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writeforfandoms · 1 year

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State of My Head 2

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Okay I know this one isn’t as easy but I promise, I PROMISE, we are working towards a happy ending. It will be okay. Just stick with it.

Warnings: Brief suicidal thoughts, minor betrayal, hurt feelings, lots of hurt little comfort, Price is a bit of an ass, brief talk of cruelty to shifters.

Word count: 4.1k

You lasted four days. Four days of being stuck as a human, ferried from person to person. As far as you knew, nobody beyond the four of them were aware of what you were, and nobody else had been put in charge of you. They even locked you in a room overnight.

Because they figured you were a flight risk. And they were not exactly wrong.

Finally, though, bored with sitting in the office with Price while he completely ignored you and did paperwork, you gathered up the courage to ask.

"Can I go see Gaz?"

"No." He didn't even look up, the bastard. You knew you'd been right not to trust him.

You puffed out your cheeks in annoyance. Fine. You'd find another way to talk to Gaz.

Shelving your annoyance, you focused your gaze on the captain again. He still refused to look at you, had barely given you the time of day since the confrontation. But his accusation had stuck with you.

So, naturally, you decided to turn it back on him.

"I could be a spy for you, you know."

At that, he did finally look up, glasses perched on the end of his nose. "I don't trust you." While blunt, the words were not unexpected.

"You won't trust me unless you have a reason to," you pointed out, quite reasonably. "So give me a reason. Give me something to do."

"Why should I?"

You shrugged, flopping backwards onto the couch to sprawl with your legs over one arm. "Because you don't want someone useless around? Because otherwise I will very quickly get bored? Because as much as I would love to lounge around and eat your food, I'd rather be useful and do something."

Price stared you down, blue eyes intent. Then he snorted. "I'll think about it." And then he looked back down at his work.

You nearly groaned, throwing one arm over your eyes. But. He’d said he’d think about it. Which was better than a flat-out no (which you had half-expected). Fine. You could deal with this. You could be patient.

Dinner was quiet. Well. Quiet for you. Ghost was gone again - you’d discovered he often took meals in his room. Soap and Gaz talked between themselves, Gaz not even looking at you, Soap only sparing you glances. And Price kept to himself, eating quietly.

It wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, but it was boring.

So when Gaz stood, you did too, raising one eyebrow at him. He hesitated a moment before he nodded once, gaze flicking to his captain and back to you.

Both of you were quiet as you walked outside. You had no idea how to do this tactfully. Best to just spit it out, then.

"You're still mad at me."

He glanced at you, gaze cold. But he didn't say anything.

"I get it. Sort of. I lied." You shrugged. "But you were not supposed to know."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Gaz didn't look at you, instead taking a slow circuit around the building.

"That's up to you." You wrinkled your nose. "I wanted to tell you. You're the first human I've wanted to tell." You smiled up at the slowly darkening sky. "But I have my family to think about."

"Tell me about them." Gaz did finally glance at you, still cold, still closed off. But listening.

"Mama is the matriarch, I suppose you could say. Rules the family. Wants all her kids to settle down with another shifter and have kittens." You shrugged. "I got lucky, I'm in the middle. It was easier for me to leave. We're the biggest family of shifters I've ever met."

Gaz nodded slowly. "And nobody knows about you."

"There's the occasional trusted human." You shrugged. "One of my brothers got himself a human wife, last I saw. But no. We don't tell people, usually."

"Is it that dangerous?"

You considered how to answer his question, wetting your lips. "I had an aunt. My dad's younger sister. She was a leopard cat, like me. Had this brown spot on her chest. Distinctive." You touched your own chest to illustrate the placement. "Well, she decided she was going to make some friends. And she let slip what she was." You frowned down at the ground. "According to Dad, she got caught. They forced her to shift. And then they skinned her. Dad went looking when she stopped responding and found the pelt. Knew it was her because of the brown spot."

Finally he looked at you, horror and sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You waved the sentiment away. "That is why I didn't tell you. If I'd stayed voluntarily, gotten to know you better… well, I was tempted to tell you even before I shifted in my sleep." You tucked your hands in your pockets. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, or to not be mad at me. You're entitled to feel however you want. I just want you to understand my side of things."

Gaz nodded once. And that was that. There was nothing else you could say to him, not until he decided what he wanted to do. You could faintly smell the indecision on him.

Though you didn't know him well, you did know he was compassionate. Which would work in your favor, if he decided to forgive you.

You nodded to him as he led you to your assigned room and stepped inside. The click of the lock was somehow less damning than usual.

But you were still stuck in limbo for three more days. Three excruciatingly long, boring days, spent mostly between Price and Soap.

Finally, though, Price set down his pen. "Still want to spy for me?" The words were rough and a little sarcastic.

"Yes." You didn't waver, sitting up straight.

"Fine. Come with me." He stood and you scrambled after him. He didn't look back as he led you across the base, over to a smaller building. "Let's see how you do."

You blinked at him, and he motioned to the door impatiently. So you shifted, wiggling out of the clothes and stretching once. Oh but it felt so good to be back on four legs. Price huffed softly but pushed the door open for you.

Your eyes adjusted quickly to the dark and you meandered. A few quick sniffs proved that this building was used often. So scents were out.

Sound, however, carried just fine. You trotted further in, keeping out of sight as you listened. It didn't take you long to find two soldiers dutifully repeating a conversation. (You knew they were repeating it because you came in half-way through and listened long enough to realize what was happening.)

You made your way through the rest of the building, trying to remember locations, turns, and what all they were saying.

You trotted back out to Price once you were confident you'd gotten everything and shifted back, pulling on your clothes without prompting.

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow at you, cigar held between his fingers.

So you relayed everything you could remember to him, feeling rather proud of yourself.

Price was silent for a few moments after you finished, blowing out smoke. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" You repeated, blinking.

"You missed a few keywords. And Ghost." Price smirked at you.

You hissed softly, more at yourself than him. "Tell me."

If he was surprised by your vehemence, he didn't show it. He just walked you through what you'd missed.

That was your first day of training. You didn't have tasks every day, but when you did, you took it seriously. Praise was incredibly rare - the first word of praise you got from Price nearly had you shifting again to sniff for an imposter.

But your favorite training days were with Gaz. He'd relaxed over time, more willing to talk. You practiced hide and seek with him, simulating mission conditions as much as possible. You liked hide and seek - he was clever and found increasingly challenging places to hide.

The first time you turned it into a game of chase was an accident. You'd spotted him already, tail whipping side to side.

He had a cloth hanging out of his back pocket. You didn't know what it was, but you were determined to steal it.

You jumped up into the tree above him, waiting a few moments. But he didn't move, still watching below for you.

Perfect.

You crept closer to him, judging the distance, waiting for the right moment.

And then you dropped past him, grabbing the cloth in your mouth as you dropped. He shouted, and you bolted as soon as your paws touched the ground.

"Get back here!" He yelped, dropping out of the tree and giving chase.

You darted between two soldiers, enjoying the shrieks from them as Gaz barreled towards them. Then you ran between buildings, up a tree, across a roof, and finally through the middle of a whole group of soldiers, half of whom ended up on the ground.

Gaz dove on you from behind, and you chirped at him innocently.

"You," he panted, "are a monster." But he took his cloth back with a grin.

"We knew that," Price drawled, eyeing the soldiers on the ground. "Inside."

You drooped a little with a sad little mrrp. Gaz tutted, waving you in.

Well. Shit. You must have gotten in trouble somehow. Which rankled twofold: partly because you've been playing by their dumb rules, and partly because you should not care what these men think of you.

(But part of you wanted to look to Gaz, wanted to rub your scent into his skin, wanted to drape across the back of his neck and blink and purr.)

Gaz opened another door for you, and you blinked at Soap and Ghost already inside. Soap patted a chair, clothes already set out for you, and you trotted over before shifting back.

"You wanted to work," Price said, the door shutting after him with a dull boom. Your head popped out of the shirt left for you, and you twisted to blink at him. "You're gonna get to work."

"Really?" You blinked at him, lips parting in surprise.

"Sit."

You made a face at him but sat, curious. Price pulled up a map, holding it so you could see too.

"Should be a simple op," he said. "We get dropped off here, our infil route is here." He pointed on the map. "Our objective is in this building, looking for any computers. You are going to go in and have a look around first." He fixed his gaze on you.

"Okay." It didn't sound bad. Honestly, you weren't even scared. It sounded pretty straightforward.

"Let's get to it, then." He stood, handing the tablet off to Ghost.

Soap had to show you how to properly strap into the heli, and you gripped the handholds so tight your hands ached.

"Not a fan of flying?" Ghost asked, clearly amused at your expense.

"I'd rather keep my paws on the ground," you shot back, and then hissed at a bit of turbulence. You did not approve. At all.

"Relax, you're not gonna fall out." Gaz looked amused too. Traitor.

"Says the man who's fallen out twice," Soap piped up with a gleeful grin.

"What?" The word felt a little punched out of you and you turned wide eyes to Gaz.

"I'm fine," he dismissed, kicking at Soap. "He's just stirring up shit."

You mouthed the phrase, thinking it through. Huh. Interesting. But you let it go, focused now on breathing and ignoring the squabbling happening just seats down from you.

Somehow, you made it through the flight. As soon as the heli was down and Price gave you the go ahead, you were out and hiding up a tree. Still as a human, because you didn't want to risk the pilot seeing anything he shouldn't. But still.

"Cat," Price called, amused and exasperated.

"Right here." You relaxed on the tree branch, looking down at the men.

Price sighed but apparently decided to pick his battles. "You remember the plan?"

"Go in, sneak around, look for computers and guards, and report back," you repeated dutifully.

Price nodded. "Come straight back here."

You grinned at him and shifted. It was easy to kick your clothes off so they fell to the ground. And then you followed them down, meowing softly at the group before you turned and trotted off, tail in the air.

You had a job to do.

For all your practice and for all your self-confidence, you were still surprised at how easy it was to get in. A window had been left open, giving you an easy in. You did wrinkle your nose at the smell of the bathroom, but that was brief.

Next you looked for guards, noting numbers and positions. Much more carefully than you had on your first training round. You'd learned since then.

Finally, computers. Four that you spotted, and a potential fifth tucked away into what looked like a break room.

This really wasn't hard. Honestly, you were kind of surprised more shifters didn't do this. You could probably make a killing at it, if you were so inclined.

You did have to run for cover once, but only once. Nobody raised an alarm or shot at you, so… that seemed like a success to you.

You even managed to find a different window to get back out of, shaking yourself once you were back outside.

It was not a long trot back to the team, and you sat in front of Price before you shifted back.

They were getting used to that, finally. Soap only made a tiny strangled noise, and Gaz threw the shirt to you.

"Four computers, possibly a fifth tucked away," you reported, pulling the shirt on but ignoring the pants for now. "In a break room, off of the main room. Two open windows, a bathroom and different multi-purpose room. I would not advise the bathroom window." You shrugged. "Guards were as expected, although there was one up in the rafters."

Price nodded. "Good," he murmured, and even that bit of praise made you brighten. "Stay put. We'll be back shortly."

"Okay." You watched them go. Gaz hesitated for a moment when he was even with you, but ended up simply dipping his head to you before he moved on.

That would be good enough for now.

Finally getting to your feet and pulling your pants on, you scaled the tree again. Might as well stay out of the line of sight, and see if there was anything interesting you could see.

You might have gotten bored. And you might have climbed higher up the tree. And maybe hummed a little to yourself.

But really, what did they expect?

"Think she ran?"

You nearly fell out of the tree when you heard Soap below you.

"Would be stupid to," Ghost grunted.

"Do you mean me?" You hopped down to a lower branch, both curious and insulted.

"There ye are!" Soap grinned up at you, though you could see the strain behind that smile. "Wondered where you'd got off to."

"Just up here. Figured I was less visible." You dropped down to the ground slowly, glancing between the two almost nervously.

"Aye, right. Come on. We're to meet Price and Gaz at exfil."

You frowned a little bit didn't question it. Just started walking after Soap.

Even though it meant getting back on the heli.

Price spotted the three of you first and nodded to you, a flash of… something in his eyes and in his scent.

But the look of faint surprise in Gaz's expression nearly crushed you.

They'd expected you to run.

You were silent the entire way back to base, head down, wedged into as small a ball as you could manage on the seat. If you weren't worried about falling out, you'd shift.

This time, you didn't wait for the go ahead. You hopped out of the heli and went straight back to your room, ignoring the shout from Soap behind you.

You needed to figure yourself out before anything else happened.

Ignoring the growling of your stomach (shifting took a lot of energy and you really shouldn't shift so often without food), you shifted again as soon as you were safely in your room. Leaving the clothes crumpled on the floor, you crawled under the bed instead, pushing yourself back into a corner where you were protected.

They didn't trust you. Even after all of this, after everything… they didn't trust you. You half expected it from Price and Ghost. They were paranoid bastards who didn't trust easily or often.

But Soap? Gaz?

Those two hurt.

Especially Gaz. Because some part of you had never stopped identifying him as your person, at least in the privacy of your own mind.

You curled your tail over your nose, despondent. You wanted to go home, for the first time in years. You wouldn't even complain about having to help with the kittens. You wanted people who understood you. Who made some kind of effort.

Who gave a shit.

Shivering a little, you closed your eyes. You were stuck here now, still, for better or worse. Probably for the rest of your life, considering how little they trusted you.

You could try harder, you supposed. Do more work. Play less.

But what kind of life would that be? You were a cat, not a dog. You had your own opinions and you were entitled to do some things your own way.

You'd be damned if you let yourself crumble under these men who deemed themselves better than you.

The door clicked as it opened, and someone took three steps into your room.

"You didn't come to dinner." Gaz set a tray down on the floor, standing still. He was far enough from the door. If you wanted to, you could be past him and outside before he could get the alarm properly raised, be out of the compound before they could shoot you.

But something held you there. The tip of your tail twitched, back and forth.

"You did good, today," he continued slowly. "Just thought you should know. But Price is pissed - doesn't like you skipping debrief. Keep that in mind, I guess."

More long moments of silence. You stared unblinkingly at his boots from your spot under the bed.

Finally, Gaz sighed. "Good night, then." He turned sharply and shut the door behind him.

The lock clicked.

You crawled out from under the bed to nibble off the tray.

Moonlight eventually filtered across the floor, and you jumped up to perch on the ledge of the window. You missed hunting. You missed nighttime wanders. You missed sleeping under the stars.

Maybe all of this wasn't worth it. Maybe it never would be.

Maybe you were a fool for leaving home at all.

You didn't move from the window ledge all night.

The next few days were a bit lethargic. You listened to Price's lecture in total silence and stillness. You followed the rules. You kept to yourself.

Until Ghost was walking you to training.

You shifted, squeezing yourself out through the neck of the shirt, and bolted up the nearest tree. Climbing as high as you dared, you lounged there, looking down at Ghost with imperious disdain.

"I should shoot you," Ghost mused, glowering up at you. "Would serve you right."

You flicked your tail at him, yawning just to show off your teeth.

"Fine. You wanna stay there? Have it your way." Ghost shrugged and continued on to the training building. You watched him go with half-lidded eyes.

To your surprise, it wasn't Price that came to get you. It was Gaz.

"Hey," he murmured, reaching one hand up towards you. "C'mere."

You leaned forward to sniff his fingers. He still smelled good. Relaxing, you dropped down a couple levels towards him, ears up and relaxed.

"I'm sure this is a change for you," Gaz said, reaching slowly for you. When you didn't object, he picked you up and swaddled you in the shirt you'd been wearing. "But this is how it is now."

You looked up at him, shocked. He'd used his knowledge against you. Intentionally lured you in, knowing that you responded to him better than anyone else.

This wasn't a lie of omission. This was worse.

You meowed at him, soft and hurt.

"Don't you dare," he grumbled. "You brought this on yourself. You know the rules. You're lucky Ghost was in a good mood, or he would've shot you."

Still better to be shot than be sent to a lab. But all this from Gaz? That hurt. Worse than you'd expected. So much worse.

Apparently, this was to be your life now.

Maybe you should try to get yourself shot.

Gaz deposited you gently in front of Price, and then stood back with his arms crossed over his chest.

You flubbed training. You knew you did. But… well, what was the point?

You spent a few more days as a cat, refusing to shift back. That was at least the one thing you could still control.

"Ach, take it easy on them," Soap murmured to you, nearly a full week later. "They're all loonies."

You huffed softly, adjusting to sprawl yourself across the back of his neck. He'd picked you up and carried you outside with him, but you'd eventually gotten tired of being carried and had moved to his shoulders. This was better.

"It willnae be like this forever," he continued, lifting one hand to stroke the top of your head gently. "Just give 'em some time. Ye were doin' well before."

You grumbled softly, not quite a growl but a displeased noise all the same.

"Aye, ah ken," he murmured. "Ah ken." He sighed softly, stroking your fur. "If it ever gets so bad ye cannae stand it… talk to me. Aye?"

You blinked, uncertain how to properly agree. You settled on a soft meow and a tiny lick to his ear.

"Good. Now! Ah figured we could scare the recruits. How d'ye feel about bringing a mouse into the showers?"

Slowly, though, things got better. Price relaxed, about as much as the man ever did. Ghost stopped sounding like he was ready to murder you at the drop of a hat. Soap relaxed more, joking with you and playing.

The only one to stay aloof was Gaz. And it hurt.

But the more missions you went on, the more intel you got for them, the more they trusted you. Price relaxed the rules, giving you more free reign to shift and run around the base at will.

They even stopped locking you in your room at night.

So when the urge to hunt wouldn't leave, you opened the door and crept out into the hallway. Soft noises from the rec room drew your attention and you snuck over there to look.

Price and Gaz were both seated at a little table, mugs of tea steaming gently.

"...the usual," Gaz was saying softly.

"I know." Price lifted a hand to rest on Gaz's shoulder, much more gently than normal. "You do what you can."

"Yeah." Gaz breathed out slowly. "Yeah. It's not…" He paused, struggling.

And you backed off. This was clearly a private talk. You didn't need to listen to this.

But it did give you an idea.

Once outside, you shifted and dragged your clothes aside. And then you started hunting.

It took a little while. But you found a good sized rat and even managed to kill it cleanly.

Carrying the rat back inside was easy - you'd left the door open a little for yourself.

Then you had to decide whether to leave it for Gaz or try to give it to him. Trying to give it to him came with the very real possibility of being rejected.

Leaving it for him to find sounded much better.

You trotted to his door and left the rat there for him. Not right in front of the door - you didn't want him to step on it.

There. That was better.

Feeling rather smug with yourself, you trotted back outside to shift again and throw your clothes on before sneaking back to your room.

Gaz didn't bring it up at breakfast. Just smiled at you, just a little. But with a warmth that had been missing for a long time.

(You wouldn't have even realized you were purring, quiet and low, except that Soap couldn't resist teasing you.)

#state of my head #kyle gaz garrick x reader #f!reader

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rahuratna · 3 months

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Ikemen Kaisen

Chapter 1: Step into the Industry

Cross posted!

Summary: A cursed spirit develops a massive crush on the 7:3 sorcerer while he's on a mission. Trapping him in its unique otome game domain, the spirit soon discovers that it's bitten off a lot more than it can chew with this particular jujutsu sorcerer ...

Content: Humour, fluff, crack, otome game satire, Nanami has Rizz with a capital 'R', the first year trio obtaining front row seats to this absolute shitshow.

“Yes, Itadori, you heard me correctly.”

Yuuji’s eyes had widened to impossible proportions, hands clasped together so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re for real, Nanamin? We’re going to -”

“A concert, yes. I don’t like repeating mission details, so listen closely.”

Yuuji snapped to attention, one hand raised to his head in a smart salute.

“Yuuji, reporting for duty, sir!”

Nanami sighed. It was Thursday, a day he didn’t particularly fancy in terms of starting a new mission. Missions that started mid-week invariably ended up incurring overtime, along with eating into his weekend on occasion. He would do his duty diligently, nonetheless, as he was expected to show Yuuji the general procedure for such investigations. Thus, he had occupied this empty classroom for a briefing. He stood before the whiteboard on which he had neatly printed the details in bullet points (a necessity for Yuuji’s attention span). Pointing to the first line, he began.

“We’ve been receiving reports for a few months now about suspicious activity at idol performances all around Tokyo. Fans of certain idols have been going missing. All cases so far showed that the victims disappeared shortly after concerts, fan-meets and other public appearances. Initially, we could not make a direct correlation to curse activity. The disappearances themselves were sporadic and presented no specific pattern, so the case was placed under revision and monitored. Recent events, however, changed things.”

Nanami pointed to a photograph of a young man, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, artfully posed to highlight his muscular torso in a hooded jacket that was unzipped. He wore tight, dark jeans, strategically ripped, and was smiling coyly at the camera. He was undoubtedly very good looking.

“This is Takashima Ryouta, stage name Ryo-ri.”

“Eh? Like RiRi?”

“It’s his concert we’ll be attending. Recent disappearances occurring after his concerts have been far more targeted and blatant. Furthermore, our windows have reported cursed energy levels spiking in the general vicinity of these events.”

Yuuji raised his hand.

“Yes, Itadori?”

“How do we know that these disappearances are even linked to idols specifically? What if it’s something else they all have in common? Like, some kinda shady fan club? Or maybe someone’s just targeting big groups of people?”

Nanami pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, expression carefully blank despite the small surge of pride he felt at Yuuji’s astute observation.

“The latest victims were obviously targeted with intent. You see, Takashima has recently been growing in popularity, thanks to his appearance on a TV show. Some of his fanbase is therefore quite intense.”

Yuuji sighed.

“Yeah, they go rabid for guys who look like that.”

“For this reason, his agency has come up with a strategy to gain interest amongst his fans, but also keep him safe. Our intelligence network has informed us that they put up a lottery for each live event he performs at, allowing one fan to join him on stage for the duration of a song. The lottery is fake, however. Girls are hired from talent agencies affiliated with Takashima’s. They are disguised heavily and every time he makes an appearance, one of these ‘lucky’ girls is the one chosen to join him on stage. This way, his fans will continue to buy tickets in the hopes that they will be chosen by lottery, but will never actually interact with him on stage.”

Yuuji’s mouth dropped open.

“Whoa! That’s … really not cool! Isn’t that kinda like false advertising?”

“We’re not here to judge the insidious marketing strategies employed by a soulless, capitalist-driven entertainment industry that consumers blindly latch onto like tapeworms.”

“Er – “

“Rather, we’re going to be investigating why all the young ladies hired from the talent agency to join Takashima on stage have disappeared shortly after each performance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. As I said, this, along with the more pronounced spikes in cursed energy, make this a case we can no longer afford to leave to regular law enforcement. You and I will be stationed within this area,” and here Nanami pointed to a roughly circular outline on a map of Akihabara. “We have also been provided with special VIP pass tickets to the concert tomorrow and will be closely monitoring the interactions between Takashima and this week’s chosen representative on stage. Afterwards, we will conduct surveillance on the individual in question. Please remember, our presence must be kept discreet at all times and we must blend in to the crowd at the concert as seamlessly as possible.”

Yuuji tapped his chin. “Blend in, huh? That won’t be a problem for me but, uh, Nanamin, not to be weird or anything – “

“Don’t worry on my account, Itadori. I have everything planned out. I have never had trouble with creating a cover.”

Yuuji shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited outside the main entrance of Jujutsu Tech for Nanami to make his appearance. For once, the energetic young student had arrived earlier than his experienced mentor. He had grabbed a hot coffee from the machine in the foyer to pass the time. The caffeine was not calming in the slightest.

There was something about the current mission that both excited him and filled him with nervous anticipation. From the summarized report that Nanami had left for him to read, he knew that the number of disappearances meant that they might be dealing with a tricky opponent this time. The fact that this activity was happening in such a crowded area of Tokyo also indicated that whoever was engineering these vanishings was either unhinged or audacious, neither of which boded well.

A black sedan with tinted windows made its way around the side of the building and Yuuji hopped forward, waving. The car drew to a halt beside him and he opened the passenger door, grinning as he spied Nanami in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa Nanamin, I like the fit!”

Nanami’s immaculate suit had been replaced by jeans, a simple, but expensive-looking grey knit shirt and a long, dark overcoat. His signature shades had been substituted for designer sunglasses and the sleek band of his wristwatch gleamed from beneath his sleeve. The normally swept back hairstyle was a little more relaxed, making him look closer to his age than he usually did.

“Thank you, Yuuji. You’re suitably dressed, I see.”

The student cocked his head and Nanami nodded, anticipating his question.

“I’ll be calling you Yuuji for the duration of this mission. I’ve decided that we’ll present ourselves as uncle and nephew. I am your – “

“For real?”

Yuuji’s eyes were shining in a way that made Nanami cough and turn away. He propped up his glasses and shifted gear, the car gliding away from the main gates of the school.

“Yes. That way I can call you Yuuji and you can continue to call me … Nanamin, I suppose. I am visiting home after some time away and decided to spend some quality time with you, my nephew. And so, I’m taking you to a concert that you’ve been wanting to attend for some time. I trust you did your homework?”

Yuuji nodded proudly before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I downloaded all of Ryo-ri’s songs last night and learned the lyrics. He’s not bad! I can totally jam to this.”

“Good. It’ll be a long drive, so use the time to brush up on the mission details.”

Which is exactly what Yuuji did, to begin with. He pulled the folder from his backpack and opened it out on his lap. Nanami had been kind enough to summarize the numerous reports for him and provided concise profiles of the main players in the case. Eyes running over Takashima’s info page, Yuuji frowned slightly. Something was missing. He glanced out of the window at the passing scenery, trying for a while to figure out what it was, before his eyes widened.

So obvious!

Scrolling rapidly on his phone, Yuuji began to search for Takashima’s Instagram. The information in Nanami’s profile, as succinct and useful as it was, lacked … flavour. Social media would give Yuuji a more accurate idea of the image the idol was trying to put out there. Soon enough, he found what he was looking for.

Uhhh, okay then.

Takashima’s pictures skirted that fine border of what Kugisaki would call ‘spicy’. They were definitely risqué for an idol, but this was what seemed to appeal to his particular audience. Yuuji’s eyebrows shot up at the sheer number of likes one particular photo had. The picture was a mirror selfie, showing Takashima’s glistening torso, presumably after a workout, his face obscured teasingly by the phone. Yuuji nodded sagely. This image fitted in with a lot of the lyrics he had been learning yesterday.

“Ohh, I see. He’s going for playful fuckboy, but like, more tasteful.”

“Pardon?”

“Oops … I said that out loud, huh?”

“Yes, you did. Now explain.”

Yuuji scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sooo, like, how do I explain this? Idols have images they create, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“And those images draw fans and make them more popular. I checked out Ryo-ri’s IG page and … and you know what IG is right?”

“I’m not five centuries old, Yuuji.”

“Fine, fine! Just checking. Wait, do you have – “

“I use it to follow recipe pages and food blogs. Let’s move on.”

“So, from what I’m seeing here, Ryo-ri’s fans are mainly girls who like this image he puts out of being … you know. Like a playboy, a guy who doesn’t take things seriously, but nice at the same time. The persona is … the guy who’ll steal a girl’s heart and move on quickly, but she can’t have bad feelings towards him, because he’s not an asshole? It’s why he also has fans who are guys. They kinda want to be like him and they feel his lyrics. You get what I’m saying?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully. “I think so. And this is what’s called … a fuckboy?”

Yuuji snorted loudly.

“That word sounds so wrong coming from you. Not exactly. Guys who get called that can be flaky and do dumb stuff, but Ryo-ri’s got the right balance. He’s got the ‘naughty, but chill’ vibe.”

“I see. And do you think this makes him more or less likely to be responsible for the disappearances?”

The words sobered Yuuji, who sat back, a warm feeling filtering into his chest. As much as he had found it difficult to get along with the taciturn ex-salaryman to begin with, his view had changed a lot over time. Nanami was the epitome of a responsible adult, his stern exterior hiding just how kind and patient he was, especially with students. There were times like these, when he would ask for Yuuji’s opinion in such a straightforward manner that it made the boy want to prove himself even more, to show that he could also be an exemplary sorcerer.

“Umm, I think it means we should watch him carefully at the concert. If he is involved, I’m not sure he’d be so … obvious about it? He’s not super high profile, but he’s getting there. If his fans are disappearing, that looks bad for him. I … I think maybe there’s something else to this too.”

Nanami nodded slowly.

“All right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuuji spent the rest of the ride watching some of Ryo-ri’s live performances on YouTube and searching for the specific songs where the girls would join him on stage. In between, he did some other stalking.

“Hey, hey, Nanamin. Guess whose IG I found?”

A small chime sounded from Nanami’s pocket.

“Yuuji – “

“That’s my invite. Don’t ignore your precious nephew!”

“My profile isn’t that interesting. How did you find me, anyway?”

“I checked who Gojo-sensei follows. And, I mean, there’s only one person who’d call himself ‘Gruyère_Ghostbuster’ – “

“Don’t say that out loud.”

“And hey! Your profile is cool! It’s not just food, Nanamin. You’ve got such awesome nature photos and wait … are these videos of yourself cooking? I recognise that watch! Are you making rolled eggs here? And oooh … you’ve got puppy videos?”

The weather was perfect, the sky bright and clear, the normal obscuring fog of the city conspicuously absent. The air still carried a chill and Yuuji wrapped his red scarf closer around his neck. They had parked some distance away from the open-air venue where the concert would take place and were now steadily making their way in that direction, soaking in the sights and sounds of Akihabara.

Yuuji was carrying a bag of manga he had bought at a nearby store and chattered amiably about the recent story arc. Nanami followed a few paces behind, nodding along to Yuuji’s remarks. On the surface, they looked every bit the ordinary uncle and nephew. Only someone who knew exactly what to look for would note the way the boy sometimes shifted his body to observe people better or the way the older man’s eyes would flit sharply back and forth beneath the sunglasses.

Thus far, there had been nothing overtly suspicious in the area, besides the low-grade cursed spirits that showed themselves at intervals. After some time, they found themselves at the venue which adjoined a hotel and conference centre. The centre itself housed quite a variety of functions, with a spa, restaurants and various stores catering to a wealthier clientele. Nanami took the lead, passing through the security checkpoint at the hotel. Yuuji trotted nervously after him, half expecting a security alarm to start blaring because of what he knew was strapped to the older sorcerer’s back.

Nothing happened. Nanami turned his head slightly.

“Cursed energy can also be used to conceal things.”

“Ha. Cool. I guess I gotta learn that sometime. Where are we going, by the way? The concert will be out that way, but I know it’s still early …”

“We have VIP tickets, remember. That means we get access to any of the services here and hotel rooms close to the concert venue. I’m sure you’re hungry, so let’s get something to eat first.”

Nanami began to make his way to the upper levels of the centre. Yuuji followed, sticking close to his mentor. As confident and easy-going as the teen usually was, there was an air of opulence and rarified luxury here that was starting to make him feel small and very out of place. Looking around, he could see executives in expensive suits talking on their phones and people carrying shopping bags with hideously expensive name brands emblazoned on the front. He glanced down at his sneakers and discreetly tried to rub off a scuff mark against the back of his leg before glancing over at Nanami. The tall man showed no sign at all of slowing down, his stride elegant and assured, looking every bit as if he belonged in this setting. People parted ways to allow him to pass.

Eventually, he led them to what looked like a high-end steakhouse. The maître d’ stepped forward, his eyes roving intimidatingly over the two, and Yuuji was tempted for a minute to mutter apologies, scamper off and order a cheap slice of pizza somewhere. A firm hand on his shoulder stilled him and he felt a small sense of reassurance assert itself as Nanami’s deep voice sounded above his head, explaining that they had a reservation.

By the time they reached the table, Yuuji’s excitement was back.

“Wow! Look at the view from up here!”

“Hmm. A good view over the stadium. See that? That’s the stage where Takashima will be performing.”

“Ahh, so that’s why you chose this place.”

“Indeed. Reconnaissance. That, and the steak here is superb. We can see them work on putting up the stage props. That way, we’ll sense if anything deliberate is happening behind the scenes.”

With that, the sorcerer began to study the menu. The meal was, unsurprisingly, a fantastic experience. Nanami ordered them a selection of starters, steak for mains (with a carefully selected wine pairing for himself) and the most delicious chocolate dessert Yuuji had ever tasted. When they were done, the pink-haired boy sat back and sighed.

“How come we get to do all of this? Do the higher-ups really approve all the costs?”

Nanami sipped his wine before replying.

“Depends. If a proper motivation is provided, there’s no reason for them to refuse. Of course, this requires us to fill out a series of detailed documents that most jujutsu sorcerers don’t bother with.”

“But not you?”

“Have you forgotten my previous profession? Form-filling is my speciality. My paperwork is nothing less than exceptional and thorough. There is always solid evidence of what I need. If it is not approved, I log an official query that requires a lengthy board meeting and an extensive review of all documentation.” The corner of Nanami’s mouth crooked up in a small, rare smile. “It’s been some time since any of my requests were denied. Let it never be said that I’m not compliant.”

Yuuji grinned in return and raised his glass of juice.

“Kanpai, Nanamin.”

There had been no sign of anything unusual during their late lunch and by the time they made their way down to the concert, the lower levels were already swarming with people. Looking around, Yuuji saw, unsurprisingly, that most of the crowd consisted of young women. They were chattering and laughing loudly, and everywhere he looked he saw faces alight with excitement. Contrary to the atmosphere that was growing around them, Yuuji’s concern spiked. There was potential danger lurking somewhere, and it would be difficult to detect in such a large mass of people.

Nanami steered him through the crowd to a separate entrance where fewer people had queued. This was the entry-point for those with VIP tickets. They were soon through the checkpoint and were directed by various ushers up a winding staircase to a wide outdoor box that spanned an entire floor. Although sheltered from the elements, the box projected overhead towards the stage, offering a perfect view of where the performance would take place. They took their seats, scanning their surroundings carefully. Thus far, there had still been no sign of elevated cursed energy.

“Yuuji, remember why you’re here.”

“Oh, right!”

Springing up, the youngster made his way around, using the allowance Nanami had given him to buy some merch and snacks from the vendors that were stationed against the back of the VIP box. He began to slowly make a circuit, pausing now and then to start casual conversation with others who were also making purchases. Soon enough, his friendly and open personality had drawn a few others into his orbit, and he compared merch, exchanged contact details, introduced people to his awesome ‘uncle’ and even found himself invited to an online fan-club of Ryo-ri’s. Eventually, he made his way back to Nanami.

The older sorcerer had been casually sipping a coffee, eyes taking in the stage and the members of the audience who had been filling into the main area below. He glanced up as Yuuji took his seat.

“Anything?”

“Nothing so far. Everyone seems pretty normal.”

“All right. When the performance starts, you focus on the stage. I’ll check the audience.”

A lesser-known girl band opened the concert, the energy of their performance doing a lot to hype up the crowd. Yuuji played his part very convincingly, shouting encouragement and applauding loudly. Nanami bit back a smile when he noticed that others were taking their cue from his lively ‘nephew’. The first act was followed by another group and then there was a slight lull, a sense of building anticipation as the main performance drew near.

“There he is,” Nanami muttered, as Ryo-ri bounded onto the stage to a cacophony of high-pitched screams and thunderous applause. The idol hitched up his baggy jeans and swaggered from one end to the other, delivering a series of compliments to his ‘beautiful’ audience and blowing a kiss that made some of the girls in the front row look like they were about to pass out in ecstasy. Ryo-ri started with what Yuuji recognised as the biggest hit from his second album, a high energy dance number that really got the crowd on its feet.

The pink-haired teen threw himself into his own act, starting up a glow-stick dance routine in the front row that the people around them soon joined in. Nanami shifted awkwardly. As much as he had encouraged Yuuji to act the part of the excited nephew, he should have foreseen how it would make him look in comparison. The girls behind them were quick enough to catch on, because they were soon shoving their extra glow-sticks into Nanami’s hands and encouraging him to get on his feet too. Yuuji turned and snorted with laughter.

“Just follow my lead, Nanamin! It’s easy, see?”

As he waved the glow-sticks around his head and turned on the spot, Nanami’s profound sense of existential horror soon settled into detachment as he went through the motions. He was just glad that Gojo wasn’t here to witness this debacle. Soon enough, it was time for the anticipated lottery announcement. Ryo-ri made a show of pulling a piece of paper from a large bowl that had been carried onto the stage and read the number of the winning ticket. One of the women in the front row screamed in excitement and the crowd parted to allow her entry to the stage. Burly security guards did a quick check of her person before showing her through. Yuuji slowed down his routine, pausing to take a sip of water and munch on a handful of popcorn, his eyes glued to the stage. Nanami used this momentary lull to mutter the word “bathroom” and make his way to the end of the VIP box. Here, the sorcerer paused, eyes scanning the crowd carefully through his dark glasses.

The young woman, presumably one of the secretly vetted members of the talent agency, climbed onto the stage. Her hand was placed over her mouth and her eyes shone with glistening disbelief as Ryo-ri took her hand and twirled her around, dropping her softly into a plush seat that someone had brought up at some point. She was certainly a good actor. The idol began to sing a crooning ballad, one of his more popular slow-paced songs, as he danced languidly around her. Nanami frowned as he began to sense a change in the crowd’s mood. On the surface, people were hooting and cheering at the display, but there were undercurrents of negative emotion that had begun to rise like a miasma over some portions of the audience. There could be no mistaking the general feeling.

Jealousy. Resentment. Longing.

What the sorcerer had not expected was the strength of the emotion being exhibited. Was it like this at every performance with an idol in high public demand?

Not quite.

Ryo-ri was pretty avant-garde in his approach to gaining popularity. Nanami recalled what Yuuji had mentioned earlier in the car, about how the idol was not afraid of presenting an image that was quite risky in the Japanese entertainment industry. Inviting a fan on stage was not a common practice and it was understandable, judging from the sensations Nanami was getting from the audience. But then, this was what sold tickets and drew fans into a never-ending circle of unfulfilled desire. The sorcerer allowed his mind to sink into that meditative state that allowed him to spread his senses even further, more receptive to slight changes in cursed energy. As unpleasant as the sensation was, sickly sweet with underlying bitterness brushing against the edge of his mind, he observed the swathe of people below him with unerring focus.

Ryo-ri had upped the ante of his performance, twirling strands of the ‘lucky’ woman’s hair around his finger, gyrating sensually in front of her before dropping to his knees at her feet, one hand brushing gently across her ankle. Nanami felt distaste rise in his throat as the poisonous thrum of envy from the audience grew further. Those happy faces and the applause were so deceptive, considering the hidden depths of emotion some were allowing to fill their hearts, overflowing into the space around them.

And then, he felt it.

The swell of negative emotion grew like a wave, the spike of cursed energy at its peak so sharp and subtle, like a blade honed so fine that it passed painlessly across the skin, leaving blood blooming in its wake. Across the way, Nanami saw Yuuji mask his own reaction admirably, a tiny pause in his energetic waving as he sensed it too. Scanning the crowd, Nanami frowned as the minute trace of cursed energy was lost under the current of emotion once more. With a small signal to Yuuji to stay where he was and observe, the sorcerer made his way quickly and quietly down the stairs to the security check point. Here, people could move between the VIP box and the general area freely, as long as they displayed their pass when they returned.

He emerged into the crowd, the sights, smells and sounds assailing him, tugging at his awareness like a petulant child. Focusing ahead, Nanami began trawling, edging his way slowly and meticulously forward. Glancing up he saw Yuuji take a break from dancing and lean nonchalantly against the railing, sipping an iced drink, alert to what was happening on stage. Shoulders brushed and slid across his, Nanami’s height allowing him a fairly good view over the majority of the people around him.

And so it was that he felt it again, that sharp, tingling touch of poison, dangerous and chemical on the tongue, like the scent of paint-thinner that hung in the air of empty buildings. He turned towards the source, concealed eyes searching through the throng of people. Something was definitely here. Something cunning, something with a sinister awareness that slid away from the edges of one’s perception. Feeling the tension coil within his frame, Nanami pressed on.

Ryooo – riiiiii. Ryoutaaaaa. Ryo. Ryyyyo.

It rolls so nicely off the tongue. So sweet, so sweet. A sticky fruit candy on a hot summer’s day.

He’s up there, for all of us to see. Our eyes are crawling all over him, like many, many spotlights. How precious he is. Precious as a little pearl.

He’s definitely better than all the others. Gino was a looker, oh yes, but … there was something missing. That innocent little boy act? It got old so, so quickly. Yawn. And Kiko was great too, but then he couldn’t handle the fame and went away for a while. Ick. So uncool. But Ryooooo-riiiiii. Oh, Ryo-ri. He’s … different. He owns the stage.

His hair is shiny as tinsel under those lights, and his eyes! Oh, his blue eyes are focused and so, so dreamy. And look, look at his shirt. So translucent with sweat. Delicious.

Ryooutaaaaa. Why won’t he look this way? It’s so unfair. If he could just see me … maybe he’d be the one who wouldn’t be able to look away. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Tiny little trickles of sweat, from his brow and upper lip. How nice if he could wipe it away and smile, right into my eyes, with that look. That look. The one in his photos, the one that makes me feel so … present. So solid. Oh yes, Ryo-ri is perfect. He’ll do.

Last month, his sneakers were orange. Orange! Imagine, such a bright, garish colour. But Ryo-ri makes it work, somehow. He always looks so tasty. Nobody can pull off orange shoes like Ryo-ri.

But, but, what’s this? Who? Who’s here?

Is someone here to stop me? I won’t let that happen. Who is it? They can try, hahahaha! Nobody has stopped me before and they won’t now.

Wait … something’s different. Something is searching. Careful now. This doesn’t feel like anything good. I feel eyes, but different. And a presence. A strong one. Who, who is it? Where? Careful.

There! I see him. He’s coming this way. I can’t let him … who is this anyway? How dare he. I want to crush him like a stupid little bug. Like that bitch on stage, that ugly, lying, cheating, stupid, stupid, stupid little bitch. Both of them.

He’s coming closer. No, no, I can’t let this happen. Careful. Don’t get angry. Don’t let him find us.

He’s here! He’s right here. Something’s not … he’s dangerous! Get away! He’s turning this way! I can see his face! He’s … oh.

Oh.

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kesujo · 2 months

Text

I Miss You

It was times like this Yoona was glad she worked out.

“Come on, just a little bit more…” Yoona said in a strained voice. Yuri, who was pressed against her, moaned.

“Hang in there, Yuri-ah,” Yoona urged her best friend and coworker.

After a few more seconds, the door burst open and in tumbled a drunk Yuri, half-carried half-dragged by a panting Yoona. “Here we are,” Yoona said, partially to Yuri but mostly to herself.

Yuri moaned again. “Are we there yet?”

“Yes, we’re there,” Yoona replied, stopping to catch her breath.

She took the chance to carefully remove each of their layers until both were left with one each. Yoona stopped to catch her breath again, bracing herself once more to pull Yuri along. “Just a few more steps…” Yoona said, speaking words of encouragement for Yuri.

After they finally got to Yoona’s bedroom, Yoona all but collapsed onto the bed with Yuri. “Ah … I told you not to challenge Sunny to that drinking contest,” Yoona said, scolding Yuri.

Yuri, who was laying peacefully on the bed next to Yoona, sighed in reply. “Well, that’s why I’m so lucky to have you,” she said, “you’re both strong, responsible, and beautiful.”

“That’s three things,” Yoona replied, chuckling.

It seemed to take a while for Yuri to process this, but when she did, she burst out giggling. “You’re right, I’m so silly … hehehe…”

Yuri’s voice trailed off at the end. After a few seconds, silence engulfed the room, prompting Yoona to turn her head to check on Yuri. However, when she did so, she discovered that Yuri’s eyes were already closed.

“Aish, at least put the blanket over yourself,” Yoona, who was previously lying next to Yuri, said. She got up off the bed and pulled the blanket out from under Yuri, turned her so that she was laying on the bed in the proper direction, and gently placed the blanket over her.

“Guess I’ll be sleeping in the living room … do I even have a spare blanket?” Yoona murmured to herself, walking to the kitchen.

After pouring a glass of water and finding her spare blanket, laying it on the couch in her living room, Yoona walked back to the bedroom and placed the glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Sleep well, Yuri,” Yoona whispered. However, when she stopped to look at her, she found herself mesmerized.

Yuri’s gently closed eyes, her slightly parted lips, her peaceful facial expression … her best friend really was beautiful, wasn’t she?

This wasn’t the first time she noticed, either. When Yoona first met Yuri at their company’s gym, she remembered thinking how such a beautiful person ended up at the company and not as an actress, model, or idol.

Yoona sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully studying Yuri’s features. “How did I ever come to know such a beautiful woman?” Yoona wondered out loud.

Her next actions weren’t intentional; it was like she had no control over her body. Yoona watched as she felt herself lean over slightly, reach out with her right hand, and tuck a strand of hair out of Yuri’s face.

What am I doing? Yoona thought to herself and retracted her hand. Normal friends don’t act like this.

Yuri had asked Yoona out four months after meeting each other, and Yoona said yes. However, almost a year later, they broke up because Yoona felt uncomfortable with how quickly Yuri wanted to take things.

Still, Yoona couldn’t deny that she sometimes wondered what it would be like if they were still a couple; she would be lying to herself if she said she never imagined what Yuri’s intimate touches felt.

“Yuri, I miss you,” Yoona said gently, still hovering over Yuri ever so slightly. “Sometimes, I wish I never left you.”

Suddenly, Yoona slipped.

She felt a warm, firm hand grab her wrist pull upwards, causing her to lose her balance and fall onto Yuri.

“Maybe we can pick up where we left off, then?” Yuri said, her soothing voice washing over Yoona’s ears.

“W-Wait, you’re awake? How much did you hear?” Yoona stammered, flustered.

“Enough to know that you want me,” Yuri replied, flinging the blanket off her body and pulling Yoona underneath her in one swift, fluid motion. Yoona briefly wondered if Yuri had practiced doing this. “And I know that I still want you,” Yuri continued, whispering to Yoona.

Yoona could feel her heart race, as if she had suddenly run a mile. Her mind was drawing blanks—Yuri’s fierce gaze, her sly grin, the way she was hovering over her … it was almost like a fantasy. Not that Yoona had these types of fantasies.

Her breath turned into sporadic gasps as Yuri started running her hand across Yoona’s body—her waist, the sides of her ribs, her stomach, until Yuri ultimately reached down and used one hand to guide Yoona’s arms up while pulling the hem of her shirt upwards until she was left topless, save for her bra.

Yoona didn’t resist at all. In fact, she was helping Yuri. What am I doing? Yoona thought. Suddenly, she remembered their circumstances, and for whatever reason, couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Yuri, you’re drunk; don’t do this,” Yoona gently said, turning her head to avoid her gaze.

Yoona didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t what happened next.

Yuri ran her hands across Yoona’s bare skin, making its way upward. “If I was drunk, could I do this?”

With that, she reached her right hand behind Yoona’s back; in one second, Yuri’s hand found the bra’s clasp and in another, the bra came loose.

Yoona inhaled sharply at the strange sensation. Yoona should have complete control over her body, yet something inside her almost seemed to paralyze her. In this way, Yoona could do nothing but watch as her best friend and ex-lover stripped her.

“Now, it’s not fair for only you to be topless, right? I’m gonna strip myself, so be an obedient little girl and stay still for me, alright?” Yuri said. She reached for the hem of her shirt and swiftly pulled it off.

Yoona gasped as Yuri threw her shirt to the side, and when Yuri saw Yoona’s reaction, she couldn’t help but grin.

Yuri wasn’t wearing a bra; after pulling off her shirt, Yuri was left completely topless. Yoona couldn’t help but stare at Yuri, and knowing that Yuri was aware of this made her cheeks flush with a vibrant red.

“Your turn,” Yuri said, nodding to Yoona.

“O-oh,” Yona stammered in reply, shakily bringing her hands to her bra.

“Here, I’ll help you,” Yuri said. She covered Yoona’s hands with her own and steadily brought them to the bra straps, carefully wrapping her fingers around them before lifting them off.

Once again, Yoona felt powerless. It wasn’t that Yuri was overpowering her, it was just that she seemed to lose control of her body as soon as Yuri made contact with her. Yoona watched as her bra was steadily lifted off her chest before being flung across the room.

It took a brief second to register the cool, crisp air still lingering about in the room as it made contact with her breasts. However, the feeling didn’t last long as Yuri quickly placed her hands on them, firmly massaging the sensitive skin.

Yoona gasped, closing her eyes. She bit her lower lip, contentment washing over her body. “You’re so beautiful, Yoona,” Yuri said softly, running her fingers across the sensitive nub.

Yoona bit back a moan, but couldn’t hold another back as Yuri pinched her nipples gently, rolling them between her fingers.

“A-Ah…”

Yoona could just about hear Yuri grin. Yoona felt her face flush more, but remained still.

Soon after, Yuri’s warm hands disappeared from her breasts; Yoona almost opened her eyes to see what had happened, but it soon became clear when she felt Yuri’s fingers on the hem of her jeans. Yoona felt Yuri meticulously unbuckling her pants before sliding them off. The following sound of the cloth against skin told Yoona that Yuri had done the same to herself.

“God, it’s so unfair that you can both be so beautiful and have such a sexy body,” Yuri said in an almost growling, predatory tone.

Yoona’s breathing grew ragged, which only worsened after Yuri started to draw circles on Yoona’s inner thigh.

Just as Yuri’s fingers wrapped around the hem of Yoona’s underwear, Yuri stopped herself. “Are you sure you want this, Yoona?” Yuri asked.

With her eyes still closed, she carefully nodded her head.

And with that, her panties came flying off. Yoona barely had anytime to react to it, or to the cool air tickling the small amounts of hair surrounding her vaginal opening before she felt Yuri’s fingers trace her labia lips.

“A-Ah!” Yoona moaned, arching her back slightly at the sensation.

“Wow, just look at how wet you are,” Yuri said teasingly, using her index finger to wipe Yoona’s juice onto her finger before bringing it to Yoona’s mouth. She obediently opened her mouth and tasted herself, her tongue wrapping itself around Yuri’s finger.

“Damn that’s sexy,” Yuri noted as she pulled her finger out of Yoona’s mouth with a soft pop!

Shortly after, Yoona felt Yuri’s hand back at her womanhood, teasing the entrance with one hand while rubbing the skin around her clit with the other.

“Ah, Yuri-ah!” Yoona moaned as she felt Yuri start attacking her breasts with her mouth, kissing the sensitive skin and nipping at her nipples.

After about a minute, Yuri broke contact with Yoona’s boobs. “I’m going in,” she warned. Yoona barely had time to process her words before she felt a sudden intrusion of two digits plunge inside her.

“Ah!” Yoona moaned loudly, so much so that the thought of disturbing her neighbors briefly entered her mind.

Yuri, with both knees planted firmly against Yoona’s widely spread legs, placed her free hand against Yoona’s inner thigh, massaging it. While her other hand busily worked their magic on Yoona, Yuri captured Yoona’s nipples with her mouth.

This picture, that was drawn in Yoona’s mind from everything she was feeling, turned her on even more. She could only lay there, completely at the mercy to the woman that was currently dominating her.

“Fuck, you’re so much sexier when you’re being fucked by me than I ever imagined,” Yuri growled, leaning over to capture Yoona’s lips.

Not long after, Yuri added a third finger, increasing her pace even more; the room was soon filled only with the rattling of the bed frame, the wet sounds of skin slapping against each other, and the incessant moaning from Yoona.

A few minutes of Yuri pounding Yoona’s pussy, the slim digits easily sliding along Yoona’s slick vaginal walls as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into her, Yuri broke the kiss and started using her thumb to rub Yoona’s sensitive nub.

“A-Ah, Yuri—!” Yoona moaned loudly, feeling the sensation building up. “I’m almost—AH!” Yoona borderline screamed as Yuri used her free hand that was previously just mindlessly massaging Yoona’s inner thigh to pinch her clitoris.

A few seconds later, the familiar sensation washed over Yoona as she completely drenched Yuri’s hand, and perhaps the bedsheet as well with her juices.

Yuri let Yoona ride out her orgasm, pumping the digits inside her a few more times before unplugging the hole.

“I’m glad you let me do that,” Yuri said with contentment, laying down next to the exhausted Yoona.

A few seconds later, something dawned onto Yoona. “Wait, you didn’t get—” Yoona began, starting to prop herself up.

She was interrupted as Yuri placed her finger on Yoona’s lips. “It’s ok, pleasuring you is plenty enough for me,” Yuri said. When Yoona looked at her, unconvinced, Yuri continued, “Maybe next time, ok babe?”

“Babe?” Yoona asked, laying back down.

“Well, you’re my girlfriend now, and that’s what I called you back then. Let’s just sleep now,” Yuri said as she pulled the blanket over the two of them.

Yoona shrugged and snuggled up to Yuri. “Ok. Good night honey,” she said, closing her eyes. Subconsciously, a smile formed on both their lips as the couple drifted to sleep.

I know I said I wouldn't apologize for the like poor quality of my past works but...

Next one is a loong one featuring Tiffany, and is a more recent work so the quality of the writing should be better (emphasis on should)! :D

#smut #soshi #snsd #snsd smut #yoona #lim yoona #yuri #kwon yuri

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alovelessmelancholy · 5 months

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OMG LISTEN.

I THINK BOTH NIGHTTIME SCENES ARE REAL.

Update: HEY! I was totally wrong! But read this anyway if you want just for funsies😂

Someone said that one scene is Colin’s “do over” in a sense. (I heard this idea somewhere, I can't remember exactly but let me say that I’m not trying to steal anyone’s intellectual property or anything like that, just agreeing/elaborating on it). I think that’s absolutely what happens, but at the time Colin doesn’t realize it.

I think Pen is crying in the original scene we were given (sitting at her window thinking and then later when Colin discovers her in the garden) because Colin has continued to give her mixed signals (him watching her touch her mouth at the fair tent, telling her “don’t forget you’re Penelope Featherington”, all his longing looks and being his usual idiotic “I don’t know how hot I am being with Pen” self because he doesn’t realize that she secretly loves him. You know, just another Tuesday when Colin is around.)

ANYWAY, she is crying so he comes to console her and she decides then to let him go - what she was agonizing over while thinking at her window because she can’t come back from it if she decides to marry someone else. Colin likely (stupidly!) says something that solidifies her resolve to move on (“You can do it FRIEND, go find your husband!”)

SO she does just that, which means no kiss during this scene despite all the wishes that they would- me included .

Pen moves on while Colin is still helping her to dig his own hole to fall into, encouraging her to accept Debling's suit (DERP)

Colin finally comes to his senses and sees that he 💚LOVES PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON💚 for fuck sake (the beautiful symbolism with the candles OMG I love that but HURRY UP MAN your candle is LIT🕯). Listen to your mother and kiss your friend on the mouth.

By this time Debling may or may not have proposed, but based on Portia’s reaction about what a GOOD GIRL Pen is for landing a Lord as a potential husband, we should assume that all things are pointing in that direction. Colin has picked up on this too, and he has probably made attempts to end their attachment - maybe in some funny ways that make him look like a fool (yes please), maybe a few not so funny ways (he is STURDY now as if anyone could forget that fact but we'll hope he keeps his boxing gloves off - just for now.) 🔥 We DO know that Colin got visibly upset about Debling talking to Pen, so much so that he looked like wanted to do something about it.

SO now we come to the second nighttime scene where Colin put on the Regency Gentleman signal or whatever he had to do to get Pen to come into the garden. This is the do-over part, where he has been doing his own pining, thinking, CRYING (I cannot convey to you how much I love Teary-Eyed-Colin, he’s so gorgeous and vulnerable). He either shows up in tears and tells Pen he loves her, don’t marry Debling or he sees her crying and it makes him cry. She might confess that she was never going to marry Debling,”BECAUSE HE ISN'T YOU, COLIN.”🥺 I imagine her saying this and then…longing look number eight leads to a first kiss/extra-spicy encounter beyond just looks and hand touches. 🔥🔥

Maybe they break some patio furniture if we’re lucky.😏

UPDATE: Well I obviously had this all wrong! Ep2 confirmed REAL and a kiss ( just like RMB but outdoors 🥰) And the foggy one was. confirmed as a dream, so we can assume this is what wakes Colin up in a hot sweat 🥵

JUST LET ME HAVE THE SEASON.

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season three #romancing mister bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton season 3 #pen x colin #penelope x colin #s3 speculation

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fortheloveofwonderland · 10 months

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Midnight | Chapter 14 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Summary - you and Spencer have it out and you make a decision about your future together. Spencer seeks out another victim while you spend the day with Jesse.

A/N - I promise Spencer is going to redeem himself eventually but he’s going to be an asshole a little while longer. Bear with him, he’s been through a lot of trauma.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - drunk Spencer, swearing, guns, arguing, use of “bitch” towards reader, tears, murder, making out.

WC - 5.1k

Chapter 14 - Bad Guy

Upon entering the house you quickly discovered the origin of all three crashes you’d heard from the front lawn.

The first one was the living room lamp which had been knocked on the floor, thankfully it appeared to still be intact. The second was Spencer’s keys which he’d seemingly launched at the fireplace, gratefully missing the large flat screen and now lay in a pile on the floor.

The third sound had come from one of the dining room chairs being shoved aside, as though it had been in Spencer’s way on his journey to the stairs.

One of his boots was at the bottom of the staircase and the other half way up which could only mean he was in possession of the Colt. Starting up the stairs and you found his wallet a little further up and on the top step you found one of the disposable phones. On the landing was a torn condom wrapper.

You rolled your eyes, your suspicions about Spencer’s evening activities confirmed but you were pleased he’d at least had the decency to use protection with the other woman. You bent down and picked the shiny purple foil up between your fingers.

You could hear him grunting and pacing heavily inside the master bedroom and you pushed forward, knowing it was better to get this over with than draw it out.

As expected he was holding the Colt in one hand, dangling from his fingers as he paced back and forth. The fingers of his other hand were pressing firmly against his temple.

“Looks like you had a fun night, sweetie.” You spat the last word, proffering the wrapper at him.

“At least you didn’t have to witness a make out session on your front doorstep.” He rolled his eyes.

“But I didn’t fuck him.” You growled.

“You think that makes you better than me?” He slurred, wobbling on his feet and falling against the wall.

“I think we’re both pretty abhorrent people to be perfectly honest, Spencer. But I didn’t go quite as far as you.” You dropped the foil on the floor, watching it spiral to the carpet.

“You say that like you wouldn’t have given the chance. If I hadn’t come home when I did, are you saying you wouldn’t have brought him in and fucked him?” He may have been slurring but his sentences were surprisingly coherent.

“No, Spencer, I would not have. I don’t let strangers jump into my pants.” You huffed.

“Your loss.” Spencer scoffed, pushing himself away from the wall. “He looked like he’d be good in bed.”

“And Mary looked like a whore.” You clucked and to your surprise Spencer started to laugh.

“She is.” He agreed, swinging the gun around. “She threw herself at me. Dropped to her knees for me before I even had to ask.”

“Lucky man.” You rolled your eyes. “So, we aren’t fighting?”

Spencer continued to laugh, but it soon turned from his usual light chuckle to something much darker. He started advancing on you and you felt your stomach turn as his eyes blackened and you found your back up against the wall, Spencer raising the Colt and pressing to your temple.

“Oh, dear, sweet, Y/N.” He smirked dangerously at you. “You think you get to make out with another man and we’re just going to be ok?”

“People in glass houses, Spencer.” You spat, not letting him intimidate you.

“These people are supposed to think we’re happily married. We’re supposed to stay under the radar.” He wobbled on his feet again, his breath smelt like scotch.

“What part of staying under the radar is fucking random girls?” You scoffed. “Tell me, did you do it in the bathroom? Up against a wall outside? Hell did you just take her over the goddamn bar for everyone to see?”

He jammed the Colt against your head, creating a little thud as it hit your skull. You winced a little but were soon scowling at him.

“You don’t get to be angry at me, Spencer! We either both cheated on each other or neither of us did. You don’t get to have me and a string of other girls.” You yelled, not to be deterred by the gun.

“I get to do whatever the fuck I want.” He slurred.

“Then so do I.” You replied.

“Do you know how easy it would be for me to kill you right now? To blow your fucking brains out? It would be preferable to hearing you bitch and moan all the time! I found this place for you! I didn’t want to live here, I did this for you! I found Green for you. Everything I have done has been for you and you repay me by acting like a fucking bitch!” He spat right in your face and your anger reached fever pitch.

“You’re kidding me, right? Please tell me you are joking right now.” You raised your voice again. “You think I owe you? You think because you tracked down Green and made me a murderer and because you did this one fucking nice thing for me, I owe you? Go to hell, you asshole!”

You slapped him hard across the face causing him to stumble but it was more likely due to the alcohol. You used it to your advantage and pushed past him while he found his footing but he was soon grabbing you with bruising force around the wrist, jerking you back to him.

“Don’t you dare talk to…” he trailed off, his eyes wandering to the hand of the wrist he was holding. “Where the fuck is your ring? My grandmother's ring! Where is it?”

You swallowed thickly, you forgot you’d taken it off. You tried to tug your arm free of his hold but he was too strong.

“It’s in my pocket.” You spat.

“Why did you take it off?” He suddenly let go of you, his previous anger seemingly fading in an instant and he softened as he stared at you with large, sad eyes.

“It’s not like it’s a real ring, Spencer.” You slipped your hand into your pocket and pulled out the band but you didn’t put it on.

“It’s a symbol.” The hand holding the gun fell to his side and once again he used his free one to massage his temple.

“A symbol?” You sniffed, feeling tears welling behind your eyes. “Of what? Of how you own me? Of how I’m never going to be free of you? Spencer, I feel trapped, I feel like a hostage. I don’t want to do this anymore. Please, if you ever cared about me, please let me go.”

“What so you can be with that backwoods asshole? I don’t think so.” He shook his head.

Your tears broke free and you cursed yourself for it, not wanting to show Spencer vulnerability. You half expected him to mock you, to tell you that you were pathetic, but what happened instead was much stranger.

His face fell and he dropped the gun on the floor quickly coming closer to you, his hands coming up to cup your face which caused you to flinch a little.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He started stroking your tears with his thumb. “Please don’t cry.”

You knew he was trying to be nice but you could only feel fear towards him. The speed in which he could switch between these two personalities was frightening. It was as though he’d suffered from some kind of mental break, the old Spencer was clearly still in there but the trauma from his time in prison had created a new persona, a terrifying man who could kill without remorse, and one in which you had no doubt would one day kill you as well.

Your tears continued to fall, your legs shaking as you wished he would just leave you alone.

“I am sick of this hot and cold, it’s like being with Jekyll and Hyde!” You snivelled. “I don’t know what mood you’re going to be in from one minute to the next! I am sick of this and I am sick of you!”

“I don’t want to make you cry, princess. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He held you tighter, looking like he might cry too.

“Spencer,” your lip quivered. “Do you love me?”

He inhaled sharply before swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Very much so.”

“Then let me go.” You choked on a sob.

“I can’t.” His own voice cracked. “I can’t let you go. We’re bound to each other, Y/N. After what we’ve done, we’re bound together forever.”

“Goddammit.” You sniffed and Spencer continued to wipe your tears. “You’re right and I hate that you’re right.”

“We belong together, sweetheart.” He whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“No,” you swallowed, freeing yourself from his hold. “I’m in this with you, I get that, but I don’t want to be with you. We’ll continue this sham marriage because we have to, but you and I are not together, ok?”

“What because he’s so much better than me?” He suddenly flipped again, clenching his jaw as he spat his words at you with venom.

“This isn’t about Jesse.” You rolled your eyes.

“Like hell it isn’t!” He yelled. “Come on, what does he have that I don’t? Tell me, Y/N, what’s so fucking special about GI Mountain Man?”

“For starters he isn’t a controlling asshole!” You spat back. “In fact, do you know why I like him? Because he reminds me of you, jackass! He reminds me of the Spencer Reid who used to buy me popcorn when we went to the movies and drape blankets over me when I used to fall asleep on his couch. He reminds me of the guy who always noticed when I got a haircut and always told me how good it looked even when I hated it. He reminds me of the person you used to be! The sweet, kind, thoughtful man that you used to be, Spencer. I miss him, I loved him! But I don’t know who you are anymore.”

You were sobbing by the time you were through, gasping for air as you tossed the gold band you’d still be holding on the floor. Spencer’s expression didn’t give a lot away, you had no idea what he was thinking. And when he suddenly pushed you back against the wall and slammed his lips against yours, you were powerless to stop him.

He kissed you frantically, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality anymore, like your lips were his one final lifeline. You let him kiss you, knowing if it grew more heated and ended up in bed you’d let him have that too. Because no matter how much you hated him, you would always love him more.

“He’ll never be me.” He spoke against your lips, hands starting to paw at your body. “He’ll never be me.”

As expected he was soon leading you back to the bed but what wasn’t expected was how he didn’t try and undress you. His hands continued to wander your body and his lips barely left yours longer than to gasp for air every few minutes but he didn’t take it any further.

You made out until you were both falling asleep, still fully dressed on top of the covers. And with his last ounce of energy he pulled you into his arms, muttering under his breath “he’ll never be me.”

***

You had a fretful night sleep at best, waking early and sneaking out of bed so as not to wake Spencer. You used the bathroom down the hall to shower rather than the en-suite and once you were dressed you sat out in the first floor patio with a book as the sun started to rise.

You’d found the gold wedding band nestled into the carpet and for some reason you decided to put it on. You chose not to think too much into that.

It was almost noon when Spencer dragged himself outside in yesterday's wrinkled shirt and slacks, his usually messy hair a complete bird's nest. He groaned against the onslaught of the sun, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

“Jesus Christ, it's bright.” He padded out onto the patio barefoot through the bedroom door. “Yet really fucking cold.”

“Hmm.” You closed your book with a sigh. “Hungover?”

“Most definitely.” He grumbled. “I’m starving, you want something to eat? I can make us something, although I may need to throw up first.”

“You can’t cook at the best of times.” You rolled your eyes.

There was a thick tension between you after last night and you weren’t sure if Spencer was ignoring it or he didn’t notice.

“True. I am a genius though so I could probably figure out how to cook eggs.” He chuckled but then immediately groaned when the effort caused his head to throb. “Fuck I drank a lot.”

“I noticed.” You pushed yourself to your feet and cradled the book under your arm. “As enjoyable as eggs cooked by a man who has never cooked eggs before sounds, I have plans.”

Spencer huffed out a large breath, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.

“Let me guess, GI Mountain Man?”

“His name is Jesse. But yes.” As if on cue the doorbell rang.

Spencer swung around, ignoring his hangover as he suddenly started back inside. You hurried after him, catching up to him in the bedroom and grabbing his arm.

“No, no. You’re not going anywhere.” You tugged him backwards. “Just leave it, Spencer.”

He looked like he might argue with you, it wouldn’t be out of character as of late for him to do so. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes darkened but then he softened again in an instant.

“Fine.” He shrugged, stepping aside out of your way. “If this is how you want this to be, then fine.”

“I think it’s for the best.” You rolled your lip between your teeth as the doorbell sounded again. “I’ll be there in a second!” You called down.

“I wish you could understand that everything I’ve done has been for you. When are you gonna stop making out like I’m the bad guy here?” He rubbed his temples again.

“Maybe when you stop acting like one.” You shook your head, did he really not see how he’d been behaving? Did he really think you were the one being unjust? “Why don’t you go see General Store Barbie, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun with her. Or is Bartender Barbie? Oh you’ve got yourself a little two-for-one play thing.”

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “I’m too hungover to fight with you.”

“Wow, maybe you should drink more often.” You scoffed as you turned on your heels and headed to the door.

Spencer simply watched you go, wishing there was something he could say or do to stop you. But he knew if he kept fighting with you, he would only push you further into Mountain Man’s arms.

He needed to prove to you that he could be better, that he wasn’t the enemy and that the two of you could be happy together. But despite his high IQ and all his smarts, he had no idea how to make this right. He needed to find a way to show you he wasn’t the bad guy.

But the problem was, he was starting to think that he might be.

***

After drinking copious amounts of coffee and indulging in a forty five minute shower, Spencer felt something akin to normal again. He made a vow to himself to never drink that much again.

He briefly contemplated trying to find Mary but quickly decided against it. Instead he jumped in the Nissan and drove two hundred miles out east to Colorado Springs.

Colorado Springs was home to a rather unsavoury character named Edward Grimes. Grimes was a child molestor who had flown under the radar of the cops for years mostly because his young victims were too terrified to speak out. And coincidentally, Spencer was angry and needed a kill.

He didn’t usually kill during the day time, it left too much room for witnesses. But the rage boiling in his chest needed to be sated somehow, and if it wasn’t Grimes who took the brunt of it, it may well be Jesse. But Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to kill someone in a town he'd just arrived in, no matter how much he wanted to.

Grimes was in his home, watching the tiny TV on his grubby couch in his boxers and stained wife beater vest. Spencer observed him through the window for a while, feeling sick to his stomach at this cretin.

He scoped the neighbourhood for a while, and after noting his neighbours weren’t home, he tried the back door and found it unlocked. Of course, because when you were a monster, what’s the worst that could walk through your door?

Grimes was about to find out.

Killing Grimes hadn't been as satisfying as Spencer would have liked. Usually his victims begged him to spare their life, apologised for their crimes. But Grimes simply smirked at Spencer and told him he’d do it all again if he had the chance.

And so Spencer sliced his throat so violently he almost severed the man’s head in the process.

He’d gotten into a routine of cleaning up the crime scene and disposing of the bodies. He always drove far away and buried his victims in National parks or grasslands where it would be a long while before their bodies were discovered. He’d drive elsewhere and burn his clothes and cleaning supplies.

Getting Grimes’ body into his car was difficult on two counts. One, it was daylight and there was much more chance of him being seen. He tried to limit exposure by opening the garage door and backing the Nissan up as far as he could in front of Grimes vehicle. Secondly, Grimes was close to three hundred pounds, not taking into account dead weight. Spencer was stronger than he looked but he would be surprised if Derek Morgan wouldn’t struggle with this activity.

He laid the corpse on a garbage bag to stop the transfer of blood throughout the house and dragged him slowly from the living room, through the kitchen and into the garage. The garage was narrow and Grimes' car took up most of the space so getting the body passed to his own vehicle was the hardest part.

No, scratch that, the hardest part was trying to hoist a three hundred pound corpse into the trunk. Honestly, Spencer wasn’t even sure how he did it and he didn’t look forward to having to get him back out again. He finished cleaning up and changed from his bloody jeans and t-shirt into a button down and slacks before leaving the house exactly as he found it.

He then drove a further one hundred and forty miles north to the Arapaho and Roosevelt National Forest where he found a quiet and secluded area of the woods to dig Grime’s grave.

By this point it was getting dark and it was nearly a four hour drive back to Crested Butte and Spencer was sure he would fall asleep at the wheel if he attempted it. Instead he drove further east into Idaho Springs and got a motel room for the night. In the morning he would take care of the cleaning supplies and soiled clothes on his way back.

He had another long shower, feeling utterly exhausted from the day and collapsed on the bed. He pulled out the burner phone and typed in a number. He wasn’t even a little surprised when it rang.

***

Butte 66 Bar and Grill was situated a few miles out of town by the Crested Butte Mountain Resort. Jesse drove you to the base of the mountain and the two of you took the ski lift up the peak. He’d told you the views from up there were some of the best you’d ever see and it did not disappoint.

You felt like you were on top of the world yet isolated, able to see nothing but the slightly frosted tips of mountains as far as you looked. The grill was mostly empty as it was off season and it allowed you to feel as though you and Jesse were the only people on the planet.

You ate and talked about nothing and everything all at once. Of course you kept your story vague, didn’t talk about Spencer, mostly kept asking him about his life.

He’d been born and raised in Butte, but unlike most of its towns folk, Jesse had managed to escape. He’d left for college in New York where he’d stayed until five years ago when his mother suddenly passed away. He’d returned to the Butte for his father, who it transpired was the kindly older man named Fred who had served you in the diner yesterday morning.

Jesse was an only child and his mothers death had almost broken his father. So he came home to keep the diner afloat and helped out with snowboarding lessons in the winter, a sport he’d partaken in since he was a teenager.

His dad recovered but Jesse never left. He told you that he felt close to his mom here and leaving wasn’t an option for him anymore. He lived in the little apartment over McGill’s which had been his parents place before he was born.

After lunch you walked around the resort for a while and once back in town you’d gone to another of Crested Butte’s many bars, The Eldo. And when he’d invited you back to his apartment you couldn’t say no.

You cuddled up on his couch and he put on a movie although you didn’t watch much of it in lieu of making out. You made out for so long and you were so turned on, but Jesse didn’t seem in a hurry to take things further. Sometimes when you wanted something, you just had to take it.

You let your hands wander from where they’d been around his neck, down over his strong chest. You pushed yourself against him, trying to convey what you wanted. When your hands reached the bottom of his shirt and started toying with the hem, he pulled back from your lips with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You suddenly felt insecure at the way he was looking at you uncertainly.

“Nothings wrong.” He tried to smile. “In fact everything is very, very right. I just…I don’t want you to think I did all this today because I want to get you into bed.”

“You don’t want to get me into bed?” You smirked at him and it caused him to laugh.

“Oh no, I very much want to get you into bed, hell I’d settle for this couch. But I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of guy. Because I’m not.” His eyes were serious as they looked at you.

“I don’t think you're that kind of guy.” You reached and took hold of his hand, sensing there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it.

He threaded his fingers in yours and sighed.

“I told you that I’ve had my share of complicated relationships. My last real one really did a number on me and I don’t make a habit of getting close to people. To that end...” He chewed on his lip. “I haven’t…it’s been almost two years since I’ve…you know…with someone.”

The blush that crept to his cheeks was just about the most adorable thing you’d ever seen. You brought his hand to your lips and placed a kiss on the back of it.

“Jesse, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” You reassured him.

“Oh I really want to. You have no idea how much.” He chuckled. “Jesus Christ I’ve never wanted something so much in my life. I’m just, uh, worried I might be…rusty?”

“You are completely and utterly adorable.” You pulled him closer by his hand and kissed him again.

“Adorable, great. That’s just what every man wants to hear from the woman he wants to sleep with.” He laughed as he kissed you.

“Being adorable doesn’t make you any less fucking sexy, Jesse.” You hissed as he deepened the kiss, laying you back against the couch.

You could feel him straining against his jeans as his hands started to wander down your chest. They glided over your torso and were soon on the waistband of your pants. You bucked against his hands, encouraging him to undo them. His tongue plunged deeper inside your mouth as he started working on the button.

Just as it popped open and his hand was roaming towards your panties, the burner phone in your jacket started to ring. Jesse tore his lips away from you and looked at you with a slightly sad smile.

“I can only imagine who that might be.” He sighed as he spoke.

“I don’t have to get it.” You rolled your lip between your teeth as the device kept ringing.

“But you should, right?” He sat back on the couch with a shrug.

You nodded and pushed yourself to your shaky legs. Your jacket was slung over the back of one of the bar stools at the island that separated the kitchen and living areas. You pulled the phone out of your inside pocket and put it to your ear, turning your back on Jesse who was still on the couch.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” Spencer’s voice came down the phone, sounding utterly exhausted. “I won’t be back tonight so feel free to spend the night with your mountain man.”

You glanced over your shoulder to where Jesse was now getting to his feet. He motioned towards the bathroom before making his way over there.

“Did you hear me?” Spencer spoke again.

You waited until the bathroom door was closed before you replied.

“Yes I heard you. Let me guess, you’re with Fire Crotch Barbie?” You scowled.

“Oh Y/N,” he chuckled. “The carpets don’t match the drapes if that’s what you’re inferring. But no, I am out of town.”

“Out of town? Why would you be…” you trailed off as your chest tightened at the realisation of why Spencer would be out of town. “Goddamnit, seriously?”

“Needs must.” He replied simply. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Fine.” You spat.

“Fine.” Amusement danced in his tone.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodnight, princess. Don’t miss me too much.”

You hung up the phone just as the bathroom door opened again and Jesse stepped out. He slowly crossed the room towards you.

“Your husband?” He asked with a sorrowful smile.

“Yeah.” You nodded stiffly.

“You have to go?”

“Yeah.” You lied although you weren’t sure you meant to. “He, uh, he locked himself out of the cabin so I need to go let him in.”

“Let me walk you.” He went to turn to grab his jacket but you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ok.” You forced a smile. “This place seems pretty safe and it’s like a four minute walk or something. I can take care of myself.”

“Ok.” He nodded, eyebrows furrowing together. “Is this a good idea? You and me and whatever this is between us?”

“I have no idea.” You told him honestly. “I don’t want to be another complicated woman in your life.”

Jesse chuckled softly, moving closer to you and cupping your face in his warm hands.

“If someone had told me yesterday I would even be considering seeing a married woman I would have laughed in their face. Complicated really is the last thing I need.” He inched closer, resting his forehead on yours. “But you make complicated seem so simple.”

When he kissed you again your legs wobbled and he took your breath away. For a brief second, you almost stayed. But maybe Spencer calling had been a blessing in disguise. Just because he’d slept with someone else didn’t mean you should too. Two wrongs don’t make a right, even if this particular wrong felt oh so right.

Spencer was the bad guy in this story, not you. And it wasn’t fair for you to use this wonderful man in front of you as a pawn in you and Spencer’s sick games. So you tore yourself away from his lips and grabbed your jacket, reluctantly forcing yourself towards the door.

Maybe you and Jesse would have another chance, maybe he’d be the hero who swept in and saved you from Spencer. But villains didn’t make a habit of backing down without a fight, and it shouldn’t be down to Jesse to have to defeat him for you.

Spencer may call you a princess but you were no damsel in distress. And if you wanted the monster defeated you were more than capable of slaying him yourself.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to.

I spend the night, yeah, doing ninety in a sixty five,

Ignore the lights 'til I'm by your side.

Because when you take this out on me my, knees get weak,

With that heart of kryptonite.

I stole the moon,

I made the stars align.

And I showed you how to fly,

And you made me the bad guy.

You paint the scene, with the colors of an enemy,

All over me, and for your friends to see.

I took just one misstep and now I'm hanging by my feet,

Out of sight and out of reach.

I stole the moon,

I made the stars align.

I showed you how to fly,

And you made me the bad guy.

I fought for you,

I kept you safe at night.

I would have risked my life,

And you made me the bad guy.

You made me the bad guy.

Yeah, you made me the bad guy.

Guess I forgot, guess I forgot,

History repeats.

Once lost and found, once lost and found,

We're too blind to see.

Just show me how, just show me how the villain is me.

And I stole the moon,

I made the stars align.

I showed you how to fly,

And you made me the bad guy.

When I fought for you,

I kept you safe at night.

I would have risked my life,

And you made me the bad guy.

You made me the bad guy.

Now do they even know,

You made me the bad guy.

Ha, got it,

You made me the bad guy.

@bubblebuttwade @daddy-dotcom @andiebeaword @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @thebloomingeagle

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 months

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What Do You Know About Love - (4/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 4: High Society

Chapter 4 - Of Nights and Days

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As a child, Lucien’s Mother used to tell him stories of the Day Court.

She had never been to the Solar Court, as far as he could tell, but she always spoke fondly of its people, its customs, whenever the two of them were alone.

Not all Courts are like ours, she once told him. In Autumn, we’re so confined by rules; where we can go and what we can say and who we can speak to. But I’ve heard that in the Day Court, they value community over hierarchy. They relish in communal spaces—I’ve heard the High Lord even shares meals with his servants.

It sounded like an impossible thing to Lucien, at the time. His father barely indulged in a meal with his own children, let alone a servant. And he’d often been told, from his brothers as well as in his studies, that the High Lords of the Solar Courts were arrogant and self-serving.

He’d always privately thought his mother was embellishing her stories, trying to stoke whimsy in a childhood that sought to stamp any brightness out of him. Or that perhaps she wanted it to be real, for her own peace of mind.

Regardless, Lucien always thought of her whenever he was in the Day Court. Always wished he could write to her, to tell her that everything she’d hoped was true.

It’s freedom like you’d never seen, he would write. Their spellwork is so advanced that they have no need for doors or locks. The entire palace is open archways and exposed atriums. A breeze off the sea could flow from one end and out the other.

It always astounded him, the openness. As if the High Lord of the Day Court had no qualms of someone wandering in and discovering all his secrets. If not for his mechanical eye, he would believe that, but a cursory glance was all he needed to detect the hundreds of overlapping wards, some of its spellwork so complex that it would take a scholar centuries to untangle its magic.

“Wow,” Elain breathed beside him, sweeping wide brown eyes over the pointed archway before them, and the row upon row upon row of arches behind it, each of them detailed with colorful tiles and carved pillars.

Then she turned, casting her attention over the railing of the veranda they’d winnowed into, taking in the temperate air and the swaying palms with no shortness of reverence. It agonized him, the way her pink lips parted so softly in wonder, the way his thumb twitched to trace the curve of her lower lip.

If there was one thing he regretted most about the Solstice, it was that he’d walked away knowing how those lips felt against his own. How they could let out the softest, sweetest little gasp. How he hadn’t, not for a single moment of reprieve, managed to stop thinking about them, even in moments where he needed to start thinking about something, anything else.

Moments like this.

Where Elain turned to him, something sparkling in her eyes, and said, “It’s beautiful.”

No it’s not, he wanted to say. Not even close.

There was no definition of beauty that could ever skew away from Elain herself. Though perhaps, through the standards that existed before she rose from the Cauldron and rivaled his every understanding of the word, the Day Court could be considered beautiful.

“I’m sure there will be an opportunity for a tour later,” Lucien said instead, somehow coaxing his voice into neutrality. “I’ve heard Helion boasts an expansive garden,”

“I heard there’s a thousand libraries, too,” she said, still with that thrilling look in her eye.

Excitement, Lucien thought. He’d never seen it on her before. Feigned enthusiasm, if he was lucky, but pure, genuine excitement? He knew he had nothing to do with it, that it was simply the result of being here, outside of the gods-forsaken Night Court for a change. Even so, an absurd swell of pride filled his chest, some latent instinct sated at knowing his mate was happy. That he’d brought her that happiness, indirectly or otherwise.

“There is,” he said, unable to help his small, satisfied smile. “Its scholars may even be able to help you find the recipient of that letter.”

Her face lit up. “You think?”

“They are expert historians. And,” he glanced at the palace’s entrance, ensuring no one was coming by, before saying, “I hear they’re insufferable gossips. If there was a scandal at a Halieia ball, one of them surely knows something about it.”

Elain laughed. Laughed. Just a small, bubbly giggle, really, and he swallowed, uncertain if he’d ever heard the sound before. If he’d ever elicited that sound before. He wondered how he would be able to cope for every infinite expanse of moments after, knowing what her laughter sounded like and that he was not presently hearing it.

It reminded him of the stories they used to tell children at revelries, the ones that were eventually passed to the human realms and became the fabric of myth and legend. Don’t eat the food, don’t drink the wine.

He knew the reason. There were fae wines rumored to be so sweet that a sensible male could become an addict from just a single drop. One taste, and he would become enthralled, willing to trade anything for another sip. A slave to his own desire.

That was how it felt to hear Elain’s laughter.

And as he contemplated all of the things he would be willing to do to hear it again, he considered how he was so, catastrophically, fucked. It would be impossible to endure one day of this, let alone a hundred��potentially more. Rhysand had given no indication of how long Lucien was expected to stay, nor what Lucien was even expected to do.

It was concerning to think that was how blindingly loyal he’d become to the Night Court. In a thousand centuries, he never thought he’d play willingly into the High Lord of Night’s machinations. Yet there he was, dressed in regalia that spoke of pride. Allegiance.

Rhysand hadn’t requested any bargain or oath of loyalty, but he hadn’t needed to.

The High Lord knew that Lucien would do whatever he asked. Because of her.

Elain looked at him, oblivious to the ways she’d permanently warped his loyalties. And to the carnage she wracked in him by slotting her teeth against her lower lip and saying, “That’s reassuring, because gossip is something we’re experts at in the human realm.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.”

Lucien thought of the endless gossip Vassa and Jurian liked to share with him. Who was seen where with whom, who was getting married, who was having children, who was running away with the blacksmith’s daughter. It all seemed tedious to Lucien, and always boiled down to two people fucking—or wanting to fuck, and avoiding doing so for strange, prudish human reasoning. He supposed with short life spans, humans felt the need to sensationalize every trivial event in their lives.

Though suddenly, Lucien wanted to know every petty piece of human gossip Elain had ever felt inclined to keep hold of.

The smile she offered him was intriguingly conspiratorial.

“There’s a secret to it, you know.”

He leaned closer, completely entranced. “A secret to what?”

“Gossip.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“It’s a game,” she said. “At least in the mortal realm. There’s a delicate balance between offering up too much or too little. If you offer up nothing, your peers will think you're oblivious to your surroundings or worse—sanctimonious. But if you share too much that makes you untrustworthy.”

“I can see it already,” he murmured, fascinated at the gleam in her eyes. She had a competitive streak, and he was eager to file that discovery away for later use. “You must have been fierce competition during the social seasons.”

The proud tilt of her chin certainly suggested as much, though she was too polite to admit it.

“I perfected how to share details just tantalizing enough to not betray anyone who held me in confidence. And because gossip is always a competition of who knows most, I always received the most scandalous rumors in exchange.”

“You would make an impressive emissary with that skill set,” he said, pleased to see a flush crawling up her cheeks. In the past, she’d always shrunk away from his attempts to compliment her.

Encouraged, he edged the slightest bit closer, placing his palm against the rail to steady himself for her scent. In the open air, some of it was being carried away, drifting towards the green bay at the bottom of the hill. But the remainder of that sweet jasmine and pear scent lingered in the air around her, tangling his senses like a hidden snare.

Elain stiffened at their proximity, but she didn’t pull away. It was progress, he reasoned.

“What would you share with the scholars, then, to find out what happened at the ball?”

After a moment of thought, she said, “Do you think they’d be interested to know that the High Lord of the Night Court has taken up knitting as a pastime?”

“Oh?” drawled a deep voice. “How quaint. Do you think he’d knit a loincloth for me?.”

Elain’s hand flew to her chest, a gasp hitching out of those perfect lips as she scrambled back from Lucien, all of their so-called progress crumbling into sand. It was like she feared being caught alone with him, as if she didn’t want anyone to know they could be friendly with each other. For the sake of his pride, he told himself it was a lingering scruple of the mortal realm.

Yet it still rubbed against an old, festering wound.

Unwanted. Unneeded. Undesirable.

Hastily brushing his bruised ego aside, Lucien turned to their new arrival.

It was difficult to examine him too closely, in the same way one could never glimpse the sun in full. Magic radiated from him, even with a glamor, like a kernel of the sun lived beneath the High Lord’s dark brown skin. He was covered in more gold than cloth—a spiked crown atop his head, a collar around his throat, draping a waterfall of golden chains across his exposed chest and arms. White cloth hung from his hips, secured in place by a slanted jeweled belt, and the fabric was slit on both sides to expose his wide thighs.

“High Lord,” Lucien greeted, exceedingly careful not to glance towards Elain. He had no interest in marking her reaction to the male and all of the skin he had on display. “Lucien, Emissary of the Night Court, at your service.”

“A Vanserra,” Helion repeated under his breath. Not a question—if anything it was grumbled. And as Lucien raised his head, he could see the High Lord of the Day Court raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his broad nose. “I call in a favor and the bastard sends me a Vanserra.”

Wariness of his family name wasn’t unfounded, but Lucien couldn’t help his stab of irritation. Helion knew as well as any other High Fae that he’d been exiled from the Autumn Court centuries ago.

“I don’t use my family name,” he said flatly.

Helion hummed. “I don’t blame you. Tedious lot, that family of yours. I was hoping for the beautiful Mor, but I suppose your Knowledge of the other Courts may come in handy.”

With that quick dismissal, the High Lord’s attention roved away from Lucien and quickly landed on Elain. Lucien was careful to keep his expression neutral as the High Lord appraised her with an interest that made his skin itch. As if it no longer fit the beast stirring and writhing beneath.

“Where have they been hiding you?”

That deep, rich voice was now dripping in sensuality. The High Lord stepped toward her, a taunting smile growing on his lips when he noticed the way Lucien tensed. He knew what Helion was like with females—with males, too. Rumor said Helion was indiscriminate so long as a person was beautiful, and Elain was the most beautiful of all.

The High Lord offered her a bow, extending one of his broad hands to her. And Elain, too polite or perhaps equally enchanted, allowed him to take her hand and brush a kiss to the backs of her knuckles.

Easy, Lucien coached himself, tightening his leash on the instincts that demanded bloodshed at seeing another male touch his mate. Put his mouth on her—

Easy. He took a deep breath. She’s unharmed. She’s safe. She’s…

Enjoying it.

That was laughter slipping past her lips, mirth crinkling at her eyes, and a deep swatch of scarlet creeping over her elegant cheekbones. The bastard was practically half-clothed, and yet there wasn’t an ounce of the reservation she always seemed to possess in Lucien’s company.

In fact, her eyes were wandering over the High Lord’s exposed skin, admiring the golden cuff around his forearm—or perhaps the swelling muscle it constricted. Was that what she liked, then?

A sharp bitterness rose at the back of his tongue. Lucien was admittedly leaner than the High Lord. He knew he didn’t possess the same warrior build as so many of the males she spent her time around, but that could be helped. He trained regularly to keep his strength, but he could heighten his regimen, if that would encourage her eyes to wander towards him more often.

Though, if the appeal was Helion’s beauty… his striking face, which was notably unmarred, or his amber eyes, which were a matching color and simmering with impish delight as they beheld her. If those were what caused Elain to part her lips in wonder, then there was nothing Lucien could do to rectify that shortcoming in himself.

“Well?” Helion prompted, humor lacing his voice. “What brings a sweet little morsel like you to my Court?”

“She’s here on leisure, not Court business.” Lucien tried to sound bored, uninterested in whatever game the High Lord was trying to taunt him into playing. “Before you get any ideas, Feyre made it clear that she’s not to be involved.”

He produced a letter from his pocket between realms, holding it between his fingers in offer, but not extending it any further. Helion could take his damned hands off Elain and collect it himself.

The High Lord didn’t let go of her hand, but he did raise his mouth from its place at her knuckles to regard Lucien, then the letter—each with a cool indifference. With a snap of his fingers, a sun-kissed breeze swept in from the sea and snatched the parchment from Lucien’s fingertips. The swift, jerking motion morphed the paper’s dull edge into a blade, and Lucien hissed as it sliced against his thumb.

By the time the letter floated to Helion and unfolded for his surveillance, the blood had already welled and sealed over. There was no apology in the High Lord’s grin, only challenge. And if Elain was aware of the transgression, if she could scent the copper of Lucien’s blood carried over on the breeze, she said nothing. Only watched with curious eyes as Helion unfolded the letter.

It didn’t say much. Similar to Lucien's meeting with Rhysand the night before, the details were frustratingly cryptic. A trade deal. That’s all he’s been told. Not which territory they’d be trading with, not the contents of what they’d be trading, no indication of any timeline.

None of it boded well. And Feyre’s refusal to let Elain be involved did little to ease his suspicions. If it was a simple negotiation, why wouldn’t they want Elain to gain exposure to Court politics?

“I see,” Helion said, scanning the letter’s contents. He clicked his tongue, the golden paint smeared beneath his lower lashes glistening as he turned back to Elain. “Pity, that beautiful face would have made these tedious meetings much more bearable. But it’s a pleasure to have you in my court, nonetheless, Lady Elain.”

Elain bowed her head and, at last, withdrew her hand. “Thank you for your generosity, High Lord.”

“Call me Helion,” he purred. “If only because it will rile that mate of yours.”

She winced at the word. Mate. That sacred, special word that Lucien was so careful not to use around her. The one syllable monument to the fate they danced around, because if they were to acknowledge it she would get that look on her face, the one she was wearing now, and he would feel it like a serrated blade in his chest, sawing against the bone and sinew of a bond that refused to tear, though he felt each abrasion just the same.

Lucien resisted the urge to rise to the jab. He wanted to insist that he was not that kind of mate, that he was different than the territorial male she feared being shackled to. But if he continued speaking for her, it would only lend weight to the accusation.

He bit his tongue—bit it until he tasted blood in his mouth.

“Helion,” she said, testing the name and earning a lazy smile from the male in return. “I hear that you have a thousand libraries in this Court.”

“I do. Are you here seeking knowledge, Lady?”

Did she catch it, Lucien wondered, that subtle shift in Helion’s tone? Still warm, still overtly friendly, but sharpened just enough to suggest that he recognised the danger in the knowledge his Court guarded. And that by virtue of seeking it, Elain posed a threat.

She was a stranger to him after all. An Archeron, yes, but still mated to a Vanserra. That made her untrustworthy on principle. And despite her beauty and innocent demeanor, which may have earned her trust in the mortal realm, here it would only earn her scrutiny. In Prythain, any fae past infancy knew the flowers with the loveliest blooms were most often poisonous.

“No,” she said, turning timid beneath his assessment. “I—I never learned how to read, my Lord. My sisters and I lost any proper education to poverty. But I am fascinated by architecture, and I enjoy the quiet of a library to work on my embroidery.”

Elain, illiterate? He knew that Feyre had been, and that it’d once nearly gotten him killed. But surely he would know if his own mate was, too. Lucien’s mind scrambled back to every past encounter, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Elain reading. She’d been sitting in the library the first time he’d spoken to her, but she’d been thin and pale and absently staring out a window, not saying or doing much of anything.

Did she truly not know how to read? And no one in that house had noticed, or bothered teaching her?

Helion cast his eyes towards Lucien, measured the rage in his expression, and hummed. “We have tutors in this court who could teach you, if you’d like. And some say the architectural feats of my libraries do rival the knowledge they contain. I’ll let my scholars know you’re welcome to explore them at your leisure.”

Elain curtsied again. “You’re too kind, my Lord.”

And as that subtle gleam returned to her eye, the memory clicked. The letter that inspired her to come here. Just this morning, he’d cradled a flame in his palm and admired how his magic cast streaks in her hair while she’d read the letter’s contents.

“Helion,” he insisted again, gentler.

She played him. And he bought it.

Lucien had to turn away, casting his eyes toward the veranda and the city sprawled along the hillside below. There was no one to witness the smile twitching over his lips, the one he couldn’t restrain, though he tried.

Elain manipulated one of the most powerful males in the world. Someone who far exceeded her in age and power and stature. She did it without blinking, or losing the bashful glow on her cheeks.

And it was the most attractive thing Lucien had ever witnessed.

#What Do You Know About Love?#Elucienweek2024 #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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✨STEDDIE FICLET: BOYS WILL BE BOYS

!! masturbation, general horny energy/vibe (lol), discovering sexuality !!

steve and eddie arguing over who has the bigger dick. they’re just friends. they’ve never seen each other naked.

steve and eddie getting out the ruler to compare dick sizes.

it’s a game. it’s something to play. it’s something to pass the time.

boys will be boys.

steve and eddie, joking around, fumbling to get their pants around their thighs, excited by the competitive air between them. quipping. ruffling each others feathers. making light in the dead of winter.

steve and eddie falling silent.

steve’s breath hitching.

eddie’s eyes widening.

flushed red of arousal rushing to their cheeks as everything becomes a bit too real.

steve gulping.

eddie watching the pitiful up and down movement of his adam’s apple. bobbing beautifully under all those pretty moles on his decadent throat.

eddie hardening. stiffening up rapidly because steve’s standing there—so close—squirming around and whimpering like a slut.

“it happens,” steve says as if it really does, “ ‘s nothing to be ashamed of. c’mon. i’ll measure you, if you measure me.”

eddie nodding, barking a laugh, choking on something heavy.

tonguing the sharp edge of his teeth to counteract and distract from the thrumming pleasure—the threat his hips pose to buck up into the warm grasp of steve’s hand circling around his leaking tip.

steve and eddie lining up their cocks, because it’s ‘easier to tell.’

numbers are too difficult.

numbers are useless.

why use numbers when they have four hands between them to compare and stroke over their lengths?

gentle fingers to dip down and cup each others balls like something precious to behold. tickling. smiling.

careful not to make eye contact. careful not to make it real.

steve and eddie groaning like untamed beasts when they press their aching dicks together. skin to skin.

wet. slippery. burning up with forbidden fever. the urge to close every existing gap is palpable.

so easy to break.

so easy to shatter.

“guess we’re about the same size. funny. who would’ve thought?”

eddie plays the fool. plays the whole thing off as a joke. tears his eyes away but doesn’t miss the opportunity to rub a flat palm over both of their cockheads before retreating like the coward he believes himself to be.

bashful. ashamed. terrified of the truth. terrified of the monster he is. vicious and destructive in all matters of the self.

speeding car on a dead end path.

“g-guess so. yeah. funny.”

steve’s voice is distant, murky, undone, and empty. brows furrowed. lips bitten.

he’s beautiful and strange. colored all shades of pink. hairy thighs. soft heart. golden boy.

steve and eddie zipping themselves back into their jeans. making separate excuses about this and that.

“gotta get going—”

“me too—”

“band practice—”

“dinner with robin—”

“see ya later—”

“yeah—”

steve and eddie touching themselves, alone in their rooms—later that night.

moon high. beds cold. moans hidden behind clenched fists.

steve humping his pillow.

faster, harder than he’s done in a long time. eddie’s rings and silver tongue on his mind. he’s drunk on it. dizzy and loose.

eddie fucking himself open with a toy. legs spread wide. tongue between teeth. hand on his stomach to feel the bulge where he dreams steve’s pretty cock might some day be, if he’s lucky.

steve and eddie cumming at the same time, across town, and reaching for the phone at the exact same instant.

“i need you—”

“i miss you—”

“come over—”

“i’m already on my way.”

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @rugbertgoeshome @neverlandwaitingforme @anglhrts @swiss-cheeze

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your-oddities · 2 months

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Marble Hornets headcanons !!

but 1/4 of this stuff are just habits i have.

this is due to the fact these characters are literally me.

Jay:

-If a fast food employee gets his order wrong, he’ll do everything in his power to make sure it’s not fixed. Not because he doesn’t care. He just hates having to bother minimum wage workers.

-When he was young he used to cough obnoxiously whilst walking past smokers to make them feel bad. He did this a handful of times with Tim in a couple hotel rooms. But Tim didn’t notice. Or ignored him. Jay never knew which.

-He bumps into EVERYTHING. No spacial awareness at all.

-He has quite few jackets in his closet. Most of them are the exact same because he found one he really liked then just bought like five. neurodivergent boy say what!??!!1!1!

-If you give him pointers or constructive criticism he’ll take them way too personally and feel like he did something wrong. Like really wrong. It’s really not a big deal. To him it is.

-Isn’t superstitious at all. That being said, that one lucky charm he got from an old friend always seems to find itself in his pocket.

-Very sentimental.

Tim:

-Definitely had to be a “he ordered no pickles” kind of guy when he and Jay were out sharing hotel rooms.

-Avoid confrontation at all cost. Unless it’s completely necessary, he just won’t do it. Someone could cuss him out and he’d just stand there wondering how to get out of the situation.

-Honestly… love you Tim, but I imagine his personality to be pretty stale. He never had real good social interaction until Brian came along, meaning not until college. He finds it hard to get past small talk with people he’s recently met.

-If you take him to a Starbucks or something and ask him what he wants he’ll say “uhh.. coffee??”

-Says his favorite band is something like Metallica or Green Day. And don’t get him wrong, he likes those. But he’ll die for The Smiths.

-Never cared about style. Ever. Did you see what he had on in entry #9??

-Still loves his mom. He places some blame on her of course, but he could never bring himself to hate his mother. He knows he was and still is messed up mentally. She handled it best she knew how.

-Uses reading glasses whenever he’s trying to read something on his flip phone. That was until iPhones came out and he got rid of his old phone.

Alex:

-Everybody knows that during Marble Hornets man couldn’t for the life of him chill. He was always angry. But that’s definitely the influence of The Operator. He was actually a really sweet and funny guy pre-MH. Yes, he had his angry moments, but who doesn’t??

-Unless you’re using the most sarcastic tone ever, he can’t understand it. But he’s extremely sarcastic himself. Of course he always tries to make it very clear.

-THICK LENSES. Like bro. Took his parents until he was about five and bumping into absolutely everything to go get his eyes checked.

-Living standing emoji. He didn’t discover putting his hands in his pockets until after he dropped Marble Hornets.

-Watches fiction movies then criticizes the parts that aren’t realistic.

-“Why would you pull that piece of glass out of your leg?? Keep it in until you can see a doctor!” “Alex we’re watching a movie about an alien invasion.”

-Did I mention he speaks to the characters on screen like they’re actually there?

-Denies he’s the dad of the group (he is).

Brian:

-The silly. But we already knew that.

-Extremely social. Extrovert to the max. Doesn’t love parties, but he’ll go to just about any other social event.

-He doesn’t have any idea what personal space is. He’ll hug, pat your back, or just give you small bits of affection every three seconds. Unless someone asks him to stop, of course. It’s just his go-to.

-Actually, Brian’s openness to physical affection is the main reason Tim became good friends with him. He didn’t get a lot of love when he was a child, so it’s something he’s come to crave. And Brian welcomes it with open arms, literally!!

-Loves (most) bitter food. He’ll defend dark chocolate with his life. But he can’t handle black coffee.

-He bit his nails for years on end. When he learned how insanely unsanitary it is, he stopped immediately. Now he just picks at them.

-He’s never not had a dog. Except for that one time he had a ferret.

-Feeds the alley cats. He just loves animals so much. That’s why his parents thought he was gonna be a veterinarian when he grew up.

lil extra stuff abt their sexualities and whatnot!!

Jay - Gay, though that’s basically canon. Aroace but he’s not repulsed by relationships by any means. Romantic or sexual. He’s had his fair share of boyfriends and girlfriends before he found out he dislikes titties. He/him.

Tim - Doesn’t really bother with labels. He knows he likes girls as well as guys, so he just tells everybody he’s queer. He also doesn’t exactly announce this to anybody but his close friends, but he’s demisexual + romantic. He/him but he won’t correct you if you use anything else.

Alex - Born a girl. He was a girl for years because that’s just what everybody called him. Then he watched SheZow when he was like seven and went “whoa… people can change genders??” Years down the line and a bunch of long conversations with close friends lead him to identify as a boy when he was a junior in high school. Of course he got bullied relentlessly for it, so he didn’t actually transitioning until after school. I mean, literally. After the last day of senior year he picked up testosterone for the first time ever. He/they.

Brian - To me, he’s definitely pansexual. He doesn’t care about the parts. Personality is the one thing that matters to him. When he first got into college, he learned what non-binary means and he experimented with a couple different gender labels. But he settled on being demiboy. Any pronouns.

#tim wright #brian thomas #alex kralie #jay merrick #marble hornets #marble hornets headcanons

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muridae3 · 1 month

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Echoes of Worry | Harvey x Reader

Harvey is tasked with saving the farmer's life after they fall victim to the skull cavern.

**Warning: Depictions of surgery ahead!

Harvey considered himself a reasonable man.

He had a wonderful career, a place of his own, and a stable position in a good community.

That should have been enough.

And yet, when he woke up in the early hours of the morning, he could only think of the loneliness he felt.

He kept the few friends he had at arm’s length– none of them knew the magnitude of his isolation.

That is, until a new face showed up in his clinic one spring morning.

No one had moved to the valley since he opened the clinic– seeing someone unfamiliar jarred him.

Somehow, they found out he liked coffee, and he suddenly found himself accepting a fresh cup from them every morning.

Somehow, they noticed he enjoyed pickles, and he discovered more jars in his pantry than he knew what to do with.

Somehow, they stumbled upon his recent venture into aerobics, and they promised not to tell a soul.

Somehow, they entered his apartment when he contacted a pilot– a real pilot– on his radio.

And somehow, he found himself sharing his little hobby with them.

And thinking about them.

And dreaming about them.

But that meant nothing.

He had never felt as close to anyone as he did to the farmer– these new feelings must be the result of the close friendship.

One rainy afternoon, Harvey reflected on his friendship with the farmer. He felt truly lucky to have them. Savoring the remnants of that morning’s coffee, he decided to go to the front desk and tell Maru she could go home early. After all, nothing could possibly happen on a mundane afternoon like this.

Just as he exited his office, he heard the clinic door burst open. He assumed it was the farmer– they had single-handedly depleted his supply of energy tonic last week, and they had surely come by to ask if he had any more. Maybe they would even want to stick around for a chat.

His smile dropped when he entered the waiting room and saw the farmer, barely conscious, leaning heavily on Pam’s shoulder.

“I took ‘em to Calico…” She huffed, catching her breath. “They were gone for a while, and I found ‘em like this, barely breathing. Something got ‘em, doc.”

Maru had already sprung into action. “I’ll prep bay one for surgery. Should I scrub in, doc?”

Harvey’s racing mind suddenly screeched to a halt.

They needed surgery. Possibly life-saving surgery.

And he was the one who had to do it.

The farmer’s life lay in his shaky hands.

“Doc?” Maru prompted, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He shook off his nerves, putting up the mental wall. He was a doctor, and the farmer was now his patient. He had a duty to help them, friendship or no.

“Their injuries look severe. We need to stitch them up quickly. I’ll take them, Pam. Thank you.” He took the farmer’s limp body off Pam’s shoulder, gently lifting them off the ground.

They felt so cold.

So, so, cold.

He shook his head slightly, focusing on the matter at hand. After setting the farmer on the surgery table, he quickly changed out of his blood-stained clothes into a pair of medical-grade scrubs. He washed his hands with practiced precision, the sterile smell of the chlorhexidine sharpening his resolve.

He could do this. It didn’t matter who they were. He had a duty to perform his best work, feelings be damned.

Some of his confidence crumbled when he entered the surgery room and saw the farmer’s limp body, comatose on the surgery table.

“Gown and instruments prepped,” Maru announced, once again bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m ready,” he said, holding out his arms for the gown.

Maru tied the gown and cap tightly, but Harvey felt grateful for the pressure. It kept him grounded.

“Before you scrub in, get out a few more packs of suture. We’re going to need them,” he grimaced under his mask.

Maru nodded, quickly leaving to retrieve the suture.

Harvey made his way over to the surgery table, standing over the farmer’s body.

“I can do this,” he spoke to no one in particular. “I can do this for you.”

Harvey’s hands had stopped shaking by the time Maru returned.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Pass me a pack of suture and forceps, please.”

Hours later, Harvey collapsed into the chair beside the recovery bed.

“You okay, doc?” Maru asked, almost breathless. She looked almost as tired as he felt.

“I will be. You go home, Maru. I’ll watch them tonight.”

“You sure? I am more than happy to–”

“I’m sure. Go home.”

Maru sighed, leaving without another word. She would never admit it, but she felt as drained as Harvey did.

He watched the farmer’s chest rise and fall, fall and rise.

Breathing.

Alive.

The injuries had been much more severe than he had thought. Lacerations, bruises, and bite marks covered their body– Harvey couldn’t even begin to imagine the creature that had left them.

He hoped they wouldn’t scar too badly.

He hoped they would forgive him.

Reluctantly, he decided to clean up a little and eat something. After all, this was going to be a long night.

After a quick shower, a new pair of slacks and a clean shirt, and a microwave meal accompanied by some of the numerous pickles in his pantry, he returned downstairs with a travel thermos filled with coffee.

He took the farmer’s vitals every hour, meticulously tracking them on the whiteboard by the bed.

Miraculously, they stayed stable.

He wasn’t quite sure when night turned to morning, but he found himself waving Maru away when she suggested that he get some sleep.

This was not the first all-nighter Harvey had pulled, and it certainly would not be the last.

He fell into an easy rhythm: monitor, take vitals, record, monitor.

They remained stable.

He allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, the farmer would be okay.

He had never really noticed their face before– it was rather appealing, when not contorted in pain. They had a nice jawline, and their hair fell over their forehead just so.

Cute.

Harvey shook himself out of… whatever that was. It had to be the sleep deprivation. Right now, this was his patient, and he had a duty to ensure their utmost care.

“Brought you some lunch, doc. Compliments of Gus,” Maru set a plate on the arm of the chair. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take a shift? You look drained.”

“Thank you, Maru. I’m sure.” He waved her away again.

The food was warm, providing a welcome reprieve from the cold sterility of the recovery room.

The warmth quickly spread to the rest of his body, and he realized just how tired he felt.

The farmer was stable; surely they would be fine if he rested his eyes for a moment.

Just a moment.

“Harvey…” a voice whispered, bringing him out of his haze.

“Hmm… Hm!” He realized he had fallen asleep.

“Hi, Doc.” The farmer smiled weakly.

“You’re awake! How long was I… when did you wake up?” He quickly stood, fixing his glasses before making a note on their chart.

“Not long ago. How long was I…”

“Pam brought you in around 2:30 yesterday. She said she found you… like that… in the Calico Desert, is that right?”

“Mhm. Last thing I remember is that stupid royal serpent headed right towards me.”

“Royal serpent?” He paused for a moment. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

The farmer laughed slightly. “Listen, Harvey, while you’re here… is my backpack nearby?”

Harvey gestured to the bag, slung over the back of the bed. “Can I get you something from it?”

“Can you bring it here?”

Harvey gently set the bag onto their lap.

They dug through, seemingly looking for something. They must have a gemstone, maybe even a prismatic shard, to show him. The farmer always brought Harvey some treasure or another that they had found in the mines, despite his many warnings about the danger they were putting themselves in.

“I meant to give this to you the other day, but… the clinic was closed.” They brought something out of their bag that made his heart stutter.

A bouquet.

“You… you have a bouquet… for… for me?” He asked, barely able to string the sentence together.

“If you’ll accept it, yeah!” They smiled at him.

“I… I do. I mean…” He smiled awkwardly. “Yes. I mean, I’d love to, I mean…”

The farmer laughed, wincing slightly. “It’s the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“I had no idea… I didn’t know you felt this way about me.” He felt a blush creep onto his face.

“Really? I thought I was being really obvious. It’s why I waited so long before coming in… or, well, I meant to. Fate had other plans.” “Were you… were you afraid I would say no?”

The farmer shrugged, and Harvey realized just how obvious he had been, even if he hadn’t realized his own feelings.

He set the bouquet aside, taking the farmer’s hand in his own. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Harv.” They stifled a yawn.

“You can go to sleep, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

The farmer smiled gratefully before falling back into sleep.

Harvey stared at their hand tucked in his own, allowing his bewilderment to wash over him.

The bouquet taunted him, but he resisted the urge to stare at it. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and returned to the chair.

The farmer was his responsibility, now more than ever.

And he would see to it that they would make it through this.

Together.

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