you buckle, on autopilot, and he turns the key in the ignition. Dad’s car sits in the mud - tan sedan but they don’t mean that one do they? The SUV remains in park. Decidedly warmer hands smooth over the damp fabric of your windbreaker.

“Can you look at me, angel?”

You stare at the dirt covered siding, the pathetic grass, thumb nail headed for your wind ruined lips. It never makes it there - Spencer intertwines your fingers, hazel eyes full of quiet concern.

“That-that doesn’t define you, you know that, right?”

Shrugging, you squeeze his hand tighter. Need to feel real.

“Their lack of care, their neglect—“

“I wasn’t neglected.”

You snap weakly, even though it’s true; it just feels like such an ugly word.

“We just struggled. And they had to work a lot. And they didn’t want me to be weak. And so what if Mom would buy cigarettes by the carton, instead of milk and eggs? I didn’t want cookies, and all the fancy channels, it was fine, honest, Spence. I didn’t want those things.”

“Sweet girl, that’s- God, but they didn’t give you what you needed. You were a child. You should’ve wanted those things, but were too busy wanting hot food at dinner, and for the water not to get shut off.”

He already knew the horrors you’d crawled out of, and now, having seen your house, and the wood paneled walls, smoke smudged windows and that spot where you can see the drywall, there was no judgement in Spencer’s eyes. Dry anger, at your parents, perhaps, soft empathy for you, for sure, but no judgment.

You’re numb for the rest of the day, brain foggy, and it’s rather early when Hotch has everyone head back to the hotel, a 20 near silent minute drive up to Three Rivers. Protocol be damned, Spencer lets you hold his hand the entire way back, and instead of heading off to separate rooms - ‘HR policy’ - you follow him straight up to his, dumping your bag on the floor and turning to face him, eyes dark and empty as you work at his tie. His hands fly up to yours, stilling them.

“Easy. Hey. You’re practically dissociating, and I uh, I don’t know if I want to do this when you’re so out of it. Not because you aren’t beautiful or because I don’t want to, because—“

He stops, letting out a tiny noise that could almost be constituted as a whimper as your lips find his exposed collarbone.

“I do, I always want you, lovely, but maybe you need to process all these memories and think about this and how it’s effecting you—“

“Stop profiling me, Spence. I don’t want to think. Not about my parents, or this case, or anything. I need you to make me forget about the way those officers looked at me today-“

His shirt falls to the thin carpeted floor of the hotel. Calloused hands tug off your rain splattered coat, discarding that too.

“And the way Kate and Morgan looked at me in the SUV on the way to the morgue-“

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the flimsy quilt of the hotel bed against your back as you stare up at him, sat to your right on the edge of the bed.

“-and the way that you’re looking at me now.”

Several thoughts flash through Spencer’s eyes, and he looks you over carefully - his angel, all wide, pleading eyes and cold flushed cheeks and wind whipped hair. His hand comes to hold your face on one side, thumb easing over the high plane of your cheekbone.

“Please be sure. That’s all I ask, pretty girl.”

Because God, you do look pretty. Pretty feels like a laughable adjective, quite honestly, as you nod, and whisper please and yes again, and his mouth finds yours, and then finds your jawline, and the column of your throat.

Ethereal might be better, he thinks, as he tugs away your sweater and swallows hard, hands smoothing over heated skin to unclasp your bra. Or incandescent, he muses, as your fingers curl in his hair and his fingers trace over your stomach and hips, making you arch into his touch, desperate to forget forget forget.

There’s something so entrancing about the way you meet his eyes, hazy for a different reason than resurfacing trauma, your nails carving half moons into his back, face buried in his shoulder.

Holding you after is not just his procedure, it’s law, how you meld yourself in his lap, his knuckles skimming over your spine, his lips in your hair. When your shoulders shake, once, twice, however, he sighs.

“I know you have a tendency to display post coital dysphoria, angel, but this feels different.”

He hedges, his mouth now pressed against your forehead. The technical term catches you off guard - it’s just so Spencer. Gulping back an outright sob, you nod.

“Yeah, I-this whole case is just- it sucks.”

Eloquent, you may typically strive to be, but in this moment of bliss mixed with wounds reopening, the elegant seems unachievable. Soft lips don’t move from your skin, breaths even and deep to contrast your shallow ones.

“You’re brave. You know that? My brave girl. Hotch told you that this case was one you could’ve sat out, and you came. Why?”

You shrug, even though you know why, deep down.

“Because you care. You know the world gives heaps of hurting and upset, and you just-you just want to stop it all.”

Sleep doesn’t evade you, or Spencer, and when you wake up, it’s another misty sunrise, snow falling and sludge squelching under tires as all the team arrives at the precinct.

“We don’t currently have any missing girls, but with our unsub’s level of rage, we should see one very soon. Today, we should be focused on narrowing down our list of potential unsubs based on what we know in our profile.”

While you nod along to Hotch’s morning briefing, your mind is a million miles away.

Suppressed rage. Tan sedan. 40-50 year old male. What if what if what if—

Someone says your name. Blinking, you look up at Hotch, whose frown lines are more pronounced than normal.

“Do you know something?”

Five more pairs of eyes rush to you, and you swallow, hard.

“Does anyone right now?”

Answering a question with a question.

“I have a feeling. I think that profile describes half the town, at least. Are we going to interview every man in that age range?”

Deflection. Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“If you know something, you need to tell us.”

Spencer watches you, face tight with concern.

A beat. Shaking your head again, you look away.

“No. I don’t. Nothing certain.”

Body language.

Even as the team disperses, some to the high school, some to a couple empty tables in the tiny precinct, you feel Hotch’s eyes watch you, as you pour over names and histories and potential matches for the profile. Still, your mind remains a million miles away - or maybe about two.

After what feels like hours, but is probably minutes, slender fingers land on your shoulder.

“Hey angel. C’mere. Let’s take a walk.”

Dutiful girlfriend that you are, you stand and follow Spencer outside, into the hazy morning. He shuts the door behind you and hesitantly smooths his hands down your arms, his voice quiet.

“I love you, I-I need you to know that. To remember that. But—“

Spencer stops. You don’t look up, eyes fixed on the concrete below.

“I need you to be honest, okay? Do you know, or-or think you know, who this unsub is, or might be?”

Loosely shrugging your shoulders makes him sigh, and he runs his hands carefully up, then down, your arms, tethering you to reality.

“I never want to guilt you, you know that, but if you know something—“

“Then it could prevent more deaths. I know. I know, Spence, I do, I just, if I’m wrong, there’s consequences.”

Frowning, his hands stop their motion on your arms.

“Look at me?”

It’s not a demand, but more like a hopeful ask. You acquiesce, and he grins, a little tightly. Probably because your eyes look dull.

“There’s my girl. Why would there be consequences for you, lovely? You never have to come back here again, if you don’t want to. I’d never make you.”

Heavy sigh. Glancing away, and then back, the lump in your throat grows.

“I feel like I might know this unsub. As more than just a face and a name. As a person. But I don’t know if my past experiences are just tinting my perception of this case, or if it’s a legitimate connection.”

To his credit, Spencer keeps his face blank, but his eyes go darker.

“If you know, you need to tell Hotch. Even if it’s just an inkling. It could even lead to another person we haven’t looked at yet.”

Looking back, the late morning and afternoon fell into a blur. Hotch immediately has Kate, Morgan and Rossi check out the house of the potential unsub you’d named, while you and Spencer examined other potentials, and JJ and Hotch headed to the high school for a bit. All day, you’re quiet, hoping with everything you have that you’re wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t really there. Every interaction merges together into a convoluted mess.

When the team regroups at the station, it’s dark out, and raining icy sleet - curse of the midwest winter - when a call comes to the precinct: a frantic mom of a missing girl, or at least a girl who didn’t return home.

“We need to get out there, Hotch. If she’s been missing since the end of the school day, he could be about done with her.”

Morgan’s voice is tight, and Hotch nods. Blood rushes through your ears, your pulse the only thing you hear, as everyone piles into SUVs, and drives just past the town limits, parking with lights out along in the muddy riverbank.

You see him. And you’ve heard, that your brain, when presented with a truth it cannot accept, will literally deny what it sees. Faintly, you wonder, if this is happening now, as you scramble from the SUV, amidst Morgan’s shouts and Spencer’s hand reaching blindly for your jacket, your gun held tightly. When the headlights flash, and the unsub turns, knife in hand, some nameless, faceless girl in the mud below him, the sleet seems to be inside your head.

“Hey kid.”

The sneer you see is the man you know. Not the barely contained smirk from yesterday, in front of Spencer, or the laugh as he sips coffee with his buddies at that diner in town.

Shaking your head, hair slicked with ice and water, you step into the sludge, back ramrod tight and weapon aimed clear.

“Drop the knife. Drop it. You can’t do any good with it.”

Damn him to hell, he laughs. You try to keep your face devoid of anything, but it’s becoming a challenge. Somewhere far away, you hear Morgan repeat your command, and then Hotch too, behind you. He ignores them. Ice in your veins, on your cheeks, in your heart—

“Go ahead, kiddo. Shoot. You won’t. Dear old Dad, and all that. Bet you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

Eyes bore into the back of your head.

“Your dad? That was your parents’ house we went to earlier?”

Silver glints in the dim light, and you step forward, hands trembling so bad you probably can’t make a straight shot.

“You left us. High and mighty, thought you were too good to live the life you were born into. Broke my heart, broke your mom’s. Pathetic excuse for a daughter, who can’t even stay and care for her parents.”

Oh God. You feel ill. Knife in the heart, allegory for how he felt (or thought he felt) when you left here and yet- the guilt won’t eat you alive. You’ll starve it out of house and home.

“I deserved so much better than you ever gave.”

You hiss, not sure if the water on your face is fresh or salt laced.

“I was your baby. And you hated me from the moment I breathed your air.”

It happens so fast. He lunges forward, knife up, and you fire on training, on instinct, bullet landing solidly in his leg.

It takes you a full five minutes to feel the rain and mud that’s coating your jeans, and hair, and face, but only seconds to feel Spencer’s arms, one around your middle, clutching the front of your coat, one over your chest, as you gasp.

“I didn’t- he was- he moved, Spence, oh my God, he had that, and I didn’t—“

“Angel, I know. You just did what you needed to.”

It takes you another five minutes to come to the realization that the wretched sobbing you hear is yours. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’d would’ve shot, even if he hadn’t moved toward you.

Two nights later, you’re wrapped in the warmth of bed, the place you decided is the safest place on earth after you began to live with Spencer Reid. Head tucked under his chin, ear over his heart, hand smoothing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Hotch said you could have a week, you know.”

He says softly, fingers dancing up your arm and over your spine, lips against your hair.

“A day is fine.”

“You don’t sound sure. You sound very unsure, actually. I’d rather you be certain before you head back.”

Sighing, you stare down at your legs, curled nearly to your chest.

“It’s our job, Spence. It’s not the first time I’ve shot my weapon at someone.”

“No.”

He allows, and you tilt your head to the side as he presses feather-light kisses to your throat.

“Do you want to, or feel like you have to meet some criteria? That this doesn’t affect you, and that you’re stronger than your past?”

“I am.”

You protest immediately, and he sighs.

“Strong enough not to let it control you, yes, sweet girl, you are. I’m not denying your strength, please, know that.”

Soft hands move your hair off your neck so he can kiss lower, and you shiver.

“But your mind is incredibly talented at allowing repressed memories to show themselves, even when you’ve pushed them down. Actually, studies show that traumatic memories are stored differently than other memories in the brain.”

“Spencer, look, if you wanna tell me about this later, I’m all ears, but-“

“I know. I know. You want to forget. Let me help, please?”

Skin to skin, after, lets you feel his heat and his lips against your forehead, kissing you even in sleep.

A house, white, siding less browned, fills your dreams. The swingset is there, rusty, even now, and the driveway has tire ruts. It must be late winter. Someone calls you, from inside, someone you don’t even know. Maybe you never knew them.

And maybe, you lived there, but it was never home. Home is burying your face in someone’s shoulder as they hug you, whether it be a tight squeeze from Penelope, or a gentle hold from JJ. Home, you think, as you turn, to walk up the road, as the voice gets drowned by wind, is sipping tea with Spencer as he reads to you, when he gathers you in his lap, when he beats you at chess, when you beat him at chess, when he undoes you with touch and tone. When he calls you his angel. The chain of that voice in your ears shatters like powder. It must have been rusted too. Isn’t everything that’s forced to endure through terrible circumstances?

Home is something you’ve crafted, where the lawn is never dead. Where your pulse never climbs in fear before you enter the front door, only in hope, in excitement, or in adoration.

May you never return to that house. In dreams, or otherwise. Home it never was. The yard will die, and wither, and fade, and the house will crumble to the nothing is always was.

Morning sunlight melts any remaining nightmare, and when Spencer smooths his knuckles along your cheek, as you blink awake, you hear the sound of a front door squeaking shut somewhere in your brain.

It never opens all the way again.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 24

(Erikír is a Mahi Mahi merman and is best suited to warm climate seas. He doesn't fare well in cold climates or cold waters, hence his dislike for Merfolk who are more adapted to the cold like Azul and the Tweels. Genetically, Erikír is part Human and benefits greatly from that part of him that allows him to get almost anything he wants. Though his Mahi Mahi genes are dominant, he does have a few abyssal sea creatures in his heritage, but shuns these parts of him because he prefers the more Human-like appearance of his Mahi Mahi genes. He has long wished for a Human of his own to wed and adore, to the point he is considered as much of a Humanfucker as Azul is.)

Warnings; longer chapter, Spelldrive Tournament in full swing, poachers, betrayal, Grim and the Human are both in danger several times during chapter, snuggles, calming an unhappy Dragon, conflict of the highest proportion, power difference, public violence, Leona is not a happy camper but he is trying, isolation, suggestive themes, plans and schemes come to light, Azul is a schemer but can be a genuinely good guy, fish conflict, Dragon rage, familiar faces, RSA students choosing sides, overblot, violence, mention of blood and ink, the plot bunny took off sprinting, interference, Nemean Lion, Harpies, Dragon, Vampire Bat, Raiju, Cervitaur, Hellcat, Merfolk, Drider, Bakeneko, Unicorn,

~~~~~~~~

Leona was furious and pouting all at once as you spoke to the Headmage. It was later in the day when he called you and your guards for the week to his office, but what he had to say deeply upset Leona.

The Spelldrive Tournament was going to take place the very next day and the storm had yet to let up. Almost everywhere outside looked like a swamp-land made of mud and most students struggled to get through the tumultuous terrain even for their flying classes with Professor Vargas. There was no way the Spelldrive Tournament could take place while the storm continued to rage.

That brought you to the present where Crowley had given you an order dressed as a suggestion.

"It would be best for you to spend the evening with Diasomnia so we have a chance to dry the arena without further storms."

"Wait, so you're telling me Tsuno has been the cause of this storm for several days?"

"Yes. Mr. Draconia is a Dragon, and as a Dragon he is far more linked to nature and the natural weather cycles. Surely you have noticed how his general mood impacts the world around him?"

"Of course I have, he even told me when he is angry it storms, I just didn't think anyone could keep a storm going for days like this. Not even him."

Crowley nodded, looking back out as several more strikes of green lightning leaped through the dark and swirling clouds. It really was putting Malleus' strength in perspective for you to find out that he could keep such a strong storm going for days on end. You being in Savanaclaw must have deeply messed with his personal comfort, though you were beginning to feel his possessive behavior was more than just the norm for how he protected his Hoard.

"Savanaclaw is the dorm tasked with guarding the little Mousey, you can't just sweep in and tell us the night before the Spelldrive that we have to give her up because that Lizard is in a pissy mood-!"

The lightning now struck the very tower your group was in at least four times, crackling and roaring with thunder. It was far more than just simple coincidence that the lightning followed Leona's crass words towards the Dragon. Even as things calmed, poor Grim was shaking inside your uniform jacket, covering his torn ears with his little paws.

"Leona, the Spelldrive can't happen if the arena is flooded. I'm sorry, but if this is really all because of Tsuno, then I have to go to Diasomnia tonight. Even Vil said it was likely before we had that photoshoot."

Leona's ears angled back at your words, he knew you were right but he didn't like it regardless. Even beyond the fact that he now had to break the news to his team about not having your energizing and filling cooking the night before the Spelldrive Tournament, he had other issues. He simply didn't trust those RSA boys, at least, he didn't trust Erikír.

"Speaking of the photoshoot," Leona growled, now turning back to Crowley, "I take serious issue with that pompous prick Erikír being anywhere near Mousey. I don't give a damn if the Owl trusts that fish-prince, he isn't safe to keep around her."

"Ambrose assures me all three of the chosen guards are sworn to keep her safe from poachers-"

"But what about keeping her safe from them?"

"What do you mean?"

"That fucker tried to hold Mousey and was feeling up her stomach during that stupid photoshoot."

This made Crowley suddenly scowl, his feathers ruffling as his wings rose up dangerously. The relaxed and almost flippant behavior of the Crow Harpy was now gone, replaced by a low cawing hiss from the man.

"... He did what?"

"That fish-dick prince was making Mousey uncomfortable and kept touching on her stomach for almost every picture he was in! Even when Mousey yelled at him for his behavior, he didn't deny it, he just gave excuses!"

A kind of rage seemed to fill the Crow as his feathers bristled and his lip curled in fury. Such a brazenly disrespectful act from someone who should know better than to try and assault the treasured Human was no small crime. Still, it was too late to really change the guards now so close to the Tournament. He would have to ensure to speak with Ambrose about Erikír never getting the chance to be with you alone.

"I will handle it."

"But-!"

"I said I will handle it, Mr. Kingscholar. For now, continue on as you have. (Y/n), my sweet little bird, I will take you to Diasomnia. If anything happens tomorrow to make you uncomfortable- from words said, to physical action taken- you need to tell me or one of the professors. Even if you just get an off feeling from anyone, find one of us or a Housewarden. I will talk with Ambrose about his questionable choice of Mr. Helmsman and we will address his behavior towards you. Mr. Ashengrotto is in charge of most confections and organization of tomorrow, he will be made aware of the situation and I will ensure he keeps an eye on those Royal Sword Academy students tomorrow."

You nodded, casting a glance back at Leona as Crowley gently herded you from the room, leading you to the ever familiar mirror of the Diasomnia dorm. Even inside Diasomnia's realm, the storm only seemed to rage stronger than it did outside on Sage Island. Crowley was quick to cover you with one of his large black wings, ushering you inside the dorm and out of the raging winds.

Thankfully, due to his insulating wing, you weren't too wet from the rain, but the Crow was obviously not pleased and shook out his feathers. The students that had been in the common area looked over as the two of you entered, their curiosity drawing more attention along with hushed whispers. Despite having been in Diasomnia before, you really didn't remember the way to Malleus' room and felt a little lost in the grand halls of the dorm.

You didn't see Malleus among them and slowly reached up to grab your collar, holding the Magestone gifted to you. Malleus did say you could call him for anything and he would answer, so perhaps you would have to call for him now.

"(Y/n)!"

A familiar voice cheered happily and from the rafters fell a familiar leathery-winged Bat. The young-looking Fae seemed thrilled to see you in Diasomnia, his hair fluffed up and his smile wide as he greeted you.

"Here for a visit? You should go see Malleus, he has been a bit out of sorts recently and I'm sure seeing you will put him in an excellent mood."

"Well, that's why I'm here. Apparently, we can't do the Spelldrive Tournament if the field is too wet, so I'm here to see if Tsuno will be willing to call off his storm if I stay the night."

"Wonderful idea! Here, let me go get him-"

A loud boom of thunder shook the stone foundations of the dorm and everyone glanced nervously in what was likely the direction of Malleus' room. The faint click of hooves approaching let you know more students were joining those in the common area. Silver and Sebek came into view shortly following the lull of thunder, both looking worse for wear.

Sebek's head was hanging low and he had an almost sad look on his fierce face, his tail limp and his ears drooping slightly. Silver didn't seem to be in any better of a mood as the two almost looked downcast. Without much decorum or their usual grace, the two approached Lilia with tired eyes and disheartened expressions.

"My Liege won't come out of his room. He refuses to see anyone, just like yesterday. It is not my place to suggest such things, but perhaps we could convince-"

Sebek cut himself off as he saw you standing there, Grim slowly peaking out of your uniform jacket and looking towards the familiar faces curiously. He seemed to almost get a second wind as he stared, mouth somewhat ajar in surprise. Silver was quicker to pick up on his change in attitude, noticing you as well and perking up in a similar way to Sebek.

"M-My Lady (Y/n)," Sebek quickly bowed his head to you, "did something happen in that detestable Lion's dorm-?"

"No, not at all, Sebek. I'm here to spend some time with Malleus."

"Thank the stars! I mean-! His Highness has been pining recently... I have been worried that he has refused to leave his room for several days now, but if he finds out the entire Hoard is here, perhaps he will calm."

You nodded and then realized Lilia had skipped off without anyone realizing, likely heading the direction Silver and Sebek had come. As you turned to Silver to hear what the Reindeer had to say, there was a sudden sound of rumbling that was quite different from the storm outside. It sounded like someone running.

You yelped as you were suddenly swept up into a pair of arms, a familiar black tail winding around you quickly and holding you securely. The chest you were held against was thumping wildly with a frantic heart, a low almost purring noise meeting your ears as the storm outside lulled to silence. There was no need to look and see who it was that held you as you were quite familiar with the arms and tail holding you. Even the wings that wrapped around your figure and hid you from outside view were a familiar color that shined in the low light of the dorm.

"(Y/n)," Malleus hummed, his voice as soft as a whisper, "you're here..."

You smiled somewhat, pulling back to give Grim more room as he purred and bumped his head gently against Malleus' chest. Clearly the Hellcat had missed the Dragon as well, happy to see him again. Grim's behavior towards Malleus made you smile as it was obvious the kit enjoyed the presence of the nocturnal Fae.

"Mama and I missed you, Tsuno!"

Malleus was practically beaming at the happy tone and kind words of the kit, smiling at the both of you affectionately. He even allowed the kit to use his tiny claws, clambering up the front of his Dorm uniform and onto his broad shoulder. The Dragon smiled at the sweet behavior of the kit, ensuring the feline didn't fall as he returned his gaze to you.

"And I have missed my two wayward Hoard members. Now the Hoard is complete once more."

~•§•~

The sun began to crest the horizon, slowly shedding light onto the glistening buildings and fields. With luck, the reprieve from the relentless storm had been enough to somewhat dry the soaked land. Even if it wasn't enough, magic could certainly do the rest.

Shadows retreated from the boarders of the school atop the mountain, hissing as they fled back into the woods. The campus began to buzz with activity as the day of the Spelldrive Tournament had finally arrived. Naturally, most outside of the Diasomnia students didn't expect their dorm to win, but it was still enough of an occasion to stir up the hearts of the students.

With the increasing activity and the low hum of students, everyone began to prepare for the day of activity. What many students hadn't expected was the increased presence of their rival school so early in the day.

Many students from Royal Sword Academy were taking up posts, offering to help the more standoffish Night Raven College students in setting up for the day. The conflict between the two schools was palpable, requiring the intervention of several Housewardens to keep the peace. Even with the presence of the rival school, the excitement in the air was too much for most to ignore.

"I have informed Neige and Artemiyevich that Erikír should not be left alone with young (Y/n) at any point today. Hopefully it will be enough. They also confirmed his behavior towards (Y/n) was out of line."

"He shouldn't be one of her guards today, you know that as well as I. His behavior proves he cannot handle being in the presence of a Human."

"I have faith he will be mindful of his place today, and we will discuss further punishment for his actions."

"Ambrose, he touched her stomach."

"And we will address that after the Spelldrive Tournament. There are too many visiting royals and family members to bring it up now on the cusp of this event. He will be punished, trust me on that, but now is not the time."

Crowley gave another annoyed cawing sound, an almost low croak of a vocalization. Though he wanted that prince punished for daring to perform such a brazen and provocative act, the Headmage understood Ambrose's ambivalent take on the situation. They just needed to get through this Tournament and then scores could be settled.

"Fine. May this day be as uneventful as possible."

~•§•~

You sat in a side room of the arena in an indoor seat, far from the view of cameras and crowds. The window on the far side of the private suite was looking out over the arena where the seven dorms of Night Raven College clashed together in an attempt at winning over the others. Thus far, Savanaclaw and Diasomnia were in the lead and likely to face off in the final round. Despite spending most mornings that week watching the Savanaclaw team play and practice, you still understood very little about how the game was actually played.

The most you could gather from the rounds you had seen was that there had to be seven members on each team and the goal was to take control of the Frisbee like disk and get it to the goalposts on either side of the field. Some of the team was flying on brooms, other members were using their magic to try and protect the disk from the opposing team. It still made very little sense to you, but you were content to watch all the same.

Any time Malleus or Leona took the field, it became readily apparent that they were the crowd favorites as more than a bit of noise was made for them. Clearly, it burned Vil somewhat as he glowered at Leona from the opposite side of the arena as the Harpy's dorm lost to the Lion. Now Diasomnia and Savanaclaw would be facing off in the finals.

If anything, the Tournament really put into perspective how skilled those selected actually were. From the magic they used to take or keep control of the disk, to the ferocity at which they played and moved, you were realizing that you were extremely outmatched against any of these magic users. All it really did was let you know how crucial those like Malleus truly were to your survival. Perhaps, next time you are assigned to a specific dorm, you would call upon Malleus with that Magestone he had gifted you.

He did say 'whenever you need' so surely that truly meant whenever. Even beyond keeping your allies close it would also keep everyone else safe. That storm lasted for days on end, lightning and thunder rolling day and night. Though you had been tucked away safely in Savanaclaw dorm far beyond the reach of the outside weather, you knew the storm had raged at all hours. To think Malleus could keep it going for that long only further proved how outmatched almost everyone was.

Though you were brought into the Hoard unwillingly, your role was becoming clearer by the day. Any living member of a Dragon's Hoard kept that Dragon peaceful. Maybe you had to just periodically visit with him but could still manage to get time away from his almost suffocating embrace.

Luckily Lilia seemed keen to help you in exchange for more time spent with him teaching you ways to soothe the dangerous beast that was Malleus. He had done it for hundreds of years now, he was the master of it thus far. It would behoove you to at least learn how to keep the Dragon calm if only to have more chances to speak with the Human Ghosts.

Time was becoming your primary currency and with all these beasts vying for it, you would have to learn to spend it wisely. If that meant honing you abilities to earn their affections, then you would have to do that and do it subtly. If you could just ask the Ghosts what this aura specifically did and how to control it, maybe you could survive and escape this insanity after all. The stronger the beast, the more you were protected from those that were so keen to get their hands on you.

Beasts like Erikír.

You spoke with Lilia about the misconception that they all seemed to have, vaguely recalling those moments in the past any had touched your stomach. It was a strange and ludicrous falsehood they all seemed to believe was true and it boggled your mind. At least it had prevented most of them from trying to give you belly-rubs. But it still put the Merman's faux pas into perspective.

It also put some of Leona's behavior into perspective. Still, you looked more favorably on Leona for resting on your stomach in the Greenhouse, as Grim had settled there first. Maybe the Lion didn't know or didn't care about these myths surrounding Humans.

Outside of territorial behavior, Grim had been a good judge of character and had hissed at the prince before. Grim also seemed to have a much better opinion of Leona than he did Erikír, lending more credence to a lack of ulterior motive on Leona's part. Even now, Grim kept a wary eye on the Merman who stood to your left, closest to the door.

You wondered why they allowed him to show up if what he did was truly such a disrespect, but you also figured it was because he was skilled in magic and could act as a guard. It wasn't like the RSA students were present for a social visit. Despite that fact, Neige had been a welcome source of distraction and conversation.

"What do you think of the Spelldrive Tournament so far, (Y/n)? It always amazes me how Vil can still look so lovely even while playing a sport."

"I guess that's just how he is. He does make it look flawless. Do you two know each other?"

"Yeah, we went to school together before we both got accepted into mage school. We were always in the same school plays and musicals as the two lead roles. I was usually cast as the hero lead and Vil was cast as the villain. Even then he was amazing at acting and stole the show every time. I always felt so proud of him and a little sad when we had to fight, even if it was just acting."

Neige was a breath of fresh air and honesty, readily telling you all of his stories and sharing every bit of information he could remember. There was a slight warbling coo to his voice as he spoke and the sound caught Grim's attention quickly. The little Hellcat's pupils locked onto the Harpy who continued to speak, his whiskers and tail twitching in fixation.

Of course the Hellcat would like birds.

"We both became young actors and actually got movie roles together too. It always made me smile so much to see Vil was cast as my partner again. Not like a hero partner, but a villain partner. A hero is good and all, but it is the villain that really carries the movie. If you don't have a skilled villain, you don't have a good movie. He hasn't been acting much since he started school here though. I miss him-"

The sweet Dove cut off with a loud cooing call, startled as his wings flared out to the sides when Grim leaped for the boy. It was immediately obvious the kit was harmlessly playing and Neige actually began to laugh as Grim pawed obsessively at his face, trying to get Neige to coo again. You smiled and stood to retrieve Grim, holding your hands out to the kit that was purring and mewling happily against the feathers of the Dove.

As you extended your hand a voice caught your attention and you felt the sudden presence of magic all around you. It hummed in the air musically and glowed a cerulean through the space around you like water. The source of the intrinsically beautiful light coming from over you shoulder near the door.

"Voiceless Song."

The voice cut through the magic with cold determination as almost all sound seemed to be blocked out. Everything except for a softly lulling melody drowned in the wave of magic that took over the room. A hand pulled you away from the other RSA students and Grim, almost throwing you back into the firm chest of the one behind you. The others seemed trapped in some kind of trance by the music as you were pulled out of the room.

A webbed hand flew over your mouth as you writhed in the grasp of the man as the door closed behind you and sound returned. No doubt those in the room were trapped by whatever spell was cast. Similarly, it felt like your voice was suddenly trapped in your throat. Though you were beyond the lasting influence of the room, you were still silenced.

"Shh, we don't want you calling anyone for help now, not when we're so close. Keep quiet while those Fae poachers take care of our exit plan. To think, all it took to make them join my side was the promise of one of our eggs-"

You writhed suddenly in his grasp, teeth clamping down on the flesh with a quick turn of your head. His grasp loosened enough in surprise that you could turn in his hold, curling your fingers so your knuckles met his throat so you cut him off sharply.

His arms fell from their place as he held his throat in shock, but you weren't going to wait around this time. The moment you were loose you took off in the opposite direction, heading to the suite not far from you.

Azul's team had lost early and the dorm leader retired to a nearby reserved suite. He even texted you about his location in case of emergencies and this was absolutely an emergency. In your blind run you felt your silenced throat and lamented the fact you couldn't call Malleus while affected.

The door was already open when you rounded the corner, Azul walking out with Jade and Floyd following close behind. All three looked ready to fight as you ran straight into Floyd, the sturdy Merman catching you and holding you protectively. He was quick to move you so you were behind him and Jade, Azul immediately facing the approaching threat.

Erikír rounded the corner and seemed surprised to find Azul standing in his way. He held his throat and his voice came out hoarsely from your direct attack, no longer the smooth croon he usually had.

"Azul... Of course it's you."

"What happened, Erikír? Her collar pinged."

"It-? Of course. Of course, it was too easy. I should have known. Why didn't I think of that?"

"What are you on about? (Y/n), did he hurt you?"

Azul glanced back at you and you tried to speak and say something to the concerned octopus, but no words came out. His eyes widened at this and he whirled around to face Erikír.

"You did this with your signature spell! I should have known you would pull something like this!"

"No! I would expect you to do something so monstrous. I am looking out for the Human and I am what is best for her. Not you villains! None of you understand the truth, but I do. And even if I need to become a monster, I will prove it to you."

The harsh snapping of bones and ripping of clothes met your ears as the lovely prince standing before you turned into a twisted and wicked looking beast. His mouth ripped and deformed to allow jutting teeth like a deep sea fish, his fins curling and splines ripping away at his clothes. Dark ink pooled beneath his nails as his skin grayed and leeched out his natural colors. The pin on his lapel came loose and formed a long trident in his hands, ink seeming to bleed from the walls and his body.

"Jade, Floyd!"

Both twin Eels drew their weapons, a Leiomano in Floyd's hand an a Harpoon in Jade's hand. The Feral Erikír hissed a shrieking roar as it attacked, Azul pulling you back from the fray and assessing your neck. You tried to let him look but felt worry as the twins clearly seemed to be caught off guard by the strength of the Feral Erikír.

As Azul's hand glowed your throat slowly felt like it was clearing, but it was obvious the octopus needed to join the twins against Erikír. You tried to keep at least one of them between you and the now Feral prince, noticing the way the twins played off of one another even in the fight. Azul seemed to be more on the defense as he blocked the large waves of ink thrown at the four of you. Both twins moved together but even their combination of attacks didn't seem to deter the large Merman who was rampaging.

Azul hissed as one of those inky blobs sliced past his cheek, blue blood seeping down from the injury. Azul took a quick glance at you before his body began to change, his pants ripping from his figure as dark black tentacles burst forward. The juxtaposition between the Trident wielding Octopus and the Trident wielding Feral prince was not lost on you as Azul turned his full attention forward, each tentacle wielding perfect copies of his original weapon.

The beast shrieked again at the increased attacks but you couldn't focus on him as the sound of more footsteps came from behind you. You had hoped it was someone familiar at best, and at worse a member of either school, but those approaching were strangers. Their eyes reminded you of Lilia and Malleus, as did their ears, but they were all staring at you. They didn't wear the uniform of either school so you knew these had to be the Fae poachers Erikír spoke of before you escaped him.

Azul couldn't deal with both threats at once and you held a hand to the Magestone on your neck.

"..."

~•§•~

On the field fought two Housewardens, going neck and neck. Despite the difference in strength, Malleus was willingly holding back. If for nothing more than to give his beloved Human a good show. You had seemed actually excited about watching the game and he wanted to ensure you had a chance to enjoy yourself. Leona took the opportunity with both hands and the scores were tied up. As they prepared to start the game once again, a sudden voice split through Malleus' mind, so filled with fear that flames ingulfed the dragon completely.

"Malleus Draconia!"

Voices screamed out in surprise as the Dragon tore from his tame form and into the scaled hide of his full Draconic figure. Flames leaped from his throat as the beast turned to the beacon of magic that called for his aid, launching himself into the wall of the arena and breaking through the side of the building far too easily. The Dragon clawed into the breach before pulling back, dropping from the wall with a soft figure held in his jaws as he coasted on leathery wings.

Following behind the Dragon was a large burst of black ink, flowing forward towards the Dragon. As he landed, he set the little figure down with the utmost care between his claws. The beast stood with wings spread wide, smoke rolling out of his mouth as the beast hissed towards the approaching darkness.

Screams and gasps escaped the crowd as the clearly Feral Merman leaped out. Within the wall of the arena, it was clear there was a fight taking place inside. Confusion almost reigned before a pair of Harpies flew out from the side of the arena and onto the field. Both Harpies were well known celebrities and it was clear the smaller of the pair was leaning heavily on the other.

The watching Housewardens also joined the field, a lovely Unicorn leaping into the scene with the pink-haired Bakeneko on his back, also seeming worse for wear. A large Drider joining the field with a small winged feline in his arms. Despite the sudden appearance of the clearly Feral mage, several figures joined the inked beast's side against the Dragon. Standing with wide eyed determination, several Fae stood trying to stand against their prince for the promise of their own Human.

"You dare oppose your prince? Flee and I won't hunt you. Stay, and you burn with the Feral."

The Dragon's voice boomed loudly, making several of the opposing Fae flinch sharply from the tone and force. A few even backed away fearfully, turning to flee the intense glare of the scaled beast.

The inky beast didn't care that it faced a Dragon, trying to launch that same dark liquid at the beast who merely shrugged it off, every attack rolling off the scales harmlessly. With a quick whip of his tail, the inky beast was sent spiraling back after every failed attack, screaming in increasing frustration. Forming in the throat of the Dragon was rolling green flames, flickering and rising up in intensity as the great Dragon moved his claws, holding his precious treasure securely and safely. After all, what could truly harm a Dragon?

A sudden burst of white and black feathers exploded onto the arena, both Headmages stepping in the now forming battlefront in an attempt to keep the peace. Any Fae that tried to run was quickly caught by vines that exploded from the field, joined by more until the Fae was overwhelmed by the plants. Shadowed and Snowy feathers danced as combined blasts of magic overwhelmed and forced the Feral Merman down.

Thankfully, the interjection of the Headmage was enough to stay the flame of the Dragon, though it was clear he wanted to scorch the prince. He hissed and slammed his tail in what could only be described as predatorial frustration. The Dragon wanted nothing more than to protect his prized treasure with murderous levels of strength, the Harpies only somewhat soothing his rage.

"Malleus?"

Your voice was small but rang loudly in the Dragon's head, compelling the large beast to look down at where you were curled in his claws. The soft figure of his Human was a soothing one and seemed so much smaller in his claws. It soothed him more than he could describe to know he held his prized treasure securely and safely.

Even one Feral was too many, two? Unacceptable by any stretch.

"I am here, my (Y/n). I'm here."

The scaled beast dropped his head, opening his claws to gaze down contently. He could see no injury on his beloved and it soothed him more than believed possible.

"I care not for this game any longer. My Hoard takes priority. Where is the kit?"

Rook came over with a groggy and still magically impacted Grim. The Dragon allowing the arachnid to place the kit in his claws, back where he belonged with the adored Human. That fish would face consequences and Malleus wanted to be the one to perform it. But that could be handled later, as could the repairs to the arena. Now he needed to enjoy the simple comfort of knowing he got to his adored Human before anyone could hurt her.

All was as it should be.

[viperify]

Kinktober 2024 | 𝗼𝗰𝘁 𝟮𝟬: ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Still too vanilla for you?

Short summary: It was just a simple question to spice up your sex life. Tom though took it personal, which resulted in you now running from your boyfriend, deep into the Forbidden Forest. You knew, if he caught you – he would fuck you. And it wouldn’t be vanilla.

Warnings: 18+ only! knifeplay, fear play, degradation, hunter and prey, cnc, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay, dom!Tom

A/N: Well, I didn’t intend on posting today. In fact, I had a fic ready for Tuesday, but then I got this idea and well… I just finished this in like 3h lol. Feedback is as always appreciated <3

wordcount: 1,7k

You were hiding behind a tree, trying to escape your boyfriend who was currently chasing you through the forest. It all started when you asked him whether you two could try out some spicier stuff. The regular missionary sex you two had was great, no doubt about that, though you felt like something was missing in your intimate moments. “Tom,” you asked him, laying in bed beside him after you two just had sex, “could we try a spicing up our sex life?”

He turned to face you, raising an eyebrow. “Is this too boring for you? Is that what you are saying? You need more than what I am giving you?” You sighed. Of course his ego was hurt. You should have just kept your mouth shut.

“No Tom, I love it! But I thought-“

“I don’t want to hear it. Tomorrow, 8pm, Forbidden Forest. Better hide yourself well, because if I catch you, I will do bad things to you, love.”

“Tom please-“

“Do what I say.”

You only nodded in return, knowing better than to talk back to him.

The next day at 8, you entered the forest. It was October, and it had been raining all day, making the ground extra dirty, mud covering your shoes. Sun had set already, only a few more rays of sunshine hitting the wet grass. Crows were cawing loudly as you continued looking for a place to hide, an eerie feeling rising in your chest. You shrieked as you heard a branch crack and turned around. Yet, nobody was there. You must have imagined it.

As the night fell, you found a big tree, allowing you to hide behind its broad trunk. For the next hour or so, nothing happened and you were regretting your decision to come. He was playing with you as a punishment for your request, you were sure of it. He knew you were afraid of the dark, especially when you were all alone. Not to mention the Forbidden Forest itself, where bloodthirsty creatures of all sorts were looking for an easy prey.

You decided it would be best to just leave, but as you were about to get up, you heard something. Someone was humming in the distance, coming from the other side.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart was beating in your throat, and you tried to be as silent as possible.

“Doll, I can hear your breathing. I know where you are.” His voice called out to you, steps advancing into your direction.

Shit shit shit.

Your vision was near zero, heavily impacted by the lack of sunlight, as you heard him come closer. You decided to run, but strong arms stopped you, pulling you flush against his body. You wanted to scream, however his big hands covered your mouth, muffling any sound you were trying to make. Kicking, biting, scratching, it all didn’t help. He didn’t let you go. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Spice things up? And now you are all scared. Poor thing.” He taunted, gripping your hair in one of his fists, laying you down on the dirty forest floor, one knee on your back to keep you in place. “Going to show you what I am capable of, you greedy slut.”

You winced at the name he called you, sobbing apology after apology. It all was no use, your apologies falling on deaf ears.

Tom then reached into his pocket, and soon you felt a cold, sharp metal object press onto your throat. It must have been a knife from his collection, which was very dear to him. Your breaths came out shaky, hot tears rolling down your damp cheeks.

“Don’t you fucking make a sound, slut. Understood?” He hissed, applying more pressure on your poor skin.

“Y-yes!” You shrieked, obeying immediately.

At that, he ripped your shirt apart, not caring it was one of your favourites. You tried really hard to stay silent, yet small sobs escaped your lips. With the help of his knife he made quick work of your bra, cutting it in the back. He lifted you by your hair, holding your back flush against his chest. The lace material dropped to the ground, your nipples perking from the cold autumn air hitting your skin. He softly grazed his knife over your breasts as you tried your best to not make a sound. “My gorgeous tits. So pretty.” He whispered in your ear. “All mine, aren’t they?” You nodded frantically, and he huffed.

Smack.

Your head turned to the other side at the impact, and you hissed at the sting on your cheek. “Answer me properly when I ask something!” Tom demanded, knife back on your throat as a warning.

“Yes! All yours! I am sorry!” You cried out, making him scoff. “Pathetic.”

The brunette pushed your body back down into the muddy floor, sitting down on your lower back. He cut through your skirt, practically tearing the fabric from your body. All you could do was silently sob and take whatever your boyfriend was giving you. You had to admit, it may have scared you at first, but now you couldn’t help yourself but feel yourself grow wet at how he was treating you. Like a hunter that had found its prey, devouring and breaking you with all the power he had.

There you were, under him, while he inspected the thong you had put on. It was quite provocative. Red lace, barely covering anything. A hard smack turned you back to reality.

“Such a slut… wearing panties that cover nothing more than your pussy.” His firm grip also tore those apart, the sound of the ripping material making you whine. He then let his fingers slip between your folds, inspecting your cunt. “So damn wet and I haven’t even touched you properly. Absolutely pathetic, getting off on someone chasing you through the forest. Filthy girl.” He slipped two fingers inside of your welcoming heat, not giving you any time to adjust to the stretch. They curled inside of you, stroking your g-spot. Moans left your mouth as he ruthlessly thrusted his thick fingers inside of your glistening core, feeling a familiar knot form in your lower stomach. “Feel you clenching me, slut. Don’t you dare cum. Bad girls have to earn orgasms.”

You couldn’t. Not with how expertly his fingers worked the spongey spot deep inside of you, not with the dirty things he was telling you. “Please let me come, Tom! Please!” You screamed, frantically kicking your legs onto the ground.

“No.” He said, never halting any of his movements.

You couldn’t hold it any longer. His body was pressing down onto yours, not allowing you to move even the slightest bit. With a pained cry, you came around his digits. “What did I tell you? To go on and cum?” He hissed, removing his fingers from your dripping pussy as soon as your orgasm hit, ruining it.

“I am sorry!” You sobbed, scared of what he was going to do with you now.

“Greedy cunt can’t even wait a few minutes, huh? Head down, ass up.” Tom lifted himself from you, arm around your throat to make you arch your back as he positioned himself behind you, unbuckling his belt.

You cried, gasping for air as he was restricting your breathing.

“Stop fucking crying. This is what you wanted isn’t it? Treat you like the worthless slut you are?” He growled, smacking your ass repeatedly.

“Yes!” You sniffled, Tom’s words making your mind go fuzzy.

Without any warning he thrusted into you, slamming his thick length in and out, burying himself in your glistening core. He stretched you out completely, and you felt as though he was splitting you apart on his cock, a burning sensation erupting every time his tip hit your sensitive cervix. As you couldn’t help but both moan and sob uncontrollably, he fetched his knife and held it flush against your throat once more, shutting you up.

“You were fucking made for this cock, slut. This is your purpose. Pleasing me. You better take it.” His cock matched the tone of his voice, mercilessly abusing your tight cunt.

It was rough. Yet, you enjoyed every second of it. Your walls clenched around him again, milking him as you chased your second high.

“Gripping me so tight. Fuck.” He groaned, reaching under you to draw circles on your clit.

“Tom please-“ you moaned, your high about to wash over you.

“Cum, cum with me!” Tom growled, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, thighs trembling as you tumbled over the edge. Your boyfriend was quick to follow, your tightness milking him dry. “Take my cum. I am going to make your greedy cunt swallow every last drop of it.”

He stayed like this for a few seconds, catching his breath. As soon as his length had softened, he pulled it out of your sore walls, eliciting small whimpers from you.

He was still kneeling behind you, now spreading your slick folds with his fingers. “Push it all out for me, darling. All out.” Thick ropes of his hot cum soon dripped down your cunt, as he collected it with his tip, pushing it back inside of your abused center. You hissed, oversensitive from how roughly he treated you.

Your breath was still shaky, small sobs escaping your soft lips. “You okay, baby?” His demeanour had completed a 180-degree turn, now gently soothing your sore body.

“Y-yes Tom. I really liked that.” You croaked, the brunette cleaning you up and replacing your clothes with just a quick swirl of his wand. He then took you in his arms, kissing your forehead. “Did so well for me, doll. I am proud of you.”

He swooped you into his arms, returning to your shared home. He ran you a bath, which resulted in you two having a round two. He wanted you on top this time, slowly sinking up and down on his length, the warm water soothing the sting of his thick cock stretching you out yet again.

“I love you, Tommy.” You murmured, cuddling up into his side on your shared bed.

“I love you too, doll.”

You drifted off to sleep, certain that you would repeat today’s adventure soon.

[tomionefinds]

We at TomioneFinds, with the help of the Mud & Blood Tomione Discord, have been crafting a list of Tomione classics that created tropes and situations that have become a part of the Tomione fanfic toolbox.

Criteria for selection:

Older fics

Set forth a trope that has become part of Tomione fanfics

May not be getting seen easily in fanfic searches

These fics may not be finished and many of them were written before Deathly Hallows came out. We know fandom has a preference for completed fics right now, but we urge you to check these out. Many of these fics set forth situations and plot devices that are beloved in newer fics, and, like us, may start you on your journey to find others and creating your own. Many of them are a joy to see the rush of Tomione as it developed as a fandom.

This is part 1 of a series.

-Mods Haus and April

Out with the Old by Shan84

M | Complete | 12k

She remembers like it was yesterday, the day that HE came to the Order. Hermione Granger comes to terms with sharing Grimmauld Place with Tom Riddle.

Have a Nice Day by speechwriter

M | Complete | 130k

Tom Riddle: secret, brilliant heir to the biggest company in the world, VoldeMart. Hermione Granger: sent to his prestigious school on full scholarship because VoldeMart outsourced her parents' jobs to China. Bridges burn. Sparks fly. M for language.

Light of the Moon by Maloreiy

T | Complete | 69k

King Riddle needs a bride, and he has declared he will marry whoever is smart enough and strong enough to solve his magical riddle. Written for the Tomione Fest, hosted by the Tomione fanfics Facebook group. Tied for the winner of Best AU, and tied for the runner-up of Best Cover Art.

Daddy Dearest by Immortal Obsession

M | Complete | 108k

It is 1895 in England. Purebloods are the supremacy. Dumbledore rules them all. Lord Malfoy, one of his many devout followers, has a daughter no one has ever seen. The daughter herself, Hermione Malfoy, never questions the strict rules standing between her and everyone else – that is, until Master Riddle arrives and makes her think twice. AU/OOC/Rated M for dark themes.

Well Roared Lion by treeson

M | Abandoned but Worth it | 129k

It seemed ironic that the one thing that could ruin the magical world, the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione Granger's perfectly ordered life was a book. Time-travel fic. Tom/Hermione. DH-compliant.

Much more below the cut!

Nightingale by everrambling

M | Complete | 62k

Brilliant student and prospective MI5 recruit Hermione Granger is inadvertently thrown back in time by a top-secret government experiment- Right into the lap of aspiring bio-engineer Tom Riddle, who she knows in her time as the man whose dangerous ambition will herald a nation's ruin… /Non-magic AU. /Something wicked this way comes.

Two Sides of a Magnet by Mariico

T | Complete | 13k

He had forever to live; she only had weeks. This is a story of a boy with many horcruxes, and a girl diagnosed with cancer. One who has nothing more than power and immortality, while the other has everything but time.

A Black Wedding Ring by Winterblume

T | Complete | 17k

It's 1944 and Hermione Granger is in her seventh and final year at Hogwarts. She's Head Girl, top student in most of her classes and is right in the middle of preparing for her NEWTs exams. Really, everything is quite alright for little Miss Know-It-All. If only it weren't for the Head Boy, Tom Riddle, who seems to be up to something…

[admin fave] Right Place, Wrong Time by Shan84

M | Abandoned but Worth it | 129k

It was just another boring day at Borgin and Burkes for Tom Riddle… That is, until a certain bossy, crazy-haired witch stepped through the entrance. Is this your usual time travel story - or is something else at play? HG/TMR

The Proposal by LadyMiya

T | One shot | 1k

He came with a business proposal.

Doppelganger by Serpent In Red

M | One Shot | 2k

AU. Compliant with DH except for the epilogue. She thought it ended that morning. She thought everything was at peace now. And that was exactly when she started seeing shadows of another person, in the one closest to her.

Insurgence of Obscurity by Mariico

T | Complete | 46k

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Never Again by ssserpensssotia

M | One Shot | 2k

Yes, I'm Hermione. And I know nothing. Post-war,AU.

[lilithknoxville]

Could u do a Johnny smut where her nipples are pierced and he gets turned on by it???

Barbells and Bitemarks (Johnny Knoxville x Fem! Reader) (18+!)

Summary: “What - Nipple piercings a turn on for you or somethin’?” You teased, chuckling awkwardly.

“Yes, actually.” His answer made you stop short. Your eyes raked over his face. His eyes were dark, pools of lust swimming in them. The sight alone was enough to make your knees weak, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Wh-What?” You stammered, making him snicker. His hands, which had fallen down by his sides, came up to your shoulders.

“Do I gotta spell it out for you, doll?” Johnny’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked, “I’m into girls with piercin’s, and I’m much more into them when they’re on your gorgeous ass.”

Content Warnings: Graphic Smut, 18+, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Johnny is a massive whore here, Oral (Fem Receiving), Mild Dacryphilia, Semi Public Sex, Daddy Kink

Word Count: 4,285

AN: MY FIRST EVER ASK EEEEEEEEE!!!!! I literally wanna kiss this anon on the mouth for giving me this idea /j. Thank you so much for requesting something from me, and my inbox is ABSOLUTELY still open for more requests. I may have forty documents open of smuts but I will absolutely drop them for a request. This is high key the most fun I’ve had writing a story in a while :3 again no beta reader we die like men. Also I’m posting this at 4:00 in the morning so MANNNNNNN I’m tired. Prolly gonna pass out after this LOL. Okay here we gooooooooo! ✨

You huffed out a sigh, resting your head back against the wall you were leaned up against. Jeff’s voice droned on and on, giving information and safety on a stunt that you weren’t thrilled about being a part of. So you had tried to tune Jeff out as much as possible, but his loud and booming voice wasn’t letting you zone out. You kicked a leg over your other one, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. You looked over, seeing Johnny leaned over on the opposite wall from you. You smiled slightly, and an easy smile graced his lips as well. He pushed himself off of the wall, coming over to where you were standing. He dipped his head down, his voice hushed in your ear.

“Well ain’t you the vision of bein’ enthused?” Johnny asked, his lips quirked up in a smile. You snorted out a laugh as you looked up at him.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about being up on your shoulders, Knox. I’m fuckin’ terrified of heights, and you’re not exactly short.” You smiled at him, and he shook his head, laughing.

“I promise I ain’t gonna drop you, doll.” He gave a smile that had your stomach doing somersaults, and you growled uneasily.

“I’m holding you to that.” You wrinkled your nose, a smile on your lips, and he clapped a hand on your shoulder. Jeff’s booming voice caught your attention and you cast your gaze back towards where Jeff was standing.

“Hey lovebirds, you two wanna join our conversation?” Jeff called, and the amount of hoots and hollers from the rest of the cast had you pulling your beanie down to cover your face, “Anyways - Johnny, Bam, Ryan, and (Y/N), you guys are gonna be next up for shooting. We’re going to go ahead with Steve-O, Dave, and Ehren’s stunt.” Jeff looked down at his clipboard, nodding to cement what he had just said, “But stay on deck, I’m thinking this one’ll take about an hour. Go ahead and get changed into different clothes, and be on standby. Your guys’ stunt involves mud, and we’ve still got a whole day of shooting.” Jeff clapped his hands and you were all sent on your separate ways. You headed to the trailer they had set up specifically for you, Johnny on your heels like a lost puppy. Your feelings for Johnny were… confusing, to say the least. On one hand, he was your absolute best friend in the whole wide world; You were nothing but comfortable around him. You both laughed until you cried, leaned on the other for support, and you loved each other fiercely. On the other, you were beyond in love with him. Any laugh he gave at your jokes, any smile cast your way, and anytime he touched you (albeit all of them were innocent) lit you up from the inside out.

You entered the trailer, propping the door open with your foot as you waited for Johnny. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he stepped into your trailer.

“You gotta follow me everywhere I go like a lovesick puppy?” You teased, watching as Johnny flopped down on the small couch set up in the trailer.

“Hey, I’m makin’ sure no one fucks with you, doll. You know how these boys are.” Johnny shrugged, resting one of his arms on the back of the couch. You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorframe with your hands behind your back. You kicked one leg over the other, rolling your eyes hard at Johnny’s comment.

“And you act like I’m not scared to beat anyone’s ass.” You snorted out a laugh, pushing off of the wall and going to the small wardrobe that was set up for you. You looked through the clothes, humming. Each outfit was marked with a name of a stunt, and you got to the one for this stunt. It was a sheer, white tank top with jean shorts. You held it up, looking at the outfit with scrutinizing eyes.

“Really?” Johnny barked out a laugh, shaking his head, “I mean - Sex sells, but if we’re sticking our only female cast member in somethin’ like this…” He chuckled again, letting out a puff of air from his nose. There was something unreadable in his eyes, and as you stared at him, trying to figure it out, he looked away, avoiding your eyes, “I dunno what they’re thinkin’.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You tore your eyes away from him, rolling them hard. You heaved out a sigh, giving the outfit one last scrutinous glare, “But I don’t think I really have that much of a choice.” You hung the hanger on the back of a chair, your hands coming to your hoodie’s hem. You pulled your hoodie off over your head, but you failed to realize you had grabbed the bottom of your shirt as well. Immediately, you were standing in a sheer, lace bralette in front of Johnny.

Time seemed to freeze as his eyes raked over you - how the bralette pushed your boobs together, the black lace against your skin, and the two barbells pushed through each of your nipples. You yelped and covered your chest with your arm, your face flushing a bright red.

“Shit! I’m fucking sorry!” You cried, moving your arm from over your chest to try and get your shirt out of the hoodie. Your hands trembled as frantic apologies tumbled from your lips, when suddenly Johnny’s hands were covering yours.

You looked up to see him standing in front of you, his face the same shade of red as yours. His face was calm, however, and a smile ghosted over his lips.

“Doll, you ain’t gotta freak out.” His voice was quiet, a murmur, as he helped you pull the shirt out of the hoodie, “But when were you gonna tell me you’ve got piercings?” He asked, a wolfish grin on his lips. You smacked his arm with a hand, your other hand covering your chest with your shirt.

“You’re an ass!” You chuckled, your face still feeling warm, “What - Nipple piercings a turn on for you or somethin’?” You teased, chuckling awkwardly.

“Yes, actually.” His answer made you stop short. Your eyes raked over his face, looking for any sign he was joking, but there was nothing more than a cool smirk on his face. His eyes were dark, pools of lust swimming in them. The sight alone was enough to make your knees weak, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Wh-What?” You stammered, making him snicker. His hands, which had fallen down by his sides, came up to your shoulders.

“Do I gotta spell it out for you, doll?” Johnny’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked, “I’m into girls with piercin’s, and I’m much more into them when they’re on your gorgeous ass.”

Your head was absolutely swimming, the thoughts swirling through your head nothing that would be considered safe for work. But Johnny’s voice brought you back down to Earth;

“Now, you gonna let Daddy see my babygirl’s piercin’s?” He purred, his hands tracing circles on your shoulders. You shuddered under his hands, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned forward, dipping his head down, and captured your lips in a kiss. Immediately, all of the breath was stolen from your lungs, and your hands scrambled to his shoulders. The kiss started off as slow and soft at first, but it slowly progressed to bruising and passionate.

He growled against your lips, something primal flaring in his chest. This wasn't just some casual kiss; this was a decade of suppressed emotions and desires erupting to the surface for the both of you. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you against him firmly, as if he was afraid of you slipping away.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to tease at the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You opened your mouth, accepting his tongue to touch around. You were secretly very thankful that he didn’t try and jam his tongue so far down your throat that you gagged. His free hand moved up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you captive against him.

Finally, you broke the kiss, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with every breath you took, and your cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. You searched Johnny’s eyes for a moment, a small, breathless giggle leaving your lips. Johnny had the same breathlessness you did, his lips quirking up in a half smile.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, doll, I’d say you’ve been waitin’ for me to do that for a while.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his hand cradling your face. You looked up at him with humor filled eyes, giggling.

“Good thing you know better, hmm?” You asked, giving him a teasing smile. His smile darkened and before you knew it, he had you up in the air, his arms locked around your waist. You squealed and giggled, as Johnny walked over to the small couch that was in your trailer.

He tossed you on the couch, your back pressed dully into the cushions. He crawled in between your legs, his face ghosting over yours. His breath was stolen from his lungs as he looked down at the goddess laid before him, your cheeks flushed the prettiest salmon. You looked up at him, pupils blown wide with lust and want. It intoxicated him in the best way possible, and it made him want more.

More he got, as your hands snaked around his neck and pulled him back down roughly. Your lips reconnected and Johnny grunted against your lips, his hands going to your hips to raise them up against him. In this new angle, you could feel the hard press of the growing bulge in Johnny’s jeans.

He pulled away from the bruising kiss, his breath fanning heavy over your face. A smile tugged at his lips, his head dipping down to your neck. Hot opened mouth kisses were pressed into your skin, the sharp edges of his teeth pressing gently into your neck. You writhed and whimpered under him, his hands tracing your sides with the softest of touches.

“This okay?” He murmured against your skin as his fingers danced at the hem of your bralette, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You breathed out, helping him take off your bralette. He threw it into a random corner, his hands shaking as they ghosted over your breasts.

His eyes stayed stationary on the black barbells pushed through either of your nipples. Slowly, as if he was hesitant, his hands came to your breasts, kneading them. You let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest. His nimble fingers danced over the barbells, and you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

“Yeah? Sensitive, ain’tcha?” He breathed out, his eyes flicking back and forth between your face and your breasts, “My pretty girl.” He breathed out, pressing kisses to the tops of your breasts.

His head dipped lower, his lips attaching to one of your nipples. It was like an electric current was sent through your whole body, the warm feeling of his mouth on the cold barbell made you shoot up. Your back arched, as a shaky wail came from your mouth. Johnny pulled back immediately, his face flashing with concern.

“No, no, no!” You babbled, whining deep in your throat, “Pl-Please.” You begged, your breath coming out in pathetic sounding pants.

“Well, I gotta listen when you’re beggin’ so pretty for me.” Johnny chuckled, dipping his head back down. His mouth went back to your nipple, the warm feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple making you wail again.

His hand dipped to your jeans, fumbling with the button as he tried to undo it with one hand. A huff of breath left his nose and he pulled off of your breast, focusing his attention on your jeans.

“Fuckin’ - goddamnit.” He cursed under his breath, making you giggle. You gently covered his hands with yours, helping him undo the button on your jeans, and you started to push them off of your hips. He caught the hem of your panties in his blunt nails, practically ripping both of them off of your legs. He threw both pieces of clothing to a random corner of your trailer, pushing your legs open. You tried to close your legs, a flare of embarrassment running hot through your veins, but he was much stronger than you were.

He growled, his lips kissing down your stomach, along your hip bone, tasting the cream of your skin mixed with the salt of sweat. He kissed down along your thigh, stopping just before where you needed it the most. You watched as his cheek pressed into your thigh, as he watched how you dripped and keened.

“Look at you, little one,” Johnny purred, causing you to whimper, your fingers tightening in his hair, “You got this wet just from Daddy playin’ with them sexy piercin’s?” The southern twang in his voice drove you crazy, but the fact that he bit into the soft of your thigh caused you to keen again.

“Jesus, don’t fucking tease me.” You whined, your voice coming out breathless and needy. Johnny nipped at the junction where your thigh met your pelvis, and the feeling made you shudder underneath his hands.

“You ain’t got a single idea how bad I’ve wanted you like this.” His breath fanned hot over your clammy skin, his lips kissing lower and lower until he was right above your clit, “Hearin’ you say my name like it’s the only prayer you’ve known.” He groaned, his tongue darting out and kitten licking across your clit.

His lips attached to your pussy, his tongue exploring every single part of you. You whined, throwing your head back against the couch, as his movements were slow, agonizing in the best way possible. He switched between his tongue thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy and sucking on your clit. You let out a strangled moan as he offered a hard suck of your clit.

“Goddamn, babygirl. You taste just like honey.” He grunted against you, pulling back slightly, and wetting his middle and ring finger with his own saliva, “Could spend the rest of my life right here, face pressed into this fuckin’ pussy.” He murmured, lowering his head again. His lips attached to your clit, his middle finger slowly dipping into your pussy.

You came lighting up off of the couch, wailing out his name as he curled his finger, finding the spongy tissue that had you seeing stars. He chuckled against you, the vibration of his laugh making your heart flip in your chest.

His ministrations were eager, and before you knew it, he was adding the second finger into you. He curled his fingers hard, the pleasure thrumming through your veins hitting an all time high. Your hands came to his hair, your hips rolling against his face.

The coil inside your core started to wind tighter and tighter, as you shamelessly grinded against his face, trying to pull yourself closer to an orgasm. He moaned eagerly against you, clearly enjoying the entire situation himself. Tighter and tighter the coil inside you wound, Johnny’s little grunts and moans against you doing nothing to help the situation.

The coil snapped, your orgasm rattling through your bones - your moans breathless and high pitched - as Johnny drank up all of your slick. Your breaths were heavy and ragged, Johnny’s face still firmly planted between your thighs. The feeling started to border on overstimulating, so you tapped his head three times shakily. Johnny finally pulled his head back, his chin and lips wet.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna kill me, doll.” He grunted against your hipbone, laughing shakily, “Usin’ my face like your own personal throne, I could get used to that.” He looked up at you with humor filled eyes, crawling back up towards your lips.

You kissed him breathlessly, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. You moaned shamelessly into his mouth, your hands making quick work of ripping his shirt off of him and pushing his jeans down to his knees. He kicked off his shoes, awkwardly shoving his jeans off of his legs, the denim falling unceremoniously to the floor.

You adjusted on the couch, laying flat on your back horizontally, and Johnny slotted himself between your legs, the thick press of his cock against your weeping slit making you mewl. He fumbled around for a moment, trying to find his jeans.

“I’m on the-” You raised your arm, tapping your bicep, “-thing in arm. Good for three years.” You dropped your arm, your hand running down his chest. “You’re good. I’m clean.”

“You sure?” He asked, his eyes meeting yours, “Can’t promise I’m gonna last long feelin’ this pussy raw.” He admitted, laughing awkwardly.

“I’m sure. No babies.” You pulled his face down to yours, kissing him breathlessly, “Pump me full of cum, Daddy.” You purred.

“Jesus Ch-“ He let out a strangled grunt, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned hot against your face, his breath shaky, “You tryna give an old man a heart attack?” He asked, his voice shaking. He opened his eyes, silently asking if it was okay again. You nodded, and he slowly started to push into you.

The feeling of his thick cock stretching you out made you wail into his shoulder, your blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed in until he bottomed out. His breath was catching in his throat, his arm twitching as he gripped onto the back of the couch for dear life.

“Fuckin’ hell, babygirl.” He grunted out, letting out a trembling exhale of breath, “Pussy’s like a goddamned vice around me.” He spoke through gritted teeth, staying still to let you get used to the feeling of him inside you.

It was a silent couple of seconds before your muscles started to relax and he was able to start thrusting shallowly in and out of you. You whimpered and keened underneath him, and he hadn’t even gotten started yet.

“Harder…” You whispered, your voice begging helplessly, “Daddy, please.”

“Anything my babygirl wants.” Johnny whispered back to you, his hands moving to wrap around your neck, pulling himself impossibly closer to you. His hips slowly sped up, the pace rough but not brutal. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath heavy in your ear.

“Shit, Johnny.” You sucked in a breath through your teeth, whimpering in his ear as he set a steady pace. His hipbones smacked against your ass, causing a dull pain that only accentuated the pleasure.

It was a few moments of this steady pace before Johnny suddenly pulled back from where he was buried in your neck. You looked up at him with dazed eyes, confusion etching into your features. He shuddered out a breath as he met your eyes, a shaky smile crossing his face.

His hands shoved your thighs back, pushing your knees almost to your chest. In this angle, you could feel every inch of his cock as he pounded into you. You threw your head back, wailing out a mix of his name and a guttural scream. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you threw your head back against the small couch.

“Yeah, that’s it, my sweet girl.” He grunted through gritted teeth, his breath coming out in bursts, “You take Daddy’s cock so fucking well. This goddamned pussy was made for this cock - Fuck!” He snarled, his hips speeding up. All you could do was hold on for dear life, your mind swimming with nothing but him and how fucking good this felt.

His hands came to your breasts, his fingers tweaking one of the barbells. Between his nimble fingers on your nipples sending waves of heat to your core, and him making a complete mess of your pussy, you felt yourself coming undone at the seams. The familiar coil in your core was winding tighter and tighter by the second, and the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes fell down your face. The pleasure was starting to border on the perfect blend of amazing and almost cruel. You met his eyes, your vision blurry from the tears, and you could see he had a wolfish grin on his lips.

“Yeah, that’s it. Cry over how fucking good this cock is.” He snarled, dipping his head down to your neck and leaving hot opened mouth kisses against your skin, “Could fucking live in this pussy, babygirl, Jesus Christ-!” His thrusts were getting sloppy, and you wailed out his name again, the coil suddenly snapping in your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body trembled, your pussy fluttering around him. Your body felt taut, as your orgasm rippled through your bones.

“Oh fuck, babygirl-“ He grunted out, his thrusts brutal and rapid, “Just like that… Daddy’s gonna fucking cum all in this pussy.” He growled in your ear, and all you could do was hold on for dear life.

A couple seconds later, he stilled, letting out a moan that would make a pornstar blush. His cock twitched and pulsed inside of you as thick, hot ropes of cum filled you. You writhed, still trying to come down from your high.

It was a silent couple of seconds as the two of you remembered how to breathe, and you were the first to make any form of a sound. You chuckled breathlessly, meeting Johnny’s eyes.

“Well, remind me to accidentally strip in front of you more often.” You panted out, bringing your arms up and pulling Johnny into a kiss. His hands cradled the back of your head, holding your lips to his. He broke the kiss, laughing softly against your lips.

“Ain’t gotta be accidental no more, doll.” He pressed kiss after kiss to your lips, “You got me hooked around your lil’ finger.” He smiled down at you, before the sound of someone banging on the door made you both jump. You swore under your breath, your heart racing.

“Ye-Yeah?” You called, putting a finger to Johnny’s lip to shush him.

“Hey, are you two done fucking already? Your guys’ stunt is about to start.” Ehren’s voice, which had the edge of awkwardness to it, rang out through the door and it took everything in you to not want to melt into the floor from embarrassment.

“Why, you wanna join?” Johnny called and you smacked his arm, his loud cackle of a laugh making you roll your eyes.

“Gross! Fuck no!” Ehren’s voice was high pitched, and you could almost see him cringing, “Fucking hell, Knox. Just get dressed and get your guys’ asses out here. Jeff’s pissed.” Ehren walked away from the door, and you could hear his soft muttering as he walked away. You snorted out a laugh, cringing as Johnny pulled out of you. He grabbed a couple of tissues from a table nearby, getting you as cleaned up as possible.

“Well, I’m gonna have my own cum running down my neck.” He joked, and you groaned.

“Ew! Johnny!” You whined, and he barked out a laugh.

“What? I’m right!” He had a twinkle in his eye, helping you get up from the couch. Your hair was a mess, and your neck was covered with all sorts of love bites, “I ain’t the one who decided you were gonna wear shorts that barely cover your ass while you’re up on my damn shoulders!” He helped you get dressed, putting on his own clothes quickly afterwards.

“So…” You trailed off, letting him run a brush through your hair. You smiled at the odd intimacy of the action, and he hummed, a question of ‘Go on?’, “When’s round two?” You asked, the question hanging thickly in the air.

“Let’s win this stupid chicken fight ‘tween Bam and Ryan, and maybe then we’ll talk.” He chuckled darkly in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Don’t worry, babygirl. I’ll have you walkin’ funny sooner rather than later.” He growled in your ear, sending a rush through you. He patted your butt, shaking his head, “But come on. Before the Almighty Tremaine slits our damn throats for fuckin’ up his perfect lil’ schedule.”

You exited your trailer, and if it wasn’t for the love bites on your neck and the flush that covered your cheeks, you were sure no one would have pegged you for having just had sex with Johnny. You, of course, would have been wrong.

“How big’s his cock, (Y/N)?” Bam all but screamed at you when you and Johnny made it to the set, and you bristled for a moment, “Come on, everyone heard you screamin’ his name!”

“Jealous, are we?” Johnny asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “Too bad she ain’t gonna ever scream your name, Bambi.”

You chuckled, trying to pull your beanie down to hide your face in embarrassment. But as you looked up at Johnny, who was harassing Bam about being jealous still, that weird love you had for Johnny settled in your stomach again. But those were feelings for another day. You had more pressing matters, namely throwing Bam and Ryan off of a wooden beam so you could get round two.

You had a pretty good feeling you’d be getting what you wanted, regardless of what Johnny had said.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Part 1

aegon x best friend!reader ; modern!au

summary: this fic is snippets of aegon and reader's relationship as they grow up and discover new feelings. but to let himself be loved, aegon has to first do some growing up.

rating: 18+, minors dni.

tags: alcohol, substance abuse.

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

next part

A/N: i'm so excited to share my first full fic! this series is very very lowkey inspired by one day and highkey inspired by peter by taylor swift. comment if you'd like to be on the taglist for this! hope you guys like it :)

divider credit @ cafekitsune!

Age 10

“I still don't see why we had to move here." a sullen, 10 year old Y/N replied, pouting as she stared out the window from the backseat. her father couldn't help an amused smile at the little girl as he drove towards her new school. "i told you darling, daddy’s got a very important new job here in king’s landing." "yes but why did I have to move here." the older man let out a patient sigh. this had been going on weeks leading to their move. "you haven't even given the city a chance yet, kiddo. why do you hate it already?" "because..." the little girl started with an exasperated whine. ".... i don't have any friends here!" "you have me." her father offered with an assuring grin. the unamused look he got in return was not grateful in the least. "you're dad. i want friends." the seriousness with which Y/N declared her dilemma earned her a laugh from the front seat.

her father pulled into the curb by the grand iron gates of Red Keep Academy, the best private school in the city. as Y/N hopped out the backseat, looking deflated, he lowered the car window, "hey c'mon now, you can't start your first day all sad. who knows, maybe you'll come back with a hoard of friends, even more than you had back home." Y/N only looked ahead at him, unconvinced. "bye, dad."

as she made her way towards the main archway to the school, she thought of all the things she was missing about home. not the new townhouse they had in the city, her real home, back in the reach. she thought of the swing behind her house, the smell from the bakery next door, the big oak tree she saw on the way to school every morning, the fountain in the park – when suddenly someone ran past her, fast enough to knock her down.

"ouch!" she cried out from the floor, rubbing her shoulder where she had been hit. "aegon!" a woman suddenly rushed to her side, glowering at the little boy who had pushed past her. "are you okay, honey? were you hurt?" the first thing Y/N noticed was how kind the woman looked with her big brown eyes, and so very pretty. "i'm okay." she reassured in a small voice, before turning to give this 'Aegon', the dirtiest look she could muster.

the boy had to be her age, pale blonde hair that looked like someone had tried to comb it but had not been given enough time to finish the job. he wore a matching school uniform to Y/N, navy blue blazer, white shirt and dark green pants. his shirt though was untucked and seemed to already have mud stains.

she thought he seemed mostly unbothered by his own actions, but stood there attempting to look sheepish nonetheless for his mother.

"apologise to this young lady." his mother demanded. "sorry..." he mumbled almost incomprehensibly. already upset and now physically hurt, Y/N wordlessly got up and hurried away, trying to stop hot tears from spilling out.

as she walked away she heard the boy's mother scold him, "that was not an apology, Aegon. go say sorry, properly this time." she heard a childish groan in response, "do I have to?".  his mother must have given him one hell of a look, Y/N thought because she heard her say nothing else but small footsteps came jogging up to her.

as the blonde boy walked next to her, she waited for him to say something while she kept walking ahead, but he seemed to just wordlessly fall in stride with her. After a minute he suddenly asked, “do you even know where you’re going?”

now that he mentioned it, she didn’t.

she suddenly stopped and looked around herself, confused. He stopped with her and studied her for a second. “I don’t know you.” He observed. “are you new?”. She decided to stay silent, hoping he would go away if she ignored him but she was wrong. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “you’re going in the wrong direction, new girl. That way –” he pointed to where she had been headed “—is the middle school building. Primary school is this way.” He started walking down a hallway, and Y/N took hurried steps to follow him.

He gave her a sideway glance, “what grade are you in anyway? Third?” he smugly asked, proudly looking down at her as a mature fifth-grader. “fifth.” She snapped at him. “oh”, he responded, surprised. “who’s class?” “Miss Reyne.” “no kidding!” he gave her a toothy grin. “so am I.”

Y/N didn’t like this Aegon, she decided. As he kept chatting away about how boring Miss Reyne was, she gave him no replies and generally walked as if she were alone and had no association with the silver haired boy beside her. As they settled into class, she was determined to avoid him for the rest of her day. Aegon though, was determined for quiet the opposite.

He took a seat next to hers, kept making comments, providing her a running, private commentary about each teacher and student. He wasn’t affected by Y/N’s lack of a response, or if he was, he didn’t let it show. Y/N had to admit though, he was funny. she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he told her about the time Jason Lannister got gum stuck in his hair, and had to suppress a giggle when Aegon impersonated Mr. Bolton falling asleep mid-way through teaching a class. At these small instances of Y/N’s guard breaking, he flashed her a bright smile, pleased with himself.

Y/N though, didn’t utter a word to him. Until Art class that was.

They had been asked to paint an animal, and when Y/N looked up from the goldfish she had been painting, she saw Aegon’s work. “a dragon isn’t a real animal.” She disproved. The boy merely shrugged, “that’s not an animal either, it’s a fish.”

“a fish is an animal.” She frowned at her work. “it’s just an animal under water.”

“oh well, let’s add some of its natural habitat then.” He smirked, grabbing the bowl of water they’d been sharing to clean their brushes. “NO! stop!” in an attempt to block him from pouring water on her work, the brush in her hand smeared some of the yellow paint on his face.

He froze in his action immediately, bringing up his fingers to feel the paint streak running down from his brow to across his nose. This time Y/N couldn’t suppress her laughter at the sight, his blinking expression making it all the more funnier. “well, if that’s how you want to do this!” he declared as he scooped some of the red paint on his two fingers before smearing it on her cheek.

Within five minutes, their respective art works had been abandoned and both sets of uniform utterly ruined. The two had to be separated by their teacher, then ordered to walk down to the washrooms and clean themselves right up.

The second she left the girls washroom though, Y/N found the silver haired boy waiting for her by the door, some green paint still visibly stuck in his pale locks. “race you to class?” he mischievously suggested. “Hmm” Y/N pretended to think about the challenge for a second, before saying “okay” and dashing towards their class.

With a self-satisfied smile at having beaten Aegon, she took her seat. Sulking at his defeat, Aegon slinked back in his chair, “you cheated, didn’t wait for the ‘go’…”

“win’s a win.” Y/N declared, grabbing golden glitter for her fish. 

He didn’t stay grumpy for long though, before she knew it he was back to his talkative self, this time with Y/N chiming in with her own comments. The hours flew by with Aegon by her side, and as the day came to an end Y/N realised she’d enjoyed herself after all.

As they walked towards the school gate to leave, Aegon suddenly changed the topic. “you like video games?” “yeah…?” she hesitantly replied. “great, you’re coming over tomorrow to play some.” He beamed. At the end of the sentence Y/N observed he hadn’t actually asked her a question. “okay.” She found herself agreeing.

“cool, see you tomorrow.” Aegon had started running in the direction of one of the cars, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “never asked your name.” he sheepishly realised.

 “Y/N!” she distractedly answered as she sped up, having found her mom’s car in the parking lot.

“Y/N…” Aegon muttered to himself as he walked away, liking the way the name rolled of his tongue.

Age 15

“You’re late.” Y/N didn’t even bother to look up when she heard the window to her bedroom open, but did glance at the subsequent sound of someone falling face first onto her carpet. “have you been drinking? Its 2pm.”

Down on the ground laid her best friend of five years, with his messy platinum hair and stick-thin lanky limbs, carrying in the distinct smell of smoke when he entered her room. Though they were the same age, aegon looked more boyish still even as he had started to race towards every vice of the adult world he could get his hands on.

Aegon merely rubbed his now injured nose, as he lifted his head off the ground. “No I haven’t been drinking… still drunk from last night. Big difference.” Y/N sighed and shook her head in vexation before returning to her homework.  Aegon had recently taken up drinking and despite Y/N’s repeated rebukes, he seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much to stop. He continued to wave off her concern and she was starting to tire of voicing it.

“Let’s say I believed you… you wanna tell me what made you so late, then? I do have other things to do with my day than wait around to teach you biology, y’know.” Aegon grabbed a chair and dragged it to sit next to her at her desk. “I was actually busy being taught biology as it happens… albeit of a different kind.” His smug, self-satisfied grin as he pulled a cigarette from his front pocket  and placed it between his teeth, told Y/N all she needed to know. “Elinda Massey was the most enthusiastic of teachers.” Y/N couldn’t help but grit her teeth at the mention of Aegon’s latest distraction.

With a swift motion she grabbed the cigarette and threw it in the bin, ignoring his protests. “you know you’re not allowed to smoke in here, my parents would kill me if they smelled it.” Aegon snorted at the statement, “yeah but, that’s never stopped me before.” The casualness with which Aegon dismissed her, pinched Y/N. It was certainly true that Y/N usually found it hard to say no to Aegon, no matter how the consequences might harm her; but she didn’t like how he took the same for granted, as if it was a given.

“What’s got you all prissy today?”

“you. You wanna pass biology this year or not?” Y/N replied, visibly irritated. “yeah like there’s a chance in hell they’ll actually fail me. Grandfather would have the place shut within the week.” “then why do you even need a tutor? Go off with Elinda or whoever.” Y/N huffed, her eyes remaining trained so hard on her textbook that she was half certain she was going to burn holes into it, her hand clutching around the pencil in her hand.

“Elinda? That’s what you’re so annoyed about?” aegon snickered. Y/N turned to now glare directly into his blue eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks and her nostrils flaring. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to push aegon right out the window he came from so she could be alone instead of having to deal with this. “No, I just think you’re wasting your time here right now, when you could be doing…. Biology with Elinda instead.” Aegon brow furrowed at her reaction, but instead of another retort his hand reached out to gently grab her arm. “hey…” his features softened from their usual impish nature to highlight his concern “…what’s actually up with you?” in the face of such kindliness from him, she couldn’t muster any more scathing replies.

He’d seen right through her, like only he could. For weeks now she’d been stressed, but found the topic too awkward to discuss with Aegon. But she knew she’d have to open up to him sooner or later about her problem. Keeping secrets from Aegon was simply not something she did. Or even possibly could if she tried, she thought.

“promise you won’t laugh.” She first demanded in a nervous tone. Raising his three fingers, her best friend solemnly confirmed, “scouts honour.” She swallowed, her eyes looking beyond Aegon’s shoulder rather than at him as she slowly admitted. “I’ve not had my first kiss.”

Aegon merely blinked back at her, “what, is there supposed to be more to that or…?” “I’ve not had my first kiss.” She repeated as if those words were supposed to be self-explanatory. “yeah and I’ve never been to the Summer Isles, what’re you on about?” Y/N couldn’t help a groan as she momentarily hid her face behind her hands, thinking the more she would explain herself the more embarrassed she would get.

“It’s just, I’m 15, and I should have had it by now, I’ve never even been on a date.. and… and… and you’ve got Elinda and Maria before that, and Jeyne and, and…. I just can’t believe you’ve gone to third base before I’ve even had my first kiss!” her words came out rushed in the end, out of frustration and a need to just get the shameful confession over with.

She had expected Aegon to laugh it off, or worse, agree that her situation was absolutely the height of shame. Instead, he looked confused that such a thing was bothering her in the first place “what, that’s it? why didn’t you just say so before?”

nonchalantly, aegon put an arm behind Y/N’s chair. Eyes closed, he suddenly leaned in towards her, lips puckered, causing her eyes to go wide. “what the –” as a reflex response she pushed back at his shoulders, making him fall of the chair.

“the fuck was that for!” he shouted from the floor, his ego and back bruised.  “why did you try to kiss me?” Y/N was shocked, horrified even, at the prospect. Aegon was her best friend, she couldn’t even imagine looking at him in that light. it was Aegon, he was simply too familiar for her.

Aegon raised his hands out as if the answer was obvious. “you said it yourself you wanted to have your first kiss!”. Y/N’s nose scrunched up, “not with you!”.

“well how was I supposed to get that! Fuck me, I’ll never understand you women”

“‘you women?’” at that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. This scene before her, this response by her best friend was too ridiculous. Yet, she noted as she offered a hand to help him back up which he grumblingly took, this was very much in character for Aegon. She knew he always wanted to help her, he might not have always understood how to go about it, but his heart was in the right place.

“I don’t need you to fix it, aegon.” She affably told him, a faint grateful smile on her face for her friend’s valiant effort nonetheless. “yeah, no-shit, because there’s nothing to fix. You’re not broken, Y/N.” Y/N didn’t know that she needed to hear those words until Aegon said it and it felt as if a burden was lifted off her shoulders.

“Don’t get me wrong. Doing all this, the kissing and the more-than-kissing, it’s fun. Honestly it’s so, so much fun, like I can’t even—” “you wanna get to your point?” “–so it’s great and all but, not doing it doesn’t mean you’re any less for it. You’re still Y/N, you’ll always still be Y/N to me.”

The anxiety she had been feeling, the fear of being left behind and the worry about other’s judgement, even her own – it all started to look so small and insignificant when Aegon told her she was still the same to him. This was her only constant in life, this bond between her and Aegon, the one person she couldn’t hide who she was from. In that moment, she felt glad to have him by her side.

“Besides if you were ever truly that desperate, you could always just try Jace. he’s had a thing for you like forever” Aegon revealed, rolling his eyes in apparent annoyance of the fact. Y/N though, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Jace… has a thing for me?” The thought of it seemed to please her, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as a red blush started to creep onto her cheeks once more.

Aegon looked disgusted at her response, and grimaced, “yeah okay, no need to flatter yourself too much …. It’s Jace.” He stuck his tongue out at the distaste of the thought of his best friend with his nephew. Y/N didn’t pay him any attention, having taken to doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook while engrossed in thought. Aegon immediately regretted having said anything, snatching the notebook from under her hand, “alright are we going to do some biology or what?”

Age 17

Y/N had been fast asleep when the familiar sound of pebbles against her window awoke her. she looked at the time on the watch as it read 2:17 am, quickly rising from her bed. there was only one person who had to be out there, and she knew why too. her heart sank, knowing already that aegon must have had another fight with his father. she opened the window and as expected, aegon targaryen precariously balanced his steps on the tree branch just outside.

"aegon, what are you doing? It's late," she whispered-shouted, trying not to wake her parents but already held out a hand to help him in. "Needed to see you," he slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. She wanted to chide him for endangering himself by climbing up so high when he’d drunk so much, but looking at his condition she decided to stay quiet. He climbed into her room, stumbling slightly as he landed. Y/N caught his arm, steadying him. "You've been drinking again," she said, more as a statement than a question.

aegon’s normally sparkling blue eyes were unfocused, his silver hair dishevelled. He'd grown taller of late, she missed the days when she could stand shoulder to shoulder with him. she now had to look up at him, as she put one of his arms around her shoulder to guide him towards the bed as his own steps fumbled.

“He doesn’t get it, Y/N. None of them do. To him, nothing i've done or will do matters for shit. i'm just not the son he wanted. he regrets me, i can see it in his eyes, I—”  a sob escaped his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence.

She gently sat him down on the edge of her bed, his weight pressing down on the soft mattress.  As she looked into his sad, bloodshot eyes, she harboured such hatred for Viserys as she thought impossible for anyone else to hold. she kneeled down in front of him, her heart breaking to see him so.

"I know, i know. But you can’t keep doing this, aegon. If you keep drinking like this, you could seriously hurt yourself one of these days." and she didn't think she could survive that.

she reached out to hold his hands in her own. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you. Always." if aegon heard her, he gave no indication, instead staring at their intertwined hands.

"can I crash here tonight?" he suddenly asked, looking more innocent than she'd ever seen him as he lifted his eyes to look up at her. Gone was the bravado and arrogance that was usual of him, even expected. In that moment he looked more lost than ever, and was looking to her as if she was his only hope for shelter.

she knew her parents wouldn't be thrilled about this impromptu sleepover, but then again she'd never had the ability to deny him anything. "of course," she tenderly smiled.

he kicked off his shoes and moved back up the bed, still holding onto her hand, pulling her with him. he lied down on her pillow, refusing to let go of her hand as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. he looked so peaceful, Y/N couldn’t help but reach out her free hand to run it through his hair in admiration. She wasn’t blind, she knew how handsome he looked, causing the girls to flock to him like moths to a flame. But his looks were just an objective fact to her, she never found herself attracted to him in the same way as the girl at school. But somehow in the pale moonlight, he looked more beautiful than she’d ever seen him, and it caused her chest to swell overwhelmingly.

she looked down to notice he'd opened his eyes again. "Don't leave," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"I won't" she promised, pulling the blanket over them both. he nodded in satisfaction of her reply, nestling against the crook of her neck, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Sleep evaded Y/N though, on the one hand she was wracked with worry over Aegon and his drinking habits, on the other.... she could feel his breath tickling her neck, as his one hand held her own while his other wrapped around her waist, his feet entangled with hers. his body pressed to her own under the covers, making the cramped space on her single bed too hot. Aegon had never been this physically close to her, this vulnerable. she thought how his safe space, the place he ran to when he wanted an escape was her, same as he was for her. it had always been this way, yet, in the darkness of the night she sensed something had shifted between them. she couldn't name it yet, though.

The next morning, when the first light of dawn seeped through the curtains, aegon stirred. He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes at his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the familiar face inches from his own "Y/N?" Y/N merely hummed in response, only now starting to stir awake. "what... how did i get here?" he asked looking around the room, startled. He lifted his head as he realised he was all but laid out on top of her, before moving away to lay on his back. He looked down to find his hand had cramped from holding onto hers all night, immediately releasing it. Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she responded, "what d'you mean?"

"i mean what am i doing in your bed at the crack of dawn." aegon looked earnestly confused, Y/N realised, which worried her.  "You came here last night," she slowly replied, watching his face carefully. "You were drunk. Do you remember?"

aegon frowned, rubbing his temples. "No... I don't." he suddenly looked at Y/N, "Did I do something... did we...?" he motioned to the space between them, his brow raised. Y/N sat up from her bed in alarm, "oh, no, nothing. of course not." she reassured him. she tried not to look too wounded at his relieved expression "good, good." he nodded, staring up at the ceiling.

"you had a fight with your dad and wanted to crash here. do you not remember coming up here last night?" "I don't remember anything really. last thing I do remember is opening one of the bottles from the wine cellar and then" he shrugged. Y/N frowned at his response, "Aegon, have you started blacking out?” her stomach tied itself in knots, feeling anxiety over this new development. But she felt as if she was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation.

she searched for any fear in aegon’s eyes, but only found apathy and disinterest. he seemed unconcerned, merely rolling onto his side and closing his eyes, lazily stretching himself out to get comfortable to fall back asleep.

“do you understand what that means? it means this is getting dangerous. This is no longer all for a good time, Egg.” She attempted again, this time raising her voice to catch his attention. It seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"wake me up for lunch, yeah?" he yawned, drifting back to slumber within minutes.

A wave of anger washed over her, she wanted to knock him off her bed or  hit him with a pillow in frustration over his own self-destructive ways. Did he not understand the ending he was currently headed towards? Did he not care how this going to affect him, affect her? She was tired of being the only safety harness keeping him held back when all he seemed to want to do was jump into the abyss.

“fucking… suit yourself.” She stormed off the bed to head out of her room, shutting the door behind her loudly.

[natalievoncatte]

Content Warning: This is a dark, angsty ficlet. There’s major character death. (They get better)

Kara gave the last of the trees a meaty shove and clapped her hands lightly, to shake off the dirt and tree bark that clung to her palms. She’d been called away from National City about twenty minutes ago to respond to a catastrophic landslide in Oregon that looked like a job for Supergirl. The villain trade had been a little light lately ever since the League went public, and she heard-

A thin crackle.

“Kara, get back to the Tower,” it was Alex, and her voice was strained, trembling. “Come back here right now. Directly here. Don’t stop anywhere and get here as fast as you can.”

Her feet had already left the ground by the time Alex had finished her message. Kara took off and ascended almost straight up, so that when she went hypersonic it didn’t harm anyone below.

“Alex?” she called, as she came in for a landing on the balcony. “What is it?”

Alex was inside with the others, wearing her costume but not her makeup or mask. She was deathly pale and her eyes were red rimmed and puffy from crying. Her voice hitched.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Alex began.

Kara’s stomach dropped.

“Tell me what?”

Alex went still, as if the words would not leave her. Kara could see her straining with the effort, cords standing out on her throat.

“Tell me what?”

“I… I can’t do this…”

“Tell me what?” Kara demanded.

“Lena’s been shot.”

Kara stared at her. Her eyes went wide and she felt a cold rush through her body as if someone had opened a door behind her into a blizzard.

“Where is she?”

“Kara, try to stay calm, let me-“

“I want to see her now, Alex. Where is she?”

Alex swallowed.

“She’s, ah, gone, Kara.”

“Gone where?”

“They tried to resuscitate her, but there was too much damage to her heart.”

“Okay, so we need a transplant? Do we have a candidate? Or an artificial one? She probably has one in her lab.”

A manic frenzy began to overtake her, as though energy crackled down her limbs. What Alex was saying made no sense. Lena wouldn’t need to be resuscitated. She was fine. She had to be fine. Lena was fine. That was that. Kara would go wait for her in her hospital room by the bedside, and-

“She passed, Kara. She didn’t make it.”

Kara blinked.

“Didn’t… make it… passed… you mean she… wait… Alex what the fuck are you saying to me?”

Alex looked away, hugging herself.

“She died, Kara. Lena’s gone.”

She stood there for a shocked instant, paralyzed, some part of her mind shielding her from the full implication of what she just heard.

Then it slammed into her like a freight train. Like an earthquake. Like the shockwave from her exploding home world. Kara had been off saving some rich fuck’s house from fucking mud and Lena was dead. Lena was dead. Lena was-

Kara screamed.

The initial blast blew Alex off her feet and sent her sliding a good ten feet across the floor as she clapped her hands over her ears. Every window and every piece of glass in the Tower shattered at once and every one in the surrounding buildings cracked. All over the city, dogs began barking.

When Kara fell to her knees, the world around her was rimed with frost; her wail had been an arctic blast. Alex sat up, staring at the blood on her palms that had trickled from her ears. Some distant, emotionally controlled, Kryptonian part of her concluded that she’d probably just destroyed her sister’s eardrums.

Alex was trying to say something but the words didn’t reach her. Everything was far away, on the other side of a low whine in her ears and the sound of her own rushing blood in her veins. Red-sun fire boiled within her, setting her eyes alight and wreathing her in vapor as her tears turned to steam.

“Kara,” she finally heard Alex say, but it was too late.

She flew straight up, heedless of the rent she tore in the roof of the Tower as she took flight. She screamed again, a wail of primal torment and rage, and the world went silent.

Truly silent.

The one sound she always listened for above all others was not there. The steady drum beat was not there. Kara lashed out at herself, tearing at fistfuls of her hair.

An inescapable certainty seized her: Lena had died knowing Kara was not going to save her.

Another scream, followed by twin beams of infinite heat blasting skyward like a false sunrise, bathing the world below in crimson hues. Part of her wanted to sweep her gaze down and burn it all, just start smashing and tossing and punching and wreck everything she could lay her hands on.

Her family, her home, her culture, her foster father, her aunt, they were all taken from her. Kara gave and gave and gave and no matter how she martyred herself the world just kept taking.

They took her Lena.

Kara looked down. Rage burned furnace hot inside her chest, threatening to consume her. Why wasn’t someone protecting her? Why was this allowed to happen? Someone just shot her?

She would find who did it and she would end him. She’d tear him to shreds with her bare hands and she would know who was responsible for this and she would smash and burn her way to them and they would pay. She would make them pay.

And her Lena would still be gone.

Nothing Kara could do would bring her back. She was helpless. She crushed her head in her hands and screamed and screamed again; there were military aircraft and police helicopters approaching and she didn’t care.

It was as if some great hooked claws had rent her open, as if every single one of her old wounds had burst at once. Kara had died for this world twice over and this was how they repaid her?

It was worse than that.

In her miserable fucking cowardice Kara has never told her.

Lena would never know how much Kara loved her. She would never smile for Kara again, never crinkle around her eyes as she laughed or look so achingly beautiful as she became lost in some scientific problem or journal article. She had been Kara’s red sunrise and now the sun was set forever.

There was no bringing her back.

Wait.

Kara’s eyes flew open.

There was a way. Clark had confessed it to her, and warned her never to try it.

Fuck that.

Kara rocketed straight up, tearing through the atmosphere until the void clapped straight around her. She had to be free of all resistance, not because it would slow her, but because she would ignite the atmosphere. This might not even work. She might solar flare right in the middle of it and die.

Maybe if she did she’d be with Lena. Maybe Rao would actually do something for her for once and she’d find herself in sunlit fields under a red sky with her Lena there for her.

Anything had to be better than this.

Kara flew. She put every iota of force she could muster into her flight, curving around the Earth. Within moments she was making complete orbits every few seconds.

It’s working, she thought. The red shift.

At this speed, all suns were red. The sky was an endless chaos of red pinpricks.

Faster.

Kara didn’t know how she flew. Not even her precious Lena had been able to crack that question, and she’s tried. Kara had never attempted to find her top speed, never tried to find out how fast she could go.

She could go faster.

Beneath her, Earth was frozen. When she used her super-speed, her mind sped up with it, and everything slowed to a crawl.

She was close now, she could feel it. She just had to go faster.

Faster.

FASTER

And she did.

The stars were gone. The Earth was gone. There was only endless black and-

Void. Nothingness. It had no color, nothing to actually see, just a limitless nothing.

Almost. There was one thing in the darkness, in the endless Outside.

“Clark?”

He was there with her in the void, just there, cape and spitcurl and all. Clark. Kal-El. Kara’s final mission from her people and the greatest of her many failures. Her cousin.

“What happened?” he said.

“It’s Lena,” Kara blurted.

He looked at her with big sad eyes. “Do you mean Lex’s sister?”

Kara blinked. “Who the hell else would I mean, Clark?”

“Oh,” he said. “When I got here you two hadn’t met yet, I suppose. You’re friends with her?”

Kara looked at him.

“Where are we?”

“The other side of the speed of light. This is what happens when you go superluminal without a warp drive or a hypergate.”

Kara flinched back.

“From your perspective you haven’t left yet,” said Kara. But how did…”

Her eyes went wide. Of course. She didn’t realize it at first because she had outrun the concept of movement itself.

She was still moving.

All she had to do was…

Stop.

Kara’s stomach did a backflip and she vomited into the vacuum, turning in space so she didn’t have to watch orbs of her own puke falling into the atmosphere.

She dove, straight down into the sky, chased by everlasting sunrise.

It only took a glance, and Kara saw a red streak headed north for Oregon, away from National City. She was watching herself fly away.

It worked.

It worked!

She slowed. She stopped. She listened. She found it.

Lena had left the Foundation and was walking downtown, probably to her new favorite coffee spot, just another woman in the crowd. Since she’s turned over control of the company to Sam and focused her working days on her philanthropy, she’d become softer, more casual, more, as she put it, west coast. She was just strolling down the street in a hoodie and scrolling her phone on her way to her inevitable end.

Kara steeled herself.

I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.

She swept low over the downtown crowd and landed in front of Lena.

She was so beautiful, so soft. So confused. She stared at Kara.

“I thought you were going to Oregon and we were getting dinner later?”

“Come with me now. Please. Please, Lee. I’m begging you.”

There was a brief, heavy pause. Kara swallowed hard. Lena looked at her for the barest moment, then allowed herself to be scooped up into Kara’s arms and flown gently, so very carefully, to the Tower.

When she landed, Kara gingerly set Lena on her feet and took a short step back. Alex came running into the room.

“Kara?”

“What?” said a voice in her ear. Her own voice, on her comms, entangled somehow because she was in both places at once.

Alex drew her weapon and aimed it at Kara’s head, gently taking Lena’s arm and pulling her back, then poked her ear.

“Kara you’ve got a doppleganger here. I’m not sure if she’s extra-dimensional or a shapeshifter.”

Kara sighed when she felt the rush behind her, the gust of air and the heavy landing of boot heels on the balcony.

“Don’t move,” Kara told Kara.

“I won’t,” she told herself.

“Who are you and what are you do-“

Kara turned and looked at herself. She’d experienced this too many times before. Shapeshifters, a clone, an evil version of herself from a broken timeline.

This was different in some inexplicable way, and the pain came.

They both screamed, not so loud this time, and suddenly Kara was actually in two places at once, looking at herself looking at herself in an infinite loop and then…

One.

Kara was staring at Lena and Alex, standing where her past self had been standing a few moments earlier. She shook her head and… Lena.

Lena!

Kara rushed to her, gathering her up in a fierce hug, nuzzling her nose into her hair to take in her scent.

“You’re alive!” Kara exulted.

“You’re covered in mud,” Lena protested, pushing her back.

Kara let her.

Lena looked at Kara, then at Alex.

“Wait,” she said, soft eyes searching. “How did I get here, exactly?”

“How did you get here?” said Alex. “I don’t remember you coming in. I thought I was calling Kara back. I had to tell her something. It was…” her brows furrowed.

Kara swallowed, hard.

Wait. Why had she come back? She’s dealt with the landslide but she… just went hypersonic to get here? Why?

It didn’t matter. She was gripped by conviction. She just knew, somehow, that she had to do this.

“Lena, I’m sorry about the mud. Listen, since you’re here, I wanted to ask you… want to hang out tonight? At my place?”

“S-sure,” Lena said, blinking.

“What’s wrong?” said Alex.

“I don’t know,” said Lena. “I felt this odd sensation for a moment and then it was… almost like deja vu, but then…” she trailed off. “I need to get back to my office.”

“I’ll change and walk you back,” said Kara.

“Right. I’ll wait in the rec room.”

Lena turned and walked slowly out of the room, muttering to herself.

Alex stared at her.

“What was that about?”

“I’m telling her tonight.”

“Telling her what?”

“That I’m in love with her.”

Alex looked at her flatly.

“Well,” she said, “it’s about fucking time.”

[trivia-yandere]

hi! if you're still taking requests. can you do a noncon smut with jungkook? with things like forced impregnation / baby trapping 😳

yes we can! thank you for sending a request & being patient with us! please read the tags for what is to come for this one-shot - if you are not comfortable with it please do not proceed!

test your morality (jungkook)

jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him. @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

word count: 3.610

warning: yandere tendancies, dark themes, non-con/dub-con moments, smut, humiliation/degradation kink, bondage, shock collar, crying, sadism, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk,

halloween masterlist

Your tears stream down your face rapidly - so much so that it reminds Jungkook of a streaming river. So hot and fresh and full of emotion. 

Jungkook loves you. You & he are best friends. He could date back years - decades - in which you and he had sat side by side. 

You were there when he had scraped his knee while playing tag in kindergarten. You wiped his tears away, saying that it was okay for boys to cry after he was being teased for it.

Jungkook had been there for you, as well. You had gained enough courage to attempt to befriend a group of girls just for them to laugh right in your own face - he was scolded for throwing mud on them, but it was worth it.

First crushes, first kisses, homecomings, proms and graduations - you and Jungkook dealt with it all. 

The summer after High School graduation was one of his favorites. You two were young and free, having no worries in the world. College began and though you and he couldn’t hang often, you still found time for him just as he did you.

Now you and Jungkook are adults, both the age of 26. You are grown now, having “adult” jobs and responsibilities. 

Jungkook loves you - his best friend. He’d do anything for you and he knows you’d do the same for him. Even in such a cruel world, you found someone that you loved and loves you (not as much as he loves you, but it was close enough). As his best friend, you deserved it. 

This is why now Jungkook was feeling terrible. It’s a feeling that’s deep in the pits of his stomach - his soul. A feeling that no one should ever know - a dark desire that anyone would keep a secret.

You once told him that to truly know someone, you’d have to know what turns them on - what makes them cum. You were going through a spiritual journey that time and he brushed you off with a nervous laugh.

You were Jungkook’s best friend. He loved you dearly. You didn’t want to know what turns him on or what makes him cum - especially when it had you involved in it. 

The feeling is terrible, Jungkook notes. You’re crying, whimpering and twitching. Your throat had to ache - he’s positive of it. Your neck is bright red, veins pulsing as you pant. Your cheeks are puffy as flushed. As you pant, your chest heaves.

You.

You were Jungkook’s best friend.

Jungkook hates himself right now. He hates how tight his jeans feel at the sight of you. He hates how his breathing is increasing along with yours, mouths slightly agape. His eyes dart from your crying, frightened face, to your twitching body.

Jungkook swallows.

The room is bright - not naturally bright, but overwhelmingly. Jungkook panics at first, not recognizing his scenery. The room is completely white, the floors and walls both being tiled. There’s a television in the far corner of the room and beside it a sealed door. 

“Kookie…”

Jungkook’s head snaps to the sound of the voice. His blood runs cold.

“Y/N…?”

Jungkook shudders, shaking his head. He stands from his fetal position, trembling.

You are bound across from him on the tiled floor. Your ankles are free, but your wrist aren’t. They’re tied directly behind you.

Your clothing is limited and he notes that it’s something he hasn’t seen before. You’re sporting a plaid skirt that stops directly mid thigh and a button up white shirt, only it exposes entirely too much cleverage. 

“What’s going on…?” Jungkook murmurs. He doesn’t remember any moment that would lead the both of you in this room. “Y/N, are you okay-“

“Finally.”

Jungkook flinches at the sudden voice - a staticy robotic tone. 

“You two are up. Hello Y/N, Jungkook.” The voice continues. “You two don’t know me and I barely know you. In that case…let’s test your morality.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Jungkook roars. “Let Y/N go-!”

You scream - a high pitch scream filled with anguish and pain. Your eyes are wide, bulging out your eye sockets and instantly, tears drop. 

Jungkook racks his mind for what’s going on - then it clicks. Within the last year there’s been a string of unsolved cases. Some were murders of missing people, others were found alive but severely injured and mentally drained. Police wanted to keep the details out of the media so they could focus on finding the person, but what did make it to the media. All of the victims that were alive had stated the person wanted them to “test their morality”.

It was then that Jungkook realized that you were wearing a collar - a shock collar. He feels idiotic for not recognizing it sooner - it’s thick and appears like a belt.

“Repeated shocks can often lead to drastic changes in the heart and respiration rate.” the staticy voice speaks. 

Jungkook clenches his fist, swallowing thickly. He forces everything in him to tear his eyes away from you. He inhales and exhales - he recalls the many times he and you would do the breathing exercises. “Count to ten while breathing” you’d tell him. 

“What is it that you want?” Jungkook sighs. “Y/N doesn’t deserve this.”

“Doesn’t she?”

There’s silence on both ends. Jungkook slowly turns back to you to find your blurry eyes already on him. His breathing hitches.

“I mean…” the staticy voice comes once more. “...after all, she’s nothing but a whore.”

“No she is not.” Jungkook shakes his head. 

“You don’t think that, Junkook.” the voice counters. “I may not know either of you on a deeper level, but I know well enough of how you really feel for her.”

Jungkook feels his heart pound erratically at the choice of words. 

“Entertain me, Jungkook. Or can I call you Kookie. Y/N does.” the voice offers a low laugh. “It must be so terrible always being second in her eyes. Women never realize who’s really right in front of them.”

“Shut up.” Jungkook grits his teeth.

“Knowing that you’d been there for her for years and she found another man to satisfy her?”

Jungkook scoffs.

“You should be thanking me, Jungkook. Entertain me now and I’ll let you two leave.”

“You’re sick!” Jungkook hisses. 

“And so are you.”

Jungkook flinches when you scream once more, this time your body erratically jerks. Jungkook scurries your way, grasping your shoulders - just as he does your screaming stops. You’re crying once more, the same drastic tears as before. 

“How does it feel, Jungkook?” the static voice questions. “To see the woman you love completely helpless for you…crying such lustful tears. Completely bound for you to use.”

No.

No.

Jungkook shakes his head slowly - he doesn’t want to hear your whimpers any more. He doesn’t want to look at your tearstained face - he feels terrible enough about the tightening in his pants. 

“I can see the fucked out look on your face. Your eyes are so dark, Jungkook.”

“Shut…up.”

“You look like such a predator.” the static voice begins to laugh again. “Poor Y/N is your prey, isn’t she? So defenseless and submissive for you. Crying for help.”

Jungkook’s hands clench your shoulders gently. He fights everything in him to not look into your eyes, but he caves. You’re silently sobbing, sad eyes on his.

“Y/N is your best friend, right? You love her?”

Jungkook nods his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do love you, Y/N.” he murmurs. “I don’t know how to help us right now…”

“Always coming to her defense. You’re like a savior in her eyes.” the static voice speaks. “What are you willing to do to keep her safe, Jungkook?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You begin to cry once more. “P-Please, Kookie!” you sob. “I-I don’t want to feel that pain anymore, I-I-”

“Stop crying, Y/N.” Jungkook places both of his hands upon your cheeks, thumb wiping away your tears. 

“I want to test your morality like I do with all my players.”

“What…do you want?” Jungkook grits. He doesn’t want you to be in any more pain than necessary - he doesn’t want to continue to feel the sick pleasure of it. He wishes for whatever Gods above to strike him down right now for such impure thoughts.

“I will let Y/N and you go in about an hour.” The television flashes to a clock as it begins to countdown. “Within that hour, you can either entertain me or…I can use that collar to my advantage. For the entire hour.”

Jungkook shushes you as you begin to cry out for him, trembling.

“E-Entertain you how?” Jungkook sighs in defeat. “Just don’t hurt her anymore!”

The static voice hums. “I want to see just how much you love your friend, Jungkook. I want to see just how much you truly would do anything to protect her - even if it was to use her for your own sick pleasure.”

Jungkook swallows. 

“I want…to see what makes you cum, Jungkook.”

Jungkook can hear his heart through his ears. He clenches his eyes shut to try to get rid of your frightened expression - but he cannot.It plagues his mind and he hates himself for it - hates how your screams cause goosebumps onto his skin. How it appears melodic, a beautiful tune for his ears to hear.

“I trust you, Kookie.”

Jungkook snaps his eyes open and it’s as though the room grows silent. He stares at you - did he hear you correctly? 

“Y/N…” Jungkook isn’t convinced. He doesn’t trust himself around you right now - or that you know the true meaning of the words you’re telling him. 

“I don’t want to be in pain anymore, Kookie.” you cry with a head shake. “I-I can’t-”

There’s another bloodcurdling scream coming from you. Your head shakes from side to side and your back arches.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jungkook screams, head turning to the large television to the high cameras in the ceiling. “I’ll do it. Just stop hurting her!”

Your head falls back with a low sigh. Your chest rises and falls. You look utterly defeated, babbling incoherent words. 

“I’m sure you don’t need any help with getting erect.” 

Jungkook can hear the tone in the static voice - it’s teasing him. Taunting him. It’s fueling his point of how sick Jungkook was - even in such a dire time like this. Here you laid bound in pain, begging for him for any form of comfort.

Jungkook shudders.

“It’s getting boring to watch, Kookie.” the voice quips. “The clocks are ticking. If you don’t do something soon…” The threat is empty, but it doesn’t need to be stated. If Jungkook doesn’t continue, you would continue to be shocked. You already appeared to be in between consciousness, in such great pain. 

“Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs. He leans close to you, his forehead pressed against yours. “I don’t want you to hate me…I  would never hurt you.”

You don’t respond to his words with your own. Your eyes are fluttering, barely able to remain open.  You’re groaning and that tells Jungkook that you’re still conscious - not fully succumbing to the harsh treatment of the shock collar.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your forehead. He exhales, allowing his hand to travel from your shoulder to your hips. He swallows. “I promise not to hurt you, Y/N.” he murmurs. He ponders if you can hear him - you don’t appear to be fully coherent.

“Tick. Tock.”

Jungkook looks up at the camera, a glare on his face. He leans away from you with a shake of his head. 

What Jungkook is doing is wrong. He doesn’t want to do this to you - not while you’re in between consciousness and dealing with such pain. He doesn’t want this to change the friendship you gained throughout the years. He was able to contain his emotions for you for this long - he was sure he could contain it forever if it meant you’d be safe.

But now you weren’t safe - Jungkook wasn’t able to keep you out of harm's way. You were entangled in such a horrible situation because of his dark fantasies.

The only way Jungkook could bear ever doing this to you was to believe that he was doing this for you - for a good cause.

Jungkook’s hands travel to your skirt, tangling them in the hem of it and he begins to pull them down. His breathing becomes heavy as he does so. It feels scandalous to see you in such a way. 

You were always so beautiful to Jungkook. Even as you grew from a girl to a teenager, he made sure to tell you how beautiful you were. When you went through the phase of not loving your body, he assured you that you were amazing the way you were.

It was because Jungkook was your best friend and he loved you.

Your skirt is off, legs falling limp as he removes it fully. His hands gently touch the smooth skin of your legs, admiring how soft to the touch they were.

“You’re still as beautiful as you always are, Y/N.” Jungkook’s pressing kissing to your neck now, holding your body close to him. Only soft grunts are your responses, but Jungkook tells himself that you’re enjoying it - he needs to in order not to feel disgusted with himself.

“I told you I would always protect you…and I promise I’ll do just that.”

Jungkook is now removing your underwear - they were cotton and black, a regular basic pair. They drop besides you, discarded just like your skirt.

Jungkook shudders once more. His mind is screaming that this was wrong - you were his close friend. You trusted him to always keep you safe. If there was someone you trusted, it was Jungkook.

But then there was the devil on Jungkook’s shoulder that screamed at him - that he was doing this for you. He was doing this to keep you safe and out of pain. You would thank him later when you and he survived this. But for now, he had to do this.

Such impure thoughts were what drove him to lick your clit. You aren’t fully unconscious - you react with a strain grunt that excites him. He’s licking and suckling onto your clit, appearing like a lustful fool. His fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh to keep you in place, head bobbing side to side as your juices coat his tongue.

Jungkook’s sanity is slowly losing. There’s no wetter you could be - but yet, he cannot stop himself from spitting on your already swollen clit and lapping it up with his tongue.

Jungkook thinks about the amount of times he had masturbated to you dating back to his teenage years. How he wished it was you when he was with other women; hookups or girlfriends. 

Jungkook removes himself from your wet clit and inhales deeply. His eyes are dark and full of sinful lust. You appear more coherent than before, but do not form any words. He lifts himself to look at you fully. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N…baby.” Jungkook fumbles with his pants. “We’ll get through this, right? You’ll still love me after this.”

Jungkook allows his cock to spring from his underwear. His hard and thick, twitching to be inside of you.

“Of course you’ll love me. You’ll always love me.” Jungkook places the tip of his cock and slaps it against your clit. He rubs it, pure ecstasy. “You’re already so wet…I know you love this just as much as I do, baby.”

Jungkook rubs the tip of his cock against your clit, the sight utterly filthy. You’re so wet and warm and willing - so perfect for him. This was a sacred moment for the two of you; two lovers.

Your boyfriend wasn’t someone Jungkook took entirely seriously. You had a few that were never good enough - this current one being the longest relationship. Yet and still, he could never have what you and Jungkook did. 

Jungkook enters himself inside of you, head swinging back to loudly groan. You were just as he always imagined. Wet, warm and tight. The two of you connect like a perfect puzzle piece.

Jungkook was becoming far gone. He grasps your thighs and pushes them apart harshly, picking up the pace. Your juices are dripping out of your pussy, coating the floor. The sounds of skin slapping echoes off of the tile walls.

“I waited so long, baby.” Jungkook moans. Your body hits against the cold floor with each thrust, appearing to bring you back to a conscious state slowly. “I know you love it, Y/N. You’re so wet for me.”

Jungkook leans down to wrap his lips in yours. His thrusts only become more rough. His mind flashes for a few moments, replaying your screaming and terrified face as you were being shocked. 

Jungkook releases your lips to release a deep groan.

“K-Kookie…”

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the sound of his name. “Y/N, baby…” he grunts. With each thrust he swears he goes deeper. “I love you so much, baby. You don’t understand.”

Your eyes begin to open, but they have a hard time focusing on anything around you. 

Jungkook leans back to look at you fully. Your shirt was disheveled, your breast falling out. You were moaning those beautiful moans for him, mouth agape.

“I can have you all to myself now, baby.” Jungkook places his right hand onto your lips, gripping it. Your eyes widen slightly, trying your best to look directly at him instead of past him. “We can be the family we talked about when we were younger.”

Jungkook cracks his hips at an alarming pace. He feels the way you clench around him so heavenly.

“Remember when we were in first grade and I said I’d marry you?” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “That we’d have two kids - a boy and a girl?”

Jungkook releases his hand from your mouth to clench your breast. You begin to heave with the new found air he supplied you.

“Now we can have our baby…” 

Jungkook places a thumb upon your clit and rubs. He would allow you to cum - it wasn’t fun if you didn’t cum along with him. 

“...and it can be just you and I until then…”

You’re twitching, tears falling down your cheeks. You were overstimulated, but that was okay. Jungkook loves you - he was pleasuring the woman he loves. This was a powerful moment for the both of you, a true bond between two lovers.

“I’m cumming, too, baby.” Jungkook leans down to capture your lips. His thrusts are sloppy but his stamina doesn’t decrease.

With how good you’re clenching around him, Jungkook doesn’t last long. He’s twitching, aggressively groaning into your lips.

The room is quiet once again and it takes Jungkook around five minutes to move away from you. It was as though the dark cloud leaves and the light shines through - the consequences of his actions.

Jungkook eyes you once more. You’re awake, eyes open and now staring right at him. You aren’t speaking, and neither is he. He feels the familiar pit in his stomach - the self pity and hatred.

“Congratulations on surviving…” the staticy voice booms through his ears, but Jungkook cannot take his eyes off of your blank expression. “...I have disabled Y/N’s collar. You are free to remove it.”

You don’t move as Jungkook goes to remove the leather collar. It’s heavy as he drops it beside you. Jungkook places a gentle hand onto your cheek, sad eyes staring into your own. “Y/N…”

“How do you feel, Jungkook?” the voice asks. “Was it worth it?”

“Please let us go.” Jungkook’s voice cracks. “You got the satisfaction you wanted.”

“As did you.” the voice retorts. “Such a passionate scene. The first time I actually saw someone act so lovingly towards a woman.”

Jungkook sniffles. He goes to dress you once more, making sure your shirt is completely covered before he does the same to himself. 

Jungkook wraps both arms around you, bringing you close to his chest. He doesn’t want to cry - he has to be strong for you. “Please, Y/N.” he begs. “Don’t be upset with me.”

Jungkook is stiff when he hears quiet sobs. Your shoulders are jerking in his embrace and all he can think to do is hold you tighter.

“The door is open. Always has been.” the voice says. “If you would have checked first, you’d see that there was a key right onto the table outside for her restraints.”

Jungkook’s head snaps to the cameras. “What…w-what the fuck is this?!”

“I wanted to see how far you’re willing to go to live out your fantasies.”

Jungkook holds you tighter. He shakes his head.

Jungkook didn’t know. The voice had to be lying. There was no way the door was unlocked - he was trying to break him. There was no way he would leave you alone in this room while restrained - you were screaming in such agony that he would’ve done anything to relieve you.

Right?

“You can thank me now. Y/N knows how much you love her.” there it was - the same taunting tone in the speaker's voice that mocks him. “You are free to go. Like stated, the door was always unlocked and I am nowhere near you two to do any harm. The key to her restraints are just outside the door. Congratulations again on surviving and allowing me to test your morality, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s blood runs cold at the words.