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dogt-eeth · 8 months

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HI this is steel from 3 hours later WHOOPS wrote a whole fanfic abt it sorry guys, here u go (it's kinda Long, abt 2100 words)

Team Dark hadn't been a team for long. Their first mission is painful, and clumsy, and they aren't coordinated quite yet, even though they can get along well-enough. Rouge was still trying to convince her landlord to make the doorframes wide enough for OMEGA, and it was a slow process, even with the support of GUN's best lawyers to back her up when the fight turned legal. Shadow hadn't even moved his stuff into his room, it was barely his room at all. OMEGA still had to stay confined to the living room, all other hallways still painfully too tight for him to fit through. They had lived together just for a week before the next mission arrived, not enough time for them to get their lives in check yet. Not enough for them to learn each other's limits, tells.

It came as a complete surprise, then, for Rouge to learn Shadow had been having trouble sleeping. Or, more accurately, that he seemed to choose to avoid resting altogether. She had been so busy with paperwork, and making her small apartment livable, and she knew Shadow was capable so the thought of checking on him never crossed her mind. Why bother? She kicked herself for it now.

Their second mission had stretched on for days. The team had been given their week of rest, but, as it was, justice never caught a break for long, and they were thrown back into the fray so fast it made Rouge's head spin. A simple Intel Gathering mission stretched on into a three-day slog through different casinos, gang fights, car chases, and vent crawls. They had stayed at more hotels than Rouge could easily keep track of - she had left the mission with her weights worth of complimentary soaps. Her body ached and dust still clung to her hair, but they had secured their position and completed their task, and OMEGA had only set fire to one building, so she noted the mission as a success in her book.

The mission had dragged them all the way out to a cold, snowy continent, practically on the other side of the world from their home in Central City. OMEGA had spent the ride back recounting his favorite explosions, ranked from most effective to most underwhelming, as Shadow sat silently, spinning his inhibitor rings, Rouge tucked between her teammates. She leaned heavily on OMEGA, bone-tired. The last thing she remembered was a weight settling against her, and an errant quill poking her cheek, before she had blacked out completely.

Rouge returned to her senses slowly, groggy and stiff from the long ride. She was vacantly aware of Shadow still leaning against her as she stretched. OMEGA stood and, after a moment of deliberation, tucked Shadow into the crook of his arm and they were off again, returning home under the cover of darkness. They made it back once the sun had begun to rise, still barely creating the horizon. OMEGA tossed Shadow's dead weight onto the couch, and Rouge went back to her bed, and returned to sleep almost instantly.

When she thought back on the mission in the following hour after waking once again, she might have realized how Shadow began moving slower, or how his quills seemed to be raised at any moment, or even how he seemed to stare off at nothing more than usual. As it was, though, she was far too tired and absorbed in her own work. Figured he was just being angsty, and left it at that. Shadow was a powerful being, and a friend whom she trusted. She didn't need feel a need to worry about him.

Rouge had slept through the afternoon and well into the evening before her mind caught back up to the world around her. She stretched until her back ached, and was just about to turn over and rest again when familiar mechanical stepping sounded from the hall just outside her door. Her eye twitched at the sound of OMEGA's chassis scraping against the wall, definitely scratching the paint. With a groan, she rose out of bed and shuffled across the floor to stick her head out the door and peer at him.

He was walking parallel to the wall - his shoulder blades far too wide to fit facing forward - and his head was swiveled to look at the paint he had definitely just ruined. Rouge rubbed her eyes and held back a groan. She inhaled through her nose, then cleared her throat.

OMEGA's head swiveled to look at her, so fast Rouge almost missed it. She met his gaze easily, looking up into his red LEDs.

"Whatcha up to, Big Guy?" She asked, not bothering to hide her distaste at her rest being disturbed. His eyes flashed briefly.

"I HAVE COMPLETED MY CHARGING CYCLE." He stated. Rouge stared, unimpressed. What did that have to do with her? It definitely didn't explain the way he had forced himself into the hallway. Seeming to sense this, OMEGA flashed his eyes at her again and continued, "I DID NOT EXPECT MEATBAGS TO REQUIRE SUCH EXTENDED PERIODS OF REST."

Rouge looked up at him, more confused now than anything. She had remembered sleeping for a while after their first mission, and OMEGA certainly would've had memory of that. Her sleep schedule wasn't so terrible that he wouldn't know Mobians had to rest, right? She leaned on her doorframe, and shot him a confused look. OMEGA merely stared back down at her, until she realized he probably wasn't programmed to recognize facial expressions.

"What?" She asked after a moment of silence stretched on.

The sound of metal scraping brought her back to herself. OMEGA had begun walking back the way he came. She rolled her eyes, and with a mumbled "Oh, for the love of -" she took flight, weaving over OMEGA's head and down the hall, dropping to her feet at the back of the couch.

OMEGA did his best to raise his arm and point down the hall he was currently blocking, towards the living room. Rouge vaguely recalled dumping Shadow on the couch. Hadn't he gotten up yet? She couldn't remember the last time she had woken up before him, though it had only been about a week. She didn't think it mattered so much.

She surveyed the room as OMEGA made his way out of the hallway. Rouge didn't have much furniture yet, a bookshelf that sat mostly empty, some curtains on the windows, and an old couch she had found behind her club. A TV sat in the middle of the room, against the wall, and in it she could see the reflection of Shadow sleeping peacefully on the couch. She looked up at the ceiling, unenthusiastic, as OMEGA finally made it out of the hall. She turned to glare at him as he ambled up next to her. She briefly imagined exploding him with her mind, but crossed her arms instead.

"What's the matter? Shadow's had a long day. If he wants to get some extra rest, who cares."

OMEGA stood silently for a moment, staring down at Shadow. He didn't turn to look at Rouge when he spoke up again. She noted that his volume was slightly lowered than usual, though she hadn't noticed before.

"MY RECORDS SHOW THAT THIS ONE DOES NOT OFTEN REST FOR A PERIOD OF TIME LONGER THAN FIVE HOURS. IT HAS BEEN TWICE THAT LENGTH, ALREADY," OMEGA paused. In the silence, Rouge could literally hear the gears churning in his head. OMEGA turned back to Rouge.

"HE SHOWS NO SIGN OF WAKING SOON."

OMEGA was still hard to read. Rouge could guess, and be mostly accurate, but he was still largely a mystery. Now, though? She could feel worry pouring off of the robot. It was enough to make her shudder, though she shrugged it off, instead cocking a brow at him.

"Do you always track our sleeping?"

OMEGA paused, as if that wasn't the response he expected. He turned to look at Shadow again, then back to Rouge. She imagined it was the best he could do to shrug, considering his shoulders had no vertical range of motion. She sighed.

"Look, Omega. I get that you're worried," OMEGA beeped at this indignantly, but Rouge was undeterred, "but Shadow is organic too, and he needs rest just as much as I do. Give it another hour or two, he'll wake up eventually." She patted OMEGA's chest-plate, though he still seemed unconvinced. Whatever. Rouge turned to the kitchen to scrounge together some breakfast. If OMEGA wanted to suddenly be overbearing, that wasn't her problem.

Shadow did not, in fact, wake up in the next hour. OMEGA had notified Rouge of such the second the clock had struck, as if he was counting the minutes in his head. Rouge had no doubt that's exactly what he did. The first time, she reacted with annoyance. So what? Shadow was tired, so was she, and if anything she was happy he was able to relax for once. She brushed OMEGA aside again, said Shadow probably just needed another hour, and went about her day again.

When the second hour let up with no changes, OMEGA had approached her again. This time, too, she brushed him aside, with the suggestion that it would only be a little longer.

By the third time, doubt had begun to root in her chest She knew thirteen hours wasn't exactly normal, but still. She pushed OMEGA back, again, but coincidentally decided that maybe she would finally read one of the dusty novels she had in the living room. Not to keep an eye on her teammate. Pure coincidence.

The hours ticked by as the two thirds of Team Dark sat, watching their couch, and snoozing teammate, with worry.

The first thing Shadow the Hedgehog noticed when he stirred awake was just how empty he felt. His body was heavy, as if made of lead, though he felt wholly rested. Some spots burned lowly in his senses, a feeling he recognized being the after-effects of a long and arduous self-healing process. He yawned and stretched, moving to rub his eyes.

What he had wanted to do next was get up to find something to eat. What he had not wanted was to be immediately tackled the second his arm reached his face. The loud bang of the couch falling backwards reverberated in his head, leaving him dizzy. Shadow did his best to ward off his attacker, struggling against their vice grip.

"Rouge!" He shouted, pushing her head away from him, "What the hell!" The bat was practically sobbing into his fur. The unexpected display of affection was confusing and disorienting, and Shadow could feel his quills bristle at the unwarranted contact.

OMEGA, who had been watching the scene, reached over and plucked Rouge off the floor easily, eliciting a "Hey!" From the still-sniffling bat. She struggled the break free as OMEGA turned to Shadow, who had begun to sit up and dust himself off.

"YOU HAVE BEEN ASLEEP FOR SOME TIME." He said.

"35 HOURS HAVE PASSED." OMEGA continued. Shadow stopped fixing his quills. Oh.

Shadow looked up at OMEGA, and furrowed his brows. "Okay. And?"

He looked away. Shadow had never slept that long before, had he? He briefly tried to ponder his time on the ARK, but quickly thought against it.

"So you..." He paused. A deep breath in, as his brain seemed to process, "So you were just watching me sleep that whole time?"

OMEGA turned his head away briefly, then looked back at Shadow. "ROUGE SPENT MOST OF IT PACING. THERE IS NOW A SIGNIFICANT DIP IN THE FLOOR."

Rouge struggled harder and kicked OMEGA, the metal clang ringing through the apartment. "That's only because you kept following me!" OMEGA turned away to think about that. He set Rouge back down on the floor after a moment and she harrumphed, before facing Shadow. He shrunk under her gaze, slightly embarrassed, perhaps, for the trouble.

"Are you-?" She began, slowly, "I mean, is that normal, for you?"

Shadow only shrugged. He knew his body would rest differently, and he certainly recognized the way he felt now, but the 35 hours felt like a slap in the face. He didn't remember it ever taking that long for him to heal. Besides, he recalled Rouge having read all of the Professor's experiment logs. He figured she should've known the answer for herself.

She simply nodded. They stood around the fallen couch in silence, awkwardly. A moment passed, none sure what to do, before Rouge clapped her hands together. The sound caught everyone's attention.

"Well!" She said, voice laced with false cheer, "Why don't we go get something to eat, huh? I'm starved." It took a moment for him to weigh his choices, but Shadow eventually nodded enthusiastically, and Rouge smiled at him, genuine and relieved. OMEGA stepped over the couch still on the floor, and Rouge glided past, leading them out of the apartment. She caught Shadow's muttered 'what happened to the hallway?' as he and OMEGA filed out the door, and she locked it behind them with a dramatic groan.

#team dark #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e-123 omega #sorry the. entire structure changes so much it was One am and then it was Three am and now its Five am so you can imagine my Circumstances #longest fic i ever wrote baybee #it has no name. it was not meant to Exist

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ultyso · 6 months

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Been seeing some say “I don’t get the appeal of Lawtsuda” around various places, so I thought I’d share why I personally enjoy it and how I explore it beyond what the canon displays. This’ll be a bit lengthy as I try to express my thoughts on this. This isn’t me trying to push a “why you should like it” but an explanation for why I personally find enjoyment in it and how I connect it with the canon content that makes it appealing for myself.

Firstly bare bones things is I just like the dynamic of what people consider the “grumpy x sunshine” trope. I enjoy the opposites attract with most of my pairings. I find them fairly complimentary as one character’s flaws are usually the other character’s strengths. So in Lawtsuda then: L definitely has a lot of strengths but Matsuda is more intuitive with the more emotional stuff, the thinking with heart more kinda vibe. Matsu is definitely not more on the logical side and is extremely spontaneous. I think bringing spontaneity and a completely different perspective on the world to L’s life would bring intrigue cause you never know what’ll come from Matsu, while for L bringing a more level headed place for Matsuda to learn to think before acting could help him. I just like pairings that have a give and take. (It’s also why I like Lawlight too) While yes in canon, L shows his disdain for Matsuda it has always been directly because of work. Take out work from the equation, and I feel like they would have gotten along earlier.

While in canon, yes L could gives zero shits about Matsuda since he annoys him, a lot of what he says also lines up a lot with the tsundere character type so it plays a heavy factor in why I just like it as him as to me he’s just being a silent admirer. He’s got this intense case he’s not gonna show intrigue cause that could put his own ass at risk too. Other things, at the start he did not pick on Matsuda. When did he start berating him? When Light came into focus. Just feels like self-preservation to me. Before that all the berating was coming from the other team members. I also think of when L had secret funds for the task force and their families should anything happen to them. Yes this is more a general thing but I think it shows further his care at least for everyone but he’s not gonna be vocal about it. It was because of Watari voicing out about it did everyone reconsider L before leaving him. So when I think of Lawtsuda, I see L having the same approach. Would he ever tell him? Probably not. Would he secretly do small gestures for Matsuda unbeknownst to him? More likely. Then there’s the whole Yotsuba stuff. Yes he helped probably due to 1. Mr. Yagami would not let it slide to just let him croak 2. It would give more info on the case to get the upper hand and 3. They already lost Ukita and didn’t want to lose another member as they’re already a small team. I feel like the case is the main factor though. Either way, he did help assist him. Though it is still perplexing to let him live as he would have gotten undeniable proof of Kira being amongst them if Matsuda ended up dead. Though he didn’t let it reach that. So I can’t help but feel there’s at least an ounce of care there. Then when it came to faking Matsuda’s death I just can’t stop thinking of how much he was trying to figure out a solution to get Yotsuba off him. Like he could have just cut his losses on Matsuda, but he still tried to figure out a way to save him. Coming up with that whole plan did lead to still being able to find a new route to finding the Yotsuba Kira so it was still beneficial to him in the end. I just like that he seemed to express an ounce of concern for Matsuda during this whole thing. The guy is also a notorious liar so take what he says with a grain of salt too. I notice how when he calls Matsuda an idiot he’s often touched his lips when saying that. Hmmmm. Also the fact that L will allow Matsu (other than Watari) get him coffee/tea? The trust is there at least knowing Matsuda would never poison him at all fhdhdjdjdj.

While in canon, the approval seeking that Matsuda displays is just wanting to be seen as valuable to the team, it’s the most centered around on wanting to be good enough in L’s eyes. Which is why I like it on his end. He strives so much to be good enough for him, wanting his praise. While other team members have acknowledged his work at certain points, his response to other members like for instance the one with Mr. Yagami’s praise to him seemed to hold less interest as he brushed it off. (This coming from the man who also heavily looks up to Mr. Yagami and wants his approval too.) Take the games with how little or much canon level as you want, but his reaction to having any validation from L brought him so much excitement and happiness I just can’t help but get all mushy at it 🥺 He does clearly admire L in some regards, rather you take it as platonic or romantic. I mentioned in a different post, but just how much he keeps himself around L too. If at the Task Force, Matsuda is almost always standing or sitting right by him. Guy is attachedddd. At this point it is beyond just people pleasing to me. Also the grief him and Aizawa have when the news is broke about L being confirmed dead. When it comes to Near, I personally see his frustrations with him (aside from Kira case stuff) as a reminder that L is gone and he’s still not fully coping with it. He got used to Light, he seems fond of him too, but he isn’t L so he doesn’t cause him distress. Near is so reminiscent I can’t help but feel it just causes a bunch more complications to him.

There’s a lot of similarities I see between Misa and Matsu that I’m not going to go into great lengths for. But I can see how it seems similar to Misa/Light for instance. One seeming devoted, while the other doesn’t give any shits. For me personally how I think it differs, is mentioned in my prev paragraphs that I personally just see as L as secretly admiring. That’s really all it is to it there.

Other minor things:

I just personally find it cute. Most content I see out there is fluff. I love fluff so I like it.

If ever in a relationship, I just think it would be playful, as in lots of teasing. Just being silly.

In doujins a lot of them tend to focus on sleeping, that L feels safe enough to sleep next to Matsuda. It just feels like a cute trend I see with them. Matsuda is pretty open book about everything, so I feel it’s easier to trust him. He’s spontaneous so he has his issues there but emotionally he’s pretty easy reading. L doesn’t sleep often as is, he tries his best not to but he can’t help it sometimes if he’s too exhausted. If he does find himself in that position, it has to be somewhere safe where he knows nothing bad will happen to him. With Lawtsuda stuff focusing on that often, it just feels so sweet. Like L is always protecting them with the case, and then here while he rests, Matsuda can keep him safe 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Why do I like it more than Lawlight then even tho I ship both? It really just comes down to I like L and Matsuda as characters alone. I’m not personally a fan of Light as much. So Lawtsuda just naturally feels better for me. That’s all there really is to it.

Also gives me similar vibes to InuKag (Inuyasha) and SoMa (Soul Eater) to which are pairings I also enjoy.

Thanks for reading my long nonsense! Feel free to disagree and still be like “Ulty, these reasons are dumb and Lawtsuda still sucks ass” cause at end of day, this is just my personal preference and everyone is free to have their own. We don’t have to all like the same pairings. ^^!

Feel free to ask anything if you want more info or other explanations for stuff or whatever chdjdjdkk

#Lawtsuda #L Lawliet #Touta Matsuda #About Ship #Death Note #Ulty Talks

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imagineyourworld · 2 years

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Maybe Poe Dameron and the quote, “Why do you guys hang out so much now?” Pretty please? :3

Ok, so I think the scenario I have come up with could go either way, but I've chosen to have Poe be the one to say the quote. (I'm so sorry for the ending, btw, it kinda got away from me...)

Warnings: This contains mentions of canon-typical violence and mention of (character) death and killing

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Your romance with Poe should have been one for the history books. The two of you joined the Resistance around the same time, and the first time you laid eyes on each other you felt that spark. It may not have been love at first sight, but it certainly didn't take long for a love to build. The two of you spent two happy years together and everyone, including you, thought you'd last forever. But then the war began to really pick up. Poe was sent on longer and longer missions ever more frequently while you were stuck at base, hoping, praying, that he was alright, that he would return to you. And he always did. After each mission, but especially successful ones, you found yourself in the cantina, Poe's arm around you, listening to the stories he told. He talked about the planets he saw, the people he got to know, and the risks he took. For some reason it never really occurred to you that those risks might one day lead to Poe being injured, or even dying. He had survived everything the universe threw at him, in your eyes he was immortal, until one day BB-8 rolled up to your work station, beeping frantically about Poe and the medbay. It wasn't that bad, a few broken bones, a fractured rip, and a cut on his shoulder that looked worse than it actually was. Nothing a night in a bacta tank wouldn't fix. It weren't the injuries that brought your blood to a boil but rather Poe's reaction. He didn't take them seriously, he didn't admit that he had been taking stupid risks all along and that one of them finally caught up to him. Only when he saw tears shining in your eyes did he promise to be more careful. That promise lasted for exactly three days. The two of you fought more regularly, always about Poe taking risks. He would insist that those risks were calculated, that he was saving lives and would always return to you. You argued that he was doing it for fame, that you couldn't concentrate on your work, couldn't eat or sleep, when you knew he was off on some mission and could be lying dead on some random planet. He didn't take your worries seriously, kept trying to talk you out of them, and that's when you realised that maybe you would be better off alone.

The first weeks after the breakup were rough. Poe went on more and more missions, barely going more than a day or two in between. You could count on one hand how often you had seen him since you broke up with him that fateful night. But you slowly began to feel better. You still loved Poe, knew that a part of you would always love him, but you realised that you could live a life without him. You went out more again, spent more time with friends, and months after the breakup you met someone new. He wasn't a pilot but a mechanic, someone who would be on base most of the time, who wouldn't take risks and was careful by nature. You didn't have a name for what the two of you were just yet, but you hung out alone more often than not, spent your nights just talking underneath the stars, shared a few kisses. And you thought that maybe you could learn to love someone who wasn't Poe Dameron.

While you slowly found happiness again, Poe fell deeper and deeper into despair. At first he had thought that once he returned from the first mission after the breakup everything would return to normal, you'd both apologise and would go on the way you always had. But then you refused to even look at him every time the two of you crossed paths. It took him a while, took a few near death experiences and a couple of good pilots not making it, for him to realise that maybe you had been right. He finally tried to be more careful, telling himself before each mission that he'd just have to get through this and then he could ask you to be his again. In his mind it wasn't as much a breakup as a break until he got his head right. Now imagine his surprise when he heard talk around base that you had moved on. There was no label on what you and the mechanic were, many thought the two of you were just friends, but Poe had to know, asking you was a risk he would have to take, even if it led to a broken heart. So one night he gathered his courage and knocked on your door. You opened it without thought, expecting a friend or one of your superiors. But to your surprise it was none other than Poe Dameron. He didn't give you time to speak before he asked a question you knew would haunt your dreams. "Why do you guys hang out so much now?" You knew that he was really asking if you had moved on, if you loved the mechanic like you had loved Poe once upon a time. You invited him in, told him to sit down. The room was familiar, it was the same room the two of you had shared when you had been together, and it broke Poe to imagine you in this room, in this bed, with someone else. You could basically feel the hurt and worry radiating off of him, so you told him everything. How you had been hurting, how you had tried to move on, how you had finally found a way to be okay with Poe leaving and risking his life every other day. What you didn't tell him was that you still loved him, that he held a piece of your heart in the palm of his hand that could never belong to another. But as Poe begged for another chance, told you that he was sorry and that he loved you over and over again, you managed to be strong, to not give in. It was for the best. You couldn't spend your entire life worrying about Poe, and he had to concentrate on killing bad guys and not getting killed in the process without being distracted by thoughts of you. "Let's talk when all this is over, okay?" Your words reassured Poe a tiny bit, told him that there was still hope and that maybe he hadn't been replaced by the mechanic. You shared a kiss full of longing, love, and hope. A kiss that was supposed to signal a new chapter in your relationship, even though you wouldn't read it for some time. Neither of you had expected it to be your last kiss, because only days later the First Order found your base while most squadrons were away on missions, leaving you with little to no defense, and killed everyone inside. Poe returned days later, only to find you dead in the bed the two of you had once shared.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x gender neutral reader #poe dameron imagine

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hollyhomburg · 3 years

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Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks,

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1.

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little.

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it.

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished.

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder.

He shouts your name but you don't respond.

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you.

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all.

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more.

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.

‘Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing.

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue. He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away.

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon.

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures.

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth.

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it. “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.”

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good.

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it.

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating.

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something.

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now.

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings.

A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there.

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth.

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to-

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely, But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here.

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch.

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind.

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference.

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air.

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second.

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony.

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim.

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names.

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you.

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room.

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces.

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger.

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway.

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,”

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet.

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now.

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady.

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room.

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.”

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once, but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.”

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline.

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way.

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it.

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands.

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi. Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness.

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it.

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard.

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement.

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

Text

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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onlytaylor · 3 years

Text

Harry dies, but instead of Dumbledore, he sees Draco Malfoy

Harry isn’t sure what to expect when he meets Death- the blinding emerald light of the killing curse hurled in his direction is only a symbol of what he’s imagined thousands of times in this very moment.

A nagging voice has always told him it was bound to end this way. Himself and Voldemort, eye to eye, surrounded by the depths of something dark.

What he never expected was a the frigid feeling of ice crackling from his head to his toes, freezing him whole until his eyes opened to reveal a world just as white.

For a moment, there’s nothing. His eyes adjust to the emptiness, and he’s stumbling as he stands and tries to make out the puzzling aftermath of this purgatory. And then, a voice.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here, Potter.”

He whips around, startled at the voice but allowing the warmth of familiarity to melt his bones.

“Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He smirks, and it’s the same pull of his lips that Harry’s seen a thousand times. However, something in his eyes is different. Softer. “I’m dead, Potter. And so are you.”

“Dead?” Harry asks stupidly, and then the memories come rushing forward. The battle. Voldemort. The forest. “But- how did you get here?”

This isn’t right. Harry was supposed to die, yes. But not Malfoy. Even an arch nemesis’s demise is oddly unsettling after so many lives had been claimed.

And then, Malfoy does something Harry has never seen before. He laughs, and it’s a whole, hearty sound.

“I’m a fucking traitor, that’s how.” He shakes his head at himself, as if he’s reliving his last choices. “But, want to know something completely mental? I don’t care.”

His lips have pulled into a full on grin, and Harry feels the rest of the ice pool at his feet.

“I was always meant to end up here, Potter. We were pitted against each other from the start. Kinda sad, once you think about it.”

Harry nods, not quite understanding but unable to let this new Malfoy go. He gulps. “Who did this to you?” He asks, and it’s scratchy. Almost as if Harry himself is afraid of the answer.

“Who else?” Malfoy shrugs. “Father found out I had multiple chances to turn you in and didn’t. At the Manor, when I pretended not to recognize you. And in the Room of Requirement just a while ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” Harry asks, and he’s hooked on this selfless version of the enemy that only Death seemed to twist into reality.

Malfoy shrugs. “Didn’t seem right. I was tired of manipulation. I’ve always been a follower, and I figured that if I couldn’t be a leader, I could at least support one. I knew you had a chance at setting the world free from the same bullshit that ended up killing me.”

“Wow, um... thanks.” Harry mutters, unsure of how to respond. What was once a wintry world has morphed into the warmth of an England summer.

“Please, Potter. Spare me the mushy gushy crap.”

And Harry feels his lips tugging upward, a match to Malfoy’s smile. How ironic; only in death would Harry had ever guessed they’d share a moment like this.

“So, what do we do now?” Harry looks around, trying to make sense of everything. Wondering if this was his new reality, and realizing that he wouldn’t mind so much if it was.

“Obvious, isn’t it? You’re going back.”

“What?” Harry’s brow furrows, and Malfoy’s gazing at him like he knows something.

“You’ve got to go back, Potter. You’ve got to save the world while you still can.”

“I- I don’t understand,” he stammers, but Malfoy’s rising and crossing the empty space between them.

“You get a second chance, Harry. Don’t waste your time conversing with me. Go back; do what I couldn’t.” He smiles again, and Harry feels his legs turn to jelly. He doesn’t fully understand, but for some reason he trusts Malfoy.

“You called me Harry,” he says, puzzled but warm.

“Don’t get used to it.” And then Draco Malfoy is lifting a hand and pressing it to Harry’s forehead. The emptiness turns into an ocean of white blur, and it suddenly occurs to Harry that his time here is done. Running on pure instinct, he grasps Malfoy’s shoulders and holds for dear life, pulling him closer until he’s sure that wherever he’s going, he’s bringing Malfoy with him.

***

His limbs feel heavy, and Harry cracks an eye to realize he’s being carried by Hagrid. He stares through the small slit to see a sea of people, dirty with war but standing determinedly. And in that cluster of bodies, his eyes catch the figure of a blonde.

He’s staring up and down, patting himself in disbelief. Eyes wide with confusion. It’s hard for Harry not to smile. It worked. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was Draco Malfoy.

When Harry does come to life, startling everyone and sparking the light of hope and retribution, it’s Draco Malfoy who throws Harry his wand. They share a knowing glance, a brief stare that holds an eternity of secrets and new beginnings. Like anything could happen. Like they could win.

And they do.

When Voldemort falls, dying in a most humanly fashion, it’s Draco Malfoy who stands next to Harry. They share a celebratory moment, a second that extends beyond Life, even Death, itself. And it’s perhaps the most exhilarated Harry has ever felt.

His new life is nothing like his old one.

In the months following the war, it’s Draco Malfoy who quells the nightmares, who pulls up the sheets at Grimmauld Place and holds him when the stench of death hangs heavy. Who helps to re-build the castle, still struggling with the guilt of his former decisions. Who cries into Harry’s shoulder, welcoming an embrace that he’d never known he’d needed.

It’s Draco Malfoy who calls him scarhead while packing his trunk for eighth year, only to be rebutted by Harry lifting his hair: “IT’S NOT THERE ANYMORE!”

It’s Draco Malfoy who kisses Harry one night in the common room, a bit drunk off of fire whiskey and house unity. But it’s Harry who kisses him back, lacing his fingers around the bare skin of his neck and tugging him closer. And in that moment, Harry feels like he’s died and come back to life.

And in a sense, he has. Thanks to Draco Malfoy.

#drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter #Draco x harry #eighth year #deathly hallows #deathly hallows alternate ending #drarry squad #writing by onlykatelyn

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

hi! hope you're doing well :) do you have any domestic!cherik fics? or established relationship ones?

Hi anon, thanks for the ask. I'm doing very well, been super busy because I'm currently moving but it's all good. I have plenty of great domestic/established relationship cherik fics for you. I hope you enjoy!!

Domestic/Established Relationship cherik

Daycare ‘Verse’ – orphan_account, pocky_slash

Summary: A modern AU in which Charles runs a mutant daycare and Erik is his long-suffering engineer boyfriend.

Runs in the Family – Anonysquirrel (chibirisuchan)

Summary: Alex knew his own reputation. Hell, he'd started some of his own reputation, because it kept some of the smarter thugs off his back. Everyone knew Alex's reputation. There was no way Hank didn't know his reputation, but he'd brought Alex into a house with some really expensive things and a lot of innocent little kids and his too-friendly, too-harmless dad.

But clearly Hank hadn't told his family anything about Alex, just like he hadn't told Alex anything about his family. At least, not about the brain-breaking parts of his family.

"I didn't know where to start," Hank said, for the dozenth time.

Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata

Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.

Making perfect – aesc

Summary: As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

Continue firm and constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

After School Special – listerinezero

Summary: Charles was barely seventeen and Erik was his social studies teacher. But after almost fifteen years together, does it really matter how they met?

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Trying is Half the Battle – Pookaseraph

Summary: Post-Cuba, no divorce, Charles and Erik are in an established relationship and when Charles gets sick with a random flu bug, they discover that Charles can get pregnant. They then try to get pregnant, and try, and try.

We’ll all be gone for the summer – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles and Erik's usual family beach vacation gets a little bigger when they agree to watch Erik's teenaged twins for the summer. Charles is looking forward to a chance to bond with his step-children. Erik is terrified of screwing them up even more.

A Summer Day So Late in Coming – helens78

Summary: Fifty years after they fell in love, Erik comes to Charles with a proposal that rocks Charles's world.

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

Before You Attempt Me (Fair Warning) – kianspo

Summary: Charles helps Raven get ready for the prom. Surprisingly, that part goes well. The prom itself not so much. Erik cooks a lot of unhealthy comfort foods and is incredibly patient. Charles mostly frets about everything, until Erik does something neither he, nor Raven see coming.

And now you will not be alone any more – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik gives driving, sewing, and cooking lessons, soothes nightmares, bolsters self-esteem, and still can't figure out why Charles keeps smiling at him like that.

Some sense of touch and a melody – pocky_slash

Summary: On a day when Charles, for once, finds himself saying the right thing to everyone he sees, he allows himself to be talked into a field trip to a local orchard.

It’s kind of our whole thing – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Indulgence – grim_lupine

Summary: “The children are still asleep,” Charles murmurs groggily, flinging an arm out as if searching for Erik beside him. “The house is still standing, this is a ghastly hour, and more importantly, I’m still here. Why do you insist on doing this every morning?”

Your Father’s Daughter – ConsultingWriter

Summary: Wanda proves just how much she takes after Erik.

Pietro reeled back before leaning back in "They didn't tell you what happened? Wanda got in a fist fight and totally wailed on this guy, I mean, on one hand I feel kinda embarrassed for him, but it was so epic."

Erik's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Wanda got in a fight? That was....surprising, to say the least. Wanda tended to take after Charles in temperament and preferred talking to violence.

This Crazy Game Called Life – chiasmus

Summary: Raven declares game night in the mansion. Sean finds an elephant, Erik inherits one hundred unwanted cats, and Charles scars Hank for life with misdirected dirty thinking. This is five thousand-something words of crack with a dose of schmoop. I'm not sorry. Written for this kink meme prompt: Raven is tired of the boys going off to play chess (if they're even playing chess!) and pulls out a load of board games from one of the closets in the mansion. Madness ensues.

To my roomba with love – sareyen

Summary: There are a lot of things that Erik loves about Charles. He loves all of the obvious things; Charles’s kindness, his intelligence, his laughter, his eyes. He also loves the little private things; the way Charles sneaks Erik his unwanted tomatoes, his warbled opera singing in the shower, that sensitive spot on his hip.

And he loves the silly things about Charles, especially the way the man has a habit of talking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Charles has conversations with the kettle, the washing machine, and their roomba – and every time Erik eavesdrops on him, he falls in love with the man a little bit more.

Everything About it is a Love Song – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's spent fifty years being a figurehead and he's ready to leave that behind. Luckily, so is Charles.

(aka Old Retired Dudes in Love)

A Very Xavier-Lehnsherr Christmas – zamwessell

Summary: Erik is discovering new things about Charles Xavier all the time. Charles sometimes talks in his sleep. Often about food. Occasionally in Latin. Charles has a scar on his left thigh from attempting to demonstrate relativity to a girl by sitting on a hot stove. Charles doesn’t mean to be so loud when they make love, but sometimes Charles can’t help himself.

Charles is a voracious reader. Charles has an unspeakably filthy imagination. Charles will try anything in bed twice to make sure he wasn’t wrong the first time.

Charles is unexpectedly fond of Christmas. Perhaps that is not the phrase. “Unhealthily obsessed” might be better.

The fluffiest holiday fluff you ever read in your dang life.

Of Crabs and Castles – flightinflame

Summary: Charles and Erik take their children to the beach. Wanda builds a sandcastle, Nina makes some friends, and Pietro gets some exercise. Some family fun in the sunshine.

Bring Your Daughter To Work Day – listerinezero

Summary: Charles brings three year old Lorna to class with him.

Glasses – grim_lupine

Summary: Charles blinks at him bemusedly, but Erik barely notices because Charles is wearing glasses— wire-rimmed, and Erik can feel the metal humming, traces without touch the way they follow the curve of Charles’s nose and rest behind his ears.

Genetics Isn’t Sexy – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles lectures. The kids aren't very responsive. Erik, on the other hand....

Peanut Butter and Honey (The Fairytale Remix) – pocky_slash

Summary: Once upon a time there was a Princess named Anya who lived in a house with her Daddy and her wicked stepmother Charles. (A wicked stepmother is the person who comes and lives with princesses and their daddies after their mommies go away.) She had a best friend named Leroy, and one day he was lost.

The Bystander (The Consultant (aka A Westchester Telepath in the Avengers Tower) Remix) – Nanimok

Summary: When it comes to Professor Charles Xavier, telepath, SHIELD consultant and compulsive flirt, no one is safe.

Not even the Big Three.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #domestic au #established relationship au #long post

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ahtsumu · 3 years

Text

vignettes from a simple and good life ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: a year in review.

tag(s): fluff ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, kinda bad but i tried LOL ; wc: 1.3k

a/n: happy birthday to @bbytetsu ! ik i said i wouldn’t write anything but i’m a woman of my own word. also sorry this isn’t geto LOL. anyway this is kinda different from anything i’ve ever done but i hope you like it! love u

he walks past you and suddenly the world’s aflame.

“um,” you stutter, turning around with wide eyes. “excuse me?”

cool grey irises hold your gaze expectantly.

he’s gorgeous.

“i–” you falter. there’s no way you can describe the feeling that made you turn around. the gravitational pull that sometimes occurs between strangers. perhaps the clever tugging of two red strings. separate melodies that converge at whim on a concord. it’s all so abstract, but that’s what you’re good at.

to your surprise, he just smiles. “same.”

learning miya osamu is like learning to whistle: either you get it or you don’t.

you get it.

you get that he’s not at all the serious, stony-faced man he makes himself out as. that he’s hot-headed and petty but doesn’t want to be. that just because he’s not laughing doesn’t mean he’s not amused.

miya osamu is the dead of night and all the mischief that happens during it.

seven a.m. is too early. osamu isn’t sure how he used to get up even earlier for morning practice, but then he remembers that that was when he loved volleyball. either way, it’s seven a.m. and for some god-forsaken reason, miya osamu is going on a hike.

(god-forsaken is a bit dramatic. it’s not all that bad – he’s just grumpy in the morning. actually, to think of it, it’s not bad at all…)

“one cappuccino," he tells the barista. and then his eyes widen. smiling, he adds, “and a matcha latte, please.”

it dawns upon you in the passenger seat of his car.

“what?” he asks, feeling your eyes on him as he drives.

“… nothing.”

“tell me,” he laughs, squeezing your hand with his free one.

“later,” you promise, feeling giddy with realization.

osamu hums, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

the light from his laptop illuminates osamu’s darkened bedroom, bathing both of you in a subtle blue glow. osamu looks down at your body tucked into his side and smiles. he whispers your name. “are you awake?”

there’s no reply – just the steady stream of your shallow breaths.

maybe you hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the middle of your movie night but now that you have, osamu doesn’t have the heart to wake you. it’s late, it’s still a little cold outside at night, and it’s not like you’re busy tomorrow morning…

and maybe he doesn’t want you to go. carefully, osamu shifts around to make you both comfortable, slings an arm over your waist, and closes his eyes.

you wake up to the smell of breakfast and the swingy tune of twenties jazz.

how do you know it’s love?

you tell him that he feels like a soft blanket and a rollercoaster ride at the same time.

he laughs and grabs your hand, placing it on his chest right where his heart is.

“that’s how i know,” he says.

when you step into his apartment, the first thing you notice is the mouthwatering scent floating out of the kitchen.

“babe?” you call out.

a muffled “kitchen!” reaches your ears.

the kitchen’s a mess of ingredients. and in the middle of the mess is your boyfriend. lo and behold, miya osamu is yet again experimenting with new recipes for onigiri miya, mixing potential fillings in a large metal bowl, wearing the “kiss the chef” apron you bought him a while back. he takes a bite of the stuff on his spoon and looks up at the ceiling in thought. not a single muscle in his face twitches, probably because he isn’t sure what to think of it.

you clear your throat. “hey, you.”

smiling, osamu spins around. “hi, angel. can you taste this and tell me whatcha think?” he spoons out some more of the mixture in the bowl, holding it out for you to try.

“sure,” you say, and you ignore the spoon, pressing your lips to osamu’s for a kiss instead. when you pull away, you lick your lips and hum. “needs more salt.”

the grin on his face is absolutely charmed. “i thought so, too.”

what most people get wrong about miya osamu is that he doesn’t talk much.

he does.

(“and i told her she had the wrong place, but that woman just wouldn’t leave,” he complains, pacing around your living room with so much force that you think you might have to check on the rug once he’s gone. “held up the entire line, too. so embarrassin’. and then she said she’d leave us a one-star review, which is ridiculous because it’s not like i could make her a burrito, right? jesus. so i told her to go fu–”

“babe,” you laugh, pulling him gently towards the sofa.

osamu sits down beside you and inhales deeply. “so i tell her to go fuck herself–” he pauses when your hand runs through his jet black hair. seconds later, you feel his firm body melt against your arms.

“well, go on,” you say with a giggle. “what happened after?”)

osamu just doesn’t talk to most people.

and when he isn’t talking, he’s thinking.

“i saw something funny earlier. if you were a tortured poet,” you ask on the walk home, “what would be the cringey quote people know you for?”

osamu raises his brows and looks up at the sky. “hmm,” he says, grinning. the two of you continue walking as he mulls over your question. a few minutes later, he says, “take not my silence for a lack of thought. i am always thinking. i am haunted by the magnitude of thoughts i can never put to spoken word.”

you stop in your tracks. “that was actually good,” you say in disbelief. “what the hell? ‘magnitude’? seriously?”

he shrugs and slings an arm over your shoulder. “i’ve been readin’ lately. forbes said somethin’ about good leaders readin’ books’.”

“are you actually haunted, though? ‘cause you can always tal–”

“no,” osamu laughs. “i like my thoughts. and if i really like ‘em, i just say ‘em. it’s a simple and good life.”

10.

“you’re beautiful,” he breathes, pressing kisses up your neck.

the air’s thick with tension and want and he needs to be closer – he needs every inch of your bare skin touching his and even then that wouldn’t be close enough.

but it’d be a great place to start.

“god, you’re so beautiful.”

11.

when he steps into your bedroom, you don't even notice.

“hey,” osamu says, knocking on the door.

jumping in your seat, you whip your head around to face the intruder. “you scared me,” you sigh.

“i texted you this morning and it’s almost midnight now,” he says, frowning. “had me worried.” osamu walks to your desk and observes your work over your shoulder.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, tilting your head back against his chest. “this is due soon and i lost track of time. i’ve been at this since midnight last night.”

osamu’s frown deepens. “what?” he spins you around in your chair and studies your face with disbelief. but seeing the bags under your eyes and frazzled hair, he suddenly completely believes you. of course you’d procrastinate for days and then work yourself to the bone.

his firm hands find your shoulders and squeeze. “take a break.”

“‘samu–”

“or at least let me give you a little massage.”

12.

“when i stopped you in the street,” you say, “what was going through your mind?”

osamu laughs, the light sound melting into the mellow atmosphere of the restaurant. “nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“how romantic.”

“for the first time in my life,” he says, grey eyes twinkling, “my head went silent.”

he raises his glass of wine and takes a sip.

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now.

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides.

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like.

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest.

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm.

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face.

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown. “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch.

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window.

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

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toxicbubblegum212 · 3 years

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Maze runner boys ~ Things that remind them of you and why ~

Minho:

- Minho remembers since the first day he met you, your obsession with Autumn leaves.

- He never really understood why till you showed him on particular leaf you had picked up.

- "All that for a leaf!?"

- "Its not about the leaf itself, its about the beauty it brings, see look at how it stands out"

- You taught Minho appreciation that day and that its small almost meaningless moments like this are the one's that you want to remember for the rest of your life.

- Cause whats the meaning of life if there are no memories to make it valuable.

- Memories are what make you , you (sorry if thats confusing)

- Now when ever Autum comes around with ever new leaf you find a new memory is made to.

- It a cute little tradition you both do

- Along with all the leaf fights and jumping into massive piles of leaves

- But not until he saw.

- Thomas was always so sure of him self when it came to making decisions.

- Like finally deciding to get out of the maze or to risk his life for Alby and Minho

- But not until he saw this quote written on one of the maze walls one day.

- It sparked doubt in him but it also taught him that no matter what he does things won't always go his way...

- He knew that he had to lose someone and some point at sometime, that people would have to die in order to succeed.

- Thomas for a long time has refused to accept this fact, so he's been running. For as long as he can remember.

- It's just that the quote almost kinda scared him as if it some how knew.

- His thoughts all leaded him to one thing and that was you. You never sugar coated anything. You were up front and honest and thats what Thomas liked about you.

- He wouldn't be surprised if you wrote the quote on that wall just for him.

- As much as he tries to shake off the thought he never can nor can he ever let go of you. Looks like he's stuck with both.

Newt:

- Ever since you arrived in the glade you had these weird objects on your necklaces, bracelets ect even your clothes.

- It stood out to Newt that you weren't gonna be an ordinary greenie

- He was so fascinated by the shells you whore.

- Newt had some many questions

- Like where did you get them, what are they for or what do u do with them.

- Newt couldn't believe his ears as you explained the beach you used to live on. And that the shells were once living creatures or had a living creating living within them.

- You explain about how shells where made from carbon in the air and calcium from within bones.

- Newt loved listening to you voice and was so proud of how smart you arm.

- Newt promises you that one day they will make it back to the beach and collect all the sea shells together.

- Newt loved the adventure as you told him fair tales of pirates and sunken ships, of things like treasure and gold.

- You gave made Newt a necklace with a cowrie shell, he loved it so much.

- Now the obsessions has spread and Newt now dreams of shells

Gally:

- Gally and you had grown oddly close to each other since you arrive in the box.

- You considered Gally to be your best friend and trust him with everything.

- One day out of the blue Gally asked what was troubling you

- You pulled out a picture from your pocket

- I arrived with this which i came...i don't know what exactly it is but it must have been very important to me once.

- Gally looked on the back of photo

- Gally read " Dear me i saved you this photo, it might not mean much now but it did in the moment. This was us speeding down the highway someone where in Texas. The sun blazoned down on us as we left all the horrors behind. My heart was full of joy, accomplishment and love I know that the old Y/N i probably long gone by now, but i want you to keep this. I don't want you to go losing yourself. I did a lot of bad things in my time..i don't want you to do the same. And finally i just want to tell you that I love you and that you can do anything you put your mind to

Y/N xoxo

- Gally peered over to see tears streaming down you face...

- He could barely grasp what you could have been feeling.

- It hurt, know that a part of yourself was gone, thrown away and that you could never get it back.

- It was the first time feeling love that was for yourself from yourself, it was hard being placed into the glade. It challenged you.

- The thing that upset you most was the fact that this note is from a dead person, a dead you.

- Someone that truly loved you and you can't get them back. You felt like your soul was being torn apart.

- But Gally simply grabbed you hand and told you that you don't need to worry cause you take photos and create lots more memories together and ones that you will remember forever.

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catxsnow · 3 years

Text

OBVIOUSLY UNOBVIOUS T.D.

Request: I have a request ! It's kinda angsty but what if tim and y/n work together(maybe your like second in comment at WE), and y/n knows his secret, y/n is also very strong(powers or not up to you ) and Tim manages to convince her to join the Titans.y/n likes him , and she can't help but be jealous of him and Cassandra's friendship.y/n tries not to like cass but fails Bc she's just that good of a friend

Sorry it's a Tim request! Where Tim and y/n are unaware of their feelings for each other. So Tim asks cass to be touchy, more friendly, and y/n is unaffected but on the inside she's boiling , so she asks Bart to be extra flirty, and it's just one big hot mess.

Request for Tim falling for the new member of the Titans , y/n the protege of green arrow/black canary , Tim bring mad protective/jealous every time Bart flirts with her, yn being oblivious as hell

Warning: fluff, mentions of blood,

A/N: I combined three requests because they were all kinda simliar in the bart/cassie making reader jealous so I hope you don’t mind.

Word Count: 4k

Joining the Teen Titans had not been your idea. At all.

Tim pestered you for months to join his silly little band of sidekicks. You met him not long after he 'saved' you from a night of patrol gone wrong. New to Gotham and not quite understanding just how much of a hell hole it was. Avoiding Batman was easier than you thought - but Robin? Not so much.

Robin was kind to you, unlike his mentor. He always had a boyish smile for you, some explanation of the new tech he got excited over, and he never questioned who you really were. You knew that he knew your entire identity, how could the great Batman let his sidekick cohort with an unnamed masked vigilante?

You found yourself seeking his company more than seeking criminals at night. It wasn't just having someone watch your back, it was even if you didn't know who was hiding under the mask you felt like you could trust him. Robin quickly became the one person you could constantly rely on.

Robin was somehow always there when you got yourself into a tight situation. Cornered by goons that outnumbered you by a landslide, an unexpected amount of hired guns at a drug bust, even when you stumbled upon higher up criminals did he managed to be there just in the nick of time.

The reliance became almost unhealthy. Any time you were stuck in a rut you told yourself he would be there, he would always be there. And then he wasn't. In the moments that you needed him most, he wouldn't show up at all. Bloody and bruised, you'd barely make it out alive because you believed that he would show up.

It was your own fault for putting faith in someone you didn't even know the name of. Batman and Robin had their own issues, their own battles to fight - they didn't always have the time for yours.

A freezing Saturday night Batman had found you barely breathing in a dark alley. Ganged up out of the blood, trauma to the head that left you dazed and barely able to fight. It was a small gang that you thought you had taken down months ago - turns out they were just hiding in the shadows and waiting to attack.

They left you half-dead in the alley, hoping that you would have learned your lesson to not mess with them again. Instead, it made you angry - furious at them, at yourself for messing up like this. Revenge was the only thing on your mind while you tried to push yourself up to move again.

Truth was, if it wasn't for Batman showing up, you weren't sure if you would have ever made it back home alive. He took you to the infamous batcave, tended to your wounds like his own sidekick. He was silent, just as he always was whenever he saw you and Robin together. The quiet made it painfully obvious that Robin wasn't there that night.

You woke up in the early hours of the morning, still in the cave and with an unfamiliar face at your side. Dark tufts of black hair that stuck up in every direction, sharp cheekbones that could barely be seen from the hand resting on his face. He wore shorts, despite the cold that lingered in the air.

Your eyes flickered to the Robin costume that was displayed in a glass stand. Bright reds and greens that always stood out in the night and made it oh-so-easy to spot. A mask that covered only the eyes and the sculpted cheeks bones of the boy hiding beneath. It was Robin that was sleeping in the chair beside your bed, maskless and vulnerable to someone he didn't even know.

"You're awake," he spoke without opening his eyes. Sleep was heavy in his voice. The usual pep that he had was replaced with a hoarseness that had you taken aback for a split moment. Bright blue eyes met yours. You always wondered what color they'd be, but you never expected them to be so vibrant - so full of life.

"How could you have possibly woken up from that, I haven't even moved," You tried to joke. A pain rippled through your whole body. Bruises dark in color splattered against you and a tight wrap was around your ribs where surely half of them were broken or cracked. You could feel the swell in your lips, the metallic taste of blood that lingered in your mouth even hours after you were defeated. Without needing to see yourself, you knew that you were looking rough.

"You were making noises in your sleep, they stopped when you woke up," Robin informed you. Whimpers and whines from the pain that ached throughout you echoed through the cave for hours. He knew of getting his ass handed to him, and he knew just how you felt that moment. "How are you feeling?"

Tim felt guilty. He tried his best to watch over you in the ferocious Gotham life, but sometimes he hadn't made it in time. You were lucky to be alive, and if that wasn't the case he wouldn't be able to live with himself, not when he was on some stupid team-building exercise in San Francisco.

There were tons of descriptions that you could have used to describe how you were feeling. Enraged. Embarrassed. Vengeful. "Sore," you settled with. Tim nodded, by the hesitance you had he wasn't sure if that was going to be your final answer. You rubbed a hand down your face, mixed feelings running through more than ever.

The familiar feeling of bare skin met your path. No mask, no covering your identity. No surprise that Batman did so. You paused a moment before sticking that same hand out for Robin to shake. "I presume you already knew long ago, but (Y/N) (L/N)."

Tim accepted your hand, surprised at the sudden grip that you had on him in your weakened state. "Tim Drake, I assume you already put together that I'm Robin," he mocked your words. "It's nice to officially meet you, (Y/N)."

Months of trying to convince you that joining the Teen Titans was the best thing that could happen to you. Not only would you get the additional training you needed, but you would have the resources and a team. You'd get friends - and most importantly you'd get to be near Tim more often.

As annoying as his pestering was to get you to join him, it was far more adorable. He'd get this little pout on his face, bottom lip sticking out that made you just want to kiss him. You knew the reason - or thought you knew - why he wanted you to join. He was scared for you. That night in the alley when he wasn't even home terrified him.

He was going to make sure that it never happened again. Tim would be there to protect you, and if he couldn't then his friends sure as hell would. Months of bribing, swaying, hangouts, and patrol, Tim finally convinced you to join him. The time you spent together had brought you closer together as friends.

It also brought unwanted feelings that kept you up at night. The little amount of sleep that you usually got dwindled as your thoughts and dreams became consumed by Tim Drake. He was more than a friend, a partner, a teammate - he was someone that you could love for the rest of your life. Yet, he had no idea.

Joining his little band of heroes didn't help either. You spent far more time with him. Training, missions, just hanging out in the lounge of the infamous Titans Tower. He became your every living moment - along with his friends. They weren't all easy to get along with. Beast Boy, Starfire, Cyborg, they all acted like they controlled your each and every move.

Conner Kent, Superboy, as nice as he was whenever he spent time with Tim you couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Bart took a while to get used to - just as Tim had told you it would. He was nice to you, but his literal sense of being all over the place drove you nuts. Cassie? Well, she was the one that got on your nerves the most.

Whenever Cassie and Tim were in the same room together, she hung off him like a leech. No matter what was going on she was right at his side. She made it impossible to hang out with him and you had no idea why she was so possessive of him. It seemed impossible to enjoy her presence.

It was also impossible to hate her too. Whenever the two of you worked alone, she was always so incredibly kind to you. She would help you when you messed up or offered words of advice from her own mistakes. Cassie wasn't afraid to admit to you that she's messed up far more than you had. It was confusing why she changed so much around Tim.

It was annoying to see his stupid little smiles every time you were visibly frustrated with them together. It was even worse when their hugs lasted a little longer than they needed to be. Your jealousy of Cassie was getting out of hand, and that would only mean that bad decisions would be made.

You stood with your fist raised, ready to knock on the door in front of you. Maybe this choice was petty, maybe you were more scared to admit your own feelings than you were fighting monsters. Truth was, you just wanted to see Tim react the same way that you did when he was around Cassie. What better way than to use one of his own friends to do it?

Kon was too loyal to Tim to keep a secret. Victor and Gar wouldn't agree to it in the slightest - them being the 'responsible leaders' that they were. That left Bart Allen. Speedster. Kid Flash. As kind as he was, you didn't know him well enough to know if he would even agree to this ridiculous plan of yours.

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it even was. Why waste time trying to make Tim jealous when he probably didn't even think about how Cassie acted around him? Why not just tell him outright that after over a year of working together, you had caught major feelings for him?

Before you could change your mind about this whole thing, Bart's door opened. He looked ready to run out to do god knows what but stopped, confused, when he saw you standing there. "(Y/N), hey, uh," Bart scratched the back of his head. You never stopped by to see him. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I talk to you?" Your gaze turned to the end of the hall when hearing footsteps. Black and yellow cape, green shirt, of course, Tim remained in uniform even in his downtime. He met your eyes for a moment, a smile making it's way to his face before realizing that you were talking to Bart. His gaze turned to a glare when seeing how little of a space was between you and Bart.

Seeing his small change in facial expression had just confirmed that you liked seeing him jealous - if that's even what his emotion was. You smiled his way before grabbing Bart's hand and leading him back into his room. The door slammed shut before Tim could even reach it.

"What-" Bart tried to ask.

"I need you to do me a favour," Bart's room was a mess. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, unmade bed, food wrappers, and pizza boxes covering every inch of furniture. The difference between him and Tim was astounding just by looking at their living spaces. "I need you to help me make Tim jealous."

Surprisingly, Bart was quick to agree with your little plan. He too noticed that since your arrival to the tower, Tim and Cassie were closer than ever. If he was to notice, then surely there had to be something going on, right? Either way, it just fueled your desire to make him jealous even more.

They were small actions at first. You'd make sure that Bart would enter your room just as Tim was walking by, only to leave again moments later when he was gone. Always being quick to pair up with you for everything, only for Tim to argue that his pairing with you made more sense. Lingering hugs, watching movies together, sharing food.

Tim was quickly annoyed with Bart's presence whenever you were with him. However, he didn't bring it up. His glares, huffs of annoyance, and cold behaviour were all obvious though he never asked about your sudden interest in his best friend.

Kon, the only one that wasn't involved, but invested, quickly picked up on what happened. Tim got Cassie to be touchy the first day that you arrived. You asked Bart to do just the same. It was obvious what was going on to everyone besides you and Tim.

As funny as it was to watch, he was also getting annoyed at the lack of communication between you. According to Tim, you and him were best friends before you decided to join the team. Now, it seemed that you had never been farther apart because of your ruses.

"You and Bart got close since you've arrived," Tim was leaning against the door of your room. It had been days since the two of you had talked alone and you missed him. Keeping this fake-touchy relationship with Bart was exhausting. It didn't even seem to be worth it - until this moment.

"Yeah, he's a good guy," You peaked above the book you held in your hand. Tim invited himself into your room and sprawled across the bottom of your bed. He didn't want to hear about your relationship with Bart, but the words slipped his mouth before he could think of anything else. It drove him nuts seeing the two of you together. "Made this place feel like a home."

He didn't, at all. Truth was, you wished that you were back in Gotham, back where you didn't know you had to share Tim with anyone besides Batman. Now, with all his friends, you felt like you never got to see him at all. As much as you learned, and as thankful as you were for everything that you learned, you missed what your friendship used to be with Tim.

"You never told me you and Cassie were so close," You hesitantly spoke as a silence washed over you. Tim remainder stotic. He and Cassie were great friends, but they were never as physically close as they were now. She had been reluctant to agree to his pleas of acting closer than they really were to make you jealous. His efforts seemed all for null with your new fondness of the speedster.

If Tim were Bruce, he'd probably be able to pick up on the jealousy in your voice. Right now, he was too caught up in your own thinking about the hours that Bart spent in your room, laughing so loud that he could hear it from his room. He loathed the idea of you and Bart together.

"Yeah." Yeah. That's all he had to say? All their time together, nothing more than a single word to talk about the woman he clearly cared deeply about.

Another silence. A painful, heart aching silence that never used to happen before you joined this stupid team. It seemed that arriving had pushed you and Robin farther apart than ever before. You hated these moments, hated it felt like you knew nothing about one another, like you hadn't nearly died together half a dozen times.

It seemed that your silence in the middle of a mission was louder than these moments.

"Tim?" You asked. He was staring up at your ceiling and you couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on in his head. No matter how close you were, or thought you were, he would always remain a mystery.

"Yeah," he repeated.

What if I moved back to Gotham? What if I asked you to stay there with me? What if I told you everything with Bart was a lie? What if I told you my feelings for you were undeniable? What if the reason I want to hate Cassie is because of you? What if...

"Nevermind." There was no point in dwelling in what if's.

Kori always promoted training with teammates. It was a great way to hone in on your skills, and develop a further relationship among your team. Kon was back in Smallville, Beast Boy and Cyborg were off working for their previous leader Nightwing. That left just the four of you - two of which you could barely look at.

You were infuriated with Tim. The entire week he had been brushing you off, ignoring your messages, it was like he was avoiding you completely. To make matters worse, Cassie had been glued to his side the entire time. They didn't part ways for anything it seemed.

Now, you and Bart were fighting against Tim and Cassie. Though the speedster and Amazonian had no issues with each other, it was clear that they knew to stay out of yours and Tim's way during the spar. It seemed that just as you were frustrated with Tim, he was with you.

The clashing of staffs was almost as loud as Bart's cackling as he ran around the training room. Tim didn't hold back, not at all. He wasn't surprised to see you do the same, however, he was shocked to see how much you had improved since your time in Gotham. As good as you were, you could rarely hold your own against him.

You didn't need to see beneath his mask to know that he was angry. It was only a matter of who it was directed at. Bruce, maybe. Dick. Kon. You could only dream that it was Cassie but you knew damn better than that. Likely, you were the one to have done something wrong - which was probably why he was ignoring you.

"If you've got something to say, Robin, you should say it," You gritted out as you narrowly missed the staff swinging your way. It was beyond frustrating fighting with him. Tim was impossible to get a hit laid on him, and he was constantly on the defensive with you - as if he didn't want to hit you or something similar.

"Do you really think now is the best time for conversation?" Tim flipped to miss your swing. As he landed, he knocked your weapon away in a single move, leaving you defenseless against him. The fight, as if it wasn't already, became completely unfair in his advantage. Conversation was the only thing that was going to get your the upper hand.

"Well you refuse to talk to me any other time."

His strikes became harder, faster. You needed to get his staff away from just as he did to you before he landed a hit. Tim cried out as your heel slammed against his hand. The force of it knocked the staff out of his hand and it rolled away in the opposite direction of your own.

Tim nursed his throbbing hand for a moment before raising his fists. "Didn't think you'd notice with how much time you're spending with Bart." He jabbed at you, hitting your forearm instead of his intended target of your face. You could see the two other heroes fighting from the corner of your eye - both of them getting just as frustrated but for completely different reasons.

"You're the one that invited me to this team, Drake," your foot jutted towards his chest. It barely impacted him - even though he was quick, he wasn't quick enough. "It's like the moment we left Gotham you were ready to drop me."

"Is that seriously what you think?" Tim was barely able to dodge your oncoming throws. Punch after punch you had still missed them all. He managed to grab your fist. "You obviously don't realize-"

"You wouldn't know obvious if it punched you in the face!" You exclaimed as you wound your free arm back. Tim was so taken aback that he didn't have time to prepare for the hit. Your knuckles collided with his cheekbone and the force of it had knocked him flat on his ass. A loud thud echoed through the room - enough for Cassie and Bart to stop in their tracks.

Tim's cheek was red from where you had hit him. He didn't look angry with you - it was a spar after all. He looked disappointed, more at himself than you. Was there more to this whole situation than he had originally thought there to be.

Robin, world's second greatest detective - he should have been able to see right through everything. Just as he had asked Cassie to be affectionate when you were around - maybe you just done exactly the same thing with Bart. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into?

You stood above him, hands still in fists. In that moment you made up your mind. Staying in this damn tower was draining you and you couldn’t take it any longer.

"I'm going back to Gotham."

"You were right."

Tim caught you packing your bags for your return back to Gotham. To no surprise, he managed to sneak in without you even knowing. You were frozen, hand in your bag after shoving in a handful of clothing at the sound of his voice.

"I don't hear you say that very often," you snarked. He leaned on the edge of your desk, arms crossed over his chest and mask peeled off. He never wore it anymore when the two of you were alone. He trusted you too much not to. Then again, maybe you were just the only one that knew the real him under that mask.

"That's because you rarely are," he chuckled. Now wasn’t the time for his joke. "I'm sorry, for everything. Apparently, I wasn't able to see the truth until it hit me in the face - literally. Bart told me what happened, what you asked him to do. I... I-"

"Asked Cassie to do the same," you cut him off. Tim's mouth parted with shock. How could you have figured it out? Defeated, you sat on the edge of your bed. You felt like a fool for going through with such an elaborate plot to gain his affections. "She just left my room. Don't know whether I'm surprised or disappointed in both of us.

"Great minds think alike, huh?" Tim shook his head. Only a fool would have gone through such a process - and a fool he was. "What were we thinking? You're my best friend (Y/N), I know I can trust you with everything, and yet- and yet I was scared of what you would say."

"We really played ourselves, huh?" You chuckled. Tim pushed himself off your desk to take the seat next to you. He grabbed your hand, pulling it into his own lap and intertwining your fingers. His warmth crawled up your arm and spread across your entire body.

What were you thinking with this stupid plan? More importantly, how did neither of you figure out the truth sooner? Tim felt just as much of an idiot as you did.

He smiled at the sight of your hand in his. He was so caught up in trying to get silly reactions out of you that he forgot the reasoning behind it all. Tim adored you, he wanted you to be his and he should have just told you outright instead of being the scared little boy he once was.

"Come back to Gotham with me? Please?" You asked suddenly. The two of you needed a break away from the team, you needed time to figure out what these past few months were really for. Mostly, you wanted Tim all to yourself, even for just a little while.

"There's a great burger place that I found with Dick one night on Patrol. Ate so many that I could barely move the rest of the night," Tim smiled at the memory. "Go with me? On a date?"

Tim's eyes shone with hope for your answer. After going through this entire mess, he only assumed you would be willing to go on a date with him. You leaned towards him, lips barely brushing against his but aching with anticipation for more. He pressed himself into you, lips molding to yours like he was made for you.

"If it wasn't obvious, I'd love to."

@pricetagofficial @mora-miserium @babymango-writes @redrobin-yumm @simp-is-what-i-am @catsofsmoke @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek @spiitfiires @pinkdiamond1016 @childish-kiwi @givetimdrakeacoffee @gunnedrobin @local-fandom-trashcan @bikoncon @foenixphire

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cinnamonest · 3 years

Text

I’m pushing out another one of my long-since-drafted things to the queue bc I’m trying to start keeping the queue active 24/7 and fill more asks but have this in the meantime

//dark shit, like the blood gore violence kind of yandere not the hot kind, brief animal death, gruesome slow npc death, gore, violence, blood, decaying/putrefaction mention

I'm really bad at judging what's mild versus severe when it comes to gore/blood bc I tend to underestimate, I think this is kinda severe? Let me know which it is actually pls so I have a better idea for the future ---------------------------------------- I mentioned a while back in the corpse disposal post and murder methods post that Razor can be... Brutal to say the least, but to expand more on the concept I feel like there's a big potential for a sort of gap moe with him, a duality that seems to contradict itself. Because in many ways he's a sweetheart, always trying to find things to make you happy, often smiling with those wide, excited eyes, physically affectionate with nuzzles and the like. But the other side of that, he's not actually aware of how... desensitized he is. You notice it early on and it catches you off guard a bit the first time it happens. Some poor little animal you two see struggling, like a bird stuck in a tree, and you urge him to go get it and he nods and says ok. Grabs it, and just as you're about to thank him and let it go you hear its little bones snap under the crush of his grip with a final pained chirp. There, he got it, see? Now you two can eat it together. That was why you wanted him to grab it right? To kill it? Why else? He looks down and realizes oh, it's still twitching, so he reached a hand up and twists its neck. There, now it's dead, he says with a beaming smile. But it falls and he tilts his head when he sees the shocked look on your face. What's wrong? Why are you so upset? You soon learn a lot of the animals don't... die immediately. The little things the wolves drag back are still kicking and struggling, still making noises as they tear into them to devour. It makes you sick to your stomach when you witness it, tears come to your eyes. He knows you don't like it and warns you, but... he doesn't understand why? Why does it upset you like that? He doesn't get it. It's a gnawing awareness in the back of your mind. You start to pick up on his... lack of reactions to certain things. You were once in the church getting healing for a minor wound of his when another group of adventurers came rushing through the doors, desperately begging for help for their friend they were carrying... some guy seriously injured, gored by a boar. The sight is burned in your mind forever, the organs spilling out of his split gut, the shivering and wide, bloodshot eyes, the blood bubbling out of his mouth with choked horrific groans and the way his body convulsed involuntarily. The most horrid thing you'd ever seen. And you were pretty certain it was that way for everyone. Everyone in the church was gasping, some people were retching and trying to hold back sickness, people ran out of the room as they were unable to handle the scene, tears were in everyone's eyes, and as the man wailed in agony from them setting his dislocated bones, you watched the bystanders cringe and wince. Every person in the vicinity was visibly horrified.... except for one. Razor's face was neutral. Curious. He leaned in closer to get a better look, eyebrows raised. He doesn't flinch at the sight of organs spilling onto the ground and the man starting to convulse and foam at the mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. And then, after a moment, he asks if you're ready to leave, says he feels better now and that man is really loud, he doesn't like it. His voice doesn't even have the slightest hint of a wavering or discomfort. When you come across a man in the woods caught in a bear trap, you can barely stand to look at it. Just hearing the cries for help had you shivering, and the sight of the pooling blood and utter agony on the man's face had you gasping, hand over your mouth as you tried to look away. ...Razor didn't seem to mind, though. He just undoes the trap and, without giving the man any warning, yanks it apart, pulling the spikes from his legs. As he does, blood shoots out and splatters on his face. He doesn't flinch, nor when the man screams. He does finally seem to react to the pained groans the man makes. But... It's not like your reactions. He's not flinching and grimacing, drawing in sharp breaths and tensing up, eyes watering in pity and shock like you. Instead, his eyes narrow and he puts his hands over his ears as you stoop down to help the poor man. His eyebrows furrow. He almost looks... Annoyed. He draws his foot back as if he's about to kick him, but freezes with realization when he looks at you, as if he forgot you were standing there, and puts his foot back down. You're certain he wasn't actually going to do that, of course. You're not sure why he did that, but... He wouldn't do something like that, even in a moment of dissociation from his human awareness. He does volunteer to be the one to go get help, though, getting away fast, but for some reason you sense it was more out of irritation at the noise rather than horror at the whole thing. Perhaps the worst was the decomposing body, that day you took a walk in the woods together. He smelled it first, nose wrinkling up in disgust at the putrid smell. But it was strong enough that you smelled it soon after. He says having dead animals this close to the residence of the pack is not good, they all hate the smell, so he can try to move the carcass of whatever animal it is... but it's not an animal, it turns out, once you finally find the source, collapsed at the bottom of a cliff from where they most likely fell to their death. Well, it's kind of a stretch to say it still resembles a human either, but you can tell from the general shape. It's more just like a glob, putrefied and rotting flesh falling off the bones. It shocks you so much you fall backwards, but he just moves closer. Ugh, too far rotted to move, he can't do anything about it, he realizes as he gives the decaying mass a kick and watches the blackened flesh slide off the bones. Oh well. ...In your shock, it takes you a moment to realize how... unbothered he seems. Mildly annoyed by the smell, but his expression is neutral as he looks at one of the most horrifying sights you've ever seen, he just yawns as he walks away from it and says you two should get away from the smell, it makes his head hurt.

The events all linger in the back of your head. A growing sense of wrongness, a dark, cold dread that settles in your stomach as the occurrences slowly grow in number, one after the other, each time you notice the complete lack of any sign of disturbance on his face, in his voice or body language. You ask him once, one time when you get the courage to ask such a... potentially offensive question. Don't you... feel anything when you see things dying? When they're in pain? He nods. He gets what you mean. The feeling when you watch something die. Hungry, right? Oh, no? Maybe you mean the irritation, a kind of angry feeling, what's the word... impatient...? Because the thing is taking too long to die and he wants it to go ahead and die already. Or maybe you mean like when that man was injured? When something is dying but it's not something you wanna eat? Yeah, he has a feeling then too. Um... kind of like anger... you taught him the word once... annoyed? They make so much noise, and he doesn't like loud things. When that man came into the church... he didn't like how loud it was. Why didn't they just kill him, since he was making so much noise...? He doesn't get it. When things annoy him, he kills them, like loud birds and biting bugs. He kinda had an urge to just... reach out and make the man stop screaming, just twist his neck like he does small animals when they make too much noise. But he's smart, he says, he knows the other people might get mad. Yes, he uses the word "might," not "would," as if it was a mere possibility. So it doesn't really come as a surprise when the same attitude applies to the people at his own mercy, the people that get too close to you and end up dragged out to the woods. It's that same knowing dread in your gut, and while it horrifies you as much as it always has, you wouldn't have expected anything else. Maybe some people would feel bad about what they're doing, they would want to go ahead and get it over with, they couldn't take the begging and agony the other party is in... but not only is he totally unbothered, but if he kills him now, he says, the blood will go all over the ground, and that's bad, his lupical like eating the blood in things. So he just snaps the man's bones, that way he won't run away. It's hard to describe the excruciated noises that come out of the other's throat when he does. It's unlike any noise you've ever heard a human make, that kind of pain. The sweat that pours from the other's skin from the agony, the way his mouth hangs open even when he can't scream anymore, the trembling and muffled begging as he moves to the next limb. You tremble and cry. You shiver uncontrollably, you whimper for him to stop. Your eyes widen when he grabs each limb and you close your eyes and sob and grimace and cringe with the snapping sound. Razor, on the other hand, stays just as neutral as before. Face blank and empty, as if performing any other mundane task. He doesn't flinch at the snapping. His expression is unchanging at the sound of screams and the groans as he drags the still-living figure behind him by his shattered ankle all the way back home. When he finally goes to look back at you, he tilts his head at the look on your face. Why do you still look upset? There's no blood yet... isn't it blood that makes you upset? Maybe not? Maybe it's the sound that bothers you? Yeah, you flinch whenever the man groans in pain, so it must be the sounds of the dying things that you don't like, it annoys him too really. Ok, that can be fixed... sound comes from the throat right? Well, he left his claymore a ways away so, it'll just take a second, the guy is thrashing a bit but eventually he holds him still enough to get his teeth latched around his throat and just... bites down. The sound is a squelching, crunching sound, one that you'll never forget, it makes every hair on your body stand on end and your skin crawl. He pulls back with the mass of bleeding flesh and tracheal tissue in his jaws and spits it out on the ground. There, see...? You can see the blood on his teeth reflecting the light as he smiles. He's not making noises anymore, so... why do you still have that look on your face? Is it because the body on the ground is all... spasming and convulsing like that? Well, uh... that'll stop soon, probably. At least it's nice and quiet now. He gets it, really, he doesn't like loud noises either.

#tw: violence #.rz #q

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