#and if it's taken down and yet there is still thumping. Then i will submit a noise complaint.

[orcelito]

Went upstairs, fully intending to knock on their door to ask them to stop. Got as far as their landing before chickening out. But I did bring the note too, just in case, so I left it on their front door.

For what it's worth, i did end up hitting the ceiling again to try to get them to shut the fuck up. And I don't hear it now. But that also might have a little to do with my fan, which I turned on extra high today. I don't prefer to have it on more than the lowest setting (for sound padding) bc it makes my cats cold. But if they get too cold, they can go to another room. I really really need to be able to sleep tonight. I'm really feeling the sleep deprivation catching up to me.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

dear sweet m if you end up writing about bucky with a vibrating arm can i pretty please be tagged?? (i don’t know if you do taglists, i couldn’t find anything that indicated either way, totally fine if not!)

Ah yes, Bucky and his vibrating arm. I’ve been hinting at it for ages. And you’d be surprised to find out…

There is no reason for the Wakandans to give the arm some extra functions. So any other vibrations than the mild ones from the inside mechanics were unnecessary. But as we’ve seen from Bucky ever since the 1940’s, he’s quite fascinated by technology himself. Also quite skilled with that brain of his. And as mentioned a while ago, this man has the sexual curiosity of a teenage boy – especially after everything that has happened to him.

So it took him some time to perfect using tools with just one hand, but he has managed to add in some extra functions to his arm. Peeling away at the vibranium carefully and programming some new things into the limb. Some things functioning as an element of surprise in battle, yes, but some functioning as an element of surprise in bed.

The first time he tried it on himself, he had taken a few deep breaths before activating it, squeezing his cock in his metal fist and supressing a low grunt. He had already been so close and had been edging himself for a while. He’d been throbbing and the artificial nerves in his metal arm could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat pulsing through his cock. How had he gotten so nervous doing this all of a sudden? It was a lot, but God, he’d needed to come! It had been unbearable, the need for release. Almost as unbearable as the thought of finishing it the way he normally would.

So he had turned on the added function, the vibrations rising carefully to a steady buzz the way he had programmed it, and the noise that sprang from his mouth had been borderline pornographic.

And he couldn’t stop. Moaning and whimpering as his palm vibrated against the hilt of his cock, he had barely managed to squeeze and pull his hand up to the aching tip of himself. Definitely hadn’t managed more than two pulls before he had spilled months of pent up frustration onto his toned chest with a helpless cry as the vibrations dimmed and he pulled himself through his vision-blackening orgasm.

And as much as he loved using the hidden feature, he hadn’t yet used it on a bed partner. It felt too intimate, too controlling for some reason. Until you, of course.

Because yes, Bucky has a kink for corruption and even though he knows there’s little left of you to corrupt, the small nudges out of your comfort zone felt like drugs to him. The man loves to be on his knees for you, worship the ground you walk on, but there are few things better than getting you to submit to him. Even fewer than ruining the sheets below you while he is still dressed.

And tonight, you looked beautiful. Sinful in the classiest way. He’d suffered through wearing a tuxedo to the party, as long as you felt confident next to him. And in turn, he felt powerful next to you. It was one of those moments where Bucky’s heart swelled three sizes because he realised that you both make each other want to be better. In the big things, but also the small things like tonight. Looking good, charming people, bragging about each other and hyping up one another. He was in cloud nine and it was about time he paid you back for it.

You are already breathing heavily, draped on your shared bed with your dress discarded and your heels still on. Your hair messy and makeup smudged slightly. Your skin is throbbing and flushed and the ache between your legs is nearly numbing. You stare up at the ceiling lazily, coming down from another Bucky-induced high as he prowls around the bed and watches you – jacket discarded and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“I’ll never get enough of making you come, you know,” he says before he once again climbs over you. Kisses are pressed to your belly, your breasts, your neck. You almost purr at the feeling. “And I will always look for new ways to get it done. New ways to make you feel better.”

You want to tell him you already feel great, fight him on it, tell him there is nothing he needs to compensate for. But you’re so dazed and selfishly, you love it when he talks to you like this. It makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. And Bucky laughs softly at the sight, teasingly trailing fingers up your damp inner thighs. You shudder at the touch.

He continues, “But tonight… Shit. You looked so beautiful. So tempting. I want to use all of my ways on you. I want to make you come and moan and scream until you are nothing but a puddle of sweat and tears and come.” You whine softly at his words and drape your hands over his neck, urging him closer. He breathes onto your lips, “I want it all from you. Forever. Give me everything, baby. I know you can–”

The surge of vibrations against you cunt is so much, you gasp for air and freeze all the same. You try to snap your legs shut, but Bucky’s body is keeping you from it. You open your mouth to say something, but everything has left you. Thoughts, words, willpower – it’s all gone. Your body tightens and loosens, pleasure unfurling throughout it like light in a glowstick.

Involuntarily, your hips buck and grind against his hand and the sounds that escape you are torturous. You feel Bucky’s smirk burning over your skin and you only barely manage to look down.

You’ve used toys before, but these vibrations… It feels like the toy is made for you, rolling over every single nerve of your clit so precisely it feels out of this world.

And as you look down, Bucky’s gaze follows, and you see three of his metal fingers rolling over your clit. You let out a moan at the sight – a sound Bucky answers with a deep groan of his own. Nothing will boost his confidence more than your responses to him. Especially when he knows there is no room left in your brain to overthink the responses. These are purely natural. Needy and appreciative.

The two of you look at his hand in trance, breaths and moans fanning over Bucky’s cheek. And then he slips two fingers into your soaked core, curling them up against your swollen walls and the both of you let out a carnal groan, your hands clutching him tighter.

Oh shit, oh shit…

“B-Bucky,” you gasp and he presses a kiss to your temple in answer. You sigh and close your eyes, sinking into the sheets as he pushes and pushes against the growing bubble in your belly. Rolling a vibrating thumb over your clit and pushing vibrating fingers against your deepest spot.

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, but he sounds rushed. Impatient. Like there is nothing in the world he wants more than to have you fall apart for him. Nothing more than feeling you squeeze around him again. He watches it build. Something big, something neither of you can come back from. He watches you nearly vibrate yourself with pleasure as the pleasure builds, and builds, and builds–

And when you burst, Bucky watches you lose yourself entirely to him. More importantly, only three fingers from him. And he wonders how you would look and sound if you lost yourself to him entirely. In love, in pleasure, in need, in life–  

Aaaand he wonders if he could do this in public.

[nirikeehan]

happy friday / dadwc!! for the random element prompts, for your Thalia & Varric or Josephine, may I submit: "Coffee & Tea: Who drinks what?"

Happy Friday!! I looked at this one and thought, "Why not both?" So have a little conversation between Thalia, Varric and Josephine in the aftermath of In Hushed Whispers.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 865

---

“Why, if it isn’t the Lady Thalia,” came Varric’s jovial voice as Thalia opened the door to Josephine’s office. 

She halted in her tracks. Thalia had never seen Varric anywhere near the Haven chantry, let alone lounging in a high-backed chair opposite Josephine’s desk. The ambassador sat in her usual position, a delicate porcelain cup halfway to her mouth. She held the saucer in her opposite hand. 

“Oh,” Thalia said, backing up in surprise. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize I was interrupting…” 

“No, no, no,” Josephine protested, “you are not. In fact, join us, if you would. We were just sitting down to tea.” 

“Or coffee,” Varric added. He took a sip from a steaming mug. “Kirkwall’s finest, just in from the last supply caravan. Threnn can be a grump, but she knows what she’s doing.”

Thalia considered insisting she not disturb them, but both Varric and Josephine were eyeing her with earnest expectation. Hesitantly, she said, “Tea, please. I’ve only tried coffee once and I can’t say I cared for it.” 

Varric snorted. “That sludge Blackwall drinks at camp in the mornings hardly counts as coffee.” 

Thalia’s heart thumped at the mention of Blackwall’s name. Only days ago, she had seen him, half-mad and raving, his eyes glowing crimson and surrounded by an aura of red. She had seen Varric this way as well, and it had been just as disturbing, but for some reason she’d been able to shake it more quickly. Her new dwarven friend was in front of her, hale and hearty, and the things the nightmare version of him had said to her were already fading. Warden Blackwall’s words, so mournful, still echoed in her mind as she tried to bed down at night. Andraste have mercy, you shouldn’t be here. The dead should rest in peace...

Swallowing thickly, Thalia took a seat in the chair provided to her by a servant. Josephine had a pot of tea sitting on the desk, accompanied by the coffee press. The ambassador made a show of pouring Thalia’s cup for her, even though she insisted she could do it herself. She used a delicate pair of tongs to drop two sugar cubes into the tea, and stirred gently.

“The ambassador was just regaling me about her time in Orlais,” Varric commented lightly. 

Thalia swiveled her head to Josephine, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Josephine said, blushing deeply. “Varric here is quite the wordsmith, I understand, and he was simply needling me for sensational material.”

“How else does an author get ideas?” Varric said, smirking into his cup. “We’ve got to write from life, Ambassador.” 

“Yes, well,” Josephine said, straightening, “I should think Lady Thalia would have the more riveting tale. She just spent time in the future, after all.” 

“The wrong future,” Thalia cut in, even though both Varric and Josephine’s gazes settled on her. “One that will never come to pass, I should hope.” 

Varric chuckled. “You’ve got to realize that only piques our curiosity farther, right? You should’ve tried, ‘It was terribly boring, we’d all retired and taken up knitting’ or something.”

“I’m not sure I can condone telling the Herald to lie, Varric,” Josephine said, pouring herself another cup, “but I confess I did find your submitted report a little scant on the details. I’d told as much to Commander Cullen…” 

“He wasn’t there,”  Thalia said sharply. Where would he have been in that hellish landscape? Dead, almost certainly. Or… corrupted. She shuddered.  “Neither were you, Josephine.” 

Josephine pursed her lips, but said nothing. Varric gazed at Thalia, eyes keen yet inscrutable. He almost seemed amused, but the longer she looked, the sadder he seemed. “And me?” 

“You fought bravely,” Thalia said, her voice catching. “You all fought bravely, but it wasn’t enough.” 

She stared at the teacup on the desk in front of her. The tendrils of steam curled into the air and vanished, like her newfound friends in that terrible place. 

“I think it’s time for a change of subject,” Josephine announced. 

“Something more cheerful than the world ending, perhaps?” Varric quipped. 

“By all means.” 

“Did I ever you about the time Hawke and I accidentally got involved in a pyramid scheme involving nugs and…”

Thalia gulped her tea, hoping it would ease the lump in her throat. Try as she might, it remained lodged there, tight as a fist.

On her way out of the Chantry a short time later, Thalia heard her name called from behind. She turned; Varric stood behind her, squinting into Haven’s orange afternoon sun. 

“You ever wanna talk about what really happened when Alexius threw that spell,” Varric said quietly, “you come find me.”

More flippantly than she knew to be polite, Thalia retorted, “Why? So you can put it in your book?” 

“Nah.” Varric gazed up at her, and in the fading light he seemed like the saddest man she’d ever met. “So you don’t have to shoulder the burden alone.” 

He sighed into her stunned silence, and strolled away, his farewell a soft “Think about it” tossed over his shoulder. Thalia watched him go, rubbing at the space below her clavicle, where it felt most difficult to breathe. 

[theom-capstoneprod]

Informal Treatment/Film Outline

Character slides and runs in, off screen. Starts as a total black void and the hallway shows up as they pass. Thumping, then shadow, then Bdellism shows up. stops at the end of hallway. 

title sequence. 

Character is looking around wildly at a hallway intersection, trying to figure out where to go. Bdellism creeps up behind (hidden by shadow) and puts a hand on their shoulder. Eep! Bdellism appears behind them, bit of a parallax thing. Sounding like how a videogame talks (no human voice or distinguishable words) it says: “Hey, now! Don’t run away! We’ve only just begun.” Eurgh. fade away.

Speech bubble/box below a frame where images show up. 

“Welcome back to the tour! [confetti]

Here at Bdellism Inc.—named for yours truly—we delight at hacking and slashing that human body of yours to collect your brain! [head, some slash fx, then brain floating out of a head with no top]

B. Inc has been a hub for creativity and productivity for as long as you can remember, filling up that wonderful liminal space that most folks never get to visit. Today’s your lucky day! [logo?]

Now here’s where it gets personal… [soft fuzzy gray nothing]

You may have noticed that while I have this beating heart, [thump thump] I don’t have a brain [empty head]. 

This is where YOU come in! [shaky cam view of character]

I’ve spent my electronic life searching for the perfect brain to use, and while I’ve amassed quite the collection, I haven’t found the glass slipper yet. [tons of brains pop up and cover screen like virus images]

You’re my next candidate. Congrats! [confetti around character on solid color background]”

Side by side view characters with speech bubbles in between, Bdellism on left and character on the right. “If you could please fill out this form, and then we can get moving!” [form pops up for viewer + a floating keyboard pops up for character] Character looks at keyboard, looks at Bdellism, and then looks back at keyboard and starts to type with a glare. The form is as follows:

Name: Nunya 

Brain: Full of worms 

Rate the tour so far: 1 star 

Other thoughts: [keyboard smash]

Submitted. “Great!”

Bdellism and character move through the hallways. First is the office room, full of g3 macs and people plugged in. “This is where you’ll be staying after your brain is gone. Bowling on Wednesdays!” Next is the brain in vats room, where character gets distorted as they look through the glass at one. “This is my collection. Look at all the knowledge! Too bad you’ll never learn it.” Finally, the two are in a hallway with a fluorescent light above. Character lifts their leg as something skitters by. “Ahah!” Bdellism holds it in front of character, it’s a leech with a plug for a mouth. [squishes it] “You don’t need to worry about this”. Bdellism lowers hand and gestures towards a door with the other. “We’re here!”

Bdellism shows the character into an empty room, with just a G3 Mac and a simple chair. “Just sit in that chair and leave the rest to me.” Character sits down, looking vaguely nervous or uncomfortable. Bdellism is behind them. Shot of back of neck where wire is then plugged in. Eyes wide open.

Now the screen of the computer is shown. Looks like an older desktop, with the blue background and files all around. The Apple logo is a brain with a bite taken out of it. Bdellism clicks around at files, trying to find something. First is greenscreen’d Sylvester, who the cursor picks up and plops down. “Nope!” Next is some reviewbrah images of him holding bug / bug-like food. “Not quite!”. Next is a beating heart. “[thumbs up]”. Finally Bdellism clicks on something that loads— “That’s more like it!”— where it shows a brain mini game type thing, where it looks like a maze and there’s various landmarks. 

[brain events -  this bit still being figured out storywise. as mentioned above, it would be like an overhead view of a minigame with a brain-shaped maze/path ]

Character is unplugged and they slump forward. Then, the head is sliced open like an edheads mini game, and the brain is removed. Bdellism (whose head cord is kinda hanging) inspects it closely and intensely. “Eh, no luck. It was worth a try.” Pulls out a jar and tosses it in, then holograms it away. “Onto the next one!” And holograms away themself. The lights shut off in the room, leaving just the slumped body lit by the computer screen, until that shuts off as well. Moment and then to black. 

Credits. Fun stuff around them. Etc etc etc blah blah blah.

[vodkassassin]

Shen Qingqiu decides enough is enough! As is his right

If you see any typos in this, no you don’t 😌

—

The door flies open right on the midday hour mark, when the candle that he lit this morning is exactly half gone, and Shang Qinghua immediately dives underneath his desk and throws his arms over his hand.

“I’m almost done!” He calls out desperately. “Just give me a few more hours, I promise I’m almost done!”

Following this, a silence in his office, long and inspecting, takes place. Shang Qinghua, despite all his instincts screaming otherwise, peeks his head up over the edge of his desk and gulps. The person standing in his door, who is surveying his admittedly very messy office (it’s not his fault! Paperwork breeds like multiplying cells! Why doesn’t anyone understand that?!), and looking very, very unamused.

“Ha, um,” he scrambles back to sit on the chair again, trying to get his thundering heart under control. “H-Hello, Shen-shixiong! This — I — I wasn’t expecting….”

Shen Qingqiu finishes his examination of his workspace and locks his gaze upon Shang Qinghua. He steps smoothly into the office, and shuts the door behind him with sure but quiet movements. A cold sweat breaks out down Shang Qinghua’s spine.

He swallows. He reaches forward and grabs up the paperwork he’d been pouring over before this interruption and holds it feebly before himself like a shield.

“A-Acruelly, shixiong…. If shixiong has something he wants from this shidi, I-I’m afraid it will have to wait. Wei-shixiong demanded these requisition forms be looked over and approved before tomorrow a-and there… there are a lot of them to go through…. I think he waited until the last minute — Oh! And Liu-shidi, he — um, he sent in his audit reports late again, so I have to go through those too and I’m really really sorry but whatever you have for me I can’t —!”

“Stop your babbling.” Shen Qingqiu snaps. Shang Qinghua’s jaw clicks shut so fast his teeth hurt a little. Ow.

He watches with wide eyes as his shixiong — who is now scowling heavily, nooo — begins to flip through the various stacks of parchment and scrolls that sit heavy upon Shang Qinghua’s desk. Too terrified to tell him that, actually, only the sect leader should be looking through those ones, Shang Qinghua remains quiet.

Really, nobody tells Shen Qingqiu what he can or can’t do. Those who have tried before are —

Well. They’ve all seen their sect leader.

“These.” Shen Qingqiu slips a smaller stack of documents out from the middle of one of the piles and holds it up. “The supply logs from the previous joint peak night hunting expedition. They have yet to be filed?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water in frustration, and he holds up his sleeve to cover them. “I meant to, I did! But — but when I was going to get to them, Qi-shimei came in with a cart full of delegated peak maintenance reports! She said if they weren’t done before noon she’d — Ah.” He shudders, peeks over his arm, and goes pale at the way Shen Qingqiu’s eyes have narrowed viciously. He hurries on, voice growing smaller. “I’d just finished them when Wei-shixiong brought me his backlog requisitions….”

He trails off, because the expression on his shixiong face has gone colder and colder the longer he spoke.

“Why haven’t you chosen to delegate?” The man demands from between his locked teeth. “All these disciples that you have, and you’re telling me you can’t delegate a single task to them?”

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua’s eyes water again and he shiffles pathetically into his sleeve. “Shixiong, I do delegate. This stuff in my office here, this is all the work only peak lords have the security clearance for. Everything else I delegate to my disciples, because I can’t… I can’t….”

Shen Qingqiu stares down his nose at him, and Shang Qinghua stops talking. He drops his gaze and listens as the man silently turns on his heel and stalks out of his office, closing the door with a solid thump.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and drops his arm defeatedly into his lap, frowning down at the water stains his stupid tears have left in the fabric. Silk is so fucking dumb, you can’t walk through without it picking up dirt somehow. It’s why he changed his peak robes to darker colors, because at least black doesn’t show where you’ve been all day.

And seriously, it’s just so much easier to scrub blood out of clothes that aren’t white or beige or pastel.

He shoves his paperwork to the side and folds his arms before him, letting his head thunk down on them with an exhausted sigh. The door opens slightly again and a head peaks in.

“Shizun?”

“A-Kao,” he mumbles into his arms. “I’m gonna die.”

His head disciple gives a polite sound of acknowledgement. “I’ll have someone prepare some of the spiced tea imported from that Eastern desert oasis, then.”

“I love you,” Shang Qinghua says fervently, and listens as his favorite disciple huffs a quiet laugh.

“Will return shortly.”

The door closes again, and with it, Shang Qinghua closes his eyes.

Jin Kao is true to his word, as always, and in fact brings a light snack of fruit and a pastry along with the tea. Shang Qinghua plows through it at record pace and is energized! He’s halfway through the requisition forms for Wei Qingwei when his door is slammed open once again.

He flinches. Taking a fortifying breath, Shang Qinghua glances up and immediately loses all color.

“Shen-shixiong is back!” He shakes, voice wobbling. “With — with Z-Zhangmen-shixiong, ah…!”

Shen Qingqiu stalks into the room, side stepping Jin Kao whose arms are laden with the empty tea set. The head disciple wisely flees into the corner, watching with a narrow gaze as the Qing Jing peak lord all but drags their venerated Sect Leader across the office to stand before Shang Qinghua’s desk.

Shang Qinghua trembles as they both loom over him. What did he do?! Shixiong, what he’s said before was completely reasonable! There was no need to go and fetch your overbearing ge!

Shen Qingqiu points a finger at Shang Qingh— oh wait, not him. At his desk. At the mountains of papers littering his desk.

“If you have time to relax and drink tea in your spotless office,” the second in command sneers at his superior, “then you have time to pick up the slack so that our shidi can do the same!”

Shang Qinghua gapes. He stares up at them with round, round eyes, uncertain as to what’s going on.

Yue Qingyuan, for his part, quails under Shen Qingqiu’s steely and unrelenting gaze. His shoulders are tense, and the way in which he looks around Shang Qinghua’s office with a startled look, only to then turn it upon Shang Qinghua himself, just screams ‘bro, you live like this?’

Not by choice! Shang Qinghua never asked for this, Yue-shixiong! The paperwork just never stops!

Shen Qingqiu pivots sharply, glaring down at him instead. Ah!

“What are you doing?” The man says. “Get up.”

“Ah?” Completely bewildered, Shang Qinghua only stares up at the man in confusion.

“Honestly.” Shen Qingqiu sighs under his breath — a sharp and stilted sound of frustration.

He rounds the desk himself and grabs Shang Qinghua by the upper arm, hauling him up from his chair and dragging him away from the desk.

“Th-This—?!”

“Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu nods at the desk. Yue Qingyuan only stares blankly at him, and so he sneers. “These forms must be finished. And the next stack. All by a peak lord — I’m taking Shang-shidi for a well deserved break, so I can’t do it, and Wei-shidi was the one to submit them in the first place. Of the four foremost peak lords of the sect, only you have time and clearance to do it.”

Shang Qinghua sways, shocked. If Shen Qingqiu didn’t still have such a bone-crushing grip on him, he might have even fallen. The other man steadies him immediately, and the sour look on his face sours even further.

Yue Qingyuan’s face is pale. “Qingqiu-shidi….”

“It isn’t as if you were busy with anything else.” Shen Qingqiu plows on past whatever refuting the sect leader was trying to pull. He shakes Shang Qinghua roughly by the arm, and Shang Qinghua rapidly blinks away the spots from his vision. “Look at our shidi, he’s nearly dead on his feet. Are you telling me that you would make him work more, when it’s already clear that he’s overworked?”

Yue Qingyuan pauses. He glances around the office another time, shoulders lowering in slow increments. His resolve is crumbling visibly to everyone in the office.

Shang Qinghua silently mouths ‘overworked’ to himself, stunned.

Finally, the sect leader sighs. “No, Qingqiu-shidi is right.”

Shen Qingqiu snorts. As if to say ‘of course I am.’

Yue Qingyuan steps around the desk and slowly takes the seat that Shang Qinghua had just been forcably vacated from. He eyes the stack of paperwork that are piled high, not just on the desk but on the floor and the shelves surrounding the desk, and an expression of regret eclipses his face.

“This shixiong had not realized Shang-shidi’s workload was quite so…” he trails off, trying to fish for the right word, and finally lands on, “heavy.”

“It’s the Sect Leader’s duty to ascertain that all those under his sect’s banner are taken care of. Those directly under his command even more so.” Shen Qingqiu sniffs disdainfully. “You have no excuse.”

Yue Shixiong bows his head. “No, this one does not.”

“I’m taking Shang Qinghua to Qing Jing to recuperate.”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua pales even further. He ducks his head down and glances over to the corner into which his head disciple had squirreled himself away for help.

Jin Kao stares back, an expression of smug victory on his face, and doesn’t say a single word.

This traitor! Unfilial disciple! Shang Qinghua takes back what he said about Jin Kao being his favorite. He’s replacing that brat as soon as he’s able to escape Shen Qingqiu’s clutches.

Shen Qingqiu yanks on his arms, dragging him out of the office. He cranes his neck around, and the last scene he sees before the door slams shut is Jin Kao setting down the empty tea set, picking up a large stack of papers from one of the various spots on the floor, which he then ferries over to the desk at which Yue Qingyuan has picked up the half-finished requisition, looking it over with a frown.

Huh. He’s never seen his head disciple look quite so intimidating before. The boy is practically looming over their sect leader with a dark expression.

That’s a little strange.

He doesn’t see beyond that, though, because Shen Qingqiu slams the doors shut again and drags him off his own damn peak.

—

Support this story on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32312410

[yandere--stuck]

Yandere Megaera x Shade Reader, submitted by @faeleas (idk if i did it right, but hope you like it regardless. and im sorry it's a little long >_<")

~

it had taken so long for you to sneak back into the entrance to Asphodel to catch even a glimpse of the powerful fury without her detection, but now that you had your spot behind on of the pillars far off to the side, you stayed put, kept silent and didn't blink lest you lost one second of Megaera in the fullness of her element.

she was a blaze of glory, her strength vibrating through the air as she snapped out her whip again and again at the prince, slicing the very breath from your lungs as you gazed in awe. how wonderful and powerful she was to behold, and how enthralling it always would be to watch her fight, to see her wicked smile cut into her teal cheek as she overflowed with the desire to cut the Zagreus down and stop his progress.

you could almost feel the faint impression of a thundering heartbeat in your chest, and that sensation only swelled when Megaera caught Zagreus by the ankle with her whip and tossed him high into the air above her. you gaped, eyes on her alone and in your shock, your duty to silence fell away, the quiet suddenly broken with your small gasp.

Megaera was just about to deal a finishing blow to the haughty prince who'd dared challenge her again, who was so proud to believe he could best her in her own domain, when she heard it. she heard you.

time seemed to stutter as her gold eyes darted to every corner of the entrance to Asphodel, searching through the dim glow of flickering firelight for the source of the sound that broken her focused rage. after a second, her brazen gaze locked on you hidden in the shadows in the corner of her arena, hands clasped over your mouth and eyes wide with... something. as far as she knew, it should be fear. no shade had ever gotten this far away from the House of Hades, let alone made it inside this forbidden space, and yet, there you were, trembling as you held her narrowing gaze still.

why? what kind of foolishness mightve brought you to her? what a silly, brazen little shade you must be to even try, but before Megaera could consider any possibilities about what you might be made of, a searing pain tore through her lower back.

a gasp clawed out of her gut, dragging up with it a small splatter of blood that coated her lips. as Megaera tore her eyes from you to her stomach, she found the tip of Zagreus's sword lodged right through her waist.

"y-you... wre-etched... " she choked, then coughed again. with the little time she had left, Megaera looked over her shoulder at the young determined prince and snarled a smile full of bloody teeth before she spat, "next time, i-i will... have you... kneeling before m-me... Za-agreus."

the fury was beginning to fade, but with the very last moments of her current awareness, she threw a burning glare at you, daring you to try anything near her again.

Megaera snarled as she came to and pushed herself to her feet in the resurrection pool of blood, snatching her whip from the shallow beside her and quickly marching out, shaking the sticky blood from her hands and raking it out of her long lilac-blue ponytail. You were all she xould think about: the shade who had snuck in, distracted her, watched her get outmatched by that smart-mouthed prince of Hades. she had to find you and punish you as she saw fit.

blowing off Thanatos before he could say anything to her, not that her blazing rage that licked at the air around her like coughed up sputters of lava from a volcano didn't do enough to stop his attempt anyway, the Fury snapped out her one sharp wing and took off, rushing back to her domain in hopes that you had been petrified where you stood. when she landed with a thunderous crash and found you there still, a bubbling snarl rose to her throat.

"You." Megaera prowled towards you, cutting her whip through the air just to make you flinch, and just as you opened you mouth to apologise and explain, she roared and unleashed her weapon, the force of the wind caused by it's movement alone knocking you back into the very pillar you had been hiding behind. not a moment after you'd caught the breath knocked from your lungs did you find it firmly restricted once again, Megaera's whip binding you securely to the marble pillar itself.

Megaera stood with her arms crossed for a moment, her endless rage sparking under her teal skin, brightened by the gold ornaments that gleamed around her arms and waist and neck. she watched you squirm in the tight coil of her whip, a grin stretching across her rouged lips as your panicked eyes eventually met hers. you knew all she could do, and you could tell from her easy cadance walking close to you that she knew it also.

"Tell me, you impudent shade, why were you in my domain? for what reason would you think you could be here and not be discovered?"

Megaera purred, but her voice was devoid of warmth, promising that the wrong answer would only end in pain. she kept sauntering closer and closer to you until her iron breath caressed your face, then placing her hand beside your head on the pillar, the fury ran her tongue across her teeth, leaned over you and finished, "What made you think you were that clever to enter the arena of a Fury and escape unpunished? Do tell."

now you knew you had a heart, since it thumped hot and hard in every corner of your being. you couldn't pull your eyes from hers even though everything in you screamed to. you swallowed hard, knowing there was no way out of this so with a sigh, gave in and told the truth.

"I-I... I s-saw you once, in the lounge. I'd h-heard about you but... I just wanted to see you- to watch you fight, i mean."

Megaera frowned at your words but inside her, something was turning. "Is that so?"

you nodded quickly, then instantly shivered it when you watched the burning anger in her gaze reduce to a contained simmer, gold winking in the light of the fires around you both.

The Fury watched you, the hot blush in your cheeks, listened to the thundering of your heart in your chest, could almost taste the terrified awe in the air around you, not that she wasn't used to it. But... you thought she was incredible.

Megaera thought back to the fight with Zagreus, the moment she'd met your gaze, how wide and full of.. adoration it had been. it wasnt disgust, or disdain, or fear. it was... shock, awe maybe... something else.

"How long have you been watching me?" she whispered, leaning closer, pulling on the end of the whip and purring a smile when you whimpered.

the leather of her whip burned as it pressed into your throat, the hissing sting snatching every thought from your mind. after finding your breath, you tightly confessed, "I've... seen you fight Prince Z-Zagreus... 13 times. I didn't mean t-to intrude. I just.. wanted to see you fight for myself."

Megaera blinked twice quickly. 13 times. it took at least a week for Zagreus to get through all of Hades and reach the surface, so for 13 weeks you had been watching her, not in disgust, or disdain, something else that made you come back.

"Why?"

again the Fury pulled the whip tighter, and again it dug into your body, making you gasp as you blinked through the stinging pain, but as it subsided, you looked up into her honeyed gaze with desperation and honesty, muttering with embarrassed timidity. "I... think you're... really cool. Incredible, even. T-That's all."

Incredible.

a pulse flickered in Megaera's bottomless core. No one had ever used such a word to describe her in... longer than she knew. those words settled deep in Megaera's heart faster than she could stop them, and once they were there, everything in her clung to them like they were the only thing keeping her alive.

What were you that such simple words could elicit such a profound internal symphony that almost sent her shivering with shock? how could she have not known such power existed? when you looked at her with that pleading gaze, with eyes that were so raw with truth, full of goodness, of... something, it was impossible to lokk away. in your eyes was something that was more than respect, more than fear, more than adoration... love was the only thing more than all three.

yes, that must be the only explanation. You loved watching her, you loved seeing her fight, loved seeing her, loved her. You loved her. how fickle, how very mortal of you... and yet...

Megaera huffed a laugh as she stepped back to look at you, all of you that apparently loved all of her. The Fury couldn't believe it. a simple shade had risked everything to tell her, to show her that they loved her. how enrapturing.

the lilac haired punisher of jealousy was quickly overcome with something that, in the scope of all that had just happened, must felt like love too, but she wanted it for herself alone. this pulse of heat within her because of you and the way you looked at her, it was for her, and it would always be hers. anything that threatened to take it away would be destroyed. it had to be.

with that resolve fluttering inside her, Megaera gently brushed your cheek with the back of her fingers, then lifted your chin with her finger. when you flinched at her cool touch, she grinned and cooed sweetly, "Hm. Oh, my curious little shade. If you love it so much, then you will stay here to watch me. You will be able to witness my greatness for as long as you want, as many times as you want. Yes, you will stay right here, but if you betray this trust, there will be consequences. Have I made myself clear?"

As you nodded, likely out of fear of saying otherwise, Megaera's heart tightened once again. Yes, you loved her, and now, she would fight to show you how much that love meant, to prove that she was the only one you needed to love, to make you love her even more. It wouldn't be hard.

No one else would take your eyes from gazing upon her. Not Zagreus, not her sisters, not even Lord Hades himself. Your endless gaze was hers now, and by extension, so were you.

end

---

I'm so so sorry I only posted this just now but. Oh my Goddddd this is incredible holy shit!!! Thank you so, so much for submitting this I'm 👀👀👀👀👀 Ms. Megaera......

Thank you so so much again, I love your writing and prose, and I'm sorry for only getting to it now, the app doesn't show me notifications for submissions, just asks ;w;

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Devout Worshipper: Dark! Peter Parker x Professor!Reader

A/N: So this girl here tried something else. I’ve been wanting to upload since long but this got delayed a lot and now I have several WIPs but finished this first. Sorry not proofread. I’m still discovering my writing style and my forte and thank you for staying and witnessing my experiments! Wear safety goggles please.

Summary: The best of all the educators yet, both smart and stunning, became Peter’s mentor in university. Peter grew too much of a liking for her, from a clingy scholar to her devout worshipper.

WARNING: STORY AHEAD HAS NON-CON, KIDNAPPING, POSSIBLE DRUGGING, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOUR, OBSESSION. DNI IF TRIGGERED.

You sat on the teacher’s desk, going through the latest thesis published by Dr. Banner last week. He had given you one of the several copies and asked you to go through it and your judgement on it. The classroom was slowly filling in as the scholars stacked in, their buzzes growing loud with each passing trice.

You were on the last paragraph of your current page when a slight thump made you break out of your stupor, you tilted your head up to find a brawny youngster leaning in front of you, with his hand planted beside your ass on the ebony desk. He had blonde locks with grey eyes and was definitely a sports’ team captain, basketball you believed, who had his own posse of wannabes behind him.

You kept the paper down in your lap and met his eyes again with an inquiring look. “Yes?”

“You seem new. Me and my guys will save you a seat at the back, so come there when your little reading session is over, babe.” He said smugly, his eyes brimming with mischievousness as they dipped to your cleavage not-so-subtly and stood there gawking while he awaited your response.

You paused to see the whole class had gone quiet watching your encounter with the jock. You gave him a sickly-sweet smile as you nodded shyly for show and he tapped your knee with his other hand before leaving. As soon as his back faced you, you rolled your eyes so hard at his antics you heard the first-benchers gasp. You could still hear him talking to his ‘friends’, “I love myself a badass girl like her.”

You returned to your thesis but before you could finish the last few sentences, the bell rung and you had to stop. Thanks blondie.

You got down from the desk, jumping on your black heels as you made your way over to the door, closing it as lock clicked into place.

The entire class was watching you with quizzical glances as you stood in front of your desk this time and wrung your hands together, “Good morning class and congratulation on making it to your second year in college, I will be your mentor and also your lecturer for biology for this semester and for those who pass, also their next one.” The entire class’ jaw slackened and you giggled lightly as waited for them to digest the news, and then told them your name.

“I know a lot of you see science itself as a chore but since you’ve already taken it, I suggest you try to pay attention as you will have to study it anyways. However, because I can relate to your struggles, I will try my best to be a companion or advisor, whichever way you prefer it, and help you get through the class with flying colours hopefully. So, ask me anything, no matter how stupid or absurd you believe your doubt or query is. I’ll answer as many times as you ask and trust me when I say that I am a woman of my word. You have any questions for the semester?” You finished with a bright smile on your face as you saw the students in the front relax slightly. At least you had their approval.

“Ma’am” The blonde kid started without raising his hand, stressing the word unnecessarily as he and his horde sniggered at some stupid inside joke, and continued, “Can I have your number?”

Some of the students gulped while the others leaned forward interested in your response. That kid thought he could fluster you by putting you in a weird spot. He smirked arrogantly, leaning back in his chair as you raised your eyebrows.

“That, Mr.?” You paused as you lingered for his answer, which came almost immediately.

“Flash Thompson, but you can call me whatever you want baby.”

His friends hooted at his pickup line, some praising his smoothness while some high-fived him.

“That, Mr. Thompson, is an excellent example of the stupid questions I mentioned formerly. Thank you for helping me make it clearer to the rest of the class, an extra point for you in the first grading assignment.”

His face fell as his jaw ticked and you turned to face the rest of the class again, “Though I suppose I will give you my number but for emergency purposes only, you can contact me on my e-mail though which I will be using most frequently. You are supposed to mail me majority of your papers this semester and the grading pattern is expected to change this time around but I will inform you of that when the time for the first assignment comes around. Any other questions, and if possible, a bit wiser ones?”

Peter knew he liked you that day. You were attractive and stunning, yes, that too in the natural way, without make-up and tight clothes. But of course, there was more to you than that, you were smart and witty, hence a young lecturer in this esteemed college and you being a science enthusiast as well was like chocolate chips on top of a well baked dessert. You were spirited and jaunty and your sardonic and sassy replies were never degrading or humiliating. The five-year difference between you and the class made you their elder sibling rather than professor.

The first benchers worshipped your intellect while the last benchers adored your sarcasm. Everyone could see how you gave your all to teach, every trick for learning, showing real skeletons and organs in formalin, easily becoming the favourite mentor ever. You could easily be labelled as the university’s crush of the year.

But Peter soon began to despise that. The perverted comments by the students and jealous, snarky remarks by the plastics irked him. He was enraged by the geeks admiring you but baffled all the more by the strange palette of emotions he had never suffered before.

The sheer envy he was sinking in had never even surfaced while he dated Liz or MJ. For him you were a Goddess, tons divine than his exes or any other female for that matter, who should be properly worshipped and treasured.

He knew these sentiments weren’t right, but in this twisted world where he had combatted with unnatural beings and seen unimaginable horrors, he began to believe morality is just fiction used by the herd of inferior men to hold back the few superior men.

It was the last day before spring break and no matter how much your pupils loved you, it wasn’t enough for them to not get distracted and murmur around. Only half of your entire class’s strength came and that half somehow managed to create more ruckus than usual. Even you were minutes late, not in the mood to teach this aloof and uninterested batch of youngsters.

You sat on the table and crossed your legs, which was somewhat your habit that you weren’t really proud of but continued to indulge in nonetheless, and cleared your throat times to catch the attention of the unmindfully fantasizing students.

The baritone of the males and shrieky pitches of the females made you clutch your head. You were sure going to end with disprin at the end of day. You clapped loudly and effectively so, gathered the class’s attention, but by the roll of their eyes and glares on their faces, you deduced they weren’t happy. Who would have thought?

“Okay, before you all slaughter me to the netherworld with your lethal gazes, let me make it clear that no teaching will commence today.” The class hollered appreciatively and whistled, while you paused to let them do so. Teaching on the last day before a vacation was like speaking to yourself only but with the consequence of your name being added to several hitlists.

“I’ll distribute the graded assignments submitted last Thursday and then, since I’m required to clock thirty minutes of educating at the bare minimum, we can play something, maybe you have some talents to show, principles to mock or some gossip to attend to.” The college kids laughed at your poor joke, perhaps too thrilled for their break that nothing could make their mood sour. “We’ll see accordingly, but first, raise your hand when I say your name, I want to learn at least the names of the students who bothered to come to uni on the concluding day.”

You distributed the papers back, making sure to associate each name with a face and the students took them stuffing it straight inside, not bothering to check their scoring and possibly wreck their mood.

“Peter Parker?” A hand raised in the second last row shyly, a flustered boy with glasses on his nose and a hoodie covering his head. He barely made eye contact and you smiled at his nervy, edgy form hoping to ease him a bit. Your heels sounded heavy against the few stairs as you made your way to the back, the class buzzing with laughs as students barely paid you any heed.

The draught of epinephrine Peter felt was unlike anything he had ever felt before, nothing like the anxiety on the battlefield or the excessive sweating while impressing Mr. Stark. The apprehension he felt was decuple that.

It’s not like he had never talked to you afore, he constantly asked clever doubts, which he knew the answer to already, of course, to make an impression on you, but that was with a two feet and 7.5 inches of teacher’s desk in between. Yes, he measured. He had even made sure a couple times, let’s be honest, more than several times that his Goddess had arrived her fascinating abode safely.

But this time, they’d be hardly half a foot apart and the anticipation was tearing him apart. He did want her close, in all ways possible, but was he ready enough to not make a fool of himself? All his previous conversations were thought out meticulously and beforehand but was ready for a spontaneous interaction?

“Good job, Smart Cookie.” You mused at Peter with a wink and dropped the paper on his desk as he looked at you with those innocent, doe-eyes of his, his cheeks and nose a tad bit rouge.

Peter’s hearing ability got lost as the sound of his heart pumping blood filled his tympanum. He could only watch you retreat back to the front of the class, your hips swaying invitingly in that damned black pencil skirt as you called another person’s name.

Smart Cookie was his favourite nickname now.

It was pretty late when you left the university premises, finishing up all you had to and even preparing for your first week of teaching after vacation because you knew how procrastinating errands went.

You couldn’t almost believe how you were on the adult end of things, making sure and guiding other people. With the job, came a lot of obligations that you had to fulfil and being responsible was hard, really demanding. You suddenly had a lot of reverence for all the teachers in your life, from kindergarten to your degrees.

You were on a sabbatical from research temporarily, signing a teaching contract for three years minimum and you were satisfies with the refreshment. Interacting young, curious minds was almost like a recreational activity you indulged in free time and the various angles they approached science at even taught you something. The scholars found it in themselves to even question well-established biology.

Slightly humming, you made a mental checklist of what all was left to do for your solo, self-discovering trip the next week. All that you should pack, clothes according to the weather in the hills and enough emergency eatables. Maybe you could revisit the work-in-progress papers of yours or maybe it would be a leisure excursion only.

Only you never made it to your flight.

 The pounding of your head made a thrumming noise in your head, increasing its tempo and volume with each passing instant. Your eyelids felt heavy and opening them felt like a chore, which even more difficult considering the light that flooded your vision with every bit they opened. Your senses felt overwhelmed being burdened and strained with their everyday tasks after what you assumed to be at least hours of inactivity.

The sudden spike of pain shooting in your head made you jerk your hand to clutch your throbbing forehead, only to fail and find your hands bounded to something. They weren’t cuffed or shackled, nothing dug in your wrist either. Maybe a rope but the texture wasn’t rough enough. After what felt like minutes, you opened your eyes and sat up, as straight as your confined self could, and looked around.

The room was shades of grey and blue, a giant bed was where you were sitting. The giant ceiling to floor windows beside you, cast enough moonlight in the bedroom for you to see the entire bedroom. The view outside was so picturesque, that you had been gawking were you not afraid of your surroundings. You could discern you were high up, with how small the vehicles looked and another wave terror ran through you.

A white desk with a blue chair had a laptop atop it, also sitting beside several books. You would have noticed them being your subject and recommendation but you were scanning your brain as to how you landed here. With your vision now clearer, you saw your restraints to be like silk but no matter how hard you pulled, they didn’t snap.

You were full on panicking and staring wide eyed when the laptop entered your vision again. There was no other electronic except it and you calmed yourself to think rationally. Deep breaths, in and out. Your best bet right now was to hope that the laptop was connected to someone’s wifi.

You slid off the edge of the bed and tried to cut the weird silk ropes with bedside table’s corner. It took some time but you succeeded, your hands freed from the poster of the bed as you made your way towards the laptop, after checking the locked door of course.

Another wave of panic ran through you when the laptop wasn’t connected to anything and all available connections were password protected. You noticed the laptop to be brand new, and of a very expensive company that was out of your budget. You also noticed the OS was very different, not the usual Windows you ran. Your AI Cortana in this overpriced gadget, was named Karen.

You still refused to wait for your captor to show up and snooped to find something on the laptop, anything. There was no profile of the owner but you did manage to find at least three GB of videos and images.

Your hands froze and eyes widened when you saw the security footage of your building’s outside, the little bakery’s neon sign confirming the location. The videos were the same, of you entering and exiting every day, just the dates on the videos varied.

Another folder had clips with the same dates, but they were in the lobby of your apartment, your potted plants outside your door the affirmation again. It showed you getting milks and newspaper every morning, ordering take out several days and placing the garbage bags outside.

The earliest date in each folder was after your first month of moving here, second week of teaching probably.

When you opened the third folder, as the video started your hands covered your mouth as you tried your best to hold back the sob and making a noise. The screen showed two camera screens, both inside your apartment. The first showed the living room clearly and your kitchen and you concluded it to be behind some article on the bookshelf.

The other screen showed your bedroom.

You could still see the floral bedsheet with the white quilt atop it. Your red suitcase that you took out from the storage for your trip this morning, resting beside the wall. Your lamp switched on from when you mayhap left it on, already late for the last day of work. As the time hit 12 AM at the bottom of the screen, the video ended and played again. There were even more folders and you wondered how far would the surveillance go, till your bathroom?

Your abductor had live footage of your house being sent to his laptop and that scared you shitless. This was not a random crime, that ransom could end. You were here for something, some sick purpose you didn’t even know. Was this a hate crime? Would you even make it-

“I really wish you hadn’t looked there.”

The deep, familiar voice amplified your fear and you turned your head slowly, almost comically to look at him. Another gasp escaped your lips as you found warm eyes of your student and brows furrowed in confusion and fear when you saw the deranged lust in his eyes. Was this some sick prank?

“What am I doing here and what is this?” You gestured to the screen playing footages of the inside of your house. Seeing someone familiar and the probability of this being a prank should have calmed you somewhat but the revolting trick and the strange darkness in the boy’s eyes made you even more wary.

As he took a step closer, you hastily climbed out of the chair and backed away, nearing the bed again as he locked the door and closed in on you. He made a move to snatch you and you jumped to the other side of the bed barely missing him by an inch. You reached for the door hoping to find it unlocked but it didn’t even budge.

You pulled even harder while being painfully aware of how that kid from your class just sat on the bed and observed, having the utmost confidence in the door. Your frenzied state got a jump-scare when a female voice broke the silence, “Authorization to access locked doors is granted to Mr. Parker only, please refrain from damaging the property, Mam.”

So some tech-boy with a rich background is set on you?

“Please sit on the bed and I’ll explain, please.”

His doe eyes would have fooled you were you not extremely aware of your environment due to the adrenaline coursing through your arteries. He was an exceptionally good actor, you had to give him that. You prided yourself to be an excellent judge of character and here this guy had deceived you for three months.

The AI called him Parker, what was his name again?

Patrick? Peyton? Peter? Yes, Peter Parker.

“Peter?” You softly called out and his eyes widened as a blush crept up to his cheeks as he relished the fact that you remembered his name. You sighed internally, praying that this was a case of a harmless crush gone wrong and he was just innocently hopeful. The image of his dark, lust covered eyes crossed your mind to make an argument but you pushed it aside to calm your nerves and stay as relaxed as you possibly could with all that was happening.

“I know that this is all a big misunderstanding but you are really scaring me here. Can you please at least let me out of this room to somewhere open?” You looked at him, hoping to talk him down and get out. You didn’t think he would hurt you but you weren’t willing to take any chances with this maniacal youngster either.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that, you’ll run.”

Of course, you’ll run, who wouldn’t?

“Peter, boy, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me! I admit the situation isn’t ideal and you’re probably terrified because of your meddling but this is all for you! I’m here to protect you! The world out there isn’t safe and your heavenly self needs to be resuscitated.”

“Peter, you’re not making any sense. I’m an adult, older than you and you need to understand boundaries-”

“I’ve seen the way of the world, trust me, in fact, far more than you have! Did you know that raping and murdering women on Asgard is considered a common crime? How Hydra is kidnapping young, bright women to exploit them for breeding projects? How the Red Skull resurfaced and his ideals now include eradicating women from Earth as well?”

“Pete-”

“No, you don’t know! You are just blissfully unaware of this world, so oblivious you don’t even how know the perverted and debauched comments your own class makes?”

His outburst frightened you as you felt yourself losing control of the situation, maybe you never were in control. But now the unleashed fury on Peter’s face told you that had triggered an irrevocable topic.

“Calm down, it’s alright.” You said quietly, hoping to ease him again but his steps towards made you back up yourself to the other side of the bed.

“You, You are still scared of me, aren’t you? You still don’t understand, do you? I’ll show you, show you how much I worship you, the true extent of my devotion.” Every ludicrous declaration of his bit away your hope of getting out.

As he approached you again from the foot of the bed, you jumped across the bed again, hoping to reprise your stunt from before. However, your jumping halted midway as something glued your right wrist to the headboard and you jerked due to inertia of movement. As your eyes looked to your hand, the same silky rope met your vision.

You did not have the time or the wits to ponder over the fluid, about how your abductor shot it or how it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you pulled. A hand on your ankle prompted you to try one last time as you screamed as loud as you could, for as long as your lungs allowed.

“It won’t work, Mr. Stark got me a soundproofed apartment. Pretty cool, right?”

A sob wracked through your entire frame as the tears descended, the frustration and hopelessness and dread, all attacking you at once. Your legs kicked and flexed and when your left fist swung, he restrained all your limbs after dodging, of course.

“I just want to love you, is it too much too ask?” He asked in a quiet whisper, his hands undressing you cloth by cloth; first unzipping the side of your pencil skirt and unwrapping it, then unbuttoning your blouse. When he brought out a pocket knife, your eyes instinctively closed, a “Please don’t hurt me” falling from your lips.

“Never.” He replied with absolute assurance.

The blade cut through your blouse first, leaving you in your garments while Peter sat back on his knees to admire you. You’ve been flattered with the adoration in his eyes had you not gone through the mayhem that you had.

His hand caressed your curves, feeling the soft skin underneath as he took his time admiring you, committing each feature to memory while your tears poured, your eyes never leaving the knife he held.

The blade invaded your privacy once again as it took away your last pieces of defense, leaving you utterly nude and your cries wreaked havoc in the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes found Peter face and you noticed his eyes twinkling in admiration trailing up and down your body several times. His disciple complex was scaring you, you almost bordered considering his Goddess belief.

“So stunning.” He whispered as he came down to kiss you, his lips meeting yours in this bruising embrace of both your mouths and as he began to undress himself simultaneously, his dramatics became the least of your concerns. The thought of the inevitable future made home in your mind and gave you one last bout of courage to try and fight.

The restraints on your limbs didn’t even budge and every fleck of hope deserted your body when you saw the chiseled abs on his scarred torso, his biceps bulging and silently warning you into staying put. He made quick work of his remaining outfit and his hard, angry member was bigger than you had anticipated.

You had not expected a stereotypical nerd to be packing, with muscles and brawns, hardly to even expect him to be the largest among the ones you had ever experienced.

“Please don’t.” You mumbled, defeated, knowing he would not listen. You closed your eyes expecting the intrusion to get it over with. You were caught off handed when you felt him shift and devour into your pussy. He feasted like a man famished, his tongue leaving no area unlapped. The sparks in your abdomen made you queasy and giddy at the same time, you could barely open your eyes due to the intensity of his actions and when he added two of his shockingly calloused fingers, you let go of the coil in mere seconds.

Your limbs sat limp while your vision whitened, your mind foggy and hazy, deprived of all sensibility. When his thick thighs rested on top of yours, your gaze ascended to meet his already staring pupils, the warm, honey brown orbs now a black abyss. You couldn’t even protest in your blissful state as lined himself and entered your cavern, which was lubricated enough courtesy of him.

The stretch burned but as he rocked himself and thrusted with a rhythm, the pleasure started building from scratch. Each push was sturdier than the last and every spot he hit managed to make your breath hitch. Your hands and legs freed as the fluid perhaps melted but the last of your energy was being used by you to stay conscious. When he descended to kiss you once again and trailed kisses to your collarbone, your hands held onto him for support, his biceps providing anchor to you, made of pure muscle.

His teeth bruised your skin as he lightly bit your neck, reaching his end and releasing his load. The warmth that filled you made you let go, his orgasm encouraging another one from you.

Your eyes drooped, your body filled with exhaustion due to all the struggling as you curled in to your side and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to forget your abductor and the forceful, mind shattering ecstasy you felt. Your refused to think about the guilt and the uncertainty of your impending doom in the hands of this maniacal student of yours. You just wished for sleep, for some peace alone.

The wish of yours was not granted when you felt Peter slide behind you, his hand wrapping around your middle as if you were lover. You still gave into slumber, but not before feeling him peck your shoulder with a promise.

“This devotee of yours will worship you forever and always, Goddess.”

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 5 | feelings

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You finished Shouto’s support item on a Friday.

As soon as you’d wrapped the last wire in place, you’d stopped, staring down at your work table for a long moment. You considered whether any of this was a good idea, if you shouldn’t just wait it out until after graduation, if you should just stay quiet forever and never betray any of your thoughts to Shouto. The idea of going forward with your plan was overwhelming--after today you wouldn’t get to kiss him anymore, you might not even get to spend any time with him anymore.

You would miss this. But it had to happen.

You’d taken a steadying breath and fired off a message to Shouto: Meet me in the support studio? I have something to tell you.

He had texted back almost immediately, his message betraying his confusion but agreeing to meet nonetheless.

You didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive. He turned up outside the workroom in minutes, looking almost exactly as he had that day when he’d come to ask you for the favor, nervous and adorable. He was still dressed in the white shirt and dark slacks of the school uniform, and you tried to ignore the way it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, his impossibly narrow waist. Getting distracted wouldn’t help you right now.

“Shouto,” you smiled as he entered, trying to push down your nerves. “I finished your support item.”

A strange look of relief crossed his features and he came padding over to your worktop, glancing down curiously. You pushed what looked like almost exact dupes of his wrist guards forward.

“I already submitted the prototype of these for a grade, but I wanted you to have them before grades came back,” you said, then flipped the guards inside out to expose a thin metallic underside interspersed with criss crossing wires. “I made modifications to them. I told you that your quirk works the same way as an air conditioner, right?”

Shouto smirked. “How could I forget that conversation?”

You blushed. You’d maybe been a little excited. And you supposed it wasn’t every day that a man was informed that he was just a walking, talking heat pump.

“Okay, well it got me thinking that you could prevent frostbite and heat stroke after prolonged usage of your quirk, if you had the right equipment,” you said. “Like, air conditioners don’t freeze or heat over even if you leave them on for months at a time.”

Shouto looked interested, pressing a long finger to the underside of one of the guards, tracing over a wire. “How does it work?”

You smiled. “I basically built variations on evaporator and condenser coils into your wrist braces. The short version is that they take the thermal energy you pass them and transfer it outside your body so that you won’t feel the effects as much. So if you heat this one,” you pointed to the one on the left, “it will extract that energy and help keep you cool. The reverse is true for the other guard.”

Shouto picked them up, looking impressed. “So I can use my quirk for longer without feeling its effects?”

You nodded. “You exert too much thermal energy for them to be as effective as if they were built into an actual air conditioner, since no air conditioner that I know of deals with heat over twenty five hundred degrees fahrenheit. But I’d estimate that they give you maybe just under an hour of extra time using your power.”

A soft smile cut into Shouto’s mouth, his eyes glinting down at you. “These are amazing.”

You fought down another blush, your stomach churning. He looked so pleased, it seemed wrong to ruin the moment. But now was the time. Now that you’d passed these on to him, you needed to come clean.

“You’ll have to tell me how they do next time you practice at quirk training,” you said, trying for an even tone.

An eyebrow raised and he considered you curiously. “You don’t want to be there to see for yourself?”

You bit your lip. Okay, you could do this. “That, uh, depends on how comfortable you are. I...have something else I wanted to tell you as well.”

His gaze sharpened and he carefully lowered the wrist braces. “Tell me what?” His tone was higher than normal, the concern easily detectable. “Is something wrong?”

You took a deep breath and tipped your face up to him, focusing on that grey and blue gaze. Now, you had to do it now.

“I have feelings for you,” you said firmly.

For a shocked moment, the air around you went quiet. Shouto stood frozen, his face unreadable. “What?”

Your stomach sank as you regarded him. He looked blank, almost politely blank the way he had been when Himari confessed to him all those months ago. It had been funny to you, then, but now on the receiving end of such an indecipherable look, your world shifted on its axis. Your heartbeat picked up.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying not to let the misery you felt inject itself into your tone. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

A hand suddenly seized your wrist, and you jumped at how cold his fingers felt against your skin. Were you burning up in shame or was Shouto’s quirk going haywire?

“What are you talking about?” he asked. His eyes flicked over you wildly, like he was searching your face for some explanation.

You stared at your shoes, unable to look into his face anymore. “I know you wanted this to wrap up after graduation but I think we should end it sooner. I can’t pretend to date you when I actually like you so much. I want to be friends, after this, but I understand if it makes you uncomfortable that I feel this way.”

His hand went icy where he gripped you. “...Pretend to date me?”

A creeping feeling went up the back of your neck, and you forced your eyes up to his face. His expression startled you, a hard look that you had never seen before, something between anger and….was that confusion?

Why would he look at you like that? Unless…

A sick feeling settled over you. “Is that not….what this was?”

Shouto looked pained. “You think I’ve been pretending to like you, this whole time?”

A churning wave of bewilderment rushed over you with the violent force of a flash flood. Shouto….hadn’t been pretending? He hadn’t asked you out as a ruse? Had he come to the studio that day actually intending to ask you what he’d asked?

All his behavior, the flirting and the kissing, the dates he’d never needed to take you on, all of it suddenly snapped into place. And yet nothing felt like it was lining up. It couldn’t be that he had actually meant to date you for real. It couldn’t.

He stared down at you. “You think we’ve been pretending to date for months?”

You peeked up at him, heart beating in your throat. “You mean we haven’t?”

The temperature around you dropped. You stepped back from him a little, but Shouto’s hand tightened around your wrist, stopping you.

“What gave you that idea, exactly?” he said carefully, enunciating each word like it hurt him to choke them out.

“I thought...with Himari. You were trying to stop the confessions…” you said. “You were going to ask me something but then when she showed up...I thought…”

Something dark flashed through Shouto’s gaze. “What do you think I was going to ask you, then, before Himari showed up?”

“For a support item?” you guessed.

Shouto’s eyes closed. He looked like he’d just stubbed his toe and was trying not to swear. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

Your heartbeat picked up. Was he saying…?

“You mean, you meant to ask me out? You’ve actually liked me, this whole time?”

His eyes opened and he stared down at you in shock. “Do you think I just kiss anyone I don’t like?”

You froze. No, no you didn’t think he just kissed anyone. You’d wondered why he’d even started this whole scheme in the first place when he was so blunt and upfront about the things he liked, the things he would and would not do…

Sudden shame curled in your chest and you felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

Shouto had liked you the whole time, and he had been supremely obvious about it. And you’d ignored what had been in front of you like an olympic-level dumbfuck, taking home the gold medal in sheer stupidity.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you said miserably. “I just thought you wouldn’t--you couldn’t--it just doesn’t make sense.”

You tried to tug your arm back but he held tight.

“You thought we weren't--? But you never stopped me, any of those times I kissed you. Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked. “Why would you just let me--?”

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cried, throwing up your other hand. “I wanted you to kiss me, the whole time! Even if you didn’t want me, I wanted you. But then I felt like I was tricking you and it didn’t feel right! None of this makes sense but I wanted you so badly and now I’ve fucked everything up and I’m so stupid--”

With a sudden jerk, Shouto pulled you to him. Your mouth snapped shut as his arms went around you, and a hand at the back of your head pressed your face into his shoulder.

“I want you to listen,” he said quietly, firmly. You felt yourself release a shaky breath against his shoulder. “I don’t know how you got it in your head that I didn’t want you, but listen to me. I have liked you since the project we did together. I meant to ask you out, on Valentine’s Day. I’d had it in my head since the project wrapped up, that I wanted to know you more. So I came to ask you on a date. A real one.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “A real one,” you echoed. “You really meant to ask me out?”

You felt him nod. “I really did.”

“And you really liked me, this whole time?”

Another nod. “I really like you, still.”

“Are you angry with me?” you asked carefully.

Another nod, and Shouto pulled away from you. “I’m furious,” he admitted, but his fingers slid down your arm to twine with yours, the way they had the day he’d asked you out. “Not just with you, but with myself. For not figuring it out, that you felt this way. No wonder you never initiated things. I was beginning to think you weren’t...interested.”

You blushed. “I literally couldn’t be more interested.”

To your surprise, Shouto’s expression slowly shifted from frustrated to something smug. “Is that so?”

Your toes curled. “Yes. I thought it was obvious that my brain shuts off every time you touch me.”

Shouto looked interested. “Does it now?”

You looked up at him. “Stop talking like that.”

He smirked and suddenly, he was a step closer. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“What?” you asked.

“I think your brain might need shutting off right now. It sounds like you’ve been overthinking something simple for months.”

Something hot flashed through you, and it had nothing to do with his quirk.

Shouto pressed closer, smiling as if he’d guessed the effect he had on you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he was faster, silencing anything you might have said with a kiss. Predictably, your brain all but abandoned ship, and you were left with nothing but the base desire to get closer to him. Your arms went around his neck, pulling him nearer, and you felt him grin against your mouth.

“I think it’s time I prove to you once and for all how I actually feel about you,” Shouto said. He moved forward, walking you backwards until you felt your back bump into your work table. Hands went to your waist, hoisting you up onto the table, and the wrist braces you’d made him went clattering to the floor.

“Hey, I worked hard on those!” you managed, leaning forward as if to grab them but Shouto crowded into your space, taking your mouth again.

“I have full confidence in your abilities to repair them,” he said once he let you up for air. “You’re the smartest girl I know.”

The compliment warmed you, distracting you enough that it took a minute for you to register something brushing over your shirt. You realized dimly that Shouto was almost finished unbuttoning your uniform, and you blushed. You could feel the temperature difference in his hands and you shivered as his right one brushed over your bare skin.

“Going to finish what you started at quirk training?” you asked shakily. Long fingers brushed your shirt off at your shoulders.

“And more,” Shouto promised, following his fingers with his mouth, mapping a hot path over your collarbones and down, down.

You shuddered when his hands found their way beneath your bra as they had that night at quirk training, clever fingers pinching and rolling a nipple. Shouto silenced your startled moans with his mouth as he worked you over in his usual meticulous manner, learning very quickly what you liked and doing it over and over until it drove you crazy.

“Lock the door,” you finally gasped out when you couldn't stand it anymore, when you thought you might go crazy if you couldn't have more of him. “Lock the door or I will never live it down if someone walks in on what happens next.”

Shouto froze over you and there was an earsplitting crackling sound, almost like a whole wall of glass had shattered. You jumped, peering over his shoulder to find a huge wall of ice blocking the door--and covering most of the floor and the adjoining wall.

Shouto gave an embarrassed cough. “I...lost control for a second. That should work though.”

You laughed. “Seems like I’m not the only one who loses it a little bit.”

He smiled, and those talented fingers found their way beneath your skirt. You pulled him back into you for a kiss, sighing when he found what he was looking for. Then he spent a few minutes riling you up again, until all you could do was detach your mouth from his and complain.

“This is literally the best thing I have ever felt in my life, but I have spent months holding back because I thought you didn’t like me,” you said, finally getting a hand on his belt. “I need you to speed it up here because if you’re not inside me in the next minute, I’m going to die of frustration.”

Shouto's eyes widened and he jerked his hand back from you just in time for it to catch fire. You stared at him in shock, a laugh bubbling up in your mouth again. He looked embarrassed.

“Oh my god, we’ll talk about this later,” you announced, busying yourself with his belt again and helping him divest himself of his pants. “I can’t wait to tell everyone how literally hot for me my boyfriend is.”

He huffed a laugh, and that seemed to calm him enough to help put the flame out. Then he was moving back over you, finally, finally pressing into you where you’d wanted him for months. You let out an embarrassing noise and clung to him, unable to do anything but gasp and writhe underneath him as he set a steady pace.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think I was absolutely crazy for you,” he said, bearing you down to the table and emphasizing his point with a particularly hard thrust. “You were all that I could think of, after that project.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, incapable of doing anything but grasping him tighter and working your hips desperately against him.

He seemed to get the point, though, smirking and driving into you harder, until you couldn’t remember any words other than yes and Shouto and please. Then those clever fingers found your clit again and you couldn’t remember anything at all, coming apart into pieces around him.

Shouto followed you quickly, jerking into you with a series of short thrusts before collapsing over you, his weight pressing you into your work table. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, so unbearably sweet in contrast to what you’d just done, and you smiled.

“I’m gonna have to sanitize the fuck out of this table. My prayers are with the next student who gets assigned this thing.”

Shouto chuckled, a hand brushing through your hair. You could feel his heartbeat pounding steadily in his chest where it was pressed against yours, and the temperature in both sides of his body, so notably different and so easy to detect when he was pressed as close as he was.

“Maybe later,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow in question.

“After I’ve proved to you how I feel about you,” he clarified.

This left you with more questions. “You just did. I’m completely clear on that now.”

But Shouto just smiled that wry smile, a familiar glint entering his eye. “Oh, you think that’s all I feel about you?”

Something like a thrill went up your spine at the way he was looking at you. “....Is it not?”

Shouto moved off of you, kissing a path back down your chest. A hand gripped your leg, pulling it over one shoulder as he kissed his way even further.

“I have several months to make up for,” he said, and that was the last warning you had before he pounced. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[literaila]

racing the time

spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer gets hurt. he’s rushed to the hospital. reader is left all alone with her racing heart.

warning: blood mentions, me, (aka i wrote it), panic attack, angsty?

Heart racing. 

Running a million miles an hour. 

Running far away, far far away, so far away there was no feeling, there was nothing, there was just a racing heart. 

It was running up and down her body, in a repeat cycle. Going round and round. 

She wondered what it was racing. 

Her chest was burning, burning under the impact of how fast her heart was pounding, under the impact of the thing her heart was running from. 

She wondered again what it was. 

She wondered if it was the anxiety making its way up her throat, ready to escape into the world, escape, and be so far gone she wouldn't be able to feel it anymore. 

She wondered if it was the pressure on her lungs, the weight that was practically burying her underneath it. The weight that she felt was going to dig her into the ground. 

Her heart was racing. 

She wondered if anyone else could hear it, the beating of her heart, the constant thump threatening to break from her chest, from her throat, from her body, the thump that was doing nothing but reminding her of just how alive she was. 

Thump. 

She wondered if he was alive. 

She wondered if his heart was beating as fast as hers. 

She wondered if she would ever be able to feel his heart racing with her ever again. 

There was a part of her that didn't even know where she was. 

Th-thump. 

Still alive. 

Thump. 

Faster and faster. 

She looked around the waiting room, full of people with nervous faces, the smell of sweat in the air, the feeling of grief all around them. Each and every person looked about ready to give up, there were no smiles, no hints of anything positive. 

A quiet beeping could be heard all around the room. 

She wondered if everyone could hear it. 

Was he still alive? 

There was a hand on her shoulder, and several pairs of eyes on her, eyes watching her, trying to read her emotions, trying to read her body language. 

She felt like she was a million miles away from all of them, she felt like her heart had taken her, taken her somewhere far far away, somewhere where nothing existed except the thump of her heart and anxiety crawling up her throat. 

She felt like she wasn't even there. 

Maybe she was the one that wasn't alive. 

She didn't look around to notice the eyes on her, she didn't see any of her friends profiling her as every minute passed, she didn't talk to anyone, didn't try to stay positive and reassure them that he was strong, that he would be fine. 

Positivity wasn't a word that remained in her vocabulary. 

She was too far away to notice any of it, to notice anything but the thumping bursting from her body. 

She waited and waited, and she listened, listened to her quiet breathing, to the racing her of her heart, to the screams the screams of- 

The screams. 

The screams that were surrounding her. 

The screams she could hear on every side of her head, the screams that seemed to be everywhere, the screams that were not stopping, they wouldn't stop. 

She remembered where they came from. 

She could hear herself screaming. 

“Derek! You have to let me! You have to let me go-” 

She was screaming, she was being pulled back, pulled too far away from him, pulled close to Derek's chest. 

He was holding her back, and she was screaming at him, she was clawing at his arms, and running her hands over her neck, and trying to desperately stop the panic from crawling through her chest, she was trying to grab onto it, trying to get her grip on it, trying to get the panic to just stop. 

She just wanted it to stop. 

She was still screaming. 

“I have to go! I have to go with him- I can't” she gasped, gasped, and with one arm clawed at her friend who was just barely strong enough to keep her back, with the other arm she grabbed at her throat, still trying to grab the panic from her body. “I have to go with him, Derek! I have to- I can't! Derek!” 

She was breathing, and she was being held back and she felt like she was in a prison. 

She felt like she was a prisoner in her own body, a prisoner in the one place she’d always known how to retreat into, she felt like she was being held back by the bars of her feelings, by the flesh that was trapping the panic in her body. She wasn't breathing enough, and there was too much panic, and she couldn't breathe through it, and she was too stuck to do anything, too stuck to try to stop all of it, too stuck behind the bars that she desperately wanted to be gone, the bars that were holding her captive, she was too stuck to breathe. 

She gasped again. 

“Derek! No Derek!” She screamed at him, trying to look at his face, trying to get him to understand, trying to make him look in her eyes, trying to get the desperation through to him, trying to escape, escape her body, escape his arms. 

He was holding onto her, and walking backward, and trying to keep her hands from injuring him, and trying to keep his friend under control. 

He barely had any hold on her. 

“No! N- we can't-” she gasped in and out quickly digging her feet into the ground to get more leverage “we can't just leave him- we can't just-” she was still stuck, still being pulled back against her will. 

The panic was still ravaging her body. 

“Derek! Please!” She screamed, her throat burning sore, her eyes flashing from right to left, her voice was barely there, was just a scratch on a chalkboard, she could barely even yell now. 

She had to get out. 

“Please!” she begged, as she desperately grabbed onto her friend's arm, as she tried to hold onto something other than the panic, hold onto something other than the thing trying to claw through her chest. “Please! Derek, I have to- I have to go with him!” 

He was saying something, trying to get her to calm down, trying to get her to listen to him, to just calm down. 

But she was still locked up, still searching for the key, still stuck behind the bars, still trying to find the panic, still trying to get it out, just get it out of her, because she couldn't she couldn't do it anymore. She needed to get out, she needed to escape, she needed to go to just go. 

She felt like she was about to be buried alive. 

Buried down by the panic in her chest, by the screams coming from her mouth, by the monster keeping her hostage in her own body, by the panic that would stop- just wouldn't stop. 

And she was sobbing, she was trying to grab at her throat again, trying to get air to her lungs, trying to just leave. 

“Shh, pretty girl. He’s alright. He’s fine.” 

She just sobbed harder. 

She was screaming, just screaming. 

She wondered when she would stop, she tried to remember when she had stopped before. 

Thump. 

She wondered when he would come out. 

She wondered if his heart was beating as fast as hers. 

She couldn't imagine a world where it wasn't. A world where he wasn't sitting at his desk every day, running his fingers over the words he could read faster than she thought was possible, couldn't imagine a world without his addiction to sugar, couldn't imagine a world where he didn't have every answer to every question she asked. 

She couldn't imagine anything without him.

She couldn't imagine waking up in the morning without his arm wrapped around her, she couldn't imagine watching movies on her couch without his feet touching hers. She couldn't imagine any day where she wasn't constantly thinking about him, constantly offering her heart to him, constantly giving up all her worth just so he would smile for her. 

She couldn't imagine a world where she couldn't love him endlessly every day. 

She was thinking about all the things she still had to tell him, still had to give to him, thinking about all the things that she still needed to say, all of the things she had never said before. She was thinking of the stories she hadn't shared, the dinners they hadn't gone to, the family they hadn't created yet. 

She was thinking. 

She was trying to think.

Her heart was beating. 

Thump. Thump. 

She was trying to think, trying to remember a moment where she didn't have him, trying to remember a time where she was okay without him. 

Thump.

Trying to think of every moment she spent where she wasn't obsessing over his smiles, over his heart, over his limitless love. 

Thump.

She wasn't thinking hard enough, clearly wasn't thinking enough, she couldn't think, couldn't think of any moment she didn't want to share with him. 

She thought about being a kid, and then she thought about what Spencer would think about the antics she had gotten into as a little girl. She thought of her awkward phase that had lasted far longer than it was supposed to, she thought about him reassuring her that he thought she looked beautiful no matter what. 

There wasn't a single story she didn't want to share with him. There wasn't a single moment where he didn't own her heart. 

She couldn't believe in a world where he simply didn't exist. 

It wasn't possible. 

No. 

Thump. 

There was nothing without him. 

There was nothing, nothing but the sound of her heart, her heart racing against time, trying to win, trying to run over the anxiety that was pooled in the bottom of her stomach, her heart was running out of time, rather than running against it, time was overcoming everything, time was going to win. 

Her heart couldn't let time win, couldn't couldn't let it. 

Run. 

Thump. 

Faster. 

Thump.

Time. Time. Time. 

She was listening, waiting for anything for something to happen, waiting for her heart to go, waiting for the thumping to get louder and louder. 

It had been too long, it had been far too long. 

Time was going to win the race, the silence was proving that time was much faster than her heart, her heart which she had given up so long ago. She wasn't in control, and she wouldn't win- she couldn't win. 

Faster. 

Please. 

Thump. Thump. 

There was too much anticipation, there was too much time. 

There was never enough time. 

She was waiting, she was just waiting, she was letting her body submit to the fight, to the race of her heart. She was waiting, and there was nothing, nothing to exist except the time she was trying so desperately trying to stop. 

She just needed to stop it, just needed to keep going, just needed to run faster, just keep going- 

And then it all stopped. 

The silence was over, the panic she had found millions of miles away, the screams in her ear banging on her head, the running of her heart, the thump the thump the thump. 

It all stopped. 

There was a hand on her shoulder. 

Her heart was halted. 

“Y/N Reid?” Someone asked. 

And she looked up, she looked up to see a man, to see a man she didn't recognize, a man she had never seen before, and she was staring at him, she was just staring. 

She wanted her heart to start again. 

Thump. 

“I’m Dr. Murphy. I’m Spencer's doctor.” 

Just his name, just his name, just the hand on her shoulder, the eyes on her face, the millions of nerves in her chest bursting away from her, the hand on her shoulder, his name his name. 

Just that made her heart bolt awake.

Th-thump. 

She nodded, she nodded and she was still staring at the man in front of her, the man whose expression she couldn't read. 

She wanted to know what was wrong, she couldn't tell if he looked pitiful, if he looked like he was about to erase her world, she couldn't tell what he was about to say, she had forgotten everything she knew about human nature and body language, and she couldn't read him, she couldn't read anything about him. 

She needed to know what had happened, she needed to remember how to feel things. 

Thump. 

“He’s in the ICU.”

Thump.

Intensive Care Unit. 

Thump. 

Go faster. 

“He's in critical condition.” 

Thump. 

Faster. 

“His body suffered a major amount of blood loss and extensive surgery.” 

Blood. 

Thump. 

Just, 

Go, 

Faster. 

“We’re lucky he's alive.” 

Alive. 

Alive. 

“But he's a fighter.” 

Thump. 

The relief was palpable in the room. Y/N could feel hands on her shoulders, smiles filling everyone's faces, she could feel the sighs and the tears, she could feel all of their friends excited.

But all she could feel was her heart, her heart racing, still racing against the time that she had left, the time that was still there, still going faster, going too fast, her heart was still racing. 

Thump. 

The anxiety was still there, the anxiety she had felt crawling up her throat, pooling in her stomach, squeezing her from the inside out. She still needed more, she needed something more, she needed she needed 

“There's no telling when he’ll wake up, but I can take one of you to see him.” 

Thump. 

At that she looked around, looked at all her friend's hopeful faces, all of their friend's hopeful faces, she looked around and she felt her heart speed up with the hope, and she looked at them and she hoped they saw the pleading in her eyes, the anxiety in her heart, she hoped they saw the desperation she felt so close to bursting out of her. 

And they nodded. 

Thump. 

The doctor gestured for her to follow him. 

And they walked, he was too far away. 

The doctor was talking to her, updating her on what had happened inside surgery, telling her how he would feel, how much pain he might be in, how he would need someone to rely on. The doctor explained everything that was happening. 

But Y/N was more focused on the feel of her heart. On the finish line that seemed still so far away, she was wondering how much it would take, how much further her heart would have to go before it could be done, before she could be done, before the sound of her nerves would stop rattling in her ears, would stop blocking out the sound of everything else, of everything else- 

And.

Thump. 

There was the door. 

“I’ll let you go in.” the doctor said, and Y/N could finally read him, could finally see the promising look in his eyes, could see the relief flowing through his body, could see how happy he was to tell her the good news. 

She couldn't focus on that. 

Thump. 

She had to focus on him. 

On Spencer. 

Thump.

The first thing she noticed was the beeping, the beeping she recognized from earlier in the weighting room, the beeping that she had so obliviously wondered if it was just in her head. 

The next thing she noticed was his heart rate. 

His heart was racing. 

Just like hers. 

Thump. 

She noticed the cuts on his face, the bruise covering his eye, she noticed the bandage around his throat, the defensive nature of his body. 

Her heart was tripping, collapsing at the sight of him. 

How had he gotten so hurt? 

How had she not gotten there sooner?

She let her eyes scan him again, scan him over looking for anything else she might have missed, she let her eyes scan over him, let her heart mourn the injuries, let her heart fall to pieces inside of her at the pain she imagined he was feeling, she scanned her eyes over him and she was met with two brown globes staring back at her, his eyelashes fluttering only slightly.

She was met with her whole world looking back at her. 

She felt her heart start repairing itself with just one look, felt it speed up again, felt the 

Thump-thump 

Of its beats. 

“Spencer.” She finally said, trying to be quiet, trying to not sob at the sight of him, trying not to let her body panic again, trying to hold herself together with her arms. 

She walked over to him quickly, and her hands moved on their own accord, quickly trying to grab onto him before she remembered what had happened. 

He had gotten shot, she shouldn't be touching him. 

She tried to move back, tried to keep her hands just slightly away from him, tried to calm the ever racing beat of her heart 

Thump. 

She tried but he was too quick. His reflexes were adapted to her, just like hers were to him. 

And he grabbed her hand. Grabbed it and in a moment, helped her whole body relax. 

“I was worried I was never going to see you again,” she said, quickly, the words moving out of her mouth without her permission. 

Spencer smiled at her. 

“I don't know everything about you yet.” he said, slowly, his throat seemingly dry, “I can't leave until I do.”

And he held on to her hand. 

She listened to the beeping of the machine, listened to the rate of his heart. 

Thump-thump. 

His heart that was familiarly matched up with hers. 

She grabbed his face in her hands, careful of the IV coming out of his arm, careful of the cuts that marked his face. 

She grabbed his face in her hands and she kissed him. 

She kissed her world. 

And she gave him her heart once again, handed off the racing, and the freshly glued together pieces, the blood that flowed through her veins screaming his name, and the love she felt for him at every moment, she gave it all to him. 

She offered her entire being to him once again.

She listened to his heartbeat, she looked into his eyes, and listened to both of their hearts, beating, together. 

Thump-thump.

She felt him grab on to her love, felt his heart working with hers to get to the end, felt the time slow down as they stared at each other, felt their souls intertwine as they always did when they were together.

Felt the thumping that was just for him.

He owned her heart through and through. 

Thump.

“I love you.”

Thump.

She saw the finish line in his eyes. 

My masterlist here.

[allthingskakashi]

Hi! Coul a request a scenario that involves Sukea please? Like the reader has a crush on Kakashi and he finds out because her friends tease her in front of sukea and then Kakashi asks her on a date idk if I’m making a point, or can just do anything you wish that involves him pleasee? Thank you ♥️

Okay first of all, that's a really innovative idea!! I loved it. Secondly, I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this but ahh well here it is now and i really hope you like it ❤️

• Serendipity •

[Kakashi x Reader] || 3k words

a/n : ugh tbh I've been running a little low on creativity lately which is why i hadn't posted anything for like a week but i also didn't wanna go without writing anything so well... I tried. 😩

You sit in the small dumpling restaurant with your friends Kurenai and Anko. Beyond you, the falling dusk envelopes your village in mystical hues of blue and red. It’s Friday, which means the weekend has rolled in after a long and tiresome week. The thought of being off duty for the next two days lifts your spirits, and you look forward to spending the time relaxing at home in your own company.

The evening is busy, streets bustling, vibrant with the hustle of villagers; some heading for a night out with friends, some returning home to spend time with family, some getting ready to go out on a date, everyone looking like they have somewhere to be, something to do.

You sigh, shoving a dumpling in your mouth.

“Why the long face?”, Anko asks between chomps.

“It’s nothing” you shrug, your tone failing to fool anyone.

There’s a soft creak as the gate to the shop opens behind you, a small gust of air whooshing in from outside. The merry chatter in the room comes to a sudden halt, to be replaced by sounds of hushed murmurs and whispers. You glance at the group of women sitting in the table ahead of you, staring at something with mouths open wide in awe. Ahead of you, Anko’s eyebrows are furrowed, a curious smile touching the corner of her lip.

You turn behind, wanting to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that has managed to elicit such a response from the entire room.

Your eyes fall upon a handsome young man, who has just now walked into the restaurant and taken a seat behind you. You feel your heart skip a beat. He’s easily one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. A mop of thick brown hair adorns his head, a tint of purple on his eyelids and stripes of the same colour running across both cheeks. His face is sharp with an angled jawline and he has on a long trench coat with a scarf around his neck. He’s also holding a camera, you notice.

Probably an outsider.

A waitress walks over to him, standing by him and twirling a curl of hair, visibly enchanted by his charms.

Someone thumps the front of your table, startling you. “Jeez y/n, get a grip!” Anko’s voice brings your attention back to your friends as you finally tear your eyes away from the mysterious man in the table behind you.

“What? I wasn’t checking him out” you sputter, unnerved.

“We didn’t say you were”, Kurenai chimes in.

You feel your face getting hot as red tinges your cheeks and you look away, avoiding your friends’ eyes.

“Hey, why don’t you go talk to him? Maybe ask him out?” Kurenai says, her eyes lighting up.

You open your mouth to say something, but Anko cuts in.

“Because she’d rather sit around pining for Kakashi and doodling his name on her diary. How long has it been now? 7 years?”

Kurenai giggles, but puts a comforting arm around your shoulder.

“Alright now, go easy on her”, she says kindly. “But she’s got a point y/n. You and Kakashi have known each other for a long time. You’ve kept your feelings to yourself for years now, I really think it’s time you go out and do something about it. Who knows, maybe he feels the same way about you. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

You let out another sigh and look at your lap. “I just don’t think it’s the right time yet.”

But that was a lie. You’d had feelings for Kakashi ever since you were a teenager. You had always been friends, but you wanted more. You loved being in his company and you had a lot of mutual respect and admiration for each other. But you could never bring yourself to just say the words to Kakashi. There were times when you almost blurted it out, and times when you felt like maybe he felt the same way about you too… but they may have been delusions, for all you knew. You didn’t know anything for certain. And that’s what stopped you from gathering up the courage to say it to him. You told yourself and your friends who knew that you would someday, when the time is right, but it was all a big fat lie. You were scared, and that was the truth, as much as you hated to admit it.

You watch Anko roll her eyes as Kurenai exhales, tilting her head.

“Y/n…It’ll never be the right time. Just do it. You’ve taken down S-rank criminals, you can handle this. Trust me, even the copy ninja can’t resist THAT” Kurenai cheers, grazing her eyes up and down over you with a suggestive smile, her voice encouraging. You chuckle, waving your hand dismissively in embarrassment.

“Look”, Anko interjects in her matter-of-fact voice. “Kakashi’s a wuss. If you wanna get it on with him, you gotta make the move. He’s even worse than you so pussy up and ask him. If I have to hear another of your lovelorn sighs one more time, I’ll go tell him myself.” She says, shoving her last dumpling in her mouth and gulping down a glass of water.

You’d been friends with Anko long enough to know not to put it past her. Besides, they were right. It HAD been very long. Perhaps you really did need to pussy up.

Ughhhhh. Why couldn’t this be easier?

“Anyway, I’m gonna go hit the bar. Any of you suckers wanna join me?” Anko asks, getting up from her chair.

“I can’t. I invited my team over for dinner tonight so I’ll get going.”, Kurenai says, collecting her purse and getting ready to leave as well.

“It’s okay, you guys go. I’ve got some things to do” you say, waving them off.

You watch your friends go out the exit and disappear along the curve of the street. Truth is, you kind of want to be alone, maybe take a walk around the village, gather your thoughts. This conversation with your friends today stirred something in you and you need time to think. You’d let things go on as they were for very long now, but it was time you took matters in your own hands.

Putting the bill down on the table, you head towards the door. Your eyes fall where the man was sitting but the seat is empty now, and you catch him ahead of you, just a few steps away, also heading towards the door. You stand close behind him, clutching your purse to your rib as he opens the door. His elbow juts out, knocking the bag out of your hand as it falls to the ground.

For a quick second you think it’s a thief and you’re almost about to strike a blow but the man crouches down quickly with an “I’m so sorry”, picking your purse up and holding it out to you.

Up close this way, you can see his eyes. There’s something familiar about them but you can’t put your finger on what it is. “Thanks” you mutter, taking the purse from him, your mind still trying to comprehend why this man you’ve never seen before feels so familiar.

“Are you a tourist? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before”, you ask, concealing the suspicion in your tone.

Your village is a small one and almost every face is familiar. Having a visitor in the village is quite unheard of and your instincts tell you that something feels off.

He clears his throat before answering. “Hi, I’m Sukea. I’m a reporter from the Land of Fire. I’m here to conduct research for an article” the man replies, almost in an automated tone but with a smile that immediately softens his features. He’s got a mole under his bottom lip, you notice.

Gosh, that’s a pretty face.

Before you have the chance to say anything else or ask more questions, he mumbles that he’s getting late for something and turns away, hurrying down the street.

You stand there, watching him go.

Weird.

But you’ve got other things to think about now, decisions to make, so you shake the thoughts of this mystery man off your head, although you can’t help mulling over why he felt so eerily familiar.

You walk down your usual route in the quieter part of the village. Walks always somehow help you clear your mind.  The air has cooled down now and there’s a slight chill in the air. A sweet smell of flowers wafts through. You lose track of time walking around the entire village, over the cliff, through the forests, by the stream which shimmers under the moonlight.

It’s almost ten by the time you reach home and the walk makes your calves ache. Probably wasn’t such a good idea to go on such a long walk after injuring yourself on your last mission.

You freshen up and throw yourself down on your bed, glad for the two days of rest that awaits you.

Pulling the blanket over your head, you turn to your side and close your eyes. Kakashi’s face appears almost instantly, the images playing a montage in your head.

His smile that makes buds bloom into flowers… his laughter so pure like a young boy’s…his silver hair which sparkles in the sun, making you want to run your fingers through it… the warmth of his voice when he talks to you-- and suddenly something goes off in your brain. Like a flame igniting. Or rather, a long burning flame finally receiving emancipation. There’s a jolt through your veins and you think—Tomorrow. I’ll tell him tomorrow.

And before you have time to process the sudden thought, languor takes over your body, lulling you to sleep.

You’re up early the next morning, the jolt from last night still coursing through your veins. You’re feeling pretty confident, more than you ever have. Today’s the day you tell him.

But first, you have to head over to the Missions Desk to submit your report. You bash yourself for putting it off till now.

The day outside is beautiful, white cotton clouds floating aimlessly across the azure sky. A pleasant breeze tickles your skin in soft whispers.

You reach the main office and submit your file. The room is empty, except for the people working behind the desks. The man in front of you takes your file, checking the date of your mission and you’re sure you can see a look of judgement flash across his eyes.

You almost feel a little guilty.

“You know, all the other jounins have submitted their reports already” he mutters, not looking up from your file.

“Well actually…”

There’s a voice behind you, and you turn around at the sheepish tone of the familiar voice. Your heart instantly paces up. Kakashi. There’s a file in his hand too. You can’t help the smile that escapes.

You look at him as he comes forward, handing his file over. The man shoots him a similar glance and shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. You can tell that this must not be the first time. Kakashi smiles sweetly at him, before turning away and looking at you.

“Y/n! Didn’t think I’d run into you here…”

Your blood pounds in your ears as you recall the resolve you made to yourself last night. You’d promised yourself you’d tell him today but right now, in this way? You weren’t ready for this. You hadn’t prepared what you were gonna say, or how you’d say it. A hundred thoughts run through your head.

Hell with my resolve. This really isn’t the right time. I can’t do this.

But on the other hand…

Your brain goes at odds with your heart as you realise you haven’t answered Kakashi yet.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice concerned.

You straighten up, composing yourself.

“Oh hey yeah, I’m fine! I’m great. What’re you upto?”

“Just got a few things I need to do”, he shrugs, walking beside you as the two of you come out of the office into the main corridor of the Hokage Mansion.

“Right. Got any missions this weekend?” you ask, stalling to give yourself time to think clearly.

“Nope. You?”

“No. You?”

“You already asked me”, he chuckles. “So uh. Where are you headed?”

Ugh. This is a disaster.

“Just the market. I… I need to buy fish for dinner”

You feel your palms getting clammy as the air starts to feels too tight. You look at Kakashi out of the corner of your eye and you notice.

He looks nervous too. He’s fidgeting with his hands and there’s something strange about him.

“Well…uh” he stutters, rubbing his neck with his hand before looking at you. “maybe you don’t.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and face scrunched up in confusion. You’re outside the tower now, standing on the street.

“I…don’t?”

He scratches the back of his head.

“Uh…I mean…I’ve got fish.”, he stammers. There’s a very visible tint of red on his cheeks.

You’re utterly wrapped in confusion by now, and you wonder why he’s acting so strange. Unsure of where he’s getting with that, you say, “Um…That’s nice. Where do you buy fish from? I’ve heard the market by the Temple is good for seafood. I haven’t had the chance to try it out myself though.”

Mother Earth please swallow me whole.

Kakashi lets out a nervous laugh, still fidgeting around with his hands and looking everywhere but directly at you.

“Y/n what I’m saying is…maybe you don’t need to buy fish for dinner because” he looks at you from under his shaggy bangs,which fall over his eyes in the absence of his headband. The tint of his cheeks deepens. “well, because I was thinking maybe you could come over…and I could…cook dinner for the both of us...? Or um go out, whatever you’d like” he says, immediately looking away.

You’d never thought it was possible for the calm and cocky Kakashi Hatake to look this nervous. It’s quite a sight. You might have laughed at it if you weren’t just as nervous yourself.

“Like on a date?” you ask, shock evident in your tone. Your heart is battering in your chest.

This is a very, very surprising turn of events.

“Well…yes”, he breathes, barely meeting your eyes now.

You can hear your heart in your ears. And suddenly, it feels like spring has bloomed inside your heart. Not just your heart but everywhere around you. Like you’ve been transported to a meadow and there’s only flowers and rainbows and butterflies all around.

A breeze passes through, sending a few petals from nearby trees floating along the street. Strands of your hair blow into your eyes.

You sweep them away, looking up at him to see him looking at you, his eyes hopeful, waiting.

You meet his gaze with your burning eyes and smile, tucking another loose strand behind your ear.

“I’d love that” you say before looking down, your tone barely containing the ecstasy you feel within. You feel the chirp of a thousand birds singing inside your heart.

His eyes light up, mouth forming into a grin as you see the muscles on his face relaxing visibly.

Kakashi’s eyes crinkle from the smile and he says, “Well then…I’ll see you for dinner.”

He starts walking away, before turning back and calling out “Oh and yes, I do buy my fish from the market by the temple.”

And with that, he turns away grinning, disappearing with a whoosh, leaving you to stand there, still in shock and gaping after him; wondering which stars had aligned, what forces in the universe had conjoined and what twist of fate had occurred, turning your life around, making you the happiest woman in the world, in the span of just one day.

                                 *     *     *

Aaand a lil bonus addition :-

It’d been around two months that you and the silver haired jounin of the Leaf had been together. Almost everyone in the village knew by now and it had been two months of pure unadulterated bliss. You fit so well together, it felt as if you’d never been apart.

Today was just another lazy afternoon, with you and Kakashi in bed, entangled in each other’s arms, neither one of you wanting to leave your little heaven on earth.

You intertwine your fingers with Kakashi’s, backing into him so you’re pressed against the warmth of his body.

“Hey, Kakashi?” you whisper.

“Hm?” he replies, sleep mangling his voice.

“I’ve always wondered. Why did you ask me out that day? You told me you’d liked me for a long time too. So… why not before? Why that day?”

He chuckles softly into your hair, pulling you closer with his arm.

“Well” he says, almost in a whisper. “I thought it was time I stopped being a wuss.”

“Huh?”

“It had been a really long time and… I thought it was time to, how do I put this, pussy up.” he says into your neck, his voice calm, but with just a tinge of amusement.

WAIT A MINUTE-

You jerk up on the bed, freeing yourself of his grip and turning to face him.

A subtle smile plays across his lips but his face is tranquil, giving nothing away.

Panic rises in you and you shake his arm vigorously. “KAKASHI! HOW-HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?”

He doesn’t stir, eyes closed tight, pretending to be sleeping.

“KAKASHI TELL ME RIGHT NOW” you continue shaking him, but it’s in vain, the man doesn’t stir.

You sigh, replaying the day from two months ago in your head, ravaging your brain for any possible hint. And just like that, it dawns upon you.

“Oh my god—That was you.” You blurt, everything suddenly clicking into place in your head. You feel like a fool for not realising sooner.

He remains unmoving, eyes closed shut. But you don’t miss the slight wrinkle of his mask as his lips upturn into a grin beneath it.

“That was you, wasn’t it??? It was! You sneaky little bastard!” you shriek, jabbing at his arm with a few pokes, but it does nothing.

“Kakashi!”

“Ssshh, I’m sleeping” he whispers in fake slumber, a smile grazing his mouth as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you back into the bed with him.

“Did you really just shush m- “ you begin in protest, but your sentence remains unfinished as he presses his mouth onto yours, catching your lips in a kiss and shutting you up before you can say more.

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 4- taken hostage/pushed

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: blood & injury, torture (implied?)

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404/chapters/85114393

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

Fedyor clung to the roof with all his might; and yet he knew there was no meaning in any of it. No matter how hard he tried, he’d eventually fall. To the shadows that awaited below, to his death.

‘You should have known it would end like that.’ The nichevo’ya that held him over the edge by the collar of his torn and bloodied kefta spoke with the voice of a man he once knew. The voice of a man he once trusted, he once followed, he once believed could save Ravka and the Grisha.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

The creature pushed him further from the roof until his fingers lost what little purchase they had on the jagged, broken stones. The ground loomed below him, dark and swirling with darkness and death. The gaping wound on his shoulder, where the nichevo’ya’s claws had pierced and torn his skin, throbbed with a burning, merciless kind of pain.

‘But I have use of you yet.’ The creature drawled in a manner that was terrifyingly expressive for the whirling mass of shadow and hatred that it was. ‘You will not yet be killed, Fedyor Kaminsky. But you will suffer for your betrayal.’

The creature’s grip loosened before Fedyor had even registered the words; and then he was falling, the air rushing around him, the stars glaring down at him as he glimpsed them between plumes of smoke and shadowy wings. He heard a Grisha scream, he heard Alina’s voice barking orders, he heard Zoya ordering a retreat. He heard his own heart, thumping loudly against his ears.

Then his body hit the ground, and the world exploded in a flash of pain and darkness.

-

His own scream woke him up.

Fedyor’s eyes snapped open, his chest rising and falling erratically as he breathed in deep gulps of oxygen. He was drowning, he was suffocating in the darkness- but the worst was the pain. Oh Saints, how everything hurt. Everything -his legs, arms, his back- felt broken, his wounds raw and bleeding and burning. He cried out again, his body instinctively straining against the agony- but he was met with resistance, thick coils of rope digging into his skin and causing a million explosions of fire across his ravaged body. He fell still in a desperate effort to minimise the pain, and focused on the pattern the red, white and black tiles formed at the ceiling above him. He forced himself to count the black ones; one, two, three…

Belatedly, Fedyor recognised a familiarity in the pattern; he soon realised the room he was being held in, was none other than the infirmary wing of the Little Palace. But- that couldn’t be. They’d been running away from Kirigan. They’d been fighting, knowing that the battle had been lost-

‘But I have use of you yet. You will not yet be killed, Fedyor Kaminsky.’

Kirigan’s words, delivered to him through one of his shadow soldiers, rang through Fedyor’s mind. So, then, this was his punishment. To be taken away from his allies, his friends, to suffer at the hands of the enemy, and finally, to be killed as an example of what happened to all those who dared oppose the mighty Black General. Well, then, so be it. He was ready to die for what he believed in; he had been ready to die for what he believed in, from the moment he first joined the Second Army. Such was the life of a Grisha- none of them lived long enough. Their best hope was for their death to mean something. And if Fedyor’s could buy the Resistance some time to regroup, he would die happy. He would die knowing he had helped save Ravka and the Grisha.

But oh- why , why did it have to hurt so much? Was it too much to ask, that he would just be allowed a painless death? He had never been scared of death (not his own, anyway; he had been afraid for others) but pain- he feared it. It wasn’t something he could see or even fight. It wasn’t an enemy facing down at him. It was something within him, something that he could not retaliate against, something he could not protect himself and others from. It made him feel trapped, caged, the walls of the room pressing in, his body shivering against the rope that held him tied down to the cot, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t even move his hand to wipe them off.

An image flashed in his addled mind; Ivan, sitting next to him in this same infirmary, if not in this very bed. He recalled how Ivan had held his hand while he was recovering from a particularly serious injury. How he had whispered words of comfort, how he’d used his powers to ease Fedyor’s pain and slow his heartbeat, lulling him into sleep, where nothing more could hurt him. Where was his Vanya now? Was he even alive? It had been so long since Alina’s spies had heard word of his whereabouts. Had he even been present during the attack at the Little Palace? Did he know Fedyor was there, suffering, silently begging for his presence? Would he care? Would he try to stop Kirigan from torturing him further? Did Fedyor even mean anything to him, at this point?

He did not know. He didn’t even know if he wanted to learn the answer to all these questions. All he knew was that he was tired, that it hurt, that he just wanted to sleep. Forever, if possible.

For all his anguish, the Saints must have decided to show kindness just this once. Slowly, Fedyor’s strength abandoned him. His eyelids drooped and darkness closed in, reclaiming him once again.

He submitted willingly to it, and prayed to never again wake up.

-

Darkness. Pain. Screaming. He didn’t know where he was.

A familiar heartbeat amongst the shadows. A voice so familiar, so treasured.

Someone yelling. The unmistakable sound of bodies thudding to the floor.

And then darkness again, a reprieve. Relief. The pain seemed to stop.

The darkness beckoned, and he followed.

-

When he next woke up, it felt as if he had been asleep for an eternity. His throat was parched, his joints so stiff he felt as if he’d been trapped in ice. Memories and fragments of dreams or nightmares mixed within his mind, to the point where he didn’t know what was real, and what had only been a figment of his imagination.

“Fedya?”

Oh- that was real. Or at least, Fedyor prayed it was. Because…

“V-Vanya…?” he croaked, wincing at the scraping sound of his voice. Saints, what wouldn’t he give for even a single sip of water. He forced his tired eyes to open, only so he could confirm for himself that this was real, this was not a dream, and Ivan was really there.

As a matter of fact, Ivan was there, in all his gruff, grumpy glory. But he was rumpled in a way Fedyor had never seen before; he was unshaven, rough beard covering his sharp, angular features. There were dark circles under his hazel eyes, that now seemed to have sunk into his skull, and a fresh scar ran across the right side of his face, from his forehead to the tip of his jaw. His clothes were tattered, and, perhaps the thing most shocking to Fedyor, he was no longer wearing his kefta. As soon as Fedyor’s eyes had focused enough, he realised Ivan’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“Fedya- oh, thank the Saints. Thank the Saints.”

His large, calloused hand rested on the side of Fedyor’s face, and he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry.” Ivan whispered, his voice breaking at the end. Fedyor was positive he had never seen him so distressed before. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

“Vanya- what?” Fedyor still felt disoriented, as if he’d been stuck inside a jar of honey and was just now beginning to resurface, the world still sticky and muddled around him. He didn’t know what was happening, where he was, he could barely remember the last time he’d woken up…

…ah. Right, the battle at the Little Palace. Falling. Pain. Kirigan. Darkness, despair. Crying out for Ivan as pain consumed his every fibre.

Ivan drew back after a few moments and swiped furiously at his eyes, erasing every trace of the tears that had been there only seconds earlier. But his clear hazel eyes were still heavy with sorrow and guilt. He settled next to Fedyor on what the latter realised was a cot, but his hand found his partner’s and laced their fingers together.

“I… I imagine you have a lot of questions.” Ivan said after a short, tense silence. When Fedyor nodded, he let out a tired, regretful side. “Let me start by saying I don’t expect you to forgive me. I will not ask you for it. But I want you to know the truth. And the truth is I had no idea what Kirigan was planning to do. He promised he wouldn’t kill you, but I- I was stupid. I didn’t realise what he had in mind. That he would keep you alive, but he’d make you suffer at his hands. It was only after I saw how many Grisha he killed that I truly realised why you had turned away. You were right, Fedyor. You were right as always. I followed a monster. And you, and so many of our friends, paid the price.”

Ivan’s gaze slid away, as if he were unable to look Fedyor in the eye. Fedyor was seized with the sudden desire to grab Ivan by the chin and turn his head towards him. To make him look. Not because of some stupid, petty kind of “I-told-you-so” moment of vindication. But because he could hardly believe Ivan was there, with him. That they were safe and that they were together. That they were both alive. Still, he could detect the turmoil his lover was going through; so he waited, unwilling to force Ivan into something he was not yet ready for. After a few heartbeats, Ivan continued his narration.

“He told me he had a gift for me. I… I was confused. I didn’t know what he meant. He talked about you like you were an object, Fedya. I only started to realise what he meant when he led me towards the infirmary. Saints, my love, I’ve never been as scared as when I saw you tied down on that bed. When I saw just how hurt you were, that your wounds had been left untreated… Kirigan said it was what you deserved for betraying him. But he assured me that he would keep you alive. He planned to use you as a bargaining chip against Alina, so he didn’t plan on killing you. Not yet. He said I could do with you anything I wanted, other than heal you. I could stay with you, but I was not allowed to help you. I wasn’t allowed to use my powers on you, or heal or bring you painkillers, or anything. I couldn’t bear it, Fedyor. I had- I had to get you out. So that’s what I did. I stole a horse, and I killed as many of Kirigan’s oprichniki as I could. I took you, and I ran away. It was all I could think about. We had nowhere else to go… but he cannot seek us here. He holds no power over us so long as we remain beyond the borders.”

Beyond the borders… that had never stopped Kirigan before. Unless-

Cold fear slithered down Fedyor’s spine, paralysing his limbs. “V-Vanya… where… where are we…?”

He watched Ivan’s throat bob as the other man swallowed. His eyes still didn’t meet Fedyor’s.

“We… I took us to Fjerda. To the village where I was born.” He whispered, voice so broken and quiet that for a moment, Fedyor neglected the fact they were in fucking Fjerda.

“Ivan-“ his voice shook, his heart kicking violently against his chest. “Ivan, if anyone finds out what we are, they will burn us alive-“

“You think I don’t know that?” Ivan removed his hand from Fedyor’s, only so he could hide his face in both of his. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But I would rather put a bullet at both our heads if a group of druskelle finds us, than let Kirigan anywhere near you again. I would rather I was burned at the stake over and over and over, for all eternity, if it meant you’d be safe from him.”

His voice was raw and breaking with emotion, and Fedyor realised he was close to tears again. His Vanya, who never cried. It grounded him enough to put aside the raging terror that had sprang inside of him at the mention of their location, at least temporarily.

“Vanyusha… I do not blame you-“

“Well, you should.”

“Sush!” Fedyor mustered his most threatening glare, although he was aware the effect was diminished by the fact he was lying in a broken cot, swaddled in a nest of Fjerdan-style woven blankets. “Listen. You didn’t throw me off the roof. You didn’t control the nichevo’ya that nearly tore me apart. And as soon as you found out, you didn’t let Kirigan torture me any further. You saved me, Ivan.”

“After I put you in danger, in the first place.” Ivan muttered dejectedly, and Fedyor groaned.

“Do you think the attack wouldn’t have happened if you had sided with Alina instead? You think Kirigan would stop his entire warmongering plan just because of you? Ivan, you’re important to him, but you’re not that important.”

Ivan snorted quietly, and it sounded a bit like a bitter laugh. “Can’t argue with that. But…”

“No ‘buts’.” Fedyor carefully untangled himself from the blankets and sat up, wincing at the stiffness of his body and the lingering pain of his wounds. However, it was nowhere near comparable to what he remembered from the last time he woke up. He could grit his teeth through it. “Ivan- you might not be important to Kirigan, but you are to me. You’re the most important person in my life. I would never, ever hate you. Not since you came back to me.”

He reached out and took one of Ivan’s hands, pressing his own palm against Ivan’s. Ivan’s eyes slowly slid down to look at their hands, and something in his expression softened, his straining heartbeat uncoiling into a smoother, calmer pace.

“I know I said earlier that I wouldn’t ask you to forgive me, but…” his lips twitched into a bitter smile. “Will it be too much if I ask for it, after all?”

Fedyor’s face broke into a beaming grin at the words. He cupped Ivan’s hands with both his own and squeezed gently.

“All is forgiven, Vanya.” He said softly. Ivan finally got up from the floor, and perched next to Fedyor on the narrow cot. Slowly, he wrapped both arms around the other Grisha and pulled him close- and Fedyor could swear that he melted in relief, as he clung to Ivan’s solid warmth, praying to never have to let go of again. How he’d missed this; the safety, the undisturbed knowing that flowed between them, their synching heartbeats. Nothing else mattered; it didn’t matter that they were in Fjerda; it didn’t matter that he was still in a considerable amount of paint. It didn’t matter they would have to run, at least until Kirigan was defeated. It didn’t matter that they were at war.

“Ya lubyuu tebya.” Fedyor murmured in Old Ravkan, his voice breaking with longing and affection. ‘I love you.’ He wanted to say the words to Ivan over and over again, until there was nothing in the world but their beating hearts, their love, their hushed breaths and stolen kisses.

“And I, you.” Ivan answered reassuringly, one hand tangling itself between Fedyor’s tussled hair and caressing his head. Fedyor melted into the affections, closing his eyes and leaning against Ivan. They stayed like that for a moment, lost within the most peaceful kind of quiet Fedyor had ever known. Then, Ivan withdrew slowly. Fedyor whined, already missing his warmth, but the other Grisha shook his head sternly.

“You need to lie down.” He said matter-of-factly. “I’ve healed whatever I could of your wounds, but your body is still weak. You need to rest, and I’m going to have to keep an eye on that nichevo’ya wound on your shoulder. Your fever only broke yesterday.”

Fedyor sighed; he couldn’t exactly argue with that. He felt weak, his body shaking from the effort of simply sitting up. Slowly, he eased himself back against the mattress and let Ivan wrap him up in Saints knew how many quilts again. At least the previous occupants of this house had been considerate enough to leave a bunch of those behind.

Ivan moved away for a few minutes, then returned with a wooden cup in one hand. It was filled with some kind of a fragrant herbal beverage.

“Here, drink.” He said. He slid one hand under Fedyor’s head and lifted it slowly, putting the brim of the cup against his lover’s cracked, dry lips so he could drink. Fedyor all but groaned with gratitude as he felt the cold liquid wash down his parched throat. He gulped another generous sip, before Ivan pulled away.

“Not too fast, or you’ll get sick.” He warned, and Fedyor huffed childishly, but didn’t complain further. Ivan rolled his eyes and placed the cup on the floorboards by the bed, then settled back into his original position. He lifted a hand and brushed a strand of brown hair from Fedyor’s forehead.

“I like your hair like that.” Ivan said absentmindedly, and Fedyor hummed.

“Like what?”

“Longer.” Ivan said simply. Ah, yeah- he hadn’t had much time to cut it during the weeks before the attack, and if he wanted to be perfectly honest, he’d kind of given up on taking care of himself whatsoever. Genya had called it an effect of depression- maybe she’d been right. But hey, at least Ivan liked the results.

“Hm…” Fedyor winked. “Alright. Maybe I’m going to keep it like that.”

Ivan chuckled. “Yeah, alright. We can talk about it later. For now, can you promise me you’ll rest?”

“Fine, fine. I’m not a child, you know.” Fedyor complained.

“I know.” Ivan sighed. “But you need to rest. You’re hurt.”

“Alright, I get that, but…” Fedyor looked away, colour blooming against his pale cheeks, “can you promise you’ll stay?”

At that, Ivan smiled tenderly. He leaned in, pressing a soft, loving kiss on Fedyor’s lips.

“I promise, my love. I’m not leaving you again.”

[thethirdamell]

I Yield (Borders Yet To Be - Part 1)

@pinkfadespirit tagged me for WIP Wednesday so here’s what I’ve been working on instead of AO. Thank you for the tag! This is part one of who knows how many. I was thinking of making it a one-shot, but it’s getting a bit long, so I’m still undecided on how to handle it. WIP Wednesday Tags: @mikkeneko @verifiedhawke @arcanefeathers  @ushauz @wannakissrobits @degenerate-perturbation @thefluffynug @doctorhawke @nightingalerising @loneliii-aura @faux-fires and anyone who wants to share :) Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins  Rating: Explicit Tags: Romance  WC: 3246 Main Pairings (M/M): Amell / Loghain 

Summary: “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” 

Sweat. Soaking his hair, his tunic, every inch of his flushed skin. His pulse was thrumming in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear the harsh grunts he knew spilled from his lips as he took thrust after thrust. Damn him. Damn the Warden. Loghain was exhausted, every muscle trembling as he struggled to keep up with the man’s limitless stamina, his limitless mana, his limitless everything. Amell shoved him hard against the wall, and the sound that escaped him was more gasp than grunt.  

Amell didn’t just have him, he dominated him. From the moment they’d started this, he’d been in complete control. Loghain couldn’t move, could barely breathe without the man’s allowance. There was so much strength in him - Loghain couldn’t call on a comparison. Not since Maric died, but Maric had never taken charge of him like this - had never ruined him like this. Amell grabbed him and turned him around, only to throw him on the floor.  

Loghain hit his knees, and stayed there, breathing hard. This was what he’d asked for - what he’d wanted - and now that he finally had it - there was nothing left but to surrender to it. Amell advanced on him, but there was nothing hurried in his stride. Like he knew Loghain would stay there, exactly where he’d left him, exactly where he wanted him. Amell had taken everything from him, and there was nothing left now but his dignity, but somehow Loghain knew Amell would take that too.

“I yield,” Loghain said, letting his sword fall from his hand.

Amell stopped. Loghain hadn’t expected him to stop. He expected to meet his end at the Warden’s sword, thrust through his heart before the whole of Ferelden. Beaten. Bested. Utterly destroyed at the hands of the man he’d spent the past year fighting with more fervor than the Blight. Amell unlatched his helmet with his shield arm, and let it clatter to the floor of the throne room.

Dragonscale echoed on the stone in the utter stillness of the Landsmeet. Amell still held his sword, and could still drive it through him. Loghain still expected him to. Amell’s eyes swept over him, a bloody shade of russet that was difficult to meet for how they seemed to see through him. He wasn’t the Regent, or the Teyrn, or the Hero of Riverdane to the Warden. He was just Loghain - and Loghain had lost. He knelt, chest heaving, one hand to the floor and the other to his knee to keep him steady, and prayed Anora would look away.

“... I accept your surrender,” Amell said.

Anora wept. Alistair raged. The Landsmeet gasped, but no one was more shocked than Loghain.

Loghain had underestimated him. He’d thought Amell like Cailan: a child wanting to play at war. He’d never been more wrong about a person. Amell unified the country where he failed, arranging his daughter’s wedding to Maric’s bastard, and winning the allegiance of the bannorn, the elves, the dwarves, the mages, and now somehow, Loghain as well.

Amell wanted him for the Grey Wardens, or perhaps simply wanted his death behind closed doors. Loghain knew enough to know the Joining was often fatal, and far less glorious than a public beheading. It seemed a fitting punishment, all things considered. Loghain respected the man for it, though Maric’s bastard disagreed.

Alistair hadn’t contained his anger to the Landsmeet. Loghain and half the palace overheard their argument when they returned. Alistair locked himself in his room, which just left Riordan and Amell to oversee his Joining. Amell sat on a table, his gloves and a selection of vials laid out beside him, reading over a tome embossed with griffon wings.

He looked no less commanding outside of battle. He had an impressively strong nose and well-defined jaw, but there was something in his eyes. Blood red, shadowed by a strong brow and further accented by high cheekbones. He cut a leaner figure in Warden leathers than he did in dragonscale, and wore the dark blues almost regally, posture strong, raven hair braided back behind one ear.

It seemed only fitting to stare. Loghain should get the measure of the man that had spared him, but Amell was hard to read. There was a strategist in there, alongside a mage, despite Amell’s reliance on sword and shield. Strange Amell hadn’t used his magic in their duel. Or perhaps smart. Perhaps it had all been for show, and Amell could have killed him with a wave of his hand, but wanted to allow him some semblance of dignity before the Landsmeet.

A strong leader couldn’t have weak allies, after all. Loghain had never thought of himself as weak before, but he knew when he’d been bested. Amell was the better soldier. The better leader. The better man. He was competent, but that competence wasn’t terribly comforting if he was just now learning the ritual Loghain was to undergo.

“Am I to understand you’ve never done this before?” Loghain guessed.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Amell said.

“Quiet,” Riordan murmured. “The Joining is complex. He needs to focus.”

“You could at least get me when you're ready,” Loghain muttered, pacing impatiently. The less time he had to think this over, the better. The thought of leaving Anora alone didn’t sit well with him. She was formidable, strong enough to endure without him, but the memory of her tears of relief at the Landsmeet haunted him. He didn't want her shedding any more, and prayed it was mercy, not malice, that had stayed Amell’s hand.

“Trust me,” Amell said without looking up from the tome.

“I don’t see I have a choice,” Loghain said.

In time, Amell set his book aside and cast his spell, blood and lyrium weaving together in the silver joining chalice. It smelled like death, a scent so sweet it was noxious, and Loghain didn’t doubt he’d meet his end at it.

Riordan retrieved the chalice. The old Orlesian still bore the scars from his imprisonment at Howe’s estate, and there was nothing but practicality in his voice when he spoke. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment forth you are a Grey Warden.”

“I understand,” Loghain reached to take it from him when Amell stopped him. Amell's hand clasped over his own on the chalice, and felt pleasantly warm contrasted with the cold silver. It sent an involuntary shiver up his spine, and made him acutely aware it had been years since anyone had touched him.

“Wait,” Amell said.

“Change your mind?” Loghain forced a chuckle. “Should we get the guillotine?”

“Join us, brother,” Amell said, his hand still resting atop his own, and it wasn’t just warm, it was soft, his grip firm and steady through the oath. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”

“My sacrifice?” Loghain fought back the urge to roll his eyes and wrench away. His pride wasn’t worth the loss of warmth, the loss of contact, the loss of compassion. Amell’s touch was like to be the last he'd ever know.

… strange that didn't seem so terrible.

“Yes,” Amell said.

“My death, you mean," Loghain cleared his throat.

“Death is just death,” Amell said. “If you die, I won't waste it.”

“See that you don’t,” Loghain drank.

Loghain lived, and that was all he could say of the matter. He was stripped of his lands and titles following his defeat, and felt smaller for it. In a strange way, he felt better for it. It was out of his hands now. His successes. His failures. They were on Amell, and Amell seemed to shoulder them well. Amell spent a great deal of time with Anora, Alistair, and Eamon, offering his advice on the state of the bannorn before he left for his fortress at Soldier’s Peak.

Loghain joined him, and all his companions. They hated him down to the last man, but Amell didn’t, or if he did, he didn’t make it obvious. He spoke with him, and ate with him, and acknowledged him the way it seemed he did the rest of his companions. The only distinction seemed to be that Amell watched him with a… unique intensity. An intensity Loghain only noticed because he watched Amell the same way. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, and honestly couldn’t say which of them had started it.

They took the North Road from Denerim towards Soldier’s Peak, and spent the night at a small town inn, where it seemed Loghain should speak with him. Set expectations for whatever there was between them. He knocked on the door to Amell’s room, one hard thump of his fist, and won a polite, "Enter."

Loghain let himself inside. The room, like all the rooms at the inn, was modest. An armchair and a couch set before a low table, where Amell sat with a selection of books and maps, his mabari at his feet. There was also a basin for bathing and a bed, both big enough for two, but Amell was alone.

That seemed strange, for a man like him. Maric had never been alone, not even when he should have been, women from all walks of life walking their way right into his bed. Rowan had suffered for it… but Loghain didn't want to think about Maric or Rowan. He wanted to think about Amell.

There was a lot to think about there. Amell besting him. Amell sparing him. Amell staring at him. His hair, free of its braid, curved to frame one side of his face and the wholly unwarranted raise of his eyebrow. Like Amell was intrigued by his visit, but there was nothing intriguing about him. He was a bitter old man who’d lost his country, his crown, and his companions all in one fell swoop.

… It seemed he should resent Amell more for that.

"Loghain," Amell said, closing the book he'd been reading. "Did you want to talk?"

Sitting seemed too presumptuous, so Loghain leaned on the armchair while he spoke, "What else could I want?"

"You tell me," Amell countered, with a strange lilt to his voice.

"I'm not here for a rematch," Loghain assured him. "Don't worry."

"I wasn't."

… Cocky.

“I passed your test,” Loghain noted, fighting back a smile and wondering why his face was so determined to settle on the expression. “Fate has a twisted sense of humor, it seems.”

“It seems,” Amell agreed.

“I suppose you think I'm some sort of monster,” Loghain continued. “More so since I survived your ritual: you keep striking at me, and I just refuse to die decently.”

“I may have to resort to magic next,” Amell said playfully.

“Oh?” Loghain raised a bemused eyebrow, his smile finally escaping. “What was all that nonsense with darkspawn blood and lyrium, then? A puppet show?"

"Something like that," Amell said mysteriously.

"It seems to me that magic has already failed," Loghain joked, though he wasn't naive enough to think the extent of Amell’s magic could fit in one little cup. "I’d recommend a sharp knife in the kidneys next time. Less impressive, but it gets the job done.”

Amell hummed thoughtfully, like he was considering it, before shaking his head. “The plan loses something when you’re the one suggesting it.”

“I suppose it does lack the element of surprise,” Loghain allotted.

"Sit down," Amell waved a hand at the armchair.

It was more suggestion than command, but it still disarmed him. Loghain couldn't remember the last time anyone had told him to do anything. More so, he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually listened. He circled the armchair and sat. Amell smirked, like he was pleased with him for following the order, however insignificant. His eyes wandered over him, like he was sizing him, but Loghain couldn’t imagine why. Amell had already beaten him.

What other reason could the man have to stare? Loghain straightened his spine and refused to fidget for it. He knew where he stood with the Warden and he wouldn’t be intimidated by it, but Amell’s stare didn’t seem threatening. It just seemed interested. Silence stretched, and it took Loghain longer than he cared to admit to realize he was waiting for permission to speak.

“Well,” Loghain cleared his throat. “What shall we do to settle things between us, then?”

"Things?" Amell raised an eyebrow.

“Is that supposed to be coy?” Loghain guessed.

“Do you want it to be coy?” Amell asked.

… Was Amell flirting with him? He couldn’t possibly be flirting with him. He was old enough to be the man’s father. His grandfather, if he'd been more adventurous in his youth, but he hadn't. He’d loved Rowan, and then Celia - though not half as well as she deserved - and then no one. Amell had no reason to flirt with him. Loghain had spent the better part of a year trying to kill him, and there was nothing flirtatious in that.

Loghain wasn’t a flirtatious person. He’d barely flirted with his own wife, and he’d never flirted with Maric - no matter his feelings for the man. He couldn’t begin to imagine the scandal that would have come from that, even if Maric had shown any preference for men. His King? It would have been as bad as… whatever this was. Amell was his Commander. Amell was half his age. Amell was waiting for an answer, smirking a little more for every second he delayed.

“What I want is for this to be over,” Loghain said before he embarrassed himself further. “You’ve won, Warden.”

“Amell,” Amell corrected him.

“... Amell, then,” Loghain said.

“There’s nothing to settle,” Amell assured him. “I expect us to work together.”

“Is that punishment meant for me or for you?” Loghain wondered.

“Did you want to be punished?” Amell ran his thumb over the tips of his fingers, a flicker of electricity playing over his fingers, but the magic seemed more static than lightning, his expression more thoughtful than threatening.

There was too much to think about there. Amell was absolutely flirting with him. Maric had told stories of the nights he’d spent with mages and their magic, and they assaulted him mercilessly the longer Amell held the spell. The short exchange felt like their duel all over again - Amell wearing down his defenses, and Loghain helpless against him.

It shouldn’t have been so appealing. It shouldn’t have been appealing at all. Loghain didn’t know anything about the man beyond his skill with a blade, but something in the roll of his fingers and the quirk of his lips seemed to suggest it was… quite a proficiency.

“I imagine you must have one in mind,” Loghain mumbled despite himself, wondering after the sensations. Pleasant, no doubt. Something that shivered across the skin. Something that wasn’t serious, and was clearly just meant to tease or torment him.

“A few,” Amell grinned.

“So just like that, we’re allies?” Loghain asked - refusing to read into that grin, that magic, those hands. Amell was just making fun of him, adding insult to the injury of his defeat with this whole exchange. “I can’t imagine it’s so simple. I don’t know what concessions you want from me. I expect my word will not satisfy you.”

“Did you want to satisfy me?” Amell countered.

“Mockery, then,” Loghain deduced. There was no other explanation. He stood, but Amell stood with him, a fast hand catching his wrist when he turned to go. It was the same hand as before - the same warmth, the same firm grip, and Maker - the magic. Amell cut off the spell with the contact, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.

Static rippled up his arm, sending a full body shiver through him. Amell had to have felt him tremble. Had to have known he was making a fool of him. They were enemies at worst, reluctant allies at best, and the thought that Amell might be after more than that was ridiculous enough as to be insulting.

“What mockery?” Amell asked.

“This,” Loghain gestured vaguely between them. “I’ve seen enough Satinalias to know when I'm being made the fool.”

“Fortune favors the foolish,” Amell said - and Maker preserve him but there was something captivating in him. Not just his eyes, but his scent, clouding his head for their closeness. He was something like blood and magic, and it spoke of the same power that had bested him at the Landsmeet and was besting him now.

“Fortune favors the brave,” Loghain corrected the proverb, feeling himself begin to sweat the longer Amell stared at him with those damn eyes, like fire, heating up his skin with all their impossible promises. “I am no fool and I will not be made one. You may have won, but I doubt it was done with sword alone. If not for your magic, I could have taken you.”

“Is that what you want?” Amell asked.

“What?”

“You want to take me?” Amell released his wrist, and caught his collar instead. His fingers barely skirted the fabric, but he might have wrenched for the effect it had on him. Loghain couldn’t focus on anything but the way his lips moved when he spoke, and the thought that they might have been softer than his hands. “You want to take my magic?”

“Damn you, Warden,” Loghain hated himself for whispering, but he couldn’t raise his voice any more than he could raise his head, tilted just slightly so the other man could reach his lips if he wanted. “What do you want from me?”

“You tell me,” Amell countered - his eyes were fixed on his lips, and the warmth of his breath spilled over them with every word. “What do you want?”

“I want you to let go of me,” Loghain lied.

Amell let go, and Loghain regretted it more than all the mistakes he’d made of late. The rest of his mistakes he’d made for Ferelden, but this one-... this was a mistake he could make for himself. It almost seemed worth the risk that Amell might be mocking him, might be too young for him, might be too much for him. Loghain cleared his throat, and took an unsteady step back. “Thank you. Goodnight, Warden.”

“Amell,” Amell corrected him.

“Amell,” Loghain repeated, and beat a hastier retreat from Amell’s room than he had from Ostagar. He took a cold bath in his own room, but he was so flushed from the exchange his skin may as well have warmed the water. This-... this was the real defeat. The real shame. Not at the Landsmeet, but here, in some backwater inn on the North Road, where he met his end not at Amell’s sword but his smirk.

Take him. Loghain couldn’t take him. One look, one touch, and he was ready to yield. The memory wouldn’t leave him, not even when he took a hand to his aching cock and beat a frantic pace against his racing heart. He hated the touch of his own hand - weathered with age and nothing like the supple youth he felt in Amell - but his release strengthened his resolve. If he didn’t even want the touch of his own hand, neither would anyone else.

[salty-but-bland]

Can I submit late amasai week things I still have, like, 2 more prompts to do (1 if I skip free day)

Beta @amasaiweek day 4: journey/trail

~*~*more angst but dw it's not as extreme as day 3*~*~

Tw: blood, gunshots

Is this beta au spoilers? Idk but I'm tagging for it because it's the 4th chapter motive

@kagazuly au credit

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Footsteps echoed down the dim hallway. Shuichi's footsteps, to be exact. Careful, fearful steps, like each step could be his last, because it quite literally could be.

He thought about what he knew to try and put the pieces together. Rantaro, Ryoma, and Kokichi all went into the third floor of the school- er, the Sanzu Garden together to find their afternoon locks, and the weapons maker and Kokichi made it back to the dorms. According to them, Rantaro had fallen into a pit trap, and they hadn't been able to find him since. Now, after everyone else had their afternoon challenge completed, Shuichi and Kaito had been chosen to try to find Rantaro.

So far, they'd found nothing but more traps- and one of Rantaro's locks, completed. At least he'd be safe for the night, wherever he was.

Walking along the hallway, Shuichi heard a click from inside the walls, and- a dart flew by him, narrowly missing his cheek.

If I had been just a bit off, he thought, that would've gone right through my eye. And Monokuma said the traps wouldn't kill us. That statement seemed less true by the day.

Luckily, that had been one of the smaller traps, as they ranged from small projectiles being thrown to walls crashing against each other with a person in between. He looked around at the walls of the hallway, searching for signs of human interaction, when something caught his eye.

A red spot on the floor.

Many red spots, actually, making a clear trail down the hall and around a corner.

There were no traps around here that he knew of that could make a hole big enough to cause that much blood loss. They'd all either give you small cuts or kill you in a second. And Rantaro kept first aid supplies on him, so the violinist doubted he'd go that long without stopping the blood.

Still, Kokichi had told him Rantaro's was the only lock on the third floor, and the way he was coming from was closest to the stairway, so…

Whoever came this way did it on purpose. And it wasn't to get their afternoon locks.

Shuichi ran through the hall and followed the red trail around the corner, to where it abruptly stopped over a tile of the floor. There were no traps besides the dart in that hall. Where had this person gotten their injury, then?

He slowed his pace, thinking more logically now. I should go back and get Kaito, that way we'll keep each other in sight in case this trail leads somewhere bad.

But he could be anywhere on this floor by now, and I don't know if that trap'll activate again because it's right at my eye level, and was that liquid in the dart, now that I'm thinking more in detail about it? Could it be a tranquilizer dart, or a poisonous one? And- okay, pull yourself together, Shuichi.

Out of sheer stubbornness, he decided to keep following the trail by himself, and walked slowly along the blood trail until he reached the tile it stopped at.

Hmm.

Maybe whoever was injured had stopped here to treat their wounds a bit if the pain had gotten to be too much. Or they could've turned around and gone back. Kokichi did say he knew Rantaro's lock was the only one on the floor. Maybe he had done some exploring and gotten hurt on accident, or maybe-

His thoughts were cut off by a sudden lack of ground beneath his feet.

Or maybe the injured person had fallen into a pitfall trap right at this very spot.

He screamed in surprise at the fall and heard a voice from above him, far away, and loud footsteps. "SHUICHI?!"

Yeah, he should've told Kaito.

The panels to the trap shut, leaving him to fall in total darkness and silence.

It was both peaceful and stressful, the feeling of not knowing where you'd land or when, nothing but darkness and your own thoughts and the stomach-churning sensation Shuichi found out was easy to get used to, and-

BANG.

A-

A gunshot?

From somewhere below him, there was a gunshot. And now, light began to clear up the darkness, revealing cold metal walls around him. There were more gunshots, louder, more frequent. What kind of place does this lead to?

With a thump, he landed on a thick mattress, oddly out of place in the room he landed in, which was made of blank white concrete walls covered in chipping, moldy wallpaper. He saw no guns nor sparks or bullets flying, but the sound of gunshots was everywhere, exploding in his eardrums so that he had to block his ears if he wanted to concentrate. Cardboard boxes sat in varying stacks and piles in the corners of the room. There were no holes in them, Shuichi saw, so could there just not be- he walked out into the middle of the room. Sure enough, the sound was just coming from a hidden speaker, and there were no real guns.

Now, how to get out of this room?

The cardboard boxes were most likely there for a reason. They could be traps, but they could also serve as a way to escape. He decided to investigate them first.

Picking a random box off a stack in the nearest corner, he noticed something. Something green. And curled into a tight ball, letting out whimpers that could barely be heard over the noise from the speakers.

It was- He was Rantaro. Much, much different than how he acted around the others, but Rantaro nonetheless. What was going on?

"Some rooms will lock you in and whisper your worst fears to you."

This was one of those rooms, wasn't it? Designed for Rantaro, for sure. And it couldn't just be the gunshot noise that triggered him so badly, since he'd talked so much about his feats in war before. The room probably had something to do with his fear. No wonder he was hiding in a fort of small brown boxes.

"Rantaro!"

Nothing. His voice was still quieter than the background noise. 

"RANTARO!!"

The medic seemed paralyzed for a second, then slowly turned his head towards Shuichi.

"You have to snap out of this, Ra-"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET DOWN, OR YOU COULD GET SHOT!"

Tears were streaming down his usually confident face as he said this.

"No! You have to listen, Rantaro!" The violinist crouched down next to the stack of boxes.

"None of what you're thinking about is real. There are speakers in the walls, they're making the sound of gunshots. I don't know what this place is, but as far as I know it can't hurt you. You're safe, alright? You're safe."

Rantaro was still hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey. Calm down. Everyone's waiting back at the dorms. We've been really worried for you. That's how I ended up here, by falling through the same trap you did."

The shots in the background became softer and softer as Shuichi explained their situation casually, until they eventually faded away into nothingness. Apparently the mastermind was done with this twisted torture.

A door opened at the opposite side of the room.

The curled-up figure had slowed his breathing some, but was still panicking.

"...It. It stopped."

"Huh. It did."

And it took quite a lot of convincing, but, not very long after the noises stopped, the two walked to the door, Rantaro holding the other's hand tightly for security.

"Oh, right! Have you tended to your wound yet? If not, we ought to fix that now before getting back to the others."

"...Wound? What wound?" Rantaro asked, checking his body for any wound he could've forgotten about.

"Well, there was a trail of blood leading to the door here, so I thought it might be your-"

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

If Rantaro really had been taken by surprise and fallen here, he wouldn't have had time to fix himself up until he finished falling, which would mean-

But there wasn't any blood on the mattress or the floor at all.

"I followed the trail too. Thought I could find someone suspicious, since no other locks were on that floor and the trail led away from my lock."

"Uh, wait… then if it wasn't you or Kokichi… whose blood trail was that?"

[isles-queen]

A Black Tie Rendezvous

A/N: Greetings! Once again, I know it's been a hot minute since I'm last done a one-shot. I definitely took a bit more liberty with this request - not doing the exact prompt (though it's an amazing one).

Let me know your thoughts and even more so feel free to submit any and all requests. I usually do follow more specific prompts closely, but again, just 'cause this is my first time back, I decided to go with whatever flow I had.

——————

Request:

If requests are still open, I think a cool one would be a Tyler Seguin one where the girl essentially hates him but there is still huge physical attraction? Maybe based at a small hang out, like they have mutual friends and that's why they hang out.

——————

"Do we really have to see him?"

Jamie lifted his head, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and looked at you like you had twenty heads. "Yes, of course we do, because I'm on the same team as him?" he retorted, gently thumping the back of your head. "Why you being stupid?"

You mocked a double-take, exaggeratedly placing a hand over your heart and widening your eyes to the size of saucers. "The aud-acity to only question me but to lay your filthy palms on me," you uttered.

He simply rolled his eyes and continued ahead. While adjusting his tie, he mumbled, "If you hate Tyler so much, why do you force yourself to come to these events?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes back at him. "I like free food. I like your friends," when he side-eyed you, you added, "except Tyler. Plus, I'm your favorite cousin."

He scoffed, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, but the fact that you didn't deny means it's true, so..." You smirked, holding back a wide grin when Jamie rolled his eyes and mumbled about your stupidity once again.

In the midst of the ensuing silence, you decided to glance down at your black cocktail dress that hugged your body like a glove and accentuated your curves. You swiped off a dust particular that stuck itself onto the hem of the skirt.

Due to a cursed promise your cousin, Jamie, made in childhood, you were forever his date to any sort of gatherings that involved food. Yes, it is quite a broad promise to have been made by a seven-year-old and a four-year-old, but it somehow managed to be kept over the years. You of course allowed your cousin a bit more leeway once he actually began dating, but at times like tonight, which supposedly was a buffet-styled celebration for the end of the season, no exceptions could be made.

"Wow, Jamie. Who's this lovely lady? Doesn't look like Katie!"

Your eyes instinctively went into an eye roll, as you tilted your head up and saw a pair of hungry dark brown eyes roaming all over your body. Admittedly, you couldn't help stealing a much-needed glance at the gorgeous (albeit pain-in-the-ass) man in front of you, though not as obvious as he was making it.

Although Tyler sometimes decided to make a show of himself with a flashy outfit, tonight he decided to keep it simple. A black tux with a black tie - all of which managing to conform comfortably to his body. Although no abs were shown, you could tell how muscular the fella was through the thin suit, though you also knew how muscular he was underneath it as well.

A smirk landed on your lips the moment Tyler's smirk fell off his, as his roaming eyes were done with their venture around your body and landed on your face.

"Oh, it's you."

You smiled a little too sickly sweet and responded, "Oh, yes. It is indeed me. Thank you for remembering my name."

Tyler pursed his lips and said, "You gotta start the snides this early in the night, Y/N?"

From the corner of your eyes, you watched as Jamie shook his head and walked away without a single word. If there was anyone more done with Tyler's and yours bickering, it was indeed Jamie.

You bit your lower lip to hide a devilish grin while turning back to Tyler who has taken a solid two full steps forward and was only inches away.

He was not shy whatsoever to proudly be wearing his full, devilish grin. "Well, don't you look hot as hell tonight?" Tyler purred, hovering his hand over your body and motioning as though he was caressing it like he has done on a few occasions before.

You smacked his hovering hand away and snapped, "Don't make it too obvious. Everyone still thinks we hate each other guts." His eyebrow rose questionably, and you rolled your eyes once again. "Don't give me that look. You're still the bane of my existence -"

"As you are mine," he chortled, taking a step back and wearing an admittedly cuter boyish smile.

"- and we are not dating," you pointedly added. There was a slight dip in your chest when you caught the dip in his boyish smile. "Oh, stop acting like a puppy that just got kicked by your owner. We are not dating."

Tyler looked down at that floor, holding his hands behind his back and kicking an imaginary rock on the floor. "Not yet, anyway," he grumbled.

You were quick to bite your lower lip, as you struggled to hold back the smile that was making its way to your face. Boy... was he a keeper - yet still not necessarily yours, because although you've fooled about here and there, nothing serious has yet to happen. Not even a date, though you both acknowledged it was due to hockey season and their practice and travel schedule.

You lifted your hand to Tyler's chin and gently tapped the bottom of it so he would look up at you again. Of course with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes because he knew how to guilt you so sweetly. "Oh, stop the pouting," you said with a light, teasing tone in your voice. "Things might change once next weekend finally happens."

Next weekend happened to be your first actual date, which you couldn't resist smiling about since Tyler, of course, proclaimed time and time again how it will be "the best date of your entire life."

"You truly need to whisk me away on this supposed best date of my life," you added.

He shook his head and retorted, "Nope. It's the best date of your entire life."

You chuckled but caught yourself when you heard loud chatter coming from the other room leading into the banquet hall. You glanced back at Tyler with a smirk and said, "Well, you've held me back from my food long enough. See you afterward, my pain in the ass. Remember to be even more of an asshole throughout dinner... It'll make tonight a lot more fun."

As you strode into the banquet hall, you smirked at the sound of Tyler's deep, throaty chuckles and him replying, "Oh, trust me, I plan on it."