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shiny-jr · 1 month

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I’ve just had a vision, what if a yan (e.g riddle or vil because they are most princess-ish) was a trapped in a castle away like in one of those stereotypical fairy tales and the reader decides to save them because they are a ‘damsel in distress’ and reader is like a hero… only to realise there is a reason why they were locked away (because they were batshit crazy)

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: You are a thief with freshly stolen goods. Chased and hunted down, you avoid capture by finding a castle hidden in gloom and fog. Locals told legends of this place, saying a royal had been trapped within. Of course, you don't quite believe such tall tales. That is, until you discover the royal and learned that they were purposefully sealed inside...

Note: I think I'll call this one, not your valiant savior. It's just a placeholder name for now. Just a quick post, so sorry if it's bad.

It was too easy. What did they expect when they left out a priceless object owned by the royal family and estimated to be worth a fortune? Of course a famed thief on the loose such as yourself, would just be itching to snatch the relic. And snatch you did, living up to your reputation of thief. Each member having unique abilities to assist in stealing. Your mother had speed to outrun anyone in a chase, your grandfather had the talent of picking any locks, your great-grandmother could sweet-talk anyone then rob them blind. And so on and so forth.

And of course, you had your own talent. As quiet as a mouse and with fingers that stuck to valuables like glue, stealing became like second nature. Literally. However, it wasn't exactly a talent valued by the wider community, and if you stole enough you could end up on terribly drawn wanted posters. Which is why staying in one place wasn't wise.

From place to place, you went taking and claiming anything of worth. When you got very low on cash, you set your sights high: on the vault that stored the royal's priceless treasures. There was bound to be endless riches stored within, if only you could get your grubby hands on them. Well, after careful planning, you had. It wasn't a giant gem or sack full of gold.

Time was short, so you had grabbed the closest thing you could before guards could find you. A golden box encrusted with jewels. Who knew what was inside? Maybe some family heirloom, a magical artifact, or something else of high value. And with the box, you bolted, and the chase had begun out of the city and through the woods.

As fast as you could, you ran through the mystic woods, a forrest travelers and locals alike were all wary of. It was the safest place you could go when chased by frightening palace guards on horseback that would do anything to take back what you stole and drag you back to the gallows. Even the woods heavy with fog and dark from the clouds overhead, had deterred your pursuers enough for you to slip out of their reach and deeper into the forrest where there was no way they would be able to track you. Here, you would have to wait until tomorrow and depart early. Then, you'd be home free and rich beyond your wildest dreams.

After what felt like hours of walking, you stumbled upon a bridge over a gloomy lake. In the middle, sat an old castle of gray stone and dark windows. A castle once said to hold a royal captive, but of course, you didn't believe such stories that were so old they were told to your own grandparents. This castle would be your sanctuary for the night. And maybe, just maybe, you'd clutch the jeweled box and dream of simpler times when you were told fairytales of locked away royals waiting for a savior.

The castle was exactly like those set in spooky tales, haunted by vengeful spirits and claimed by ghosts. It appeared abandoned, that much was obvious by the crumbling stone bridge and the battered old wooden doors that once protected the inhabitants.

Cautiously stepping over the splintered debris of the front door, you didn’t bother boarding it up since no one would be stupid enough to follow you inside.

There was wreckage and ruin everywhere. If you had to guess, whatever happened here, whether the people were driven away by conflict or time, it was followed by the destruction of time. Time with weather were likely all factors that led to the disarray of what was probably once a grand estate. Strangely enough, there was furniture and decor. Everything coated in dust and grime, but still here. Had people been too afraid to enter the grounds? There were so many valuables that could've been looted!

"I'll definitely have to come back here later." You scoff, turning over a few clothes or broken furniture with your foot to uncover possible hidden goodies. Maybe something as small but valuable as a ring was lost somewhere on the ground.

Proceeding to carry the golden box under your arm, you decide to search for the cleaniest, not-so-moldy room where you could spend the night. On the third floor halls, you see ripped curtains and frames where portraits loosely hung. Every rug was brown with dirt and dust.

There were items left behind, which showcased the life one led here. A piano too big to steal, the skeleton of a chandelier and broken gems hanging from its limbs, empty glass perfume bottles now filled with dust. The place must've been wondrous once, but now it was like a tomb. A setting frozen in time.

When you found moonlight filtering through the open balcony of what looked to be the master bedroom, you paused to see the space wrecked more than the others. As if more than just weather and time had affected this place. The owner of this castle likely slept in this very room, on that very bed where the sheets were ruffled and unkempt.

"I wonder who used to live here..." You murmur to no one in particular, as you approach the balcony looking over the bridge and woods. This would be a good vantage point.

A heavy fog settled over the woods, extending over the bridge like water. Good, an extra layer for cover. You stepped back into the room, analyzing every carved piece of wooden furniture, makeup and brushes stored on tabletops, a separate room as long as a hallway and filled with all types of articles of clothing.

If all this was still here, then was it possible some jewelry was left behind? You scoured the room, looking for hidden compartments while murmuring to yourself to fill the ominous silence. As you pulled back a curtain against a wall, you furrowed your eyebrows when you saw an uneven lump underneath the wallpaper.

Could this be handle leading to a vault of treasures? With that in mind, you ripped off the old wallpaper. A glimmer of gold made your heart soar with hope, but when you caught sight of your reflection, you stopped and stared. A mirror. It was a large mirror, oval shaped, with golden borders so intricately decorated. However, when a hand suddenly appeared on the other side of the mirror, like a ghostly apparition, you screamed and stumbled back.

A hand– there was a hand in the mirror! You stared with widened eyes full of shock, as the hand pressed its palm against the surface of the glass. You couldn't see anything else, no one behind the hand. After a second, the slim pale hand delicately pointed a long dainty finger at the box you were holding in a vice grip.

"What...? This? You want this? But..."

You had worked hard to procure this golden box from the royals. Pursing your lips, you contemplated your options, with so many questions running rampant in your mind. What was that thing? A magic mirror? A magic mirror would be priceless, much more valuable than any gold. However, if it was magic, it would be tricky. Possibly even sentient. So you'd have to gain its favor.

"Alright, alright, the box. You know, I went through hell trying to get this."

You informed the mirror, unsure if it even understood you. You carefully set down the heavy box in front of the mirror, and watch as the hand made a motion with its fingers.

Click!

It had unlocked the box, without even a key or tool. A grin broke out on your face. Had it done it for you? Apparently not, because the box opened on its own and a heavy thick tome floated out from it and into the air. The hand beckoned the tome closer, and closer it came, until it was literally phasing through the glass.

"Hey! Wait––"

The glass shattered, the sound booming and ringing out in the silence like an explosion. You only had a second to react, instinctually using your arms to shield your face from the glass flying out in every direction. When it stopped, you looked around. The mattress was shredded, the curtains torn to shreds, wooden furniture cut as if done by an axe, but miraculously you were somehow unharmed.

A breath, not of your own, caught your attention. Your eyes darted over to the now broken mirror, awestruck at the vision of a figure stepping over broken glass. They were beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, more than any words could convey. Their hair like gold and eyes an alluring shade of purple like two amethyst stones, soft pink lips, and a tall slim pale figure clothed in odd robes. For a moment, whoever this person was, appeared disoriented for a brief moment, but they clutched the tome like a lifeline. The tome that came from the box you had stolen.

"Thank you––"

He breathed, his voice quiet as he attempted to stand tall and upright. When his legs nearly gave out beneath him, you were there to catch his hand and prevent him from falling as he looked at you with appreciation. You were just stunned, bewildered, in pure disbelief.

"You... You freed me. You returned my stolen tome...!"

He exclaimed in disbelief, as he restored his posture. Somehow, he was able to stand in heels, but heels were currently one of the least important details.

What did he mean freed?

There was no time to ask any questions. The loud sound of the shattering must've alerted any of your pursuers that had followed you thus far, because from the balcony you could make out the torchlights weaving their way directly towards the bridge.

The mysterious man from the mirror took notice of your expression of dismay as he glanced at the distant torchlights. Smoothing out his robes, he looked back at you and took in your expression. "Enemies of yours?"

"Yes..." You nod slowly.

"Now that just won't do. I can't have anyone harming, or even killing my savior. I've yet to even learn your name." Tapping some well-manicured fingers against the spine of the tome, he appeared to contemplate something. When he stopped tapping his fingers, he smiled so sweetly. "I am Vil Schoenheit, prince and prodigy. Here's my proposition to you, my savior: I will destroy your enemies for a small price. You must tell me your name, and I will grant you my protection."

Of course you gave him your name, and almost immediately you saw the fog below turn an odd color. The torchlights flickered out, you no longer heard their encouraged shouts to move forward but instead their screams echoing in the dark woods. All after Vil murmured a few words in a foreign tongue read from his tome, as he continued to gaze at your intently. What exactly was he to cause so much death in a single instant with hardly any effort...? And you were stuck in this abandoned castle with him.

The prince had no plans to abandon you, he's made that much clear when you attempted to casually part ways after thanking him for getting rid of your pursuers. Stay. I can make it worth your while. Once I reach my former glory, you'll be able to bask in it with me. Is what he said as you swore you heard the front of the castle be sealed shut.

The entire time he looked around the castle with disdain, cross as he complained about the state of his home. While helping him clean up some rooms, he told you more about himself. Vil was a prince who once lived in this castle, set to inherent the throne shortly after the death of his father. However, he was widely feared due to being a prodigy in dark magics and genius at brewing concoctions. For attempting to steal the life of a younger kinder foreign prince who specialized in good magic, he was trapped in a mirror with his tome being the only key to grant him freedom.

Vil actually appeared to be much too fond of you, which you attributed to his isolation. If you were imprisoned all alone in a mirror for centuries, you likely would've gone insane. It was a miracle Vil's mind was intact, but maybe he wasn't there entirely. Because what sane person killed people with the snap of their fingers while smiling so kindly at the one who set him free?

Pridefully he listed off his feats and accomplishments. Living prodigy. Most beautiful man in the land. Prince of the land. It felt too much like flaunting, as he wanted you to realize how truly great he was. He replaced your clothes with his own, and while combing your hair he reminded you that what's rightfully his will be returned to him one day, and you would be there beside him that day.

The crown was what he wanted, a crown he believed was stolen from him and passed down to the descendants of the very good prince he attempted to kill. He spoke of a future in the castle restored to its former glory, where citizens would be loyal to him once again, and those that wronged him will receive a fate worse than death. Positions were open for applying once he became king, he told you one day. He was still searching for a vassal, a knight, a jester, or a partner to wear a crown as well.

Was it the isolation that had driven him to become so attached to the one who set him free? It was possible, but you couldn't even be sure. For all you knew, he could've been like this before he became trapped in the mirror. What mattered now was that he did not make any effort to hide his attraction towards you. Vil was offering a thief all the riches he would attain after his plan for vengeance, and his heart in a golden box.

"Keep the knives I gifted you, although I doubt you'll have to resort to lifting a finger. Just allow me to handle it when the time comes. I want to extract vengeance slowly and painfully, make them hurt just as they did to me... And at the end of the day, you will be there, you little thief who stole my affections, to comfort me and drive away those memories of cold lonely centuries in darkness. You'll be there for me, won't you, my valiant savior?"

#twst #twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #twst vil #yandere vil schoenheit #not your valiant savior

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shotmrmiller · 24 days

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soulmate au part 2

john price x f!reader (was feeling mad angsty yall, sorry)

You'd locked your tender heart in a cold, iron box. Sealed it shut, hoping, praying, that if you'd buried it deep enough, the ache would fade. The small key had lain heavy in your palm— disproportionate to its size— with words best left unspoken, with feelings that'll never be returned. Tossed it right into the sea with a shuddering breath that tasted of salt.

Of tears. Of mourning, of grief, loss.

(You told yourself you wouldn't cry yet here you are, eyes prickling, vision blurring. Hold it together, girl.)

And it'd gone well enough for a while. Avoiding him— the act of self-preservation— almost became second nature. You made your exit anytime he walked in, a quiet victory each time you successfully escaped the danger of his presence.

(Be still, your battered heart.)

But it'd only been a matter of time before you were forced into a situation where evasion was no longer a choice. Something that would threaten to shake loose the fragile composure of indifference you'd so carefully pieced together.

Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you ran toward the LZ— the world around you losing its sharpness, smudging into a flurry of colors and fluorescent lights. Errant strands of hair whip across your face, sticking to your lips. Your breath comes in short, ragged, desperate bursts; lungs working overtime. The barking of orders from one of the other medics gives way to the roar of helicopter blades, a deafening sound that drowns out everything else.

Once the helo touches down, its doors slide open and the stark reality of war spills onto the ground. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage once you drink in the macabre sight. Crimson stains their tattered uniform, their dirt-streaked skin, even the dull grey of the metal beast.

And they're dragging someone out, it's—

John.

His body is limp, the fight now left with the boys as they move him towards the medical team on standby, toward you. The kaleidoscope of colors that paint the world around you flicker, for a fleeting moment— a mere fraction of a second— like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Instinct takes over.

Time seems to stand still as you sprint to the ones carrying your soulmate and grab onto his vest— trembling fingers curling around the straps of it, pulling him urgently onto the ground with strength born out of desperation.

The gravel beneath him is hard, unforgiving. It digs into your unblemished knees painfully, a sharp pain that tethers you to reality. Grounding.

Focus.

You fumble around for a pulse, the sound of fabric tearing as you remove his scarf barely registering. Weakening by the second. Your focus is on the rise and fall of his chest, pointedly ignoring the blood bubbling on his lips, staining his mutton beard a vibrant red.

Clever fingers make quick work of the buckles on his vest and the velcro straps. You guide his head through the collar of it, every movement measured, and before it even hits the ground above him, the world drains of color. You look down at your shaky blood-slick hand— monochrome.

His lips, colorless. His hair, the color of rich earth, grey. Everything comes to a standstill. Your mind, once racing with urgency, settles into an empty silence. The type that robs you of your breath. It stretches for too long, a chasm that swallows your thoughts.

Until a violent nudge to your shoulder (ironically) pushes you past the paralysis of shock, and with both palms placed on his chest, you begin to fight for his life.

Your muscles burn with exertion, your forehead is beaded with sweat. Time seems to stretch thin, every second feeling like an eternity. You can feel panic start to bubble under your skin, fear furling like smoke around the edges of your consciousness, beginning to cloud your resolve.

"Take over, take over. I can't— I need—" you choke out, the words choppy due to the compressions. You need to breathe. You need to gather yourself. Immediately, another set of hands replace yours, continuing CPR, and you're jerking away from John, feeling hot tears roll down your cheeks.

You find yourself somewhere, still close enough to hear your colleagues, but far away enough to no longer smell the metallic tang of blood— although you can still taste it, like a penny on your tongue.

But there's no escaping the shades of grey, the somber world you're in. Not the tremors whispering through your anxious hands nor the vulnerability settling over your frayed nerves like a broken tooth, sharp and intrusive.

"I take it you're his other half," a rumbling voice says from behind you.

That in itself is a joke, you'd chuckle if you could. "No, that'd be his wife."

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until the mountain of a man callsigned Ghost comes to stand in front of you whose stature demands a craned neck to meet his gaze. You pride yourself in not scuttling away from him, instead standing still. He makes you feel small— not just in size.

"You his soulmate?" Twisting the dagger in your chest, your heart.

"No. But he's mine." You look up at him then, only to see the same, colorless world mirrored back at you. He's got sunken eyes, like a corpse. Like the one whom you poured all of your strength into— both mental and physical.

There's no need to ask the imbecilic question of how he knew, knows. You practically shouted it from the rooftops with your panicked actions.

Mistake, so foolish of a mistake. Stupid, fucking girl. You'll get those pity stares, the grim looks. Treat you like some broken thing, a broken mirror barely pieced together, cracks still visible.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"He'll come back. Stubborn, old man always does." His voice is rough as gravel as he attempts to give you some sliver of hope. Ghost gives you a small nod and an unprompted pat on your stiff shoulders and his mask bleeds white. The thin stripes on his UK patch a ruby red.

He must've noticed something change because he let out a deep, steadying breath and murmured, "Told ya. Even death doesn't want him."

No, but your treacherous heart does.

Tragic thing, that. Now to call his wife and tell her the bittersweet news.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #soulmate au #captain john price #john price x f reader

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mj0702 · 4 months

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So my dearest Frens... even if it’s my day today I gift you with Part 6... I hope you enjoy it and have a good night... day... whatever timezone you live in ♥️

The other Bronze – Pt.6

You woke up with pain in your wrist. You felt every pulse shooting right up into your wrist. You groaned and grabbed your phone seeing it was just after 3AM. You groaned again but pushed yourself up and stood up going on a painkiller hunt. You entered the dark kitchen and started searching for the pain meds knowing Lucy normally leaving them in one of the cupboards. You were just rummaging through the third cupboard as suddenly the light got turned on and you swirled around feeling like a kid with it's hand in the cookie jar.

“Jesus fuck“ you exclaimed shocked being confronted by a scared looking Ona

“What are you doing?” the blonde asked evenly as shocked holding up a fly swat like it was a baseball bat

“I'm looking for drugs” you gritted through your teeth

“What?” Ona asked confused

“My wrist hurts like a bitch... I need painkillers” you huffed out before noticing the fly swat “What's up with that?”

“Oh” the blonde quickly lowered her weapon “I thought we were being... robado”

“You what?” you looked at her completely lost

“You know... when strangers come and take your stuff” she shrugged her shoulders

“Robbed... you thought you were being robbed and then you thought it would be a grand idea to defend yourself – and my sister – with a fly swat... great choice” you snorted unimpressed

“It was the first thing I could grab” the spaniard shrugged

“Just a small tip... if you have robbers in your house... call the police and do NOT engage with them.. they probably kill you” you said before turning around searching again

“They're in the bathroom... our bathroom” Ona clarified as she saw you looking around again

“You have an own bathroom?” you turned around again looking at her confused

“We do... wait I get them for you” she smiled before disappearing

“Own bathroom... who does she think she is.. Taylor Swift or what?” you mumbled to yourself plopping down on a chair at the kitchen table

“Here you are Bebita” Ona said as she put a half a tablet in front of you getting you a glass of water from the sink

“Lucy gave me two... you are pretty tight with my drugs” you grumbled seeing that half a pill

“Lucy overdosed you and you were high half of the day” Ona countered smirking

“SHE WHAT???!!!” you screeched

“What do you remember from yesterday?” the blonde asked carefully

“Your friends were over, Luce gave me pills, I slept” you shrugged your shoulders

“Ehrm... yeah... do you remember being in the gym with Alexia?” Ona hummed

“Huh?” you looked at here like SHE lost it this time

“Okay... believe me – a half a pill is more than enough... the rest Lucy can explain... Are you hungry Bebita? You haven't had a lot in the last couple of hours... I can... batter something up” the blonde spaniard offered

You just stared blankly at her.

“Yes... no?” Ona looked at you expectantly

“Yes... please” you said carefully

“What's wrong?” the blonde asked

“Why are you so nice to me?” you asked unsure

“Why wouldn't I be?” she questioned back

“I dunno...” you shrugged “... but I feel like you shouldn't be”

“Why do you feel that way?” the blonde looked confused

“God... now you sound like my therapist” you rolled your eyes but a smile was tucking on the edge of your lips

“So... why do you feel I shouldn't be nice to you?” Ona tried again

“I... I.. I blamed you, you know... and I came here with the thought of hating you... and you're nice to me...” you mumbled looking away

Ona just looked at you before it dawned on her

“You thought Lucy didn't come to your birthday because of me... because she prioritized me over you” Ona concluded slowly

“I'm sorry... I really am...” you nodded as you looked up at her with sad eyes

“You have nothing to be sorry about, y/n... I understand it... and I know Lucy wants to talk to you about it, but you know her – she's snoring her life away” Ona smiled at the end

“How did you know?” you mumbled surprised

“You talked a lot yesterday...” the blonde smirked as your eyes widen

“What did I talk about?” you ask panicking

“You called Aitana flawless... Alexia pretty... Mapí a colorbook and you spilled that you're dating one Georgia Stanway” Ona smirked

“Shit” you're eyes widen even more and all colour leaves your face “shit shit shit shit shit”

“Calm down... she will talk to you about it but she's not mad... not really – more hurt that you didn't tell her” the blonde said calmly

“She's going to kill G... and then me... or first me and then her” you just kept panicking not listening to Ona

“Y/n... she won't, okay... there's more you two need to talk about... but Lucy is NOT mad” the spaniard grabbed your hand running her thumb over the back of it

“Don't let her kill me...” you whined “... Keira... I need to talk to Keira first... and then Keira can talk to Lucy and Lucy will talk first to you and I can flee the country”

“Okay... enough... nothing bad is going to happen – now here's how the next minutes will go... you tell me what you want to eat, then you take your painkiller and then you'll go back to bed... in the morning you and Lucy will sit down and talk to each other – REALLY talk...” Ona put her foot down hoping you wouldn't hold it against her

“Okay... okay..” you took a deep breath before looking at your sisters girlfriend hopefully “I know you guys are pro athletes and live on a diet... but do you have ANYTHING sugary? Cookies? Sweets? Anything?”

“Don't tell your sister” Ona pointed at you threating but smiling before standing up and got some chocolate chip cookies from a cupboard.

“Oh god” you moaned happily as you bit half a cookie off “definitely not telling her... because then I need to share”

“Slowly” the blonde warned you as she saw you shoving two more cookies into your mouth

You slowed down but ended five more cookies before Ona took the package away. You looked at her hurtful but she just shot you a “Don't push it”-glare. She's getting really good with reading you, you must admit. Not Keira good, but... good.

“Come on Bebita... take your pill and back to bed... it's nearly 4AM” Ona smiled softly at you watching you as you took your painkiller without further protest

“Can I sleep in your bed?” you ask pouting

“Your sister snores” the blonde reminded you

“I know” you rolled your eyes “I grew up with her”

“Come on then” Ona nodded towards the bedroom “I'll take the guestroom”

“You.... with us?” you asked getting a little light headed again

“I don't think that's a good idea Bebita... your sister gets quite... handsy early mornings” Ona tried to bring her point across

“Morning sex?” you ask pulling a face your brain a bit foggy

“Sometimes... but that's not the point... how do you feel Bebita?” the blonde checked on you having a slight hunch

“Bit funny” you mumbled “sleepy”

“Come on then... I'll get you to bed” Ona sighed as she stood up signalling you to follow her

You followed suit standing up slowly following the blonde spaniard as said woman turned off the light in the kitchen while you grabbed the back of her shirt so you have a little guidance to not run into anything.

“Off you go to your sister... lay on right side so you don't hurt your wrist further – you might need to push Lucy over a little bit... she likes to sleep in the middle” Ona smiled encouraging as she stopped in front of their bedroom door.

“Oh don't I know it” you mumble as you let go of Onas shirt and stepped forward – to just run straight into the door.

Your face connected loudly with the wooden door. You needed a few seconds to realize what happened before your hand flew to your nose as you started to swear loudly which caused Lucy to finally wake up and open the bedroom door.

“What the Fuck, y/n? Do you know what time it is?” she whisper yelled at you as you try to hold back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes “If you wake Ona up with your nonsense, I swear to god”

“I'm already up... your sister needed painkillers and since you don't hear anything once you're out, I took care of it” Ona said rolling her eyes as she grabbed you by your shoulders and pushed you inside the bedroom to sit you down on the edge of the bed.

“Let me look Bebita” she said softly as she pried your hand off your face.

“I bet it's broken... just my fucking luck” you whined

“Let me look first” the blonde spaniard chuckled as she inspected your nose “No... not broken” she smiled at you

“What is going on here???” Lucy asked behind you both looking so SO confused

“I woke up and my wrist was killing me... so I investigated the kitchen for painkillers since THAT'S where painkillers belong... turns out your girlfriend hasn't got the deepest sleep and tried to kill me with a fly swat thinking I'm a robber... then she gave me some toast and my painkillers and I asked if I could sleep at yours... she said yes and led me over here and told me to go on... which I did...” you explained everything lying about the cookies

“... and you decided to run straight into the door?” Lucy asked you perplex

“How should I have known the door was closed? Who closes their bedroom door??” you said upset

“Me when my little sister is around” your sister countered and you could see the small smirk as your eyes grew wide and you started to dry heave

“Lucy” Ona swatted your sisters shoulder hard “Don't worry Bebita... she's just messing with you”

“I wouldn't put it past her” you mumbled and shivered

“Payback” your sister growled playfully

“Look... I was.... non compos mentis... I don't remember anything so you can't hold anything against me” you started to defend yourself knowing what your sister was referring to.

“Okay... both of you... either you go back to bed OR you go back into the kitchen and talk it out – I won't have you beat around the bush at 4AM when I could be sleeping” Ona interfered strictly shooting you both a warning glare

“I'm half drugged I don't care” you shrugged your shoulders

“Bed it is then” the blonde spaniard said and both of you knew there's no room for discussion

It took a little bit of shuffling before Lucy and you got comfortable in bed as Ona leaves as promised to sleep in the guest bedroom

You woke up hours later to an empty bed the sun already standing high in the sky as you rolled over and out of bed. You padded barefoot into the kitchen to find your sister sitting at the table books and papers spread out in front of her.

“Hey” you said tiredly scratching your head

“Hey Bubs” she looked up at you smiling “Good sleep?”

“Mhm” you hummed as you fell down on a chair beside her

“How are you feeling Bubs?” she asked and you could tell she genuinely cares

“Tired... kinda burned out... like my body wants to shut down but somehow it keeps going... my brain is not function and still runs a million miles an hour” you answer honestly and for the first time you were completely honest with your sister

“What happened at home... I know my birthday was just an excuse to flee mom and dad... probably more mom” Lucy leaned back in her chair to look at you

“I just.... I felt so alone Luce... you and Keira were gone... Jorge and Sophie have their own families... yeah, the girls are great... you know Tooney and Mearps are always there but they're not you... or Keira” you said and shrugged your shoulders looking down

“I'm sorry Bubs... I really am... I actually thought you knew that you can always call me... or text me... or send a pigeon” your sister leaned forward again taking your hand in hers “I may not be in the same country but I'm always there for you Bubs”

“What could you have done when I got expelled from school?” you asked getting upset that Lucy didn't get you

“You what?” Lucy looked at you confused

“I got expelled because I snapped at some girls who said stupid stuff” you said guilty starting to chew on your lip

“Tell me about it” your sister said after a moment of silence “I really want to know what made YOU snap”

“They were talking shit about you and some other players... you know... sexual shit... I mean I can ignore most stuff... I'm used to people drool and swoon over you but this... went to far” you explained getting kind of embarrassed

“Oh Bubs” your sister sighed out “I know it's hard to be my little sister – and I don't speak about the distance or the late night games or always being the baby of every team I join... but you can't snap at people.. not because of me or my name or my career but because of you... you are such an good loving caring person – I don't want people to think otherwise because the witness one incident”

“Do you know how it feels when people rate you top or bottom compared to other players? And not once but for WEEKS... and then proceed to ask questions about certain players and when I didn't answers they wouldn't leave me alone and pester me every fucking chance they got... do you know how it feels if you get asked in the middle of the class if you could top Leah... or Beth... of for god sakes JILL ROORD” you finally broke your silence about what happened and of course your sister was the reason for it. You didn't said anything about the topic to your principal – or your parents. You just took your punishment and the disappointed looks from your parents and just went on. Your Dad decided after some days it probably would do you some good to clear your head somewhere else and shipped you off to Lucy – much to your mothers dismay but she let you go once your dad reasoned with her about Lucys birthday surprise.

“I'm sorry...” your sister started after you took in what you said but you interrupted her immediately “... stop say you're sorry... it doesn't change anything if you're sorry or not” you leashed out at her feeling yourself getting angry “... I need coffee for this...” you said before standing up and going to the guestroom to chance and make ready to go out.

Your sister cleared the table while you went to change into some shorts and a simple white sleeveless compression shirt you obviously stole from Lucys wardrobe. As you re-entered the kitchen there were two cups of coffee on the table your sister sitting in her chair again waiting for you to sit down so you could continue talking

“I'm not drinking your shitty filter coffee...” you said grimacing at the cup

“It's from the good machine okay...” she rolled her eyes while she pointed to the shiny porta filter machine standing on the end of the counter “... you're such a coffee snob”

“Just because you don't have any taste buds left due to your old age” you fired back grinning but carefully took a sip of the cup “....yeah... acceptable” you said after a second

“We still need to talk Bubs...” Lucy redirected your conversation to the earlier topic “... what's going on?”

“Honestly.. I don't know Luce... I just... I get angry so quickly... I get upset even quicker... mom and dad are SO annoying... I don't really know what's going on... the only time I really calm down and can relax is when I'm with G” you try to explain but feel like you fail miserably

“Yeah... we need to talk about that too.. but.. one step at a time... you're a teenager Bubs... of course mom and dad are annoying... about the anger... what makes you angry? Are there specific situations? Like do you get triggered by something?” Lucy said empathic offering you a little smile

“I... don't know.. sometimes it's like someone clicked a switch in my brain and I get so so angry... I punched a hole in a wall in spring Luce... I don't even know why” you said defeated

“You need to get that anger out of you... in a healthy way... I'm going to talk to mom and dad – you're staying with me for the next few month... we're going to work on your anger management... I already have an Idea how... what do you think of boxing?” your sister said putting a hand on your shoulder for support “And I want you to talk to me... about everything...”

“Everything? Really?” you raised an eyebrow “Did you know that you can legally buy sextoys...” you started as Lucy slapped her hand over your mouth

“NOT everything... I'm not interested in that... in my world you're still a virgin and you will die a virgin” Lucy interrupted you quickly having a horrified look on her face

“Really... I'd die a virgin? But you can have girlfriends and sex? In front of me!” you asked baffled

“First... THAT was an accident... I didn't know you were coming...” Lucy started

“Neither did you apparently” you mumbled smirking

“Ugh... stop with the sexual innuendos” your sister rolled your eyes “And yes... you'd die a virgin”

“Yeah... kinda too late for that I'm afraid” you shrugged your shoulders

“I mean... you did spill a lot yesterday but how did THAT happen anyway?” Lucy asked calmly

“Would you believe me if I'd say G slipped and her fingers..” you smirked evil

“Not THAT... the whole getting into a relationship with Georgia” your sister rolled her eyes again

“She didn't want to at first... you know... she said you would kill us both... and that I should be able to have a relationship with someone who can openly declare how much they love me.... and then there's the age gap... which apparently is a big issue for some people... I wouldn't let her run away... It's all on me, so if you want to kill someone you need to kill me” you said quietly hoping Lucy would understand

“I mean... I understand her... you're 16 Bubs... and even if it was all consensual she's older... it's dangerous – for both of you... no one will listen to you if this comes out... but I also understand you – I know you got a good head on your shoulders and I know you know about the consequences and thought carefully about it” Lucy said thoughtfully

“I didn't choose to fall for her Luce... but I did” you said sadly thinking your sister would forbid you to see your girlfriend again

“I know Bubs... love isn't something you choose... Love is something that's just happening – and most of the time it's happening when you least expect it” your sister said softly “You have two options now... you either break up with her or you need to be really REALLY sneaky”

“I love her Luce... I know there's a lot at stake for her but I love her... and she loves me” you said quietly

“Then you need to learn to sneak around” your sister smiled encouraging

“Like you and Ona?” you asked a smile tugging on your lips

“Like me and Ona” your sister confirmed

“You do realize the fans already caught on, yeah... you have a ship name... but don't worry... it's not as bad as Wonze” you grinned

“You loved Wonze” Lucy shakes her head

“I loved the W in Wonze... but the ship name itself... not a fan – it sounds so harsh... like a sumo guy” you said thoughtful “But the new one is better... they call you Luna... Lucy... Ona... Luna... kinda cute”

“Isn't Luna that yappy Dog from Mrs. Kean down the road?” Lucy asked confused

“Was... got run over... chased a squirrel... truck... yeah...” you explained shrugging your shoulders once again

“Uh... I feel sorry for Mrs. Kean... she's a nice lady” your sister scratched her chin

“So... you won't forbid me to see G again?” you asked carefully

“Honestly... I'm not a fan but I couldn't stop you anyway... I will do everything to support you I swear but I also WILL talk to Georgia about it” Lucy said seriously

“Oh Luce cooome oon.. please... no” you whined “you'll scare her away”

“I'm your big sister... it's my job to scare girlfriends off” Lucy smirked widely

“I don't scare your girlfriends off” you huffed

“My girlfriends see you as the cute little helpless Bean... they don't take your threats seriously” your sister continued to smirk “But you could actually call your girlfriend and let me have a talk with her”

“No...” you said shaking your head hard

“Oh yes...” she just grinned at you

“You can't make me...” you pouted

“I can call her too, you know... I have her number” your sister mused

“But I'm not leaving... you can talk to her but I will be right here.. and if I think it gets to much I WILL stop you... and if I have to kick your bad knee” you said quickly

“I will go light on her I promise... for now” Lucy wriggled her eyebrows

You pulled out your phone opening your contacts clicking on Georgias contact waiting for the face time call to connect which didn't take long

“Hey Baby” you heard Georgias soft voice before the call connected fully “Everything okay?”

You saw her before she could see you – and your sister who was perched over your shoulder smirking evilly. But you knew exactly the second the call fully connected as your girlfriend squeaked out a “Shit... the other Bronze” and hung up on you.

You looked at your dark screen perplex while Lucy bursted out laughing behind you

“She knows she just blew your cover without blowing it” Lucy continued to laugh as you just stared at your phone

“She can't be fucking serious???!!!” you bursted out already trying to phone her girlfriend again

“Text her first” Lucy advice you “She thinks she just fucked up – tell her it's okay and to call you back once she re-joins the land of the living... you probably gave her a coronary”

You tipped out a quick message before putting your phone down

“YOU gave her a fucking coronary grinning like a fucking maniac right behind me...” you snapped at your sister waiting for your girlfriend to answer

“Calm down... breath Bubs” Lucy said her voice low sensing you're getting angry again

“I'm sorry...” you said shyly after you took a few deep breaths

“You're all good... but we definitely need to do something about that anger” your sister smiled at you

“What were you doing earlier?” you asked not wanting to talk about anger anymore

“Learning spanish” your sister answered understanding your need to change the subject

“Speaking of... where's the spaniard?” you wondered looking around to see if you could spot Ona

“Which one? The pretty, the flawless or the colourful one?” Lucy smirked at you

“Ooooh goood” you groaned letting your head hit the table with a loud “thud”

“Don't worry... none of them took it seriously... Aitana was kinda horrified when you were two centimetres away from her face calling her flawless and then telling her she could do better than dating me, but all of them knew I overdosed you and to not listen to you” your sister chuckled as she rubbed your back comfortingly “Alexia even went so far to actually answer to you calling her pretty spaniard... but to answer your question... she's at the Beach with some of the girls... it's our day off and the weather is nice enough so they decided on Beach”

Your head shot up grinning widely “Wanna play a game??”

“What did your brain vomitted out now?” Lucy asked carefully knowing you can be quiet the prankster – years of hanging out with Millie Bright, Rachel Daly and now Ella Toone and Alessia Russo took it's toll on your behaviour.

“You think I could pull of another day of overdosement?” you smirked

“Overdosement is not a word... but I pay you 50 bucks if you can pull trough for an hour without Keira catching on” Lucy smirked back holding out her hand for you to seal the deal

“Kei's there... now THAT'S a challenge” you grinned and shook your sisters hand

“Let's go then... you can take some of my stuff – like that compression shirt” Lucy said offhandly as she stood up from the table and went into her bedroom to get some beach friendly clothes

“It looks better on me anyway” you yelled after her as your phone started to ring

“Hey G” you greeted your girlfriend lightly smiling brightly as you saw her face again

“NEVER do that again... I swear I died – dead... possibly twice!!” your girlfriend stressed through the phone

“I'm sorry Luv... she made me call you... well... not really made me but she said either I call you or she would.... I thought it would be damage control if I'd call” you explained quickly peering down the hallway if your sister would come back

“So... she knows?” Georgia asked carefully

“Oh yeah... she knows..” you sighed out “... she overdosed my painkillers and I spilled the beans quiet happily as I was told... I'm sorry”

“As much as I wish it would have happened another way... ANY other way... I'm kinda glad she knows... I mean... I still think she will kill me but trying to pretend to just be friends when she was around was hard... so hard when all I wanted to kiss...”

“Stop right there Stanway” suddenly Lucy appeared behind you which made you swear loudly

“Jesus fucking Christ Mary Mother of God!!!! LUCY!” you yelled scared as you slammed your phone upside down on the table out of reflex to “hide” your girlfriend from your sister

“I'm sorry!!” Georgia yelled out as she was met with a dark screen where your face was just seconds before

“Oh you're going to be sorry once I get my hands on you....” Lucy started before looking at you “turn your phone around... how should I threaten her properly if she doesn't see my face??”

“She KNOWS what you look like, genius” you rolled your eyes “she's seen your face before”

“But she was never at the receiving end of my glare” your sister whined which made her “thread” kind of useless

“Lucy I swear... I won't hurt her...” your girlfriend said her voice was serious and honest as you turned your phone again so she was met with the face of Lucy and you “.... I love her”

“You better not hurt her Stanway... you may be my friend and teammate... but she's my baby sister... if you hurt her I'm going to break your legs” Lucy said and you knew she was serious about it

“Isn't it... “I'm going to break your neck”?” you asked confused

“She's a football player... broken legs are far more scary than a broken neck” your sister grinned and winked at you

“Good point” you mused grinning

“Ehrm.. excuse me?! We're talking my legs here” G interrupted you two

“You have very nice legs” your eyes shining knowing you could rile up your sister “very VERY nice legs”

“No... nope... uh-hu... don't finish that thought....” Georgia stopped you quickly knowing what you were thinking “... I'm about to go to training, you can't think about that right now... AND... your sister is right next to us”

“There will be a moment where she's going to walk in on us... which won't make us anywhere near even but it's a start” you said and can't stop grinning

“You were so innocent once” Lucy whined as she finally caught on what you were talking about

“Yeah well.. my room was right next to yours and the walls were very thin” you shot back which made Georgia laugh out loudly

“At least you learned from the best” your Sister shot back immediately

“Yeah... Keira explained quite a bit” you acted like you thought about something particular

“OI” you heard from both women

“What... I always ask Kei if I have questions...” you shrugged your shoulders “... it's not like she showed me or something”

“Okay... that's enough... G... training – go be great... y/n... do whatever... gosh... I feel like mom” Lucy huffed

You chuckled lightly at your sisters antics, shot Georgia a quiet “I love you” before hanging up, looking at your sister expectantly

“What are we doing now? I'm bored” you whined

“Beach?” Lucy smirked at you

“And what should I wear? Should I go naked?” you rolled your eyes

“I do own bikinis” your sister shot back also rolling her eyes

“Do I look like I wear bikinis?” you gestured down your body

“Shorts and a bikini top?” Lucy negotiated “Bubs you look great.. you know that – but if you feel more comfortable in shorts or even sweats – which would be a bad idea here in Barca because it's like hot hot but even then – I want you to be comfortable”

“It's just... my knees... I don't want to answer questions” you said quietly

“No one will ask questions Bubs... I'll make sure of it” your sister laid her hand on your shoulder and squeezed reassuringly

“Maybe bikini with shorts?” you asked insecure

“Sure Bubs...” Lucy smiled softly as she stood up and got different bikinis for you to choose from

“Should I send G some pictures?” you grinned “Bet I can make her walk into a door”

“Let her be... she needs to train... she needs a lot of stamina for next camp” your sister waved off not wanting to get involved in your antics

“I like the way you think... stamina is always good” you grinned

“Not for that... she will run a lot” now it was Lucy who grinned

“You can't make her run... you're not captain” you said as a matter of fact

“Oh but she will run... away from me” your sisters grin widen and got an evil look

“No... Lucy no... please... you said yourself we need to be careful... and you chasing her around won't help with that because all the girls will ask questions and yeah... please Luce” you actually begged your sister to leave your girlfriend be

“Bubs you don't understand... I NEED to do it... it's basically big sister law” Lucy ruffled your hair and you knew you wouldn't be able to stop her anyway

“Just... make it subtle” you sighed out rubbing your temple

“I'll see what I can do” she grinned as she grabbed a bag which was next to the door and grabbed her car keys “Come on Bubs... it's Beach time... oh... and don't forget to act overdosed”

“Okay... I need more pointers... what did I do yesterday... I need to be convincing” you immediately were distracted by your sisters comment

“Oh god... I don't even know where to begin..” Lucy laughed as she opened the door letting you step outside first.

That's it folks... it's a wrap for Part 6...

Next time on “Living with the Bronzes”

– Beach shenanigans with Mapí

– trying to convince Keira of being high again

– Ona on babysitting duty

– Alexia trying to keep the everything and everyone under control

and Lucy deciding to just sit back, relax and drink Sangria

#lucy bronze x reader #barca femeni #ona batlle x reader #lucy bronze #keira walsh x reader #ingrid engen x reader #woso image #mapi leon x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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sinkovia · 3 months

Text

The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary.

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father.

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.

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oneforthemunny · 16 days

Note

Mafia!eddie Break my heart (pls put it back together) angst+fluff

you ask and you shall receive. i am not liable for the pain and suffering this blurb may cause. lol. also this is pre- bea obviously. angst with a little fluff (little unresolved). also contains mafia themes and some mentions of violence but nothing graphic.

"Would you ever... want kids?"

Eddie's body went still, rigid like it did when he opened the door and saw a fed standing there, or when he saw Gareth battered and bleeding after being jumped and robbed by a rival. A fear that ran through his body and left him unmoving, body snapping into a survival mode that was rare in the comfort of his own bedroom- rare with you.

You looked up, brows furrowing in the dim light of the room. "Ed?" You hummed, taking in his stoic expression, cold and unmoving. "What? Did I-I said something wrong?"

"No," Eddie swallowed, throat tight but voice coming out even. "No, I just- Where's this coming from?" He looked down at you, eyes scanning over every single detail of your features.

You looked down sheepishly towards your hand rested on Eddie's chest, engagement ring bright, glistening in the moonshine that crept in between the curtains. "I dunno." You mumbled, burning with embarrassment. "I just- I was just thinking about it the other day."

"I thought we talked about it." Eddie's tone was harsher than he meant it to, throat strangling his words.

"I know," You mumbled, face falling in disappointment. "Just... Never mind."

"No," Eddie shook his head. "Baby, you know... You know I don't want kids. I thought I was pretty clear when I told you that." Early in your relationship, what felt like a lifetime ago, when you were just getting serious, when it was all becoming real, you'd brought it up. He'd told you that he didn't want them, didn't want to be like his dad and bring a kid into this "shit show".

That was so long ago. Things had changed, you and Eddie had gone through so much, engaged and planning to go through so much more. You thought maybe, just maybe, he might have changed his mind.

The look on his face, bordering on horrified, told you he hadn't.

"You were, just- I'm sorry, just forget it." You huffed, pushing off his chest, rolling over to your side of the bed, desperately trying to ignore the burning in your throat.

"Hey, c'mon," Eddie's hand reached out for yours, trying to stop you. "Don't do this. Talk to me. Where's this coming from?"

You swallowed down your tears, trying to even your own voice. "It's just," Your voice shook. "I just thought maybe you... you changed your mind." You looked at Eddie with watery eyes.

"Baby," Eddie cooed, hand sliding up your arm comfortingly. "I'm not changing my mind on that."

Your heart fell, pulling your arm away from him harshly. "Wait, hey- Where are you going?" Eddie huffed, leaning to smack on the light.

You fumbled out of bed, reaching for your nightgown that had been discarded on the ground, hoping Eddie couldn't hear the sobs you were trying to muffle.

"What- Why are you so upset?" Eddie furrowed his brows. "What is going on with you? You knew how I felt-"

"-Yeah, I did." You snapped. "But I didn't think you'd be so- so final on it." It was stupid, you knew it was, stupid to ever think for a moment that he would change his mind. But he'd been so good with your nephew, so sweet and so... so natural when he held him and rocked him. You'd just thought maybe, maybe it would be different now.

"Was I not clear?" Eddie scoffed lightly, throwing a hand up. "Did I say something that made you think I'd changed my mind?"

"No, you- just forget it." You snapped, wiping your tears away quickly. "Just fucking forget it."

"Wait, hold on," Eddie stood, voice booming when you started to leave. "What's going on? What's your problem?"

"Nothing!" You shrilled, refusing to look at him. "I'm just sleeping in the guest room-"

"-No, you're not." Eddie shook his head, finality in his tone. "Turn around and talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Where this is coming from."

Your lip wobbled, a wave of tears threatening to spill over that you tried to swallow down. "Y-You know, you don't have to be so final about it." You turned, glaring at him. "Like having a baby with me would be the worst thing in the world."

Eddie gawked. "Did I say that? I never fucking said that, so don't start putting words in my mouth-"

"-You didn't have to say it!" You yelled. "I mean, I get why you were so passionate about it before, but now... You're telling me you don't ever even think about it? You've never once imagined what it would be like to have a baby with me?"

Eddie's breath stuttered, mind blanking for a moment. Of course, he had. From the moment you met the boys, cooed over them and spoiled them, all he thought about was how good of a mom you'd be. How good of a mom you'd be if you had your own little baby.

"N-No." Eddie stammered lightly, heart lurching when your face fell, choking on a sob, turning towards the door. "Wait, wait, don't- come back here." Flinging the blanket off the bed, scrambling after you.

The dogs were in the hallway, Vecna and Lucifer following you closely, ears high on alert for who caused your upset. "Baby, come back here. I-I didn't- it's not you."

"N-No," Your chest shook with sobs, stomping down the stairs. "It's fine."

"Don't do this, just-just listen to me. It's not you. It's never been you, it's me. You know it's me, and-and this." Eddie frantically motioned to the space around him, a house bought with blood money, money he'd gotten from his job.

You didn't reply, a sniffly, wet sob his only response. The dogs footsteps blending with yours, down the hall and to the guest room, the door snapping shut echoing through the house.

Eddie ran a hand down his face, taking a slow, deep breath to try and control his flustered emotions, trying to gather his racing thoughts before he went to try and make things right, unsure of where to start.

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kurasthetic · 9 months

Text

21:26 - Kuras, Leander, Ais, Mhin, Vere

has; main five characters || reader in leander’s is called “pretty” || reader has long-ish hair in mhin’s, implied to be taller by an indeterminate amount || Leander jumpscare in Vere's, mention of something potentially (but not actually) being slipped in a drink, reader is shorter than Vere ||

REACHING OUT TO YOU;; the smallest moments can mean the most when they're giving what you’ve been robbed of your whole life (or, prompt roulette from this list)

Kuras

[ HOLD ]: while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

The Amaryllis district was always packed at night. There was nary a noiseless corner to be found in between dusk and dawn, a constant din of drunken chatter and laughter rumbling beneath every thought one could have. If you didn't have to live here, you'd avoid these streets as if they were infested with the plague. You weren’t the only one with apparent distaste for these streets; in front of you, Kuras picked his way deftly through the crowd. Even though he seemed to repel everything around him, people swerving clear of his personal space before knocking shoulder directly with you, there was a certain distaste hidden in his sluggish steps. You almost worried that every loose pebble risked sullying his pristine white coat, despite the fact that you’d seen it emerge from dirtier alleys unstained.

Unable to dodge the constant jostling of drunken bodies, you took to hiding your hands in your cloak. The heavy wool, normally a welcome and needed barrier against the cold night, was uncomfortably warm while you were caged in by sweltering body heat on all sides. Your shoulders were beginning to cramp from holding your hands so closely to your chest. No matter how tightly you wrapped your bandages or pulled barriers across your hands, there was an undying terror settling deep in your stomach at the slightest hint you might touch someone.

Huffing, you tried to shake away the negative thoughts. When you looked up again, you came to a sudden halt, nearly colliding with Kuras’ back. The slight shower of pebbles you kicked up all bounced and scattered around Kuras’ feet, missing him by sizable inches. You watched as he pulled something from an inner pocket of his outfit, a flash of white over his shoulder all you could see before he brought it in front of him and blocked your view. This close to Kuras, the people who parted to make a path for him also figured you into the equation, giving your battered arm a rest.

You were busy marveling at this when Kuras held his hand in front of you. Though you could feel his eyes on you, you didn’t look up to try and decipher what was going on in his mind. Instead, you stared at his hand, now in a thin white glove. Slowly, in disbelief, you patted yourself as if pockets would appear and produce what he was gesturing for.

Kuras laughed, though it came out in a single breath. He turned to face you and slowly reached for your cloak, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. When you didn’t protest, he reached for one of your hands and closed his gloved fingers around it with a smile.

You tried to pull away, but Kuras didn’t let you go. His grip tightened just enough to keep you in place and loosened the moment you stopped resisting. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, panic seizing your brain as your eyes kept darting from your hand in Kuras’, up to his golden gaze, and back down again. Kuras wore that endearing, teasing smile of his, watching you process with rapt attention. There wasn’t any time for you to be embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze while you were busy searching for even the slightest hint of madness.

When you were sufficiently calmed down, Kuras began leading you down the street again, offering no explanation. You kept your eyes on your hands joined together, the off-white of your bandages looking dirty and disheveled against the fabric of his gloves. Absently, you tried to remember him ever wearing them before. When did he get them? Why would he spring for fabric gloves in his line of work, especially ones that felt so thin and cheaply made?

…Did he buy them specifically to assuage your fear?

Unable to sit with those implications, you lifted your head and tried to gain your bearings, only to realize that Kuras was leading you down the wrong road. “Um…isn’t the Wet Wick that way?” You asked, pointing feebly in the direction you were referencing.

Kuras looked down at you and smiled. “You’ve been studying with me all day and we didn’t take a break for food. Surely you must be hungry.”

“Oh, uh…” You felt for your coin purse, which was even lighter than when you first arrived in the city. Most of the places around the tavern knew to count you under Leander’s tab, but it still felt wrong to ask for more or offer his money to somebody else in the form of a meal. “I’m…good…”

But your traitorous stomach answered more truthfully, and Kuras’ smile sharpened knowingly. “My treat, of course. Will you join me?”

Once again, you looked at your hand and experimentally wiggled your fingers. Your bandages didn’t budge, and Kuras gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. Your previously panicked heart lurched again - this time for entirely different reasons.

“Lead the way,” you finally agreed, struggling to breathe past the erratic beating in your chest.

You spent the rest of your night hand-in-hand with Kuras, only reluctantly parting when the tavern lights illuminated the pavement in front of you and the toes of your shoes.

Leander

[ SCAR ]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

There was a lot you didn’t know about Leander. It wasn’t that he kept to himself, just that he often focused the conversation on you. In a city reigned by secrecy and information, it was no wonder how Leander became the leader of the pack; if not for his friendly, easygoing approach to people, his knack for getting people to let down their guard and open up to him would surely have cemented his place at the top.

You should’ve been wary of how his earnestness was so thin you could see straight through to the silent threat beneath. Those that hid in the shadow needed the element of surprise to succeed, but a beast who bared his fangs could all too willingly tear you to shreds. Of this, you were painfully aware. But you had also spent your entire life shying away from others, hiding in the shadows yourself, never revealing a thing because it always resulted in fear and scorn. Wanting to be known by someone had gone to your head, dizzying and addicting once you finally got that hit.

Perhaps that was why you found yourself in this position so frequently: your lips hot on Leander's, your knees on either side of his hips as you straddled him, one hand beneath his shirt and pressing his abdomen to the bed as if to keep him in place. You could feel his legs shifting behind you, excess energy spent in an effort not to appear too eager. Still, that didn't stop him from leaning into your palm the moment you reached your free hand to cup his face. Your bandages hadn't even come off yet, but to be able to touch someone like this - no fear of the bandages shifting, no looming threat of insanity - was a luxury you needed to grab before it was taken away.

For a brief moment, you pulled away, watching with something akin to pride at Leander's red face, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He half-opened one eye and whined once, short and sweet. You must look smug.

Before you could kean back down, Leander removed one of his hands from your waist, placing it above the one you used to cradle his face. Tenderly, he reluctantly moved your hand and began unraveling your bandages. The sick feeling twisted in your stomach again, years of torment conditioning you to lurch away. You might've, if it wasn't for the chaste, reassuring kisses Leander placed on every unwrapped knuckle as they came into view.

Shivering, you let him unwrap the layers on your other hand, too, careful not to let your now-exposed hand touch him. There was comfort in the certainty he tried to give you, but you couldn't let your walls fall down completely. The least you had to do was make sure he knew when you would be touching him. For absolute safety.

Noticing your reticence, Leander grinned at you and went to kiss your palm. He stopped, however, brow furrowing. A pit suddenly ripped open in your stomach, terror and regret and bile threatening to come out of your throat.

"What is this?" He asked, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Not cursed. Hesitantly, you pulled your hand away and inspected it with a scrutinizing squint. Although it took a moment, you finally saw what he was talking about: a faint scar, lighter than the rest of your skin, running from the base of your middle finger to the center of your palm.

"I…don't know," you answered honestly. It could've been anything: when you tripped over an unruly pile of junk and caught yourself on the rough cobblestone, when you were inspecting a wildflower and were surprised by its thorns, or maybe you caught your skin on the unfinished headboard of your bed while you were asleep. You didn't remember having to replace torn bandages, but you were beginning to obsessively wrap them multiple times a day, now that you were in close contact with so many people.

Not liking your answer, Leander grabbed your hand and inspected it again. The tug was rough, much more forceful than he needed to be, and you winced in shock rather than pain.

After he glared at your hand for a few more seconds, he finally softened. "Ah, forgive me for my intensity. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be brought to harm by anything."

"It's really not that bad," you tried to argue, but already you could feel the heady fog of desire clouding your brain.

"You don't have to protect anybody, you know?" He finally placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your palm like he originally planned, right in the center of the scar. "Let someone take care of you. Let me take care of you."

Ais

[ GUIDE ]: in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

Taverns were hardly a place of discomfort for you, especially considering how you now lived in one. Even if they were loud and too crowded for your liking, you didn't despise them. What you did hate was being thrown into intimidating uncharted waters in the middle of an already taxing night.

The tavern before you wasn't anything like the open and well-lit Wet Wick. The solid wood door just looked heavy, fitting so snugly in its frame that next to no light filtered out through the bottom. All the windows were tinted - or so dirty that no light could get through - and the walls were accented in red splotches that could have been blood just as easily as they could've been paint. The sign hung by one side of its chain attachments, the words so weathered and faded they were illegible. If not for the occasional noise from inside that was more roar than laugh, you would've assumed the building had been abandoned for years.

"What is this place?" You asked uncertainly.

"Tavern," Ais answered, grinning. When you gave him a withering look, he added, "Go to the Wet Wick when you want a drink. Go here when you want to get drunk."

Without answering your question, Ais stepped up and opened the door for you. You muttered something spiteful about how gentlemanly he was, pulled up the hood of your cloak, and stepped into the tavern.

Your eyes took a while to adjust to the low light. You could hear Ais step in behind you and the door slamming shut, shutting you in like the mouth of a cave after a collapse. Vague shadows, big and hulking and some inhuman, turned their attention towards you, some of the raucous merrymaking dying down to a curious din. In the narrow entryway, Ais only had enough room to stand directly behind you, his warmth permeating to your back even through your heavy cloak. While you darted your eyes around warily, Ais laughed, deep and right next to your ear.

"The hood makes you even more suspicious, sparrow," he advised. When you immediately tensed, he laughed again and pulled your hood down for you. "Look around. They're not going to hurt you."

"What?" you hissed through your teeth. "How can you be so sure?"

Ais only responded with a sweeping gesture. Hesitantly, you followed the movement with your eyes and surveyed the room again. Most of the patrons had lost interest in your arrival, their eyes no longer on you. Still, nearly every pair you came across were bright red, almost glowing and exactly like Ais'. The few monsters in the tavern were less imposing than you thought: most were largely human like Ais and only had stray tails or extra eyes to mark their otherness. Out of the rest of the patrons, though, some had gaping injuries, clear displays of what had been so dreadful they found it worth trading their sanity for peace.

"She's over there," Ais suddenly said, pointing to a booth in the corner. In your excitement, you had almost forgotten that you were here to follow a lead on a curse similar to yours. Still, you found yourself glued to your spot. Even if you weren't in danger, you could tell you weren't welcome, either.

Something warm pressed firmly against your lower back, prodding you forward. You gasped, twisting around to see Ais staring back at you flatly and his hand on your back. He guided you forward, expertly maneuvering you so that you avoided colliding with the aimlessly swaying bodies around you. You allowed him to push you forward, focusing your attention instead on suppressing the tingling-warm fluster climbing up your face.

Out of nowhere, a buff monster collided with you. You stumbled to the side, sucking in a breath through your teeth. They had stepped on your foot, much denser than the average human. Ais straightened you out carefully, glaring at the monster until they mumbled a meaningless apology and stalled away.

"You good?" He asked quietly, hands on your shoulders and breath tickling your ear. You nodded.

"I can take a little shove."

"Good, 'cause these folks would eat you alive if you couldn't." Then he resumed pushing you forward, careful not to let a single soul touch you or your clothes.

Mhin

[ HAIR ]: sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

“Do you just walk around with your brain entirely shut off?”

Mhin was practically dragging you along the darkened streets of Lowtown, their grip firm on your upper arm. Trying to wrench your arm free, you wound up staggering behind them, tripping clumsily over the noisy and thick soles of your shoes.

“I’m sorry,” you responded, more exasperated than remorseful. In the dark, while preoccupied with Mhin's aggressive attitude, you couldn't pay much attention to the ground beneath your feet. The uneven cobblestone had yet to become familiar, the bottoms of your shoes catching on a raised stone or slipping on loose pebbles.

Mhin veered to the side suddenly and wordlessly, leading to you tripping over a large pile of trash. You yelped, flailing out your arms with enough strength that they finally released you. Huffing all the while, you patted yourself down, brushing stray dirt off of your clothes and hoping nothing untoward had cakes itself on your boot.

"If you don't shut up, another soulless will come for you and I won't waste my energy doing anything about it," Their silhouette shifted in the dark as they crossed their arms. You suppressed a growl deep in your chest.

"Then why don't you just let it?" You asked, voice thin and serrated.

"Well- I wasn't helping you! I was just doing work. If anything, you were in my way."

Mhin didn't speak much, but sometimes, they had lots to say when they were chewing you out. You gritted your teeth, already worn out from this charade. "You don't wanna help me? Fine. I can find my way back without you. Go collect your pay or whatever and leave me alone."

A beat passed before Mhin spat back at you. "Fine."

They practically stomped away, footsteps much heavier and a bit slower than usual. Normally they could slip out of eyesight without you even noticing, but now they were lingering. Part of you wanted to stay angry with them, but another part was uninterested in potentially burning bridges over something inconsequential. With a curse beneath your breath, you followed after them.

"Mhin," you called, but they didn't turn around. They might've tensed, but it was difficult to see in the dark. You tried again. "Mhin!"

Still nothing. Sighing, you sped up your pursuit, nearly catching up to them beneath the light of one of the street lanterns. The lights were far too spread out to be of any use against monsters, but finding yourself in the focus of the yellow warmth was comforting enough for you to raise your voice again. "Hey, could you listen to me when I'm talking to you?"

"You-" Mhin whirled around, their temper so hot that, for a moment, the red in their eyes seemed to glow. Instinctively you flinched back, tugging your cloak around your shoulders as if it was a coat of armor. Their snarl melted away, leaving them to stare blankly at you for a moment. You wondered what was going through their mind when you couldn’t see a smart remark ready to tumble off their tongue.

With their stone eyes on you, a warmth started climbing up your entire body and settling at your cheeks. Their gaze wavered slightly, no longer piercing and sharp. Instead, they watched as you shrunk back into your cloak like it could save you. Heaving a harsh, heavy sigh, they closed the distance between you, fully intending on shaking you by the shoulders. Their body had a mind of its own, though, and they found themselves reaching a hand up to carefully stroke your hairline, drawing a tender line from temple to chin. You gulped; their eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid of me?”

You laughed humorlessly. “I am not.”

Roughly, they grabbed your chin and forced you to bend so you’d be closer to eye level. They wanted to bite back, say something about your attitude around someone who killed a soulless that almost killed you, but it finally registered how warm your skin was beneath theirs. This wasn’t that usual warmth that made them shiver with a thrill - it was much more intense. It wasn’t until their own face began to heat up that they realized exactly what they were feeling.

Sputtering for a moment, they let go of your face and jumped backwards in the way of a startled cat. Mhin huffed as they straightened out non-existant wrinkles in their clothing, finishing by pulling their hood over their head. “You are far too reckless for your own good.”

Without waiting for you to gather your wits, they turned on their heel and hurriedly stalked away. Once in the shadows, they spared a final, passing glance at your frozen form, needing to fight the urge to reach out for you once more.

Vere

[ CLOSE ]: while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

You sometimes wondered what Vere was doing, hanging around the Wet Wick after spending cumulative hours complaining about the drinks, the ambience, the crowd, the presence of Leander…

Usually, you could see him sitting beside Ais, able to use that singular presence as excuse enough to stay. But tonight he was alone when you walked into the crowded tavern, swirling a glass with a bored expression on his face. You weren’t exactly looking to spend the night with him, but before you even had time to decide if you’d spare a polite greeting or try to duck up to your room, one of Vere’s ears twitched and he easily turned his head your way. His expression barely changed - Vere didn't do the chasing unless he was looking to kill - until you started to make your way towards him. Then he grinned, fangs sharp and on display.

Wordlessly, you followed his invitation, stopping just short of the stool beside him. Perched upon his own seat, Vere could look down his nose at you, tail swishing lazily behind him and nearly knocking a glass off the bar. The smug pull of his lips and draw of his brows made your own stomach twist with something warm and heavy.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Vere patted the empty stool lightly, as if you couldn't tell exactly what his invitation was. You shook your head.

"What do you want, Vere?" There was none of the intended malice or fatigue in your voice, and Vere seemed undeterred by your frosty demeanor. Instead, he twisted his arm behind himself and presented a glass of red wine, held between your bodies like a peace offering.

"Don't tell me you're making me drink by myself. That's a little pathetic, don't you think?"

"Are you telling me you were sitting here looking pathetic before I came along?" Tentatively, you took the glass and eyed it suspiciously. In the corners of your vision, you spotted bright green eyes glowering in your direction. Leander was staring at Vere and the drink in your hand as if it had personally offended him. When he realized you were watching him, he instantly brightened up and nodded, as if to say 'that one's okay.' Content that Vere hadn't slipped you anything, you sighed and took a sip.

Vere's gaze slid cooly in the direction you were staring, his smile crumbling into a grimace when he saw who was watching you. When Vere was happy, his fangs looked enticing, but seeing them when he was angry only reminded you that they were made to rip out throats, not just nibble. He jumped down from his stool then, guiding you to the opposite end of the room to put as many bodies between you and Leander as possible.

"Waiting for a friend and getting wasted on your own are two entirely different things," Vere muttered in your ear. His hand tightened on the fabric of your cloak, sharp fingernails like claws ghosting over your back. You couldn't quite tell what his intentions were with you; it seemed that he was bored, and you were merely his favorite plaything.

Trying to get a read on him, you studied Vere from the corner of your eye. His ears were relaxed, his eyes bright and alert, his tail languidly flicking side to side. Your eyes followed the line of his neck, the curl of his hair, down his slim torso and to his long stretch of leg. Your eyes stopped for a moment on that swath of exposed thigh, noticing the way all of his straps and garters pressed gently into his skin. Slowly, your eyes fell all the way to the ground and back up, lingering at his lips, his fangs, that damned grin. Somehow, your cursory glance turned into an ogling session.

When your eyes finally settled on his again, it was clear that Vere realized way before you.

Rather than pull away like your instincts screamed to do, you narrowed your eyes and held his gaze. Pleased, you briefly saw the corners of his lips quirk as he laughed. Two slender fingers trailed your jawline before the pads of them pressed into your chin, forcing your head to tilt back just a bit. He leaned in teasingly, tauntingly, testing the waters to see just how far you'd let him go. This wasn't what you wanted - was it? - but you refused to let your eyes leave his face for even a second, even though you should have known better.

After all, if you play a game of chicken against a fox, you're sure to be devoured.

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Steve and Chrissy as two internet-famous chefs/bakers, Steve with a channel focusing on (not always) easy homemade and nutritious meals, Chrissy with a baking channel full of body positivity to spite her mom.

They both get invited to something like Phoning It In from the Try Guys - a baking/cooking competition where they have to guide the actual chefs only through a pay phone. As the TG's show says: "the mind of a chef paired with the hands of an idiot". And the idiots in question are their best friends - Robin and Eddie. Which shouldn't be that bad, but then...they actually have to swap them. And they can't tell them what they're making.

It's a holiday episode so the theme is gingerbread.

Steve is slumped in the phone booth, sometimes covering the receiver and asking Chrisy why, why would her best friend refuse to measure ingredients in anything more precise than "a bit", "a bit more", "kinda enough", "oooh might be a bit too much" and "a fuckton".

Chrissy tries very hard to explain to Robin that artistic expression is an amazing thing, but hot sauce and gingerbread might be too artistic for the judges. Robin disagrees. Chrissy pleads with her and eventually talks Robin into just including some chilli flakes in her batter and not the hot sauce as a topping.

Eddie spends half of the prep time complaining to Steve that a gingerbread house is lame, it should have been a gingerbread castle. Robin agrees.

Robin deciding to give her tiny gingerbread men flannel shirts and spending way too much on decorating them. She runs out of time very soon and just writes "THIS IS FLANEL" into a shirt-shaped blob.

Steve and Eddie shamelessly flirting despite having never met each other and then threatening violence in equal measure to get the other one do what they want. "I bet your eyes are more beautiful than the entire sky full of stars Stevie, also I might have dropped one extra spoon of spices into the gloopy thingy and I don't want to get my hands more dirty than they are so I'll just leave it in-" "Eds, you vile seductress, your voice could charm many a seaman but if you don't get that spicy glob out of the batter I swear I will shave your head."

Robin somehow going from following the instructions into a full rambling mode and before they know it, she's just cutting hipster-shaped gingerbread flanelmen and telling Chrissy nearly her full life story, basically turning the prep into a therapy session. Chrissy listens and nods and just sometimes interjects with "people can be such jerks just because you're different, can you just quickly check that the temperature is still the same? Thank you Robs, now back to that asshole in your uni class-"

In the end, they finally meet at the judging table and present their work, bullshitting their way through explanations of many choices that were made (because the two actual chefs are not permitted to speak, only the great minds).

Steve almost sobs when he sees piped (and very melted) bats on toothpicks around the gingerbread castle, because of course Eddie made a castle. "I meant for that to happen, for the shock value" he announces when one of the bats starts a domino effect and knocks down the rest.

Chrissy's smile gets a little bit stiff when she sees attempted man buns on the gingerbread men's heads - ones which have unfortunately melted and they now have flowing ponytails. Slightly burned.

Steve confidently claims that the reason why his gingerbread house is black and has spires is because his little brother adores Dungeons and Dragons and he wanted to give him a cool prop for the final encounter with the big evil. When the castle crumbles because Eddie didn't bake it long enough, Steve just dramatically stands up and announces that the evil warlock has been defeated. Eddie almost faints behind the screen and unceremoniously asks Robin if that gem of a man is taken.

Chrissy explains how the gingerbread men are wearing flanel in honor of her best friend's uncle who is the flanel overlord. When the judges bite into the figures and taste the chilli flakes, Chrissy earnestly tells them that Eddie's uncle is a man with hidden depths and spicy personality (Eddie chokes on his own tongue at that) and Robin was kind enough to reflect that.

In the end, it doesn't matter who won. Eddie asks Steve (after he tastes the gingerbread bat, gingerbat) if he's still about to shave his head and Steve says it would be a shame, but he can make it up to him by inviting him for coffee. Robin awkwardly thanks Chrissy for listening to her and Chrissy admits she loved her rambling, that she hates it when it's quiet.

It all ends well (except for the gingerbread).

#steddie #buckingham #steddie au #buckingham au #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley

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cometkenji · 1 month

Text

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves - I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet.

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach. Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good.

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask.

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis.

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.”

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist.

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents.

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out.

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?”

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.”

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it.

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up.

No, it wasn’t.

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room.

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.”

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job.

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost.

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder.

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.”

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.”

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

–

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling.

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed.

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team.

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.”

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.”

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.”

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief.

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human.

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours.

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place.

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’m Matthew.”

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area.

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink.

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.”

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.”

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed.

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored.

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.”

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.”

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core.

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke.

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.”

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately.

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless.

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden.

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

“He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past.

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.”

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes.

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought.

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive.

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own.

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car.

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car.

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to.

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you.

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels.

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

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