#powerless tv show

[haveyouseenthisseries-poll]

[do-you-ship-it-polls]

Do you ship it?

[clockwork-stars]

Okay, I saw a random tweet recommending the show "Powerless" last week so since I am bored I decided to give it a try.

That's a show released in 2017 that was cancelled after one season due to a lack of audience. It's a sitcom in the DC universe about regular people living there, more exactly about a team working at Wayne Entreprises R&D.

And the show is nice enough, that's a sitcom it does the job, I don't ask for more.

But the boss of that office, Van-something Wayne Junior (who happens to be Bruce's cousin or something) desperately wants to get muted from his perfectly normal city called "Charme City" to the freaking Gotham office.

His city sounds nice. Their main villain is a man with a pumpkin that throws fireballs, there are villains who make winter really cold, it sounds perfectly good for a city in the DC universe. Why the fuck do you want to go to Gotham, sir. That place is not just weird, it is living in another universe of weirdness. Why would you want that-

And like the Gotham office is certainly more important and prestigious but... it's in Gotham.

[graciehart]

GET TO KNOW ME  ✰ [11/10] TV Shows ⤷ The X-Files (1993-2018)

I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us. Greater than any alien force. And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what’s speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves.

[writing-fanics]

Playful Banter ‘Stayed Gone’

Alastor x Reader

[a/n: I’m not a song writer don’t be mean if the lyrics don’t match up I’m sorry I tried! I haven’t written for Alastor since I think 2020. The entire song isn’t here in lyrics it opens when Alastor and you are walking down the stairs]

Song

Alastor and You, walked down the stairs and noticed sinners gathers around the Voxtech television. You glanced up at him knowingly, and you couldn’t help put clip your heels together. As you made you swiftly made your way, to the radio tower.

‘While they’ve hid in radio, we've pivoted to video’

‘Now their medium is getting bloody rare.’

‘Hell's been better since they’ve split’

You grinned dusting off your clothes; bringing the cup of tea taking a sip. As you glanced ver at Alastor smiling, “Let’s have some fun shall we, darling?” He asked, and you lifted your head with an upturned smile. “We shall.” You chuckle, as you turned on the broadcast. Leaning in closer into the mic.

‘Where's they’ve been? Who gives a shit?!’

You had a devilish smile plastered on your face, “Salutations!” You and Alastor said into the microphone, grinning ear to ear. “Good to be back on the air,” You smiled, holding your cup of tea in hand.

You were ready for some fun, excited, Vox didn’t know what he was getting into with you two.“Yes, we know it's been a while.” You two sang, into the microphone.

“Since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast” You two said into the mic, “Sinners, rejoice!” Alastor and You exclaimed, as the crowd seemed to gather around the old timey radio.

The sinners gathered in front of both, glancing back and forth between the two. “What a dated voice!” Vox spat, and You could only chuckle as you brought the mic closer.

“Instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast.” You and Alastor sang, smiling

“Come on!” Vox shouted, angrily annoyed. As the two went on, “Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure?” Alastor sang, and making fun of Vox.

“Fitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?” You sang, smirking and standing beside Alastor.

“Ignore their chirping!” Vox spat.

“Every day, he's got a new format!” Alastor sang, grinning. Vox groaned in annoyance.

‘You're looking at the future, he's the shit that comes before that!’

Alastor sang, “Is Vox as strong as he purports?” as other sinners listened in the feud, “Or is it based on his support?” You sang.

“He'd be powerless without the other Vees,” Alastor sang, then leaning closer into your respective microphones. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“And here's the sugar on the cream,”Alastor sang, leaning closer into his microphone a a devilish smile on his face.

“He asked us to join his team!” Alastor sang, revealing the truth. “H-hold on!” Vox stammered, nervously. You smiled grinning ear to ear leaning closer holding; your microphone close to you.

A devilish grin grew across your face, “A jealous one he surely is!” You sang, stifling back a laugh. Remembering when Vox asked if you wanted to go out. As in start a relationship with you. You couldn’t help but laugh back then. And still laugh even now.

You chuckled slightly,“years ago he asked if we could court!” You sang, into the microphone. You could only imagine the horrified and embarrassed looked, on Vox’s face right now and thought alone. Made your grin wider.

“I said no, and now he's pissy.” You say down in your chair, next to Alastor and smiled. “That's the tea!” Alastor and You sang, sitting back into your respective chairs smiling. Leaning back in them kicking your legs back, as you two sang.

“You two old-timey pricks, I'll show you suf-ffering,” Vox stammered, as his screen started to buffer. “Uh oh, the TV is buffering!” You and Alastor sang into the microphone, with you adding slight coo at the end.

Vox stammered as he started to shorting out, his screen buffering continuously as he was about to lose single. “I'll destroy you, yo-ou lit-tle—” He stammered, suddenly all power across Pentagram City went out. The only source of power coming from the radio tower, attached to the Hazbin Hotel.

Alastor chuckled statically, “I'm afraid you've lost your signal,” You said, grinning. You looked down for a moment before looking up. Your eyes glowing a bright red.

“Let's begin.” Alastor sang into staff, as he slowly transformed into his demon form. Placing down bis staff as his eyes glowed bright red, and his antlers grew bigger. His form slowly started to resemble that of a wendigo.

“We’re gonna make you wish that we’d stayed gone, tune on in,” you two sang, as you slowly transformed. Your body stretching and neck becoming longer.

As your body stretched, into its demonic form. An ‘X’ revealed itself on the side of your neck. As your nails became sharp claws, as you gripped the control board. “When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run,” You two sang leaning closer, as your eyes and body grew longer.

“Oh, this will be fun,” You and Alastor sang, smiling. Vox stared at the screen in disbelief, as it went blank and fell back into his seat, “Fuck!” he whined, their laughter continuing to taunt him. Leaning back into your chair you smiled, “We still got it.” You said, smiling of course the two of you would. Nothing beats, radio. “I couldn’t ask for a better co-host.” said Alastor, as he smiled at you. “And I couldn’t ask for a better husband,” You said, blowing a kiss his way a smile on your face.

Wonder what Vox’s reaction would be since he still hasn’t moved on, from you rejecting him. To him noticing a ring on your finger.. hmm I’d imagine he’d be buffering

a/n: I did my best with this.

[bro-atz]

if it's not too much to ask [bro's 1k — hongjoong]

in which: you visit your brother in the dorm and end up being left alone with the captain.

pair: idol!hongjoong/abaf!reader

word count: 1.8k

content: smut, reader is jongho's little sister, netflix and chill?, sofa sex, (pretty tame compared to my other fics ngl), safe sex, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

You visited your brother's dorm frequently— he hated it, but his roommates genuinely enjoyed your company, so he was powerless to stop you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Jongho groaned the second he saw you walk through the door.

“Hongjoong and Wooyoung invited me over to watch a movie with them,” you replied.

Jongho sighed loudly before retreating to his room. You met Hongjoong and Wooyoung in the common area with a smile and a wave, the other two men greeting you in the same fashion.

“So what movie are we watching?” you asked as soon as you plopped down on the couch between the two of them.

“I had nothing in mind, so I thought we would just pick something random,” Hongjoong suggested.

“God, that sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Wooyoung complained. “At least choose a good genre.”

“Y/N, what do you think we should watch?” Hongjoong asked you.

“Uh… A rom-com?”

Both men grimaced slightly before sighing. Hongjoong reluctantly turned on a random rom-com, and the three of you sat and watched the movie in complete silence. Even during the comedy bits, the jokes weren’t landing, so none of you were laughing. It was a really poor choice for a movie.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Wooyoung yawned loudly. “I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy the rest of this snooze-fest.”

You and Hongjoong both kept your eyes glued to the TV screen as you waved to Wooyoung. As soon as Wooyoung retreated to his room, you were suddenly aware of the fact that it was you and Hongjoong left in the room. While it shouldn’t have been an issue for you, it was an issue.

You had an insanely huge crush on Hongjoong, after all.

As the movie continued to drone on in the background, you couldn’t help but sneak secret glances at Hongjoong. He seemed to be drawn into the movie (despite it being the most boring thing of all time), and you couldn’t help but want for him to show you that same level of attention. So, scooting closer to him slightly, you whispered to him.

“Hey, Hongjoong?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

You didn’t know what possessed you to be so bold. Maybe it was the fact that you knew that you and Hongjoong flirted every so often, that he could potentially share the same feelings for you, or the fact that you were just that desperate for physical contact with him. You watched a light blush cross his face before he nodded slowly.

Despite asking him if you could, you didn’t quite sit in his lap. Your ass was pressing into the sofa cushion, but your legs were dangling off of his, and you were leaning into him as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He kept his eyes glued to the TV, which irritated you slightly because the whole point of asking him was to get him to pay attention to you. So, you cupped his face with both of your hands and looked him in the eye, Hongjoong finally giving you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly.

“You have very lovely facial features, Hongjoong,” you answered with a whisper. Tracing your thumb along his cheekbone, you continued, “I want to admire them all day long.”

Hongjoong stifled a little pleasureful sigh the more you stroked his face with your fingers. When you were about to withdraw your hands, Hongjoong pushed his face further in your hands. He looked at you with the most beautiful, sparkling eyes that made your heart skip several beats— especially when he leaned into you.

"Y/N, do you know what you're doing?" Hongjoong asked, the sparkles in his eyes turning into a devilish glint.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently while fully knowing exactly what you were doing.

Hongjoong grunted in frustration when he felt your fingers brush his ears, your fingers rubbing his earlobes as your palms no longer rested on his face. Hongjoong wrapped both his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your ass actually resting on his lap at that point.

"Hey, Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, and Hongjoong kissed you. It was a soft kiss, his lips just barely pressing against yours. Before he could lean back and gauge your reaction, you moved your fingers from his ears to the back of his head and pulled him close to you. You pressed your lips firmly against his, and he immediately took your lower lip in between his lips. He exhaled softly as he kissed you sensually, his hands slowly moving under your shirt and along the curve of your waist.

Hongjoong guided you so that you were properly sitting on his lap and facing him, your lips still passionately entangled with his. He let out soft sighs as he completely immersed himself in you. His lips moved away from yours, and before you could whine in disappointment, you let out a soft moan when he trailed his lips down your neck and bit your skin lightly. You felt his hands move up your back, his fingers making quick work of your bra clasp, and you felt his hips move restlessly below you.

“Hey, wait,” Hongjoong suddenly stopped, making you actually whine in disappointment. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

“I would’ve pushed you away if I didn’t want to.”

A small smile appeared on Hongjoong’s face as he looked up at you, his eyes soft and sparkling. He planted a tiny kiss on your lips before moving his gaze downwards. He pushed your shirt and bra up to reveal your breasts, the man inhaling sharply as he gazed at them. Your hands moved from his neck to his shoulders the second you felt his tongue run flatly along one of your nipples, and you moaned softly.

“Shh, darling, keep it down unless you want Wooyoung and your brother to hear.”

Fuck, that was the first time Hongjoong called you anything but your name, and it made your heart and cunt flutter like anything. You listened to him and bit harshly on your lower lip to keep all of your sounds to a minimum. However, it was getting more and more difficult to as you felt him suck on your breast and his teeth nibble on your nipple.

At some point, Hongjoong couldn’t take it anymore. He moved away from you to undo his pants and slip them down slightly, his cock springing up the second it was released from its clothed jail. You mouth immediately watered upon seeing his rosy pink cock tremble, precum slowly dripping down his length. His hands then moved to the small of your back, his fingers pushing down on the waistband of your pants.

“Take your pants off for me, darling.”

There that nickname was again. You practically flew out of your pants and panties before returning to straddling Hongjoong. You didn’t realize it, but while you were removing your clothes, Hongjoong managed to roll a condom on and toss the discarded wrapper to the side.

“Where’d you get the condom from?” you teasingly asked.

“Is where I got it from really important right now?” Hongjoong sighed as he buried his nose in the nook of your neck. “The important thing is that I have one on, darling. Now, come. Sit.”

Hongjoong had a firm grasp on your waist as you sat up and held his dick. You could hear him groan softly at your touch, that groan getting slightly louder when you rubbed him along your folds. You thought he was going to groan loudly as you sat down, his cock pushing through, but instead, his breathing hitched. You were kind of disappointed to not have gotten a stronger reaction from him, but when you saw his jaw tense and his eyes flutter, you knew that he was desperately attempting to hold back his noises.

The movie droned on in the background as you and Hongjoong focused on each other. You were bouncing slowly on his cock, his hands on your hips as he guided you at the pace that he wanted.

“You feeling good, darling?” Hongjoong murmured when he felt your grip on his shoulders relax.

“I want more…” you whispered breathily as you pressed your forehead against his.

You nearly yelped when Hongjoong thrusted his hips upwards sharply, a slight slapping noise echoing in the room. The fabric of his shirt got bunched up in your fists as he continued to thrust upwards while pushing your waist down. You could feel your brain emptying out as Hongjoong fucked you, each thrust more rough than the last. You eyes fluttered as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your breathing getting more erratic by the second.

“J-Joong, I’m— Hnngh— Fu-uck,” you whined softly.

Hongjoong pressed his lips against yours again, making you moan slightly into his mouth. He didn’t have to shush you again for you to know that he was telling you to stay quiet. Your brain went completely blank by that point, and your entire body was reacting to every single thing he did. Your back arched when his hand moved up to your breast, his other hand still forcefully pushing your waist down as you weakly continued bouncing on his lap. It was when his fingers tugged on your nipple and his tongue slipped into your mouth did your vision go white and the knot in your stomach unravel. The sounds of your cries were thankfully muffled as you came. Your walls fluttered and tensed up as you came, making Hongjoong’s entire body jolt.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming,” Hongjoong hissed as he broke your chain of kisses and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

You felt Hongjoong’s cock spasm inside you as he filled the condom with his seed. He groaned sensually into your ear as his arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you close.

Both you and the man under you were breathing heavily by the time Hongjoong and the movie completely finished. You remained seated on his lap until you could find the strength in your legs to get up and off his now soft cock.

“Fuck, Y/N, that was amazing,” Hongjoong sighed blissfully as he removed his condom. 

You hummed in agreement as you bent over to grab your clothes. However, the second you did, Hongjoong stood up and took your clothes out of your hands.

“Shouldn’t we get dressed before my brother or Wooyoung come back?” you whispered urgently.

“I never said we were done here, darling. Come with me.”

Hongjoong, grabbing your clothes with one hand and your arm with the other, led you to his bedroom. He closed and locked his door the second you entered the room before pulling you into his embrace, his lips teasing yours.

“And remember, don’t make a sound.”

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[radley-writes]

This is the anti-marketing website, etc. etc. etc., but I've seen a couple of these posts do okay and it's Pride month so... Here goes?

Do ya wanna support a queer disabled author who is still slightly baffled that they broke into tradpub?

Do ya like stories about working class uprisings, set against a backdrop of corporate corruption and Superheroes Behaving Badly?

Do ya yearn for a plucky lesbian underdog of a hero, who becomes a supervillain sidekick while navigating her voracious horniness for both her grumpy butch coworker and her straight best friend (oddly specific, I know)?

Do ya want a murder mystery where we know the victim and the killer, but have to untangle the motive?

Do the descriptions "Laughed my butt off", "Me lesbeeb" and "Books that made me want to burn down the government" make you reach for your wallet?

If so, look no further than my debut, Strictly No Heroics!

[ID: cover of a book showing a figure in a gasmask, hoodie and gloves, leant on an old TV. A rainbow pride pin is pinned to their jacket. Text reads ‘STRICTLY NO HEROICS’ in neon pink and green, and ‘B. L. Radley’ in white.]

Have an actual blurb too, while you're reading!

If you're a powerless normie in a world run by superheroes, you need three rules to survive:

1: Keep your head down

2: Don’t make enemies

3: STRICTLY NO HEROICS

When a hero gropes her best friend, Riley Jones breaks all of them.

​Her attempt at serving justice gets her fired from her summer job. Luckily, Sunnylake City’s biggest business is booming (literally, when there's C4 involved).

​Every villain wants henchmen: masked cronies who take their coffee orders, vacuum their secret lairs, and posture in the background while they fight. The HENCH agency provides a steady stream of drop-outs and losers who are willing to get beaten up for minimum wage.

​Riley might just be the perfect candidate.

You can

buy my book here

UK version here

Reblogs are greatly appreciated, and kisses to everyone who's already got their hands on a copy!

[blackdollette]

"riding the ride." | spencer reid

get free. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: it was a win-win for you. you could finally shut spencer up, and managed to get a good orgasm too.

fill out the taglist form!

female!reader x spencer

word count: 1.6k

contents: cunnilingus, cum-eating, snowballing (inverted), not proofread

date night. the one night a week where neither of you were working late and finally had the chance unfold in each other’s arms.

as cool breeze blew through the living room window as you flipped through tv channels, spencer’s arm wrapped around your torso as you rested your head on his chest. “what do you feel like watching tonight?” you asked, his thumbs rubbing slow circles onto your flesh. “i don’t mind, baby. i’m not picky.” you nodded, clicking the down button on the remote and landing on a reality show.

spencer hissed and you looked back at him. “what’s the matter?” you asked. “i don’t mind it, but i’m just worried about you. you know i found a really intresting article about reality tv. statistics show that around 47% of people use them as guilty pleasures and 92% of that is the female population who admit that they feel pressure to conform to the unrealistic beauty and relationship standards portrayed in the shows. besides, everything is one-hundred percent staged anyway.”

with each word he spoke, you felt braincells getting killed off in your brain. you nodded, consdiering what he said. “alright then. no reality tv, got it.” you scrolled further down the tv guide, landing on a horror film this time. but he spoke again. “are you sure you wanna choose that, babe? horror movies have been proven to desensitize viewers to violence, major disturbances and other dangers, which may all end up messing up your perception of risks.”

you felt your eye twitching as he droned on. you decided to find something that he couldn’t nitpick and analyze. you click on a weather forecast. boring, monotonous, but no dangers in sight. or so you thought. “did you know tha-” you rolled your eyes, snapping at last. “god, don’t you ever get tired of working that mouth of yours?” 

you squirmed at how provocative the statement came out. surprised at your outburst, spencer smiled proudly. “i have yet to, darling.” his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in even closer to him. you rose an eyebrow, eyes narrowing at him ever so slightly. “is that a challenge, spence?” he caught a glimpse of the cheeky grin on your face in the corner of his eye. 

as the weather man blabbed on in the background, your face lit up as an idea popped into your head. you clicked the off button on the remote, making the tv screen turn black. you crawled so that you were fully sat on his lap, your hands starting to play with his hair as you whispered in his ear. “i’ve got a better idea for date night…”

spencer reid, the human computer who could sense even the slightest change in atmopshere seemed to be having a malfunction as you gently pressed his face into your chest. his breath heat up, the warmth seeping throug the thin fabric of your tank top. you moved your hips against his lap, taking the air from his lungs. “how about i put that tongue of yours to good use..?”

it was at this moment that he knew he was powerless. his hands were at your waist, clinging to them like he was afraid to let you go. his eyes trailed down to where your two body connected, taking in the sight of your legs in those little pajama shorts. he brought his hand down and began twirling the drawstring between his fingers, gazing up at you with those deep brown eyes. he tugged at the waistband, silently begging for the shorts to come off. you grinned, seeing that he was finally lost for words. “use your words, spence…” you never thought you’d have to tell spencer to speak, but here you were, watching as he struggled to formulate basic english.

he pressed his chin into your soft chest, muttering under his breath. “can you take ‘em off, hon..?” his biceps flxed slightly under his t-shirts as his grip tightened. you dug your thumbs under the waistband of your shorts, giving him a teasing glance of your bare hips and listening to his breath hitch.

you grinned as his eyes widened like saucers at the sight of your panties. “why don’t you lie down for me, spence.” he nodded, following your command in an instant like an obedient puppy. you stood up from the couch, his eyes glued to your body as you finally took off your shorts, letting them fall to the ground before kicking them off your feet.

the tension in the room grew thick enough to cut through as you lowered yourself onto his chest, not wanting to move too fast. spencer was panting like a dog, eyes triling down to where you cunt with covered by that pesky little strip of fabric. he longed to tear it with his teeth, to finally have access to the honey between your legs.

you slowly rose up once again, crawling slowly until you were hovering over his face. spencer’s mouth watered at the area of saturated fabric that was the perfect telltale of your arousal. your hips swayed slightly, hypnotizing him and making that familiar sizzle burn in this grey sweatpants.

a taste of heaven was just a touch away, and he didn’t know how much longer he could wait. you took a deep breath. “a-alright, just lemme know when you’re rea-” he couldn’t bear the torture any longer. he grabbed your ass, tearing off your panties and connecting his lips with your dripping cunt. 

completely taken by surprise, you yelped, gripping the couch cushion as your whole body tensed. he was going at it like a starved dog, his tongue greedily lapping up all your juuices as he tossed the leftover fabric of your panties to the side, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass as he flicked his tongue over your puffy clit.

he groaned deeply as he finally tasted you, desperate to have you. his pulsating cock twitched in his pants, begging to be let free. he bucked his hips into the air, moving against anything he could. “you taste so good, baby…” he muttered into your pussy, moving a hand down to rub quiet circles on your clit.

you tossed your head back in pleasure, grinding against his face as he found the perfect rhythm between his tongue and his fingers. he jutted his tongue in and out of your hole, hasilty bringing a hand down to his sweatpants and needily palming himself through the plush fabric. the contact made his vision go starry, the abundance of pleasure doing wonderful things to his head.

he snaked his hand into his pants, whipping out his precum-glazed cock. the tip was red and swollen from being neglected for so long. he gave himself a few lazy strokes, more focused on your right then than anything else. 

his tongue ventured deep inside of your hole, desperate to taste every fold and crevice. you were sure that he wasn’t even breathing at this point. he was completely drunk off the taste of your body. he pumped his cock at a more rapid pace, feeding his moans into your core and sending powerful vibrations through you.

the base of his hand slapped against his balls each time he went back down, his thumb ghosting against his tip when he came back up again. the living room filled with the succulent noises of him devouring you like your were his last meal.

your back arched as he suckled your hard pearl between his lips. you attempted to rise up from his face to let him have a breath of air, but he gripped you even tighter. “c’mon baby, i’m not done yet…” he had your cum pouring down his neck, grool bubbling from his lips and nostrils. he was making an absolute mess of you, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

his hips violently thrusted into his fist as the sounds of your moans and whimpers fueled his desire even more. he growled into you, eating you up like a starved predator who had finally caught its prey. your legs clenched aorund his head, nearly suffocating him. you rode his face rapidly, tits bouncing through your tank top.

the sight from above made him run wild. he moved his hand from your hip, sneaking it under your shirt and starting to knead your breasts, toying with your hard nipples.

you were so close to reaching such a satisfying climax. every nerve in your body was responding to his intimate touch, never wanting him to stop. your hands grabbed his hair as the band in your stomach snapped, utnring you into a screamed mess as thick white liquid cascaded out of your pussy.

he hungrily lapped up every last drop, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste. his cock had ejaculated hot strings of cum so far that they had hit your back, painting you like a piece of art. he took his time finished you off like the last scoop of a sweet dessert before finally letting you off his face. as you got back to your feet, he sat up and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, feeding your cum into your mouth and groaning softly. “...see how good you taste, my love..?”

your lips began to swell at how deeply he took you in, the heat in your body reaching an all time high. after several long minutes, he pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting you two before breaking. he looked down, seeing the cummy mess on his t-shirt. but it was nothing compared to what streamed down his neck. you giggled softly, patting him on the cheek. “such a messy boy…”

he stood up from the couch, picking up your shorts for you. “how about we take this date night to the shower? would you like that, baby?” you smiled, nodding as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. he walked away with you, a smle on his face and a sticky mess flowing down your inner thighs.

author's note: thank you everyone for 1,000 followers! never thought i'd live to see the daythat i reach my longest goaal

[coraniaid]

It’s always very odd to me when I read criticism of A Song Of Ice And Fire online (by which I mainly mean: on Tumblr) which takes for granted that this is some sort of obsessively dark and edgy and mean-spirited fantasy, because ... that's not what the series is actually like at all?  

I mean, yes, some awful (and graphically described) stuff happens in these books, but this is at heart a deeply optimistic and almost embarrassingly romantic story, full of a very obvious sympathy and tenderness for the unhappy and the hurt and the powerless.  The weird gritty-for-the-sake-of-it books that the series's detractors describe wouldn't have recurring POV characters like Sansa Stark or Tyrion Lannister or Davos Seaworth or Samwell Tarly or Brienne of Tarth.  They certainly wouldn't obviously empathize with and respect these characters to the extent the actual books do.  They wouldn't be so obsessive about the importance of hope and kindness and understanding in an otherwise uncaring world.  Whenever the text suggests the world isn't fair or kind there's always an unspoken "but it should be,and I wish it was". You are clearly not meant to think that characters like Roose Bolton or Twyin Lannister are being held up as role models to emulate!

I mean, maybe the TV show is more like that -- I gave up on the show after only a couple of seasons, it was a terrible adaptation of the source material, even before the final season that everyone apparently hated -- but so much of the open disdain for ASOIAF I come across on here reads like the people writing the posts haven't even read a single one of the books. Yes, the popularity of ASOIAF inspired a lot of "dark" fantasy novels that actually are bleakly nihilistic and seem to revel in their characters meeting pointlessly sad and violent ends, but Martin's books are just not like that.

Yes, lots of the world-building for ASOIAF is patently ridiculous, and yes, key parts of the plot are just cribbed from the War of the Roses (or, rather, from historical novels like Sharon Penman's The Sunne in Splendour)  and yes, Martin has said some very stupid things in interviews while busy not writing the series.  And no, I'm not sure I could actually bring myself to recommend the books to anyone who's not read them before (especially when it's so unlikely that the series will ever be finished, let alone in a satisfying way).  I haven’t reread them myself in years.

But honestly, back when I was a quietly miserable teenager these books really meant a lot to me, in part because they are the opposite of the caricature often discussed online.  Yes, they acknowledged that sometimes the world was awful and unbearable.  It is!  But they also suggested that it was still important to try to be fair and kind and to appreciate the moments when things were better.  They are books about trying to do the right thing even when it’s so hard as to seem impossible and nobody else will even know that you tried, written in a way that takes for granted that “the right thing” is also the just and the optimistic and the quietly heroic thing; that doing the right thing when you afraid is more praiseworthy than never being afraid at all. And it is baffling to me how often I see people talking about them now who don't actually seem to have ever even skimmed them but are still vocally passionate in their hatred of something that, as they describe it, simply doesn't exist.

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

Eddie’s sobbing is a muffled, haunting sound in your ears. You swear you can feel your heart pounding out of your chest. The weight of feeling invisible, hurt, and utterly worthless presses down on you. The urge to reach out to him, to comfort him as you’ve always done, is overwhelming, but you’re powerless to act.

“Fuck, it’s all my fault, fuck!” Eddie’s cries are raw, filled with guilt and desperation. You thought you understood why he was crying, but now the confusion and fear make you question everything. “Eddie, what’s wrong?” you ask timidly, your voice trembling, afraid he might lash out at you again. His head snaps in your direction, eyes wide with panic.

“I—I put you in this position, baby! You’re fucking dying because of me!” Eddie’s voice is frantic, his tears mingling with snot streaming down his face. “I can’t—I can’t stop the bleeding. What the fuck, baby, I’m sorry! I’m trying, I’m trying so hard, just hold on for me, please!” He’s pleading, his sobs wracking his body as he reaches for the radio on his hip, hoping Wayne will know what to do. As he speaks, he sees the bright red blood staining his hands, realizing it's yours.

You can only assume it’s your blood causing his panic, but you need him to know it’s not his fault. “Eddie, baby, stop. It’s not your fault. I swear, it’s not your fault—”

“No?!” Eddie interrupts, his voice cracking. “Then how did this happen, huh? How did you end up like this? Was it some mysterious god I don’t even believe in? Shit, baby, yes, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” He clutches the radio, his hands shaking violently as he cries out for Wayne. The radio crackles before Wayne’s calming voice comes through.

“Wayne, please, please help me. Y/N is bleeding out, I don’t know what to do, Wayne, please,” Eddie sobs, his voice breaking. You can no longer speak, too weak to form coherent sentences. Your vision blurs, the darkness encroaching upon you. You can feel the coldness wrapping around you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. In the distance, Wayne’s voice tries to soothe Eddie.

“Eddie, put pressure on her wounds. Eddie, Eddie, calm down.” Wayne’s voice grows stern and darker. “Eddie, this is your fault.”

Eddie’s eyes drop to you, seeing your lifeless form, your eyes shut and mouth slightly open. The realization hits him hard: you’re dead, and it’s because of him. The sky outside reflects his turmoil—red and angry with lightning flashing ominously. He kneels, holding you close, desperately praying this isn’t real, questioning why he pursued the bats instead of staying with you and Dustin. It’s his fault you’re gone.

Your dream of Steve and Robin dancing in Scoops Ahoy outfits is shattered by a loud whine from across the room. You sit up, squinting in the dim light from the TV, now showing static. As you look around, you see Max and Lucas on the lazy boy, Max’s glasses slipping off her nose and Lucas’s arm draped loosely around her waist. On the sectional couch, El and Mike are sleeping, El’s mouth slightly open and Mike snoring close to her face. Dustin and Will are sprawled on the floor, covered in thick comforters. Nancy and Jonathan are in the guest room upstairs, and Robin is sharing a bed with Steve.

Eddie is curled up in a ball on the pull-out bed, his blanket strewn on the floor. His bangs are matted to his forehead, and his body shakes violently. You quietly get up from the air mattress Steve gave you, careful not to wake anyone else, and tiptoe to Eddie.

“Eddie, Eddie, wake up,” you whisper, shaking his shoulder gently. “Eddie, Eds, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” Your voice is soothing, trying to offer comfort without startling him. “What’s wrong with him?” a voice asks suddenly, making you jump. You turn to see El, her hair messy, looking concerned.

“He’s having a nightmare, babe. I was just trying to wake him up,” you explain. “Oh,” El replies. You give Eddie another gentle shake, and his eyes snap open. He looks at you and El with a startled expression and immediately curls up tighter, burying his head in his knees. You and El move in sync, wrapping your arms around him to offer comfort. El’s arms encircle him, while you gently cradle his face and shoulders, trying to lift his gaze.

Eddie finally looks up at you, his eyes bloodshot and red, his face streaked with tears. Your heart aches at the sight of your best friend in such distress. “Eddie, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare,” El says softly. Eddie nods, thanking her and placing a kiss on her forehead, telling her to go back to sleep. She hesitates but leaves when you give her a reassuring look.

“Eddie, let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, leading him to the bathroom. He follows silently, his pinky linked with yours, his tall frame towering over you. You gesture for him to sit on the toilet.

“I didn’t know you were having nightmares, Eddie. Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, washing your hands in the sink. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he replies, his voice hoarse.

“Worry me? Eddie, you worried me when you almost died a few months ago. You worry me when you close off. I just want to take care of you. You’re my best friend. I wish it had been me instead of you. It should have been m—”

“Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence, Y/N. Don’t. It’s not your fault; it’s mine. I’m responsible for keeping myself safe, not you,” Eddie’s voice cracks.

“Yeah? Then why are you pushing me away? You’re sure acting like it’s my fault.” Tears well up in your eyes, your voice choked with emotion. “Listen, angel, sit.” Eddie guides you to sit on the edge of the bathtub, taking both your hands in his. He brings them to his mouth, holding them close as he speaks through sobs. “I never told you because the dreams are too painful. It’s not your fault. I keep dreaming of you dying in my arms. It’s unbearable to see your face, not when all I see is your soul leaving your eyes.”

“Eddie, you could have told me. I’ve always been here. I’ve been here, I’ve been right here, Eddie. I thought—I thought I lost you. I thought you hated me. I couldn’t handle that, not when I love you more than anything. I’m so in love with you, and you put me through so much pain, baby. I just needed you to talk to me,” you say, your head hanging low, tears streaming down your face. The pain of his distance and silence becomes clearer to you, and you finally understand why he was so distant and why he left you in the dark.

Eddie lifts your chin to meet his gaze, his eyes reflecting your own anguish. “Fuck, I love you too, baby. I love you so much. Why do you think this was so hard for me, huh? I thought I kept losing the love of my life. Baby, I couldn’t handle that.” He presses his forehead to yours, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice filled with regret.

“Look at me, baby,” Eddie pleads. You lift your gaze to his eyes and then down to his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” you reply. His mouth finds yours in a fervent kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips to meet yours in a grateful and passionate embrace. After what feels like hours, you finally pull away, both of you breathless and teary.

“I love you, baby,” Eddie says, his voice tender and filled with relief.

“I love you too, Eds,” you respond, your heart aching but full.

After cleaning his face and him cleaning yours, you walk hand in hand back to Steve’s living room. Eddie heads towards the pull-out bed, while you make your way back to your air mattress.

“Eddie,” you call softly.

“Yeah, baby?” he replies.

“Come lay with me.”

“Ugh, thank fuck. I don’t think I could sleep without you, even if I wanted to,” he says with a sigh of relief.

He immediately bounces onto the air mattress and buries his face in your chest. Your fingers find their way into his curls as he kisses your stomach and rests his hands gently on your sides.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your belly.

“Goodnight, angel. I love you too,” you respond softly.

That time , Eddie falls into a dreamless sleep, comforted by your presence and the reassurance of your shared love. not caring what looms the corner of his mind. you love him with his scars with his imperfections. thats all eddie cares about.

[declareqenius]

all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

[zzztlk]

ayo idk if this question has been asked before but did you have any character inspirations for nat, reagan and the demon dude? like, were they were inspired by any movie/tv show/video game characters or any ppl irl? ik the demon dude was probably based off of biblical lore (i feel like i heard you mention this, correct me if im wrong) but idk much about nat and reagan and i was wondering if there were any particular aspects that went into their personalities or any specific character designs choices. basically, how did you come up with their personalities and character designs lol. PS love your drawings <3

Tyyy and yep! Rabel was based off of Christian lore along with some other stuff, I talked about it a little before but there's more to it that I can't say at this time muahaha

As for Nat and Regan, I'll talk about them a bit under the cut! Here's the very first designs I made of them lol.

Originally Regan was conceived as a red herring candidate for the demonic possession who was actively seeking an encounter with the occult so I themed her to look kind of spooky and edgy. Over time, that aspect sort of got pushed out by how the plot was coming together and her character became more about opting out of agency over her own life and sitting back while the world around her did its thing, so she kinda morphed into being a disheveled losergirl who wears big clothes.

The idea behind Nat was to go in the opposite direction of Regan's original concept. Someone who looked clean cut and unassuming but felt small and powerless and restrained in every aspect of their life; the actual ideal target for a demon. Only thing that really changed about her is she looks gayer now.

In terms of external influences, there's some Jennifer's body baked into the premise for sure but additionally I'd say that the true sourdough starter for their personalities/dynamic can be traced back to... butterfly soup Noelle and Akarsha..

[benisasoftboi]

I am so happy with the conclusion of BBC Ghosts.

There were so many things I loved about the final series that I can't even keep it all straight in my brain, I'll have to rewatch it all (and the Christmas special, of course! Must remember it's the not the true end yet!)

But something I can immediately say I loved was what they didn't do. See, that line in the trailer that turned out to be from episode 5 - about there being a pattern to when they move on - worried me. One of the best things about the show, to me, is how there truly is not any reason at all to why the ghosts are there, or when they go. It's something the creators have said over and over, and that the show has always backed up; we saw so many times that, unlike in most ghost media, addressing unfinished business or achieving emotional resolution changes absolutely nothing. Pat hit some sort of emotional resolution three times. And Julian realised the importance of family, and Robin saved someone’s life, and Thomas discovered the truth of his death, and so on and so on. Finding closure isn't the end, and equally, the end isn't predicated by a climatic conclusion. It just happens. And the same is true for why people become ghosts. It just happens. And you exist, and fill your days, and then you’re gone. And no one knows why.

It's kind of the most agnostic television show I've ever seen.

I love that. Every other afterlife show I've ever seen has some kind of reward and punishment system. Or at least says that there's a reason for things, some kind of higher power at play, not necessarily a god but something like it. Even the American adaptation felt the need to bring Hell into it, which is why I need to specify that I'm only talking about the British version here. And I feel like a lot of fans wanted there to be reasons too, or felt like there simply had to be, that it wasn't even a question. I get why - it's not just because it's the standard for ghost narratives. It's really uncomfortable to think about the randomness of life and death. But Mary didn't go because of anything that happened before that day, and Cap was never going to go because he came out, and one day, when they've all gone, there won't have been a reason for it.

Because the real point of BBC Ghosts is that there is no point. You’ve just got to make it through the days, surrounded by people that irritate you, trapped in a confusing world where you’re mostly powerless. And it sucks, and you're angry, and sad, and bored as hell. And you also find happiness in the mundane chaos, and you get really good at chess, and watch the ants in the garden, and write bad poetry, and read terrible romance novels, and gamble money you don't have, and go camping, and play games, and learn French, and watch reality TV, and have sex with a decapitated Tudor nobleman’s body, and dance to old music, and look at the stars, and find that you actually really love all those annoying people after all, and that’s the point.

[spencerified]

Hiii, well, English is not my first language, sorry for that. I'm not a writer, but a big reader, so welcome to the community ^^

I was thinking about a reader who works in BAU, gets kidnapped, and for some reason the su-des was filming, and the reader is forced to confess that she like Spencer, (The whole team saw it).

As if the su-des were playing a game like truth or dare, and ended up reluctantly confessing that, the reader having a lot of confidence. If you read this and do it I would be very grateful, ily^^♡

(Can be fem!reader or g!reader, it doesn't matter, I repeat, if you read it and do it I will thank you for the rest of my life)

hiii!!! first of all thank you so much for trusting me with your request 🫶 this came out a little (a lot) longer than I thought it would but i hope it's still what you expected and that you enjoy it!! any other requests are very welcome ♡ lots of hugs for everyone

���

"Stop."

You're relieved that your weak attempt, your last resort at trying to get the Unsub to show you mercy, makes him stop in his tracks. You still feel the ghost of the edge of a knife itching against your skin, when it was unclear if he really wanted to hurt you or if it was just an attempt at getting you to break. To get you to spill your most deepest, darkest secrets, the ones hidden within the depths of your heart. 

Hidden even from Spencer, who looks at you from (presumably) miles away, through a sketchy live transmission sent to Garcia. Untraceable, of course. He desperately wishes he could just snap his fingers and make it all go away. Every tear, every ache, every whisper of pain. Wants to build a world where you won’t know suffering ever again.

Hotch's voice when he first trained you for what Penelope called 'The Non-Fun Parts of The Job' resonates in your hazy mind. Be aware your surroundings, he said, and you wonder if he might be disappointed on the other side of the camera haphazardly propped up a few feet in front of you, it's red light mocking you with each blink.

"Why are you doing this?" You say, emitting now only a pitiful vestige of your voice which is usually never afraid to speak on anything. It seems amusing to him because seconds later, a cheshire grin blossoms in his face, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand. 

"Oh, you have no idea who I am, do you?" He says. You've never thought a person could inflict so much fear with only a look and a few words. "I don't remember you either, so no hard feelings. But the BAU has... humiliated me. Took everything I love away from me. My family, my job, my friends..." His voice grows low to the point that if you weren't so on edge, you would have to strain your ears to hear him. "They may think getting away for years feels like a reward to me, but they don't live what I live. 

Watching the TV waiting for the next time the BAU finally remembers me over the rest of the cases they have to push away to the… dusty corners of their file room because of their incompetency and decides to spread my picture all over the news once again... it's no way to live." 

The man's voice is so calm you constantly wait for the other shoe to drop. Like when you're so scared on a rollercoaster and your only option is to close your eyes and wait for the inevitable drop. It doesn't come. It seems like years of inflicting pain on others, and then years of hiding away from the consequences are an upstanding process on how to numb a person.

Spencer sees it too. He sees that this Unsub just won't lose control, and that scares him. Because someone this put together – in a rather bizarre way, wouldn't even bat an eye were he to decide on hurting you. And Spencer would have to watch it all, powerless, scribbling over and over again over his wide map spread out on the conference room's table. 

"I'm sorry..." You lie through your teeth. "That you have to live that way."

Fake empathy towards him, Hotch echoes on your head again. You must be reliving his instructions in your head as a way to keep your cool. You bite your lip so hard you fear it might bleed when you realize you're doing it. He's delusional, you reason. He thinks the BAU wanting to catch him for murdering at least 7 couples in public parks is somehow a way to wrong him. 

"Well, thank you," he says, a bitter tone bleeding into his words. "But it's not enough. Luckily for you, you know just what to do that will be." 

"I don't have any secrets," you confess. Outside of the BAU, you don't have a very interesting life. Go home, say hi to the neighbors in your building, sometimes smile at someone while shopping groceries. No burning, forbidden love affair – mostly because the only candidate you want is endearingly oblivious –, no superhero side quests that would make for an interesting conversation at lunch break with your coworkers. No skeletons in your closet, no secret vices or scandalous secrets that would obliterate your pristine reputation amongst your coworkers. Not even one involving the most important one of them. Of course not. 

"I'm sure you do. Everyone does," he circles your chair. You want to sob when you lose sight of him and feel his presence looming on the back of the chair. Not knowing when your life could potentially be taken away from you is jarring. 

"I don't," you say. You don't need to use the word 'please' for him to know that you're begging for your life. "I really don't." 

Pull yourself together, you think. This is not how a BAU agent must react when faced with a threat. But then again, you've only been here for less than a year, and maybe you just don't have it in you to keep your cool the way the rest of your team would. You take a harsh deep breath. 

Spencer has a rather uncanny ability to tune the world out. When he's engrossed in his job, his books, his facts, it's easy to lose himself on them. Specially when the only person who usually listens to him when he externalizes them is away. 

Not away, he thinks. That makes it seem like you're taking a vacation. A small voice in the back of his head wonders where would you go if you were given the chance to. Then, he remembers he might never find out if he doesn't figure this out soon. The case has the team's complete and utter attention, and he knows these are some of the best minds in the Bureau. But he still feels like it's his responsibility to figure it out; he can't help but think that it's what it's expected of him. He wonders if that expectation stems from being a prodigy, or because he's so close to you that it only makes sense it would be him. 

He feels a rush flowing through his veins when he feels like he's close to figuring it out. Then, he's harshly brought back to the reality where he hogs the conference room's table with his map and the team scatters over the rest of the room, working on who-knows-what, by a series of worrying hurried breaths of yours. 

"Okay, okay!" You say, when he roughly yanks you by the hair to keep you still. The knife you thought was previously discarded hovers over your ear. 

"One clean slash, and you'll be out like a light."

You don't find it in yourself to want to test the veracity of that theory out. 

So you realize your only shot at getting out of here might be giving him what he wants. You can't stall anymore, and one side of your brain tells you that it's your team, they'll get here in time, and the other asks itself if that might be a thing that just happens in unrealistic crime shows. 

"I..." You start. You wonder if Spencer is watching this. You would rather have every agent in the FBI hear this, all 35,000 of them, instead of him. You whimper when the knife inches closer to your skin. You can't die. Not here. Is keeping your perception of dignity worth losing your life? "I like my coworker." 

It doesn't satisfy the Unsub. "Which one?" 

You want to refuse to answer, to curl into a ball and cry until you recover the false sense of confidence you walk around with that has now been shattered. You'll get it back, eventually. Not if you die. So you toughen it up, and breathe deep. "Spencer." 

It sounds so stupid. A mere speck in the grand scheme of things, of problems and situations anyone would expect an FBI agent to have. But it's the hardest thing you've ever had to say.

And it's the hardest thing he's ever had to hear. If it were in any other situation, he wouldn't have put it past him to jump in glee. You, with your head always held high, never one to shy away from showing who you were to the world, with your gentle soul that lured him in even when he tried to keep his heart safe from rejection... You liked him. But that's not his focus right now. Even if every single train of thought in his brain has come to a catastrophic halt, he has to focus, because he can't take one more second of seeing you trying to keep calm with a knife to your throat. 

A picture of Hannah Davis, one of the victims from the original case, hung up on the wall behind you ends up giving the Unsub's whole act away. Still, it doesn't make a lot of sense for Hannah to have hung up a picture of herself in her own house, so the team splits to cover both the boyfriend's house and Hannah's. 

It's just a precautionary measure. Spencer knows exactly where you are.

"Oh, Dr. Reid. Idiots interrogated me about once or twice as a witness and he was a real boom with the ladies at the precinct back then. Let me tell you, if I had his charm, I wouldn't have had to resort to killing couples to get off." 

The Unsub lets go of your hair with no warning and your head hangs down as if you were a rag doll. You find it in yourself to hum uninterestedly at his sick attempt of joking. 

You don't think you've ever felt your heart beating as hard as it is right now. And when you tune out the sound of the man talking and rambling about God knows what, you realize that the thumping you hear in your ears isn't your heart. That maybe the creaking on the stairs isn't a product of your delirious mind conjuring up a sequence where you magically get saved from the bad guy.

You sigh when the man behind you yanks you back again. This time, you feel the need to put on a facade. Make it look like you’ve come to terms with it; if this is how you go, then so be it. The knife on your throat makes your heart rate pick back up, but you don't whimper. You wonder if you're trying to keep it together for yourself or because you are ashamed of the image your team will have of you after this if you don't.  

You hear Morgan kick the door down. Usually, you're on the other side of this. You help talk an Unsub down, and then make fun of Morgan after for kicking the door instead of opening it like a civilized FBI agent. Talking them down doesn't always work. Sometimes, you end up with another casualty added to the case. In the worst outcome, you end up with two more. You're not as unafraid as you thought. Please, God, you think. This cannot be the end. 

Morgan screaming at the Unsub to put the knife down falls in deaf ears. It's only white noise to you now, and maybe that stems from the fact that you have been held hostage for what felt like days with no food, no water, no sun, and you feel so close to it being over. Soon, you'll be on a hospital bed, eating food that only the thought of makes you feel nauseated but even that is better than this. Maybe Spencer will sneak you a treat. Or maybe that's wishful thinking. 

As you're dwelling on what the consequences of him potentially hearing your confession might be, you hear a gun go off. You don't even react when the pressure exerted on the right side of your neck, the weight of the arm holding you in place suddenly fades away as your head falls forward. 

You hear the thud of a body hit the ground. Maybe we can still be friends, you try to reason. Spencer drops his smoking gun to a side as Morgan tries to untie your hands behind your back. Maybe he'll reciprocate, or is that too much of a delusion to have even in your incoherent state? Spencer holds you in his arms when you have nothing pushing you back against the chair anymore. 

"I'm sorry," you sob into his shoulder, not an ounce of strength remaining in your body. You were not made for this. Not made for withstanding this kind of torment. If you mean the torment of being kidnapped, or the torment that awaits you once you're not hysterically sobbing in front of the man you're not ready to admit you love, you're not sure. "I'm so sorry." 

"Hey," he says, tenderly. You don't know how much time it's gone by since the last time you saw him. The only thing you know is that this kind of gentleness is now unfamiliar after harsh hands engraved themselves all over you. "Hey, it's okay. What are you sorry for?" 

"I'm sorry," you say, worn out, the words echoing around your head like a DVD screensaver. You then register his question. "For saying that." 

You don't specify what. It's not necessary; it never has been with Spencer. Somehow, you both know exactly what the other means, with just a glance, a brush of an arm when somehow you find yourself trapped in his orbit once again. 

"It's alright," is it? Part of him wonders if being with you might have become even more unattainable now than it was before. If you'll push him away because the memory of the circumstances of your confession is too painful to bear. His hand hovers in the air before he finds a moment where he feels like you won't get up and run away from him if he touches you. You shudder, but ultimately stay right where you are. "Don't cry. You're okay." 

Are we okay? You have to ask. But maybe right now is not the moment. Maybe right now all you want is to be held before everything goes down the drain. You've hit rock bottom, and everyone probably sees it too. Spencer just wishes you find it in your heart to let him be the one to help you out of there. You don't need to yell for help if you have him – the most minuscule mutter of your burdens will be enough to have him snapping into action. He knows what it's like to give every sign that you could ever think of and still have them ignored. He isn't about to let you go through that. 

"We're going to go home now, yeah?" You nod. When you come to it, your fingers ache from holding onto his shirt so hard you want to apologize to him in case you had hurt him. You don't find the words. The rise and fall of his chest had lulled you into the deepest, calmest sleep you have managed to get in a while, even before the kidnapping happened at all, and in this moment, you almost swear that it'll all be okay. 

When you wake up, there's a steady hold in your hand as the ambulance rocks back and forth. 

"God, they need to get that street fixed," you say. You don't recognize your voice, the rasp in your throat being the only thing to confirm that it is indeed you speaking. It takes you a moment to realize that the hand that holds yours firmly is Spencer's. 

You'd be lying if you said you weren't scared to look at him. What would his expression be like? Disgust? Perhaps Morgan made him ride with you until they got to the ambulance. Perhaps he offered to do so because he wanted to do something nice for you before he completely tore your heart to shreds by saying he doesn't like you back. Perhaps-

"We're almost there." The way his voice manages to shut every deprecating thought in your head should be studied. As a reflex, you turn your head to look at him. You wish you hadn't, because the way he looks at you like you're a masterpiece – a rather flawed one, even if he doesn't think so, isn't helping the ache in your chest. Your first thought is that it's awe, but then you think you might want to get that get that checked out when you get to the hospital. 

You barely notice his hand shifting around yours, until it holds your wrist, his thumb pressed softly but firm against your pulse point. He can probably feel the way your heart quickens when he leans in to take a look at your face. 

"Does the light hurt your eyes?" You nod, sluggishly. He turns over to look at the paramedic who sits next to you. You feel a little bit of relief at the fact that no one's hovering over you. It means you're okay. It's all minor. And mostly psychological. Spencer starts listing studies and tests they apparently need to run on you, and while you love the way he rambles, you don't think you can keep up with him without getting a stroke in the process right now.

You doze off again. God, you needed that. You hadn't closed your eyes for more than a couple of seconds during all of your stay in that house. Stay. You don't know what else to call it. 

Emily stayed with you while they checked you out and in her words, it was like you were moving on autopilot. It was unnerving, but the doctors had informed her that there was nothing wrong besides a couple of nasty bruises you would have to spend extra concealer on. 

Spencer offered to stay overnight. One can only imagine how unsettling it was for him to lift his head from his book to see you sitting up like a spring at 2:45 am. 

"Hi," he says, his voice a hushed breath as he sits on the edge of your bed, smiling awkwardly at you. There's no one else in the room, but it's like if any of you speaks louder than a whisper, the bubble you're in will burst. Your chest heaves with hurried breaths, and you rub your eyes.

"Hey." You're already dreading this conversation. Is there any way to go back to before you were kidnapped and forced to confess you're in love with your best friend/coworker? Anyhow, you don't want to stay in the dark anymore and hurry to speak directly to the point. "I don't want things to be weird between us." 

"We haven't even talked for a minute, what do you mean?" 

You let out a short, humorless laugh, which could be easily just interpreted as a hum. You scramble over the clutter that is your mind right now to find a topic that will help you evade the awkwardness. "... Why are you still awake?" 

He didn't expect you to ask that, if the way his gaze drifts to the side is anything to go by. 

"The book was very... interesting, to say the least," he blatantly lies. You don't know if he's a bad liar or if you're just an expert in the Spencer Reid sciences. 

"I'm sure it was." 

You don't speak for a minute. A minute and 33 seconds, he counts, and you're heading strong for a second one when his voice breaks the uncomfortable atmosphere. 

"Listen, I..." 

"I know you heard it." Everyone probably did. And it'll be less humiliating if you act like you don't wish you could just crawl out of your skin and hide. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to die." 

"I'm glad you said it." 

You don't know if he's glad you said it because otherwise you would have probably bled out before they even got to the house or because the fog that used to sit atop of whatever weird tension you both seemed to develop whenever you were the last ones in the conference room, paired to interview a witness, or sharing the big couch on the jet, is finally cleared up. 

You can't lie and say you're not relieved you did, too.

"I'm glad too," you say, mostly to yourself. Where do you go from here? Spencer knows a lot of things, none of which seem useful at the moment. He's almost tempted to bring Morgan in for moral support; otherwise, he's about to perform the worst ridicule he's ever had the pleasure to star in. 

You wait for him to speak. He doesn't, and instead stares at the bedsheets that look like their sole existence is an offense by the way his brow creases. 

"You look like something's bothering you," you say, tentatively testing the waters. Can you already joke with him, or is it too soon to pretend like everything's okay? "Is it not a nice pattern?" 

He smiles for a split second. You didn't realize the air had been lacking from your lungs until this very second. "The pattern is geometrically off. If you look at it closely, you'll see that the diamonds aren't quite aligned properly. It seems minor, yet it's still evident enough to unconsciously make the pattern less appealing to the eyes. I suppose that's what you get with mass-produced and machine-made products nowadays."

You smile warmly at him. Only then it's that your chest tightens as the realization of just how much you missed just hearing him talk about things that would have never even crossed your mind in a thousand years, dawns upon you.

"Sorry. I forgot my magnifying glass at home." 

"I see you didn't left the wit back there." You smile at him. It feels foreign. Just a second ago you were avoiding looking at him like the mere action of doing so would make you burst into flames on the spot. Your smile is like fuel for the burning courage consuming his insides as he opens his mouth again. "I... I think- No, sorry. I mean, I am certain that..." Okay, Spencer. Great way to start. He tries to gather his thoughts, which proves to be a much harder challenge when they're all a jumbled mess. 

"You like your coworker too?" 

"Yeah," he says. His lips curl into a warm, genuine smile that does wonders at speaking of the deep affection that harbors in the depths of his soul. One only reserved for you. He's quick to repress it because he doesn't want to seem stupid. 

You don't let him throw you off your feet. "Dr. Reid, can you wait until I don't feel and look like a bus just ran over me to confess your unconditional and undying love for me?" 

He wouldn't have expected a different answer from you. The confidence you wear on the outside is a mask for the way he makes you melt like a bar of chocolate in warm weather on the inside. You don't need him to answer to that. He touches your hair, and you turn to look at the bag of skittles placed on the bedside table, and you know he'll gladly wait until you don't feel like you've been stripped of all your defenses. Until you feel like yourself again. 

[teabutmakeitazure]

Congratulations on 1000 followers, 1000 mouths to feed, and 2000 watchful eyes (｢• ω •)｢ Couldn't happen to a better writer ♡

I saw you sneak Illumi on that list. I am very frightened of the needle man. Can I request something with the first time Illumi realizes he is obsessed with darling?

Perforate and Permeate

>Yan! Illumi x Fem! Reader

>Word count: ~3.4k

Red flags start appearing in the form of odd piercings on taxi drivers. The feeling of something horribly off surrounds you, but in the end, some people are always powerless, aren't they?

The first red flag of the evening was the creepy taxi driver. There seemed to be some sort of yellow ball stuck to the skin on his neck, and his movements and speech were somewhat robotic. The second red flag was that he offered you a ride without you even calling for one.

Thankfully, the evening rush hour helped you get away from the peculiar man, and you slid into the subway train, hidden and safe among the numerous people around you. Ironically enough, it felt a little hypocritical to find comfort among the number of people since you were always adverse to crowds. The smell of sweat and close proximity of human beings made you a little nauseous, but right now it felt safe.

The third red flag comes in the form of your apartment building’s watchman being absent. He never takes a day off and always ensures that the other watchman - the man who usually works as the receptionist since for some reason there’s a desk and everything in the lobby - takes his place while he’s away for food or such.

Neither men were there and as you press the elevator button to your floor, you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye before the doors close. The fourth red flag is that your apartment windows are open. Not all of them, but the living room windows are open. You’re absolutely certain you had left them closed when you left. You could even swear on it.

Nevertheless, some sort of dismissive hope deludes you into believing that the wind opened them and you don’t dare come any closer. The reminder to check their locks is pushed into the back of your mind when you fall onto your bed face first. Silence envelopes you, its warm hands granting you the comfort of your home.

Despite how quick the comfort came, all relaxation leaves your bones when your phone rings. As you accept the call and press your phone to your ear, you realise you almost drifted off. Your mother’s voice greets you before turning into a scolding one when you tell her you just got home.

The conversation goes as it usually does, your nerves calming down despite the subtle feeling of not being alone. You don’t blame your scepticism. Ever since you moved out, you’ve always been careful and paranoid. Maybe it has to do with preferring silence and being around less people, but you don’t like the lonesomeness and silence as much as you thought you did.

You say goodbye to your mother on the phone, and sit up, groggily making your way to the kitchen. The silence of the apartment unnerves you, so you turn on your phone’s flashlight and check every single room and cupboard of the house, leaving all the light bulbs on.

The apartment is now fully illuminated and the TV plays some random news show while you cook. It makes for good white noise and you don’t feel as alone anymore.

But you still feel watched.

The curtains are promptly drawn over the windows.

Thankfully, the feeling goes but quickly returns when you sit down to eat dinner. The panic that arises constricts your throat, heart beating in your throat and you immediately dial your mother again, praying that the paranoia dies down.

It doesn’t. She never picks up. 

Three phone calls later, she picks up but excuses herself saying that she’s going out for lunch with your father. The time zone difference makes you frown, realising that you're ruining her weekend with your baseless paranoia.

Dinner gets your attention back, but something seems to have its attention on you.

You're cognizant of the sounds coming from the street, television muted. The drip drip from the kitchen sink sings the vocals while the refrigerator buzzes the music. Exhaling, you pay attention to the noisy details, dinner finished and an empty plate in front of you.

The feeling goes away soon, but comfort doesn't return.

-

The first red flag of today's evening follows behind you. A man with his hoodie hiding half his face is trailing behind you, and you're briefly wondering how dense he must be to not realise that you're leading him in a circle for the fourth time. You don't mind the extra walking, but it's pretty annoying.

Should you lead him to a police station? Losing him doesn't seem to be an option. He's persistent. Even in the fifth circle, he's casually walking behind you.

You go ahead with making your way to a nearby station, but he slips away when it's in sight. Your eyes watch the man as he heads the other way, an uneasy feeling stirring in your chest at the loss of someone's eyes on you. As you make your way back to the subway station, you contemplate walking home instead. Maybe you could drop by a café or even pick up dinner from somewhere.

However, a second red flag appears while you are in your thoughts. A taxi stops in front of you when you're scrounging around your bag for your phone and the window pulls down to reveal a taxi driver with a strange yellow piercing between his eyebrows.

The driver offers you a ride, and you stare at him dumbfounded. You didn't call for a taxi. A few passer-bys send you confused looks, but you brush it off. The man is promptly shut down and you walk away, mentally cursing yourself over the lack of crowd on the street.

Almost as though on cue, a lady grabs your arm. Her grip is unyielding and she frantically explains how you need to come with her. A familiar yellow piercing on either side of her neck greets you when you turn to look at her, but any composure you have quickly dissipates when she starts pulling you.

It takes everything you have in you to pry yourself off and run in the other direction. The few people that did stare at you turn away when they see you running, and honestly you don't blame them. No one wants to get tangled up in something like that.

By the time your legs start hurting, you're almost home. There's no time to pick up anything from a restaurant so you make a mental note to order in instead. As you walk with your phone in hand, the situation dawn's on you. Three red flags already. You don't even want to know what the fourth one will be.

But alas, the heavens never hear your silent pleas and the fourth red flag stands in the watchman-less lobby of your apartment building. You hadn't seen either men today as well, and simply seeing the person who casually leans against the wall with eyes fixed on you is making your heart do literal backflips inside your chest.

"[Name]."

The simple greeting makes you freeze. Hands grip your bag tighter as you look into his bottomless eyes and greet him back with a simple hello. He doesn't seem to mind your nervousness and gets straight to the point.

"I wanted to see you. It's been quite a while."

Your finger remains on the power button of your phone, ready to press it five times at the earliest notice to send SOS messages to your friends. Upon receiving no response, he continues, trying not to eye your deathly grips on your belongings.

"How was your day?"

"It was… fine." Voice meek, you don't know what to say to him. It's not everyday you see a person such as himself. "How… have you been, Illumi?"

The question seems to perk him up. "I'm not quite sure, but I suppose I've been alright. I do want to ask you something. Why are you holding your phone and bag so tightly?"

The muscles on your legs go taut, and you briefly glance at the elevator door thinking you could make a run for it. However, the reminder of Illumi's occupation mocks you. Of course a hunter wouldn't let you go so easily.

"I'm not sure." Your words are unsure as you speak. "I guess I'm not feeling very well."

"Should I get you medical attention?"

"No. Not that kind of not very well. I just feel a bit down, that's all."

He seems to have understood something because he's nodding. "I see. If there's nothing wrong with your physical health, it'll go away. Make sure to rest properly and you'll feel better."

"Thanks. I'll go to bed early tonight."

"Are you free right now?"

Free? Does he want something? You're no help to a hunter. "I'd like to get to bed as soon as possible, but I'm willing to hear you out."

Your grip on your phone loosens a bit, and Illumi immediately takes a few steps closer. Hardly a foot of space is left between the two of you, but before apprehension can return, he's demanding all your attention with his words.

"May I have your phone number?"

What?

"My… phone number?"

He nods. "Yes. Your phone number."

The dumbfounded look on your face makes him blink at you owlishly. 

"I was wondering whether or not it would be appropriate for me to ask for it. I suppose I settled with ignoring the thought."

Did he… really just admit that? 

"Um, alright. I don't see why not." You know where I live anyway, the voice in your head continues. 

You share your contact information with Illumi, but you have no idea why he wants it. His intentions are as clear as muddy water. It doesn’t make you feel any better, but if nothing, at least he asked you for it. With his licence, he could have obtained your number with ease like how he ended up in your apartment's lobby. You give him only a few points for human decency.

When he’s done saving your information on his phone, a satisfied look is on his face. The silence of the lobby remains as you wait for him to finally let you leave. That is to say he doesn’t request to visit your apartment.

“I think that’ll do.” Illumi looks up, head tilting slightly when he sees your exhausted expression. “You should rest. I won’t stop you. Just seeing you this evening is enough for me. We can talk some other time.”

Talk? What would you both even talk about? The only reason you know him is because some target of his was your work client and he scared him off. Honestly, never hearing from that man again is one of the best things that happened in your life.

“Sure,” you reply with a very obviously unsure voice. “I’ll see you later then.”

Illumi waves you off and as you step towards the elevator, you feel a little shameful for not inviting him for dinner. But then you remember that you live alone and he’s an adult man. Perhaps it’s better to not do so.

As you press the button, you glance back at Illumi down the lobby. He's waving at you, so you wave back. The door starts to close and the expression on Illumi's face changes. Lips curl upwards, eyes crinkling as well.

When the door closes, you're thankful for the distance. You never want to see that horrifying grin on his face again. It sent shivers down your spine and it seems like the creepy smile is now engraved into your brain.

Had you not been in the elevator, you would've ran out the lobby. Perhaps some people are better off expressionless after all.

-

It's been an entire day since Illumi took your number. There's been no contact, no message, nothing. As you stare at your phone sitting in front of you on the sofa, you think back over today's evening bitterly.

There was another taxi driver with the same yellow piercing. Added to that, an old woman with the same piercing had approached you and asked to walk her home. You declined. Though it felt bad to say no to an old lady, you didn't want to possibly find any unwanted trouble.

Besides, there's something definitely wrong going on. After the old lady, you found the watchman in the lobby. Even he had a piercing on his face, in between his forehead to be precise.

You didn't bother to reply to his greeting this time. There was something off about his smile.

Maybe you should move out as soon as possible.

However, that's not what's bothering you. It's the fact that there have always been four red flags. This evening, you only came across three.

The thought of an impending fourth one makes you feel nauseous. You're home now, back to safety. There has never been anything bad between these four walls, so why would there be anything now?

Maybe you missed counting a fourth one. Yes. That's it. You just missed one red flag. The thought doesn't do much to console you, but it's enough to allow you to sleep when your head hits the pillow. Unfortunately for you, that doesn't last very long.

The feeling of a pair of eyes wakes you up with a startle. You immediately throw away the covers and run to the switch, turning on the lights. Nothing. The same goes for the rest of your apartment. All the lights are on but there’s nothing out of place.

Are you going crazy? 

It must have been a bad dream. You still feel watched, but that’s just because you just woke up. Water. You need some water.

The glass is quickly emptied as soon as you fill it, and now you stand alone in the kitchen, the silence of the night and the refrigerator’s hum your only companions. The kitchen counter is cold underneath your lingering fingertips, and begrudgingly, you part with it.

Sleep doesn't come back easily. At least half an hour must’ve passed with no sign of slumber’s gentle embrace, so you get up and turn off the bedroom light. The door is then left open only a little bit to let some light from the living room bleed inside the room.

It doesn’t help much, but your eyes feel less burdened.

Upon turning to the other side and nuzzling into the sheets further, the lessened burden seems to increase again. There’s someone resting their face on the mattress, body probably sitting on the floor and this person’s eyes seem to be fixed on you.

It takes you blinking a few times and sitting up to realise this isn’t a dream.

By the time your eyes have completely blinked away any sleep, a hand is slapped over your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your chest heaves as you follow the arm to the body it’s attached to and finally the face.

Illumi.

“Pardon me if I woke you up. It wasn’t my intention.”

The mattress dips as he joins you on the bed. If the circumstance wasn’t unfortunate enough, he’s now literally hovering over you with one of his knees between your parted legs under the blanket. Long black hair cascades around his face as he leans in, large eyes observing your features.

You blink at him as your breathing settles down. The lack of action from Illumi’s end does help your nerves calm down a little, but the threat of an obviously more powerful man literally above still remains.

This is your fourth red flag.

The weight of his observant stare weighs you down, the feeling of a boulder on your chest making you sink backwards into the bed. All that you see are Illumi’s large, dark eyes. It’s suffocating and you want to scream, but the sound dies in your throat before he even lets go.

You don’t dare make a single noise as he sits up straight on your thighs.

Illumi briefly breaks eye contact, eyes dropping down to your collarbones peeking from your neckline from the dishevelled state before his eyes go back up to yours. The weight of the boulder had lifted during that time, but with his eyes back on you that weight goes to your consciousness.

“I suppose I should commend you for not screaming. Seems like you’re quick to understand.”

All he gets in reply is your nervous gulp.

“You require an explanation, don’t you?”

This time, he tilts his head at your lack of response.

“I gave myself an ultimatum. Four tries every evening for every working day of this week are all I have to work with. If your refusals of my lenient methods bother me, then I must get to the bottom of the feeling. If I am not bothered in the slightest, I must stop wasting my time.” Iluumi pauses, possibly in anticipation of some sort of response, but continues. “I suppose my presence here at this hour explains which conclusion I had come to.”

He waits again for a few moments but ends up explaining his own words himself when you’re still frozen in what he thinks is shock. “Your refusals bothered me. I can’t be certain why. Even your less enthusiastic response to me asking for your phone number bothered me.”

You’re still staring at him. Mind barely processing the words. Illumi is in your room in the middle of the night. Illumi is a hunter, a potentially dangerous person, and he’s caged you to your own bed. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been in your life, yet you can’t even bring yourself to cry over the absolute fear you feel because of the intensity that keeps growing and radiating from Illumi.

“You occupy my thoughts more than I would prefer, and the only cure I found for that is to watch you when you’re home. No other activity soothes it.”

His index finger and thumb hold his chin as he continues thinking over the matter, but his eyes are still fixed onto you. When his eyes widen slightly, the intensity you felt grows dramatically and you have to reflexively cover yourself till the top of your head with the blanket to not end up asphyxiated.

A hand gently pulls down the cover till your chin, and luckily, the intensity mellows enough to allow you to breathe.

“I came here tonight to understand why trying to sleep on my own causes me distress. It’s like I search for you in my own bed, and the lack of your presence makes me restless.”

He leans in, hands sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips and you instinctively shrink into yourself. Voice perfectly even, the tone betrays the depth of his words. “I talked to my mother about this feeling and came to a conclusion. I’m in love with you.”

Sweat starts to bead at your forehead, but Illumi’s eyes refuse to allow you any reprieve. One of his hands sneak up your body, fingertips gently tracing the outline till his hand lightly wraps around your throat. The grip is non-existent but the threat of a not so well meaning squeeze still exists.

“All I need to do is squeeze. A fragile human such as yourself would give in to death in under ten seconds if I do decide to test my grip. However, even the mere thought of it bothers me. Even now, I can’t bring myself to hurt you.”

The hand moves further upwards, cupping your cheek despite the sweat. “At first I thought you were using some kind of Nen to bewitch me, so imagine my surprise when I found out that you’re a non-user.”

You finally manage to shakily exhale through your mouth, but the beating in your heart suddenly becomes too loud when his thumb traces the edges of your lips.

“I thought I should kill you to get rid of your spell, but the thought of you not existing anymore made my chest ache.” Illumi sighs. “Seems like the damage has been done, and it’s quite a lot. With how the majority of my thoughts are about you, I could even claim that I’m obsessed.”

The intensity grows again, and it gets even harder to breathe in the cool room. When Illumi’s thumb forces your lips open and presses down on your tongue, you can only hope you’ll be safe. After all, the look in his eyes is absolutely frightening.

[writing0305]

Hi, may I request something with Butcher? Prompts #5 and #15. Maybe the electricity goes out in the place where the boys are crushing for the night, and it's cold and windy so they're all freezing. Reader had to share a room with butcher, and when he sees her shivering he offers her his coat. It's still freezing though so they end up having to cuddle for warmth which makes reader anxious since they have a massive crush on butcher. Maybe butcher thinks he's making them uncomfortable, which leads to an unexpected confession and then to them falling asleep entangled in each other's arms :)

thank you in advance and feel free to change anything you want on my request 🙏💕

Heartbeat.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x F!Reader.

Summary: You've had a crush on Butcher for a long time and one powerless and cold night pushed you two closer together and made confessions come out.

Warning: Swearing. That's it, I think?

Prompt: Fluff - 5. "I can hear your heart beating, relax."

15. "Your jacket smells like you." - "Is that a good a good thing?" - "It’s… It’s comforting."

----

Thank you for this request!! I enjoyed writing it so much!! I hope I did your request justice and you like it!!

It had been weeks since you, along with the boys, had to go into hiding. All your covers had been blown and you were all burned. Grace Mallory had been kind enough to help you with a hideout. The place was shitty and falling apart and the neighborhood was sketchy.

It was only three bedrooms between the six of you and everyone had to room up together. Frenchy had insisted that Kimiko and him share, and before you could intervene, Hughie had already claimed MM as his roommate.

Hughie was one of the only people who knew about the crush you have on Butcher. The second he joined the boys, you and Hughie grew close and one night after sharing a bottle of wine, you confessed to Hughie that you liked Butcher. And since that very fucking day, Hughie has done everything in his power to push you and Butcher closer together.

Butcher didn’t mind sharing a room with you, but for you, it was a living hell. You were extremely aware and self-conscious of everything you did around Butcher. You two had a close relationship and that only made it harder for you. Because you couldn’t pull away from him without him getting suspicious but pretending to only want to be close friends with him was torture.

One night you were in the living room, sitting on a crappy couch with Butcher and Frenchy. While they watched a movie, your attention was running around the dimly lit room. You always tried to keep noise and lights to a minimum in the house, so as to not draw any attention. Right now, the room was only illuminated by the small TV screen.

Suddenly the TV went off and the place felt ten times darker and colder in the absence of power. MM came out of the room he shared with Hughie, who was already sleeping. “Is the power out?” He asked as he glanced around.

Butcher stared at the turned off tv for a second before tilting his head to look over at MM.“No, can’t ya see the TV is on? Look, they’re showing those fuckin’ rich sisters with the ginormous asses.” He snarkily replied as he pointed towards the TV and Frenchy let out a chuckle.

MM rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You gotta be a dick all the time?” He questioned as he raised his eyebrows at Butcher.

Butcher offered him a lopsided smirk as he spread out his arms by his sides. “It’s my trademark.” He replied and MM rolled his eyes again as he shook his head.

You got up from the couch, patting your feet through the dark. You made your way over towards one of the windows that had been plastered over one of the many busted windows in the place. You shivered at the cold breeze blowing over your face as you peeled a piece of the newspaper back and glanced outside at the pitch-black streets. “Look’s like the whole street is out.” You informed them as you pulled away from the window and Frenchy turned on the flashlight of his phone, lighting the room up a little.  “Fuck, it’s freezing in here.” You muttered as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Maybe we can start a fire, no?” Frenchy asked as he looked between you, Butcher, and MM with raised eyebrows.

MM slowly turned around to face Frenchy, raising his eyebrows. “On the fucking floor?” He asked as he pointed his hands down at the floor before shrugging his shoulders. “Where the fuck are you going to make a fire, Frenchy?” He asked, seeing as the shitty place didn’t have a fireplace.

“It was just a suggestion,” Frenchy muttered softly as his lips slightly pouted out and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah well, it was a dumb fucking suggestion.” MM huffed as he shook his head at Frenchy, a frown tugging at his lips that nearly made him look disappointed and it made you smile.

“I’m going to bed.” You muttered with a soft sigh as you stretched your back and the three men said their goodnights as you sauntered off to your room. Two mattresses lay on the floor, both on opposite sides of the room. You sighed as you glanced at your mattress with only one blanket lying across it.

You pulled on a sweater to warm yourself up a little in the cold. The only window in the room was busted as well and it allowed for a cold breeze. You kicked off your shoes, keeping your socks and even your jeans on. You all had grown used to keeping your day clothes on for when you had to leave through the night in a hurry.

You climbed underneath your blanket and pulled your knees up to your chest as you lay on your side. Your body trembled every time you shivered and your teeth began to clatter. Your muscles quickly grew sore as your shivers grew more frequent.

The door to the room opened and Butcher looked down at you, eyebrows deeply furrowing. “Jesus, I can hear ya fucking teeth clatter all the way down the hall.” He grunted with a huff as he made his way through the room, kicking a bag of clothes out of his way.

You scoffed as you sat up on your mattress, lips pouting as you rested your chin on your knees, wrapping your arms around your legs. “As if this place wasn’t cold  enough to begin with.” You muttered softly. “Why don’t we have more blankets?” You asked with a sigh.

Butcher turned to you, quirking an eyebrow. “Sorry luv, wasn’t on the fuckin ‘running from every law in this country’, bucket list.” He replied as he shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms out by his sides.

You stared up at him, pursing your lips. “You know, MM is right.” You muttered softly, but there was a lighthearted tone to your voice.

Butcher hummed as his head cocked to the side. “About?” He questioned as he raised his eyebrows.

“You being a dick.” You replied softly as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. A shiver ran down your back and you wrapped your arms tighter around your legs.

Butcher scoffed in amusement at your words and he nodded in agreement. "Thank you, luv.” He muttered with a grin. He stared at you as you shivered again and he pursed his lips and pulled off his long black trench coat. “Here, take my coat.” He insisted.

Your eyes slightly widened in the dark room and your lips parted. Your heart began to beat with loud thuds in your chest. “No, I can’t do that.” You replied softly as you shook your head. You couldn’t have Butcher be cold just for you. Even though you were sure the temp V warmed him right up.

“Take it.” He insisted as he dropped the coat down on your mattress. “Can’t listen to your teeth chattering the whole bloody night.” He muttered as he climbed down on his mattress, pulling a blanket over his legs and resting with his back against the wall.

“Thank you.” You spoke up softly as you sat up on your knees and grabbed his coat. You shrugged it on and tensed up when you smelled his lingering scent on the fabric. You softly cleared your throat as you sat back.

Butcher watched you, his eyebrows furrowing. “What is it?” He questioned as his head tilted to the side.

You pursed your lips as you shrugged your shoulders. “Your coat smells like you." You muttered softly as you wrapped your arms around your waist, leaning into the warmth of his coat.

Butcher was silent for a few seconds as he stared at you, admiring the way you looked completely engulfed in his coat that was a little just too big for you. "Is that a good thing?" He asked after a while as he raised his eyebrows.

Now it was your turn to be silent for a few seconds. You stared into the darkness in front of you as you pursed your lips again. Butcher hummed questionally and that snapped your attention back to him. You turned your head to face him. “It’s… It’s comforting." You whispered and your whole body grew so warm that you almost stopped shivering.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice oddly soft as his eyes remained on you. “And why is that?” He asked curiously as he shifted on his mattress so that most of his focus could be on you.

Again you remained silent for a second before shrugging your shoulders again. “I don’t know…it just is.” You muttered softly as you shifted to lie down, pulling your blanket tightly over yourself as you curled up. You began shivering again and your teeth clattered.

Butcher watched you for a while, sighing when all that filled the silence, was your teeth clattering together. “Bloody hell, I can still hear your teeth, Y/n.” He muttered.

“I can’t help it.” You replied with a sigh as you curled up even more, trying to stop your teeth from clattering but failing completely. “It’s a normal bodily function.” You huffed at him.

Butcher stared at you for a while again before he flipped back his blanket. “Come over here.” He softly called out to you as his lips pulled into a thin line.

Your heart nearly skipped a beat right there. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at  Butcher through the darkness surrounding you. “What?” You asked in confusion.

“Bring ya blanket and come here.” He insisted as he patted the spot directly next to him on his mattress.

This time, you could have sworn your heart did skip a beat. Your lips parted as you stared at Butcher, your stomach knotting. “You…you mean-” You muttered softly, letting your sentence drift into nothingness.

“Yes,” Butcher replied as he patted the spot again. “Body heat will warm ya up faster than that flimsy fuckin’ blanket.” He said as he nodded his head at the blanket that covered you.

“O-okay.” You muttered, hesitantly getting up from your mattress and patting your way toward Butcher’s. your heartbeat picked up with every step you took. You hesitantly lay down next to Butcher as he shifted, pulling his blanket over your body before wrapping an arm around you.

You ever so slightly tensed as you were pulled against his chest, your head naturally coming to rest on his shoulder. Butcher was warm, extremely warm. The lasting effects of the last of the temp V in his system. You were one of the few that was aware he had been shooting the shit up into his veins. What you didn’t know was, that your crying when you found out about it, was what made Butcher stop taking it. He swore to find another way to kill Homelander. He couldn’t be the cause of your heartache or tears.

Another lasting effect that still lingered was his enhanced senses. He could so clearly smell the mixture of both your scent and his scent combined on you. He could also hear how loud and fast your heart beated. The thudding nearly hurt his ears.

“Bloody hell, I can hear your heart beating, relax, will ya?” He spoke up in a grumbling voice as he gave your arm a gentle but firm squeeze. It was an attempt to calm you but his touch only made your heart beat so much faster.

“I can’t help it.” You whispered as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling embarrassed of the fact that he could so vividly hear your heart. You were surprised he didn’t notice the way your heartbeat always picked up when he was around.

“Yeah?” He hummed softly as he raised his eyebrows.  “Is sounding like ya heart’s about to fuckin’ give out, a normal bodily function as well?” He questioned sarcastically, with a hint of teasing in his gruff voice.

“In this situation, yeah.” You muttered underneath your breath but the temporary supe next to you heard every single word.

“This situation?” He questioned as his eyebrows furrowed and you sighed softly at the knowladge that he had heard your words.

“Can we just sleep, please?” You pleaded softly with him as your eyes remained closed and you almost let out a breath of relief when the room went silent. Butcher didn’t say a word for a few seconds and you started to wonder if he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t, and he spoke up once again. “You know…we’ll warm up faster naked.” He commented as a smirk tugged at his lips. He always enjoyed making comments like that. Especially when he was on temp V because then he could hear the way your heartbeat picked up and he could feel the heat of embarrassment and shyness radiate off you.

Your eyes widened and you tensed for a second. “What?” You questioned softly as your heartbeat thudded so loud, it pounded in your eardrum.

“Skin on skin, they say it warms ya right up.” He explained, and while you couldn’t look up at him in the darkness, you could nearly hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, when you’re wet.” You muttered softly as you sighed, slowly shaking your head.

“Well, I bet ya are.” He commented playfully as he chuckled softly.

Your eyes shot open and you gasped. “Butcher.” You scolded him as you slapped his chest and he could hear your heartbeat picking up once again.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his spot. “Sorry luv, didn’t mean to make ya uncomfortable.” he apologized softly as he gave your arm another squeeze. “Just kiddin’ with ya.” He assured. Usually, you weren’t this affected by his filthy mouth. Other times you would have laughed.

“You can’t say things like that when you’re this close.” You muttered softly as your lips slightly pouted out and your eyebrows furrowed.

Butcher was silent for a second, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked softly as he looked down at you.

Your eyes slightly widened and you gulped down the lump forming in the back of your throat. “Nothing.” You whispered as you shook your head.

Butcher shifted, sitting up and forcing you to sit up as well. “No luv, you can’t say things like that with ya heart fuckin beatin’ like this.” He said as he reached out to place a hand against your chest, feeling the thuds of your heart beneath his palm. His eyebrows furrowed as your heartbeat picked up at his touch. He moved his hand from your chest and cupped your cheek. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.” He insisted.

You stared at him through the darkness, taking a deep breath before you spoke up. It was no or fucking never. “It’s you…it’s you that makes my heart beat like this.” You admitted softly and his head tilted to the side.  “It’s like I can’t fucking think straight with you around and I get this warm feeling in my chest, and my heart beats like crazy, and it feels like…I don’t know how to explain it.” You sighed as you lowered your head.

Butcher stared at you as a look of realization crossed his face. He lifted your head so that you could face him. “Ya don’t have to luv.” He replied softly as he shook his head. “I know the feelin’.” He admitted as his thumb brushed over your skin.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. “You do?” You asked softly as your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Yes.” He admitted with a nod of his head before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and then he moved down to kiss the tip of your nose and then down to press a feather-light kiss to your lips. You inhaled softly at the touch of his lips against yours. He smiled when your heartbeat picked up for a second again. “Get some sleep.” He insisted.

He shifted to lie down again and pulled you with him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you snuggly against his chest. His warmth engulfed you completely. Your head was nuzzled into the crook of his neck and his head rested against yours. That’s how you fell asleep that night and every other night that followed. Sometimes with fewer clothes or no clothes, but always in each other’s arms.