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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months ago

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Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

-> Part 2: Strikes to Die By

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Seven years after failing to become an LAPD officer, you return to Los Angeles as a literary analyst with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit to catch a serial killer.

Warnings: angst, violence, discussions of autopsies and forensic science, literary references, fluff and banter, improper use of a meat locker

Word Count: 13k+ words

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As the slick black SUV with US government plates parks outside the LAPD Mid-Wilshire station, you try not to reminisce. It would be too easy to remember how excited you were to walk in on your first day after the police academy, too easy to remember the devastation and heartbreak you felt walking through the same doors after surrendering your badge. You open the car door and focus on the current job, keeping your head down as you follow your team into the station that once felt like home. After finding an empty space out of the officers’ way to wait while your boss speaks to the watch commander and captain, you unlock your phone and scroll through the case details you reviewed on the flight, looking for anything you might have missed.

“Can I help you?”

You look up from your phone, the case detail email disappearing as you press the power button and smile at the LAPD officer standing before you.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for the rest of my team,” you explain before brandishing your badge.

“Oh, no worries. This is my first time working in a task force,” she replies. “It’s exciting.”

You nod and subconsciously tug on your sleeves. Officer Chen is obviously a rookie, and her enthusiasm is refreshing.

“Is this your first time in LA?” she asks.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Chen, Bradford wants to see you before roll call,” another officer calls.

“Is Bradford your training officer?” you ask.

“He is. Do you know him?”

You look around, then say, “Tim is on, what? His tenth plain clothes day washout?”

“Eleventh,” she answers, surprised.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Chen.” You offer your hand and say, “I’m number five.”

Chen’s jaw drops before she asks, “And now you’re FBI? How did that happen?”

“Long story… But I’m a literary analyst for the behavioral analysis unit, not exactly a field agent.”

A passing officer stops, then steps backward to look at you. “Are you on Hotchner’s team?”

“I am. I assume you remember him?”

“You know an FBI agent, Officer Lopez?” Chen asks.

“He was responsible for over 100 convictions of corrupt cops six or seven years ago. Five of them were LAPD, and one was our watch commander,” Lopez explains. “Chen, we need to get to roll call.”

You nod to Lucy, then return your attention to an email from Penelope.

“Your phone should be at least twelve inches from your face to limit blue light exposure,” Spencer says as he enters the station. “Sixteen to eighteen inches is preferable.”

“Spencer,” you reply, smiling as you turn toward him. “Penelope used what appears to be 6-point font and then zoomed out. I appreciate the concern for my eye health but take it up with her.”

Spencer frowns and murmurs, “Sounds like a job for Morgan.”

“What’s that, pretty boy?” Derek inquires as if he was summoned by the utterance of his name. “Gettin’ girlie here a date?”

“In Los Angeles?” you ask incredulously. “Hard pass.”

“Right, because the location is the issue with the plan. Not the fact that we’re working a case, and new evidence was discovered this morning,” Hotch deadpans from your side.

“I can multitask, boss man,” Derek defends, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

“Psychologists have determined the human brain isn’t designed for successful multitasking,” Reid begins. “It can cause switch cost, which results when attention and information retainment are suddenly redirected from one task to another, and cognitive efficiency and performance diminish-“

“Says the walking brain with at least fourteen tabs open,” Derek jokes.

“They’re waiting for us,” Hotch reminds. “I mean, only if you’re ready.”

“Your station,” Derek tells you, shaking your shoulders gently as he follows you toward the roll call room.

“… and there is no excuse for failure to communicate,” Sergeant Wade Grey continues as you follow Hotch into the roll call room.

You stand between Hotch and Derek as he speaks and look around the room. Fourteen officers are seated at the tables, listening intently even as their eyes stray to the case board. JJ joins you a moment later, mouthing an apology to Hotch before passing him a folder.

“More evidence?” you whisper.

She nods, then whispers something to Spencer, who furrows his brows and squints at the case board. You know the look, and it increases your concern about the case. Though there have been two notes and a book tied to the previous crime scenes, you’re unsure why Hotch decided you needed to join them in LA. You could have stayed in Virginia with Penelope, you think, but you trust him and the rest of your team. Turning away from JJ, you fight the urge to peek into Hotch’s open folder as you run your eyes up and down the rows of officers. You recognize Chen and Lopez from this morning, but stop when you see Tim Bradford.

Hotch notices your shoulders stiffen in the split second before you relax, and he taps his elbow against you. You look up at him, and he nods once to reassure you. You’re not alone, and unlike the last time you were in this station, someone else knows the truth of what happened.

“Any questions about the case?” Grey asks. He sighs when someone raises their hand and says, “Yes, Nolan?”

Nolan doesn’t seem concerned with Grey’s lethargy. “What’s the connection between the zoo and the first victim?”

Spencer shifts beside you, and Derek shakes his head in amusement. You can imagine the rambling fighting to get out of Reid, and you smile at Derek rather than laugh.

“I should’ve been clearer. Any questions about our side of the investigation?” Grey amends, and this time the officers stay quiet. “In that case, I’d like to introduce Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the FBI, the BAU unit chief, who has brought his team across the country to assist in this case.”

Hotch walks to the front of the room and sets his files on the podium. He fixes an evaluating glare on the officers before him, then nods.

JJ leans toward you and asks, “Remember how intimidating that look used to be?”

“Still makes me stand up a little straighter,” you admit.

“We’re here to help,” Hotch begins. “But that means that we need you to be as committed to solving this case as we are. If you’re not ready for that, you’re free to go.” No one moves, so Hotch says, “Good. Sergeant Grey has briefed me on each of you. You’re good officers, but street smarts and police procedure won’t get this monster off the street.”

“But talking about the suspect’s feelings will?” one of the officers jokes.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise, and his serious look fades into a knowing glare. “You must be Bradford.”

JJ takes your hand, and Derek exhales. They know more about your history in LA than the people in LA do, and you appreciate their friendship and presence.

“Sorry, sir,” Tim replies. “I only meant that there is tangible evidence at these scenes, and it seems to me that concrete proof will help us find this guy faster than dissecting his mind through his habits and words.”

Hotch returns behind the podium and admits, “I understand how our process could seem like a waste of time, and criminal profiling is not an exact science, we’re wrong sometimes, but you know as well as I do that there’s no one right way to solve a crime. The important thing in this situation is to get a killer off the streets before he claims more lives. If our behavioral analysis can assist in that, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“I can assure you that you have the LAPD’s complete cooperation,” Sergeant Grey interjects, looking pointedly at Tim. “And anyone unwilling to do so will be removed from this task force.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and nods, a position you remember well from your limited days as a rookie. You expected this type of attitude from him and possibly more cops. You truly believe that the BAU can offer insights Tim can’t glean from analyzing a crime scene or going through the processed evidence.

“Do any of you have questions for me or my communications liaison?” Hotch asks.

Several officers ask questions about task force protocol, what your team does, and other run-of-the-mill inquiries about the federal agency and its duties.

“I believe it is time for introductions?” Hotch says, stepping to the side as he welcomes Sergeant Grey back to the front of the room.

“The LAPD has selected fourteen of its best officers-“ He turns away from the room and lowers his voice to tell Hotch, “If you’re against rookies on the team, I’ve got some other officers on standby.”

“If you trust them, they’re welcome to stay.”

Grey nods and turns, then continues, “Officer Lopez, Officer Bishop and her rookie, John Nolan, Officer Janssen…”

You tune out most of the officers’ names, trusting Spencer to fill in any blanks for you, until you hear, “Officer Bradford and his rookie, Lucy Chen.”

You were in Lucy’s position just over seven years ago, and now you’re looking in from the outside. You love your job and appreciate the FBI and the BAU for giving you a home and a rewarding career. Yet, sometimes you’re still plagued by the inevitable wondering, what if?

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Hotch responds. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, behind you is my team: Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau…” Hotch meets your eyes before introducing you, and you watch him rather than Tim, who turns quickly in his chair and stares wide-eyed at you before controlling his expression and returning to his usual composed demeanor.

“How is a literary analyst helpful?” someone questions softly.

“This unit has taken down more serial criminals than you can name,” Wade snaps. “Show a little respect.”

“We’d like to brief you before the media,” Hotch explains. “If it’s possible to reconvene before tomorrow’s patrol begins, of course.”

“Not a problem. I want all of you back in here fifteen minutes before beginning of shift tomorrow,” Wade tells his officers. “Keep the conversation in this room, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the officers respond as they stand and file out of the door, some whispering together, others leaving quietly and alone.

“I think that went well,” Derek says as Hotch gathers his things.

“Socially speaking, there was a divide and a complete lack of faith in us,” Spencer argues. “Though there is the question of authority and a misunderstanding regarding our purpose and purview.”

“Pretty boy and I are going to go find some coffee.”

As Derek and Spencer leave, and JJ excuses herself to answer a phone call, you’re left alone with your current supervisor and former watch commander.

“It’s good to see you,” Wade says, smiling as he pulls you into a hug.

“You, too,” you respond. “Sorry I haven’t been back as much as I’d like.”

“I understand,” Wade assures. “And it seems that you’ve found your perfect place in the BAU.”

“We like to think so,” Hotch agrees. “Although…”

“Bradford won’t be a problem,” you interrupt.

Hotch tilts his head questioningly, and you add, “He fights back on new things, but he’s a good cop, so he’ll do what’s right in the end.”

Hotch hesitates, then asks, “Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“He’s the best I’ve got,” Wade comments. “But if there’s a question about him…”

“He’s Morgan, but more serious,” you tell Hotch. He doesn’t change his stare, so you sigh and promise, “I want him here. There’s no bad blood between us and he’s going to be invaluable in this.”

Hotch nods and looks away from you finally and begins asking Wade about one of the files turned in the night before, which you understand as your cue to leave. After you step out into the bullpen, Derek returns to your side.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Telling Officer Chen about the health benefits of doing something boring. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Hotch doesn’t seem to think so.”

Derek gasps and holds your shoulder to exclaim, “You have two overprotective father figures to work for now!”

You consider arguing for less than a second before you realize he’s right. Wade stayed in touch after you left LA. Hotch has never left room for you to wonder how he sees you and his need to protect you. So, you’re working on a case that feels like two different versions of your personality, and parts of your life have combined into one perfect yet terrifying case. And you haven’t even talked to Tim yet.

“I hope our hotel has a hot tub,” you lament.

“Plain clothes day washout number five, huh?” Lucy asks Tim as they patrol Los Angeles.

Tim shakes his head and doesn’t answer. He’s gone seven years without talking about you, only having to relive the heartbreak on your face and the disappointment he felt during his loneliest nights. Tim saw great potential in you, considered you more than a rookie, and taking your badge had affected him in a way he never expected. Now, you’re in the FBI, which is news to him, and you’re working on a case that he hasn’t been able to solve even with ten crime scenes to work with.

“What happened?” Lucy tries.

“None of your business, Chen,” he snaps. “That case, Hotchner’s team, all of it stays in the roll call room for now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A bell chimes above your head as you enter your favorite Los Angeles diner. It’s your first night in the city, and since you don’t know how long you’ll be here, you wanted to revisit it while you had a chance. When you mentioned the diner, your team gave you their orders to bring to the hotel, where they’re currently reviewing the autopsy reports. It feels wrong to leave them, but you sigh in the comfort of a place that once provided you a refuge after long days.

“Old habits?” you ask as you approach the counter.

Tim looks up from the laminate and watches you. You don’t meet his gaze but look at the menu while you wait for the waitress to return. This was your favorite diner when you started at the LAPD, and Tim has never given himself time to wonder why he kept coming back even after you left.

“Something like that,” he says. “So, uh, the FBI. That’s incredible.”

You shrug. “Not what I wanted, but I love it.”

Tim nods, unsure what else to say. You’re not the girl you were on day one in the academy, not even the girl who left the station in tears after washing out. Tim still sees you, the woman who fought for what was right never gave up, and was smarter than she ever realized. That’s not the person he saw your last week on patrol, but he knew you were still in there somewhere.

“How long have you been with the BAU?” he inquires.

The waitress returns, and you take the excuse to not answer Tim. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and read a large order from the screen, then pass a shiny, FBI-issued credit card over the counter.

“It’ll be a few minutes, hun,” the waitress informs as she returns the card. “Feel free to have a seat.”

You thank her and slide onto a stool, ensuring you leave an empty seat between you and Tim.

“Failing to become a police officer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced,” you confess. “A few months later, Aaron Hotchner knocked on my door. There was a case nearby, a serial rapist who was leaving personalized love letters with every single victim. He found my résumé on a local job board and came to ask for help because of my background. The rest just fell into place, I guess.”

“You get to carry,” Tim points out, gesturing toward the holster on your hip, concealed from everyone else by your shirt. “They don’t let people who just ‘fall into place’ do that.”

“I did everything by the book, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m wondering what changed on plain clothes day,” he responds. “You were on track to be an amazing officer, and then that last week, you just… something changed.”

“I did.”

“There’s more to it.”

“There’s really not,” you insist. “If you don’t want to be on this task force-“

“I do. I wish you could see that you have the potential to lead it.”

“Hotch saved my life. I trust him.” Tim understands the part you don’t say: that you trust him more than yourself.

The waitress returns with two full bags, and you stand as you take them from the counter.

“Goodnight, Tim. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

As you leave, the bell chimes over the door again, and Tim hears your voice in his head, the promise of another chance, but he doesn't miss the fact that you leave every time you see each other.

“What if - and hear me out on this - you just told him the truth,” Derek suggests.

You take a drink from a cheap Styrofoam cup and nod. “You’re right, Derek, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You know, most hotel chains serving breakfast fail to maintain proper culinary heat-“

Hotch raises one finger before Spencer can ruin breakfast for everyone. “Don’t.”

“I agree with Morgan,” JJ says. “There’s clearly questions there, and if you explain what happened, he’ll trust you more.”

“And he can deal with some of the guilt,” Hotch grumbles.

“What guilt?” you inquire, pausing with a cheap metal fork in your hand.

“He clearly blames himself for letting you lose your position,” Hotch explains.

“He knows how good you are, so that final week probably doesn’t make any sense to him,” Derek adds.

“He doesn’t,” you mutter. “He told me last night-“

“You saw him last night?” JJ exclaims.

“I ran into him at the diner.”

“He still goes to your diner?” Derek questions.

“It’s just a diner! But I saw him there and he insisted that there was more to what happened than me changing.”

“And you lied to him?” Hotch responds. “It’s over, you can tell him, you can shout it from the top of the Chinese theater.”

“That would be illegal,” Spencer mumbles.

“And wouldn’t change anything,” you add. “We’re here to work a case, not mend a bridge that has been-“ you scramble for the right word before finishing, “disintegrating for nearly a decade.”

Derek groans as he leans back in his seat, and Hotch finally looks up to say, “If this gets in the way of the case, I’ll have Garcia email him everything he needs to know.”

“I’m cutting holes in all of your quarter-zips tonight,” you threaten in return.

Hotch frowns and mouths, You’ll never find them all.

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as the door closes behind the twentieth and final member of the task force. “SSA Hotchner is going to fill you all in.”

“Thanks for coming in early,” Hotch begins. “There have been no new developments in the case since yesterday, but my team has created a preliminary profile based on the preexisting evidence and details from the first ten victims.”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from Garcia, and you exit the room to answer. “Whatcha got for us, gorgeous?”

“Ooh, does Derek know you’re talking to me like this?” she replies, her keyboard clicking in the background.

“Not like he’s competition,” you say with a playful scoff. “Find anything on the deep dive?”

“Nothing inherently helpful. The prelim suspects are all pretty similar, though one of them did alibi out. Carson Gillery was working remotely from Chicago during the second and third murders. Hotel and airline checks corroborate that.”

“I’ll tell Hotch. Anything else?”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Fine. Why?”

She stops typing suddenly and then inhales sharply.

“Garcia?” You ask.

The line beeps as she disconnects, and a phone on the desk closest to you begins ringing. A Virginia area code appears on the caller ID, and you stretch across the desk to pick up the receiver.

“Penelope?” you ask hurriedly.

“He’s in the data!” she explains, typing again. “He’s not doing much, but someone is overriding minor coding and there was another line tied into our call. I could hear him breathing; thought you were crying at first, but now I’m running a backward search to find this psycho.”

“None of the prelim suspects would know how to do that,” you point out.

“Uh oh,” Penelope breathes. “I think… I think he left you a message.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in the seventh victim’s ME report, overwriting the details of the posthumous wounding to the back. It says 2/18/17… It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

“Henley,” you murmur, trying to connect the dots as you forget the first half of the message.

“There’s more,” Penelope says. “A copy of your one-way ticket to Virginia with an alternate ID that says, ‘thanks for the perfect opening night.’”

“It’s about me?” you whisper.

“I’m going to trace these messages,” Penelope declares. “You tell Hotch about this, and please, please do not try to investigate this on your own.”

“You got it. But can you send me a scan of page 39, no- 38, from the William Ernest Henley book in my office? I need the annotated copy of Invictus.”

“You got it. Tell Morgan and I said hi and I’m wearing-“

You hang up and take a deep breath as you return the receiver to the cradle.

“Agent Hotchner,” you call as you return. “I need a word.”

“Let me finish-“

“There’s been a development,” you interrupt. “An urgent one.”

Hotch sees the look in your eyes and calls Spencer to the front of the room to continue reviewing the patterns in the killings and to discuss the psychological traits and drivers they suspect the killer will have. Derek watches as Hotch and Grey follow you out of the roll call room. Meanwhile, JJ watches Officer Tim Bradford as he manages to conceal his concern but not his interest as he watches you through the glass walls.

“Garcia called with information on the prelim suspects,” you explain. “Someone tapped into the call, and then… whoever it was started manipulating her date on the FBI server. She did say that Carson Gillery alibied out, he was out of state for several of the murders, but whoever this guy is, he is incredibly close to this case.”

“Manipulated the data how?” Hotch asks.

You wring your fingers together as you answer, “He left a message. Garcia thinks it was for me.”

“Left it where?” Grey inquires.

“The seventh victim Mel Houghton’s autopsy report. It was a date and a line from a William Ernest Henley poem.”

“The date?” Hotch presses.

You inhale deeply before saying, “February 18, 2017.”

“The day you lost your position in the LAPD,” Grey remembers. “What does it mean?”

You look toward Hotch, and he shakes his head twice. There isn’t an obvious answer to Grey’s question, but the implication that this case has something to do with you isn’t good.

“He… he also had a picture of my plane ticket to Virginia and added a note, something about ‘thanks for the opening night,’” you add. “Hotch, if you have to take me off this case-“

“We need you,” he interjects. “The literary aspect of this case is progressing.”

“Does that mean we could limit our suspect search?” Wade asks, looking between you and Hotch.

“Not likely,” you reply with a sigh. “Plenty of literature enjoyers can’t be located purely based on that. There’s no evidence he’s educated or active in book clubs, debates, anything.”

“Garcia’s tracing the data changes?” Hotch assumes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we work what we can until she gets back to us.”

“I need to see the novellas left with the victims,” you request. Hotch begins to speak, and you add, “Not the scans, the actual, physical stories left with their bodies.”

“I’ll get someone to go through the evidence with you,” Wade assures. “Any preference?”

You look into the roll call room through the glass sheeting, your eyes drifting past Tim as you decide, “Officer Chen, please.”

Wade nods once, then returns to the podium inside as Spencer concludes his comments on the psychology of the killer’s modus operandi.

“What are you expecting to find?” Hotch asks you.

“I really wish I knew,” you answer softly. “Hotch, what if this is all my fault?”

“The delusions of a killer have nothing to do with you. If something you did as an officer triggered him to start, there is no reason to assume he wouldn’t have started later. He’s clearly reality-challenged, living in a space between this world and the events of his imagination, and that is not on you.”

You nod, rubbing your forehead as you think. “Literature is clearly important to him. If it comes to it, will you let me go with JJ to a press conference?”

Hotch hesitates, and you know he doesn’t like the idea of putting his team in public view, unless absolutely necessary, but he says, “Fine. Only if it gets that far.”

“Hotch? February 2017 had massive storms. Urban flooding, mudslides, wind, snowfall, there was mayhem that week. I mean, a police chase with a DUI driver, a car fell into a sinkhole. I used some of those cases to…” You trail off, remembering all of the things you did wrong.

“Talk to me,” Hotch encourages.

“Any one of the people who had contact with the LAPD that weekend could have been pushed over the edge. He could have been killing for seven years, since whatever happened, but just got bold and brazen enough to make it public.”

Hotch leaves your side for a moment to wave Spencer out. When he joins you and Hotch in the bullpen, Hotch gestures for you to explain your theory.

“I suppose,” Spencer muses. “The killings have progressed minimally since the first victim three months ago. It does point toward a more practiced unsub, someone who has, in their mind, perfected their method. Yes, it’s completely possible.”

“The books,” Hotch points out. “Those are new. Unsolved cases with novellas or poems shoved down victims’ throats would have caught someone’s attention by now.”

“Serial killers gain experience with each new offense,” Spencer explains. “The learning curve is steep because of the logistics it takes to commit a murder. If he’s been killing without being caught, the thrill of killing would empower him to take more chances. In this case, the trophy aspect of his MO could easily have changed, but his idiosyncratic psychological needs remain the same.”

“We don’t have enough people to comb through seven years of cold cases to find similar killings,” you lament.

“We do have the media,” JJ interjects, sliding her phone into her pocket as she approaches. “It’s a long shot, but if we could find one or two, would it be enough to complete a profile?”

“An estimate of how long he’s been at this, with Garcia’s trace and the analysis of the literature at the scene… Yes, we could establish a firm MO and improve the unsub’s psychological profile.”

“Hold on,” Derek urges into his phone as he joins the rest of your team. He looks at you and says, “Give me your phone.”

You pass it to him, and he flips it in his free hand as he listens. He gives you an apologetic look and then drops it.

“Morgan!” Hotch exclaims as Derek brings the heel of his boot down on your phone screen.

“Unless Penelope told you to do that, I’m going to be very mad,” you say.

“Alright, baby girl, tell us all,” Derek requests as he puts his phone on speaker.

“I found our guy, or his IP address at least,” Penelope says.

“And?” Hotch asks. “Where is he?”

“That’s the thing. He’s in an apartment a few miles from the station.”

You recite your previous address and Penelope murmurs, “That’s the one.”

Penelope explains how she traced his data trail before you interrupt to ask, “Is there anything about another cop in it?”

“Uh, there were some numbers,” she answers.

“34381?” you guess. “And 6147?”

“Amongst others, yeah. Do they mean something to you?”

“One is Officer Bradford’s badge number. The other is Sergeant Kenneth Adamson.”

“I’ll run the rest of the numbers against the LAPD database and get back to you.”

“Are all of our phones in need of stomping?” Spencer asks before Penelope hangs up.

“Not yet,” she replies, and then the line clicks.

“Running everything is going to take too long,” you complain. “He’s probably already targeted his next victim. He could be writing the novella for all we know!”

“His system is organized,” Spencer explains. “We can use that. The past victims have been a week or more apart. Even if he does change his timeline because we’re here, he needs time to plan, write, correct?”

“Yes,” you answer. “He could do it overnight if the circumstances called for it.”

“Assuming he’ll take a break between kills, however…”

“We have two days,” Derek concludes. “Let’s hope he’s not too organized, doc.”

“He’s a criminal,” JJ says. “They all get stupid and forgetful.”

“We don’t change anything. He’s changing the rules, pushing himself, but we’re not playing his game,” Hotch says. “And, for the moment, we keep the LAPD connection to ourselves.”

“What if they could help?” JJ argues.

“No.”

“Act like we have a week, and he won’t expect us to be ready to go,” you say. “In that case, I’ll start analyzing the literature.”

“Speaking of which.” JJ pulls a paper from her bag and says, “The homicide detective said CSI found this on a secondary scene analysis.”

You read the scan of the evidence, and your eyes widen as you look up at Derek. “Good thing you came with. He’s building a bomb.”

“Whoa,” Derek says with little intonation in his voice, but his hands raise as he moves his head in surprise. “Explain the progression from writing stories to bombs.”

“Postmodern literature is the most recent literary movement that contains vulgarity in diction and violence. It’s often used as an authentic portrayal of humanity, depicting violence against gender, race, and the human body,” Spencer answers. “Epic poetry was one of the first storytelling forms to depict interpersonal violence.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer’s reply to the rhetorical question, and you add, “The Victorian literary period was marked by violence through the use of suffering and physical dangers as literary themes. The gothic genre aestheticized the darker elements of human life, explored sexual violence, dramatic monologues, and realistic violence like robbery, beheadings, even serial murders.”

“Which affects us how?” Hotch inquires.

“William Ernest Henley was a prominent figure in the later years of the Victorian movement. He sent lines from Invictus to Garcia, and that piece has been the poem of choice for extremists and terrorists to justify their violence in the last few years. There is some hardship beyond our killer’s control, and this is how he’s dealing with it.”

“Still doubting your hypothesis?” Hotch deadpans.

“Wouldn’t he have to stop all of the suffering somehow?” JJ asks.

“Yes. But he hasn’t decided on an endgame yet, we’ll see the signs of that when it comes. The beginning of a plan for a bomb isn’t concerning yet. For now, we continue as planned, but he will likely strike again in 24 to 48 hours.”

“They’re getting concerned,” Derek whispers, waving toward the roll call room.

“I’ll handle them. You have your assignments,” Hotch states. “We reconvene tonight after end of shift.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree with the rest of your team.

As you return to the roll call room between JJ and Derek, you keep your eyes on the front of the room, ignoring how Tim turns to look at you. Hotch gives an acceptable excuse for your team’s private meeting and then provides tasks with Sergeant Wade.

“What about me?” Lucy asks as the other officers exit into the bullpen.

“You’re with me,” you reply, stepping toward her as you smile. “If that’s okay.”

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. She clears her throat and amends, “Yes, of course, I’d love to help.”

“Keep me updated,” Hotch tells you.

“Yes, sir. Oh, and…” You move your fingers in a scissor motion to remind him of your previous threat before concluding, “Spencer has the information you asked for.”

Hotch nods once, and Wade smiles. Suddenly, you’re hit with the feeling of being torn apart, stuck between the life you wanted and the one you have. When the case is solved and the killer is behind bars, you’ll have to leave these people again. At least you’ve finally remembered that planes travel both ways.

“Ten victims,” you say as you pin the last picture to the bulletin board in the office you and Lucy have set up. “Six novellas, a book, two pamphlets, and a bloody poem.”

Lucy’s eyes follow the red thread connecting the victims to their evidence and the order of the killings as you stare at the T.S. Eliot poem from the fifth scene with your hands on your hips.

Plus, a William Ernest Henley poem meant to bring me into the killer’s world, you think.

“Ready?” you ask Lucy.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You laugh and invite her to use your first name, then spread the evidence pictures from the first murder on the metal desk. It isn’t the same as reviewing the physical books and poems, the thick paper holding the twisted ideas of a serial killer left warm from the printer beside the lives he claimed for the sake of his own story. It’s the best you can do for now.

“Janice Davis, our first victim. The killer stapled a San Diego Zoo pamphlet to her chest.” You flip through the case file and add, “Antemortem. Ouch.”

“That looks like a building staple,” Lucy muses, leaning over the picture.

“It is. Your forensics lab determined it’s a Powernail galvanized seven-eighths inch crown staple. Intended purpose is woodworking and flooring, and one side of the staple extends out at an angle, so even if she was conscious long enough to try removing it… well, it would’ve hurt more to take it out.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“Unknown,” you read, furrowing your brows. “Manner of death: homicide. But it looks like they couldn’t determine the cause. Any chance ME Daniella Smith is still around?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy confesses. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry, you’re good at this, I keep forgetting you’re a rookie.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever told me.”

You smile, then return to the evidence before you. “The next victim, Gregory Hunter, was found with a copy of Orwell’s Animal Farm open beneath his head. The page, as far as I can tell, is irrelevant.”

“Then what’s the point of leaving it there?”

“Hunter was Davis’s boss, and apparently they had been involved a few years prior to working together. Animal Farm presents Orwell’s ideas on power, equality, socialism and corruption.”

“All things the San Diego Zoo has been accused of abusing throughout history,” Lucy adds. “Along with the animals.”

“Precisely. Then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that our killer was wronged by a failing class structure, abuse of power and control, inequality, or socialism.”

“That’s a lot of options.”

“Which is why we keep looking. Victim number three had a personalized novella…”

“The method of killing has been consistent with every victim. They’re injured, kept alive for three to twelve hours, and then killed. Janice Davis, victim one, was ruled as undetermined cause of death, but there was no evidence of blunt force trauma, gunshot wounds or poisoning, which we’d expect based on the sudden killings of the others,” Spencer explains.

“You can tune him out,” Derek whispers. “When his voice drops an octave, he’s about to ask a question.”

Tim nods, but he wasn’t listening to begin with. His mind keeps drifting to thoughts of you. He watched you talk to your team, has worked with you, and knows the depth of your talent and potential. Yet he continues to wonder how you truly came to work at such an elite division in the FBI and what you’re hiding.

“Do any of you have experience with crime scene investigation?” Spencer asks.

Several officers raise their hands, including Angela. Tim has guarded scenes and looked around on his own time, but he isn’t sure when his unique skills will be required for this case.

“Morgan,” Hotch calls from the doorway. “Take an officer to gather the literary evidence. Someone with a station ID has to sign it out for us.” He looks towards the front of the room and sighs. “And tell Spencer to wrap it up.”

“Doctor Morgan,” Derek calls as he stands. “Perhaps we should move on to the evidence snapshots and physical profile?”

Spencer nods and shifts his attention to the tools and proposed appearance of the killer.

“I’ve got a station ID,” Tim tells Derek. “If you need that evidence now.”

Derek sighs but waves for Tim to join him. He remains quiet while they walk to the evidence lockers, largely because he’s evaluating Tim. Derek knows about your time in Los Angeles, and even if he did encourage you to talk to Tim, he isn’t sure if Tim deserves your time.

“You were military?” Derek asks as they wait for the evidence to be thoroughly signed out and accounted for.

“Army,” Tim responds. “FBI always the goal for you?”

“Oh, nah, I started as a cop up in Chicago. Things just happened.”

“Seems to be a lot of that,” Tim murmurs, remembering your ‘fell into place’ excuse.

“Why be a TO?”

Tim shrugs. He’s never had a good answer for that question, and if he starts thinking, he might get caught up on his fifth washout.

“Special Agent Morgan,” the evidence officer says as he places a large box on the ledge. “Your supervisor has to sign this form upon evidence return.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

Derek picks up the box and steps back, but the officer places another box behind it. Tim takes it without a word and follows Derek to an office with a closed door.

He taps his foot against the door and calls, “Open up, pretty girl, these muscles are just for show!”

You smile as you open the door, and Tim clenches his jaw at the realization that Derek Morgan just called you ‘pretty girl.’

“I fear you’ve mistaken me for Penelope,” you tell him as you hold the door. “Thank you so much.”

Tim nods as he places the box down, and then looks at the case board.

“Oh, Tim,” Lucy says. “Do you know if ME Daniella Smith is still working?”

“She retired,” Tim replies.

You drop your shoulders and nod. “Thanks.”

“I can get her address and phone number, though,” he offers, partially to help and partially because he hates how disappointed you look.

“That would be amazing!” you reply happily. “Lucy, feel free to go with him, move around for a few minutes.”

Lucy follows Tim, and you close the door to talk to Derek. You explain that the literature points toward class structure, abuse of power, or socialism.

“Maybe he should move to Canada instead of killing then,” Derek muses. “Have you told Hotch?”

“Not yet. There’s also the string of violence in the literature. At first, it was metaphorical violence, a symbolic representation of the dangers of power in society, but it’s gotten more blatant, more Victorian in its realism.”

“The novellas?” he guesses.

“I haven’t gotten to read them in their entirety yet, I’ll start that now, but I’d guess he’s outlining his preferred method of violence as well as the reason.”

“Think it will shed some light on the explosives schematics? Which, by the way, are pretty weak. A bomb like that would be hard pressed to flip a Prius, it wouldn’t do major damage unless it was an incredibly confined space.”

“Ask Spencer what he thinks about the space,” you suggest. “The killings have been in relatively open spaces, but he’d know better than me if it means anything.”

“I’ll run it by him if I can get a word in.”

You laugh at Derek’s joke, but he turns serious again to ask, “Are you okay? I know this can’t be easy for you, working a case here after seven years.”

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I’ll let you know if that changes and I need a Morgan hug.”

Derek smiles as he opens the door, and Tim and Lucy return soon after.

“She lives three miles from here and said she’d talk to you,” Lucy relays.

“Let me tell my team.”

Tim raises a hand to stop you as you gather your things and repeats, “She said she’d talk to you. She recognized your name.”

“Oh.” Hotch walks by the door, and you step out quickly to explain, “I found the ME who couldn’t determine Janice Davis’s cause of death. She’s retired, but lives nearby and agreed to talk to me, but only me.”

Hotch weighs his options, but when he sees Tim behind you, he suggests, “Then you should probably take your TO.”

Your eyes widen in shock, but you trust Hotch, so you nod and step back into the office.

“You don’t have to,” you begin as Tim asks, “Ready?”

You fail to find the right words for several moments, then say, “Lucy, do you want to help Agent Morgan review crime scenes for construction and security?”

“Sure! Let me know if you need more help with this stuff when you get back,” she responds. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” you say, though you think I’ll need it.

“Do you want to drive or should I?” Tim asks once you’re alone.

You lift keys from your pocket and say, “I will. Do you think Smith will be any help?”

“We can hope.”

“Can I address the elephant in the room?” Sergeant Grey asks.

“Be my guest,” Hotch answers, not looking up from his improved profile.

“Bradford isn’t operating at his usual level.”

“She is.”

“Which is why I think there may be more to his side of the story.”

Hotch looks up to propose, “You think he had something to do with Adamson’s misconduct?”

“No,” Wade assures, “nothing like that. But two days of fire-able offenses and not a single correction from her TO? Bradford either didn’t care that she gave up or, for some reason, he wasn’t in a position to.”

“The corruption we found ran deep. There’s a chance he was hoping to get a piece of the takeaway… or he was in a similar position to her.” Hotch reaches for his phone quickly after he speaks and raises it to his ear. “Garcia, I need you to run the badge numbers again. Tell me how many of them had a direct connection to Keith Adamson.”

“One second,” Penelope requests. “Software’s running it now. Oh, the medical examiner, Smith, she resigned less than an hour after the charges against Adamson came in. Thought that was interesting.”

“That’s one connection.”

“Okay, yep, all ten of the badge numbers embedded in the coding have connections to Adamson. Seven subordinates, his captain, and two IA investigators.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch ends the call and tells Wade, “Whatever Adamson did, it wasn’t just skimming the evidence pile, it pushed our killer over the edge.”

“I remember Janice Davis,” Daniella Smith says as she passes you a mug of hot tea. “She was young, twenty-six, I believe, and had a construction staple in her sternum.”

“Your official report listed the cause of death as indiscernible,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the mug as your thigh presses against Tim’s on the small settee. “Do you remember if you may have had any hypotheses?”

Daniella sighs as she lowers into a chair across from you. “It was asphyxiation. Her mouth was sealed with superglue, and she couldn't get enough air after a few hours of lying horizontally.”

Tim looks at you before demanding, “Why didn’t you put that in the report?”

“I was scared.”

“And you think the people living here weren’t?”

“Tim,” you whisper harshly. You shake your head as Daniella shrinks in her seat. “Why were you scared, Ms. Harris?” She shakes slightly, and you give her a moment to breathe before you ask, “Did someone at the police station ask you to lie?”

She laughs once, a sad sound before she wipes her nose and corrects, “He threatened me if I didn’t.”

“Who?” Tim asks.

“Sergeant Keith Adamson. He was the watch commander at the time. My career, my life, my marriage, he threatened to ruin it all if I didn’t cover up how she was killed.”

“Was there residue?” you inquire. “From the superglue?”

“There were trace amounts, and the lab was able to identify it easily.”

“It was the only death to be covered up, why do you think that is?”

Daniella looks up quickly, her eyes wide as she states, “Because it was an experiment. The others were killed more conventional, faster: a slit throat, hammer to the temple. Her death would have taken time.”

“Was the time of death in your report accurate?” you ask. “Because it was around the same time as the others even with the changed MO.”

“It was,” she explains, “he must have taken her earlier to get a head start.”

“You said it was an experiment,” Tim repeats. “She was victim number one. If it didn’t go well, wouldn’t the others have just been an improved, or changed, MO?”

Daniella frowns, and you lean forward to ask, “How many more were there?”

Tim slams the passenger door as you return to the car. Daniella disappears from the front window, crying as you start the engine.

“The FBI will charge me if this car gets damaged,” you mumble as you shift into reverse.

“Thirty deaths that she knows of!” Tim exclaims. “How could she cover all of those up?”

“Pretty easily. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.”

“This monster has been at it for years. You were probably on the job for some of his murders, how can you say that?”

“It’s not my place to judge everyone involved in this case, Tim. Not yours either.”

Tim scoffs, but he’s interrupted by your phone ringing. You answer by saying your last name and Hotch’s voice fills the car as he speaks.

“There’s been another murder,” he says. You slap the steering wheel before he continues, “A double murder. I’m sending you the address. Drop Bradford at the station and meet us there.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the call ends, you grit your teeth to keep yourself from yelling. You spent too much time with the retired ME, and two more people are dead now.

“I’m going with you,” Tim states.

“No, you’re not. You heard him, you’re going back to the station.”

“You need me-“

“Actually, we don’t. We have jurisdiction now, Tim,” you snap.

“Do they know about everything you did your last week on the job?” Tim challenges. “How you ignored calls, put yourself, and me, in danger just to let the clearly guilty criminals go? I mean, you let a guy get away with assault and your handcuffs!”

You don’t reply because your mind begins racing. You had forgotten about that specific incident. Your last two days on the job were a blur, just forty-eight hours you have done everything you could to forget.

“Alexander Riley,” you murmur.

“What?” Tim snaps.

“Nothing, Tim. I’m sorry you’re not happy, but you don’t have authorization to join me, and I’m done breaking the rules.”

“Convenient.”

You hit the brakes too hard as you stop outside the back entrance of the station. Tim slams the door again before he walks inside, and you shift into park to call Derek.

“Are you still at the station?” you ask when he answers.

“We’re about to leave,” he replies. “Did you beat us to the scene? You know speed limits still apply to federal agents, right?”

“No, I’m at the station too. I need you to - without raising suspicion - get Hotch and Sergeant Grey out here.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “Why?”

“Because I think I know who the killer is. Bring the novella from the ninth scene, it’s Heralded Angels.”

“You got it.”

You can hear the strain in Derek’s voice, but there’s too much on your mind to dwell on his reaction right now. After Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Spencer join you in the FBI-issued SUV, you follow Sergeant Grey, driving an unmarked car, to the double murder scene.

“You had something for me?” Grey asks as you approach the townhouse.

“I do. Trust me for a few more minutes and I’ll tell you everything?”

Wade nods, and you enter the bloody living room with your team. JJ waits outside, and as you squat beside a bookcase covered in blood splatter, you know you’re right.

“Alexander Riley,” you announce, pushing against your knees to stand. “I think he’s our killer.”

“Why?” Spencer asks. “Wait, who?”

“Alexander Riley is one of the men I should have arrested my last week as a rookie.” You look toward Wade as you continue, “He assaulted a store owner while looting during a flood, and I let him get away. He ran away with my handcuffs, but I didn’t try to stop him because I was sure Sergeant Adamson would have used it against me.”

“Abuse of power,” Hotch deduces.

“Right, and class system. You know, cop doesn’t do what cop is supposed to do. So, he may have taken his escape as a sign that something needed to change.”

“Based on his killings, I’d agree that he saw a wrong that needed to be fixed, but why murder?” Wade asks. “How does that fit his idea of making things right, evening everything?”

“He chose victims he viewed as outliers,” Spencer explains. “The first two victims were romantically involved, and then she got a job in his company.”

“The fifth victim was a single man with adopted children, and he left a copy of T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Hollow Men,’” you add. “He went after people who didn’t fit into our traditional class system or who benefitted from misused power. And, if that isn’t enough… there’s an extra novella in here.”

“What?” Hotch and Wade say, stepping toward you simultaneously.

“It’s a little bloody, but the words cop, dirty, and corrected system are showing up pretty well. My name’s on the first page, and I’d guess it’s on the last, too.”

“He’s going to target you?” Derek translates. “That’s not okay.”

“We need to find him first,” you reply. “He’s not going to press pause until he can get to me, he thinks he has to fix the entire world.”

“I’ll get a BOLO out,” Wade offers.

“Wait, Sergeant Grey,” Hotch calls. “I think this should come from us.” He turns toward you and adds, “It would mean more from you.”

“I’ll do it. Although, some of those cops aren’t going to like hearing that I had something to do with it.”

“Just send ‘em my way,” Derek jokes.

“Our profile is complete,” you begin, looking at the entire task force. “And we’ve used that profile, along with scene evidence, literary analysis, and previous arrest records to identify Alexander Riley as our killer. Sergeant Grey has posted a BOLO, and we’d like to send you out in patrol teams to assist in the search for Riley.”

Tim has his folder open, and you’re sure he’s reading the incident report filed after you let Riley get away.

“Maybe you should get out there and find him instead of sitting in our station and reading,” he snarks, closing his folder.

“Bradford,” Wade begins.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “I will be assisting in the search, and I will admit that my incompetence likely played a role in Mr. Riley’s progression from petty thief to serial killer. However, we have reason to believe he was killing in private long before he felt the need to leave his victims in plain view for Los Angeles and all of America to see.”

“Officer Bradford, he listed you by name in the novella left at Liza Renner’s murder,” Hotch interjects. “Do you know why he may have done that?”

“No idea. Sir.”

“I’d appreciate if you would stay and help review the story to find an idea, then.”

You look between Hotch and Tim quickly, but their icy stares make you look away before you continue explaining what the manhunt entails and how the FBI will assist.

“Be safe out there,” you conclude.

As officers stand and leave, Hotch and Wade walk to Tim’s side, and then all three of them exit through a different exit.

“That was fun,” you mumble to Derek.

“On the bright side, no one has been publicly executed in the US since 1936, so it’s unlikely you’ll be burned at the stake,” Spencer says.

“That is bright,” you respond. “Thanks, Reid.”

An officer asks for your assistance and leads you to an observation room. Your eyes widen when you realize Tim and Hotch are on the other side of the glass in an interview room. Rushing into the room, you’re surprised when Hotch invites you to take a seat. As the door closes, Tim clenches his fists and begins to stand.

“Sit down,” Hotch demands, unmoving as Tim rises from his chair. Tim turns, face-to-face with Hotch. “Sit down,” Hotch repeats, quieter yet firmer.

Tim falls back into his seat and crosses his arms to stare at you.

“You can blame me if you want,” you offer. “But it won’t change anything. Twelve people are dead because of me.”

“Then why is my rookie still patrolling the streets of LA looking for the man your team decided did this? Hotch here covering for you again?” Tim challenges.

“Shut up,” Hotch says as he sits beside you, across the Table from Tim.

“Kenneth Adamson,” you say. “Do you have any idea of what he did?”

“Fired you for taking the easy way out when you decided you didn’t want to be a cop anymore?”

“Intimidated me,” you reply. “Got indicted for it, but it was never made public knowledge because ‘he was facing enough personal and professional issues for the widespread results of his corruption.’ Good excuse, right? Tim, I happened to be the person who put cuffs on Alexander Riley and allowed his delusion to take over. I didn’t mean to turn him into a serial killer, but I still feel like I have blood on my hands.”

“Wait,” Tim requests, raising his hand. “Adamson intimidated you?”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

You scoff, and Hotch raises his brows. “Like you would have believed me,” you reply.

Tim leans across the table, ignoring how Hotch moves closer to you, protective and ready to finish this case.

“He intimidated me too,” Tim confesses. “We should have told each other, but we messed up, and I’m sorry for that. Adamson was going to tell IA about something I did in the Army and twist it to get me fired if I didn’t find a way to get you off the force. Then you suddenly stopped trying and I thought… I guess I didn’t think about it, or I would’ve seen it.”

You look at Hotch, who shrugs. There likely isn’t proof that Adamson did to Tim what he did to you, but you have to make a choice. You can believe Tim Bradford or walk away.

“I caught him stealing evidence,” you say. “Skimming money from scenes before CSI got there, pulling jewelry from robbed houses, little things he didn’t think anyone would miss. When I saw him outright lie to a victim who only wanted her late mother’s locket back, I said something. And he was going to make my life a waking hell for it. So, I did what he asked and threw away my career.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Tim. I want you to help me find Alexander Riley and put cuffs on him before he goes after another innocent person, because there is nothing to stop him from progressing to killing cops he sees as corrupt. We kept it from the other officers because of that, so please don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Tim nods and murmurs another apology. You read his lips as he says it, and when Hotch stands, you’re prepared to accept it.

“One more out of line comment and you’re off this task force, Officer Bradford,” Hotch says as he buttons his blazer.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do everything I can to assist you.”

“Do you know why Riley would have used your name as a cursed wanderer in Liza Renner’s novella?” you ask, standing beside Hotch.

“Cursed wanderer?” Tim repeats.

“Remorseful, unabsolved character tormented by their fate and their actions.”

“He must not remember you well,” Hotch tells Tim.

“He’s not a very good writer,” Spencer mutters as he flips the page of one of Alexander Riley’s novellas.

“Maybe we should find a way to charge him for that too,” Derek grumbles. “I mean, ‘Tim Bradford carried the weight of his sins, heavier than the Kevlar on his chest. Each day he was forced to face the memories of how he’d failed his partner, the only woman he may ever love, but would never deserve.’ That’s awful.”

You and Tim turn to face each other quickly, each wondering if you heard what Derek read correctly.

“Derek, does that- when you read it, does it seem like he’s saying his partner is the only woman he’d ever love? Same person?” you ask.

“Yeah. You.”

“That’s what I got too,” JJ agrees. “There’s characters in the third novella that look exactly like the two of you, but they’re married. Doomed by the narrative to watch each other die, but…”

“Are there characters like that in all of them?” Hotch asks.

The sound of papers flipping precedes several firm answers of “Yes.”

“They always die?” you add. “But he doesn’t know. He sees a relationship that isn’t there.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, but you ignore him as you ask JJ to use her laptop. After signing in to your email, you pull up the scans Penelope sent you from the books in your office.

“In the clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed,” you read. “Black as the pit from pole to pole.”

“Are you gonna explain it or is this like Jeopardy?” Derek questions.

“He doesn’t portray our characters as corrupt,” you cheer. “We’re unfortunate, ‘doomed by the narrative’ players in a bigger game. I need the newest novella, the extra one from the double homicide scene.”

Wade knocks on the open door as you look through the evidence boxes on the table. He glances between you and Bradford before he asks, “Have any of you heard from Lopez and West?”

“They’re revisiting the last scene,” Hotch says. “They haven’t checked in?”

“Not recently.”

Tim looks at you, and when you meet his eyes, he offers, “We’ll find them.”

“Be careful,” Wade implores. “And keep me updated.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask.

“Anything,” JJ and Derek answer together.

“Look for any sign of restoration or avenging. It’ll probably be in the first novella, but I need to know if my character in his story is avenged somehow.”

“Revenge is a psychological response to wounds from others,” Spencer says. “Why would he be motivated to retaliate and justify this level of violence for you, if you’re the one who did wrong?”

“I think he may have changed his motives after Keith Adamson was indicted. If you find something, let me know, if not, Hotch probably has a better idea.”

You follow Tim to an unmarked car and ride in the passenger seat like you’ve pressed play after seven long years of having this part of your life on pause. Somehow, it feels better than before.

Tim's radio crackles as he makes the last turn to reach the crime scene.

“07-Adam-07,” Angela radios. “Sergeant Bradford, contact on channel 3.”

Tim changes the dial to channel 5 as he slows on the curb. You point to the dial, and he raises a thumb to tell you it wasn’t an accident.

“07-Adam-19,” he replies. “Go ahead, Lopez.”

“I think we found something that might be helpful to the detectives. Meet me at the scene and see if you agree?”

“I was already on the way. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust the feds. ETA two minutes.”

Tim returns his radio to the dash and then sits back to wait.

“Don’t trust the feds, huh?” you ask, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

“You really think he realized we were just as aggrieved as him?” Tim asks.

“Big word,” you murmur before dodging Tim’s weak backhand. “Why else would he keep us in the grand story he’s trying to write?”

“You said your character died in the new one.”

“All I saw was my name. I made an assumption without enough evidence. It was stupid.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Your phone buzzes, and you shake your head as you read the message from Penelope. “FBI tech guru Garcia hacked into the house’s security system. She’s got cameras inside. Riley has Lopez and West holed up in the master bathroom. My team and your watch commander are watching, ready to breach if this doesn’t go well.”

“You think it will?”

“I think Derek is going to be very mad after I do something reckless. That’s how it usually goes.”

Tim clears his throat awkwardly, then asks, “Are you and Morgan…?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “He’s just one of the many protective men I work with.”

“It’s been a minute and a half,” Tim says, changing the subject and breathing a little easier. “Are you ready?”

“I hope so.”

You exit the passenger seat as Tim pops the trunk. He passes you an LAPD bulletproof vest and a standard-issue belt to help you look more like a cop and less like a fed. After pulling the vest over your head, you struggle to get the belt in place beneath it. Tim gently takes it from you, his hands moving carefully around your waist as he clips the tactical buckle and slides the gun holster to its correct position.

“Thanks,” you whisper as he straightens, mere inches from you.

Tim drops his hands away from your sides but doesn’t move away. “Channel 3 is Lopez’s code,” he explains. “She only uses it when something’s wrong.”

Your phone buzzes again, and you turn away from Tim to answer it. “Hello?”

“Riley is armed,” Hotch says. “He’s got Lopez and West in the master bedroom on the ground floor. They’re uninjured, but he’s fidgety.”

“Did Derek ask Spencer about the bomb?”

“He did,” Spencer replies. Hotch’s phone is likely on speaker, and you turn your phone to allow Tim to hear too. “The bomb schematics were for a very closed-in space… like the townhouse you’re about to go into. It’s not incredibly enclosed, but given that Riley has issues with control, it could be a manifestation of claustrophobia. If his anxiety has caused a fear of enclosed spaces, based on the fear of losing control in those spaces, then he may be attempting to overcome that by giving himself power in the situation.”

“Could he be a cleithrophobe?” Tim wonders.

“What is that?” Derek asks, and you can imagine him looking around Wade’s office.

“I haven’t seen evidence of it,” Spencer answers. “He doesn’t seem to mind being closed in; the murders in the townhouse didn’t seem to affect him, but he is clearly concerned with power, control, and the hierarchy of those. It relates more to claustrophobia. Though I wouldn’t advise locking any doors to test it.”

You hang up suddenly and gesture to the townhouse. Tim looks up in time to see the curtain in an upstairs room fall back into place. He takes the lead, walking to the door with purpose and his hand on his gun. You follow him and look around the front porch for any sign that Riley is planning to kill anyone today.

Tim pushes the door open carefully, nodding to tell you it is unlocked before Angela calls his name. The novella with your name in it is still by the bookcase, and you remove it from the evidence bag and slide it under your vest. You trade places with Tim, going up the stairs first as he covers you. At the top of the landing, Alexander Riley steps out into the hallway with a gun strapped around his shoulders.

“You made it,” he says.

“We’re here to help, Riley,” you explain softly, holding your hands where he can see them. “You know that.”

He nods before jerking his head toward the doorway. You walk past him and stop in the center of the bedroom, scanning Angela and Jackson for any wounds. Luckily, they appear to be fine other than the handcuffs secured around their wrists.

“What’s the plan here?” Tim asks. “Not much room for error, Mr. Riley.”

“Give me your gun,” Alexander replies, holding his rifle with one hand as he extends the other toward Tim.

Tim complies, but his glance at you is a clear communication to not surrender your FBI-issued piece.

“Against the wall,” Alexander tells Tim. “You’re right, there isn’t room for error. But I’m prepared. I’ve been preparing since I lost everything.”

Tim sits against the wall, less than a foot from Angela. Alexander turns toward you, and his gaze softens. You were right, it seems. Alexander Riley has a soft spot for you; he thinks you’re like him, wronged by corruption and abused power, and you’re going to work that soft spot until he’s in cuffs.

“Take your vest off,” he requests. “Please.”

You don’t move but look pointedly at his gun before raising your eyes to his face.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Despite your instinct to refuse, to call in the cavalry and help Tim incapacitate the killer before you, there is too much at stake, and the longer you’re compliant, the longer Riley will keep everyone alive. So, you pull the vest over your head, not bothering to catch the novella as it falls to the floor, the blood on the cover contrasting the neutral carpet below your feet.

Back at the station, Hotch clenches his jaw as you open yourself to Riley, and Derek says, “Don’t do it… I might kill her for that.”

“You wrote it, right?” you ask, gesturing toward the stapled manuscript. “You wrote all of them.”

Riley fidgets, then nods.

You step toward him, keeping your expression soft and conveying understanding as you add, “I read some of them. They’re good, Alex. Can I call you Alex, or do you go by something else?”

“Alex is fine,” he replies, whispering your name under his breath like a prayer.

Tim shifts as Alexander’s attention changes slightly, morphing from a fierce protector into someone who wants to be by your side after you’ve been saved. You don’t spare a glance toward Tim, and for a brief moment, he wonders where you learned to do this. Then reality crashes back in like a wave that knocks Tim off his feet, the reminder that he could have taught you if he hadn’t let Keith Adamson get to him.

“In Brightest Day, you wrote a character who was a young cop, naïve and desperate to do the best thing,” you continue. “Who was she?”

“You know who,” Alex mutters.

You smile and ask, “Was I in all of them?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why you went to my old apartment before you sent the message to my friend in the FBI? Because I’m part of this? No, because you’re improving the character, right?”

“You were so far away,” he whispers.

“Alex, did you learn how to code just to talk to me?” you inquire softly.

He nods, then looks to the novella at your feet. The toes of your boots are inches from the paper, and his mouth twitches like he wants you away from it.

“Kick it,” he demands.

“Why? It’s art, it’s part of your soul,” you argue.

“Kick it.”

Tim nods in your peripheral, and you swallow before kicking it toward the door. Alex doesn’t hesitate to shoot the paper. You turn away from the noise, covering your ears even though it’s too late to keep your head from pounding. As the noise fades and your hearing returns, you see the shredded paper surrounding the hole in the floor.

“How does the story end, Alex?” you ask, stepping toward him again. “Are you like the truck drivers in Animal Farm? The cursed wanderer in Render Down you wrote for Liza? Or are you some new character that only cares about usurping the power for yourself?”

“It was never about me!” he replies, louder than you’ve heard him before. He softens his voice to repeat, “Never.”

“She was mine first,” Tim interjects suddenly.

Alex spins on his heel, the barrel of his rifle rising as he faces Tim. You shake your head wildly, desperate to stop him from saying something that will make Alex pull the trigger again. Angela looks down quickly, and you see her gun beneath the bed. As Alex’s chest heaves, his eyes locked unblinking on Tim’s, you move closer to the weapon, to Alex, and to freedom where you all walk out of here alive.

“I was saving her!” Alex roars. “From corruption, from Adamson, from you!”

“Adamson is the only one who hurt her,” Tim argues.

“February 17, 2017. You took your rookie to a noise disturbance call, and when you got there, four stupid young men were looting a flooded store during a break in the storms. She handcuffed one of them, but the rest ran. Then… then you started yelling at her, blaming her for all of it. While you were busy berating her, the other man ran with the handcuffs. I got away, but the power, the corruption, the greed was all getting to be too much. We hurt the owner because she was too worried about not getting insurance money for the water damage to empty out the register.”

“Something changed,” you say from beside Riley.

He doesn’t move away from Tim but stops talking to listen.

“In the first novella, it was you and me, wasn’t it? You wanted to make a new world together, save me from the love you thought would corrupt me.”

“Adamson used you too,” Alex tells Tim. “I made room for you to come with us and this is how you repay me? Chasing me for making things better. You’re back where you started.”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to act,” Jackson West says. “What if the world could’ve healed on its own and the people you killed might have helped?”

“Fool! They’ve gotten to you, too.”

As Alex’s finger slides onto the trigger, he turns toward Jackson. You don’t hesitate to lunge forward, closing the distance between yourself and Alexander. While you tackle him to the floor, he squeezes the trigger, and the shot rings through the now-silent townhouse and seems to echo for hours as your team watches in horror.

Tim pulls the handcuff key from his belt and passes it to Angela before he crawls on his hands and knees to reach you.

“I hope somebody got scans of that novella before he shot it,” you groan as you sit up.

Tim sighs, taking your face in his hands as he wipes blood from your temple.

“Is his writing really that good?” Jackson asks as he stands.

“It’s a little preachy,” you reply with a smile.

Your phone rings, and you swipe the screen to answer, then immediately hang up.

“That was your boss,” Tim points out.

“He can yell at me when he gets here.”

“Alexander Riley has been charged in the deaths of twelve Los Angeles residents,” JJ says at the press conference the morning after your encounter with Alex. “His victims include Janice Davis, Gregory Hunter, Bryce Keller, Hank Sheller, Peter Bristol, Liza Renner, Mel Houghton, Destiny Crest, Angelica Thomson, Alissa Alvarez, and Jack and Cassidy Wilson. Nearly three dozen cold cases are now being reopened, and the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit supports the LAPD’s claim that Riley could have committed these crimes as well. I’ll welcome any questions at this time.”

You scrunch your nose from the side, resisting the urge to remove the bandage on your forehead. Tim stands beside you, watching you.

Tim notices that the bandage is loose but doesn’t move before Hotch warns, “Don’t do anything in the public view that you don’t want to get out and give Riley a chance at walking.”

When the conference ends, Derek sighs and walks past Hotch to return to the hotel and pack. As he approaches you, he smiles and says, “And you didn’t want to come because I can’t help, and LA is too sunny.”

You try to punch Derek for his poor impression of you but miss as he breaks into a jog. Shaking your head, you turn to Tim and prepare a joke about how you don’t sound like that. Tim’s serious expression stops you, though.

“You didn’t think you could help?” he asks. “You were going to be an amazing cop, and I regret playing a part in taking that opportunity from you.”

You shrug and respond, “I like the FBI, and I got to tackle a murderer, so it all worked out.”

“Yeah,” Lucy interrupts, walking to your side. “But now you have to go back to Virginia.”

“Thank you,” Wade says, stopping at your side. “Come back soon, okay?”

You smile as he hands you a paper. As you read it, you sigh, then shove it into your pocket. The email came in this morning telling all active FBI agents about the new tactical unit, one which will work closely with the BAU. They’re actively recruiting, but if you tell Tim, you’re asking him to choose between you and the job again, and you can’t do that to him. Asking Tim to leave LA would be cruel, you think, so you force a smile onto your face.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him. “Especially the part where you saved my life and the apology. I’ll try not to stay gone so long this time.”

Tim nods, and you smile at Lucy before following your team. He watches you walk away, ignores Lucy’s encouragement for him to chase you, and waits until you leave to whisper what he wants to say. But Tim lost his chance again. Worse, he lost you again.

Two Weeks Later

“Which one of you wants to die first?” the armed suspect asks, swinging his curved meat hook between you and Spencer.

“Probably you, right?” you whisper. “You know, my blood’ll be on it if he kills me first.”

“The mean value of Staphylococcus aureus in raw meat is 3.84 in a butcher shop,” Spencer replies. “I don’t know where that thing has been. At least your blood has been relatively well contained. And any amount of water on that thing increases the number of bacterial specimens transferred from the meat surface.”

The metal door of the meat locker blows open suddenly, and when the butcher before you turns to see what caused the noise, two men in tactical uniforms subdue him and confiscate the meat hook. Spencer rushes out of the facility, and you watch as the new FBI team takes your suspect into custody.

“I could have done that,” you complain.

“Sure you could, boot,” one of the men says, his voice muffled by the helmet.

You look toward him with your eyebrows raised. He takes his helmet off, and your jaw drops. Tim Bradford.

Smiling, you step toward him with questions racing in your mind, but he extends a gloved hand, holding it against your waist to stop you as he whispers, “Morgan has cameras everywhere.”

As you walk into the BAU bullpen together, Hotch looks up from a paper. He looks at you, then Tim, then back to you, and smiles. With wide eyes, you hide behind Tim’s shoulder, unsure what a Hotch smile could mean in this particular circumstance.

“We’re wheels up to Los Angeles in forty-five,” Hotch says.

“Why?” you ask, stepping out from behind Tim.

“There’s a domestic terrorist leaving Shakespeare at foreign-owned businesses hours before they’re bombed or become mass murder scenes.”

You nod, but before you can speak, Derek calls, “Bring Bradford! We could use the Army experience.”

Hotch narrows his eyes at Tim, then shrugs and agrees.

“Good, good,” you mumble, wrapping your hands around Tim’s arms. “I’ll show him the ropes then and we’ll be back in thirty.”

“Please do.”

You quickly forget the ropes as you drag Tim into Penelope’s empty office. He smiles and prepares to ask what this has to do with terrorism, but you slide your hands onto his jaw and kiss Tim. Finally. Tim's hands meet your waist, and he pulls you closer as he kisses you, both of you melting into one another and getting lost in the moment you’ve waited so long for. When you pull back, Tim keeps you close, smiling like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, though he’s known your heart and potential for nearly a decade.

A quiet gasp draws your attention, and you both look to the door as Penelope says, “I’m telling Chocolate Thunder!”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #criminal minds #derek morgan #bau team #spencer reid #jj jareau #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#crossover fic

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prythianpages · 2 months ago

Text

Come Back To Me | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Experiencing some pregnancy complications, Azriel is left with no choice but to seek out Eris for help.

a/n: This is pt 10 and a little under 4.5K words. It's nearly 1am where I live but I couldn't help myself & needed to finish this lol.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant, mentions of high risk pregnancy, things get a little tense between Eris and Az

Shadows clouded around Eris, blurring his vision and muffling his hearing. Even his keen sense of smell was dulled as Azriel’s shadows coiled around him further. It infuriated him—the lengths the shadowsinger was going to protect your location from him. Your mate.

Azriel had made certain there would be no trail for Eris to follow after this. Not scent, not sound. Not even magic as Azriel had forced him into a bargain, the ink etched onto his arm fresh and burning. Azriel would bring him to you to aid in your situation, but only under strict conditions: Eris would remain only for as long as Azriel allowed and under no circumstance would he be permitted to take you back with him.

Two of the shadows bound themselves around his wrists like shackles, pulsing faintly. As if the bargain was not enough for Azriel. It didn’t matter. His shadows were not enough to suppress the power simmering just beneath his skin. Eris could have fought against the makeshift shackles, easily burning the dark tendrils away. He didn’t though. If the shadows hadn’t picked up on it, he knew it was smarter to let Azriel think they could actually suppress his power.

When the shadows blinding his sight finally lifted from his eyes, Eris found himself standing in a hallway. The first thing he saw was an older fae woman approaching. She wore plain robes, the symbol of a healer embroidered in silver thread on her sleeve. Her gaze landed on Azriel first, the two of them exchanging a look.

Eris’s patience frayed with each second of silence. Azriel had told him almost nothing—only that it urgently concerned you and the baby. And his mind had done the rest, conjuring horrors, each one worse than the last.

“Where is she?”

The healer didn’t flinch. She must have heard that tone countless times in her line of work. Her eyes swept over him, calm and assessing. “You must be the father,” she replied simply.

The word hit him like a blow. Father. He was going to be a father. A title he didn’t think he would acquire so soon. Though, this wasn’t the reason why he hesitated to answer.

It was what him claiming that title meant.

To say the words out loud was to admit a truth that carried weight and danger. It meant putting you and the baby in the crosshairs of enemies who would use them against him. He could only put his trust in Azriel to have picked a discreet and trustworthy healer, even though the paranoia in him was screaming not to trust anyone.

There were very few people Eris trusted and Azriel was not one of them. Not even close. But the way Azriel had held you before he took you away, the unquestionable look in his eyes when he showed up in Autumn to bear the bad news…had the Shadowsinger fallen for you?

Eris couldn’t blame him. You were a precious gem. One he failed to treasure and hold onto as he should’ve. Not because he stopped caring but because he found himself caring too damn much.

And now, he has lost you.

Or as he would rather say, he was losing you. He only had himself to blame, realizing the grave mistake he had made. He would never forgive himself for this, for the way he broke you. He’d give anything to go back, to have been brave enough to say those three words back.

The past was done, and now, he had to fight as he was not ready to admit defeat quite yet. Because even if he’d already shattered whatever future you might’ve had, he had to keep trying with all his might. You meant too much for him not to fight for you back. Especially when the one he was fighting against was Azriel—that Illyrian bastard.

He could lose you and he would have to live with that, if it’s what you wanted. But Eris could not lose you to him.

“I am,” he finally said quietly. He felt as though his throat was closing. His tone was much less demanding when he spoke next. “Who are you?”

The older woman’s lips curved slightly in a polite greeting. “I’m the healer tending to y/n,” she confirmed. “You can call me Madja.”

His eyes flicked to Azriel, who he had no qualms on restraining his emotion on. So he directed all his anger and frustration to the shadowsinger instead. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

It was Madja who answered, her tone somewhat somber. “Come and see for yourself.”

She moved to the door, painfully slow, and Eris nearly shoved it open himself. His chest ached, heart thudding as he stepped into the room.

The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

The room was warm—too warm— and it seemed, all the heat was coming from you. You were submerged in a porcelain bath that stood out like a sore thumb in the room. Barely conscious, your head rested on a pillow cradled in the lap of a woman, who looked similar in appearance to Azriel.

“‘S’hot…” you murmured, moaning in discomfort.

Eris took a step forward instinctively. The shadows binding his wrists tightened. His stomach twisted as he looked you over. Your skin was flushed and your breathing shallow. You didn’t look good, you looked….

He didn’t let himself finish that thought.

The woman behind you lifted a bucket, pouring ice into the tub. He watched as your body slackened with relief and despite the warning of the shadows, he took another step toward you.

That’s when he saw it.

It wasn't the clearest view, the rippling of water and ice blurring your body. But there was no denying the mottled, angry marks that were spread across your stomach. You were hurt…and the baby…?

“Your fire gremlin is burning her from the inside,” Azriel snarled, venom lacing each word.

“Azriel!” The woman at your side immediately reprimanded.

Eris’s vision tunneled and flames erupted at his fingertips. The shadows at his wrists let out a sharp hiss, immediately fluttering back to their master. So much for pretending. That bastard—that bastard—had the audacity to call his child a gremlin?

Eris’s head turned, amber eyes blazing as they locked onto the shadowsinger.

But Azriel didn’t flinch as the shadows around his wrist had. If anything, he took a step closer toward Eris. There was a challenge in his stance, his wings flaring just enough.

Madja stepped between them, diffusing the spark before it could become a wildfire. “At first, I thought it was a fever. I tried everything I could think of. The ice baths help… but only temporarily,” her voice was tired, her gaze lowering to Eris’s burning hand. “It seems your child has inherited the fire in your blood. Y/N is being burned from within.”

Burned. By their child.

Eris’s eyes hadn’t moved at all from Azriel’s. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated, and that hesitation said more than words ever could. His normally unreadable expression cracked, guilt seeping through the breaks. “Three days.”

Three days. Eris’s rage detonated. Three fucking days. Fire burst from his hands now, licking up his forearms in spiraling flares of molten gold and red.

“You waited that long to come for me?”

Azriel’s guilt twisted swiftly into fury. His eyes darkened as he took another step forward. The two males were no more than a foot apart. “Can you blame me?” he shot back, not wincing when he could feel the dangerous heat radiating off of Eris. “All you’ve ever done is hurt her. She’s like this because of you!”

Flames surged higher around Eris while Azriel’s shadows swarmed in a frenzied storm, like a furious hive on the brink of breaking loose. The room quaked beneath the weight of barely restrained power.

“Well, it doesn’t matter who did and didn’t do what,” Madja cut through, once again diffusing the tension. “The damage is being done as we speak. Y/n is in pain and though I’ve been giving her sedatives to ease it, I don’t know how much longer her body can endure this.”

Eris’s flames went out immediately. His heart squeezed so tightly it ached. That’s why he couldn’t feel you through the bond—why your side of it had gone so still. You’d learned how to shut him out but he felt you every now and then. When your emotions were too much to bear on your own, the bond would crack open just enough. You may or may not have known it but he felt those emotions with you.

“And the baby?” Eris asked, voice barely more than a rasp.

“Restless,” Madja said grimly. “But alive for now. If we can’t find a solution, I fear the child’s life will be in danger. Y/n’s body can no longer safely support the child’s growth.”

Eris swallowed. His gaze turned to you. His mate. The one he had pushed away, trying to protect you from the dangerous politics of his court. He had thought distancing himself would save you.

Instead, all it had done was hurt you. And now, it is killing you.

His thoughts raced back to his mother. To her pregnancies, the sleepless nights she had, the ice baths to keep her from overheating. But his mother had come from a family born of fire. Just like his father. Just like him.

You were not.

This child growing inside you was made of the same flame and now threatening to consume you.

His hand trembled at his side, helplessness threatening to take hold. A feeling he absolutely hated. Until a thought struck him. A memory. A possibility. Maybe, just maybe...

“I think I know how to help,” he breathed.

Eris crossed the last of the distance between you, dropping to his knees beside the tub. One hand clutched the porcelain edge with white-knuckled desperation, while the other reached for you. Your skin was searing to the touch. Too hot–far too hot. And terrifyingly wrong, because your skin had always been much cooler beneath his touch. Always.

You whimpered, wincing away from his touch.

Azriel stepped forward then, his shadows slithering like wild snakes across the floor. “What are you doing—”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp, near feral, spoken through clenched teeth. Eris’s eyes did not leave you. Fumes released from his body, providing a barrier between him and Azriel’s shadows. A warning.

The woman beside you must’ve sensed something in Eris’s gaze. Perhaps, it was his desperation or his determination. She gave him a small nod, shifting her legs and adjusting your head carefully. “Tell me what to do.”

“Just hold her still.”

He tried again, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. You winced—again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with a small frown.

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for anymore. For letting you go? For not being here sooner? For giving you a child that was hurting you?

He drew a shaky breath, lifting his hand from your face. He conjured a flame onto his palm. It shimmered and twisted until it gathered into a single, pulsing orb of bright red magic. A kernel of his power. He stared at the orb for a second, sending a prayer to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to anyone or anything that would listen. That this time, he could do something right by you.

Then, he released it. The orb floated from his hand and moved toward you. It hovered above your chest and then, slowly sank into your skin.

There was a stillness. A moment when even Azriel’s shadows held their breath.

Then, you exhaled. A soft, low sigh. Your brows unfurrowed, expression smoothing out. The burn marks on your stomach dulled. The fevered flush began to fade from your cheeks. And finally, the ice in the bath stopped melting so quickly.

Eris felt the bond stir.

You were there on the other side again.

He bowed his head, overcome with relief. A ragged breath left him, silently thanking all entities who heard his prayer. It worked. It had actually worked.

He hadn’t been sure it would. He’d only ever seen something similar like this once. Under the mountain, when his father had given a spark of life to Feyre after she had saved them all. Eris had only hoped that by sharing a kernel of his own power with you, it might do the same. Might change your body, mold it to help carry the fireborn child.

Eris had seen people burn from the inside out before. His own fire could be a gift or a curse depending on how it was wielded. He had never feared it, never hated it. Until now.

Guilt clawed further into his chest. It seemed never-ending at this point. All he seemed to do was bring you pain—trouble after trouble. It’s not like he planned for this. Becoming a father wasn’t something he expected at all. Not now, not yet. And certainly not like this.

None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to hate him, to move on. He thought if he was cruel enough, you'd leave and eventually, you’d forget him. You’d go live the life you wanted. The one he couldn’t give you. You’d live free from the curse of loving a man like him.

Eris had never intended for you to carry this burden alone. He had intended to be the only one suffering.

But this fire had already taken root, whether either of you were ready for it or not.

Parenthood was no longer a distant concept. It was here, knocking at his door, demanding to be faced. With it, came fear. For you. How could something so small and unborn already wield such power? How could he not have seen this coming?

He remembered his mother having similar troubles but it wasn’t until her last month of pregnancy that they arose. You couldn’t be that far along. He would’ve definitely noticed then as he could pick up on the shift in your scent now.

Had he known the risks you’d undergo, he would’ve done this for you the moment he found out you were pregnant. Without hesitation, without question. He would’ve handed over every last ember of his power, if it meant you wouldn’t suffer.

Madja was at your side, her hand moving across your fevered skin. First your forehead, then your chest, and finally, she dipped her hand beneath the water to feel your stomach. A look of relief crossed her face as she nodded her head.

“The fever is broken. She seems to be stabilizing now.”

“Thank the Mother,” the woman, still holding you, breathed.

Eris didn’t need Madja to know you were feeling better. He could feel it, the bond awake once more. Your breathing grew more steady. Exhaustion now took over your features, body slumping further against the woman.

“Let’s get her out and dressed,” Madja instructed the other woman.

Eris immediately stood on his feet, ready to help.

Madja stopped him. “We can take it from here.”

Eris told himself to not get upset. It’s clear she meant no harm from it. Though Eris has seen you countless of times, he realized that if you were fully conscious, you may not have wanted him to help you dress. So he took a step back and averted his gaze, letting them help you instead.

His eyes found the shadowsinger’s wings. Azriel, wanting to also protect your decency, had turned his back, facing the wall. Eris’s ears were attentive to the movement behind him. He listened as the women behind him moved and dressed you, bringing you to bed.

One of his fists clenched in unease when he finally heard you speak, your voice a faint murmur.

“My baby…is…okay…?”

“Yes, your baby is okay,” he heard Madja comfort you.

“Good,” you breathed. “M’tired…so, so tired…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he heard the other woman, whose name he still hadn’t bothered to ask for. He should, considering how caring and attentive she’s been to you. “You can rest all you need to.”

A strangled noise came from you, a cry from exhaustion.

Eris hadn’t meant to look. His chest flared with protectiveness at the distressing sound you made, his body moving on instinct. His eyes flicked over his shoulder—just for a second—and they widened.

Your undergarments were in place, the women working together to slip a sleeping gown over your body. It wasn’t the sight of your skin that had his eyes widening. it was what had changed.

He knew your body like the back of his hand, had memorized every inch of it with his eyes and lips. He knew it well enough to immediately pick up on the changes. Your hips had widened and stomach rounded, all to accommodate the baby growing inside you. His baby.

The awe that pierced through him was drowned quickly by guilt as the women blocked his view, settling you further onto the bed. When they drew back from you, he was comforted by the peace slowly easing onto your face. The Illyrian woman smiled down at you as she brushed your hair back.

“I’m going to finish some tonics that she can use to build up her strength again.” Madja said before walking out of the room.

“It’s time for you to go.” Azriel finally spoke, addressing Eris. “There’s no need for you to be here anymore.”

Eris’s body tensed, that anger from earlier flaring back up. He forced his gaze away from you, though it felt like tearing flesh from bone, and turned slowly to face the shadowsinger. “She needs me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t want you.”

Eris winced, as if he had been struck. The blow landed deep. He didn’t know if it was true and that was the worst part.

Though, it didn’t matter if you wanted him or not. What if another complication arose? The power he gave you was a sliver of his but one you never wielded before. He had centuries of mastery while you had none. If something happened, he could help you. Not Azriel. Him.

And what of the baby? Who would be there to guide them once they were of age? Or if they started manifesting them much sooner as it already was proving to be?

“She’s carrying my child. They need me. She can’t go through this alone.”

“They’re not alone,” Azriel said sharply, stepping forward. His shadows were stirring behind him, emphasizing the bright pulsing of his blue siphons. “They have me.”

Eris laughed bitterly. A sound with no humor—just disbelief and hidden pain. “You?” His lip curled. “You expect me to trust you? You knew what was happening and still—still—you waited three days to come find me.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, whether in irritation or restraint, Eris couldn’t tell. But the room suddenly felt smaller. Like it might close in under the pressure of their magic. The two males stood nearly toe-to-toe, just as they had before.

“Because you broke her trust,” Azriel shot back, his shadows coiling tighter, like leashed beasts waiting for the order to strike. “And I don’t trust you. Never did and never will. You always have a selfish motive for everything.”

Eris’s nostrils flared, pure jealousy flaring beneath his skin now. “And when exactly did you earn her trust, shadowsinger?”

“Enough, the both of you!” the Illyrian woman snapped, stepping between them with a might of her own. She winced as the bed behind her rustled, you stirring in bed. “If you are going to fight, then do it outside."

Neither male moved at first.

They simply stared at one another. Hate and grief and guilt writ in every tense breath between them. Then, finally, Eris stepped back, muttering a curt “sorry” to the woman. The flames in his hands flickered out, though the heat in his eyes remained.

“Eris.”

It was you calling to him.

Azriel blinked, taken aback, and a small, unexpected victory pulsed through Eris’s veins.

Azriel reluctantly stepped back, his shadows retreating with him. Still, they lingered close and Eris swore they had eyes of their own as he could feel them staring him down.

“She's been through enough," the woman said with a sigh, her gaze lingering on Eris, as if she were assessing him. She turned to Azriel. “She’ll probably wake up hungry, poor thing hasn’t eaten much either. Won’t you help me prepare something?”

Though it’s phrased as a question, there’s an underlying demand in her tone. One Eris can’t help but feel grateful for.

“Sure,” Azriel replied after a brief pause, his voice taut. He turned to follow, but not before glancing back. “Five minutes,” he said over his shoulder.

Eris’s eyes caught the clutter on your nightstand as he approached your bed. For a moment, he froze. The letters–his letters– were stacked unevenly, some edges bent from being reopened too many times. There were small things, too. The other gifts he had sent.

None of his letters have been returned and it appeared that the gifts he had sent were unused.

But they were here. They’d at least been opened and kept. Not thrown away as he feared.

The smallest sliver of hope pushed into the cracks of his chest. Perhaps, there was still a chance. You hadn’t shut him out entirely. He exhaled slowly and then, finally, he turned back to you.

The bed dipped slightly as Eris sat on the edge, and for a moment, he just looked at you. The fever had dropped but it left behind a sickly sheen of exhaustion. Reaching out, his hand hovered over your face. There was a moment of hesitation before he gently lowered his hand to rest against your cheek. You were no longer searing to the touch, just slightly cooler in comparison to him now.

You didn’t flinch like before. Instead, you leaned into his touch and the movement stole the breath from his lungs. His lips parted, a tremor of a smile tugging at one corner.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted downward to the gown draped across your body. He could see the small curve of your stomach beneath it and it made his chest tighten.

There. Right there. Life–Life the two you had created.

His hand moved from your face to rest lightly on your bump. His touch was featherlight like he feared even pressure might hurt you further. The contact was both grounding and devastating. He really wished things didn’t have to be this way.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering again. He was full of so much regret and so much yearning.

“Eris,” you rasped, your lashes fluttering faintly. “Is it really you?”

Eris knows it must be the exhaustion. He can see you fighting it, struggling with the weight it pressed upon your eyelids. The hand that had been resting over your stomach drifted lower to reach for your own hand. “Yes,” he replied. His hand tightened around yours, bringing it to rest over his heart. “I’m here.”

You hummed softly, your fingers twitching in his grasp. He watched you, observing every shift of your expression, every flutter of your lashes as if it were some fragile miracle. The tears he’d been holding back finally slipped free, tracking down his cheeks in silence.

“When Azriel came for me, I thought the worst. I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away. I thought…” He trailed off, swallowing hard and struggling with his words.

He gave you space to respond, though he knew better than to expect it. He wondered if the exhaustion won, sleep finally taking over you. Good, he thought. You probably haven’t been able to properly rest these past couple of days.

Your breathing remained steady and no more words from you followed. Just the soft rhythm of your body. He could hear your heartbeat and he swore he could hear the baby’s too. It was quiet but quicker. A ticking sound, almost.

Before you, he hadn’t believed himself capable of feeling for someone this deeply. But you—you had carved out a place in his heart, built a home there, even when he tried to board it shut. And now, there was someone else nestled in that space too. Someone so small and unseen but already adored with an intensity that terrified him.

The bond between you stirred faintly, dulled by your fatigue. Maybe you wouldn’t remember this. Maybe it would all fade into your dreams. It didn’t matter. He had to say it anyway.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered, pressing your hand to his lips. “I swear it. Even if you never forgive me... I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting for and protecting you. The both of you.”

Eris closed his eyes, forehead resting briefly against your joined hands. And then, with a tremble in his chest, he said the three words that had haunted him since the day you spoke them first. The three words he had felt long before you ever gave them breath. The ones he had buried beneath fear and duty and pride.

“I love you.”

It left him in a broken whisper. A confession and a promise all in one. He only hoped he’d get the chance to say them to you when you were awake. He wanted to sit here with you, holding your hand as he waited for you to wake up. He didn’t want to leave. How could he, when everything that made his life worth anything was here in this room?

The tattoo on his arm from the bargain with Azriel flared, as if sensing where his thoughts had headed. It pulsed against his skin like a second heartbeat and it was followed by a knock at the door. Azriel must’ve felt it too.

Eris looked at you one last time, his gaze trailing over your face. Then down to the bump beneath the thin gown, where your hand now rested. You looked at ease now and it made it even harder for him to leave when all he wanted was to curl up beside you. His legs felt heavy, as though the weight of what he was walking away from had rooted him in place.

He burned the image of you into his mind before he forced himself to stand. He didn’t know how, didn’t know when. He just knew he would find his way back to you. Even if he had to bleed for every step back to you.

And then, he walked away, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t hear the faint words that left your lips moments later, voice cracked and barely there.

“Don’t go.”

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this part! <3 In my head, iI have a little HC that f Eris and reader had consummated the bond, this pregnancy wouldn't have turned high risk so early. I have 2-3 more parts planned but I'm going to take a small break from them so I could write little drabbles/scenes in between them. Basically, it would be scenes I couldn't figure out how to incorporate into the next parts but still wanted to write out.

Sneak peak to next update: here

If there's anything you'd like to read, let me know! I'm open to suggestions and also love hearing your thoughts.

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamarancianne, @daemyratwst, @ratgirl2020 @balufy

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris angst #the mark eris left behind

541 notes · View notes

neferaskingdom · 9 months ago

Text

♡ Flirting? That’s a Track Limit Violation | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader [Face Claim: None]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Summary: Y/N drops a cryptic elevator pic hugging some random dude and it’s like throwing a grenade into the F1 paddock. Charles and Arthur are ready to form an FBI task force, and the drivers are gossiping harder than a group of high schoolers at lunch. Max? He’s out here pretending he doesn’t care, but we all know he’s five seconds away from flipping a table. Nobody has a clue who the guy is, but Max is sweating, the internet is thriving, and the drama is peak entertainment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A/N: thank you soo much for 100 followers guys I never knew this many people would end up liking this little fic. screaming, crying, throwing up fr 😭. also sorry to everyone who had to read the wonky letters version. tumblr messed up my format and I had to individually fix the words.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Part 3 of my wheel-to-wheel but still in denial series: Masterlist

y/n_leclerc posted an Instagram Story:

📸: A blurry photo of Y/N hugging a guy in an elevator, only his back visible.

Caption: A single red heart emoji❤️

Replies:

danielricciardo:

Popcorn out. Watching the Leclerc brothers have an absolute meltdown in 3… 2… 1… 😂

charles_leclerc:

Who the hell is this guy? Y/N, answer me RIGHT NOW!

arthur_leclerc:

This better be a joke, or I’m tracking your location. WHO. IS. HE?

landonorris:

Wait… bitch did you just drop a boyfriend announcement with a blurry elevator pic?? DID MAX SEE THIS?!?

↪ y/n_leclerc:

What does Max have to do with anything???

↪ landonorris:

OH MY LORD I CANNOT WITH YOU TWO

georgerussell63:

who dis?

alex_albon:

I feel like I just witnessed the calm before the storm. Charles is going to explode. Arthur’s already spiraling.

y/n_leclerc posted a photo:

Liked by landonorris, pierregasly, alex_albon, and 500,903 others.

Comments:

charles_leclerc:

Y/N, explain yourself. Who’s this guy?

arthur_leclerc:

SIS, YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A HEART AND EXPECT US TO BE CALM.

maxverstappen1:

So… new friend? Or something else?

↪ landonorris:

Max, you sound… interested? 👀

↪ georgerussell63:

Max, if you’re going to be subtle, you’re failing.

↪ danielricciardo:

Can we all just take a moment to appreciate how Charles is losing his mind over this while Max tries to act like he doesn’t care? 😂

↪ alex_albon:

Max pretending this is just a casual question while we all know he’s about to punch a wall.

lilyzneimer:

y/n_leclerc, the WAGs feel personally betrayed. We thought we were your ride or dies! 💔

charles_leclerc:

NO ONE IS ANSWERING MY QUESTIONS, AND I’M ABOUT TO START FLYING TO FIND THIS GUY.

↪ arthur_leclerc:

Charles, wait for me. I’ve got your back.

↪ y/n_leclerc:

Can you guys relax? It’s really not that serious.

lilymhe:

Hello??? y/n_leclerc, you ditched us for a man??? What happened to me being the love of your life? 😭

carmenmmundt:

I thought I was your only love 😞. I feel betrayed babes💔

f1_gossips tweeted:

F1 drivers are officially in meltdown mode after Y/N Leclerc posts a cryptic heart emoji with a mystery man. Charles and Arthur Leclerc are leading the charge, while Max Verstappen seems unusually ‘curious.’ What’s really going on here? 🤔

Comments:

user1:

Max ‘I’m totally not jealous’ Verstappen is the best version of Max.

user2:

Charles is on the verge of hunting this guy down while Max plays detective in the background.

user3:

MAX PRETENDING NOT TO CARE WHILE LITERALLY SWEATING THROUGH HIS RACE SUIT. I SEE YOU, VERSTAPPEN

user4:

This is going to end with Max accidentally confessing feelings. You heard it here first.

user5:

Y/N dropping a single heart emoji and causing the grid to spiral. POWER MOVE. 😈

user6:

Max is acting like he’s not freaking out, but I bet he’s checking her Insta every 10 minutes.

user7:

Arthur and Charles are about to pull up with baseball bats, and Max is trying to act like he’s just ‘concerned.’

y/n_leclerc posted an Instagram Story:

📸: Screenshot of her Instagram comments blowing up with messages from drivers, brothers, and the WAGs.

Caption: Y’all are doing TOO much. Chill, it’s not what you think! 😂

Replies:

charles_leclerc:

IF IT’S NOT WHAT WE THINK, THEN TELL US WHO HE IS. 😡

arthur_leclerc:

Sister, you better have a GOOD explanation for this. We are not playing.

landonorris:

Bro, Charles is about to have a meltdown, and Max is getting quieter. I don’t know which one is scarier.

danielricciardo:

I’ve never seen Charles so unhinged, and I live for this chaos. 🧨

georgerussell63:

You’ve been eerily quiet for someone who usually has a lot to say. Dont tell me this is serious?!?!

y/n_leclerc posted:

📸: Y/N and her best friend posing dramatically in the same elevator.

Caption: Relax, it’s just y/n_bff, my best friend. 😂 Y’all really lost your minds over an elevator hug, huh? Charles, Arthur, you can calm down now.

Liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 420,876 others.

Comments:

charles_leclerc:

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU MADE US ALL PANIC FOR THIS?!

arthur_leclerc:

Y/N, YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO US.

maxverstappen1:

So… just a friend, huh? Good to know.

↪ landonorris:

Max, let out the biggest sigh of relief

↪ danielricciardo:

Max pretending he wasn’t two seconds away from launching an investigation.

↪ alex_albon:

Max, it's ok to breathe now. 😂

lilymhe:

Y/N, we need to talk about this betrayal. A PRANK AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US? 💔

↪ carmenmmundt:

You better make it up to us. We feel personally attacked.

f1gossips tweeted:

UPDATE: Y/N Leclerc has revealed the mystery man is just her best friend, but the damage has already been done. Max Verstappen, despite claiming not to care, was very quick to ask for details. Fans are now speculating on Max’s sudden interest. Could there be something brewing? 👀 #MaxYN #LeclercBrothers #PrankChaos #MaxNotJealous

Comments:

user8:

Max is like, ‘I’m not jealous, but… WHO IS THIS GUY?’ 😂

user9:

Charles and Arthur over here ready to fight while Max is low-key spiraling.

user10:

Max trying so hard to be subtle and failing MISERABLY.

user11:

Y/N is playing with fire, and I LOVE IT. She’s making Max sweat.

Groupchat Messages: (maxy/n truthers):

dudududu:

So… no real boyfriend?

albono:

Max, she literally just said that. You can chill now.

dudududu:

I wasn’t not chill. Just… you know, looking out for her.

albono:

Uh-huh. You sound real concerned for a ‘friend,’ Max. 😂

shoeysupremacy:

MAX, JUST ADMIT YOU’RE JEALOUS. IT’S PAINFUL TO WATCH.

norizz:

Max pretending not to care is the worst acting I’ve ever seen.

georgieporgie:

It’s the slowest, most awkward flirtation I’ve ever witnessed, and it’s amazing.

Twitter Reactions:

user12:

The longer this goes on, the more I think Max is one step away from confessing his feelings.

user13:

Max: ‘I’m not jealous, I’m just… CONCERNED.’

user14:

Max watching this whole thing unfold like it’s the worst pit stop of his life.

user15:

Max really out here pretending he didn’t have a minor breakdown over a blurry elevator pic.

y/n_leclerc posted a photo:

Caption: guys I think this might be my favourite spot now.

Liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 220,896 others.

Comments:

maxverstappen1:

Just making sure. No weird guys in elevators, right?

↪ y/n_leclerc:

Max, stop worrying about elevators. You’re being ridiculous.

↪ maxverstappen1:

I’m just saying. You could do better than a blurry elevator hug. Maybe someone who drives fast for a living. Just a thought.

↪ danielricciardo:

OH MY GOD, MAX IS FLIRTING. MAX IS REALLY DOING THIS.

↪ landonorris:

Max ‘I’m not jealous’ Verstappen is actually… shooting his shot? 😂

↪ georgerussell63:

Y/N, this is your fault. You’ve broken Max.

user16:

MAX FLIRTING??? IS THIS REAL LIFE???

user17:

Max really out here going from ‘I’m not jealous’ to flirting in the comments. What a journey.

user18:

I LOVE THIS. Y/N has Max spinning, and it’s beautiful.

user19:

Max flirted, and the world just shifted on its axis. Did anyone else feel that?

user20:

Max shooting his shot in the most awkward, Max way possible is sending me.

y/n_leclerc posted a photo:

Caption: Sunsets🌞

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 426,276 others.

Comments:

maxverstappen1:

The only thing more beautiful than this sunset is you

↪ y/n_leclerc:

...Max, what are you doing?

↪ danielricciardo:

OH MY GOD, MAX, DID YOU JUST— DID YOU JUST FLIRT IN PUBLIC? 😂

↪ charles_leclerc:

MAX, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!! 😡

↪ arthur_leclerc:

YOU’RE DEAD, VERSTAPPEN.

↪ landonorris:

Y/N, RUN. MAX IS LOSING IT.

↪ lilymhe:

Y/N, is this your new strategy? Break him down with elevator pranks and watch him crumble? Genius.

user21:

MAX REALLY WENT FOR IT. This man is shooting his shot ON MAIN. 😱

user22:

Y/N’s sundress got Max sweating more than a red flag in Q3. 💀

user23:

Charles and Arthur in full meltdown mode while Max is out here simping. We LOVE TO SEE IT.

user24:

MAX JUST FLIRTED IN THE COMMENTS LIKE IT’S CASUAL?!

y/n_leclerc posted a photo:

Caption: Caffeine fix ☕

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 420,876 others.

Comments:

maxverstappen1:

Bet that coffee isn’t as sweet as you. 😘

↪ y/n_leclerc:

MAX, STOP. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. 😳

↪ landonorris:

STOP. MAX, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE. 😂

↪ danielricciardo:

MAX, YOU CAN’T JUST DROP FLIRTY COMMENTS EVERYWHERE. Y/N’S IN SHOCK. 💀

↪ georgerussell63:

Max, for real. Are you okay? Blink twice if you need help.

lilymhe:

Y/N, please explain what kind of witchcraft you used to make Max simp THIS HARD. I need tips. 😂

alex_albon:

I’m both terrified and impressed at how fast Max has gone from 'I don't even like her' to 'full-on simp mode.'

charles_leclerc:

MAX. ENOUGH. I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.

↪ arthur_leclerc:

I’m grabbing the car keys. We’re handling this in person.

user25:

Max flirting in broad daylight while Charles and Arthur spiral into madness. THIS IS PEAK ENTERTAINMENT.

user26:

I need a documentary on how Max went from ‘I fucking hate her’ to dropping flirty lines under every post. 💀

user27:

Max is playing the long game. But damn, is he bad at being subtle.

user28:

I can’t decide if I’m living for this or dying of secondhand embarrassment for Y/N. Max, STOP. 😂

user29:

Y/N, blink twice if Max has you trapped in a flirty comment loop and you don’t know how to escape.

y/n_leclerc posted a photo:

Caption: “In the presence of great art, time stands still”

ps. yes I did copy that from google 🤗

Liked by landonorris, pierregasly, alex_albon, and 500,903 others.

Comments:

maxverstappen1:

Tried to focus on the art but my eyes keep wandering back to you

↪ alex_albon:

MAX, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS? 😵

↪ landonorris:

Max, bro… this is getting uncomfortable. 😂

↪ danielricciardo:

MAX IS GOING FULL ROMEO. SOMEONE STOP HIM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

↪ georgerussell63:

Y/N, how are you even still functioning with this level of public simping?

↪ pierregasly:

I’m cackling. Max is like a flirty tornado right now. 💀

user30:

Max is one more flirty comment away from proposing marriage on Instagram Live.

user31:

Y/N is going to have a nervous breakdown at this rate. Max, CHILL.

user32:

Charles is gonna have a full-on crisis meeting about Max’s public simping. 😂

user33:

Max flirting with Y/N like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. WHAT IS HAPPENING.

user34:

Y/N trying to roast Max while he keeps throwing out flirty comments is actually hilarious. I hope she survives this.

user35:

Max went from “just friends” to dropping Shakespearean lines in under 24 hours. ICONIC.

DMs between Max and Y/N:

y/n_leclerc:

Max.

maxverstappen1:

Yes, Y/N? 😏

y/n_leclerc:

We need to talk. Immediately.

maxverstappen1:

Am I in trouble? Because I can explain everything. 😇

y/n_leclerc:

MAX, WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU? The flirting in the comments?? I literally had to restrict my brothers from my posts to stop them from finding and KILLING YOU. 😩

maxverstappen1:

You restricted them?! 😅

y/n_leclerc:

YES. Because you’re out here leaving cheesy flirty comments like we’re on Love Island or something! And the public thinks we’re secretly dating. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? MAX. You’ve been openly flirting with me in front of CHARLES. On Instagram. IN FRONT OF THE WORLD. They’re going crazy.

maxverstappen1:

Oh, right. I forgot about the brothers. Oops. 😅

y/n_leclerc:

Forgot about the brothers?? You’re practically signing up for your own funeral. 😩

maxverstappen1:

Come on, Y/N, it’s not that bad. 😏

y/n_leclerc:

...Max. I’ve got people DMing me, my brothers are two steps away from driving to your house, and the internet is convinced we’re dating. You're taking the jokes way too far, and I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it needs to stop.

maxverstappen1:

...I wasn’t joking.

y/n_leclerc:

Excuse me?

maxverstappen1:

I’m not joking. About the flirting.

y/n_leclerc:

MAX. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT JOKING?! 😳

maxverstappen1:

I like you.

y/n_leclerc:

...Like, “like me” like me?

maxverstappen1:

Yes. 🙃

y/n_leclerc:

No. This is a prank. You’re pranking me. Where’s the camera? WHERE IS IT? 😵

maxverstappen1:

It’s not a prank, Y/N. I’ve liked you for a while.

y/n_leclerc:

MAX. You can’t just drop a BOMB like this in my DMs. What the hell do you mean “for a while”?!

maxverstappen1:

Years. 😅

y/n_leclerc:

YEARS?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YEARS?! 😱

maxverstappen1:

I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin our thing. You know, the teasing, the banter. But when I saw that elevator post, I thought you had a boyfriend. It freaked me out. I realized I had to say something.

y/n_leclerc:

Oh my god, this is so much worse than I thought. 😵‍💫

maxverstappen1:

I didn’t want to mess things up, but I can’t keep pretending. I care about you, Y/N. More than just friends. I had to shoot my shot.

y/n_leclerc:

...You saw one blurry elevator pic and had a full-on emotional breakdown?

maxverstappen1:

Pretty much, yeah.

y/n_leclerc:

Max, this isn’t real life. This is some Netflix rom-com level nonsense, and I’m... confused.

maxverstappen1:

I know it’s sudden. But I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t want to lose you and watch you love someone that wasn’t me

y/n_leclerc:

...oh.

come over

maxverstappen1:

what?

y/n_leclerc:

come over to my place so that I can kiss you dumbass cuz believe it or not but I kinda like you too

maxverstappen1:

gimme 5.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

1K notes · View notes

nev3rfound · 1 month ago

Text

it's already done : b.b

it was a simple arrangement until it got complicated.

wc: 1.2k

mentions of injuries, angst, fluff.

bet you never thought you'd read from me again, huh? same. but like so many, i got drawn back in post thunderbolts.

masterlist

The shirt reeked of perfume and the memories of last night. Laced into the cotton contained decisions you shouldn't have made fading like the scent of rose in the collar.

Besides you, he remains perfectly still. The only movement is his chest rising and falling peacefully, lost in a dream world where the reality of the situation hasn't sunk in yet.

Rubbing your eyes, you force yourself off the bed slowly, feeling the mattress rise at the sudden movement. Glancing over your shoulder, you check to ensure he's asleep and silently sigh in relief.

Picking up your shirt and pants, you slip them on as you tiptoe toward the door, barely allowing yourself a chance to admire the collection of photographs from his past and ornaments he found from his adolescence, now gathering dust.

"You know, sneaking out on a dame in the morning was my move." Freezing at the door, you swear under your breath at his groggy morning voice, hating how your heart began to soar from the interruption of your internal monologue.

"I didn't think you'd notice me leave." You admit, speaking just above a whisper.

Bucky forces himself to sit upright, hair falling in his face, knowing that whilst your back is turned, the small frown on his face can remain.

Turning on your heels, keeping your clothes close to your chest, Bucky sits with the sheets resting on his hips, leaving his chest exposed as a sheen of sweat glistens over it.

"Do you forget I was a soldier, doll?" Bucky breathes out a laugh, noticing a glimpse of a smile cross your lips.

"Sometimes," You shrug. "especially when you're a softie who cuddles in his sleep." A chuckle passes from you, and Bucky glances away. "Anyway, thanks for last night."

Pursing his lips, Bucky fails to find the right words and allows you to slip out from his room once again without saying the truth.

With heavy eyes, you try to read over the mission report but the words continue to blur together on the screen.

"Someone had a late night, huh?" Yelena chuckles, raising an eyebrow and catching the slight pink rising up your neck at her comment.

"What can I say?" You shrug, a crass smile briefly on your lips at the thought of last night, and the previous nights before.

Yelena sighs, leaning back in her seat opposite you, crossing her arms in defeat. "I just don't get why you don't date. It's obvious you two have feelings for one another." She states it as fact, resulting in you laughing at such.

"Good joke, Lena." You brush the statement off, missing the look she shares with Ava, now sitting up front in the SUV. "But we get on as friends, and friends who have fun every now and then." Shrugging it off, you return your attention to your screen.

It was an in-and-out mission. Recover some missing files stolen about Sentry, even though Valentina assured they were all burnt, when she conveniently tried to kill you all. A simple mission, only requiring three of you to go and be back in time for Bob's latest cooking conquest.

Turns out, the mission was anything but in-and-out. Instead, you were greeted with a hailstorm of bullets while Ava shifted in and out, taking down the assailants with Yelena, whilst you were tasked with gathering the files in question.

Locating the files was the easy part, but upon retrieving the USB drive Val informed you of, the laptop flashed a timer on the screen, counting down from 30. "Fuck." You mutter, quickly backing away into the eerie silence of the corridor. "Guys?" Yelling, you rush toward the direction of grunts and screams.

Wiping her brow with a gun in hand, Yelena catches the panic setting into your gaze. "What is it?"

"There's a-" Before you could finish the sentence, the explosion sets off, causing the room behind you to implode and the corridor ceiling to shatter into shards around you.

"Y/n!" Yelena's muffled voice calls out, but you're acutely aware of the glass shards now buried into various ligaments, and the ringing in your ears drowning out the pleas from your friend. Dust clouds your vision as heat rises around you. "Back up, medic, any fucking thing!" Her demands begin to fade as your eyes start to close, the weight of it all beginning to settle.

You didn't even say goodbye to Bucky.

"She's going to wake up, right?" Bob is the first to speak up, seeing you lying unconscious on the stretcher being escorted through the watch tower to the newly sterile med bay. "She'll be fine, of course she will." He assures himself quietly, aware of Bucky's fists clenching and releasing repeatedly.

No one had any answers, no one knew what had happened, no one could tell them anything about your condition or if you were going to pull through. And worst of all, Bucky hadn't been honest with you, and now you might be gone.

He'd never seen you look so fragile, covered in cuts, blood staining your clothes and smoke marking your skin. Even when sharing your deepest secrets together, you held your own, but now, with your eyes closed and lips turned down in pain, he struggles to keep it together.

"Barnes." One of the medics, Simon, calls him to follow.

Quick on his heels, Bucky remains eerily silent, his mind whirring with everything he should've said, every missed opportunity to be more than just friends.

The smell hits him first, the antiseptic and alcohol clings to his senses. "Bucky," Yelena's voice is raspy, she too isn't in the best state, but stable enough to now sit beside your bed.

Now looking down at you, Bucky can feel his heart twist. You've been cleaned up, but he knows you;re in pain, still unconscious. "What have they said?" He cooly asks, now blankly meeting Yelena's gaze.

"They say she's lucky." Trying to compose herself, she sniffles. "No glass penetrated any vital organs, she lost a lot of blood, broken ribs, concussion, potential hearing loss, broken collarbone and right leg." Listing off the injuries, Bucky's eyes scan over your body, how different it was from the one he fell asleep with in his arms last night.

Taking his prolonged silence as the time to leave, Yelena squeezes your hand. "We all love her, Bucky." Yelena states, leaving Bucky with those words as she departs the ward.

Now perched in Yelena's vacant chair, Bucky grasps hold of your limp hand, flinching at the red marks and cuts coating your skin. "Oh, doll," He mumbles. "You're so annoying at times, you know that, right?" An involuntary laugh leaves him. "Look at me, it was meant to be a no-strings-attached arrangement, or whatever you called it." Bucky sighs, running his metal fingers through his hair.

"And here I am, the moment I got the call, I rushed downstairs, demanded answers on what happened. Alexi and John had to reframe me from smashing the place up as no one could answer me." He recalls the events of this morning, how drastically different it was from the moments with you before you left. "Then you came in, and I, I shut down."

Your breathing remains level, starting to hear a muttered one-sided conversation.

"I thought I'd lost you. That I'd never get to be honest about it all, about us." His fingers run over your hand gently. "And all I'd have left of you was one of your bras you left." He breathes out a laugh.

Despite the pain, as you begin to come to your senses, your fingers dance in his palm. "Buck?" Your voice hoarse as you squint at his blue eyes, the relief painted clear as day. "I, I"

"Hey, hey, take it steady," Bucky reassures, offering you a cup of water as he guides it to your lips.

Swallowing the liquid, you sigh. "I'd of at least left you a matching set." A laugh bubbles in your throat, but the pain in your ribs digs in, refusing the motion to take place.

"You are unbelievable." Bucky shakes his head, unable to stop the small smile gracing his lips. "Don't scare me like that again." He brings your palm to his lips, kissing it gently.

"I didn't mean to." The words leave you in a whisper, picturing him in those moments before you were unconscious. All those things you'd never said in fear of rejection, of losing the greatest friend you'd ever known. "We'll be okay, right?"

Bracing yourself with a wince, Bucky simply shuffles closer. His hand now rests on your head, brushing your hair from your face. "We'll be okay. I promise you, doll." Bringing his face to yours, he rests his forehead against yours.

Outside the room, the New Avengers gather, not so subtly eavesdropping. "You owe me thirty bucks, Walker!" Ava claps happily, relishing in John's annoyance.

"I don't know about that; they didn't exactly announce their undying love to one another." John retorts, only to be met with a dumbfounded look from Ava, Yelena and Bob.

"It's pretty obvious, John." Yelena sighs, now shooing everyone out of the doorway before glancing back at her dear friends, relieved they finally got out of the friend zone.

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marvelseries19 · 3 months ago

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VANISHING POINT

Chapter One - Castaway

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The mission was successful, however, your return home will not be as easy as you may believe. In fact, you're not sure you would be able to get back.

A/N: It's been a while since I've been excited about writing. So, here is the first chapter. I hope you like it. I rewrote a few times, but I think this is as good as it gets. I would appreciate feedback on it, and any comments, suggestions, questions, or just conversations about it are welcome. There are some posts that I would like for you to check out, there is some info and ideas that I wanted to let you know. If you saw a typo or something, no, you didn't. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries, language, etc.

Word count: 1.2k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The Quinjet hummed steadily beneath your fingertips, the vast stretch of ocean below endless and unforgiving. The ride back to the compound was at least full of beautiful views.

It had been an easy mission, just surveillance on a suspected HYDRA base. It took a week to complete, and now you were on your way home.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling. Just a few more hours, and you would be back home. Back with her.

Your fingers idly reached for the chain around your neck, your thumb grazing over the cool metal of the ring that rested against your collarbone. Natasha’s ring. Your ring.

"So you don’t forget who’s waiting for you," she had murmured the night before, fastening the delicate chain around your neck, leaving a soft kiss at the nape of your neck. You had smiled, shaking your head, but you had worn it beneath your suit every day since.

You were still lost in thought when Control’s voice crackled into the cockpit.

"Quinjet 9, this is Control. We just lost your tracking signal. Do you copy?"

Your brows furrowed. That’s not good.

"Yeah, I’m here. Everything looks fine… But let me check." Your fingers moved swiftly across the controls.

"Check your navigation relay. We’re showing nothing on our grid." A knot of unease formed in your stomach.

"Navigation relay is showing an error," you reported, your voice tight. "Stand by. I'll reboot—" The comms crackled, then cut out.

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

"Control, say again? I'm losing you—repeat last!"

A new sound sliced through the cockpit—a shrill, piercing alarm.

Your radar flashed red. Missile lock. Your blood turned to ice.

"Shit—"

The first blast struck the Quinjet’s side. The impact threw you forward, your head slamming against the seat as the ship lurched violently. The left engine flared and failed instantly.

Alarms screamed. The Quinjet spun into freefall.

"Unidentified hostiles—taking heavy damage! Engines failing—I’m going down!" You shouted into the comms, straining to regain control.

"09, respond! What’s your location?! Agent Sloane, respond!"

You gritted your teeth, forcing your shaky hands over the controls, trying to reroute power. But the ship was already lost. The only thing you could do was brace for impact.

Your fingers clutched the ring against your chest.

Another explosion. The world blurred.

The ocean rushed up to meet you.

And then... Nothing.

—

The tension in the command center was thick enough to suffocate. Maria Hill stood with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the central monitor where Quinjet 9’s tracking data had once been.

Now, just static. Nick Fury stood beside her, his jaw tight, watching the same feed with unreadable eyes. Agent Dawson swallowed hard, headset pressed to his ear as he scanned multiple screens, waiting for anything-any sign of life.

Then—a red alert.

Dawson’s heart dropped.

"No, no, no..."

He straightened, turning toward Hill and Fury. His voice was steadier than he felt.

"We lost Quinjet 9."

Hill’s eyes narrowed. This couldn't be happening. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

Dawson hesitated. "No comms. No signal. No trace. It’s just... gone. We don't know where it is."

Silence.

Fury exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

A muscle in Hill’s jaw twitched, but she gave a curt nod. "Start a search. Now."

Dawson hesitated. "Are we letting Agent Romanoff know?"

Fury and Hill exchanged a look.

Hill's voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "We'll tell her soon."

But Natasha Romanoff was already walking toward them, worried about not being able to contact you.

And the moment she saw their faces, she knew something had happened.

—

The first thing you felt was pain.

It dragged you from unconsciousness, a dull, throbbing ache that rolled through your entire body in relentless waves. Your head pounded, the world tilting dangerously even though you weren’t moving. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filtered through the ringing in your ears.

You forced your eyes open.

Blurry at first. Then, sharper—too sharp. Sunlight burned against your retinas, forcing you to squeeze them shut again. You tried to shift, but the moment you did, agony tore through your right side.

Your breathing hitched.

Ribs—definitely broken. You pushed through the pain, blinking against the light, taking in your surroundings.

Sand. Golden, coarse grains clinging to your skin. Your tactical suit was torn and streaked with blood and seawater. You were half-buried in the surf, the edges of the tide touching your boots. Further up, debris from the Quinjet was scattered across the beach—twisted metal, shattered glass, pieces of what was once your cockpit.

Shit.

You bit back a groan as you tried to sit up. A sharp, white-hot burst of pain shot through your right shoulder.

Dislocated.

Gritting your teeth, you cradled your arm against your torso, barely holding back a scream. Your ribs protested with every movement, but you had to keep going.

Your left hand found your chain, fingers fumbling until they closed around the ring.

You exhaled shakily.

Natasha.

She had no idea where you were. No one did.

The Quinjet had gone down off-radar. You had no comms, no signal, no way of knowing if anyone was even looking for you yet.

You’re on your own.

For now, at least.

Your forehead throbbed, and when you reached up, your fingers came back slick with blood.

You checked yourself over as best you could. Right shoulder, dislocated; ribs, at least two broken; head, bleeding, probably a mild concussion; and finally your legs, sore but not broken. Good. Small victories.

Breathing through the pain, you forced yourself to move. You needed shelter. Water. Some kind of plan.

But first—the shoulder.

You swallowed hard. There's no way around it. It had to go back in.

You found a rock near the treeline, rough and sturdy enough for leverage. Your breathing was ragged as you planted your feet, braced your body, and slammed your shoulder back into place.

White-hot pain was felt behind your eyes, swiftly dragging you into darkness. Resetting your shoulder—or other joints—was nothing new, but never under circumstances like these or with this many injuries.

The agony was too much for your body to handle. So to protect you, it shut off.

—

A few months ago

"You’re fidgeting."

Natasha’s voice was amused, but there was something softer in her tone, something fond.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands in your pockets. "I don’t fidget."

She smirked, stepping closer, the city lights casting a glow on her freckled cheekbones. "You do when you're nervous."

You sighed, exhaling a shaky breath. It was a stupid thing to be nervous about. You’d faced assassins, HYDRA, and alien invasions, but somehow, this moment felt more terrifying.

You pulled the ring from your pocket. A simple band, strong, unyielding.

Much like her.

Natasha’s breath caught.

"I know we never really talked about it," you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "And I know we’re both terrible at normal, but—"

She cut you off with a kiss, her fingers curling around yours, closing them over the ring.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a whisper.

"I was waiting for you to ask."

—

You were jerked back to reality by the sharp, relentless pain in your ribs and shoulder, the ache grounding you in the present. But the memory of your marriage proposal still lingered, a warmth that cut through the agony like a lifeline.

You flexed your fingers. It worked.

Barely conscious, body trembling, you let your fingertips brush against the ring resting against your chest. A reminder. A promise.

And with that, you forced yourself to your feet.

#marvelseries19 #marvel #mcu #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader angst #black widow x reader #black widow #black widow angst #castawayseries

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queeniewithabeanie · 4 months ago

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Lady Gotham

Dpxdc Prompt #47

When Danny Fenton moved to Gotham for university the city noticed.

After all, before Lady Gotham was Gotham she was Samantha Manson.

It all started with the Nasty Burger explosion.

Mr. Lancer, Mrs. and Mr. Fenton, Jazz, Danny, Tucker, and Sam were all there. One moment, Danny was being confronted about cheating on his career aptitude test and the next all Sam could see was the familiar toxic green of the Ghost Zone.

Sam's first thought was did anyone survive? and her second was i need to find Danny.

She wasn't sure of the fate of anyone caught in the explosion, for all she knew she could've been the only one to die (unlikely), and if not that the only one to form into a ghost (sadly, plausible).

With worst case scenarios flooding her head, Sam began looking for anything familiar in the Zone. She'd never been without the infi-map before and now that she didn't have it she was lost.

She never had a chance of finding Danny because she fell into a portal after she'd barely begun searching.

When Sam became aware again, she found herself in a world similar to her home, but very different at the same time.

The times were different, this world barely in the 1700s. She was in a different location, somewhere in the northeast, but she couldn't tell exactly where yet. And most importantly, the world seemed more magical than the one she came from.

Of course, she tried to get home, but there were no natural portals opening up and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't make them herself.

After spending 20 years, more time than she had lived in her home dimension, in what had come to be named Gotham, Sam had settled down. She made friends with a family named the Waynes and though she would never forget Danny and Tucker she had an afterlife in this new dimension now too.

Sam protected the city best she could from anything that tried to harm it, making it her own haunt. Eventually the people around town started calling her The Lady of Gotham, later shortened to just Lady Gotham.

A century after joining the world, Sam was cursed and by extension Gotham was cursed too. She could no longer speak, and while she still tried her best to protect the city from outside harm there was nothing she could do about the corruption within.

She watched over the Waynes inside the limits of her haunt, them having become her family in this new world. And in return the Waynes tried to keep Gotham the best place it could be, attempting to keep it from becoming a cesspool.

Sam did her best, she did what she could and in return Gothamites had a certain pride in their city.

"It's terrible, but it's home" was the general sentiment shared by the citizens.

Soon enough the times were approaching to when she had been alive, and a new generation of Waynes emerged in her streets. When she failed to protect Martha and Thomas, Sam felt sorrow and let the shadows gather around Bruce to show him she was grieving too.

He left, but as many Gothamites did he came back. And when he came back it was with vengeance.

Her streets were more corrupt than they had ever been before, but Bruce came in like a knight in shining armor. No—not shining, but dark. Dark and jagged, but home and just as much a part of Gotham as Sam herself.

With Bruce becoming Batman, his partners weren't far behind. First Dick, then Babs, Jason, Tim, Steph, Cass, Damian, and Duke. And with so many Waynes, not in blood but in everything that mattered, trying to save her Sam felt more loved than ever before.

And then she felt a Danny Fenton, older than her's had ever gotten to be at 18-years-old, enter the streets. Sam, for the first time in forever, she longed for what could have been.

That night, the skies were clearer and the streets were quieter as Sam held on to Danny through the shadows and didn't let go.

Her knights wouldn't mind one more addition, she hoped.

#the sam from dan's universe became lady gotham #i have had this idea for a while #and i finally got possessed into writing it today #sam manson #danny fenton #batfam #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #queenie-prompts

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athenas-only-daughter · 1 month ago

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Haunting the Canvas - The Clea Post

spurred on by conversations I've been having with @linka-from-captain-planet, I'm collecting the info we've been able to gather about Clea here, under a read-more for spoilers, because if you run around act 3, there's actually QUITE a bit to glean about her.

This is gonna be a living/edited post as we find more info! Pls let me know if you guys see anything that's missing, find out new info, etc!

Truly as soon as you get to act three, you can't go three feet without bumping into a sidequest that has to do with Clea in some regard. She is HAUNTING the canvas almost as much as real!Verso and she's not even dead.

First and foremost, The Fading Woman is often Clea! Sometimes it's Aline (if she's sad, it's Aline) but especially in act 3 it's Clea. Particularly at the Endless Tower location. If you want to glean more about Clea, I recommend talking to the fading woman when you see her, particularly as Maelle.

Clea is the eldest sibling, this is made plain during Maelle's companion quest at The Reacher

Also in this quest Maelle implies that Clea is Renoir's favorite. Verso disputes this, saying Alicia was his favorite child. However, earlier in a conversation with Lune, Verso says Clea was Renoir's favorite. Seems like there's some nuance here!

Clea has her own axon! If you were like 'hey Renoir made Axons for the rest of his family, where is Clea's?' it's easy to miss but it's the Axon in old Lumiere that's already dead (more on this later)

Clea's Axon seems to be called 'The Hauler' and is carrying part of the world on its back (incredibly on brand Eldest Daughter Shit)

Aline also painted a version of Clea - she is no longer with the painted family and is now trapped in the Flying Manor location by Clea herself.

Clea seemed to not like the portrait Aline painted of her, or at the very least resents her parents trying to portray her in the canvas full stop (she also dislikes the Axon). This led to Clea painting over her mother's version of her and leaving her in the painting to continue her work of making Nevrons.

We know Clea is making the Nevrons thanks to dialogue in the Fountain and Flying Manor quests, as well as Clea's dialogue to Maelle before act 3 AND dialogue with the Fading Woman in the Endless Tower.

The only Nevrons that are NOT Clea's are the ones on the Axon Islands, those are Renoir's.

On that note, why is Clea making Nevrons? she's using them to stop the chroma from returning to her mother when the painted citizens die, hoping to speed along her parents' conflict and then end this once and for all.

Also on this note! Clea is also making the painted WHITE Nevrons that we see and help. I'm still not 100% sure why, but we find this out by talking to Blanche during the Fountain quest, who has the special task of killing all of Clea's failed Nevrons, because god forbid someone see she made a mistake (perfectionist eldest daughter Clea Dessendre I am studying you sooo closely)

Painted Clea had a romance! with a painted lumiere citizen named Simon (he can be fought by reaching the Abyss in Renoir's Drafts)

Real!Clea apparently shared none of her painted counterpart's affections because she tricked him by pretending to be painted!Clea and gave him enough power so he could kill her Axon (also through trickery).

Has entered the painting several times since the start of Aline and Renoir's conflict. Notably to make Nevrons, capture her painted counterpart, trick Simon, but also she met Expedition 00 at the barrier and told them everything. Then tried to kill them when they wouldn’t leave. She also came in and tried to recruit Verso at one point.

Her final time in the canvas, that we know of, was when she came in 16 years ago and told him to watch over Alicia/Maelle.

Clea thinks its safer for Alicia to be in the Canvas, away from the war.

On that note, there's a war! Clea is apparently fighting a war against the Writers near singlehandedly. Renoir calls this her 'solitary war' and Alicia/Maelle says she 'took Verso's death personally', so it seems she's seeking revenge.

Clea is noted by both Alicia/Maelle and painted!Verso as being the most talented painter of the three of them

Also plays the harp!

There's a record you can unlock play at camp called "Clea! Don't Pull Your Sister's Hair!"

Clea seems to have stopped playing in the Canvas well before either of her siblings - Francois is mentioned as missing her for over a hundred years, well before the fracture.

Francois and Clea used to sing together!

Much of the original canvas was made my Verso and Clea together. In the Endless Tower, the Fading Woman (Clea, here) says that she "spent far more time" in the canvas than Alicia and that she painted "half this world with Verso"

Despite this, Clea does not share her family's same fixation on it and seems to dislike their meddling with it - her mother's painted creations, her father's axons, etc. She does not consider the painting 'real', but "was perfectly fine to leave Maman here to work on her sorrows", and says it's Alicia's choice if she stays. She seems equally dismissive of her parents, saying that Aline "doesn't want help" and Renoir is "wasting time" when she needs his help.

There's a Fading Boy and another fragment of Clea in Fading Leaves. The Clea fragment has been erasing things from the canvas, 'out of respect for him, his creations and the things they made together'. We can infer she's talking about Verso here. The Fading Boy (remember, a fragment of Verso's soul) seems to be disheartened by this.

ETA: In the Painting Workshop, the Fading Boy talks to you about both real!Clea and Painted!Clea. It's hard to parse which is which but it seems like Real!Clea might have made the Lampmaster specifically to spook Verso, maybe when they were kids? The Fading Boy implies that he told Clea he was scared of the dark and she made him the world's most haunted nightlight (sisters amiright?)

Additionally, he mentions 'jealousy' so it seems Clea was, at times, jealous of Verso. This tracks with her being the most talented painter of the 3 but overlooked for her brother and also with something the Fading Boy says at the start of the flying manor that seems to be about Clea (not sure whether real or painted): "Everything is always about her. Her paintings, her sculptures. Everything has to be perfect, but perfect I have never been"

ETA: In Old Lumiere, the Fading Man (Renoir) seems to have some interesting things to say about 'she who painted nevrons' aka Clea: "She wasn't scared of death itself. / She was sad because there are more works of art than she'd ever be able to see in her lifetime. / So many fables from around the world that she'd never be able to collect. To bring her life in her workshop. / All the beauty in the world she'd never get to experience. That saddened her."

He also says that Clea "loved to challenge him" and that they were "the most alike"

ETA: At the Forgotten Battlefield, there's a Clea Fading Woman who asks Maelle if she can help and when Maelle is confused, says "I guess not. Pity. I'd hoped to return to more important matters. But instead I must occupy my time with... this." She then tells Maelle to "Go and play with your friends. I'll handle this."

#clea #clea dessendre #clair obscur: expedition 33 #clair obscur spoilers #clair obscur

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jacaerysgf · 1 year ago

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First everything

Summary: in desperate need to pass your upcoming math test you go to your best friend for help, your best friend who you just so happen to be in love with. Sometimes feelings just spill out and theres nothing you can do but embrace it and try to navigate through it.

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

w.c: 4.2k

c.w: college au, nerdy jace, two virgins just trying to figure it out, virginity loss (both), fingering (fem), oral (fem), minor hand-job, p in v, protected sex, love confessions, glasses stay on during sex, theres also fluff guys, not proofread

a.n: for my nerdy jace warriors out there 🫡 pls lmk your thoughts !

perm jace taglist (open!) <3 @tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels

you could not afford to fail this upcoming math test with you’re grade already as rocky as it is and if you didn’t nail it your grades were gonna tank.

So you decide to do the only rational thing you can think of and go stop by your best friends house who just so happens to be basically a genius to get him to tutor you. You don’t text him, having a key to his place and checking his location you can see he’s home he definitely won’t mind you just dropping by.

He’s been your best friend since you two were kids, having lived across the street from you the two of you would always stand by the bus stop together and chat and when you got older he started driving you to school. you guys would spend all the time together though you guys didn’t end up in the same college you guys happened to both get into colleges in the same city and lived right near each other.

He was perfect essentially, you try to ignore that gnawing feeling in your stomach every time you speak to him or even think about him. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember but you never tried to do anything out of fear of ruining the relationship you two have built. You also can’t get a read on if he feels the same, everything you two have ever done has been platonic, cuddling on the couch while watching a movie, having sleepovers, but you can shake the feeling of wanting to be more, maybe he was thinking the same way but you had no clue.

The apartment is quiet when you enter, when you call his name and there’s no response you think for a second maybe he went out and left his phone? but that’s not like him at all. until you walk towards his bathroom and you can hear the shower running and let out a sigh of relief as you begin to set up your stuff in the living room and order some take out for the two of you on your phone.

busying yourself on your phone you don’t even hear the shower turn off or the door open until you hear the soft thumps on the floor of his footsteps and when you look up the two of you gasp at one another. With water dripping down his chest and a firm hand places on the towel around his waist, his glasses all fogged up and his face hot red you feel like you might pass out.

“I’m so sorry oh my god i had no clue you were coming i haven't checked my phone um oh god.” You can barely pay attention to his rambling as you can’t take your eyes off him. Since when was he toned? oh and the towel is low enough you can see his v line. NO! You shake your head as you find yourself heating up, “no no its my fault Jace i never texted you i just thought i would show up um.. I’m so sorry i should have texted.”

He scratches the back of his head as he begins to move his way to his room, “no its okay you can show up any time i just, um i uh let me go get dressed.” With that he quickly rushes away without another word his ears and face blaringly red. when the door shuts and you’re alone once again you lean against the couch and take a couple deep breaths. you cannot be thinking about him like this right now. Your thighs press together unconsciously as the memory of him was still so fresh in your mind.

You quickly stand and rush to his bathroom to splash some cold water on your face to snap yourself out of it. he’s your best friend who you just so happen to be in love with and today will fill your fantasies for the next decade. You manage to get yourself back on the couch and run a hand down your face as you try to calm your racing heart and mind. Its fine its cool its just a normal thing people shower and they just so happen to get naked in the shower its not weird to see your best friend shirtless no its not.

he walks back into the room and sits down on the couch next to you, now dressed in a white t-shirt and some sweatpants, his glasses free of fog but his hair drips onto his shoulders and shirt making some parts of it see through. when you look closely you can even still see his ears are a bright red. “is everything good? its not like you to just show up out of the blue.” you are thankful he’s acting like that did not just happen, or maybe you’re just overthinking it and its not a big deal.

“i need to trade brains with you this Friday at 11 am.” his beautiful laugh fills your ears as he raises his brows at you, “you’re finally admitting I'm smarter than you?” You playfully huff and push his shoulder lightly as he smiles at you. “you’re way better at math then me, i need help Jace please.” you press your hands together in a plea and he taps his chin as if he’s in thought. “I don’t know, what do i get in return?” You pout at him and scoot a bit closer, “you get to hang out with your gorgeous smart and talented best friend?” He blows raspberry's and looks up at the ceiling turning himself away from you. “and i bought take out.” “deal.”

He is a great help, though he’s a history major he’s still places in a math level higher than you and he’s able to guide you though everything you’re struggling with ease. Its usually so easy to ignore how you feel about him but tonight is different. You don't know if its hormones or if there's something in the air but you can’t stop staring at him thinking about him. The way he bites on the top of his pen when he’s in thought, when his forehead creases while he’s checking over your work or listening to you, the way he moves his hands while he talks and explains the problems and the solutions you can’t even stop looking at him while he’s eating.

This was bad. very bad. but at least you managed to get the information he’s told you poured into your head and with his notes you’re sure to ace the test. After a couple hours of studying you two decided to put on a movie but you can’t even cuddle up next to him like you normally would instead choosing to lay on the other side of the couching praying he doesn’t ask about you’re odd behavior.

You can’t help but continue to look at him throughout the movie barely even looking at the screen. he has such a nice side profile. At one point he glances at you and catches your eye so you quickly turn away from him but he sits up and pauses the movie, turning to you with concern laced in his eyes. “Okay spit it out what's wrong?” you. you shrug and try to play it off like nothing, you certainly can’t tell him what's really bothering you. “I’m just worried about the test.” “the you i know would have stopped worrying about the test as soon as you closed that textbook.” you let out a shaky sigh and he moves to sit next to you, staring at you with his puppy dog eyes desperately. “you can always tell me anything you know that right?”

not this. you can’t tell him this. as much as you want to. Yet your heart aches at the thought of not being able to kiss him at the thought of not spending yet another day another minute being his and him being yours. he grabs your hands and his voice is hushed laced with care, “please.”

you cave.

“I'm in love with you.”

You watch him freeze and you take a deep breath as you look down at your connected hands. “i know this is really sudden but i cant hide this any longer. i think I've loved you since the second i met you and i cant keep continuing to pretend like I'm not. If you don’t feel the same that's fine we can just move on and pretend like this never happened.” you let out a fake laugh and a couple shaky breaths as you get off your chest your best kept secret. When he doesn’t say anything you look at his face to see his glossy covered eyes and red tinted face. “Please say something.”

You can feel his hands tighten around yours as he lets out a shaky breath. “I'm so in love with you i feel like i'm gonna throw up.” you laugh as a wave of fresh air washes over you, he grins and lets out his own laugh as a lone tear runs down his face. “fuck this is not how i thought tonight would go.” You don’t know how long the two of you were sitting there just laughing and smiling at each other but it was just so peaceful.

You end up cupping his face and he freezes his breath caught in his throat. “Can i kiss you?” “Please.” The kiss is soft and slow but its everything you’ve every dreamed of. His lips are as soft as they've always looked, he’s clearly inexperienced but you are too and you figure it out together. You feel like you’re not close enough to him, so you end up separating from him and he watches with wide eyes as you sit yourself in his lap. His hands quickly move to grasp your waist as he gulps, you can feel his hardness poking at you through your shorts and he lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to its just,” he’s quickly cut off with a moan as you pull him into another kiss.

You can feel yourself aching in your stomach, yet you can’t bring yourself to do more until you pull away from his lips. a long string of salvia that connects you two snaps as you begin to speak. “I want to go further, if only you want to.” His chest moves quickly up and down as he tries to catch his breath, he blinks rapidly as he looks at you with swollen lips, one of his hands moves to readjust his glasses. “I do its just, i don’t know what i'm doing.” the two of you softly laugh as you press your forehead against his and he lightly rubs his nose against yours. “I don’t know what I'm doing either, we’ll figure it out.”

His hands around your waist tighten as he places one last kiss on your lips before he stands, you squeal lightly as he keeps you firmly around his waist walking towards his room. “You could put me down you know?” He places a kiss on your cheek and you wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t want to.”

Once in the bedroom he lightly places you down on the bed and he stays standing up unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “do i like take off my clothes um.” You stand and the two of you look at one another. “Why don’t we both undress? or do you want to undress each other?” At your words his eyes light up and his ears couldn’t get any redder, he clearly likes the idea a lot so you grab his hands and place them on your shirt. “You can take it off.” He nods and lets out a shaky breath as he lifts your shirt over your head.

If you had known this was going to happen you would have chosen a cuter bra but you instead stand in your basic skin tone bra, heat rises on your face lightly with embarrassment but the look of amazement on his face has you feeling confident. You grab his hands once more and slide them to your waist where you help him tug down your pants and you stand in just your underwear in front of him. His mouth opens in amazement as his eyes dart all over you. “you’re so beautiful.” “shut up.” “im serious. you’re the most beautiful women ive ever seen. im the luckiest guy in the world.”

You place your hands on his neck as you place a light kiss on his lips. “you’re so sweet.” He shakes his head and his hands cup your face eyes full of love. “im only telling the truth.” Your hands move to the neck of his shirt and grip it. “Your turn.” His bright red face somehow only gets redder when you slide your hands down his chest to grab the bottom of his shirt and lifting it over his head. “when did you start working out?” He lets out a light moan as your hands drag down his stomach and rub around his chest. “when i moved here uhh the umm the complex has a gym.” You lightly um as your hands reach the waistband of his pants and you begin to toy with the elastic.

He expects you to take off his pants move back to sit on the bed but instead your hands goes inside the waistband to cup his budge from his briefs. The sound he lets out is not what you had been expecting, it sounds something closer to a whine as he questions you, “what are you doing?” You grin at him as his eyes dart all over your face. “Can i touch you?” He pants lightly as your hands already begins to move slight and he gulps. “shouldn’t i touch you? or umm oh i don’t know fuck please.” his head falls to your neck and he begins pecking light kisses on the skin there as your hand slips into his briefs and wraps around him.

He throbs in your hands, you lightly jerk him to see how he responds and you can hear a pleased moan as you continue to pump him in your hand using the precum that drips out of his tip as a lubricant you find a steady pace. He bites into the side of your neck and you let out a shaky moan as his grip tightens on your waist. you can feel wetness soak your skin whether it be his sweat or tears you have no clue but the only thing you can focus on his whines and moans in your ear. “you’re so good fuck fuck.” he must be getting close because you can feel him shaking but he suddenly grabs your hands and pulls them away from him as he pants.

“did i do something wrong? im sorry.” he quickly shakes his head, “no no of course not i just don’t want to um cum right now.” you tilt your head in confusion, why would he not want to cum? until he turns his head and even his neck has turned red and a light bulb flicks over your head and you let out an sound of understanding and grab his sweatpants to pull them down until they hit the floor.

you both stand face to face in just your underwear, you watch him eye your chest and you reach your hands up to unclip your bra. you slowly unclip it and he watches as it drags down your arms and you toss it lightly on the floor. you sit down on the bed and you motion for him to join you. he does and he warily watches your face for approval which you grant before he cups your breasts with a shuttered breath. You can tell somethings bothering him though, theres a look in his eyes that says somethings wrong but before you can question it he speaks.

“can i touch you?” its the same question you had throw at him but it gives you butterflies, you wonder if it had done the same to him. you spread your legs and he stares at the spot between your legs where you’re soaked. theres a huge spot on your practically ruined panties where you’ve begun to leak, theres even some residual wetness on your inner thighs. “fuck.” he licks his lips and looks up at you and your flushed face. “don’t get cocky jace.” he laughs lightly as his fingers press against your slit from the fabric and you let out a moan. he watches for your reactions as he begins to rub you through the fabric, “Jace, please.”

his fingers shake as they push the fabric aside and he touches your folds. “oh fuck you’re so fucking wet.” he just continues to rub at your skin, it feels nice but you both know you need more. “how many should i,,” he trails off, unsure of how to word the question. “two, just to start, you can add another when i tell you.” he nods and slowly pushes two fingers into you.

his fingers feel a lot better than yours do they're thicker and they're longer reaching a bit more than you can and your hands dig into his shoulders. “good?” you hiss lightly for a second as his hands wiggle lightly before nodding. “yes move please.” he quickly listens, pulling his fingers out before slowly pushing them back in methodically. He feeds off every sound you let out and moves quicker as your face contorts in pleasure. it feels good but its not enough and when you tell him he can add another he finger he looks at you unsure but when you reassure him its fine he does and the burn it adds satisfies the itch that you know can only be scratched once he’s inside of you.

when he pulls his fingers out before you can cum you whine but he just smiles at you “lift your hips for me.” you do and he slides your underwear down your legs exposing you fully to him. He takes a second to admire you before your eyes widen as he gets down on his knees, “i thought guys didn’t like that.” you try to tell him but he just shrugs, “i bet i will.”

he kisses you inner thighs slowly working his way up to your slit where he pauses before he lightly licks at your folds before pushing his tongue inside of you. your hand finds it way to his hair as he warily licks every drop of you he can get. when you tug at his hair he groans, you try your best to avoid his glasses which sit pushed up into his hair. Your face contorts with pleasure as you throw your head back. he’s messy and clearly unsure of what he’s doing but it doesn’t matter to you as he brings you closer to your release. you can feel your stomach burning as he suddenly pulls away and looks at you, he looks gorgeous with his hair a mess and his lips glossy.

“could you show me um where uh,,,” your brows furrow in confusion until you laugh and sit up. “its fine here.” you grab his hand and use his finger to push around inside of you until his finger presses against your clit and your moan. you suddenly fall back once again with your hands playing with your breasts while one of his hand plays with your clit and his other on your knee to keep your legs parted while he tongue works his way inside of you. you can no longer ignore the burning in your stomach as it becomes harder and harder to push down. “Jace I'm gonna oh fuck.” the grip you have on his hair tightens as you hiss when he continues to work you till you shake with pleasure and you essence drips into his mouth down his jaw and neck.

He shakily stands and licks his lips seemingly not caring that he was a mess. “do i-“ you pull him down on top of you and press your lips against him in a feverish kiss which he returns, “i want to be on top.” his eyes widen, “will that be good for you?” you nod rapidly eager to feel him inside of you and your eyes practically turn into hearts when he stands and pulls down his briefs, his hardness slapping his stomach you barely get the chance to admire him before he rummages around in his bedside table pulling out a clearly new box of condoms.

he struggles to open them slight with his shaky hands but manages to open it and grab one. when he looks back at you and your amused expression he looks down at the box with embarrassment. “Aegon got it for me. he was trying to tease me.” you grab him to sit on the bed and get him to lay back against the headboard while you grabbed the packet out of his hands. “then ill have to thank him later.”

you open the condom with your teeth before slowly sliding it down his length causing him to hiss and close his eyes to calm himself. the two of you look at each other as you sit up, “are you good?” he nods and lightly thanks you, “are you?” you also nod and you grab him to position him into your opening while he pulls his glasses back down to his face. with one last look you begin to sink down onto him.

you put your forehead against his and the two of you shudder with pleasure the lower and lower you get. once you get as low as you can go you pause and the two of you take a few moments to readjust. his glasses fog up as he catches your lips in his, when your hips move slightly up then back down he bites at your lip before throwing his head back and whines slightly while your mouth lulls open in pleasure.

You two find a simply rhythm with you moving up and down. sweat covering your bodies as the two of you sing in pleasure, his glasses are basically completely covered now with fog and you take them off his face before shoving your lips messily against his as his hands grip your hips to help you move up and down on him. the sounds of your skin slapping against each other and moans and whines fill the hot room. he throbs inside of you as he hits spots you've never been able to reach, your head falls into the cave of his neck neck as you feel yourself close. “Jace fuck you’re so good fuck.” he whines and bites your shoulder again “please cum please Jace fuck wanna feel it.” he cries into your neck as he nods, “i love you i love you so much.” “i love you too Jace.” when he feels you release around him it pushes him over the edge where he's shooting his load into his condom.

the two of you fall completely on top of each other in a sweaty sticky mess. you catch your breaths unable to think straight. no words are spoken for awhile until you sit up lightly and push the hair away from his sweaty face. “we should have done that sooner.” the two of you laugh as you peck his lips. “i really love you a lot Jace.” he beams and grabs his glasses to fiddle them back onto his face. “i love you too.” you hum and kiss his cheek. “as nice as you being inside me is i really have to pee.” the two of you hiss as you pull away and he sits up to watch you stumble your way towards the bathroom. he tosses the condom away and he stands to get a cup of water not bothering to put on any of his clothes.

he hands you a glass when you walk out of the bathroom and you chug it down before looking at yourself with disgust. “i need a shower.” “you can use it i don't mind.” you roll your eyes and slap his shoulder much to his confusion. “that's when you’re supposed to say then lets take one together dummy.” his face flushes for the millionth time that night as you walk away and sigh as you turn to see him not following you. “come on you’re not gonna leave me alone are you?” he downs his glass and quickly hurries to follow you as you giggle.

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ithebookhoarder · 1 year ago

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Never Let You Go (Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader)

Description: Being married to Aaron (A.K.A. your boss and the love of your life) has both it advantages and disadvantages - and being reprimanded by him for risking your neck in the field is definitely one of the latter... 💔

A/N: Hi everyone. I'm alive! Sorry that this is so short but it sort of just wrote itself and was a nice way to help try and ease me back into writing again as it's been a hot minute here 😅

Warnings: Angsty Hotch, arguing, mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, implied murder, references to abduction, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

You knew when Aaron was angry. You knew the signs very well this far into your relationship, not only as a fellow member of the BAU but also as his wife. He didn’t even need to voice it for you to notice it, rolling off of him in waves… and unfortunately for you, you knew exactly what had caused it.

You hadn’t meant to throw yourself into the proverbial frying pan, but when the Unsub you had been tracking had grabbed an innocent girl as a hostage you had simply acted without thinking. You had offered yourself instead, knowing your value meant he would not dispose of you as quickly as the others he had taken - and that your team would have to let him leave the parking lot you had chased him to. He knew it too, which was why he had quickly accepted, resulting in you being hauled into a van with a gun pressed against your head.

Of course, the team had done exactly what you’d expected and located you within an hour. They had mounted a rescue and you had been safely back, unharmed, within mere minutes of the team arriving outside of the cabin.

All in all, it was a win in your book… but not in your husband / boss’s.

He had been the first through the door, intent on getting to you whilst Morgan tackled the Unsub into handcuffs. He had quickly cut you free, checked you weren’t seriously hurt, and escorted you back outside, tucked securely under his arm. However, the second you had made it back to the cars, Aaron had pulled away and hidden behind a mask of white hot fury.

His silent temper had only got worse since you’d all got off the plane, with a thick and suffocating silence filling the car on the drive back. Everyone looked at one another anxiously, knowing better than to risk being the one to say anything and accidentally cause him to erupt in their direction. In fact, a minor miracle had occurred with Spencer not saying a single word until the whole team had spilled out of the elevator, even if it looked like it had caused him physical pain to do so.

Hell, even Penelope had taken one look at everyone’s faces and done an immediate u-turn back to her lair, muttering she would ‘come back later’.

Unfortunately, you didn’t really have that option when Aaron was your husband and you both shared a car and a house… which was why you had watched as the others grabbed their belongings and finished debriefing, leaving their case files on Hotch’s desk for him to review on Monday. You’d followed along, the last to enter his office and leave your own on the top of the pile.

However, your fingers had barely let go of the manilla envelope when you heard Hotch clear his throat, turning his attention squarely to the last two agents stood next to you.

“Good work, everyone. Morgan, Prentiss, you can go. Have a good weekend - Y/N, stay where you are. We need to talk.”

Shit.

Your husband’s tone was calm but icy, telling you that this wasn’t up for debate; it was an order and god help anyone who went against him. It was why Emily and Derek made for the door without another word, although Emily shot you a final look over her shoulder, as if checking you were alright.

You nodded subtly, trying to reassure her as she and Derek made their way out the door, closing it behind them. You knew without asking that the rest of the team would be watching from down in the bullpen, trying and failing to work out what was being said as Hotch ripped you a new one.

Taking a deep breath, you crossed your arms over your chest and turned to face him.

You hated seeing his beautiful face so hard and devoid of feeling. It was like a whole different man to the one who slept beside you every night, and greeted you first thing every morning.

You gulped.

A cold sweat had formed on the back of your neck as he stepped closer slowly, deliberately dragging out the tension. You had to fight the urge to break off the staring contest between you, refusing to surrender to him just yet. It was probably why you opened your mouth first, desperate to beat him to the punch in case you lost your nerve.

“Before you say anything, I know what you’re going to say, and I know what I did was dangerous and went against your orders,” you rambled, “I’m also well aware of the consequences and I won’t apologise for what I did, not when the option was risking that young girl and the rest of the team-“

“I am your superior here, Y/N. What I say goes. That is not up for debate, ever. You do not give me orders,” Aaron seethed, making you fall silent without even raising his voice - which somehow made it worse. It was as if your guilt was swallowing you whole. “What happened today will not happen again, am I understood? You do not ignore my orders whenever you feel like it, nor do you get to lecture me about why you did what you did. And above all? You never tell me to let you go, unarmed and alone, ever again. Is that clear?”

Your eyes were glued to the floor, wishing silently for it to swallow you up.

“You know I was doing what anyone else on this team would’ve done. He had an innocent girl, Aaron, and he was cornered,” you countered. “He would have killed her the second he left the parking lot, or opened fire then and there. It was the only way to get him out of there, without risking the team and everyone in that area-“

“As the head of this team, I did what I would’ve done if anyone else had been in that position - which is tell you not to risk yourself - but as your husband,” he choked, “I cannot even begin to describe what I felt when he had that gun pointed at your head and that van door closed.”

You gulped. You felt his pain drawing you in like a gravitational pull, making you desperate to reach out and soothe it from his brow.

“Aaron… You know I didn’t do this to hurt you,” you cooed. To your relief, he nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist and curling you into his chest as if needing to feel you were actually stood there in front of him.

“It might surprise you to realise that I do know that. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make any of this easier.” You could feel the tension physically radiating off of him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I… I thought I’d lost you. I... I can't lose you... I won't lose you or someone I love. Not again.”

“I know. I’m so sorry… I’m right here, my love. I’m right here… Always.”

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im-so-normal-iswear · 5 months ago

Note

Your writing is amazing 🤩

Can I request headcanons where The Big Three hedgehogs (separately) would react with a reader who doesn’t want to be in a romantic relationship with them; not because of them specifically, but because reader doesn’t want to be in life-threatening trouble all the time. They want to live peacefully, and they can’t have that if they’re dating hedgehogs who are known for attracting danger.

Sonic villains are scary and op. I wouldn’t want to deal with them, even if it meant rejecting the coolest characters in fiction.

Yandere triple s x Reader

Sonic:

Sonic is the embodiment of freedom and excitement, living life on the edge is all he knows. When you tell him you don't want to be in a relationship with him because of the chaos he attracts, he's initially confused.

"What do you mean you don't want excitement in your life?" he asks, his grin faltering. "You're seriously saying you'd rather stay boring and safe than, y'know, live it up with me?"

You explain that it's not about being boring, it's about being genuinely weary snd concerned. Eggman, Metal Sonic, literal GODS, waiting to pop out of the woodwork aren't exactly conducive to a peaceful lifestyle. You want to enjoy life without worrying about explosions, kidnappings, or world ending disasters.

At first, Sonic brushes it off with his usual charm. "C'mon, don't be like that. I'd never let anything happen to you, you know that!" But when you stand firm, his sunny charm starts to crack.

"Are you serious?" His voice lowers, losing its playful edge. "You're really turning me down because of a little danger? You think you're safer without me?"

His words filled with disbelief and growing frustration. How could you not see that he's the guy for you? He protects you better than anyone else could. Sure, Eggman"s schemes are dangerous, but they'd be even more dangerous if he wasn't around to stop them.

As days pass, Sonic'a obsession starts to surface in ways you didn't expect. He's always watching, always. You'll look out the window and catch a fleeting blur of blue, or feel the wind shift as he speeds past. You can't shake the feeling that he's nearby, even when you're alone.

When he finally confronts you again, his tone is far less casual than before. "You don't get it, do you? If you're not with me, you're vulnerable. I can't just leave you out here, waiting for something to happen. It's too dangerous without me."

His logic twists. In his mind, your rejection only proves that you need him more. You dont want to be around him because you dont want to get hurt? He'll give you that wish. Sonic begins isolating you from anything that could "endanger" you. Friends mysteriously cancel plans. Locations you frequent suddenly close down. If you dont want to be happy with him, thats fine, he'll make sure you cant be with anyone. After all, they might "endanger you" too

Shadow:

Shadow doesn't take rejection lightly. When you tell him that you don't want a relationship because of the danger associated with him, his first reaction is silent disbelief. He stares at you, his eyes narrowing as he tries to process what he just heard.

"You think being with me is dangerous?" His voice is cold, almost offended. "I've kept you alive all this time, haven't I? Do you really think anyone else could protect you better than me?"

You try to explain that it's not about him failing to protect you. You just don't want to wake up every day wondering which new villain will target you because of your association with him. Shadow's life is crazy, and just way too "eventful", and you're not cut out for that kind of stress.

For a moment, Shadow seems to consider your words. He's calculating, always analyzing the situation for the most logical solution. But then his own head gets the better of him, and the idea of you rejecting him, for any reason, sends him into a quiet fury.

"So, you think you can live a peaceful life without me?" His tone deceptively calm. "You think you can just walk away and no one will come after you?"

It’s a veiled threat, but there's truth in his words. Shadow's enemies are ruthless, and you even being friends would have already alerted them enough of your presence by now. In his mind, letting you go isn't just reckless, it's cruel. You need him, whether you realize it or not.

Shadow begins to follow you. He's always nearby, watching from the shadows, ensuring you're safe. But his presence isn't comforting. Every time you think you've escaped his grasp, he's there, reminding you that your "peaceful" life is a fantasy.

"You just dont understand, do you? If anything, im the only thing keeping you safe."

And if you still insist on resisting? Shadow's methods become less "gentle". He's not above using force to keep you by his side. In his mind, it's all justified. After all, he's doing this for your own good.

Silver:

Silver is the most emotionally vulnerable of the three. When you tell him you don't want to be in a relationship because of the danger he attracts, his first reaction is heartbreak.

"Wait... what?" His voice cracks, and his wide, teary eyes search your face for any sign that you're joking. "You… you don’t want to be with me? Why...?"

You explain that it's not about him as a person, it's about the constant danger. You're not strong like him. You don't have speed, psychic powers, or any training. You're just a regular mobian trying to survive, and being with him feels like painting a target on your back.

Silver's lip trembles as he tries to process your words. "But... I can protect you. I'd never let anything happen to you, I swear!" His desperation is just saddening. He doesn’t understand why you'd reject him when he's offering to keep you safe.

As the days go on, Silver becomes increasingly obsessive. He can't stop thinking about you, about how wrong it is for you to push him away. He convinces himself that you're just scared and that he needs to prove he can give you the peaceful life you want.

Silver starts "fixing" your life in ways that quickly spiral out of control. He uses his powers to move you away from anything he perceives as a threat. If someone looks at you the wrong way, they trip and fall. If a place feels "unsafe," he blocks your access to it entirely.

When he confronts you again, his tone is a mix of desperation and determination. "I've done everything I can to make things better for you! Don't you see? We can be together. You just have to trust me!"

If you still resist, Silver becomes more unhinged. He's not naturally violent, but his obsession with keeping you safe drives him to extremes. He starts to believe that the only way to protect you is to keep you with him, always.

"I know you're scared" he whispers, holding you close despite your protests. "But I’ll make everything okay. You'll see. You don't have to worry about anything anymore... because I’m here."

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polyhexian · 4 days ago

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I just listened to the best scene in fugitive telemetry again and god it's still so fucked. Murderbot is SO happy and proud of itself. It's talking SO much about its feelings like that it's happy a thing worked or scared something is going to break but it's. Talking. Fast. And a lot. And it gets SO happy when it talks about this being a SecUnit plan. Kevin r free delivers it as a revelation, a tentative pride. It gets into the cargo hold and it talks the humans down and gets the six youngest into the bag and safely on the way to the station, it manages to do some INSANELY risky shit to keep the thing from killing them all- at one point one of the humans is so convinced that it's over that they say "thanks for trying, station security." It's not wearing a suit or anything! It will die with them but it came anyway and they KNOW this! They know that it was willing to die to keep them from being fucking jettisoned into space! Their captors TRIED to jettison them. They hit the button. The only reason they didn't die right then is that mb stopped them. It then jammed open the hatch and when a guy in armour so fancy the humans mistook it for a SecUnit comes down with a big gun MB drags them in and physically disables them. Then it climbs into the hatch and physically jams it open, it holds a gun out and stops all the hostiles and it has now. Saved everyone. Every single human survived, INCLUDING the hostiles. It's crazy, dangerous, difficult plan worked completely and for once, it doesn't have a single thing to say about how shitty it's plan was or how much it failed or how much better it could have done. It tells the humans to stay here while it makes sure it's safe to leave and--

And then it just feels something hit it in the back, and identifies specifically that it was to a location that would be fatal to a human. It turns around and sees the leader of the humans, the one it has been primarily speaking to all this time. She's picked up the gun the guy that had fallen in had been holding, and not only did she shoot it in the back, she shot to kill. Murderbot doesnt say a word. It just grabs the gun and then climbs up the hatch and leaves. The narration stops being the minute to minute descriptions- "I opened the hatch, I jumped in, I saw the humans" and turns to just. "And then I left." And that's it. It just leaves and has nothing more to say about it. Not even when Indah says she doesn't really know why they shot it. It just moves on and returns to complaining how shit it is at its job as it goes to confront ballin.

She shoots it, in the back, to kill, the SECOND it's done saving them. Murderbot just looks at her. It has nothing to say. It takes the gun. And it leaves. I am FUCKING insane about this oh my god

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havenhyunjin · 5 months ago

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daisy - hyunjin

a continuation of is it casual now?

—Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier. word count: 4.8k

warnings: mature, explicit sexual content ahead. 18+ only please! best friends to lovers; angst; hurt/comfort; mild alcohol intoxication; unprotected consensual sex (be responsible); oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie.

a/n: this is an accompanying written piece of the text au "is it casual now?". i believe it can be read as a stand-alone, but the texts are cute too. <3

The daisy necklace felt cold and heavy against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that was wrong, and yet it was an anchor at the same time. Perhaps that was the problem; anchoring yourself to land that seemed to want nothing but to get away from you.

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you remain best friends, like you’d always been, the rationale was to avoid exactly what was happening. He knew two things for sure: Relationships end, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to keep things between you two platonic; that way it wouldn’t end.

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently.

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on breaking hearts.

As of right now, it manifested in the hot tears streaming down your face, sitting on a lonely bench in the middle of the night. It manifested in the alcohol sweating off your pores, failing to make you forget. It manifested in your shaking hands, holding your phone as you try to separate yourself from this narrative once and for all.

please let me come get you. we have to talk in person, we can’t do this over texts, you read Hyunjin’s messages, having half a mind not to cave in instantly. The masochistic part of you that had accepted the crumbs of Hyunjin’s love was clawing its way out, but she was kept at bay.

You couldn’t take another “just friends” speech from him, and you told him as much over angry, sad texts. As if he was helping your masochistic part give in to him once again, he replied that he loved you. He loved you so much his world was spinning off its axis, terrified of losing you.

Theoretically, that was all you would ever want to hear, but you heard it all before too. And of course, you didn’t want to lose him either, but your soul was dying a little bit more every day that you saw him and you couldn’t envelop yourself in him to show him your love. You said you needed time and space to move on, and be capable of being his friend.

He pleaded to let you see him once again. You tried fighting back one last time. The resolve quickly faded. Maybe you were a weak woman in love, but anyone else would’ve given in too. i love you, i need you. please, daisy. i don’t want you to get over me. you’re the most wonderful woman in the planet and i don’t deserve you, but i will try.

Agreeing to see him by turning your location back on for Hyunjin to find you, anguish, regret and hope merged into one convoluted emotion that you were far too wrecked to process. You didn’t even have enough time to try to stop crying when you recognized Hyunjin’s car on the street in front of you. He ran to you, and before any other thought crossed your mind, your brain betrayed you by noticing how stunning he looked. As if he didn’t look like that all the time, and as if your brain hadn’t fantasized about him enough times to last you your whole life.

His hair was tied in a messy half ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. His face was contorted in emotions you couldn’t read, not for lack of trying. His eyes were desperate, his hands were shaky, his steps were steady, his mouth was unmoving.

“Daisy, it’s fucking freezing,” was the first thing he said in front of you, immediately taking his jacket off to give it to you. You didn’t want it, you knew it was a torture device, but it happened too quickly for your dazed mind to protest. He didn’t really talk as he helped you up from the bench, leading you to the passenger seat of his car, and you were simply moving automatically. He put your seatbelt on before closing the door behind him and walking to the driver seat. All you did was close your eyes, not ready to face him again, not ready for more rejection than your sanity could take.

Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier.

Your internal dialogue raged on, because Hyunjin simply drove in silence in the direction of your apartment. Surely he would be leaving you there to cry yourself to sleep once again as soon as he said whatever he needed to say.

When he parked his car, he also opened the door for you and tried to help you out but you flinched away from him. His touch didn’t just electrify you; it burned through your layers of clothes like the daisy necklace did. The sharp reminder of your anchor sailing away.

“Daisy, can I come up? I’ll leave as soon as you’re inside if you want me to,” Hyunjin said, wincing after you flinched away.

His heart was aching. His internal dialogue was as tragic as yours. He knew for sure you wouldn’t give him a second chance at being brave enough to love you. He knew this was going to be the last time you’d let him that close to you. He knew you didn’t trust him anymore.

All he was hoping for was a few more minutes with you as you went up the elevator and before you closed your door to him forever. All you were hoping for were a few more minutes with him before you had to say goodbye to him out of pure survival instinct.

So you agreed for him to walk you to your door. You saw him punch in your code, and open the door for you. You put your head down as you walked in, and hesitantly turned around to face him, reaching to take his jacked off yourself. You willed yourself to look into his eyes.

Hyunjin was crying. He was trying hard to keep the tears from falling, he was furrowing his eyebrows and he wasn’t looking back at you, instead staring at the corner of your wall behind you.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen him cry before. He cried watching Inside Out, when you graduated, when he laughed too hard, when his little fish died. But this wasn’t the same. His lips quivered a little, his eyes were almost closed, his cheeks were red, his hands were closed in fists. He was in agony.

Your masochistic side, and the side of you that loved Hyunjin like the forest loves the flame, teamed up against your decision to say goodbye. You could not bear to see him hurt that way, even if it meant more pain for you. So you wrapped your hand around his wrist and led him inside, speechlessly closing the door behind you.

“Daisy, I…,” Hyunjin started to talk quickly, knowing you were granting him the chance to do so. You closed your eyes, ready for the big blow. Ready for a wretched feeling of heartache you never thought Hyunjin would cause you. Ready for him to close the possibility of ever letting you love him. Ready for him to never take the leap for both of you. Ready for your fears to drag you away from each other.

You weren’t ready for the soft, cold hands that wrapped around your cheeks, and the hot minty breath against your face. You weren’t ready to find a pair of brown, yearning eyes looking deep into yours when you opened them. You weren’t ready for the touch of his nose against yours as he leaned in. You weren’t ready for the all consuming feeling of his plump lips on yours.

But you welcomed it. You welcomed it like the feeling of a warm blanket on a rainy day, like the smell of your childhood pillow, like the taste of your favorite candy on Christmas, like the sound of a perfect melody, like the sight of a sunrise. You welcomed it like finally coming home.

The daisy necklace felt hot against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you desired standing right in front of you, somehow anchoring you and making you fly away at the same time. Perhaps that was the paradox; anchoring yourself to land that you thought was drifting away, but right now was holding you like a treasure.

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you needed to talk, he logically knew his first step couldn’t be to kiss you. He knew two things for sure: You couldn’t just be his friend, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to communicate your feelings, fears and concerns to each other; that way he wouldn’t have to live without you.

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently.

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on magnetic forces between you two.

As of right now, it manifested in a kiss that would put every other epic kiss to shame. It manifested in your hands wrapped around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. It manifested in your heavy breathing as you both gasped for air, immediately crashing back into each other.

You didn’t really have to talk anything out anymore. Your bodies melting into each other, transforming into a single entity was enough of a declaration, but Hyunjin wouldn’t have it that way. He needed to know that you knew.

You hesitantly pulled back as he grabbed your chin to create a small distance between your lips.

“Baby, I love you,” Hyunjin said barely above a whisper. Barely above a prayer he hoped would be heard by you, his goddess.

“I love you,” was all you could truly reply. What else could you say? How else could you say it other than dripping with devotion?

The pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly, the cracks in your heart embalmed in healing, gently, kindly, steadily by his four words.

You leaned your face into his right hand, almost unconsciously, craving Hyunjin’s warmth. His heart did somersaults, and he wanted nothing more than to give you every bit of affection you could ever crave until the day he died.

“I know what I said before, and what I thought was the best, but I was wrong. I was so wrong, Daisy,” he said as he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, unable to look at you until he cleared the air, otherwise he’d just give in to your lips again. “I thought everything would be better if we didn’t take the risk of us not working out.”

You nodded, attempting to ease his mind showing him you understood the reasoning. You tried to open your mouth, but he wasn’t done talking, so you simply placed a hand on the nape of his neck to try to soothe him.

“I know it’s dumb and cliche, but I couldn’t have you be another thing that didn’t work out in my life. I’ve done stupid shit, I’ll probably keep doing stupid shit, and I got all this baggage you already know about, and it isn’t an excuse but I just thought I should save you the trouble of dealing with it more than you already do,” Hyunjin rambled on, stumbling into his words and thoughts. He had planned out his speech, at least parts of it, but it was all coming out messy. He wanted to organize his thoughts, but he was desperate for you to understand that he wanted you, needed you, loved you, and the past few days weren’t because he saw you as just a friend, but because he saw you as so much more.

All you could do was make him look you in the eyes, forcing eye contact to ground him.

“I don’t want to fuck this up. I won’t. I’ll be everything you need, if you’ll take me,” Hyunjin murmured, his eyes nearly watering as his emotions overcame him.

“I’ll be everything you need too, if you’ll take us,” you replied, holding your faith in him close to your heart. He wouldn’t hurt you; not on purpose, not irretrievably. He would do everything to fix what needed fixing, he wouldn’t leave you hanging, he wouldn’t take you for granted. He would love you. You would love him.

“You’re already everything,” he blurted out, as sincere as he’d ever been, before crashing his lips back into yours.

Hyunjin knew he wasn’t done expressing his feelings and fears, and that there were some that he barely even recognized. But he also knew he would have the time to do that, and you would be gentle enough to grant him that grace. You wouldn’t judge him, you wouldn’t run out of patience, you wouldn’t walk out on him. You would love him. He would love you.

So Hyunjin gave in to you, and you gave in to him.

His kiss was desperate and passionate, leaving you breathless and dizzy, trying to steady yourself on his chest. Any alcohol in your system had already been replaced by the adrenaline of holding your entire world in your hands, and finally being able to be this close to him.

Soon enough, you started leading him to your room, even with an unmade bed and a few scattered items. He wasn’t unfamiliar to your room, knowing the scent, layout and quirks of it very well. However, he suddenly felt like an outsider you were inviting in for the first time, and he wasn’t sure of what to do. Hyunjin’s mind started to race. Did you want to sleep? Did you want him to hold you? Did you want more? Did you want to wait?

As his thoughts started rushing, your touch was the one to ground him yet again as you motioned him to come closer to you, kneeling on the edge of your bed with him standing in front of you. He didn’t need words, your hands under his clothes touching his skin telling you everything he needed to know. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, and you needed to feel close to him.

His shirt came off first, your core warming at the sight. Greek gods would be put to shame besides Hyunjin, sculpted and soft against your fingertips. He was shy under your intense gaze, opting to help you out of your blouse instead. Once he caught a glimpse of your skin under the soft lamp light, he was done for. Still asking for your consent when unhooking your bra, you nodded and threw it at the floor yourself.

Hyunjin watched as you laid down under him, your breasts slightly moving and your nipples hardened with the temperature change. He knew he was staring far too much, but anything he had ever imagined before paled in comparison to what he was seeing. Any dreams and fantasies he’d had of you naked underneath him as he touched himself, were far off the real thing.

You blushed at the attention on your chest, pulling Hyunjin in for a kiss as he went into bed with you. He happily returned it, and quickly moved his hands to unbutton your jeans, humming while asking for permission once again, as if you were ever going to say no to the man you desired with every cell of your being.

You lifted your hips up enough for him to pull down the item along with your underwear, and you couldn’t help but whine as you felt yourself truly exposed beneath him. He only barely noticed, busy admiring every curve of your legs, thighs and most of all your naked pussy.

His cock was painfully hard, twitching at the mere sight. He didn’t know how he was not going cum immediately upon tasting you, feeling you, but he would be damned if he didn’t have you right now.

Hyunjin gently spread your thighs, whimpering ever so silently as he looked at your slick folds. “You’re so wet, my baby,” he looked up, making eye contact with you and licked his lips.

The sight was a pure, unadulterated wet dream. You should be even more wet, having the most beautiful man in the world between your thighs, lowering his sinful lips and tongue on your sex.

You arched your back and instantly held the roots of his hair in your hands as he licked a long, tortuous stripe around your slit and pussy lips. Kitten licks right into your already swollen clit followed, and you shut your eyes closed cursing under your breath. “You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” he said right into your core, making you whine. Hyunjin was slowly, almost imperceptibly, rutting his hips against the bed to give some attention to his clothed, aching cock, drunk on your taste and moans.

He was a man starved, alternating between fucking his tongue right into the hole he would fuck with his fingers next, picturing how tight and good you would feel around his cock later, and giving fast consistent ministrations to your sensitive clit.

You would never last long, much less as he worked one finger inside you wrapping his lips around the bud. He was met with more resistance pushing a second finger in, his long hands proving to be a challenge to take like you knew his dick would be, but you were excited to have it.

Hyunjin never stopped his consistent pace on your clit, relaxing you and recoiling you at the same time. He knew he needed to prep you with at least three fingers if he was going to fuck you, feeling how tight you were, vibrating in anticipation. He worked slower, almost painfully so. Once he felt his index and middle finger slide in and out of your pussy with ease, he leisurely pressed his ring finger to your entrance.

You were lost in the feeling, grinding yourself on his hand and moaning his name over and over again. You took all three fingers in, opening up for him even more as he scissored them inside of you, not once stopping his steady, erotic make out session with your clit.

Hyunjin was all about pleasing you, so he curled his fingers inside of you, drinking in your every movement, sound and wetness pouring out of you. “Let go for me baby, give it to me,” he encouraged, only barely stopping his constant stimulation on your clit.

You were soon enough cumming in his mouth and hand, giving Hyunjin the sweetest taste he ever had in his life, and seeing stars, cross eyed at the feeling of an angel gifting you the first orgasm of the night. He cleaned up the remnants of your orgasm, not baring the idea of any of it going to waste and smiling up at you. You smiled back, chuckling shyly, as he climbed up to kiss you for you to taste yourself on him. It was intoxicating, remembering him eating you out as you tasted the evidence.

The aftershocks of the high subsided once you remembered Hyunjin hadn’t cum yet. He wasn’t even fully undressed, and suddenly you couldn’t bear the thought. Half sitting up, you undid his belt impatiently and helped him as he pushed his pants and boxers aside, kneeling on the bed. He was fighting every impulse to moan at every single friction, at just the sight of your hands so close to his leaking cock.

Your mouth was watering, pressing your thighs together even if it meant overstimulating your sensitive core. Hyunjin’s effect on your body was insane, amping up every passing second. He was decidedly big, and you silently thanked him for how he opened you up before. You ached to have his thick cock deep inside you, and you also craved the taste of him on your throat. You thought you should do the latter, returning the favor, but Hyunjin quickly pinned you back down to the bed.

“Baby, I want to fuck you,” he whispered against your ear, his hands running along your waist and finding the flesh of your breasts. He continued by pressing sensual kisses on your neck and groping your tits, “Will you let me fuck you, Daisy?” A smile was on his face as he realized how you were only wearing your half daisy necklace, and he was wearing his. A wonderful, possessive reminder. You were finally his, and he had always been yours.

“Hyun, please,” you barely whimpered out, dazed in lust, lightly scratching his back as you felt his cock so close, yet so far from your hole. You didn’t even have to beg, he would give you anything and everything you could ever ask for.

As he positioned himself over you, while you spread your legs for him, he framed your face between his hands on the bed supporting him. You looked into Hyunjin’s eyes, knowing they were matching the passion behind yours, and knowing you both understood how life-changing this moment was.

You put your hands on his neck as he finally pushed inside you with a soft thrust. Hyunjin went slow, intentional, as he felt you adjust bit by bit. He didn’t break eye contact, even though he was ready to cum any second. You felt so tight, warm and wet on his cock, he could barely even think, he could barely do anything other than look at you and understand he was home.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he said as he began to bottom in, leaning in to catch your lips in a kiss he hoped conveyed the wave of love combined with lust that he was feeling. “You were made for me, baby,” Hyunjin continued praising you, because it was truly all he could do.

And you were made for him. The stretch stung, but pain melted into pleasure all the same as he kissed you, as he whispered all those sweet, dirty words. Soon enough it was all pleasure, it was all him finally inside you, finally taking what was his. Your moans were nearly uncontrollable, even more so as he began thrusting into you at a delirious, gentle pace.

“You feel so good,” you whimpered into his lips, punctuating each word with his thrusts. Hyunjin almost smirked, beaming off your praise. He wanted to pick up the pace, but he also never wanted the moment to end. He was losing it, the taste of your pussy still lingering in his tongue mixed with the pleasure he felt as he fucked all his love into you. It was enough to bring him to heaven.

He pulled your legs higher up, wrapping them around his waist to take you deeper. As you moaned in a higher pitch, he swallowed the sweet sounds into his mouth. Every emotion was heightened; the desperation, satiation, love, adoration, yearning, all enveloped into the intensity of your sex.

“So fucking perfect,” he mumbled softly, barely above a prayer he wanted only you to hear. You knew you’d kneel to pray to him just the same. All of his movements and words made your cunt clench, feeling impossibly full and yet like it wasn’t enough. Like you needed him to be whole. At every spasm, Hyunjin’s cock twitched inside you, controlling himself not to let his impulse to press you face first into the mattress and take your pussy from behind win. He knew he could do that another time, and he knew he needed to show you his devotion right now.

You could feel him restraining himself, and with one quick moment you pushed him to the bed on his back for you to straddle him. His cock slipped out with a pop that you both groaned at, and he immediately held onto your waist as a reflex, looking at you quizzically.

“Let me ride you, baby,” you asked softly, positioning yourself over his cock and taking it inside you again at a new, toe-curling angle.

Hyunjin could’ve cum right then and there, holding on to your soft skin. As you started bouncing up and down his length, he didn’t know whether to focus on your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, the erotic sight of where you two were connected, or the near pornographic vision of your tits moving in his face along with your necklace, his necklace.

He was gone. He had been gone for years, knowing deep down nothing would ever satisfy him if he couldn’t have you. And now that he did, now that you were truly, genuinely taking your place as his goddess divine on top of him and his cock, he also realized he’d never be truly satisfied. He would never get enough of you, but he would spend every waking moment of his life adoring you. Even if centuries wouldn’t be enough with you, he will gladly spend his lifetime worshipping you, and every inch of your body.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself up to begin tracing kisses, love bites and marks around your neck and breasts. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he declared, swore, between every single kiss.

Your movements were becoming more erratic when riding his cock, your words barely making their way out only because you couldn’t fathom not saying I love you back. Everything you did brought you closer to your high, and you could barely take it anymore. Even less when Hyunjin pressed his thumb right into your clit, and took one nipple into his mouth, licking circles in it. He was trying to make you cum before him, relishing in the sweet sounds coming out of your mouth. You were going cross eyed at all the stimulation, feeling the coil inside your stomach so close to snapping.

“Fuck, just like that baby. You’re taking me so well,” he hummed, encouraging you as you picked up the pace riding him even if your legs felt like they were giving out.

He placed you down on the bed as he felt your legs faltering, thrusting into you at a harder, faster pace. You held him by his arms, spreading your legs and closing your eyes shut as your moans became uncontrollable. His name was all that you even remembered, whining it out for him to dream about forever.

“Finish for me, baby,” he said, kissing you deeply, his cock inside you hitting just the right spot for the coil to snap.

The earth-shattering orgasm hit you all at once, tidal waves flowing over you as Hyunjin held you in the aftershocks. He fucked you through it, your pussy spasming, almost pulling him deeper inside you and letting him reach his own high. He filled you up with his pearly white cum, and you felt complete.

He didn’t let go of you, as he laid in the crook of your neck panting, still inside you. He put only slightly more weight on you, careful not to hurt you, but relaxing into your body.

You were breathing heavily too, still riding the ecstasy Hyunjin made you feel. As he felt you shaking, he pulled out and laid down beside you holding you into his chest. “I got you, baby. I got you…” he softly whispered in your ear, placing a kiss on your temple. You hugged him tight, smiling as he traced patterns on your back. “You are perfect,” he repeated, as he kept telling you before.

You looked him in the eyes, the crystal glaze of love over them, and pecked his lips softly. You looked at his daisy necklace, reaching out to touch it with your fingers and tracing your own patterns on his chest and neck. No words were needed, the air between you two only trapped inside your bubble of a dream come true.

“I love you, Daisy,” Hyunjin promised once again. “I love you, baby,” you promised right back.

The daisy necklace felt like safety and protection against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you held dear to your heart, and it was the ever-present anchor that tied you to your one true love. Perhaps that was the endgame; anchoring yourself to the land that you had made your home in.

Surely, Hyunjin had willed this all to happen, even if he didn’t realize it. As he held you close, skin to skin, his every desire and need was fulfilled. He knew two things for sure: He was yours, and he couldn't live without you. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was to make you his, until the very end.

He now knew another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently.

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on new opportunities.

As of right now, it manifested in the calm and warmth of his embrace. It manifested in the kind, caring kisses you pressed all over his face. It manifested in your souls molding into a single one.

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