#but also I don't want this series to be over so soon
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I've let this wolf into my home (I feed it even when it bites)
Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here
pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)
length: 1.5k
genre: fluff ??
warnings: you don't know red robin and timmy are the same person but he sure knows you, he's also so so awkward but he can't help it
a/n: alright alright alright here we go <3
The jingle of the coffee shop door opening startles you, your head snapping up from where you're sitting, slouched over in the corner. It's a 24-hour shop, yes, but who else would really be here at 3am? The barista behind the counter looks just as surprised, blinking rapidly and looking at the person who came in.
You, on the other hand, opt not to, sighing and looking back down at your table, instead. The coffee in your to-go cup is still hot, burning your fingers as you shift them over the label. It's bright, a cartoonish sort of thing that grins up at you like an old friend you should be happier to see. You've been getting this coffee for years. You're never quite as happy as you should be.
The chair opposite you makes a horrible sort of sound as it's pulled out and you look up to see who's sitting across from you. You purse your lips in annoyance while he just looks at you.
"All the other tables have just been cleaned. They're wet," he points out. You let your eyes flit around the cafe, the tabletops shining wetly in the dull glow of the lights, the disinfectant bottle still sitting abandoned on one of them.
"Lucky me," you bite back, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet - too sweet, but not enough to cover the bitterness of the burnt grounds. You always think that if you pile enough sugar into it, it'll mask what's wrong. You're never right.
The man sitting opposite you takes a sip of his own - he left it black, you notice. He grimaces slightly at the taste, but keeps drinking anyway. There's no effort there to pretend it's anything other than what it is - burnt, cheap coffee sold to him in a cafe full of ghosts, in a city that should be sleeping but never really does. It's interesting, you think, as you look out the window and into the dark street. You'd almost managed to convince yourself that you were really alone - that there was no one else in this world except you, until he walked in and broke the reverie of your 3am silence.
For what it's worth, Tim regretted it as soon as he'd walked in. He hadn't meant to stay, really - ending up in a part of Gotham he didn't often find himself in, in his civvies and in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee and a long sleep, he'd stumbled across the flickering, neon sign of a 24-hour coffee shop.
What good luck, he'd thought. Now, sitting across from you, there's a desperate little part of him that thinks maybe it wasn't just that - maybe it was intuition that drew him here. You don't know who he is, of course, all your previous meetings happening in the shadows of your home with his face hidden from you. Tim shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how naked he feels, exposed to your wandering eyes.
And you do let your eyes wander, narrowing them suspiciously as you take him in. Tim feels a pang of guilt that surprises him when he thinks that this is probably how you've always felt with him - like a lamb with a wolf at your door. As you lean back in your chair, swirling your coffee and letting your gaze trail away from him and towards the window, he feels his shoulders drop in relief. He's not the only wolf in your living room late at night, he realizes. You've got teeth of your own that he'd just never noticed.
You're good at this, Tim thinks with a start - you've got a foot propped up on the window sill next to you, your head resting in your hand as you watch the street outside idly. Or, at least, it's supposed to look like that. He thinks that if he were anyone normal, he would believe it. But Tim has spent enough time as prey to know when someone's pretending to let their guard down.
He looks away from you almost forcefully, staring down at his cup and running his tongue over his teeth as he thinks of the burnt taste of it. He wonders if you were smart enough to put sugar in yours - wise enough to bury the bitterness with something nicer. It's something he always thinks he should do. He can never quite make himself.
"I'm sure those other tables are dry now." Your voice makes him flinch, a hard, forceful thing that cuts through the silence of the night that's blanketed the two of you. Tim looks around at the dull, streaky tabletops and shrugs.
"I'm already comfortable here," he offers. You cock your head to the side and look at him, but make no move to fight him on it. He thinks it's probably stupid of him, inviting a lion into his home like this. He wonders if you feel the same way every time he slides in through your balcony door.
There's a silence that, once more, overtakes the two of you as he shifts in his seat. Tim wonders if he should drink faster, if he should pretend to be finished so that he can leave. It's funny, he thinks, how he finally felt like he'd stopped running away when he started running into you. It's funny that, now, he's itching for it, his hands gripping his cup in an attempt to still his heart - his need to escape.
You look back at him just in time to see him squeeze a little too hard, the cheap plastic lid popping off and hot coffee sloshing a bit over his hands. A mild, bemused sort of look crosses your face as you watch him curse and splutter as the coffee burns his hands and spills onto the table. Then, without a word, you stand up and begin to walk away.
Tim, in the meantime, is rubbing his hands against his jeans, his eyes squeezed shut in mortification as he wonders how he ruined it all so quickly. Not for the first time, he wishes he was in the mask - thinks maybe the only way to hold onto you is to make sure that's all you ever see. But then your cup scrapes across the table and he opens his eyes to see you sitting opposite him again, sipping idly and watching. There's a stack of napkins that he swore wasn't there before and - oh.
"Thanks," is all he can make himself say as he grabs them, cleaning up the mess he's made. As he goes to pop the lid back onto his cup, he looks at the dark liquid inside and grimaces, deciding that maybe it's not worth it.
"It's shit coffee," you say, and he slams his hand against the table, crushing the plastic lid in the process. Truly, he's not sure if he's ever acted this nervous before. You pay it no mind. He thinks maybe he could take off his mask, just this once, and reaches up to his face in time to remember that he's already exposed to you. "You're better off finding something else… or just going somewhere else." Tim smiles, then, a charming sort of thing that has you narrowing your eyes.
"I dunno,' he says. "There's something I like about right here." You glance down at your own cup, at the label that you've picked and peeled off until it's unrecognizable, the colours torn and cracked.
"There's nothing good about right here. And things like that don't change." Tim looks at you for a long moment after you speak, letting the words tumble around his head before he stands, taking his cup and squished lid and pile of wet napkins with him.
"Well, I've never been big on change, anyway," is all he says as he walks away, dumping everything in the bin and letting the bell on the door jingle as he walks out. Looking back down to the table, you notice the card he's left behind - the Wayne Ent. logo flashing behind his name. Flipping it over, his number's been written in a hasty scrawl.
As you thumb a corner of the card, you wonder when he'd slipped it onto the table - when he'd written on it. Mostly, you wonder what kind of person he'd have to be to do it without you noticing. You trace the numbers with your finger and think that something, far in the back of your mind, is telling you that there's a familiarity about it all.
But what's familiar about seeing someone in a place where you never should? What's normal about that man, appearing like a ghost in the night and disappearing just as fast? As you pull out your phone to add his number to your contacts, there's a part of you that thinks maybe you should run away - that maybe you're not the only thing stalking the streets of Gotham this late.
#smsn.writes#tim drake#tim drake x reader#tim drake x you#tim drake x y/n#tim drake fluff#tim drake imagine#tim drake fanfiction#tim drake fic#red robin#red robin x reader#red robin x you#red robin x y/n#red robin imagine#red robin fluff#red robin tim drake#tim drake wayne
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Bloody Beetle | Part Ten
Summary: buckle up folks, it's the final showdown
Pairing: Steven x reader, Marc x reader, Harrow x reader, Layla x reader
Word Count: 5.6k
Warnings: fighting, deaths...
A/N: as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)
Part Nine | Series Masterlist
- - - - -
Layla’s POV
She wants to stop you from surrendering yourself, she knows it’s dangerous.
But she also knows neither of you have time to think of another plan.
As soon as you step out from behind the wall she wastes no time in sneaking over to where Osiris’ avatar is and pulls him to safety.
“Hey! hey, hey…” She says as she tries to keep him upright and conscious. “How do we stop Ammit?!”
“This chamber is our most powerful place.” He wheezes. “From here we need to imprision Ammit in a mortal form.”
“A body instead of a statue. She’d be vulnerable… okay, how do we do it?”
“We need more avatars than we have left…” he says before collapsing to the ground.
“No, no no!” Layla tries to wake him, but when she checks his pulse she realises he’s gone. She thinks for a moment, pondering her options. Reluctantly she summons Taweret and agrees to be her temporary avatar.
“I am so thrilled! We are gonna have so much fun together.” Taweret says excitedly. “I have a fabulous costume in mind.”
The sound of Harrow’s shout bounces off the walls, getting Layla’s attention. She peers around to watch.
Harrow is stood in front of you protectively, talking to Ammit. Almost pleading with her.
“What could she possibly do in the future that is so bad that she deserves this?”
“She will be the one to kill you.”
Ammit’s reply sends the room silent. A few disciples spare glances at each other but no one dares make a sound. Layla notices the heartbreak on Harrow’s face.
She watches as you try to stand, try to reason with Harrow, convince him Ammit is lying.
She watches as Harrow turns to you, and reaches out to help you up from the floor.
She watches as he drives a dagger deep into your stomach and she has to fight with herself not to run over and kill Harrow herself. She knows with Ammit behind him he is too powerful for her to fight alone.
She watches as everyone just steps over you, leaving you to die. Not a single one of them even pausing for a moment to consider helping you.
As soon as they’re out she runs to you, calling your name. You manage to roll over and look at her and she sees the moment the last bit of life leaves you. Your body going still, eyes glassing over as you lay limp on the ground. She crouches next to you, checking and double checking for a pulse. Begging you to wake up, to not leave her alone.
But that’s what she is now… Alone…
Marc is dead. You are dead. Without anyone to help her, she’s sure she will be next.
— — — —
Y/N’s POV
“Where am I?” You ask aloud, glancing at the bright white nothingness around you. “Steven? Marc? Anyone?”
“Y/N Y/L/N.” A voice calls from everywhere at once.
“Hello?” You respond.
“I am Osiris, god of the underworld.”
“…okay…”
“I have granted you resurrection but I ask something of you in return… Become my avatar.”
“Uh, look I don't think I'm really the person to be asking. I don't know how to be an avatar, I don't even really know what it means… I just know that Marc said it’s bad. Like being a slave? And I really don't want that-”
“You won’t be a slave, you will be powerful.”
“I’m sorry, but my answer is no. And if that means you have to send me back to the Duat then… I accept my fate.”
“I admire your honesty and bravery Y/N. But we need more avatars than we have left if we are to defeat Ammit.” Osiris speaks calm but firm. “Take the powers that come with being my avatar, use them to defeat Ammit and when the job is done I will take them back from you. I will expect nothing more from you. You may continue to live your life free from any burden.”
“So just like, a temporary deal? Right?”
“Yes.”
“And once Ammit is dealt with, I can just be normal again?”
“Yes.” Osiris pauses. “Do you accept?”
“I do.”
— — — —
You gasp as you sit bolt upright on the cold stone floor of the pyramid, making Layla jump.
“Y/N?!” She says, grabbing your arms to ground you as you flail around in a panic. “I got, I got you.”
You take deep breaths, clutching your hands to your stomach. You lift your shirt and watch in shock as the wound from the dagger closes itself, leaving you fully healed. Any weakness left from Harrow’s staff is gone too. You feel amazing.
“What… what just happened?” Layla says, wiping tears from her face and staring at your stomach. She helps you up off the floor. “You were dead!”
“Osiris healed me.” You say, in shock yourself. Then you notice Layla’s outfit. Her mundane clothes from before gone, replaced with a gold and white Egyptian armour. “What are you wearing?”
“Taweret chose it.” She says before explaining how she agreed to be her temporary avatar. You in turn explained the deal Osiris offered you.
“Well, you look badass.” You say and she laughs. “Wait, if I’m an avatar too now, does that mean I get a costume too?”
A bright light swirls around you and when it disappears you’ve changed. No more blood soaked clothes. Instead you're wearing green armour, similar to Layla’s, with white and gold fabric wrapped around your body. Attached to your back is a long golden staff with a hooked end.
You look down at your clothes in amazement, then up at Layla. The two of you look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. You don't really know why you're laughing, but after the stress of the last few days it feels like a welcome break.
“So, what do we do now?” You says once you composed yourself. Layla sighs, shaking her head.
“I guess, we try to save the world.”
— — — —
The two of you head outside. To your surprise the sky is as dark as night, even though you're pretty sure it’s still daytime. The sky is filled with purple lights, flying up from across the city and towards the other side of the pyramid where Ammit is.
“She’s consuming souls.” Layla says as you watch horrified. The more lights she swallows the bigger she grows. She’s already almost the same size as the pyramid.
“How are we supposed to stop her?!” You ask, looking around frantically. You look up at the top of the pyramid. Harrow is up there, a purple glowing light surrounds him as he chants in a language you don't recognise.
Before you can say anything, someone flies up to the pyramid and begins to fight Harrow. You recognise the person to be the same as the action figure you found in the museum, dressed head toe in white.
“Who is that?” You ask Layla, turning her attention to the scene on the pyramid.
“Marc?” She gasps before turning to you. “Did Osiris resurrect him too?”
“I- I don't know. Maybe? I didn’t see him after we made it through the gates-”
You stop talking suddenly when you notice Khonshu appear next to Ammit. He goes to hit her with his staff but she reaches out a scaly hand and stops him. They begin to fight as Harrow and Marc fly though the air toward the town, still fighting each other. Khonshu manages to knock Ammit over and she comes crashing down near near you. The force of her slamming into the pyramid sends a cloud of dust and sand over you and Layla.
“Little bugs.” Khonshu says when he notices he almost flattened the two of you. “Go! Help Marc.”
Layla rolls her eyes at him as she wipes dust from her clothes before turning to you and nodding. You run away from the pyramid in the direction that Marc and Harrow had gone.
The streets are chaos. Everywhere you look Ammit’s disciples are grabbing people, judging their scales. You watch as Bobbi grabs someone. They begin to shake then fall to the floor as a purple light emerges from them and flies up into the sky. Those who aren’t distracted staring at the dark sky are running, screaming, from the disciples. As you begin fighting off disciples you notice Marc laying on the ground on the other side of the town square, Harrow stood over him with his cane pointed down at him. It starts to glow purple.
Layla swoops in just in time and knocks Harrow away. He fires purple light from his cane at Layla, but she reflects it with the golden armoured wings attached to her arms and it bounces back at Harrow. It sends him flying backwards into a crowd of people.
You knock out the guy you're fighting and run over to Marc. His face now uncovered and he spots you over Layla’s shoulder as he’s hugging her. As you get closer his clothes change to a white three piece suit.
“Y/N!” Steven’s voice calls happily as he hugs you tightly. His hand finds the crook attached to your back. “Oh my God, that- that’s Osiris’ crook! Oh that’s bloody brilliant that! Wow!”
“Steven I know this is a massive deal for you but we have to stop Harrow.” You say, smiling at him.
“Right yeah, sorry you just- you look amazing!” He smiles, turning to Layla. “You both do.”
You hear a scream and turn to see a woman with two young children being cornered by a group of disciples.
“I’ll go. You two get Harrow.” You say and Steven places a kiss on your cheek before he and Layla run into the crowd and begin fighting.
You run the other way, grabbing the crook and using it to pull the first bad guy away. You swing him round and send him crashing into the side of a nearby building. The others turn on you, but you effortlessly manage to dodge their attacks and one by one knock them all out. You help the mother and her children find somewhere safe to hide before turning your attention back to the others just in time to see Harrow fighting Marc.
“You need only remove one weed from the garden. You!” He says, purple light blasting from his cane at Marc.
Marc grabs one of his crescent moon shaped blades but Harrow uses the power from his cane to control Marc’s hand. Layla runs toward them but Harrow sends the blade flying at her and it pins her arm to the side of the truck, before sending a huge blast of power at Marc, forcing him down on his back. On a building above them you see Ammit has also overpowered Khonshu, pinning him down with his own staff.
Harrow advances towards Marc and you run, throwing yourself in between them.
“STOP!” You shout and Harrow looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost.
“Y/N..?” He says breathlessly. “You’re-”
“Alive? Yeah, I was surprised too.” You say sarcastically. “Why are you doing this? You told me you wanted to stop her!”
“That was before…”
“Before what?”
“Before I knew you would betray me!” He shouts, hitting you with a flash of power from his cane. It knocks you flying out of the way, rolling across the dusty ground. You feel like the wind has been knocked from you as you lay on the ground trying to get your breath back. Harrow advances on Marc again, raising his cane and slamming it into his chest. Purple light streams up through the cane, killing him slowly.
“NO!” You scream, scrambling to try to get up but a heavy boot comes down on your back. Bobbi stands over you, keeping you down, forcing you to watch. You look over at Layla, she’s surrounded by disciples, using her golden armoured wings to deflect the bullets being fired at her.
Marc turns his head to look at you before his eyes turn white.
You can’t really describe what happened next. Something takes over Marc and sends him into a killing frenzy. He’s unstoppable as he takes on multiple disciples at once, slaughtering each one without breaking a sweat. He turns to you and you feel Bobbi remove her foot from your back. She backs away but Marc throws a blade at her and it lodges itself in her forehead, killing her instantly. He locks eyes with you and you don't recognise him at all. That’s not Marc anymore, and it definitely isn’t Steven. He winks at you before taking on Harrow. It doesn’t take long for him to overpower him. Its only as he’s about to kill him that he freezes, his posture changing. He drops Harrow’s unconscious body and looks around in horror at the war zone around him.
“That wasn’t you, was it Steven?” He says and his suit changes. “Not a chance mate.”
He looks at you and you get up, dusting yourself down as you make your way over to him.
“Are you alright?” He asks, placing his hands on your face and checking you over.
“I’m fine, I’m more worried about you.” You reply.
“Marc?” Layla calls, freeing herself from where Harrow had trapped her. Steven changes back to Marc. “What the hell was that?”
“I blacked out.” He says. He looks genuinely worried.
A rumbling from the building next to you draws your attention to Ammit dragging Khonshu away.
“Get Harrow!” Layla says “I know how to stop Ammit.”
— — — —
Marc carries Harrow and you both follow Layla back to the tomb in the pyramid. Once inside Marc throws Harrow down on one of the stones.
“The power of the room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow’s body.” Layla explains. “Quick grab my hand so we can start the spell.”
Marc takes Layla’s hand and you take Marc’s. The three of you start chanting the spell in an ancient language, the words must be given to you by the gods because you have no idea what you're actually saying. A circle of light fills the tomb, surrounding the three of you and Harrow. Purple light descends down into Harrow’s body as the spell works. Harrow gasps awake, his wild eyes looking at the three of you.
“You can never contain me!” Ammit speaks through him. “I’ll never stop!”
“Do the honours, little bug.” Khonshu appears next to you and hands you the same dagger Harrow had earlier used to kill you. “Finish it! Leave neither of them alive.”
You look at the dagger, still stained with your own blood and feel anger boil inside you. You step up to Harrow, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him up to face you. His bright blue eyes stare into your own.
“Do it.” He croaks. He looks utterly defeated, ready to accept his fate.
You lift the dagger high, ready to plunge. Then you hear Ammit’s words from earlier.
‘She will be the one to kill you.’
You hesitate, thinking over those words. If you kill him now that means she was right about you.
“While he lives, so does she.” Khonshu’s words ring in your ears.
While Harrow lives, so does Ammit. Trapped in a mortal body.
“I said I wouldn’t kill you and I meant it.” You drop Harrow back down on the stone and throw the dagger to the floor. “There are worse fates than death.”
You turn your back and walk away.
“Weak little bug.” Khonshu mocks but you ignore him.
Layla takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I have to finish this.” Marc says suddenly, taking one of his blades and readying himself to stab Harrow. “If not I’ll never be free.”
“Marc!” Layla shouts. “You have a choice. You are free!”
“The choice is vengeance! We cannot take the chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”
“Now you sound just like her.” Marc says, throwing his blade away. “You want them dead, do it yourself. Now release us!”
“As you wish.” Khonshu says before disappearing.
Marc’s suit starts to disappear, a bright white light shines out of his chest and fills the room. For a moment you’re blinded, and when the light fades you find Marc on his knees. His normal clothes have returned. You and Layla go to him, crouching beside him.
“Marc? Are you okay?” Layla asks, full of concern. He looks at her and nods.
“He’s gone.” He smiles. “Thank you for stopping me.”
“What do we with him?” You ask, looking over at Harrow still laying on the stone.
“Lock him up.” Marc replies. “He’s killed so many people there’s no chance he’ll never ever be released. He’ll be locked away until the day he dies. And then Ammit will be gone too.”
You can hear Harrow incoherently babbling away to himself, and you feel a sort of sadness creep in.
“You did the right thing Y/N.” Layla says, noticing the frown on your face.
“Then why do I feel so… weird?”
“Love…” Steven’s voice instantly makes you feel a bit calmer and he places his hands gently on your face, forcing you to look away from Harrow. “Hey, look at me… You died today. And then you came back. And then you helped save the world from a giant crocodile lady.” He says making you laugh. “That’s a lot to take in. You're allowed to feel weird. In fact I’d be worried if you felt normal after all that.”
“I know he did some really awful things but I- I almost kind of feel sorry for him. Is that wrong?” You admit and Steven smiles lovingly.
“That just proves even more that Ammit’s scales were wrong about you. You are a good person with a kind heart. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
He moves his hands to hold yours and you give him a small smile.
“Thank you.” You share a kiss, before remembering Layla is currently watching you kiss her ex husband. You pull away, giving her an awkward smile. “We should probably get going.”
“Yeah…” Steven laughs, picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. “Back to good old London town. Get this guy put away… behind bars… where he belongs…”
“Guys it’s fine.” Layla says, laughing at Steven’s awkward rambling. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Are you sure?” Marc’s voice again. He walks closer to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I know I wasn’t the best husband. You deserved so much more.”
“It’s okay Marc, honestly. We’re better as friends.” She smiles a genuine smile at him. “Besides, I’ve decided I’m staying here in Egypt.”
“What?” You say, moving to join them. “You’re not coming with us?”
“While we were fighting out there, a young girl asked me if I was an Egyptian superhero and it made me realise, we didn’t have anything like that. But now we do. I’m going to stay here and work with Taweret to give more young Egyptian girls someone to look up to.” She smiles. “Plus, England is too cold anyway.”
“You got that right.” You laugh as you give her a tight hug. “you are gonna be the most badass superhero ever. But I’m gonna miss you.”
“You too.” She says and turns to Marc. “Look after her, or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“Yes ma’am.”
— — — —
Some Time Later
You headed back to England with Marc and Steven taking turns to take the body. Though you knew Steven best, the more time you spent with Marc the more you enjoyed his company too.
Ammit’s presence in Harrow’s body meant he became more and more mentally unstable. He spent a lot of time rambling incoherently and occasionally Ammit would takeover, shouting about how she would escape and make everyone pay. Because of this, Harrow was admitted to Sienkiewicz Psychiatric Hospital in London.
A few days after Harrow was committed, you went to visit him. You don't know why, you just felt like you needed to be sure he was safely locked away. When the nurses first brought you to him, you almost didn’t recognise him. He was sat in a wheelchair, his ankles restrained to it. He looked lost, vulnerable. It made a part of you feel quite sad.
“Hi Arthur.” You say quietly. He looks up at you blankly.
“He’s on quite strong medication, so he may not talk very much.” The nurse explains and you nod. “I’ll just be on the other side of the room, shout if you need me.”
“Thanks.” You reply, watching her as she goes to sit with another patient on the far side of the room. You sit down at the table opposite Arthur. “How are you doing? Have you settled in here?” You ask but get no response. You start to feel awkward. You look around the room, trying to think of something to say. You glance down at the table and see paper with some lines painted randomly on it. “Did you paint that?” Harrow looks down at it and nods. “You enjoy painting?” He nods again. “How about we do some together.”
You grab two more pieces of paper, putting one in front go Harrow and the other in front of yourself, and you start to paint. Harrow joins in and the two of you sit quietly together making your own little pictures.
When your picture is done you show Harrow and he smiles at the simple flower you have painted. He shows you his, just a triangle.
“It’s good.” You smile.
“It’s a pyramid. Like the ones they have in Egypt.” He says, slowly sounding more like himself. “Have you ever been?”
“To Egypt?” You ask and he nods. “Yeah I’ve been, with you. You took me there, remember?”
He stares at you for a long moment, a flicker of something like hurt flashes on his face, and then he goes blank again. You try to make more conversation, but he doesn’t say much after that.
Not long after the nurse comes back and tells you visiting time is over. You slide your flower painting across the table to Harrow.
“You can keep this.” You say smiling. “Goodbye Arthur.”
You get up and start to walk away.
“Y/N!” He calls, making you stop and turn back. “I’m really sorry I killed you.”
You didn’t say anything back, you just nod at him as the nurse leads you out.
As you sign yourself out the nurse speaks to you.
“That is the most alert and talkative we’ve seen him since he arrived. You must be someone important to him.”
Her words replayed through your head for the rest of the day and that night as you sat down to eat dinner with Steven you told him about it.
“I’ve been thinking, I might go back and see him again.”
“Really?” Steven asks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“You didn’t see him today Steven, he’s different. The dangerous man that we knew is gone. Now he just seems so… lost. I guess a part of me feels responsible for that.”
“Love…” Steven sighs, putting down his food to fully concentrate on you. “Harrow is where he is now because of the things HE did. The choices HE made. You gave him plenty of chances, even after he murdered you!” He reaches across the table to hold your hands. “Listen, Marc wants me to tell you not to go but I know that will make you want to do it even more.” He says and you laugh, nodding. “If this is something you really want to do, if it makes you feel better, then I think you should do it. Just, please be careful.”
“I will.”
The following week you head back to the hospital and do some more painting with Arthur. It soon became a regular thing. The more you visited the more chatty he became. He started to tell you about life in hospital, sharing stories about the other patients and in turn you told him about your life. Although he initially looked hurt to find out you and Steven were now dating, ultimately he said he was happy to see you happy.
If you hadn’t known him before, you wouldn’t guess this was once the leader of a cult intent on releasing a dangerous Egyptian goddess into the world. You’d never guess how much damage he had caused just weeks ago. And you’d certainly never guess that dangerous Egyptian goddess was now trapped inside him. There were hints occasionally that Ammit was trying to take over, to shout abuse at you, but Harrow always made sure she couldn’t hurt you.
You didn’t talk about what happened in Egypt, you didn’t want to drag it all up again. He wasn’t the same person now anyway. And at least he’d apologised to you. Instead you chose to give him a fresh start, and just enjoy your weekly visits talking and painting with Arthur Harrow.
—
—
—
—
—
Epilogue
One morning you woke up to a voice in your head.
Osiris’ voice.
“The deal is done. I release you from your duty.”
“What?”
“Ammit had been defeated.”
“Yeah, but that was weeks ago.” You say, not understanding why he’s waited till now to talk to you. “We imprisoned her in Arthur Harrow’s body and they’re both locked up.”
“I release you from your duty.” He repeats and you feel a strange sensation move through your body. Then nothing.
“Osiris?” You call out, but no reply. “Well that was weird…”
“You alright love?” Steven asks as he comes into the bedroom and hands you a cup of coffee.
“Osiris just released me.” You say confused as Steven sits on the bed next to you.
“Well that’s a good thing innit?” He replies with a smile.
“Yeah, definitely. It’s just… why now? Why this exact moment instead of when we bound Ammit or when her and Harrow were first locked away? What’s so special about this morning?”
“Osiris is a busy guy, maybe he didn’t have time until now. Or maybe you're just thinking into it too much…”
“I just think it’s a bit odd that’s all.”
“That’s the gods for ya, all a bit odd. I don't think us humans are supposed to understand ‘em.”
“You’re probably right.” You say before taking a sip of your coffee. “Anyway, where did you disappear to this morning?”
“What do you mean?” Steven asks blankly.
“I woke up in the early hours and you were gone.”
“I don't remember going anywhere… Marc?” He shifts and Marc speaks “Don't look at me. I thought we were sleeping all night.”
“Do you need the restraints back on the bed?”
“Only if you want them back” Marc says flirtatiously, flashing you a mischievous grin. He shifts again and Steven comes back. “Oy, back off you.” He says to Marc before focusing on you. "I probably just went to get water and don't remember. Don't worry about it.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Right, I’ve gotta get to work, laters gators.”
“Laters.” You laugh, and blow him a kiss. He mimes catching it and putting it in his pocket before leaving.
You decide to put the Osiris thing out of your head. Steven’s right, there’s no point trying to understand the mind of a god. You finish your coffee before you get out of bed and get ready for the day.
In the afternoon you head to the hospital as usual, and are surprised to see police cars parked outside the building. As soon as you step inside the nurse you’ve become used to seeing comes over to you.
“Y/N, please come with me.” She says, leading you into a small side room with a police officer inside.
“Is everything alright?”
“Please take a seat.” The officer says and gestures to the chairs. You sit down in one, the nurse sits next to you.
“What’s going on?” You ask, getting nervous.
“Miss Y/L/N, earlier this morning someone came into the hospital, murdered three members of staff and left with Arthur Harrow.”
“What?! Who?”
“We don't know yet. The CCTV cameras were damaged. All we have is a few eye witnesses who say they saw a smartly dressed man wearing a flat cap wheeling Harrow out of the building.” The officer explains, and you feel your heart start to race. If Harrow is out then Ammit could escape. The nurse notices your breathing has picked up and reached over to hold your hand. “I’m sorry, I understand this must be distressing. Harrow is your friend, correct?”
“Uh… yeah…” you reply, trying to focus on what the officer is saying and not the panic running around your head.
“According to the sign in sheets you’re the only regular visitor he has. Do you have any idea of who could have done this? Or why they would have done this?”
You search your brain for any options. The only people who really know who he is are yourself, Marc, Steven and Layla. You definitely didn’t do it. Marc and Steven wouldn’t have done it, and you can’t imagine Layla would have. You realise the officer is still looking at you for an answer.
“No, no sorry. I- I don't think he has anyone else.”
“Here, take my card. If you think of anything give me a call.” The officer hands you a small business card and the nurse leads you back out the room.
“Are you going to be okay? I know you’re quite close to him.” She asks, noticing how shook up you are she places a gentle hand on your arm. “Do you want me to call someone to pick you up?”
“I’ll be fine, thank you though.” You smile at her as you reach the door out the building. “You have my number, will you please let me know if there’s any news?”
“Of course. Take care Y/N.”
You head outside, and cross the street to where there’s a small park. You find an empty bench and sit for a moment to process the news and what that could mean. Who could have known Harrow was there? Who could have wanted him out? Maybe there’s another Ammit fanatic out there who wants her released?
A shudder goes down your spine at the thought of her getting out.
You take your phone from your pocket and phone Steven. It rings out. You roll your eyes and try Marc’s number instead, incase he’s got the body right now. They have separate phones and refuse to answer each other’s if it rings. His goes straight to voicemail. That’s unusual. You check the time, 4pm. Steven will probably be getting ready to leave work.
Needing to talk to someone you FaceTime Layla, she picks up almost straight away.
“Y/N! Hey!” She says happily, her smile drops when she see’s your face. “What’s wrong?”
“Hey, uh… sorry to call I just, I need to talk to someone and Steven and Marc aren’t answering and no one else will understand-”
“Y/N, you don't need to apologise. What’s happened?”
“Harrow’s gone.” You blurt out and she stares through the phone at you. “Someone took him from the hospital this morning, they don't know who did it and they have no idea where he is. I’m scared, Layla.”
“Hey, alright, it’s going to be alright.” She says, though her voice has a hint of panic. “And you can’t get through to Marc?”
“His phone is off. I think Steven will be leaving work soon.”
“Okay, you head over to find him. I’ll keep trying his phone.” She says and you nod. “Y/N?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna be okay.” She says and you get the feeling she’s trying reassure herself as much as she is you. You nod and she hangs up the phone before you start walking toward the road, looking for a taxi.
In the distance you see a white limo heading towards you. Usually you’d think nothing of it. You see a lot of different vehicles in London. But something about this one got your attention. The personalised number plate.
‘SPKTR’
You can’t help but stare at it as it gets closer to you. Something in your gut telling you to run.
The car slows down as it gets closer to you and you can just about make out though the windows that the driver is wearing a flat cap. The limo pulls over and stops next to you. The driver gets out and you stare at him confused.
“Marc…?” It’s definitely Marc’s body, but the expression isn’t Marc or Steven. It’s the same one you recognise from Egypt. The one who so easily fought and killed all Harrow’s disciples. Another alter?
“Hola, mi amor.”
He winks at you as he walks around the front of the car, past you and opens the door at the back of the limo for you. He gestures for you to get in. You hesitantly walk to where the door is and peer in. You have to slam your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from escaping.
There on the back seat is Harrow, a bullet hole in his forehead.
You back away but the driver pushes you inside and slams the door closed. You scramble to get out, to get away from the corpse, but the door is locked. You bang against the door, screaming for someone to let you out and then you hear a voice from inside the limo.
“Hello little bug.”
A/N: Thank you so so so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed this series as much as I loved writing it. please feel free to comment or send me an ask, I would love to hear your thoughts :)
Taglist : @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker / @scoliobean
#moon knight#Steven Grant x reader#Marc Spector x reader#moon knight x reader#layla el faouly x reader#layla el faouly#Steven grant#marc spector#khonshu x reader#osiris#Arthur Harrow#arthur harrow x reader#ammit
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𝐴 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟
𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑏𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
This is a series so if you'd like to be tagged simply just comment!
I AM SO SORRY WITH HOW LONG THIS TOOK I'VE BEEN SO BUSY ಥ_ಥ
The big boss himself is gonna arrive very soon (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)
Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Resposts and likes are appreciated greatly!!
Part three ← Part four → Part five
Summary: As Charlie and Vaggie are in Heaven they attend the meeting and Charlie finds out more about the boy, along with a sweet girl called Emily.
Warnings- shit, grammar and spelling mistakes, Adam mentioned, idk what else, everyone is slightly oc
There she was again, in heaven. But this time accompanied by her girlfriend for support.
Her girlfriend seemed so uncomfortable, I mean don't get her wrong she was super nervous as well Vaggie was sweating, fidgeting and awkward. Not like the hard tough girl she usually was.
It was beautiful, bright and shiny, just like her father's old bedtime stories. The whole place practically sparkled, and she was greeted by two of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen, Sera and Emily. Emily was much more bubbly than Sera so she quickly caught the blonde's attention.
To say Emily was beautiful was an understatement, her hair was soft and blended from a crisp white into a greyish blue, she had soft freckles scattered across her face which glowed a bright white, her eyes were as blue as the ocean and her wings... Were all angels this beautiful? This angelic?
They had walked around almost everywhere, Charlie just couldn't help herself from talking, I mean she was talking to an angel. A real angel. Not a fallen one like her father.
As they talked she couldn't help but notice Emily staring at an angel, he looked beautiful... blonde hair and lilac eyes. That's when it hit her... He was the angel she met after her first meeting with Adam.
"(M/N)!! Look!! It's 𝙩𝙝𝙚 princess of hell" Emily shouted and waved, (M/N) smiled at Emily and walked over "Pleasure to meet you, again.. My name is (M/N), son of Archangel Micheal, which makes us cousins" he said, placing his hand out.
Emily tilted her head "again? What does that mean? You've seen a demon before 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦!? "Doesn't matter Emi I'll tell you later"
Charlie paused before growing a massive grin. "You're my cousin? I have a cousin. Oh my god!! That's so cool!"
(M/N) didn't match her energy, instead just giving a soft smile. "Well, you should take her to the council I suppose... Good luck"
He was already taking a step before Emily tugged the boy's sleeve "C'mon you can do better than that! This is your cousin! Be nicer"
The blonde grumbled before holding out his hand, it started to glow a yellowish colour before it cleared, leaving only a small pendant in his hand, it was a golden shade and had a duck carved into it.
Charlie let out a gasp "Woah... " she admired the small pendant "Take it. For good luck. They're supposed to symbolize protection, good luck and fortune after all".
Emily softly laughed at his comment "(M/N) really likes ducks"
The boy's face turned a hot cherry colour, blending with the patches on his cheeks "Hey only a little"
"Did you make this?" Charlie asked, waving the necklace in her girlfriend's face to show it off. "Ah. No, my father gave me it, but I want you to have it"
Charlie smiled before grabbing him in a tight hug, squeezing the boy's soul out.
He did remind Charlie of her father, his hair was styled in a way she had seen her father wear before, the patches of pink on his cheeks, yet he was taller, Maybe this is similar to what her father looked like before he was banished.
And other than the looks he also liked ducks? Her father had been obsessed with them since he made them on earth, making so many figures and rubber versions.
"Well, we should go! Come on princess! Bye (N/N)!
(Nickname in case you don't know!)
Emily walked Charlie to the meeting, (M/N) decided to sit and watch this shit show.
As it started the energy was tense, to say the least.
The angels sitting in the courtroom stared at her menacingly. She felt like a sheep in a Wolf's enclosure during feeding time. Emily was sat next to Sera who had a stoic expression, Emily was the complete opposite, with a toothy smile that was filled with nervousness and a thumbs up.
This would be great. Right?
"Objection!! Lame and unoriginal!" Adam had shouted the minute Charlie opened her mouth.
The meeting was really quite boring to (M/N), what did take his interest was when she mentioned some of the demons rehabilitating, a porn star? (M/N) couldn't really understand how he was improving, all the clips were of him taking drugs and drinking.
Well, it did improve slightly. The spider demon did a few food things but that was it.
Everything was normal until they started singing, and Adam blurted out something that he shouldn't have.
At that point (M/N) had joined Emily where she was flying.
"Wait! What are you saying?! let me get this straight, you go down there and kill those poor souls?"
(I'm skipping this song because I'm not writing it all out)
In the end, the court decided that demons couldn't be redeemed, he could see the heartbreak in Emily's eyes as Adam celebrated. (M/N) draped his arm over the smaller girl.
"I-I can't believe it.. " she said, now sitting in her room with him, he nodded in response as he poured tea into a china cup for her.
"I can't believe Sera allows it! It's awful! We must put a stop to it!" She said, hitting the armrests on her chair with her fists, making a soft thump.
He stopped pouring the hot liquid and stared at her, bewildered. "What? Emi what on earth would we do" he chuckled
"I'm serious! Your father is Michael! He'll help us!"
"Emily I can't just bother my father like that, you know he's busy" he said softly, handing her the cup and she sipped it.
"Cmon.. Please... Just try? For me? Pleaseeeeeee!" She begged, hands together in a praying position "And you still haven't told me what you meant by seeing Charlie again!"
He sighed softly "fine, I shall talk to him but I cannot guarantee anything. But what I meant was my father sent my down the the Angel base in hell to collect paperwork and she was leaving a meeting with Adam. That's all"
"Oh.. But thank you!" She placed her tea down fastly and hugged him tight.
He grunted before chuckling "okay okay!"
He was dying inside, how would he get his father to listen to him about this? How could he even bring it up. But he had to, Emily was his only friend, he needed to pay her back for everything she had done for him.
Tag list - @demstarno @kenny-619 @bunbunboysworld @lovedesperatevampire @stealing-kneecaps @paastaboi @1yyyan @enjisthings @type-ink @kiiannnn @cicithemess @lisoong @that-levi-kenma-kinnie
#a hidden star#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel Charlie#charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel vaggie#sera hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel Emily#fanfic#fanfiction#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#male!reader#hazbin hotel x male reader
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Watching the She-ra reboot after 5-6 years
Hey remember that show in 2018 that came out on Netflix during Tumblr's Twitter era and stirred up enough toxicity to turn you into Dave the Skeleton in the highschool science classroom?
Well BUCKLE IN for a RIDE cause I recently watched that show for the first time after avoiding it for YEARS, after seeing the fans and the haters be so devoted to either the fans praising it like a godsent deity or haters devoting their whole life to finding something wrong with every aspect of the show that it makes you wonder if they realized that they've become the Catra that they sought to destroy, I decided to avoid even touching the show and went about my life in other fandoms.
Well years have passed and like a Hallmark movie time abruptly went on and the drama soon faded, the tides have settled, the war has ended, and neither side remains the same. The fans have grown up, matured and enjoy the show as it is and the haters have lost all that sweet sustenance back in 2019 and have went the ways of the DoDo. With everything finally settled, I joined in on the rush of new fans recently that started rewatching the series and wanted to display my thoughts as well as a first time watcher ^^
I went in well aware of all the criticisms in mind, and having seen the original She-ra, and I just gotta say that my worrisome thoughts on watching it was completely washed away from the start of the show. I was worried of Adora being that one marysue character that is from the bad guys side but is actually a good a guy with the personality of white bread and with flaws of just being "a little bit QuiRkY" but she completely shooed away those fears. She is a well balanced character with a unique and well done backstory, her character breaking away from the steriotypical chosen ones and her having flaws that don't take away her being a good person but instead have their own charm and relatability that makes her very fun and down to earth. She is so golden retriever coded and I love it. What I like most though is that she wasn't "random main character comes in to lead everyone to victory out of nowhere" , instead of making her the unsaid leader, they made her the main character who is the muscle of the group and part of the heart and has to learn overtime and understand their ways instead of making her the leader. It makes way for her to pave and earn her way as being the main character instead of it being given by default by making her the leader and I love that break away. And that break away also helps to counter the fears I heard about the white savior trope by making Adora the way she was and making Glimmer and Glimmer's mom the queen the actual leaders of the rebellion that they helped start.
Love the best friends squad, I love Glimmer's growth and her bond with Adora, I like how she went downhill and built herself back up again as a person as it was very realistic with her being so young and having to replace her mom as queen. Bow is my spirit animal, period, but I really want to know more about his huge family. I imagine that because they are all historians they must go to the academy or similar academies that Bow was meant to go to and I can see why they wouldn't question him not being there as 12 siblings is A LOT to keep track of. Swiftwind is great but he shall always be known as Horsie and the queen's sacrifice hurts everytime I see it, I love how she owned up to her own flaws. Shadowweaver messed up being a mother figure 3 times, she needs parenting classes fr, 'nough said. I love all the princesses but Mermista is my personal favorite. Also why is aunt cast named Castaspella, I can't even say it without dying of laughter 💀🖐️
Now I know some of you are sitting at your computer with 5 monsters in hand and sweat anxiously dripping from your forehead as you dramatically hover over the keys just WAITING to write a five page essay response if I even dare to utter the name Catra and her relationship with Adora. So, I'ma give you my opinion.
Honestly, their romance was the end goal since the beginning and the story made that clear and honestly I like Catra's growth as a character from her knowing she has anger issues and actively working on it to better herself, helping to save others and helping to save Adora in the end. Her realizing that pushing others away to protect herself only harms her and everyone around her in the end and her realistically taking it slow and steady to better herself as a person for herself and for Adora is something a really like. Yes their relationship was hella toxic, especially in the middle (but I do like how Adora recognized that and punched Catra when they were in the portal). The build up was great, the middle ground of her doubling down was great, and I think her growth at the end was great and that the two are happy and not in a toxic relationship with eachother anymore at the end. I think what truly makes it odd is although the redemption was great the time constraints made it so they couldn't flesh it out to help answer and address the past actions that were caused by her, they did so great with her slowly becoming better and better, and so it wouldn't have come off as bad as it did if they had just a bit more time to address everything with that instead of being forced to dive right into it which definitely left a- well- less than good impression to it's audience. But they tried their best with what they could do and honestly for a show as surprisingly dark as this I'm just glad they aren't in a toxic relationship anymore and are happy in the end and that Catra got redeemed. It definitely wasn't trying to romanize abuse, however it came off as such due to constraints and them rushing the ending which gave plenty of ammo to people who already hated the show to have a reason to hate it more. In my opinion if you don't like it that's valid, if you do like it that's valid, me personally I'm not a romance person so I couldn't care enough either way.
Now to address some things I know some people are waiting for, but in speed run fashion. Mara's She-ra design was the fault of the designers not agreeing on what they wanted her to look like, I was expecting her to have brown flowing hair not blonde, I get the stripping of individuality message they tried to go with, it just needed better designers and better execution but that's as deep as it goes. It's not that they are racist, they are more along the lines of "you need a more organized team cause her design changes every five seconds like wtf" kind of situation. I'm glad they didn't automatically forgive Hordak or accept him but I'm glad he was changed enough to not be a killer that's mass murdering people anymore and as long no one is dying by his hands anymore and people don't automatically forgive him then that's fine by me, whatever keeps others from dying a horrible unnecessary death.
Overall, in conclusion, love the show, great depth, great characters, love the humor and amazing magical girl transformations, awesome rep, stronk princess punching things, would most definitely recommend, especially now with all the wave of chaos it's initial release sucked in now evaporated. (Seriously there are full tags and blogs deticated to hating a show about glowing princesses fighting aliens, it's okay to not like a show but come on people there is more to life than that 💀) Enjoy it, have fun, and I hope you have a great day/night! ^^
#she ra and the princesses of power#she ra#she ra spop#spop#spop adora#spop she ra#she ra adora#she ra glimmer#she ra bow#she ra mermista#she ra catra#she ra hordak#tv shows#netflix series#netflix tv series#netflix tv shows#netflix shows#netflix#tv series#princess#princesses of power#princesses
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imagine if i posted a 50k one shot ha ha ha kidding.....unless??
#50k is an estimation btw#i'm still not done with it#i'm prolly over selling it#and idk if tumblr will even allow me to post something that long#but it is going to be looooong#i also don't want to cut it up bc#it just doesn't feel right sksks#like the pace won't be right if i make it into a series#we'll see#soon soon#aria knows what it's about#so she know /why/ it's going to be long#ramblings
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thinking about the mysterious benedict society again and I think it was really funny that for years before the show was ever announced I’d have bad dreams (not like Nightmares. lol. but like. cursed etc.) about it getting a badly done adaption and I thought I was prepared for whatever was going to be done to it and ready to at least be able to coax new fans into reading the books
and then Disney bought it instantly being worse than anything I could have come up with /j
#media cw#it's not like.................................bad i guess#but like#from what I've heard about it (I have not watched it because i would shrivel and die/e#sorry this is my biggest 'tism media) it's been stripped of most of it's thematical substance#and thought the actors are all pretty cool and talented and it more or less followed the plot it Completely Failed to be the Whole Ass#Anticapitalist Lite Dystopia it was supposed to be#but like tbh i knew that was going to happen as soon as disney bought it#because they can't make anticapitalist media they can't even come close#the book is literally about someone utilizing capitalism and systematic ableism to brainwash the masses via subliminal messaging hidden in#the media (not in the media itself but in anything that has a signal it can ride piggyback on which ends up being most media that's online#or being broadcasted etc) so it's like. lmao disney your literally doing that#your literally far more evil than the villain of this story how are you going to produce this media and stay true to its themes (they cannot#and did not) so it's just like. bruh moment#also as a side note the vibe of what little i saw was all wrong they didn't capture the very ordinary vibe of most of the settings#like they just wanted it to be series of events 2.0 cause that's trending#but those aesthetics don't really WORK for this because the whole POINT is that the setting is (mostly) very unassuming#because the whole suggestion of the book over all (not clear on if it was intentional or not i am a crazy person tbf) is that the dystopia#these characters are in is the same one in which we are living#everything felt so real to me as a kid that well into my teenage years i didn't even question#the obviously fictional aspects like i just had it in my brain that there was a plant that when consumed/inhaled smoke of could#put you in a coma or that there were whole tanks with silencers on them like a gun and when i googled these things and they were fictional#I felt so silly but like the rest was so regular that I never even questioned this stuff and that's a huge part of the books charm#and instead they made the familiar feel foreign and though the plot and characters were mostly the same everything was uncanny valley#and it didn't seem to even try to capture what Really Made This book an Experience#growling and barking etc etc
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i am so excited to finally play final fantasy type-0. i literally know a few important plot stuff like the literal fucking ENDING but i am SO EXCITED
#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#⋯ ꒰ა type-0 ໒꒱ *·˚#i compare the ending of type-0 to the weapons trial series in ffxiv. aka sorrow of werlyt#ifykyk :)) haha. HAHAHAHAH. haha. <//3#anyways i LOVE ace. he's the ace of my heart#i love type-0 man i love final fantasy so bloody much it is unreal#I WANTED TO PLAY TYPE-0 FOR SO LONG like any other ff game tbh but i knew for a while my aunt had it#but i never saw it from her but we came over like yesterday yeah? and!! yes !!! we borrowed it alongside like 5 other games#so i am so excited. i love type-0 you have no idea#for a while when i was esp into ffxv i read up on a lot of stuff bcs of yk fabula nova chrysallis i butchered the spelling sorry#so i was super interested in ffxiii too! and then spinoffs and sequels and etc... read up on ffx-2 sometime then#mind you i have ffxiii and ffx complete edition/s but 13 is on ps3 and it doesn't work anymore so sigh but i have 10#on both ps4 and switch! also i have access to 12 and 8 but idk bcs i don't have nintendo online anymore :((#i should finish og ffvii soon and hard mode of the remake. haven't done integrade btw. haven't played crisis core#and i haven't played any game below 7 but i am SO in love w them all too. idk 2 very well tho#aside from some stuff like wild rose! and firrion sorry i butchered up the spelling didnt i. anyways yeah <3#yoo i sang a bit of ashes of dreams rn and i'm kinda sick JUST AFTER MY BDAY CAN YOU BELIEVE anyways#yo i sing good when i feel nwell DAMN!#okay uhhh. time to play replicant (very soon) i am so excited#i will cry listening to kaine cuss weiss out
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Careful - Chapter One
(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader
Chapter One: Over Yet
We can go farther, beyond the end.
Summary:
You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.
That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)
Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.
Word Count: 5,900
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?
A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.
...
The team had been in Portland for three days.
No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers.
A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers.
“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?”
He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers.
Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad.
Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects.
Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete.
They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree.
“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.”
She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued.
“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.”
“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized.
“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.”
“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.”
Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on:
“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.”
“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.”
“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration.
“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him.
“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.”
“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.”
He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it.
“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on.
“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.”
“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.”
“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.”
Prentiss visibly cringed at this.
“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together.
Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought.
“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.”
She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain.
“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?”
“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory.
“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.”
“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit.
This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again.
“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room.
“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her.
“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.”
“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued.
Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain.
“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?”
Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile.
“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.”
“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced.
A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from.
“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.”
“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk.
“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.”
“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-”
“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.”
“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned.
“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,”
“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”
“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed.
“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.”
“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.”
“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.”
…
The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office.
After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through.
So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.
“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.
“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”
“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”
“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned.
“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed.
“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”
The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it.
It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever.
It was you.
What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?
Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully.
Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day -
You had a son.
A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now.
And his birth date was… fuck.
He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again.
One thousand, seven hundred and two days.
Four years, eight months, and two days.
It wasn’t difficult math.
Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child?
His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.
Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life?
Had you been keeping this from him intentionally?
He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with.
What the fuck was going on?
There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions.
Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe-
“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention.
Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically.
“Did you find something?”
…
All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them.
So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before.
It could definitely work.
When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone.
So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house.
…
“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,”
“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts.
He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air.
“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?”
JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend.
Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated.
Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation.
The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up.
But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago.
Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again.
It had been four years.
JJ was someone he could lean on right now.
“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest.
“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked.
“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it.
“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?”
It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look.
“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned.
“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer.
“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.”
“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.”
“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply.
It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him.
“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.”
There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time).
She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world.
So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby?
“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud.
Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together.
“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment.
That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face.
“One thing at a time, alright?”
…
When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning.
It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother.
Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more.
He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly.
And now the two of you likely had a child together.
Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang.
“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.”
She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you.
He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing.
He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’.
Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open.
At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return.
You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone.
Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you.
But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock.
He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever.
“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-”
You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot.
You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.
So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him.
You were breath-taking.
“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already.
You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock.
Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date.
The first night that he knew he was in love with you.
…
He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra.
It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on.
It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night.
Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness.
It was a perfect night.
Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat.
His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves.
And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled.
“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind.
You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place.
“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?”
Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic.
“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.”
“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this.
Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued.
“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.”
“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.”
Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer.
“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.”
Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more.
“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this.
“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.”
You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more.
“Interesting.” You replied.
“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.”
Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail.
“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.”
Spencer let out another bright laugh at this.
“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.”
“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile.
“And see-”
Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his.
He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin.
It was perfect. You were perfect.
You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was.
But Spencer was nothing like that.
He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips.
When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours.
“That was… wow.” He sighed.
“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle.
“Well, I - you - wow.”
It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter.
Back then - everything had been perfect.
He had no clue where it all went so wrong.
...
Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar
#sundrop writes#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#dad!spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic
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Golden Hour | husband!joshua x reader
After a long day of surf and sun, Joshua somehow still has the energy to fuck you into the hotel mattress. Being in love (and obsessed) with his wife always pays off.
Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.4k | Pairing: hjs x reader | Genre: smut
Part of the Husband Joshua series! Can be read as a standalone
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V
Warnings: idk how to surf so if this is wrong blame wikihow, possessive!josh, drink mention but it doesn’t have to be alcoholic, oral r. rec., spitting, some spanking, fingering, piv sex, breeding kink but they don't want kids, creampie(s), cockwarming
Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, on some form of birth control, referred to as a wife, wears a bikini (every body is a bikini body), wears a dress
Joshua raises a hand to his face, holding it above his eyes to block the glaring sun as he scans the crowded shore for you. He’s been out in the water for a while, trying to improve his surfing skills and also perhaps trying to impress you, just a little. Neither you nor him have been to the beach since your honeymoon, and he doesn’t want you to think those lessons he splurged on while you were having a spa day were for nothing.
He’s caught a few waves so far but hasn’t made it close enough to the shore to see your face, so he has no idea if you’ve been watching him or if you’ve just been reading and listening to music. He won’t be hurt if you haven’t had your eyes on him, but he does want you to see him ride at least one wave.
He hears some murmurs from the few other surfers in front of him and turns around, instantly seeing what has them talking. There’s a big one coming in, building and building and building, and if he starts paddling now, he just might make it.
So he leans forward onto his stomach, his arms powering through the water even as his muscles begin to ache from so much use. The ocean beneath him starts getting sucked in, contributing to the rolling wave, and he prepares himself to pop up and find his balance.
His heart races as he takes off, getting his feet beneath him and standing on steady legs, his arms loose and his eyes trained on the shore. He rides the wave as far as he can, bailing when it starts to peter out and immediately swimming up to catch his breath. Climbing back onto his board, he looks around for your rented rainbow sun umbrella, grinning when he realizes he’s much closer to it than he thought he’d be.
You’re not under it though, his smile dropping as he starts to survey the beach, searching for you. He can’t seem to find you, and for some reason that has his heart racing again, this time in anxiety rather than exhilaration.
“Joshie! That was amazing!” You exclaim from somewhere to the left of him, your voice just a bit faint but still easily recognizable. He whips his head over, his shoulders relaxing as soon as he sets eyes on you, wading waist deep in the clear blue water and making your way toward him.
He beams and hops off the board, closing the remaining distance and catching you with one arm as you launch yourself at him. The other keeps hold of his board, though he wishes he had both hands free to hug you back.
He also wishes he could feel your skin against his, but his swim shirt is still in the way and he won’t be able to take it off until you let go of him, which he’s not going to ask you to do any time soon.
It’s silly but he’s missed you while he was out surfing, even though it’s only been a couple of hours. You’ve been on vacation for three days already and he’s grown used to sharing every minute with you, being in your presence for each breath in and each breath out, bar bathroom breaks and the one nap you took without him when he wanted to explore and you wanted to stay in.
He wishes it could be like this all the time, but he’ll settle for the rest of the week if only because he knows he’ll have you for the rest of his life.
Too soon, you pull away, sliding your hands from his shoulders to rest on his chest, your touch appreciative and the slightest bit possessive. His hand on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh exposed by your bikini. You let him pick out your swimsuit today, and while some men might want to cover their wife up, he’s the opposite.
He thinks it’s hot that people are looking at you, wanting you, not knowing he’s the only one you’ll ever go home with. They realize when he presses his lips to yours in a claiming kiss, when he lets his hands wander a little, when they notice the matching rings on your left fourth fingers.
He doesn’t even know if anyone is looking at you now, too busy staring into your eyes to notice anything else, but he feels the urge all the same. You can already tell what he wants, leaning in to meet him in the middle as he kisses you deeply, slowly, sucking at your bottom lip and sliding his tongue into your mouth when it opens on a gasp.
His hand slips down to your ass, squeezing it over your swimsuit hard, pulling your cheek up and over, surely tugging at your pussy too. You squirm against his chest, pressing closer to him as your fingernails dig into his pecs.
He remembers you’re at a public beach when a wave crashes into you, and thank goodness it did because he was millimeters away from slipping his hand into your bikini bottoms so he could find out if you’re wet from the water or wet for him.
He pulls away and laughs, shifting his hand to your lower back and pecking you one last time before breathing, “Should we head back to the room?”
“Yeah, I think we should. Wanna lay out enough to dry off first?” You offer hopefully, and while he kind of just wants to throw you over his shoulder and haul you to the hotel now, he knows you hate tracking water through the clean lobby.
“Sure, baby, we can do that,” he smiles fondly, giving you one last squeeze and releasing you. His board goes under one arm and you go under the other, your hand coming up to hold his as you walk back to the shore together.
He splits off from you to return the board to the surf shack, promising he’ll bring back one of those coconut drinks for you to share though he knows you’ll likely have most of it.
The line isn’t too long for the return of the board or the purchase of the coconut drink, thankfully, and he walks back to you with care, not wanting to spill even a drop.
You’re on your stomach to the side of the umbrella when he arrives, not under its shade but close enough that it’s obviously yours, a thick terry cloth blanket spread out under you with just enough room for his body too. He sighs contentedly as he sits next to you, handing over the drink and smiling as your eyes widen with glee, your lips pursing around the straw to take an excited sip.
He reaches for the hem of his surf shirt and yanks it off, wringing it out away from the blanket and laying it flat on the edge of the lounge you no longer occupy. You roll over to lay on your back and he feels your eyes on him like a physical touch, your gaze hot and familiar on his chest and stomach.
He loves how you look at him, loves that you’d rather stare at him than at the beautiful beach around you, loves even more that you’re obsessed with his body just like he’s obsessed with yours.
He also loves that this way, he can look at you too. You shift up onto your elbows, your breasts jiggling with the movement, and he feels a bolt of desire shoot straight down his spine as he lets his eyes lovingly travel over every available inch of you. Over your soft tummy and your squeezable hips and your perfect, perfect thighs. Thighs he wants to suffocate between. Thighs he wants to sink his teeth into. Thighs he wants to hold down to the bed as he-
“I think I’m dry enough. Are you?”
He clears his throat and attempts to clear his head, but images of you still swim through his thoughts, even as he nods and tugs at his board shorts to subtly adjust himself. They don’t feel as wet between his fingers, just damp, and when he reaches for his shirt, it’s close enough to dry that he only cringes a little as he pulls it back on.
You pack up together quickly, and Joshua is almost relieved when you reach for your dress and tug it over your head, needing a reprieve from your near naked body. He’s less relieved when he remembers that it’s a fucking sundress.
Of course it is, that’s all you’ve been wearing on this trip, and he doesn’t know how he forgot. This is worse, because it’s his favorite article of clothing on you, and because he knows all you’ve got on under it is an easily untied, flimsy little bikini.
It takes everything in him not to pull you into one of the changing cabanas, bend you over, and make you scream for him; he manages somehow, the knowledge that he can do the latter two when you get into the room tiding him over, but only just.
He’s silent while you return the umbrella, his hand tight around yours as you walk through the lobby, and he’s glad you know him well enough to understand that he’s not upset or annoyed, just nearly out of his mind with desire for you.
The wait for the elevator feels like eons, especially when he looks at you in the reflection of the metal doors, your form slightly fuzzy but clear enough for him to see the rise of your tits under your dress and the way the hem flutters gently over your thighs. Those thighs…
The doors part with a ding and you pull him inside, pressing the button for your floor before the elevator fills with other guests, leaving you and Joshua at the back. You’ll have to maneuver in between them to get out but it means he can slide his hand up your dress and squeeze your ass again, his fingers slipping under your bikini to touch your bare skin.
They creep closer to the heat between your legs with every stop, and he’s just about to reach your pussy when the elevator lands on your floor. He reluctantly takes his hand back and rights your dress, murmuring, “Excuse us,” as he weaves around the few people left. When the doors close behind you, he twines his fingers with yours and breaks into a jog, tugging you to the room and grinning as a few bitten back giggles escape you.
He bounces on his toes as you dig the card out of your bag, your trembling fingers inserting it into the lock and his hand turning the handle as soon as the light glows green. He pushes the door open for you, following closely with his other hand tight on your hip, his dick already hard and throbbing in anticipation.
You’ve barely set your bag down before he’s steering you to the bed, crowding you up against the edge, and pressing your shoulder to bend you over. He flips up the hem of your dress and tears down your bikini, knocking your legs apart with his own and pushing his left knee up until yours rests on the bed. He’s sure you expect him to drop his shorts and sink right into you, which is probably why you gasp when he falls to his knees and slaps your ass with both hands before spreading your cheeks apart and shoving his tongue inside of you.
You taste fucking divine, the beloved flavor of your pussy tinged with salty seawater, and he groans deeply into you, fucking his tongue in and out of your entrance and swallowing as his mouth fills with saliva and your arousal.
He fucks you with his tongue until you’re whining and shaking above him, tilting your hips to improve the angle and rocking into his movements. The leg keeping you up starts to quiver, and he pulls away just long enough to gasp out, “On the bed, baby, get on the bed.”
You listen, clumsily climbing up and stretching out for him, face down, ass up, just like he likes you. He smacks your ass again just because he can before spreading your pussy open with his thumbs and spitting on your clenching entrance. Some of it seeps inside of you and some of it trails down to your clit, leaving the bud glistening and just begging for his attention.
He leans down and wraps his lips around it, sucking in hard, quick pulses until you cry out, “Joshie, please!”
“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want,” he mumbles into you, just loud enough for you to hear.
“Your fingers, I want your fingers,” you whimper into the pillow, arching your back and pressing further into him in wanton need.
He licks his lips to get one last taste of you and slides two digits deep inside, giving you no time to adjust to the intrusion before pulling them out to the tip and sinking them back in. His pace rockets up, his tired muscles hard at work as he fucks you with his fingers, the wet sound of your pussy accepting them filling the air.
He wants to hear your voice too, slowing down and leaning over you to slide his fingers beneath your cheek and turn your head to the side so you’re no longer muffled by the pillow. Your gaze catches his and he smiles tenderly at you, pressing a kiss to your temple before returning to his previous position and hooking his fingertips into your g-spot, grinding harshly into it.
Predictably, you yelp, your eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on massaging that sensitive patch, his breath catching as he feels you get wetter around his fingers. You’re moaning now, your brows scrunched with pleasure and your mouth stuck open, and he reaches his free hand up to tap at your bottom lip with two fingers, sliding them into your mouth when you open wider for him.
You suction around them immediately, your tongue laving over his knuckles and bathing his fingers in saliva, and he feels his cock throb in his shorts in response, the memory of your perfect lips around it visceral and precious. He yanks his fingers back before he can get too distracted, reaching around you to sandwich your clit between them.
He starts fucking you with his other hand again, your hips jerking with it, stimulating your clit as he curls his fingertips towards your stomach, tapping your sweet spot with every thrust. It’s not long before you’re gasping out his name and clenching down, your thighs juddering as you fight to hold yourself up through the pleasure.
He doesn’t stop, pinching your clit harder and digging his fingers into you, scissoring them to stretch you out for another. A third squeezes in beside the first two, making you whine and claw at the duvet, your cunt contracting and trying to suck his fingers in deeper when he pulls them out.
“Fuck,” he groans, releasing your clit to press down on your back and deepen the arch, making it even easier for him to hit your g-spot. He wants to be inside of you, desperately, but he wants to make you cum again first, wants you to be so wet, he can just glide right in.
You’re getting close, he can tell by the way you’re pushing back into his thrusts and sobbing, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but it just feels so fucking right that he can’t stop the words from coming out.
“Cum for me and I’ll breed you full.”
You suck in a sharp gasp and bear down, your pussy rippling and leaking and fever hot as you break apart beneath him, your arousal soaking his hand and dripping down his wrist. It seems like it lasts forever, though he’s sure it helps that he’s still fucking his fingers into your g-spot as much as your tightness will allow.
He knows you’re done when you whimper brokenly and pull away from his touch, your hand reaching back to hold his wrist in place so he doesn’t follow you. He decides to let you catch your breath, sliding off the bed to shed his shorts and wipe his hand off on a towel, bringing it with him so he can spread it out under you like he should have done before.
You’re on your side when he returns, and he climbs back onto the mattress before carefully tugging at your shoulder and hip, pulling you to rest on your back and waiting for you to look at him.
When your eyes blink open, they’re teary and dazed, and you watch as he gathers a couple pillows, weakly lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them under you and lay the towel out on top of them. He’s gentle as he sets his hands on the backs of your knees and pushes your legs up, the angle making it easier for you to keep them tucked to your chest when your hands replace his.
He can tell your head is full of clouds by the way you gaze at him, and he attempts to bring you some clarity by asking, “Remember what I said before?”
You think for a second, your lips pouting as you try to recall, and he can’t resist leaning down over you and pressing his mouth to yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he soothes the sting with his tongue.
When he pulls away, it seems to come to you, and your eyes clear up just a bit as you respond, “You said you’d breed me full if I came for you.”
“Good, baby, that’s right. So what do you think I’m going to do now?” He asks, sitting back up on his knees and shuffling closer to lay his aching cock on your wet pussy, just barely grinding against you.
“You’re gonna-,” you take in a halting breath. “You’re gonna breed me?”
“Yeah, honey,” he nods with a hungry smirk, shifting his hips back enough to line himself up before pressing forward a few inches and popping the head of his cock inside of you. “I’m gonna fuck you full of my cum, until it’s dripping out of you. And then I’m gonna fuck it back in, and fill you up even more. Until it takes.”
You whimper from deep in your throat, pressing your lips together and readjusting your grip on your legs, your eyes darting down to stare yearningly at his cock.
“Do you want that?” He whispers, working himself in as slowly as he can manage, teasing both you and himself.
You just nod, but he wants to hear you say it, needs to hear it from your own lips.
“Tell me then.”
“I- I want you to fill me up with your cum, fuck a baby into me, please.”
He sinks the rest of his cock inside of you, covering your hands with his and spreading your legs wider, pushing them into your chest and resting his weight on them as he draws back and snaps forward.
He’s not gentle now, and he’s definitely not slow, his hips smacking into your ass as he thrusts forcefully into you, his grunts of exertion soon joining the cries escaping you. You’re staring up at him with stars in your eyes, your fingers tight on your thighs beneath his and your pussy fucking flawless around him, and he’s never been so in love.
That’s a thought he has constantly but he means it every single time, his devotion to you endless and all consuming.
His appetite for you is voracious enough to rival it; the need, the sheer greed that he feels when it comes to you stripping him down to his basest desires. He’s only human in the end, and nothing could be more human than the urge to love you, to fuck you, to breed you, to keep you. He knows you’re his already but beyond that ring on your finger, there’s one other thing that could show the world you belong to each other, and that includes pumping you so full of his cum, it sticks.
He’s getting close already just thinking about it, and the way you’re clenching and fluttering around him doesn’t help in the slightest. He wouldn’t mind breaking this early though, not when it means he can just get hard again and fuck his cum even deeper into you.
“Joshie,” you whine in the voice that means you’re inches away from the edge, and he feels his body respond, his heavy balls drawing up tight and his cock hardening further within you.
“Cum whenever you want, baby. I’m not stopping anytime soon,” he vows darkly, fully intent on keeping you in this bed and on his dick for the rest of the day. Maybe for the rest of his life.
You shudder at his words, gasping when he shifts his hips and changes the angle, the head of his cock now bullying right into your g-spot. He can’t hit as deep like this but he knows it’ll be enough to unravel you, and that’s exactly what he wants.
He grins wickedly when you start to ripple around him, knowing the waves of your orgasm are beginning to overtake you, and when it’s at its peak, he sinks in deep and lets you carry him with you. He groans roughly at the feeling of your undulating walls milking his cock, relief and bone deep satisfaction filling him as he fills you.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, fucking you through the sensitivity and burying his cum deeper inside of you. You buck against him in overstimulation, crying out his name with tears in your voice, and he feels his cock twitch and get harder, your pussy like a molten velvet vise around him.
An hour and two more loads pass by in a blur, every minute melting into the next as he ruts into you, barely pulling back enough to get any friction but grinding into your sweet spot to keep you pliant. He thinks he might’ve fucked you dumb, no words escaping your parted lips and no thoughts behind your glassy eyes. You’re still holding your legs up though, and that’s how he knows you’re present enough to hear him.
“Said I would fuck you full, didn’t I, baby?” He laughs breathily, his eyes trained on the sight of his cock thrusting into you, the combination of your arousal and his cum seeping out around him in bursts. “I think you’re pretty fucking full.”
You mumble something but he doesn’t catch it, and he shifts your legs onto his arms and leans down, bracing his hands on the bed to hold himself up. “What was that, honey?”
“Not enough,” you gasp out, releasing your thighs to wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s not enough, Joshie, I want more.”
Your words blend together but he hears them all the same, and a jolt of desire surges through him, traveling down his spine and ending in his cock. He gets his legs under him, trapping you in a mating press so he can put more power behind his hips as his strokes get deeper, longer, your fingernails digging into his neck with every thrust of his aching dick.
“I can give you one more, baby, I’ll give you whatever- whatever you want,” he groans raggedly, his vision blurring and his hips stuttering as he nears the edge for what he fears may be the last time. You clench and squeeze and flutter around him, whimpering, “Please, Joshie, breed me,” and that’s it for him.
This time when he cums, it’s enough to steal his voice, his breath, his thoughts. It’s blinding, the pleasure, but that just means he feels everything. He feels you falling to pieces on his cock, he feels the warmth of the sunset on his back, he feels his heart racing in his chest. He feels his cum filling you again, replacing what he’s fucked out, and more than anything, he feels satiated, like there’s nothing left to give and nothing left to take.
He all but collapses into you, shifting to rest his knees on the bed and dropping your legs from his arms, his face buried in your neck as he trembles and gasps for air. Your cunt is still hugging him tightly, and he winces at the sensitivity of his spent cock but doesn’t pull out, can’t pull out, not when he knows that all of his hard work will go to waste as soon as he does.
You run gentle fingers through his salty hair, your chest slowly rising and falling against his, and his body starts to grow heavy, exhaustion weighing him down and the comfort of your pussy keeping him warm.
He’s asleep before the golden light of the sun fades from the sky.
“Joshua, with everything we said, I have to ask… Have you changed your mind about kids?” You ask softly, your back to his chest and your body between his legs as you laze in the massive hotel bath together.
He presses his lips to your neck and thinks, only for a second, before responding, “No, I’m happy with our life. I don’t need anything but you.”
You let out a sigh of relief and turn in his arms, resting your cheek on his shoulder and tucking your legs up, your knees just barely out of the water. He scoops some up and pours it over you, not wanting you to get cold.
“Good, I feel the same way.”
“Love you,” he murmurs into your hair, kissing your crown and rubbing his hand up and down your back.
“I love you,” you whisper in return. “The breeding kink was hot though, let’s keep that?”
“Oh yeah, baby, for sure.”
AN: for @thatgirlfromwindsor and these anons 💖
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#svthub#k vanity#joshua x reader#joshua x you#joshua x y/n#joshua fanfic#joshua smut#hong joshua x reader#husband!joshua#hong jisoo smut#hong jisoo x reader#seventeen series#seventeen fic#seventeen smut#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#svt smut#svt imagines#svt fanfic#svt x reader#seventeen x you#seventeen x y/n#svt x you#svt x y/n#kpop oneshots#kpop scenarios#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#✨emily writes✨
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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.
You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]
warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.
Part 2 soon…
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The first, was the worst...
You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.
But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.
And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.
Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.
Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.
You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.
Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.
Just to show him you could.
'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.
You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'
It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.
It was the last time you'd feel your wings.
The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.
You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.
All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.
Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.
You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.
The gates opened with a sickening clash.
One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'
You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.
'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'
Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.
Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'
'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'
You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.
That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'
'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'
You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.
The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'
That's when they started hacking at your wings.
Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.
Not your whole life.
Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.
Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.
'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'
They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.
Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.
The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.
At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.
'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'
Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.
'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'
Azriel.
You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.
You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.
'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'
You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.
You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.
'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.
You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.
'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.
Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.
No, this would destroy you.
'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'
Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'
Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'
You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.
And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.
Mate.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.
Your wings.
Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.
Gone, all gone.
Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.
'You're awake, thank the couldron.'
It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.
How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.
But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.
'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.
He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'
In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.
'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.
'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.
'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.
'Get out,' you mumbled.
The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'
'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.
Be better than your mate being disgusted.
'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.
'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.
'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'
Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.
Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.
You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.
'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.
'Give her time,' said Rhys.
The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.
'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.
Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.
And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.
There was a knock, rattling the door.
'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'
Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.
He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.
'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.
Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.
Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.
You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.
It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.
Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.
Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.
Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.
It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.
You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.
Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.
And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.
You cry. You sob. You scream.
The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.
A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.
You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.
Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.
Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.
He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.
When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.
It was always you.
Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.
His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.
Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.
He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.
He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.
You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.
Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.
'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.
'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.
'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.
Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’
'I'm not on the ledge.'
'You're too close for my liking.'
'Leave if you don't like it.'
'Don't do this,' he said.
'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.
'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.
‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’
He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.
'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'
Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.
His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.
You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Fifty-two years later...
When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.
You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.
It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.
Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.
Still, you had not told him he was your mate.
Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.
Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.
But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.
Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.
Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.
'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.
Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.
'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'
The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.
'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.
But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.
If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.
Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.
Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'
He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.
He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.
You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.
When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.
Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.
Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.
'Cassian.'
His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'
He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'
Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.
Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.
'Ow!'
'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.
You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...
Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.
Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.
And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.
He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.
His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.
You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.
Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.
Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.
Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.
'Azriel?' you called.
There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.
You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'
He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'
You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.
His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'
You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'
You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?
'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'
'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'
His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'
You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'
He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'
Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.
Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'
'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.
Azriel smiled and stayed the night.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The third time he almost lost you, broke him...
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
#acotar#azriel#cassian#rhysand#rhys acotar#feyre archeron#tamlin#lucien vanserra#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x female!reader#cassian x reader#books and reading#booktok#angst#azriel x cassian x reader
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Little Big Fan | Fifteen
— Little Big Aftermath [aka the end]
Series Masterlist
wc: 3k
we’ve made it to the end guys! I just have to say I never thought I’d complete this story and that too fifteen parts of it but to all those who read it and motivated me to keep writing, thank you. While it is the end of the official story, I will continue to take requests for blurbs on specific scenes you’d like to see. However, there won’t be a set posting date on these blurbs, it’ll be out whenever it’s requested and completed. Once again, thank you so much for those who were here since the first chapter, and here’s to more fic series in the future. P.S lemme know if you want to be tagged in the blurbs.
Your frown grew deeper as you turned in the direction your daughter had pointed, unfortunately spotting Tyler. Luckily, he wasn't looking at you two since he was focusing on the podium celebrations about to happen.
"I didn't know daddy was here, mama." Picking Isabella up, you shook your head, "I didn't know either, angel, but let's focus on Max for now okay?"
She gave a nod of agreement and applauded for the drivers, Oscar and Lando in particular, who finished second and third in the race. She did, however, cheer the loudest when Max, as he has done after almost every race this season, stepped onto the top step of the podium.
He was having trouble finding you and Isabella right away in the crowd, and you could see the slightest frown forming on his face until a smile emerged when he succeeded, connecting his gaze with yours.
Isabella giggled as Max held his hand up to wave at her before blowing a kiss in the air in your direction. His behaviour drew Lando and Oscar's attention to you as well, with the former driver rolling his eyes at Max jokingly and Oscar smiling at the interaction.
However, you didn't realize that someone else was also looking at you because your gaze didn't waver away from Max.
The champagne bottles were popped, and this time Isabella was awake to see it all, watching with fascination as it was the first time she was able to see it in person. "I wanna do that, mama," she pointed at the drivers spraying the alcoholic drink, soaking each other's race suits while laughing. "Maybe when you're older, Bella."
"When I'm 7?" She asked, and you chuckled, "a little more than that, sweetheart."
Once the celebrations were over, a huge part of the crowd dispersed, the teams resuming to their usual scheduled routines, preparing for post-race debriefs and other meetings. "Where's Maxy going?" Isabella asked, watching as he was led away by someone clad in a RedBull uniform.
"He's a little busy with interviews, but he told me that he'd come back as soon as he's done," you explained, knowing that Max had a post-race conference and a few other duties lined up.
Isabella huffed, "but he won the race." She rested her head on your shoulder for a moment while playing with a strand of your hair—the habit formed back when she was a few months old.
"Yeah he did, which means he's very famous right now and so many people want to talk to him," you explained and while she nodded in understanding, she still pouted, "I wanna talk to him too."
"Why don't we wait for him inside his driver's room?" You asked, turning around when she nodded.
You had almost reached Max's driver room—a place he had suggested for you and Isabella to stay to wait for him, but pausing in a secluded area as a familiar voice called out, "Isabella!" then heard your name as well. Isabella squirmed in your lap, wanting to get down after seeing Tyler walk up to you both. You sighed, knowing that you'd have to stop and chat.
"Tyler," you greeted, and awkwardness hung in the air for two seconds before Isabella decided to speak up. "Daddy, you said you were busy, what are you doing here?"
Despite her hesitance to stay at her father's place, which she still hasn't done since the day she was discharged from the hospital, she frequently spoke to him over the phone.
Unfortunately for him, Isabella rarely forgets promises. While he was busy playing the "good father" role after your ultimatum, he had make false promises, agreeing to everything she asked for without hearing her out properly. In that conversation, she asked about the promise he made of taking her to a race before she had met Max.
While you and Max had taken her once, she still wanted to experience the thrill with her father since he was the one who introduced the sport to her.
He glanced at you, silently asking if he did in fact claim that he was busy, and frowned when you nodded. "Oh Bella, sweetheart, I didn't know that I would have the time to be here, it was an unexpected decision or else I would've brought you along, but you're here anyways!" He tried to uplift her mood, but instead of hanging on to every word he spoke like she used to do, she just shrugged.
Deciding to divert the topic of conversation, Tyler asked, "did you enjoy the race?" He stepped forward, kneeling down to be closer to her but on instinct, Isabella moved away, clutching on to your hand tightly.
He frowned, once again glancing up at you after noticing her behaviour, but you didn't let an ounce of emotion show on your face. "I'm so happy Maxy won!" She exclaimed, her mood improving for a moment as she thought about him.
Standing up to his full height, Tyler looked at you, "why don't we sit and chat for a moment?" Pressing your lips together in a tight smile, you replied, "I don't think that's a good idea."
He scoffed, then shrugged, "fine, have it your way like always." You were not in the mood to indulge his stupid comments which would eventually lead to an argument, in fact you were here to enjoy the weekend with your boyfriend who you dearly missed in this moment.
His eyes widened briefly when you didn't respond to his comment, wondering how you changed so much in a matter of a few weeks that you couldn't care less about him anymore.
"Hey Bella, why don't you show daddy the caps that you got?" You prompted another topic, that Isabella quickly agreed to. Tyler's gaze remained on you for a moment, understanding that you truly had no intention on speaking to him longer than necessary. The conversations you did have were only necessary due to your daughter, but even those texts and calls started becoming less and less frequent.
Isabella took off her Red Bull cap, which had autographs from Max and Checo, to expose a Ferrari cap with two more signatures from Charles and Carlos, and then a McLaren cap that undoubtedly featured two signatures from Oscar and Lando. She caught up to Lando and Charles, who had given her their hats earlier, as well as their teammates, to obtain signatures. She then wanted to get autographs on her RedBull cap as well. When she asked Max and Checo, they chuckled with the latter claiming she had them all at her beck and call, but they nevertheless signed the cap.
Isabella ended up stacking all three caps on her head because she couldn't choose which one best matched with her outfit. She began explaining the story behind the signatures, and Tyler intently listened, asking a few questions in between as well.
"And then-" Isabella's gaze wandered off, eyes lighting up in excitement as she spotted, "-Maxy!"
Without any hesitation she ran up to him, colliding with him as she tried to wrap her arms around him, earning a low, "oof" from him.
Picking her up and settling her on his hip, holding her up with one arm, he held up his other hand that had a medal hanging from it. Max placed the medal around Isabella's neck, which he received on the podium earlier along with his trophy. "We won, princess," he commented, smiling as wide as she did.
She held both of her hands up, imitating the action Max did as he held his trophy on the podium, causing him to laugh. You watched the interaction with a smile on your face, and could hear their laughter from a few feet away.
Walking towards you as Max was initially planned on doing, he noticed a man next to you, which based on your descriptions was Tyler. He decided to overlook him for now, instead greeting you with a kiss to your cheek.
Tyler held his hand out, "great race, congratulations on the championship. I'm a huge fan by the way." Max, nodded politely, still holding Isabella in his arms but shaking his hand nonetheless. "Thank you," he prompted, waiting for the man to introduce himself to confirm his suspicions.
"Oh, so you're Tyler." Max glanced at you for a moment, watching as you tried to hide your smile behind your hands because of his antics. "Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" He questioned, and Max was quick to retort, "well, it's not really the best thing now is it?"
"I don't understand," he trailed off, and your boyfriend shrugged, "I figured you wouldn't understand, it's okay," he patted Tyler's shoulder in faux consolation. You had to take a step back so Tyler wouldn't see your expression, placing a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.
Tyler was quick to catch on to the condescending tone Max spoke with, looking at you—after you composed yourself fortunately. "So what, you get invited to one race and you guys are best friends now?" He asked, a hint of jealousy you were familiar with revealed in his tone.
"More like she's my girlfriend and they're here to support me," Max clarified. Tyler looked at Max, then Isabella, finally understanding why she was always so enamoured by him.
He scoffed, "oh great, enjoy my sloppy seconds then mate, I will warn you though, it's not worth it because a few months later she'll show you a positive pregnancy test and force you to be a father."
Your jaw dropped, instantly responding, "in front of my daughter?" You glanced at Isabella who was in fact hearing all the words spoken, only frowning due to yours and Max's expressions as she didn't understand the full context of the words her father had said, just knowing that it wasn't good.
Max wiped his hand over his mouth, jaw clenching while his warm gaze turned cold within seconds. "Apologize, now," he instructed, trying to hold himself back from causing a fight.
"Now why would I do that? It's true." Max placed Isabella back on her feet who quickly shuffled over to you, standing behind your legs. "How dare you stand here claiming to be my fan yet talk shit about the person I love?" The driver placed his hand on Tyler's shoulder again, but this time you could see the fear bubbling up in his eyes as his grip tightened.
Still, Tyler managed to scoff, "love? Bold claims there. Sorry to break it to you but she's probably just with you for your mon-" he couldn't finish his sentence because he was punched square in the jaw by your boyfriend.
"Max!" You shrieked, and watching the interaction, Isabella held on to your hands tightly with tears welling up in her eyes. You picked her up again, noticing that Tyler was fuming in anger. "Gonna fucking sue you for that," he spit out some blood, but Max only shrugged, "try me."
Fortunately, you guys were stood in between the team motorhomes, which meant you were slightly hidden away from public eye due to the buildings covering the scene.
Readying himself for another punch if needed, you shook your head, "it's not worth it, Max."
"Yeah Max, listen to your girlfriend," he taunted, angering you in the process. "Will you ever shut up?" You shot back. Max glanced at Isabella who had hid her face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you. Although he couldn't see her face, he guessed that her eyes were tightly shut.
Nodding as a silent agreement with Max, you decided to walk away from the scene as you didn't want to expose Isabella to any more of this argument than what she has already heard. Glancing at Max once more, you hoped that your expression was indicating something along the lines of, "don't do anything too bad."
However, you could hear Max's words as he began speaking to Tyler, "listen here you little shit..." but you didn't stick around to hear the entire conversation, smiling to yourself knowing that Tyler would finally be put into his place—that too by his favourite driver.
Finally entering his driver's room, you sat down on the couch sighing in relief. Isabella was still in your lap and you ran your hand up and down her back in a soothing motion because you could feel her sniffling against you. "Bella," you murmured, wanting to see her adorable face.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that, sweetheart." You kissed her head before brushing your hand through her hair. You heard her mumble but didn't catch her words, "what was that?"
She lifted her head to look at you, and you frowned seeing the tears staining her cheeks. "Why is daddy so mean? I don't like him."
"Some people are just mean for no reason, and unfortunately, your daddy is one of them," you explained, no longer covering for him knowing that after what Isabella witnessed, she wouldn't want to be near him no matter what you said.
She frowned but didn't respond, leaning her head against your shoulder again. You didn't disturb her peace, knowing that after the eventful day, she needed some quiet time.
Max entered the room a few minutes later, and he smiled to greet you but it fell flat. He pointed at Isabella, then put his thumbs up to silently ask if she was okay, but you shrugged.
"What did you say to him?" You asked, knowing that whatever conversation followed probably wasn't kind. "I told him that I'd ban him from future races if I saw him anywhere near you or Bella, and he left."
You knew that it probably wasn't that easily done, but you didn't ask for more details.
You had thought Isabella fell asleep since she hadn't moved in a while, nor could you see her face, but she lifted her head up to look at Max once she heard some shuffling about in the room.
He paused as soon as his gaze connected with hers, unsure of how to initiate a conversation because he did literally punch her father. Isabella wiggled off your lap, and both you and Max thought that she would walk away further into the room so her next action surprised you both. Running towards Max, she held her arms out, engulfing him in a hug.
"You're better than my dad, Maxy," she muttered, and he audibly sighed, the stress wrinkles on his face disappearing while wrapping his own arms around her smaller frame.
"Thank you, princess," he whispered back, and she pulled back to kiss his cheek. Isabella looked back at you, smiling when she saw you smile as well. "Thank you for taking care of my mama," your daughter told Max, and his heart warmed at her words. "Always."
The ring of your phone interrupted the beautiful sight in front of you, but your eyes widened when you saw that it was your mother calling. As soon as you pick it up, you're greeted by hearing your full name.
"Hi, mum," you stood up and walked further away just in case you were about to get a scolding although you had no idea what you could've possibly done. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.
"Tell you what?" You answered with a question of your own, knowing that she could be referring to anything at the moment. "That you have a boyfriend."
Your mouth dropped open, "how do you know that?" She chuckled, "because a friend of mine called me and told me that she just watched you kiss someone on live television, some racer guy."
Covering your mouth with your hand, you thought back to the moment Max kissed you in front of the huge crowd after getting out of his car, and of course there had to be cameras capturing the moment. "Max, he's a Formula 1 driver," you explained.
"Wait, the same Max that Bella talks about?" You hummed, "the same one."
"I'm glad you finally moved on from your daughter's father, but I'm also sad that you didn't tell me sooner and I looked foolish because I didn't know until my friend told me about it."
"I'm sorry, I didn't think my relationship would be broadcasted live. Plus, I think the chapter with Tyler is finally over, for both me and Isabella."
"That's good to hear, she doesn't deserve a father like him. Is Max good to you?"
"He's the best to both of us, she lights up with joy every time she sees him." Your mother hummed as she heard your response, "then me and your father have to meet him one day."
You heard some laughter in the next room where Max and Isabella were, and you smiled at your mother's words, "I hope we can come by soon, I'd love to introduce him to you and dad."
After saying goodbyes and promises to meet soon, you returned to the room Max and Isabella were in, pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of you. Just like how Isabella was sitting in your lap earlier with her head against your shoulder, she did the same to Max.
You were about to make your presence known when you heard your daughter's question. "Maxy, why do you call me princess?"
Max's gaze found yours, always finding you whether you were standing in the corner of the room or in a crowd. "Because your mama is the queen," he responded casually, as if he was stating a fact.
Isabella lifted her head, "does that make you the king?" He shrugged, "I guess it does."
She giggled, "and does that mean we get a happily ever after like the storybooks?" Max reached his hand out towards you, asking you to join them which you obliged to easily.
"Ours is better than the storybooks," he stated, placing a kiss on Isabella's forehead before pecking your lips briefly.
The End.
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#little big fan fic#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#thef1diary fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fic#f1 fluff
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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.
Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out
Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave
Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)
Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.
Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader
You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?
Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror
You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow
He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.
Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.
“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”
It’s you.
He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.
You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.
“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.
“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”
He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.
A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.
The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.
Only at night does it become unsettling.
“Going for a walk?”
You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.
“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”
It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.
To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.
You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.
With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.
When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.
Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.
“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.
Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.
Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?
You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.
Fingernails.
“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”
It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.
“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.
“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.
“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”
He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.
Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.
“I’d like to go to my room now.”
“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”
Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.
“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.
“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”
You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.
You want to cry.
He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.
“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”
“I just wanted to lay in bed.”
He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.
“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.
“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.
“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”
You briefly look at the drawer and nod.
“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”
The man ponders his next words with a hum.
“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”
The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.
“Eat up!” He encourages you.
You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.
“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”
He gazes at you in disbelief.
“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”
You return the smile without responding.
“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”
“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.
“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”
The knot in your stomach tightens.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere fic#yandere imagines#yandere imagine#yandere scenarios#yandere male#yandere killer#yandere male x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere serial killer#yandere original character#horror#split personality#tw yandere
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yandere!emperor with empress!reader scenario
warnings: infidelity, obsessive behavior, blackmail, non-con, regicide.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!
Hey guys, welcome to my first yandere fic! Before we dive in, I want to let you know a couple of things; firstly, this is not the prologue of a series and never will be one because I simply do not have the time right now. It is a scenario, a prompt, that was inspired by the Fallen Kingdom series created by @cassanderasblog. I will leave a link to their work here. I credit them for giving me inspiration and being honest in their feedback when I showed them the initial draft. Credit also goes to @faux-ecrivain for helping finish a difficult scene.
Finally, please do not comment on here if you wish to harass me in some shape or form. I do and will not tolerate bullying. As the saying goes, "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it at all." If it does happen, however, I will have no choice but to remove this scenario as soon as possible.
So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy :)
Yandere!Emperor had despised you with his heart and soul. The only reason he had allowed the marriage to even happen was to solidify the alliance between his nation and yours. He did not love you. The woman who held his heart, the one whom he trusted above everyone else in the world is Tatiana Adreeva. His mistress. A beautiful flower that should never be polluted by the nobles who dare to not allow her to become the Empress simply because she lacked the status equal to his own prior to ascension. You did.
Yandere!Emperor did not lay a hand on you after the vows had been exchanged in the temple. He did not seek out your company, preferring to seek comfort in Tati’s bed and her arms. He had his crown, his woman, and allocated more power through his marriage with you. It was nothing personal. He simply did what he had to do so that his Empire would continue to prosper.
Yandere!Emperor would not tolerate any rudeness targeted toward his lover, even if you had not uttered a single word to her at all or raised your hand against her.
To him, ignoring her when she greeted you was enough to earn a lengthy lecture from him.
But you did not cling to him or beg for mercy, as he thought you would do, or any other self-respecting maiden who did not want to anger her husband. You coldly stared at him with that, silent as the grave until he dismissed you from his office. Out of spite, he had his aide add more documents to your desk for the next month even when the work was not part of the Empress’ official duties.
To his joy, Tatiana became pregnant with his child, his heir. Being by her side was suddenly all that mattered to Yandere!Emperor. His overprotective streak and ill temperament increased over time. He would lash out at you for the smallest of incidents, even if it was not your fault. And like before, you did not react to his words and continued with your life.
Like what happens to him or with his mistress is none of your concern unless it is associated with the Empire and the citizens. As it should be. He did not marry you out of love.
When the child was born, a healthy baby boy christened Nikolov, Yandere!Emperor held a banquet and invited ambassadors from neighboring kingdoms to celebrate. But it was on this day….that he knew the truth.
Once he had made the necessary greetings and made sure the captain of the guards would immediately report anything suspicious or if Tati and Nikolov were in any danger, Yandere!Emperor retreated to his office. He looked over the stack of documents on his desk, trying to lessen his workload in the morning so that he could spend time with his Tati and his son.
Upon hearing a knock at the door, he did not look up from the outline of a treaty as he allowed the third person to enter his office without cutting off their fingers. His mistress, the head butler, and his advisor. Tati’s older brother, Marquis Aizel Adreeva. Yandere!Emperor had bought the highest status that he could give to his mistress’ family after receiving positive confirmation that Tati was truly pregnant and not a misdiagnosis.
Aizel smiled, closing the door behind him with his foot as he set down a tray, placing two silver goblets and a bottle of wine on the corner of his desk. He spoke softly, congratulating Yandere!Emperor on finally having an heir and making his sister the happiest woman in the world. He poured the wine into the goblets. He held one in his hand, and extended his other hand to the Glorious Son, Blessed by the Five Gods.
Yandere!Emperor smiled, taking the offered drink. They raised their goblets high in the air, and drank. Yet when Yandere!Emperor looked at Aizel…his merry smile was not right. Not the kind of joy that a new uncle would express at a nationwide celebration. It was tighter, almost anticipating something…to happen.
That was when he realized the wine tasted bitter. That was when the room began to spin, and it felt like his skull being split in half. Poison. He had been betrayed. Yandere!Emperor grunted, trying to steady himself against the desk when Aizel walked around the wooden structure and had the audacity to push him back into the leather chair.
“Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Emperor.” Aizel chastised, his amber orbs glowing with delight. “Not going to lie, I did not think the wine would accelerate the poison as quickly I had thought, but that works for me!”
Yandere!Emperor felt a rock plummet into the pit of his stomach at Aizel’s words. “You…did this?” He gurgled. “I thought…the Empress -”
“And deny me the opportunity to see the look on your face, choking on your blood? Absolutely not. Dear, sweet [First Name] would never have done this to you. You might not have loved her, but she did respect you.” Aizel shrugged. "If Tati were in her shoes, I reckon things would not have gone as smoothly as they have." He said casually, as if he were talking about the weather and not informally speaking to the most powerful man in the Empire.
“I only have ten minutes before I must return to the party, so I will do the honor of answering your unspoken questions. Now, where should I start? Oh, right. Why? Why did I do this when I love you like a brother? When have you treated my sister and I with nothing but kindness and respect, providing support whenever we are troubled, mentally, physically, and finanically? Well, the answer is really, really simple: I don’t. I tolerated you. I respected you. But never once did I feel any affection towards you.” His smile widened. “The one who deserves to stand by Tati's side is the Rapid Dog of The Northern Border, my brother-in-arms. Remember him? He was engaged to Tati. The man she should have married, should have been the father of my nephew. But you had the engagement annulled because she had said a few nice words to you. You threatened to seize my family’s home unless she came to the palace as your mistress? Do you remember? Why do I even bother asking? You’re going to die anyway, and we will finally be free from this gilded cage. Seven years. Seven long, agonizing years of watching my sister playing the gentle, loving role of a besotted mistress when all she really wanted to do was slit your throat. I thought about that every day too, you know? Well, almost. I actually felt sorry for the Empress, you know. She didn’t deserve to have a husband who neglected his duties and blamed everything on the one person who kept the gears in this Empire going, until now.”
“E-Empress -”
“Had an assassin give her a clean, painless death. Made it look like an accident, and he delivered! That’s very impressive for an underground guild, you know. Investment was worth it.” Aizel giggled.
“Now, it’s time to let everyone know their beloved Emperor has retired for the evening and call it a night. Big changes are coming. Pity you won’t see it. Don’t worry though, I won’t kill Nikki. I do love him…and he will never know that his true father is a tyrannical piece of shit who died in his own pool of blood because he allowed love to muddle his mind when he should have put the country’s well being above all else. Farewell, Emperor Aleksander of the Moldova Empire. From the ashes of corruption, a new country shall be born. And my nephew will rule over it in his father’s stead once he is ready. The father he should have had and not the one who brought him into this world, Duke Matthias Starkov.”
When he awakened, Yandere!Emperor realized he was no longer on the floor. He could breathe and he could see in the mirror that hung across the room that he looked younger again. He asked, no, demanded, a quivering servant to tell him what the year and date were, now. It was The Year of the Moon, ----. As the crown prince of the Moldova Empire, it is his duty to select a candidate to become his crown princess, his future Empress who would rule beside him when he ascended as the Emperor. His father, the current Emperor, is growing impatient with his sixteen-year-old son and annoyed that he is still fawning over the marquis’ daughter, Tatiana Adreeva, a woman who was already engaged to a duke.
“Bring me the list, no, tell Josef to bring it to my office immediately. I will be there shortly.” Yandere!Emperor had never pushed the servants to dress him quickly as he did at this moment. He did not know how or why, but he had returned to the past, right when he had seen Tatiana for the first time. Seven years into the past, before Aizel had poisoned him and killed his Empress.
Sure enough, he saw his Empress’ name on the list, five down from the most qualified and right in the middle of the lengthy parchment. [First Name] [Last Name], born to the Republic of Greiran, the Prime Minister’s only daughter.
They are Moldova’s closest neighbor and primary source of spices and various crops that are able to thrive in the harshest of weather conditions. Rumor had it that the Prime Minister himself was the one who had collaborated with the magician’s tower on this project, saving thousands of lives from suffering another winter and no harvest after the king had collapsed from a broken heart, having lost his queen after she had given birth to the crown prince.
That connection to the magician’s tower was the only reason Yandere!Emperor had married his Empress. Access to more magical resources than the ones in the Moldova Empire, enabling the creation of magical weapons and protecting the borders around enemy nations. And yet he still died like a damned dog, blind to the respect and admiration his Empress held for him in favor of receiving love from his murderer. But not this time. This time….he will set things right.
He will not get involved with Tatiana Adreeva.
He will ascend to the throne as he is supposed to.
He will be devoted only to [First Name], never taking a mistress even if the aristocracy begged him. Even if their marriage is only on paper, and she never looks at him as a man and only as an Emperor.
He will learn everything there is to know about his future Empress, and he will never let her go.
Taglist
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@mitra555
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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2023
#forbidden-sunlight#yandere x reader#x reader#yandere male#yandere#yandere fanfiction#yandere manhwa x reader#yandere!emperor#do not repost#yandere oc#ns.fw#cw obsession#tw obsession#tw yandere#tw dubious consent#cw dubious consent#tw murder#cw murder
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♡ Forever Only ♡
Week 3 of my Playlist series
Summary: You thought you wouldn't see him again, at least for a while, but Spencer Reid finds you, and he has questions.
Warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni. Penetrative sex, voyeurism, fingering, multiple orgasms, semi-protected sex, creampie, almost breeding kink, like if you squint, slight angst, dom!Spencer Reid.
A/N: First smut of the series! This one is based on one of my top songs of 2023, everyone say thank you, Jaehyun, for releasing the closest K-pop is ever going to get to 00s R&B. I hope you all enjoy it 🥰
Masterlist || Spotify Playlist
Of all the places you'd been where you thought of Spencer Reid and your paths crossing again, you never expected it to actually happen here.
The club was lit so low, so you didn't really expect it to be him, your ex-something, not quite boyfriend, far from nothing, situationship maybe? But there he was.
Not just him, but all of them. The BAU, minus their bosses, were all dancing and drinking at various points around the club, having fun but still being vigilant.
You're surprised you notice him before he notices you, but you're not surprised that it doesn't take him much longer.
You're not exactly here to blend in with the crowd.
The low-cut dress with the lower-cut bust line is already getting as much attention as you'd expected it would, and that doesn't go unnoticed by Spencer as he finally drags his eyes over to the commotion you've made in the corner.
“I don't know you,” you tried to politely explain to the creep who'd blocked you in with one arm. “I'm just waiting for my friend, please leave me alone.”
“Let's have some fun, baby, you, me, that body you're hiding under those scraps of fabric. I'll make you scream, I promise.”
You'd scoffed the first few times he'd made similar remarks, but he was tenacious, and he didn't understand the word “no,” and was vaguely unfamiliar with “leave,” “me,” and “alone” too.
You'd scanned the room for a friendly face and had locked eyes with the man you'd been waiting six months to meet again. Perfect timing.
Of course, he'd picked up on your discomfort and walked your way, and of course, he'd bought back-up.
“Y/N, you should've sent me a text when you got here!” Emily Prentiss expertly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a hug, as the man was forced to let you move.
“Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked,” you mumbled, still feeling the weight of the creeps gaze on you despite your newly inherited guard dogs.
“Come on over to the table, baby girl, we got bottle service. I'm going big tonight.” You tried to thank Morgan as well, but the smile you sent him didn't reach your eyes as you consciously avoided Spencer's gaze.
“You know these people, babe?” The stranger from behind you put a hand on your waist as he pulled you back a step, leaving you stumbling wide eyed until your back was to his chest, shoulders unconsciously rounding into a protective stance as you tried to shrug hum off.
“For the last time, let go of me. I don't know you, and I don't want to know you. This is your last warning.” You rounded on the man, turned your back to the other three agents, and tried to calm your thoughts to see his next reaction.
“Stuck-up bitch, I said you're coming home with me tonight.”
You made sure his last attempt to grab you was his last attempt to grab any woman as you flipped him onto his back, your fellow agents behind you pulling their guns and handcuffs to helpfully lead him out of his hunting grounds.
You'd hadn't wanted to see Spencer Reid again so soon, and you certainly hadn't wanted to enlist the entire teams help on a serial rape case, but it wasn't your final decision to make.
And honestly, you'd been glad for the help in the take down, with your office so understaffed.
After reading the creep his rights, seizing the date rape drug he'd planned to slip into your drink later that night, and the knives and rope in his card that he was planning to also use on you, you were just thankful that you had all the help you could get.
Now that you were back at the station at 4am, with nothing but aching muscles from handing the nearly 200 lbs man his ass to him on a platters and aching feet from doing it in heels, you wanted nothing else than for the last week to erase itself.
Six months absence from the BAU wasn't long enough to fall out of love with Spencer Reid, and you never thought it would be.
A year was all the time it had taken to fall head over heels for the man, and you'd assumed you could reverse that in the same time, so you'd left.
It wasn't a leave of absence but a strategic departure to a task force in Rapid City, where rape numbers were spiking. You were still doing your job, that was the important part.
You changed into your comfortable clothes in the locker room and grabbed your bag, ready to head out for the night, picking up your keys to head home. You only got two steps out of the room when you ran into him.
“Early start?” He joked, looking at you again with that hesitant half-smile he'd worn the entire week he'd been here.
“Late night.” You replied. It had been a joke you'd developed after so many unusual shifts, so many 3am run-ins where neither of you could find the effort to make actual polite conversation so you'd said the two sentences and sat in amicable silence, often rested against each other as you let exhaustion carry you through the night.
“Can we talk? We're leaving in the morning, and I…” he struggled to find the words, jaw clenching and releasing the way it always did when he couldn't put his emotions into words just yet.
“Sure. But not here. My apartment is a five minute drive.” He nodded and followed you out of the building as you primed your heart to shatter into pieces again.
The drive home was quiet and peaceful, too late for natural traffic, and too early for the morning commute to begin. You made it home in record time and led him inside the apartment you'd chosen.
You flipped the light switch and kept you back to him while you completed your daily routine, trying your best to ignore that he was standing in your doorway. You tried not to be curious about what he could tell about you from the doorway, what the lack of decoration meant, how different it was from that cosy box room three blocks from his apartment, how cold it seemed instead.
So you kept your eyes off him to not have to answer the questions he'd likely have.
“So what did you want to talk about, Spence?” You almost cursed yourself for how easily the nickname slipped from your tongue. You'd heard JJ call him that a few times your first week in the office and assumed it was something everyone used for him. The way he flushed red when you said it the first time was engraved in your head, those first heavy beats of your heart alerting you to oncoming danger.
You grabbed two bottles of water from your fridge and walked back to your living room, where he was still stood taking things in.
“Spencer?” You asked again, holding out the bottle.
He took it with a small smile of thanks, and you led him over to the sofa, urging him to talk again.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“You… you didn't say goodbye.”
You knew this was coming, but you hoped he wouldn't have the courage to ask you the questions you knew were about to arrive at your door.
“I'm coming back in six months, Spencer. I didn't say goodbye because it wasn't going to be goodbye.” You'd turned this excuse over in your brain enough to know it was a weak argument, but you hoped your friendly smile would reassure him.
“You didn't tell anyone you were leaving until you were gone. That hurt a lot.”
“I didn't want to hurt you. Everything was just so fast. I had to take the offer immediately, or they would've moved onto someone else. You understand, right, Spencer?” He sat back, resigned, and nodded again slightly.
But a silence built up as he stared at you, and your hands got all sweaty the way they always did when he paid attention to you. You couldn't just stare everywhere else until he broke the silence again.
“How is Rachel? I haven't heard from her in a while.” You blurted the words under the weight of his gaze.
And you knew you'd said too much in those two sentences.
You'd first introduced Spencer to your college roommate after you realised you were in love with him. You'd spent a year at the BAU, and you thought he felt the same way, too.
You hadn't said anything, but you ate together at his apartment weekly, and you went on outings - dates, you'd thought they were dates - to museums and movies. He'd slept over at your house once, and you'd never felt happier than waking up with his arms wrapped around you.
So, of course, you'd taken him along to a party your friend from college was throwing. You'd nearly introduced him as your boyfriend, and looking back, you were glad Rachel had cut you off before you could.
“Is this the famous Spencer Reid? You're cuter than I thought you'd be.” You saw the flirtatious spark in her eyes, heard her tone, and felt uncomfortable.
You felt even worse when she took his hand and led him off to introduce him to more of your friends without a glance back at you.
For the first hour, you were worried about him, knowing that he never did great in social settings. You contented yourself by catching up with old friends, nursing a glass of wine, and trying not to follow him around the room with your eyes.
You'd given up and sat miserably in the corner for the next hour before you'd decided you wanted to leave. This time you'd had to track him down.
It wasn't that you'd found him in any compromising situation. He was just sat on the couch, smiling and talking to her. But when you said you wanted to go home, and he'd agreed to drive you back, she'd grabbed his hand.
“So Tuesday, 8 pm, right? It's a date." He nodded and said his goodbyes, and you wiped all of the emotion off your face so you didn't break down right there.
He talked to you as he drove back, but you could only nod and hum in response.
You shrugged off his concern as you walked into your apartment alone and let your heart break.
You were in Rapid City the next week.
“Your friend from college? I'm….I'm not sure.” He looked genuinely confused down at you as your lungs capsized in on themselves.
“Oh, right.” You nodded again and forced out a yawn, desperate to get rid of him before he could climb back into your heart again and roost there.
“You didn't keep in touch with her after you moved?”
“We had… a disagreement.” It was a kind way to put what had happened. You'd sent her one text asking her what all of that was at her party, and she'd sent you a paragraph back the day of her date with Spencer calling you pathetic and lonely and jealous. And then she'd blocked your number.
“That sucks. She seemed nice.” You couldn't help but scoff at his words, completely forgetting your plan to ask him to leave. Of course, he thought Rachel was nice. He'd been half in love with her by the end of that party.
“What was that for?” He asked, the words spilling out quickly as his eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed.
“Nothing. It's late, Spencer.”
“I don't think it was nothing. Why are you asking me about your friend? Why would I know?” He was on the edge of his seat now, and you needed desperately to put some space between you. You stood up and stretched, moving to clean up a pile of papers you'd left on your coffee table that morning.
“You certainly seemed interested six months ago, Spence. I just assumed there was a second date after that first one. My bad.”
You moved to your kitchen, bit he followed you.
“What do you mean? Y/N?” You weren't listening though, instead organising and cleaning things at a quick pace so your brain didn't have to focus on his question.
“Y/N, look at me. Please.” He stepped closer his chest nearly against your back as his hand found your wrist.
It was involuntary, but you relaxed into his familiar grip, your body finally content, and now it was back in his arms.
“Or don't look at me and just listen to me. I don't know what you're talking about, but I never went on any date with Rachel. I wasn't interested in her like that, I was interested in-” He stopped short, frustration ebbing his voice off as the silent words hung between the two of you.
You finally turned around to look at him, and you could see the hurt in his eyes.
He whispered his question again.
“Why didn't you say goodbye?”
“Because my heart was broken, Spencer. Because I took you to meet my friends and I thought I was going to introduce you as my boyfriend, but instead I got ignored the whole night and then you arranged to meet with her and she called it a date. I loved you, I love you and I couldn't say goodbye because then I'd have to hear about it. About how you were happy without me, when I was lonely and broken without you.”
You didn't know you were crying until the tears his your lips. He wiped then away, but they still tasted salty as you licked your lips.
“I didn't come to work for a month,” he confessed. “After you left, I tried to give Hotch my resignation letter. He wouldn't tell me where you went. I came back but it wasn't the same without you.” His forehead rested against yours, noses touching as his words came out barely above a whisper.
“I can't come back, Spencer. Not until I don't feel this way anymore.”
He didn't miss a beat before pressing his lips against yours.
“Don't.” He said between kisses, pinning you against your kitchen counter as he gripped your waist in one hand. You didn't pull away, even as you felt your hot tears flow freely.
“Don't stop loving me. Please.” His voice broke as he pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms tight around your back, pinning your hands to his chest as sobs wracked through your body.
You'd held onto this pain for a year and it was all spilling out now.
He looked at you again and started kissing each tear away, lifting you up until your legs were wrapped around him, and he was as close you you as he could possibly be.
“Love me forever. Please.”
You pulled his head away to look at him again, searching for reassurance again that this wasn't going to be one-sided.
“What about you? If I love you forever, which I don't think I have a choice in, how-”
“I love you. I loved you then, I love you now, I will always love you. I don't know how it wasn't clear when I followed you around every second of the day.” He kissed you with each confession, looking angry at himself that he'd never said the words before.
“I asked your friend how I should ask you to be my girlfriend. She had a lot of ideas and said we should meet up and talk about it. I didn't know…” He cursed, not quite as quietly as he'd attempted to. The strangeness of it shocked a laugh out of you, the rumble of it vibrating through your chest. He still held you tightly, but he looked at you again, getting out of his head.
“What's funny?”
“You tried to quit your job to look for me.”
“You moved to South Dakota instead of asking what we were.”
“You kissed me before you told me how you felt.”
“You kissed me back and then you laughed at me.”
“You swore!” You laughed again, and you were sure that he was going to have to put you down this time. You were laughing so much.
Instead he pulled you tighter into his arms and walked out of the kitchen.
“Is this the bedroom?” He asked nodding towards the closed door.
Your laugh quieted at the charged question, until your eyes found his lips as you nodded.
“Good.”
You let him lay you down on the bed before you pulled him in for another kiss, this one more fiery than any you'd shared in the kitchen as he hovered over you on the bed.
“Spencer!” You gasped as his hands trailed under your shirt. You regretted changing out of that small dress now, regretting the amount of fabric between you and him as his hands glided up to your breasts, mouth pressing kiss after kiss into your neck and collarbone.
He nestled his knee between yours and climbed fully over you, pushing your legs open as he showed you where you were going next. You moaned as your back arched into his touch, rubbing yourself against him but still needing him closer.
“I love every sound you make.’ He whispered as his other hand worked its way under the sweatpants you'd thrown on earlier, silently pushing them down your legs as you lifted your hips to help him once again.
His mouth connected with yours again after he got them to your knees, hand pressing flat against your stomach as you finished off the job.
He laid next to you, pulling his lips off your own as you trailed after him. But his eyes weren't on you anymore. You followed his gaze to his hand and watched him slip his fingers under your panties as he began to tease your sensitive parts.
You whimpered slightly as the contact, as he gathered some of your wetness and ran his fingers up and down your sensitive parts.
His lips found your ears. “Just like that. I want to hear you just like that. Whimper for me, Y/N. Beg for me. Let me know how much you want this.”
You gasped as he started rubbing slow even circles around your clit, his body still rolled to the side so he could watch intently the pleasure on your face.
It was near voyeuristic, his eyes focused on your face, the pants of air escaping your lips, the way your nipples had hardened, and had become visible through your shirt.
You hadn't been able to wear a bra with your dress earlier, you wanted to explain, but you couldn't find the words.
“Look at your body reacting to me. You need me to make you feel like this.” He whispered, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss over your clothed nipple. “Right?”
“Yes, fuck, yes Spencer. I need you.”
“Here. Can you feel how much I need you, too?” He grabbed your hand in his free one and pulled it over his erection, instructing you silently on how to hold it and rub it.
“I can feel it, Spencer. Please, please fuck me.” Your voice felt alien to yourself. You'd never had that high of a sex drive before, so you'd never thought you'd ever have to beg for it. But there was something in the tender touch of Spencer's fingers that has you desperate to feel him inside you.
“Do you have condoms?”
“No.”
“Birth control?”
“Yes, yes, please, Spencer. Please, I don't care.” His pace had picked up, his fingers moving slightly rougher than before, but you knew you were close as he kept massaging your sensitive clit.
You knew you were going to cum before you felt him inside you, you knew you'd want to cum again. You were going to be forever insatiable because of this man.
He kissed his way across your skin as he peeled your shirt and his clothes off, leaving your panties for last as he watched you grind your cunt into his fingers.
“I love you,” he whispered In your ear as he stroked his cock, watching your body convulse as you came just at his touch.
He kept his lips close to your ear as he entered you during the throes of your first orgasm, whispering again when he had slid his entire length into you. “And you're mine.”
You were intoxicated by his touch, cum drunk as he began thrusting and you wrapped your legs around his waist.
He nipped and sucked at your neck, listening to you moan and whimper as he pulled out and entered you again and again, head thrown back into the sheets of the bed you'd been too eager to climb underneath.
A few minutes of thrusting and he gripped your waist and sat you up on his cock, moving his hands to your thighs as you wrapped your arms around his neck as he bounced you steadily on his cock.
“Shit, Spencer, you're…so…deep,” you pulled him in closer, burying your head in his neck as you deafened as embarrassing squeal.
You came again on his cock as he used you like a flashlight, his own pants and groans soundtracking your breathless orgasm.
“That's it, good job, Y/N,” he cooed at you, lowering you back onto your back and thrusting shallowly through your convulsions. When you'd recovered slightly again, he gently pushed your legs up, stretching you so your knees were as far back as they could go, splayed open so they were almost touching the bed.
His forehead rested against yours again as he held you in place, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he snapped his hips into you with long, quick thrusts that had you gasping again for the breath he was forcing out of your lungs.
“I love you. And you are mine.” He said. “I love you, and you are mine.” The words were a mantra to him as he worked himself to the edge.
“Yes, yes, I'm yours. I love you, I'm yours, Spencer.” He came with a whimper, releasing inside of you and collapsing gently into your arms as you readied yourself to hold one another for the rest of eternity.
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#mgg#spencer reid smut#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you
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play fake | part six
series play fake
— ( masterlist )
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.
content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole
zya's notes thank you so much for your sweet notes in my inboxes!! also, please read the important note at the end 🩷
𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃
⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚
Rafe's mind is spinning.
He didn't have a plan when he barged into your house. It was short-sighted and willed by his temper. All he knew was the hot, pulsating jealousy raging inside of him and he couldn't do anything to contain it. He knows you're nothing more than a fake title created to impress his father. He knows he can have any other woman in the world. He knows you two aren't real. But, for some reason, despite the lack of formal commitment, he wants you—your sharp mouth, your kind heart, your ability to tease and challenge him in one breath—all to himself.
The idea of sharing you with someone else—a Pogue, nonetheless—irritates and angers him. Because it means that a Pogue can beat him. Is better than him. More suited for your time and trust than him.
And deep down, he knows it's true.
Since you fucked Maybank, there's nothing he could do to change that. Instead, he needs to prove to you, someway, somehow, that he was better.
You said nothing when he wrapped his hand around your throat, your eyes slightly widened and your lips part. His gaze traces the outline of your features, trying to read every minuscule detail to figure out what you're thinking.
"Speak." He demands, his jaw clenching down, his desperation boiling over. Your words are mute. "Fucking talk."
You can't. You're preoccupied with the presence of Rafe Cameron in your home, just a few feet away from your sisters from discovering him, from seeing him here, that it renders you without a response.
"I—" You stutter, your soft eyes meeting Rafe's hard ones. "You're not supposed to be here."
Those weren't the words he wanted to hear.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
You lay a hand on his wrist, not necessarily pulling him off, but in preparation to. You don't answer his question, anxiously looking to the back door. You squint through the tinted screen to see if your siblings are still running around the yard, no signs of them returning to the house soon.
This move—you looking away from Rafe—twists something ugly inside of him. Rafe interprets your glance as another way to look for them, the Pogues; the people who are better than him. His hand slides from your throat to cup your chin, forcing your sight back on him.
"Who the fuck are you looking for?" He snaps, his gaze darkening with each second, pupils dilating, the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. "Maybank? Are you looking for your other boyfriend?"
You didn't bother acknowledging what he's saying. He's always saying shit. You place a hand on his chest, ready to push him out of the front door but he refuses to budge. "You really can't be here, Rafe, I'm so serious—"
"Or what?"
He hears nothing but the sound of his own blood. He can't do this. He can't stand that you're choosing Heyward and Maybank over him. That they're more important than him. That they get to stay but he has to leave.
He wants to be here too.
You inhale a shaky breath, worry edging around your heart at the idea of one of your sisters walking in. You can't afford that.
"Where's your room?" He demands, his words are sharp and filled with authority. His tolerance slipping. You don't answer him immediately and his grip on your chin tightens. "Either you tell me or I'm going to fuck you right here and I don't fucking care who sees."
His threat is real. Your panic spikes.
Having no other choice, you pull yourself out of his grip—something you know he allowed—and grabs his arm, navigating him deeper into your house. Something about it rubs you wrong; the way he's getting to see more intimate details of your home, where you grew up, where you've been surviving for the past twenty-two years. It's getting access to something you've shielded from most people.
Stepping into the small master bedroom, you close the door behind you, disregarding any attempts to lock it. It's broken.
You turn back to Rafe with a gentle gaze; you don't know where to start this conversation.
"I—"
You don't need to. The next thing you know, his lips are on you and he's kissing you, the blunt force of his sudden action slams you against the back of your door with a loud creak. His hand travels to cup the underside of your jaw, guiding him closer.
It takes you by surprise but you find yourself reciprocating him, the familiar slant of his mouth pressing against yours slowly dissolving any panic, calming your turbulent mind to one focus.
But his touch isn't anywhere soft or gentle. It was rough and demanding, punishment easing its way through his will and onto you.
Rafe breaks the kiss to descend down your open neck and you tilt your head to give him more access, a delicate sigh leaving you. His hand finds itself under your baggy tee and cups your breast. "You think Maybank can make you feel this way?" He whispers against your warm skin, his fingers lightly grazing your nipples in a way that makes you arch into him. "That he can fuck you better?"
When you don't answer him, your mind too muddled to correct him, he pulls back. His eyes are hard. "Do you?"
His insecurities are getting to him. Your lack of response is getting to him. Now knowing that JJ Maybank—a no-named Pogue from the rough side of The Cut that has nothing—could be a potential suitor for you, it opens up the idea that you can be taken away. From him. From this.
He hates it. He hates you.
"Rafe." You start gently, trying to calm him down. It does the opposite. It's only pissing him off more how you can't give him a direct yes-or-no. "I didn't—"
He pushes himself off of you. Taking a step back, his cold eyes scans your clothed figure.
"Take it off." He commands lowly. "Fucking take your clothes off."
You can hear the fury in his voice, how tense and dark it is. You don't try to argue as your fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your shoulders. Your shorts and panties soon follow and you're left with nothing but complete bareness for him.
Your body is insane and his erection hardens in his pants at the sight of you. Standing before him; obedient and naked. He can't help but come to the conclusion that it's only for him to see, for him to touch and please.
And he has to share that?
Fuck, no.
He just has to remind you of that.
Rafe steps forward and captures your lips once more, his large frame covers you with warmth. Now, without your clothes, his hands travel all over—playing with your tits, pulling at your hips, spreading apart your thighs against the door. His mouth leaves yours, sucking on your neck and leaving marks on the curve.
He rolls your nipple between his rough fingers. "These are mine," he declares, tugging them in a manner that makes you arch into him, a mewl leaving your lips. Your mind growing dizzy. His hand lowers to cup your pussy. "This is mine too. I thought we went over this, sweetheart."
You shudder at his touch. "We did."
"Then why the fuck are you letting Maybank touch what's mine?" He growls, his fingers grazing against your slit, teasing you with slow strokes. You arch into his hand, only for him to hold you firm by your hips. "Not so fast."
"Rafe, please," you whisper, your pleading eyes finding his. "I'm aching."
His jaw tightens, conflicted between two things. He wanted to torture you further, slow and agonizing, but he can't help but take in the look on your face that's begging him to fuck you, against this door, hard and fast.
He had to look away, back to your cunt, spreading apart your folds. "Fuck, you're wet," he groans, your arousal collecting on his fingers. You throb at his feather-light touches. "Tell me it's all because of me."
His mouth captures a sensitive spot on your neck, just behind your ear, that you can't help but do anything to what he says. "It's all because of you," you confirm, which grants Rafe to add more pressure on your clit. "Just you, Rafe."
He loves hearing his own name coming from your lips. With satisfaction, his fingers finally plunge into your pussy and he begins to pump. You gasp at the intrusion.
His fingers curl inside of you. "I bet that Pogue doesn't make you feel this fucking good." He asserts.
"Never." You shake your head vigorously, tipping your head back against the doorframe as Rafe works in-and-out of you. The sound of your pussy squelching echoes through the small room. "Oh, fuck, right there. That feels so good."
He adds a third finger. "Oh, god."
"You're so fucking tight," he whispers into your ear, watching your face twist in ecstasy as he stretches you out. "Can't even fit it all the way in."
Pleasure and pain rides together as you mutter no audible words and feel the familiar knot tightening in your lower belly, rising in crescendo.
"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" He taunts, feeling the way you clench around him, challenging him to pump you further. You nod fervently, moaning with containment. "Right here against this door?"
"Yes, yes."
He pulls his fingers out.
"Get on the bed." He orders, watching with sick amusement at the way your face twists in frustration from the emptiness of his touch. He's proud to make you feel this way. "On all fours. Now."
You want to argue, but you're aching all over. The orgasm on the reachable horizon slowly fading away with each passing moment, that you end up obeying him. With a huff, you go to your unmade bed and settle on the mattress with your knees and palms.
Rafe smiles cruelly, taking in the mental image of you waiting for him. He quickly strips out of his clothes, his cock red and swollen, dripping with precum from the strain. But, when he steps up behind you, he doesn't immediately enter you. No, he wants to make you beg for it.
His fingers trace your wet entrance and you flinch at how sensitive it is. "Aw, my poor baby," he mocks, his voice lacking any sincerity, "do you want to come? Do you want me in you?"
It's so degrading how much you're willing to submit. To reach your release. But, nonetheless, you nod with abandon, every second passing is another unbearable heat between your legs.
"Use your words, sweetheart or I'm not fucking you," Rafe declares sharply, his ringed finger brushing against your clit and running light, broad circles. "I know you know how to use that mouth."
It's too much.
"Rafe, please," you beg, "please come inside me."
Your words make him impossibly more hard, that he couldn't take it any longer. He lines himself behind you, before slamming his cock into your pussy.
The pleasure hits you instantaneously, that you had to bite your bottom lip to contain the loud moan threatening to make itself known. You can't have that. Your sisters are just right outside your wall.
His rhythm is sharp and quick, his movement uncontrolled. "See what happens when you listen?" He grunts, the feeling of you wrapped around him is so fucking perfect. "When you do what you're told?"
"Yes, yes," you mewl, your arms giving out and you sink into your pillows from the force Rafe is pounding you from behind. "I'll be good, I swear."
Rafe anchors himself in a way that allows him to hit your g-spot with precision. You moan louder this time, forgetting your desperate attempts of keeping your voice down. "Oh god, just like that," you encourage, as he feels your walls flutter around him for the second time. "I'm ab–about to come."
He pulls out again.
This time, frustration and anger rolls over you. You're aching terribly bad, the knot in your stomach is growing uncomfortable from the lack of release.
Rafe says nothing as he grabs your waist, hauling you upright as his strong arms wrap around your front. You let out an irritated whine, your peak fading once again.
"What the fuck?" You cry out, on the brink of tears, as your spine rests on Rafe's chest and you feel his hard erection pressing against the small of your back. You know he had to be aching too. "Why'd you pull out?"
He chuckles darkly. "Want me that badly?"
"I want your dick."
He doesn't answer you, his free hand lowering. You can't see it, but the smirk of his face is full of self-satisfaction and pride.
"You can't punish me." You declare, remembering his words earlier. You wonder if this is part of it; leaving you on the edge for so long, you're going to explode. "I didn't do anything wrong."
Rafe begins to run tight circles around your clit, your swollen nub causing you to jolt into his touch by surprise. His speed quickens, drawing you back to your climax.
"Does this feel like punishment to you?" He whispers while you're writhing before him. Your head tipping back on his shoulders while your body is weakening from the strain of past attempts. "Do you want to come?"
You nod your head eagerly, one of your hands enclosing his to make sure he doesn't leave you empty again. "Yes, please."
"Who's fucking you?"
"You."
"Who makes you feel this good?"
"You." You whimper, your orgasm is so close.
"Say my fucking name."
"Rafe." You let out a moan, his cooled ring brushes against your slit and makes your sensitivity heightens. Your hand tightens its grip around his. He chuckles at the sight of your desperation. "God, please, keep doing that. Please don't stop."
Rafe's starting to know your body. Know when you're about to come. He wants you to remember. Fuck the names—the whole idea—of any other men from your head. Only his.
His fingers quickens as he lays sloppy kisses against your open neck. Your hips bucks, your thighs shaking, and your breathing shuddering. The little moans you're letting go, more contained than anything he's heard before, is a mere challenge to his ears. He wants you to be loud. He wants them to hear.
"Come on, baby," he whispers tenderly. "Come for me."
You come on his hand, slumping back against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Rafe doesn't allow you to gather yourself, flipping your position as he lays against the mattress.
Your heart is slowly calming. You blink at him through the haze of your post-orgasm.
"Ride me." He instructs, leaning back against your headboard.
Your breath hitch as he gestures to you to come forward, which your body auto-pilots and follows. You anchor yourself over his cock, lining the hard length at your entrance as you slowly sink into him, hissing from the sensitivity of your recent release.
You're taking your sweet time to get adjusted and, with thin patience and him needing his own orgasm, Rafe grabs your hips and draws you down completely, causing him to fill you to the hilt.
"Fuck," you whine, your eyes teary from the sensation of your overstimulation. You look up to him, wanting to get off, but his hands stay on your hips. "I don't know if I can..."
A hand leaves your side to cup your chin. "You want to make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?" He taunts. "Isn't that fair?"
You let out a shaky breath before you begin to rock your hips against him, finding a speed where you can control. Rafe groans at the way your body rolls, the way your walls grip him, that he leans back against the headboard.
Your pleasure builds once again, eyes fluttering close, taking in everything. Every spot his cock is hitting, every pressure point he meets, every buzzing feeling in your body. It's all because of him.
One of your hands rubs your clit while the other plays with your pierced nipples. Rafe watches with intent as you chase your own pleasure.
"I love seeing you play with your tits," he groans, because truly, something about you playing with the little metal barbell between your fingers, twisting and pulling, drives him fucking wild.
"Yeah?" You challenge, leaning over. He raises himself, taking a nipple in his mouth as your hands are splayed across his chest to steady yourself. The sensation of his warm mouth sucking and your angle at which you grind against him—you feel yourself rising to your climax again while his cock twitches inside of you.
His arm locks you in an embrace as he comes. His cum spills inside as you straighten yourself back up, rubbing your clit once more, bouncing up and down on his dick as you allow him to ride out his high while you chase yours. His hands lazily slides to your thighs, gripping them as you go faster and harder, your wetness dripping over his abdomen and you tip your head back with an uninhibited moan.
"Fuck." You cry, knowing that that was one of the best orgasms you had, and with how loud you were, embarrassment follows. Rafe sees the look on your face and smirks, knowing he made you break one of your rules.
You slump on his broad shoulder, catching your breath as his hand rests against the small of your back, his fingers caressing your arched spine. You haven't lifted off of him; his cock still warm and softening inside of you.
Worn out, you manage to pull yourself off of him and fall back against the hard mattress. It's nothing like the one you laid on at Rafe's bedroom. With a harsh breathing pattern, you watch the ceiling, waiting to return back to normal.
Rafe follows a similar method, refusing to look at you afterwards, that you twist your head to look at his profile.
You can tell he's in deep thoughts. It pulls you back to when he came into your house, when he stepped into your sanction with this look—this anger. It was nothing like it was before, like it was with his father. This was something completely different.
"I didn't fuck JJ." You whisper in confession, hoping it would ease something out of him, and watching as Rafe finally turns to you with a look of surprise.
"You didn't?" He hates how elated his voice sounds. He tries to suppress the emotion with the blanking of his features, to appear detached, but you caught on.
"No." You smile softly. "He's like a little brother to me. I can never imagine myself doing that."
Rafe's chest lightens. Tremendously. He didn't realize how heavy it felt until you said that. But, his doubt still remains.
"Why was he in your house, then?"
"I was patching him up," you say with a sigh, pulling yourself into a sitting position. Rafe had the urge to grab your wrist and pull you back down. To be here with him a moment longer. "His... something happened. Got into a fight. I was just helping him."
His jaw ticks, "he could've gone to the hospital."
"Do you forget we're poor?" You turn back to Rafe with a defeated laugh. He looks so big in your bed, so out of place, like he doesn't belong. That this world could never be something of his. "Insurance is expensive. The hospital takes forever. I'd rather take care of them without them spending hundreds on normal injuries."
Rafe says nothing as he watches you. Trying to understand you. He's coming up mostly blank.
But, he realizes one thing.
You do that. You help people when they don't deserve it. You even helped him after a fight when he was being a complete asshole to you at Topper's party. Your instinct is so friendly, so giving and undeserving, he doesn't know what to do with this.
It elevates the sentiment that, perhaps, his father was right.
"That doesn't explain why I couldn't be here."
This one, you hesitate to answer. You look away, to the bedroom door where the lock doesn't work and knowing, if your sisters decided to barge into your room right now—there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. Fear pricks your chest again.
"Hey." He places a hand on your back. He couldn't beg you to respond. That's pathetic. "Answer me."
"I..." You let out a reluctant sigh. "I didn't want my sisters to see you."
This surprises him. "You have sisters?"
You nod, not supplementing more information. You already revealed too much.
His brows furrowed together. "What do you mean? I'm good with kids."
You chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. "Yeah, probably with making them, but you can't meet my sisters."
"Why not? Are they scary?"
"No, they're like eight and twelve."
"Then what's the fucking problem?"
"I..." You mess with your hands, trying to rid yourself of this discomfort. You hate telling people about yourself. "I don't bring guys home to meet my sisters. Not unless it's serious."
Not unless it's real.
You think it's all the bedtime stories you read to them. Of princesses and princes, of fairytale endings, and they have this fantastical expectation of love that only happens in books. They want you to find that same love, to be happy, and they get so attached whenever you bring someone new home. Like it could replace the hole in their hearts with your missing parents. So, you try not to get their hopes up.
Because you know. Whatever is going on with Rafe is not your storybook ending. It can't be. You're nothing more than a fake girlfriend, someone he fucks whenever it's convenient, someone he doesn't even consider a friend. Even if you're starting to feel something more, to see him beyond his privileged, over-pretentious self, you agreed to those terms. You're going to stick with it.
Rafe doesn't say anything in return.
The back door squeaks open and your eyes widen as you hear your name being called from the hallway, footsteps approaching your bedroom.
"Don't come in!" You shout to whoever is behind the broken door, their steps pull to a halt.
"Why?" JJ asks. You can see from the corner of your peripheral, the way Rafe's jaw tightens at the sound of the Pogue's voice.
"I'm... I'm naked."
He chuckles with amusement. "I'm sure I can take a peak," he teases, testing the door as it creaks from the disengagement.
Rafe sits up, ready to fight the Pogue, but you lay a flat hand on his chest.
"If you open that door, JJ, I'm going to kill you."
He laughs. The door falls back into place, the deadbolt sliding into the latch, before announcing. "Alright, whatever. I'm just telling you that I'm heading out with Pope so your sisters are going to be alone out here."
"Thank you." You say, your heart is still racing. "I'll be out in a minute."
JJ bids a farewell as his footsteps retreat, and you turn back to Rafe. His expression is unreadable, his thoughts elsewhere.
"They know your sisters?"
You can't decipher the tone in his voice.
"We grew up together, of course they know." You answer, hearing the familiar roar of JJ's bike engine leaving your driveway. You turn back to Rafe. "You gotta go."
He doesn't move when you get up from your mattress, putting your clothes back on.
"What if I want to meet your sisters?"
The inquiry, so genuine, stops you in your tracks. "For what?" You question, tilting your head to the side.
He shrugs.
"I..." You don't know what to say. How the earnest attempt brings a feeling of warmth and buzz to your stomach. "This has nothing to do with our arrangement."
Rafe sucks in his cheeks, swallowing hard, before nodding. "Right."
He gets off the bed and redresses himself silently. Nothing else to be said. He doesn't bother to turn to you to bid a farewell before he goes. Just as he's about to open the bedroom door, you stop him.
"Go through the window."
"What?" His brows pull together. Irritation flares in his expression. "No."
"Either you do that or you have to wait till my sisters are off to bed."
"So what if they fucking see me?" He snaps, making another move towards the door. He didn't understand why it bothers him so much that you're hiding him from your family. He doesn’t care if he breaks one of your stupid rules. You grab his arm before he makes another break.
"No, I'm serious, Rafe." Your voice is firm. "This is one of those things you can't just decide on your own. You have two choices. Pick one."
He's frustrated. He's a bit pissed. He's angry with himself. He can't complain about you wanting to set boundaries with him, with this relationship, because it makes sense. Because, if it was anyone else, it would've been perfect for him.
He shouldn't want to meet your sisters. He shouldn't feel this unburden urge to impress them. To make them like him more. He shouldn't care about you—beyond what you can offer with your end of the bargain—but he fucking does. And he can't fucking stand it.
All he knows right now is he can't bear to be in the same room with you right now. He needs to be alone. With others. People who don't give a shit about him the way you do. Smoke. Drink. Attend one of those parties someone on the island is hosting.
So, he leaves. Through the fucking window, like a teenager again, trying not to get caught by the parents. When he treks to his car, his phone is already in his hands and he was dialing up one of his buddies, asking where the next rager is.
—
You arrived at Sailor earlier than opening time to make up for your absence yesterday. It’s at the same time Heyward opens his shop, that you manage to meet him on the docks as you're unlocking the bar.
He calls you out by name.
"Hey, Mr. Heyward," you greet with a smile, turning to him. "What's up?"
"Hey." He stops just a couple of feet away from you. His expression flits with trouble. "I just... I wanted to tell you that Aaron stopped by here yesterday."
Your heart stops.
"And, I don't know if you know, kid, but messing around with someone like him is—" You cut him off.
"I know." You say gently, adrenaline pulsing through your veins at this reveal of information but you can't let him know that. You plaster on a look of normalcy, trying to calm him down from his worry. The man has known you and your family forever and he can almost be seen as a second father figure to you, but the way he over-extends himself to make sure you are fine makes you uncomfortable. "It's... it's probably nothing."
"Y'know, Luke Maybank got caught up with Aaron once and—"
"I know." You say again, this time, a bit firmer. This get Heyward to back off on you. "Don't worry. I got it handled. Thank you for telling me."
He's watching you, full of concern and wonderment about what's going on with you. You're just a kid, with too much on your shoulders, taken on too many responsibilities at a young age. He's afraid something is going to happen.
"Be careful." He warns, knowing that's all he can offer with what you're giving him. You nod appreciatively, just as he departs back to his shop.
You watch as his figure disappears into his store, and when he's gone, you release a heavy breath. God, Aaron was here? And you weren't? This drives panic in your system, because you know the man doesn't bother you physically unless a deadline is approaching.
You were afraid. You were getting stressed. You have to plan your next steps.
But, you couldn't think of that right now. All you can do is twist the key in the lock and enter the bar, starting your day.
— part seven here —
hello! my taglist is getting a bit long and exhaustive, so i've shifted into a notification blog! i'm probably going to tag for a few more parts, but otherwise, please follow @zyafics-library + turn on notifications if you would like to follow my stories!
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David and Michael talk about the S2 Finale 🥺
David and Michael interview with Kim Roots from TVLine, about the S2 finale. July 2023
[S2 Promo: C: I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a grou p. And we spend our existence pretending that we aren't.]
KR: What happens in the finale between Crowley and Aziraphale is something that some fans have been yearning for a very long time. Was there a pressure? Did you have any conversations about what this might mean to the fandom? Talk to me a little bit about like when you found out this was going to happen and kind of your initial reactions.
Michael: Well, you know, the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, obviously, is something that the audience seemed to really warm to, and obviously was part of why the idea of doing Season 2, you know, seemed like it could be something that could work. Following how that relationship develops has been something that the audiences have really got into. So we've taken that very seriously, and Neil takes it incredibly seriously. So tracking that relationship and that journey between them, because obviously on the surface, they seem like they're complete opposites, and yet clearly, they're kind of compelled towards each other in all kinds of ways. And now that they've been being cut off from their respective head offices, they only have each other, so that pulls them together a lot more, doesn't it? And the stakes are always high around them, and they sort of end up going on a journey together, but it takes them to different places and where we leave things at the end..
David: Well, that's the thing. Nothing is resolved. So whatever happens and whatever you may have seen at the end of Episode 6, it's also important to note that that doesn't finish the story. In fact, that just sor of ruptures things.
Michael: It's the start of another story.
[S2 Promo: A: I forgive. C: Don't bother.]
David:I think you have to be careful if there is something delicate that has generated a lot of excitement about where will that end up. As soon as you end up there, as soon as you finish that story, it's all over, isn't it?
Michael: You don't really want to find out who killed Laura Palmer. [Twin Peaks series plot]
David: Yeah, exactly. Exactly.
KR Like you said, David, there is no resolution, which made me very happy because this feels primed for a third go-around at some point. Have you had any conversations about that with Neil about possibly keeping the story going?
David: Well, if you've seen where Series 2 ends, there's certainly the teasing of further tales to come, isn't there? Whether we will ever find out what those tales are is in the lap of... well, certainly not on our lap.
Michael: No, it's on the laps of the audience.
David: Laps of the audience, yes.
Michael: We are sitting firmly...
David: In the tops of the audience as it streaming.
Michael: Yeah, it's not in my lap. I know that. When we first started Series 1, we always knew that the story went a lot further because Neil and Terry had talked about it. They just hadn't written it down, but we knew there were ideas, and we have not yet reached the end of those ideas.
David: No.
Michael: You know, if we get a chance to tell more of this story, it does already exist.
David: Yes.
#good omens#gos2#season 2#interview#david tennant#michael sheen#david interview#michael interview#david and michael#david and michael interview#videos#2ep6#s2 finale#2i6i15#gos3#season 3#videos transcripts#tvline#dm tvline interview 2023#ac#interview videos#s2 interview#transcripts
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