#I don't know why we mask everything that hurts us

[carnage-cathedral]

I wouldn't cry. it would ruin my cool purple sparkly eye makeup

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[aperrywilliams]

My Lover Boy (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Request: "Can you write something super angsty, like the reader and Spencer have something going on, but technically, they're just friends, and then everything with Lila Archer happens? She's sad but tries not to show it to him, and he is mad at himself for getting with Lila. Derek is teasing him, and it's super angsty, but it all ends up okay."

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: You think something is going on with Spencer, something beyond friendship. But you start to question it when a case in LA pushes Spencer to spend time with Lila Archer.

Word Count: 4.6k

TW: Angst with a happy ending. Use of some strong words. Some suggestive comments. Mention of having sex. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Thanks for the request! Keep sending them to me.

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"Hey, did you get something?" You ask Spencer when he returns to the precinct. He and Gideon were at a gallery open to obtain information for the case you are working on in LA.

Spencer shrugs. "Not really. They all were more interested in photos and the press."

"Celebrities," you huff playfully, and Spencer chuckles.

"Yeah. Something like that," Spencer agrees.

"I'm going to grab some coffee. Do you want some?" You offer, standing from where you were checking the case folders.

"Sure," Spencer accepts, sitting and grabbing a folder for himself to inspect. You pass by him and squeeze his shoulders in a gentle gesture, subtly kissing his head.

"I'll be right back," you murmur before leaving the room.

Things with Spencer have been kind of odd for a while. Sure, you still are coworkers and friends, but ultimately, it is like you both are getting to terms with the idea that something else is going on. You don't know what it is really, and neither of you has sat to talk about it.

Why? Lack of time, maybe? Fear of being misreading the signals? Both?

Whatever it is, you have been acting like nothing is happening, although you almost kissed after a bar outing two weeks ago. You would have if Morgan hadn't called Spencer when you were about to kiss outside your apartment.

After the interruption, neither of you brought up the topic again.

Now you are stuck in LA, trying to solve a case involving celebrity killings. So, of course, the media and the locals have been nailing your asses for answers.

There is no time for anything else but to try to catch the unsub as soon as possible. Hotch asked you to narrow the unsub comfort zone. It's a task that's usually assigned to Spencer, but Hotch has him tracking information from one of the possible unsub's targets: Lila Archer, an actress with a promising career ahead.

"Pretty boy now has the best assignment in this case," Derek sighs as he slumps into one of the chairs in the meeting room.

Elle and you scoff at his dramatics. Morgan points an accusing finger at you.

"If you have seen her, I'm sure you would agree with me."

Neither of you pays too much attention to Derek's tantrum and keeps working instead.

It's almost night, and when Hotch returns to the precinct with Gideon and no Spencer in sight, you raise an eyebrow.

"Where is the genius?" Elle asks.

"With Miss Archer. We need to keep an eye on her, and Reid has the rapport already," Hotch explains before asking for your progress in the task you were assigned.

How does Spencer suddenly become a bodyguard? You don't know, but don't question it. You assume Hotch knows what he's doing.

An hour later, Garcia calls, saying the cameras at Lila's property show a strange person wandering around. The fact Spencer is not answering his phone makes everyone flock out of the police station, and all of you think the unsub is trying to get into the house.

What if the unsub is already inside and hurt Spencer? Shit, you are a nervous wreck, although you try to mask it to the rest of the team.

When arriving at the house, Hotch split everyone: Morgan and Elle are assigned to the front. Hotch and you take the backyard. Gideon, with the patrols, canvass the main street.

As you approach, your heart beats faster and faster. With your gun aimed, you're ready for anything but the fact you hear laughing coming from the pool.

You are covering Hotch's back, and he is as confused as you after opening the gate.

You both see Lila getting out of the pool in a fit of laughs and Spencer, entirely clothed, inside the pool.

"Are you okay, Miss Archer?" Hotch asks, holstering his gun and checking the surroundings with his gaze.

"Oh, Agent Hotchner. I didn't know you were coming," she mentions casually, wrapping a towel around her torso.

Realizing danger isn't imminent, you holster your gun, too, and reach a hand to help Spencer.

"What the hell happened?" You ask him as you take in his drenched clothes and wet gun resting at the edge of the pool. Spencer doesn't look at you, only mumbling, "I fell."

Well, weird but not implausible, considering Spencer isn't the best-coordinated man in the world.

You help him, grabbing a towel from a chair and handing it to him. You take his gun and remove the bullets from the soaked chamber.

You want to know more about the whole situation, but before you have the chance to ask Spencer, you see Derek, Elle, and Gideon coming.

Finally, the alert came from a paparazzi who was around the house and wanted to take photographs of Lila. And regarding the pool? Lila said that she wanted a dip, and unfortunately, Dr. Reid tripped and fell.

No one says anything about it, but the looks Elle and Derek give Spencer catch your attention, as does the way Spencer avoids talking to you until you are called to return to the precinct.

Despite the incident, Lila insists Spencer stay as you continue investigating the evidence.

So you all come back to the station, minus Spencer.

You don't know why Elle instructs you to check the camera roll recovered from the paparazzi, but there you are, in a dark room, revealing what could be pieces of evidence.

What you do not expect is the kind of images that are showing before your eyes: Spencer and Lila Archer making out in the pool.

What-the-fuck?

Now, the scene you found when you arrived at the place with Hotch makes a little more sense. Spencer was entirely soaked while Lila, with a smug expression, walked into the house with a towel around her torso.

You don't know what reaction comes first. But you can recognize the deception and the way your heart shatters into a million pieces.

They were kissing. In the pool. At night. Like nothing is happening around them.

You have been working your ass to catch an unsub, and the doctor is enjoying himself with a movie star. In addition, they lied about the whole ordeal.

The tears pool in your eyes, but you are fighting not to let them fall. Not here. Not for Spencer. Not for anyone.

Why bother, anyway? You are just friends.

What? Will you ask him for an explanation?

It's not your place, even if you thought something was going on between you both.

How stupid you are. You don't stand a chance with him. Spencer only sees you as friend material.

With the entire film revealed, you shove the photos into a manila folder and leave the dark room.

Elle raises an eyebrow when she spots you walking toward her. You throw the folder over the table.

"Here's what you asked me for," you say in a harsh tone before turning around and walking out of the precinct. Elle doesn't say anything and doesn't need to open the folder to know what's going on.

When the team moves to Lila's house again a few hours later, already knowing who the unsub is, you stay behind in connection to Garcia to coordinate at the police station. You don't need to be there again.

You won't get exposed to see Spencer and Lila together.

Early in the morning, with the killer in custody and Lila Archer safe, you are ready to come back to Virginia.

During the flight, you seclude yourself in the farthest seat, headphones on and eyes closed. It works. No one disturbs you.

But you fail to notice Spencer's eyes on you the entire time.

After touching down, Hotch gathers you in the office to do the debriefing when you only want to go home.

Spencer tries to talk to you a few times, but you slip away from him every time, using whatever excuse not to speak.

Finally, Hotch officially closes the case and sends you home with two days off. Without saying goodbye to anyone, and with your heart broken, you run out of the BAU.

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Spencer looks for you when he exits the conference room, but you're already gone. His guts tell him something happened to you, and he is worried. Usually, you're open to talking to him, and with this thing going on between you both, Spencer doesn't know how to ask you about it. But even if he wants to do that, he needs to have you in the same room first.

And that will only happen once you are back at the BAU in two days.

He thinks maybe he should go to your place but refrains from the idea. Perhaps you're just tired, and he doesn't want to make it worse.

He doesn't know you sulked in your apartment the entire time, and when you all return to work two days later, you are not still talking to him.

Spencer trails behind you like a lost puppy. He tries to make some conversation with you every chance he gets, but you avoid him like the plague. Spencer still doesn't know why you're acting so cold with him, so he goes to someone who might know: Elle.

Spencer walks to her desk, ready to get some kind of answers.

"What is it, Reid?" Elle asks without looking at him. Spencer clears his throat.

"Do you know if something happened to her?" he questions, referring to you. Elle rolls her eyes in annoyance before lifting her gaze to him.

"Are you kidding me right now, Reid?"

Spencer frowns in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Huffing, Elle digs through the stack of folders on her desk, pulls out the one with the photos you developed, and passes it on to Spencer.

"Serve yourself, genius."

Spencer proceeds to check what is inside, and his cheeks immediately start to burn.

"She - she saw these?" Spencer stutters. Elle pulls a face.

"If she saw these? She developed the camera roll and gave these to me."

Spencer wants to die. It makes perfect sense, but that means he screwed it up.

"Why did she do that?! I mean, no one else could have done it?"

"I asked her to," Elle says, folding her arms over her chest.

"Why did you do that?!" Spencer squeals.

It doesn't matter why, but he still can't believe you saw everything. Spencer knows it was wrong to kiss Lila back, but for him, it didn't mean anything. His heart already belongs to you, even if he hasn't told you yet.

"What did I know that she would find out photos of you and Lila sucking each other's faces? I thought there were only pictures of Miss Startlet swimming and you stupidly falling into the pool. Isn't that you told me happened?"

Spencer Reid has rarely been left speechless, but this is one of them. A mixture of shame, regret, and anger at himself makes his stomach churn, and he wants to dig a hole to disappear.

He needs to explain to you what happened. But how could he approach the subject? You and Spencer are friends in the first place, and he didn't tell you what really happened in that pool. You had to see it for yourself in those pictures.

And thinking about your 'situationship' makes it even worse.

Spencer leaves Elle's desk, thinking about what to say and looking for the best moment to talk to you. But luck isn't by his side: in mid-morning, Hotch announced there is a case.

At least it's local this time.

In the afternoon, he spots you walking alone in one of the hallways. It's now or never, he thinks.

"(Y/N), wait!"

Hearing your name, you reluctantly turn only to see Spencer jogging to catch up with you. You want to turn again and leave, but it won't be subtle if you do that.

"What is it, Spencer? There is something about the case?" You ask flatly. Spencer knows you know it isn't about the case, but he has to assume you don't.

"I - uh. No. It's not the case. I - I just want to make sure you are okay?" His voice is wary, and the fidgeting of his hands is a tale-telling that he's nervous.

"I'm okay. I'm great, actually," you say, faking cheerfulness. Your patience runs thin, and Spencer isn't helping.

He frowns, knowing what you are doing.

"Don't be like that. I really wanted to make sure you are okay," he mumbles shyly. You cross your arms over your chest—a defiant look in your eyes.

"And why I wouldn't, uh? Something bad happened to me? There is a single reason why I shouldn't be okay?"

Spencer contemplates his response for a second. How does he say it in a way that does not sound self-centered?

"I don't know. You haven't talked to me since the last case in LA."

Spencer opts to bring up the obvious and let the overwhelming evidence out of this for now.

"And that bothers you?" You ask in a disbelief tone.

Spencer knows this isn't working.

Damn to his inability to lead meaningful interactions when he needs to.

"Yes! I mean, we - we're friends. You can tell me if something is going on."

The friend card. Spencer thinks it's the safest approach. But he's wrong. You laugh humorlessly.

"Honestly, Spencer? I don't know if we are friends anymore."

Your tone tries to be cold, but behind it, there is a tiny wavering you try to suppress at all costs.

"What? Why are you saying that?"

That's the limit Spencer reaches and pushes you to snap.

"Because friends don't lie to each other! When I asked you what happened at Lila's house, you lied to me!"

Spencer gulps because he knows you are right.

That is what he needed to say first, and not have to wait until you were who threw it at him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, gazing at his feet.

And then again, the guilt, the embarrassment.

Why did he do it? He isn't attracted to Lila. Why did he kiss her back?

"Yeah, me too. But you know? I'm glad. I'm glad you finally found someone and that now I know where I stand."

It hurts you to say the words. Spencer can see the crack in your demeanor, and he is the one to blame.

"What? No! No, I'm not- I didn't find someone," he chimes in an attempt to clear this up. "It's not what you think."

"Isn't? I saw the pictures, Spencer. I developed them myself. I know what I saw."

"She kissed me!" Spencer exclaims, trying to get afloat because he feels he's drowning.

"So what? If that's the case, you kissed her back!" You spat, angry at the lame explanation coming from Spencer's mouth.

"It was a mistake! I shouldn't have done that! You have to believe me."

Spencer tries to take hold of your hand, but you don't let him, yanking your arm and keeping your distance from him.

"Why do you think it's a mistake? Uh? She's pretty, almost famous, she's into you. I don't think it is," you start, and Spencer frowns. "What I can't understand is why you didn't tell me the truth before I could find out from those goddamn photos. What did you expect? That I would criticize you? What would bother me about your love adventures in Hollywood? You said it yourself: we're just friends."

"(Y/N), please," Spencer tries to get to you but is to no avail.

"It's your fucking life, Spencer. Do what you want with it! But let me out of it."

Without another word, you storm out to who knows where but far away from him.

Spencer knows he fucked up big this time. And his attempt at apology made things only worse.

He didn't see you for the rest of the case. Spencer assumed you secluded yourself in Garcia's office.

From his spot at his desk, he can only see Elle's disapproving look.

There is no reasonable reason for what he did, and that consumes Spencer's brain. He doesn't like Lila. He has been pining for you long enough to be sure he loves you.

'Men are men,' Elle usually says when Derek brags about his conquests. Spencer always felt proud of not being that way. And what happens when a pretty actress jumps at him? He goes with it. Elle is right, then. He is like any other man.

The question is if he will do something to gain your trust - and affection - back. How can he fix this?

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A whole week has passed since the case in LA. The BAU looks pretty much the same as always, if not for the fact you only talk to Spencer when it is strictly necessary. The team doesn't pick up much of it, though. Only Elle knows what's going on, but she won't pester you with questions or unrequited advice.

Spencer is doing nothing extra to call your attention, although you can feel his eyes on you sometimes during the day. But you assume he got your message, and he'll go on with his life.

The problem is you can't bring yourself to do the same. You know your chances with Spencer are a past thing, but your heart still doesn't get the memo. And you try, really try to be neutral, professional, and collected. It works in the majority because nobody asks questions or refers to what happened in LA.

But the state of 'everything is fine' in you is fragile, and you know that.

It's Friday afternoon, and everyone wants to end their reports to go finally home. You see Spencer from the corner of your eyes. He is deep-writing in what you assume are the details from the last case. Elle is doing the same. You are trying to focus on your work, but the tiredness makes you go slower than you want.

Suddenly, the glass doors open to reveal a grinning Derek Morgan walking straight to Spencer's desk with something under his arm. It looks like a newspaper.

"Hey, lover boy!" Derek claps Spencer's back with a shit-eaten smirk plastered on his face. Spencer looks up at Derek with a frown. "Don't look at me like that Casanova. You are the one who didn't tell me about your little something with Miss Starlet."

Morgan places a newspaper he's carrying on Reid's desk. The cover is a photo of him making out with Lila Archer.

"W- what?" Spencer stutters as his cheeks redden. His eyes quickly move from the newspaper to find yours, and you only want to disappear. Averting his gaze, you try to focus again on the file you are reading. Elle rolls her eyes from her desk.

"My man! You slept with her that night, didn't you?"

"Morgan, stop," Spencer pleads, but Derek doesn't relent, even when the air in the room becomes way thick in instants.

"You can tell me! Is she good? I bet she is-"

"Morgan, no!" Spencer's high-pitched voice tries to make Morgan shut up.

"Come on, give me something pretty boy. She is wild in bed, doesn't she? How many hickeys did she leave on you?"

You actually cringe at Morgan's words. The sole idea of Lila and Spencer sleeping together makes you sick to your stomach.

You're about seconds to stand and get out.

Elle, who is observing the whole scenario - thing Derek doesn't - huffs in irritation.

"Why don't you and lover boy go to spill your gut about your sex life out of here? We are trying to work if you didn't notice."

Morgan frowns. Usually, Elle backs up his teasing to Spencer. But when he is about to say something again, you're - not so subtly - grabbing your things and storming out from the bullpen.

Your collected attitude goes out of the window.

All of them be damned, you think.

Spencer is standing right away to chase after you, leaving Morgan with a confused look, silently asking Elle what the hell just happened.

"I am only going to say that you are a total asshole, Derek Morgan," Elle states before returning to her files.

Meanwhile, you're pressing the elevator button, and you can feel Spencer rapidly nearing you.

“(Y/N)! Please, wait!"

When he's by your side, you intentionally look to another way.

"Not now, Spencer. Just let me go."

Just let me go. That statement has more meaning than the explicit one you're voicing.

"Morgan is only messing with me. I didn't sleep with her."

Spencer thinks blurting the truth will be enough to stop you from running away from him. But things are already more complicated than that.

"It doesn't matter, Spencer. Now, let me go."

Your insistence is more like an agonizing plea. You're so tired. There is no fight you want to engage in right now. You think you won this time when the elevator doors open, but it's short-lived as you see Spencer stepping inside as well.

"No! It does matter!"

The elevator doors close, and now only are you and him.

"Why? Uh? Why is it so important for you to tell me this?"

Your sudden raised voice takes Spencer aback. You're pissed off.

"Because - because it is the truth!" He defends.

And maybe he's right. Perhaps he didn't sleep with Lila, but your heart is already broken, and you only need space to get used to the idea and heal.

"Spencer. I already told you you don't owe me an explanation. Truth or not, it is not my business anyway."

Your tone is not angry but deflated, exhausted. Your gaze drops to the floor.

Spencer wants to scream; there is so much in his chest to say, but his brain doesn't cooperate in spilling something coherent.

"But I want it to be!" He decides to say, and he gets you to look at him again.

"What? are you talking about?"

"I want it - I want it to be your business," Spencer repeats, and you don't know what to say; you don't even know what he means.

The elevator dings and the door opens. You both stand there for a second, frozen after what looks like a confession. Or not. You're not sure.

"You don't know what you are saying," you mumble, deciding to move and pass him to walk into the parking garage.

"I know I should have said this before," Spencer continues walking after you. "I know I should have said something that night when we almost kissed. I regret I didn't."

You stop when he mentions that night. At this point, you thought he didn't care, and it didn't mean anything to him.

"Nothing happened that night," you say bitterly.

"But it should have. Don't tell me you didn't feel it," Spencer poses a hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning away again. Your eyes fill with tears, but you're fighting not to let them fall.

"And what if I did? It doesn't change anything," you shrug, a painful look in your eyes.

"It does! Because I love you and I do really want to make it up to you. I want you back. I want to amend the hurt I caused you for my stupidity."

Did he say 'I love you'? That takes you aback.

"Spencer-"

"I know I messed up. I know it was stupid to kiss Lila back. It doesn't matter if she did it first or not; you're right. But believe me, it didn't mean anything to me because she was not you. She is not you and will never be."

"You're confusing things," you shake your head, still not giving credit to his confession.

"After our fight the other day, I really thought about stepping back and leaving you alone. I have been torturing myself all week trying to conceive a life without you on it, mourning the lost of our friendship, and above all, mourning the lost of the prospect of to be your person, and you to be mine."

You can't keep your tears at bay anymore, so you let them free. Spencer cups your cheeks, and you can see tears in his eyes, too.

"But I can't. I can't let you go. Not without telling you the truth. And if you don't feel the same, that's okay; I won't push any further, and I'll leave you alone."

You can't tell him that you don't feel the same way because that would be the biggest lie in the universe. You are also sure that you love him, and that is why this situation has broken you so much.

You blink away some of your tears as Spencer looks at you, trying to read the truth in you.

"I think I have been in love with you since ever," you blurt out, with a half sob and half chuckle. "And I felt so heartbroken seeing you kissing her, and now Derek comes suggesting-" you trail off.

"Hey, don't think about that. I messed up, and I didn't say anything earlier because, to me, it didn't mean anything. I'm so sorry," Spencer apologizes, running his thumbs under your eyes to wipe some of your tears.

"How can - how can we start over?" you ask him shyly but hopefully. Spencer hastens to reply.

"The way you want it. If you want time to think, or if you want us to go slow, we can do that. If you wish to, can we go on a date first? Officially, a date? We can do that," Spencer rambles, and you smile for real for the first time in weeks.

"Yeah, we can go on a date, officially a date," you concede, and Spencer can't contain his excitement. "But, can I ask you for something first?"

"Of course. Just name it," Spencer says as his hands rub your shoulders lovingly.

"Can you kiss me now?" You request, with the most faked innocent look you can muster, making Spencer laugh.

"I can do that," he nods, looking at you intensely, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. Then Spencer leans down, closing his eyes at midway. You wait with batted breath until finally, his lips softly touch yours.

It's a tentative, sweet kiss. Your arms go up Spencer's shoulders until they land on his neck. His hands fall to your hips to pull you closer as the kiss deepens. It's no longer exploratory; it's hungry, messy, passionate, and you couldn't have wanted it any other way. You're sure this kiss is a thousand times better than the one he had with Lila, and Spencer completely agrees with that assessment because it's you.

That makes it perfect.

It's the need for air that makes you part after a while.

"Wow," you both say at the same time, starting to laugh like teenagers and trying to catch your breath.

When the laugh subsides, you narrow your eyes in contemplation and Spencer's eyebrow furrow.

"What?" he asks, and you look at him—a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"We agreed to a date first, right?" you ask, and Spencer nods.

"What if we skip that and make up for the lost time? What do you say, my lover boy?" you suggest, with a playful smirk on your face. Spencer's cheeks flush, but he is definitively excited with the idea. He quickly grabs your hand and runs with you to your car.

There is a lot to make it up, he agrees.

------------------ 

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining an a/b/o dynamic where the entire 141, including you, are all Alphas. Except, after a few years of such close contact something starts to shift.

You start to become an Omega.

"Why is this happening to me?" You all but wail. It hurts to breathe, everything feels like it's on fire. Your stomach twists again, painful cramps shooting white hot lighting up your spine. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

Your pack is all around you, trying to soothe you in anyway they can but it's not working. Everything hurts, your teeth feel like they're going to crack from how tight you have them gritted. The wave of pain ebbs for a few gracious seconds before starting up all over again. You whine and sob and reach out for any of your team.

"Whats going on?" Price huffs, his cool hand cupping at your face. His touch is the barest relief even as he drags down one of your lower eyelids. He tuts in an intense concern. "Simon, have you seen this before?"

The larger male drops to one knee. He gives you a quick once over before dipping his head towards yours. He presses the front of his mask to the crown of your head. Through your labored panting you barely hear him take in a deep inhale of scent.

He coughs and stands back up too quickly. Judging by his flighty gaze, something is seriously wrong. Another tremor of pain wracks your body. You open mouth squeal. It's getting so much worse.

"Simon!" Soap growls, trying to bring his fellow alpha back from whatever memory he'd fallen into. "What's wrong wit' 'er?"

"She's turning into an Omega."

Everyone in the room turned their gazes towards Ghost, even you, despite your pain. You? An Omega? But you've always been and Alpha. It was part of the necessary requirements to be a part of the 141. You'd been genetically tested, hormonally tested, and aptitude tested. You were a full blooded Alpha coming from generations of Alphas.

"There's...ngh...no way." You hiccup out, tears blurring your vision.

"That doesn't make any sense. That can't happen." Gaz adds. He rubs at your back. His cool touch soothes even more of your pain into a dull throb, but it isn't enough.

"M' n' Alpha!" You cry out in anguish, the first of many tears finally dripping down your cheeks.

Something about Ghost's words hurt worse than any pain your body was making you go through. Try as you may to deny it, he was right. You could feel your body changing, altering, breaking and bending.

"Why is this happening to me?" You wail.

"There's too many of us." Ghost huffs, he glances around at your pack.

"Why does that matter?" Soap grumbles, scooping an arm around your center to pull you up into a sitting position. "We're a pack."

"That's just it." Ghost sighs tiredly.

"I've never heard of this being 'n issue." Price butts in. He grabs your face again and brushes the tears off your cheeks. "Task Forces are fully Alpha run. They 'ave been for years."

"If what Ghost is saying is right, it's biological, Captain." Gaz huffs, his thoughts visibly racing. "Too many Alphas, not enough Omegas. It means we'd go extinct."

"But why didn't she change earlier?" Johnny asks. You teeter in his hold but he keeps you upright. He lets you lean against his chest. He smells more comforting than usual.

"It's hormonal. She's been with us almost three years now, it takes time." Ghost says. Price nods in agreement.

"I'm an Alpha!" You sob, trying wrench yourself free from the multiple men around you. "I- I don't want to be bred. I don't want to be claimed! I'm an Alpha!"

"We're know you are, Love." Price breathes softly. He continued to wipe tears away from your face with a tenderness that only makes your despair swell further. "But this is happening, and we can't stop it."

"Take me to sick bay, please. They'll...they'll put me on blockers or something! Please, anything but this! I don't want to be an Omega."

The pack looks toward Ghost but he shakes his head.

"This is you first heat. The blockers will kill you."

You scream in pain, fear, and frustration. Another wave of excruciating pain washes over you. You wrench out of Soap's grip and fall against the floor. The tile is cool against your flushed skin.

As much as you hate him for it, Ghost is right.

This is your first heat.

Your back arches off the floor. Your toes curl and you squeal, shaking, gasping, panting hot breaths. You can feel yourself start to sweat. There's a sudden gush of wetness between your thighs. Embarrassment floods you. You try to curl into a ball but your body keeps being wracked with tremors.

"H-help me..." You cry out weakly, sobbing into the tile.

Your pack seems to finally get a whiff of your fluctuating scent. All around you, you watch as one by one each of their gazes grow more and more pointed. All of you know what must be done. After all, you're an Omega now.

...and there's no going back.

[crystallinestars]

Taking Care of Them

Short scenarios about Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan receiving much-needed care and comfort from you. Pure fluff, a little hurt/comfort for Aventurine's part.

I took some creative liberties with Aventurine's character since we still don't know everything about him yet, so this is simply my interpretation of him.

This isn't proofread because my brain is fried from writing.

--------------------

🌹 Argenti:

As a Knight of Beauty, Argenti is a highly skilled fighter who puts his very life on the line to vanquish his foes. Usually, he defeats his enemies with grace and style, but even the refined Argenti sometimes sustains injuries.

In his most recent battle, Argenti made it out practically unscathed, save for a few scrapes and bruises that marred his handsome face. That was how he found himself obediently sitting on your bed while you treated his wounds.

“I apologize that you have to see me in this state,” he murmurs, guilt darkening his expression. “I did not want to cause you worry.”

“No need to apologize,” you brush off his concerns with a smile. “Now turn this way. I’ll clean the scratch on your cheek,” you said as you gently turn Argenti’s face to one side to reveal the shallow, red gash on his cheek.

Argenti complies without hesitance and sits perfectly still as you dab at the scratch with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. It stings, but the Knight of Beauty unflinchingly tolerates the burn with a small smile on his face.

He can tell through the delicate and careful way you clean and dress his wounds that you care a great deal about him. Your touches were gentle so as to not cause him unnecessary pain, yet no less thorough. It felt nice to be touched so tenderly, to be cared for in such a loving manner.

Your heart is beautiful, he thinks. To possess such a caring and loving heart, you must rival the beauty of his beloved Aeon Idrila. Argenti truly believes that you are a wonderful and beautiful person, both inside and out.

As you finish patching up the last wound and pack away your first aid kit, Argenti turns to you and gives you a radiant, sincere smile from the heart.

“Thank you…” he softly says as gently takes one of your hands and kisses the back of it, “You have a dazzling heart—so pure and gentle. I feel like the luckiest man in the universe to have the privilege of receiving your care and affection.”

His words may sound over-the-top and perhaps even fake, but he truly means them. Every single one. Even if you don’t entirely believe him, the amused smile that his flamboyant phrases elicit out of you is all the reason he needs to keep them up.

“You’re welcome. Just try to be more careful next time. I’ll love you no matter how you look, but I hate seeing you hurt,” you murmur in reply and lean in to kiss the band-aid on his cheek.

“There. A kiss to make it all better,” you giggle as you pull away.

The little gesture catches Argenti by surprise, but he can’t say he didn’t like it. In fact, he enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would.

With a small chuckle, he pulls you close to kiss you fully on the lips. If you don’t take his word for it that he feels incredibly lucky to have your love, then perhaps his actions will convey the sincerity of his feelings for you.

🦚 Aventurine:

All his life, Aventurine has faced hate. Hate for being Sigonian, hate for being a dog of the IPC, hate for acting exactly the way that’s expected of his kind. He played into people’s perceptions of him. Why waste time trying to correct their views when they won’t change? It’s easier to just act according to their expectations and hide who he really is behind this playful and sly mask.

Only with you does he let his carefully crafted façade crumble to reveal his vulnerable self.

Aventurine is very good at acting like everything is fine when the world is against him. Perhaps to an extent, he truly believes that life is all about fighting battles on his lonesome. He can use others and get used as a tool in return, but the only one he can trust is himself. It’s the only life he’s ever known.

However, you’ve known him long enough to tell that the hate and isolation get to him, no matter how much he pretends that they don’t. When he comes home one night after a particularly awful day, it doesn’t take long for you to figure out that he feels down.

Aventurine smiled and teased you like usual, but he spoke less and clung to you more than usual. He hugged you from behind and kept an arm around you no matter what you were trying to do, almost as if he was seeking comfort from your physical presence.

Turning to face him, you glance into his tired eyes.

“What is it, darling? See something you like?” he teased, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“Hmm, no,” you hummed. Extending your arms forward, you wrapped them around Aventurine and slowly pulled him into a hug. “I don’t see something I like.”

Aventurine is momentarily stunned by your unprompted action, but he quickly recovers.

“Oh? How come? Am I not appealing enough for you?” he quipped, resting his chin on your shoulder and returning your hug. Unlike your tight hug, his arms wrapped around you in a loose hold, as if he was uncertain how to go about it.

“Quite the opposite,” you softly chuckle, “I don’t see something I like, but I do see someone I love,” you whisper and turn your head to look directly at Aventurine’s face.

A beat of silence passes as Aventurine processes your words, before bursting out laughing.

“That was painfully corny, even for you!” he chuckled.

You scoff but don’t say anything in response, simply continuing to hug him tightly. Slowly, carefully, you card your fingers through his blond hair before moving lower to stroke your palm along his spine in soothing circles.

Aventurine’s laughter dies down, his initial mirth now replaced with something fragile and vulnerable as he falls quiet. He won’t ever share what burdens him, but you don’t need to know the details to provide him comfort. If he doesn’t want to tell you, then you won’t pry. At the very least, you’ll do all you can to support him and remind him that he’s not alone.

Being wrapped up in your warm embrace, feeling your gentle caresses—it all felt unfamiliar to Aventurine. It’s been so long since he felt the tender and loving affection of another person. It took a while, but eventually he relaxed and allowed himself to lean into your body, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

Silence lingered in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something soothing in not having to talk. It was freeing to not worry about pretending to be okay or be pressured to talk about the things that trouble him.

That hug—that simple act of human affection—made him feel safe and protected in your arms. When you leaned back slightly to plant a tender kiss on Aventurine’s forehead, something inside him snapped and he had to hold back tears. Burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, he clung tightly to you while you continued to rub slow circles along his back.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, I’m here. You’re not alone…” you whisper, hugging him tighter.

Being wrapped up in your warm hug, feeling your affectionate kisses and gentle words is something Aventurine never knew he needed until now. Just for this moment, he lets his walls come down and bares his wounded self to you with the hope that you can soothe his pain if only a little.

And you do. With whispered reassurances and loving caresses, you ease his hurt, even if just temporarily. He is safe, you promise. He will always be safe in your arms.

🦁 Jing Yuan:

Jing Yuan is notorious for disliking the abundance of paperwork and other leadership tasks he has to take care of on a day-to-day basis as a General of the Xianzhou Luofu. Despite his woeful sighs about how tedious it is, and how the work never seems to end, Jing Yuan still accomplishes all his duties in a timely and precise fashion.

Jing Yuan is a hard worker, you are well aware of that. Which is why when he snuck out of the Seat of Divine Foresight to come spend some free time with you, you offered him to rest on your lap. And who was he to turn down such a tempting opportunity?

Sitting outside on the veranda with Jing Yuan’s head resting on your lap, you softly ran your fingers through his fluffy, white hair, marveling at how silky it was. It was as soft as it looked.

“I could get used to this,” Jing Yuan said with a sigh, relaxing into our touch. His golden eyes were closed as he enjoyed the sensations of your fingers combing through his hair, gently massaging his scalp and soothing any tension he felt.

Chuckling, you looked down at him, mirth dancing in your eyes.

“Really? I wouldn’t mind having you as my lap cat like this more often. Why not come see me every day and get pets?” you tease him as you lightly poke his cheek.

Jing Yuan cracks open one eye to give you an amused look.

“Being your lap cat sounds like a wonderful idea,” he sighs, “Laying on your lap and getting pampered sounds like my ideal life.”

Both of you burst out laughing at the ridiculous notion of Jing Yuan being a lap cat, your spirits lifting as the mood brightened even more.

“Ah, but if you ever want to take a break and relax, you’re always welcome to see me,” you say in a softer voice this time, resuming running your fingers through his tresses.

“I’ll keep your invitation in mind,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he relaxed into your touch once more.

The minutes pass in a comfortable and serene atmosphere, with you pampering Jing Yuan with affectionate caresses, meanwhile, the man listens to you talk about your day. You both knew that after this he would have to go back and complete the mountain of work waiting for him, but for now, you were content to spend this little bit of time with your beloved.

Under the warm sun and gentle breeze, with his head resting comfortably on your lap, Jing Yuan felt himself growing drowsy. His eyelids became heavier, and his body didn’t want to move from his position on your lap.

Noticing the General grow sleepy, you fought the urge to tease him. If you pointed out his sleepiness, he would most likely apologize and put a stop to this tranquil moment by getting up and heading back to work. He already saw you less than either of you wanted, simply because work kept him busy. Moments like these were a luxury.

Keeping quiet, you gently massage his scalp until his breaths even out and become deeper, seeming to have fallen asleep. His expression looked so serene and vulnerable, something that very few people have had the chance to witness. As his lover, you were privy to this sight more than most. You watch over him with a small smile on your face, gently tucking away a stray strand of his hair.

Thinking he was asleep, you lean down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead, but as you straighten, you notice Jing Yuan peering up at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

Growing flustered, you quickly look away, feeling your cheeks heat up with a blush.

Jing Yuan only laughs in response, but his laughter quickly turns into a contented purr as you shut him up with another head massage. Whatever teasing remark he had prepared, immediately died on his tongue as relaxation washed over him and he felt sleep take hold of his mind again.

“It’s ok, take a nap. I’ll wake you up in a few minutes,” you murmur, willing Jing Yuan to finally get some rest. You could tell he wanted to protest, but with a light brush of your thumbs over his temples, he released a sigh of defeat and conceded.

“You certainly know how to take advantage of my weaknesses,” he chuckled, voice a little hoarse from drowsiness.

Despite his initial reluctance, Jing Yuan fell asleep fairly quickly. The continuous days of endless work had left him exhausted, but your tender pampering and sweet company were just the respite he needed.

“Sleep tight,” you whisper, gracing him with another sweet kiss on his forehead.

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble.

On your way to Hood's room, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Right. Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

[chewnotchoke]

boynextdoor and their love languages

warning: some suggestive parts, use of real names (riwoo only)

sungho

receiving: quality time, acts of service

𓍯 his type of quality time is visiting new places with you. so he really appreciates it when you call and tell him "let's eat at this restaurant. i heard it's a really good place!" and he'd agree immediately.

𓍯 he gets so excited when he sees your contact name popping on his phone screen because he knows it's call time! he'd answer it on the first ring! when he's busy, he'd call you back immediately and would spend at least an hour talking on the phone

𓍯 loves it when you cook his favorite dish! since he loves affirming you, he always tells you to cook it again for him because apparently, you cook better than a renowned chef.

giving: acts of service, words of affirmation

𓍯 surprises you with bubble baths after a long tiring day. "prepared this for my girl because she has to save up all her energy for tonight."

𓍯 you rely on him opening tightly sealed jars and it actually turns you on. "babe, can you help me open this?" and it was as easy as flicking an ant for him.

𓍯 "i care for you. is there any way i can help?" // "everything's alright, babe. everything's okay because you have me. i'll always be here, hm?"

riwoo

receiving: words of affirmation

𓍯 really really loves affirmations! he gets so red and shy though.

𓍯 he loves it when show expression of appreciation for his work/performance. everytime you say "it was a really nice performance, sanghyuk! you did so well." he'd throw pumches in the air out of excitement and satisfaction.

𓍯 but he would easily get hurt when you talk to him in a low voice or no emotions at all because it makes him overthink :c pls don't raise your voice at him too! he will tear up.

giving: quality time, acts of service

𓍯 to him, giving you 20 minutes of his time means giving you 20 minutes of his life. he values time with you so much.

𓍯 fond of doing your skincare at night OMG. for quality time, he loves doing facial masks together while laying in bed. he'd then start bringing up the first time he met you and tells you how in love he is with you.

𓍯 since he loves affirmation, you'd tell him "oh look at this pretty boy doing my skincare." while he soothes your face with the moisturizer he just applied on your skin, and then he would press his lips together to hide his smile. because of that, he's peck your kiss as his way to appreciate your words.

jaehyun

receiving: physical touch

𓍯 he loves being babied when it's time to go to bed. he loves it when you pull him closer to your chest and cuddle him 'til you hear his cute snores.

𓍯 have i mentioned he loves being babied? because he really likes it when you're all over him, when you grab his face, when you ruffle his hair.

𓍯 "can i get my kiss later?" he would plead at you in the middle of his work. "of course! i'll give you lots of it when we get home. so please just focus on your work for now, alright?" your mouth curved into a smile. "can you give me 100 kisses later?" he couldn't be any cuter when he asks for kisses from you. "i'll give you thousands, jae." you answered. "we'll have to make out then..."

giving: physical touch, acts of service

𓍯 definitely the "after you, my lady" type when opening the door for you.

𓍯 the touchiest of them all! like he wouldn't allow it at all if your knees or feet are not touching under the table during dinner.

𓍯 would get whiny if you sit across him on the table and not beside you. "hey, what's wrong? why are you sitting there? your seat is here." he said as he pats on his lap, giggling like a child.

taesan

receiving: physical touch

𓍯 whenever he does something worthy to be proud of, he would lean his cheek closer to you and tap it with his pointer finger so you could kiss it. you always end up giving him more than what he asks!

𓍯 nothing's more important than holding him when he cries. he rarely cries but this one time he got so vulnerable after a tiring day, he never found a greater comfort than being in your arms.

giving: gifts, quality time, physical touch

𓍯 “my parents aren't home.” he'd chuckle on the other line of the call. you knew what he was trying to imply.

𓍯 he has this hobby of giving you hand-picked flowers!! "would you like me to get you daisies next time? alright, i'll look for daisies next time." he ends up taking all the flowers in your neighbor's garden because he found it as pretty as you.

𓍯 a big spender. doesn't mind of the price as long as he buys it for you.

𓍯 always loves burrying his face on your neck for no reason at all. also, 100% thigh grabber!!!

leehan

receiving: words of affirmation

𓍯 his eyes light up whenever you tell him you remember the things you've done with him, things he likes, and foods you've eaten together even if they happened a long time ago.

𓍯 he gets really emotional when you tell him you don't take him for granted :c

𓍯 both of you loves writing letters for each other especially when it's handwritten. he thinks it means a lot when you spend time writing about him the traditional way.

giving: acts of service, words of affirmation

𓍯 rather than sexual activities, he's more into giving you head pats, combing your hair, rubbing your arms as a way of intimate touching.

𓍯 for leehan, communication is the very essence of a loving relationship. he always seeks understanding and reconciliation every after an argument. "can you tell me how i made you feel like you're being too much? i promise you were never too much for me. let's talk about it, babe."

woonhak

receiving: quality time, words of affirmation

𓍯 he's the type to get discourage easily with the feedbacks he's getting. so you telling him that he's doing a really great job is very important to him.

𓍯 he likes having talks with you after his schedule, where you'd sit in front of the tv without actually watching the tv, and would proceed to talking about each other's day.

giving: quality time, gifts

𓍯 you're That important to him he'd let himself lose the game when you suddenly call out of nowhere just so he could accomodate you. "i'm out guys, i'll be talking to my girlfriend. have fun!"

𓍯 giving gifts = symbol of thought. but he's kinda playful with it. "got that for you because it reminded me of you." and then it's an adorable mushroom plushie because he knows you can't eat mushroom. he would laugh saying, "i know you'll never get to eat mushrooms but at least you can keep that for a lifetime!"

𓍯 proximity ≠ togetherness. when you're together, he always ensures you're included and never forgotten. he doesn't take your presence for granted and makes sure you do things together.

𓍯 this one's really really cute but i definitely see him as the type who would spend time on youtube learning how to make diy gifts for you!

requests are open! i'd gladly work on it if you want me to write something ^__^ comments/reblogs are highly appreciated <3 check my other works too!

[majinbangus]

What happens when soap's on again and off again gf finds out he got someone else pregnant? And do you think she would try to keep him from his children and reader?

Also I hope Soap tells his mom and she chews him out for not being better to reader 😭 (I also want Soap's mom know already that she's going to be a grandma to twins and just kept it from Johnny for reader's health too.)

i struggled with this one, but it turned out hopeful in the end i hope its good

"What're you doing here?"

You don't know what hurts more: the way he said that as if he doesn't want you there (which he probably doesn't; you don't want to be there, either, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less), or the apprehensive look he doesn't bother masking. He's never really been one to hide his emotions, but would it have killed him to pretend to be on amicable terms with you for at least a couple of hours? Dumbass.

"I'm doing great, MacTavish, thanks for asking." You go for an overly friendly inflection, but anyone listening in would be able to hear the biting undertone in your sarcasm. "How have you been? Wonderful, you say? That's absolutely grand. Glad to hear it. Truly, thank you for taking the time to welcome me into your home."

You attempt a smile, but from the way Soap's expression pinches at it, it more than likely comes off as a poorly veiled scowl. You can't bring yourself to care. You're more focused on keeping yourself from breaking down, rubbing your hand almost obsessively over your belly, trying to calm yourself with the soothing motion. Soap looks down at it, face flashing with something. You're tempted to call it regret. Whether that's for knocking you up or for hurting you just now or something else entirely, you have no clue. He clenches his fists.

"... Does my family know that you're... that I'm..?"

That's what he's concerned about? Fucking prick. You're half-tempted to announce it to his whole family now. You didn't even want to be at his family gathering in the first place, but Mrs. MacTavish insisted, and you adore his mother (so much so that you’re afraid of her, too). It's been months since you last saw all the MacTavishes in person (for obvious reasons), and you know if you refused another invitation, the woman, though getting up there in age, would've dragged you to the party herself.

You rub your belly a tad faster, and his eyes dart down to the anxious movement again. "No, MacTavish, your family does not know you got me pregnant, so you can stop worrying. I... wasn't planning on telling them. Not now, at least. Or ever. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about stuff."

Perhaps it's the right call, perhaps not (it most likely isn’t), but the tension that visibly leaks out of his body offends you. 

"That's... probably for the best,” He exhales slowly.

“For you or for me?” You snark and he at least has the decency to wince.

“Hen… Princess–”

“Don’t call me that.” You curl your lips at him, teeth bared. A bitter kind of hurt grinds within your chest. He only called you that once before. For one night. It meant nothing to him, but everything to you. “Don’t pretend to care; you never called back to talk like we agreed. You’re such a prick, MacTavish.” 

“You never reached out, either,” He shoots back with a defensive frown that doesn’t feel justified. “And I have a reason for not calling back earlier…”

“Was that reason your girlfriend?”

His silence is telling.

You scoff with a derisive laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” He tries to protest, but you remain staunch in your acrimony. 

“Sure, it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “If it isn’t anything else, then what is it?”

“We,” Soap hesitates, breaking eye contact to focus on where your hand is on your stomach. He swallows, rephrasing himself. “After our phone call, I brought up what happened between us… Tried to explain what happened… Communicate with her since that was always a problem we had.”

“And?” You prompt after he falls silent for a few seconds, though you think you can predict where this story is going.

“She didn’t take it well.” He continues, “We’ve been fighting about it. Trying to come to a compromise, but she’d rather I cut contact with you.”

“You… don’t want that?” You smother any bit of hope you feel. You have to.

He doesn’t answer the question verbally, merely shaking his head. It doesn’t feel like a good enough response, but you can’t push him on it because then he’s talking again. “We’re not wanting the same things. Every conversation about it–” about you “–turns into an argument, and we’ve decided to…”

“Go on a break?” You fill in, but he shakes his head again, avoiding your gaze.

“I think it’s permanent this time.”

Oh. That’s… skeptical. After years of watching them go back and forth, it’s hard to believe the permanence of their breakup. You wouldn’t be surprised if that changed as soon as next week, or even tomorrow. But maybe it’s true this time. Maybe they won’t reconcile. If that’s the case, you are glad he’ll be out of such an exhausting relationship, but you won’t let yourself believe he’ll develop feelings for you. 

“I’m sorry,” You offer instead and Soap chuckles humorlessly.

“Do you mean that?”

“I don’t, but I know she was important to you.” Probably still is, but you won’t dwell on that. “I’m still upset with you, though.”

He chuckles again, a little more genuinely this time. It’s almost enough to make you smile. Almost. “Aye, I know. I deserve it.”

“You do.” And maybe a slap. A cathartic slap. Perhaps not for him, but it might do you good. “And you’re still a prick, but now that you’re not… occupied… Can we figure everything out?”

It’s small, but you can’t help that spark of hope that blooms in your chest at the soft smile he gives you.

“I’d like nothing more, Princess.”

(His mother heard the whole thing. She’ll discuss it later with the both of you. But for now, she’ll stay out of it and let you two work it out before getting involved. She just hopes her idiot son doesn’t mess things up with you. 

She much rather prefers you over his ex, after all.)

[enbyfvcker]

[Unsettling silence]

Wade Wilson x Logan(worst!wolverine)

Word count: 0.7k

Summary/prompt: Wade is insecure and quiet after coming back home, and Logan notices, concerned about the unusual quietness.

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, insecure Wade Wilson.

Something's off.

Oh, something is definitely wrong.

Wade's home, and it's quiet. Fucking silent.

Not a joke could be heard, neither humming, whistling, or singing, or anything. Nothing.

Logan's a quiet person himself, but honestly, over the past months, he grew used to Wade never shutting the fuck up.

So yeah, he knows something's off when Wade barely uttered a word today after coming back from the market in the morning.

He was sitting on the couch, watching some random cheesy reality show with the captions on and hugging a cushion, wearing a hello kitty themed shirt, boxers with hearts printed on them and his mask.

He doesn't usually wear his mask inside the apartment.

"Hey, bub." Logan speaks, sitting next to the merc that doesn't take his eyes away from the TV.

"Hi, peanut." His tone seemed normal enough... Distant, though.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?" He finally looks at Logan. The whites of the mask pointed at him.

"You're quiet today..."

"So? Aren't you happy?"

"Why are you wearing your mask?"

"Cause I'm Deadpool. Duh-doy."

"Sure, but usually at home, you're just Wade."

"..."

"Is everything really okay?"

"Yeah! And if it weren't, then I probably wouldn't know how to talk about it since you probably wouldn't understand and probably think I'm dumb. So yes, I'm great. Perfect. Really jolly, thank you."

Logan's definitely not great with words, but he cares about Wade. So he makes an effort.

"I can listen... I won't think you're dumb. I mean, not more than I normally do." He tries to joke, but Wade doesn't laugh. "Talk to me."

"That's a new one."

"Wade..."

"Is no big deal. Really. I was just grocery shopping, and people looked at me weird. Nothing new. Kids looked traumatized, old ladies terrified... You know, the usual. Heard some fun comments. Had a real great time." Wade sighs, looking back at the TV, but he didn't really seem to focus now.

Logan felt his heart ache at the sadness clear in the merc's tone, so uncharacteristic of him.

"I'm sorry, W-"

"No. It's fine. It's nothing. I'm used to it. 'Been living with this ugly old mug for years, it's not like any comment or insult can be news to me or whatever. It's not like they're wrong to feel repulsed, anyway."

"You're not repulsive."

Wade just chuckles, even though there's no real amusement in his voice. "Right."

"I'm serious, Wade. You think I just fuck with anyone?"

"Yeah...? Not to call you a whore or anything, but-"

"I don't. And I don't think you're ugly." He gets closer, hand slowly creeping behind Wade's head. Wade quickly holds Logan's arm strongly, hesitantly, but then he sees the genuine look in his eyes and let go.

Slowly, Logan removed the mask and placed it on the couch, holding Wade's face with both hands and looking at him deeply.

"Those people don't know you. They don't know the kind, great, funny, loyal guy you are. I know you, bub. And I love you. Every part, even the ones that annoy the shit out of me."

Wade's eyes fill with water, and he looks at Logan like a sad puppy.

"Got it?" Logan asks firmly, and Wade just nods, feeling a knot in his throat. "Good." Logan leans and kisses Wade's lips softly, the merc melting completely. They pull away, and Logan can see Wade fighting some tears.

"You really mean it? You don't think I'm ugly?"

"No, I don't."

"Can you put me in your pocket and never let me go? Back pocket is preferable." Wade whines, burying his face in Logan's neck, who just chuckles.

"Don't think I can, bub."

"You can! We can steal Antman's suit and shrink me or something. Want you to take care of me..."

"What if I just make us a bath and hold you?"

"...That'd be nice..."

"Great." He kisses Wade's neck.

"Are you being romantic? You are! Didn't know you had it in you, peanut. I love it, don't stop."

"What do you mean? I can be romantic." Logan retorts, sounding a bit offended.

"Can you buy rose petals and make a path for me to the bathub?"

"What, do you want a honeymoon?"

"Yes!"

Logan laughs. "I can carry you." He offers.

Wade's eyes shine.

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

Logan rolls his eyes and scoops Wade up, standing and holding him bridal style. Wade wraps his arms around Logan's neck eagerly.

"Oh. Did I just die? I'm in heaven. Wolvie heaven. Gosh, your arms-"

"Come on, let's go." He carries Wade to the bathroom.

[miguelhugger2099]

Eye for an Eye

Summary: Miguel rescues you in an ugly way. A/N: my guilty pleasure is sometimes i wanna be saveddd Warnings: Brief suggestion to sexual harrassment/assault, a bit of violence.

Somehow in the year 2099, most people didn't understand that Spider-Man in this age didn't follow the famous "no killing" rule that the original Spider-Man upheld in the Heroic Age. Most people meaning criminals.

Spider-Man, even when saving people from falling from skyscrapers or punching Public Eye scum in the face, if pushed to his limits- he would kill. This was his rules, his timeline, his Nueva York and if some pesky criminal wouldn't understand that then he'd get rid of them by any means.

So where do you come in all this?

Despite your efforts at secrecy, in the dead of night Spider-Man would often escort you home after work or if you had gotten into trouble with some purse snatcher. Other times, he'd sneak in your apartment window after a long fight, wanting to see you and have you patch up the wounds that would take a little more time to heal.

Spider-Man had revealed to you that he was actually Miguel O'Hara, the handsome stranger that had seemingly bumped into you more and more often after your very first encounter with Spider-Man. Having already been in an established relationship, you felt your heart drop at this major secret.

A part of you was angry at him for not telling you. For revealing your feelings about Miguel to his alter ego Spider-Man and making a fool of yourself. For all the nights he cancelled seeing you without explanation-something that put a strain on your relationship for a while. 

However the other half of you was drowned in worry. So all those times his masked covered face had come in to see you, bloody and bruised while you fixed him up, it was all him. He could die, you told him. Why would he do this to himself?

"I haven't been good all my life," He groaned while you pressed a damp cloth to his wound one night. "I think of all this as repentance for being a shocking moron in my earlier years."

"There are other ways to repent. Like donating to charity or some confession booth at a church. Not some...Not risking your life." You could barely look at him, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall while it clouded your vision. 

"I'm not religious." Miguel replies. "It wouldn't mean anything with these in my body now. They'd probably still send me to Hell regardless." He lifts his hand, his talons auto extracting from his fingertips and he feels the bile from his stomach stir, an urge to vomit at the disgust of himself.

He forces his talons back into his fingertips so he could tilt your chin up to face him. His thumb caressed your cheek to wipe off a stray tear that had fallen. "I'm sorry I put this all on you." He whispers.

You shake your head. "You're stupid, I always knew that," You sniffle and Miguel bites his cheek so he doesn't smile. "But I could help you better now. I...I know who you are and everything makes sense now, we could-"

Miguel stops you by shushing you. "No, no, no. You're not helping me anymore." Your heart drops again.

"What do you mean?"

"This is the last time we'll see each other."

Your jaw drops this time. Eyes that widened in shock now turn to anger. "Shock, Miguel. I knew you were an asshole but breaking up with me after revealing your secret identity to me has got to be one of the lowest things you're doing."

You lean away from him, bloodied and dried cloth thrown at his chest. "I was useful when you could just pop in whenever? No strings attached–was it fun?" You scoff in hurt.

Miguel grits his teeth. "No, carajo, it's-it's me-"

"Don't bullshit me Miguel with that it's not you, it's me rhetoric." You cross your arms tightly to your chest.

"It's dangerous!" He barks back.

"Like it wasn't dangerous before?" 

"It was! That's why I can't come back! I can't let myself lead them to you!" Miguel sits up and grabs onto your shoulders tightly and gives you a firm shake. His hands shake as he holds you, his head hanging. "This...this power of mine. I...it can lead so many of those assholes to you." He whispers. "I trusted you enough to come here, which I hate myself for. I should’ve never involved you in any of this.” Miguel’s hands fall from your shoulders and down your arms to grip your hands in his. “I’ve already put you in so much danger. If you got hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”

The feeling of his talons pricking your skin and the sight of his fangs leaking a drop of his venom made you think maybe he did know what he’d do. He would just really want to avoid it.

“Miggy,” You say softly. “How about you let me make that choice? Now that I know, it doesn’t scare me. Do you know why?” You take your right hand out his grip to cup his cheek. His tired eyes look up to yours, nostril dried with blood and a scar on his forehead that surely needed bandages.

“Because I know you’ll protect me. You’re Spider-Man.” You lean in closer, Miguel under your spell. “Let me help you. That’s my decision. In return, if I’m ever a damsel in distress, I hope you’ll help me.” You give him a small smile and his hand covers yours on his cheek. He squeezes your fingers. “I promise.” He swears. Miguel always kept his promises even if he stumbled on the way. So when he went to visit you after his nightly patrol, he didn’t expect to see your entire apartment in disarray. His mask phases off his head, scarlet eyes wide and panicked. He gulps down his fear, muscles tense as he steps into your room. Blankets and pillows on the floor, some slashed and stuffing being poured out the seams. Your desk that held photos of you and your friends had also fallen to the floor, glass shattered and frames broken. Miguel takes another quiet step outside of your room. Your entire living room was a mess. Your couch had been moved and cut in half, lamps cracked and more photos on the floor. His heart stops when he sees blood in the kitchen. Some of the knives had been taken and another wave of fear splashes down his spine. It was clear there had been some sort of resistance with whoever took you. Whoever took you. Who took you? Miguel feels the fear morph into rage, his mask phasing back on his head. “Lyla. Scan this place.” He growls. His AI assistant glitches into existence, her eyes behind her pink heart shaped glasses full of worry. She begins phasing in and out of different places while Miguel lets the anger fester in his body. HIs talons on his fingers and feet itch to come out, to be sharpened for whatever poor soul’s flesh he’ll rip into. His fangs seep out his paralyzing venom, his tongue licking off the excess. Lyla appears in front of him, more meek and smaller compared to her usual upbeat and sarcastic nature. She knew there was a time and a place. “The blood isn’t hers. They most likely knocked her out since there’s no trace of her own blood around. Fingerprints on the knife handle are hers. No other DNA samples could be acquired.”

Miguel walks towards the entrance of your apartment. His hand grazes the door frame that had been split apart. Lyla appears next to him. “Forced entry, probably by foot. There’s some traces of wet soil–mainly seawater. I’ve tracked several fishing ports–most in Staten Island.” She displays holograms of different spots, standing tall by his side while he skims through. “Did you find a match on the blood?” His voice rumbles. “Negative, Miguel. None in the criminal database, including The Raft. Looks like this is the work of someone new.” Miguel grows furious. He roars as he punches his hand through the already destroyed couch. Some novice wants his attention so badly, he’s willing to piss him off for it. Miguel swings out of your place and searches the entirety of Staten Island’s fishing ports until he finds the one he was looking for. You don’t know where you are but you can feel everything. A sash was wrapped tightly around your eyes, some rope or zip ties held your wrists together and your ankles to the chair you sat on. You felt the pounding of a headache when you woke up. The last thing you remembered was one of the intruders lifting his gun and slamming the barrel down on your temple. They grew tired of you after reaching into the kitchen to protect yourself. You held them off well but you were still just one person. The sash had been lifted from your eyes and you groaned when a bright light of a lamp shined in your face. While you squinted, you could make out at least three people in front of you.

“I’m sorry about my men. They’re still a little new. You know how it is when you get trainees for a new job.” The one in the middle speaks, you noticed he also is the one that took off your sash. “What the hell was the point of all this? You just kidnap random people from their homes?” You glare up at the man and his two puppets. “Streets say you’re good friends with Spidey.” One of the smirks. “Had one of these guys watch him crawl in your window like some squashed bug.” You scoff softly, rolling your side to the side. “So what?”

The man in front shrugs. “Either you’re his whore or you know him. So which is it sweetheart?” He rests his hand on the back seat of your chair and leans in close to your face. “Who is Spider-Man?”

You licks your lips and stare back up at him, choking back the stretch his breath was. “I don’t know.”

He grins. “Hm. So you’re his whore. A special one at that. He doesn’t appear in just anyone’s home so what services do you offer him in exchange for some protection? Do they apply here? Baby, I can protect you too.”

He’s sick, your mind screamed. You struggled against your restraints.

“Shock you.” You spit on his shirt and he lands a hard slap across your cheek.

He mumbles a string of curses before grabbing your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Don’t forget who’s in the shocking chair, sweetheart. Your hero ain’t here so be a doll and shut the hell up.”

Your chest heaved up and down in deep breaths to calm your scared heart. You feel your cheek stinging and it didn’t help with this rotten man’s fingers digging into your skin.

Your silence pleases him and his other hand reaches down to your knee. “I don’t wanna hurt you, sweet thing. It’s just one simple question and I’ll let you go.” He lies. His hand rides up your thigh and your leg tries to kick him away from you but he just grips you tighter. “I don’t know.” You plead hoarsely. “I know, I know. So you say.” Out of the corner of your eye you see one of his men snatched into the darkness with a clawed hand around his mouth. Miguel. The guy in front of you digs his nails deeper in your skin and you can feel the scratch. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You whine at the pain, pursing your lips to keep yourself quiet. “See, Spidey’s head goes for millions of dollars–money you can’t even comprehend so if you could do your community a favor of just letting us in on some intel on the son of a bitch; that’d be great.” “You wanna kill him?” You ask breathlessly, looking to the other side to see another newbie being hindered, his neck tilted to the side while some teeth bite into his flesh. His body slowly lost consciousness and was also dragged into the darkness silently. “Most of Nueva York wants that guy dead. All the ones on top but I’m dirt poor, sweetie. It’d be a disservice for the hero to not let me kill him. Shouldn't he give to the poor and needy?” He sighs, letting go of your cheek so both his hands rests on your upper thighs. You feel your skin crawling and try to move away as far as you can in your seat. “But you don’t know anything do you? Then I’d be doing a disservice by throwing out some useful goods here, don't you think?” His grimy hands grip your hips, looping his fingers around your jean belt loops. Before you could even think, the man is instantly ripped off of you by his shirt. He’s thrown back on his side, skidding as he comes to a halt. Spider-Man towers in front of you, his back facing you. You could still see the rage oozing from his suit, shoulders and muscles tense and claws out. His chest rises and falls with each jagged breath, the only sound coming out of him.

“Spider-Man!” The man growls, stumbling to get back on his feet. His pistol had slipped from the back of his jeans, sliding away from him. “Dammit–Darrell! Fernando!” He calls to his two men but he freezes. On the floor are both his associates, one’s clothes ripped apart with claw marks on his chest, the other with his jaw slacked open and two puncture holes in his neck–a strange mixture of blood and another liquid oozing from the wound. He lets out a strangled scream as he looks back up at Spider-Man. His tall frame stalks over to him but the man crawls to find his gun. Before he could grab it, Miguel stomps on the man's arm, giving a satisfying crack to his bone which the man cries out painfully. While he writhes on the concrete ground, Miguel grabs onto his broken arm and lifts him up–he screams, trying to push Miguel away. “You wanted to kill me?” Miguel growls, his voice deep and menacing. The man pleads for his life and another set of footsteps come from behind. “Shoot him!” The man yells as Miguel looks back over his shoulder. The rest of the group comes up from behind Miguel, raising–what Miguel considers pathetic–guns up to his face. The eyes on Miguel’s mask squint slightly and just as quickly, he turns with the man in his hands and uses his body to protect himself from the onslaught of bullets. The man’s entire group fires and every single bullet pierces into his body, splattering blood on the ground and Miguel’s suit. Miguel makes sure that you weren’t hit at any moment. Miguel tosses the limp corpse to the side and pounces into the group, attaching his fangs into some man’s neck while his talons ripped along his arm to let go of the rifle he was holding. Chaos ensues and they all begin shooting at one another in hopes that one shot could land on Spider-Man. Miguel’s claws ripped apart limbs and skin, every single hand that raised against you was littered to the ground. He continues to swing and jump around, letting everyone get lost in the confusion before tearing through chests and stomachs. His rage knew no bounds at the moment. He had planned to just come in secretly while he still had a part of his mind. Get in, use his venom, take you and get out. But when he saw what that scum would’ve done to you, touching you, gripping onto you–he lost his mind. Even with Lyla’s brief protest, Miguel couldn’t help but want to tear him apart. So he did.

It wasn’t often Miguel had to be reduced to such measures but everyone had their limits. By the time it was over, he barely noticed how silent it had become. His ears were still ringing, he felt like he was underwater as he gulped in heaps of air. “Miguel!” He hears Lyla yell at him. He snaps his head to where he heard her voice, blind rage melting when he sees you still in the chair. He sees Lyla with her arms crossed, her little foot tapping angrily in mid-air. Lyla had done her best to cover your sight and hearing of the crime Miguel had done with holograms of whatever–surely it was much nicer than watching Miguel gnaw off a piece of someone’s throat. Miguel glances at his hands stained and dripping with blood. He wipes them on his legs, hoping to get it off him before you could see. He falls to his knees in front of you with a soft whine of your name and his mask phases off. “Lyla, blur the room.” Lyla does as told and lets you see him. Your eyes are concerned and scared. “Miggy…” You whisper, feeling the trauma set in. “I’m here, I’m here–I told you I’d protect you, yeah?” Miguel uses his talons to cut off the zip ties from your wrists and ankles that were digging in your skin. Once you were free, you wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms. Miguel fell back but made sure to hug you back, his arms going around your waist while his other arm went up to cradle your head. He buried himself in your shoulder, breathing in the mixture of your natural scent and the scent of the man. He growled and held you tighter. He’d do something about that smell.

“I was so scared–I didn’t know what to do–How did you find me?” You babbled as you finally felt safe enough to sob and cry. “Don’t worry about that. You’re safe. You’re okay.” Miguel reassures you, kissing your temple and cheek, pulling away gently to brush your messy hair away from your face. He wipes your tears with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a bloody mark. “Shit..” He mumbles, ashamed and pulls his hand away. You stop him, holding his hand back to your cheek. You just wanted to feel him, his warmth. You weren’t stupid. You knew what happened when Lyla put up holograms that blurred what you weren’t supposed to see. You didn’t care. May they rot. “Thank you.” You whimpered. “Thank you.” Miguel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Always. I’ll take you home.” “But, my apartment–” You try to speak as Miguel moves to hold your body in one hand while he swings on his web with the other. “Not your apartment. Mine. My penthouse. I’m never leaving you out of my sight again.” Your arms were securely around his neck. He was still tense but much less before. You tried to look back down but he squeezed you tighter– he didn’t want you to see.

For tonight, he’d take care of you just like all those nights you took care of him.

[tealvenetianmask]

So despite hating himself, Blitz is confident about sex and about work, right?

Right???

Where did all of that confidence go? It's a fun kind of confidence that takes us along for the ride and makes us want to see what he'll do next, and I miss it. Not to mention, seeing him start to break down is a little too relatable.

I've seen a lot of good analysis recently about how and why Blitz's mask is slipping. He's been shaken to the core by everything that happened with Stolas, and now he can't maintain the facade of confidence that's been getting him through daily life.

Recent events have made me think differently about Blitz's hallucination in Truth Seekers. Yes, it shows us lots of fear of relationships- of hurting and being hurt. But the insecurity in particular is standing out to me a lot more now.

Take these quotes from hallucination-Moxxie (actually Blitz's own psyche speaking):

First quote: "I simply follow your orders. It isn't my fault if your orders are as nonsensical as a sun tanning bed left out on the cold rainy porch of a fresh April shower."

Second quote: "you don't know what you are doing half the time and depend on me and the missus to manage your foolish flights of fancy."

I want to point out before getting into the words that in all of these frames the animation is drawn to look like Blitz is glitching out on a computer screen, with frames overlapping and stark colorful lines reverberating. It's like he's barely able to hold onto his identity. It's like he's losing himself.

Now the content of the quotes themselves-- even though Blitz's confident assassin persona is convincing, even though he frequently calls out Moxxie for mistakes and builds himself up, even though when we see him fighting, he KNOWS HE'S GOT THIS, and even though he talks confidently about his schemes, this man SERIOUSLY DOUBTS HIMSELF AT WORK.

Blitz is an improviser, and I've written before about how much I love this because I relate to it. Blitz talks through plans that sound pretty extravagant but don't have many details ironed out (and this drives Moxxie up a wall), and then he pulls them off by acting intuitively and making decisions in the moment. He's great at it. I get it. When plans are too detailed or too set in stone (at work, when traveling, in my writing), I feel seriously boxed in. I need grand vague ideas to get me excited to get going and a lack of details so that I can do what's right in the moment and avoid getting stuck. I did not outline this post. I love that this tendency of Blitz's is portrayed so positively, because in my own experience, it often gets misunderstood as laziness or unrealistic thinking.

Or *cough* "foolish flights of fancy."

So what we have here is Blitz doubting one of the very personality traits that makes him so successful in his work, interpreting it as not knowing what he's doing, and feeling like he has to cover it up. He's down in the imposter syndrome pit with the rest of us.

[honeyxbee]

Chosen

Bakugo x fem!reader

Day 12 ― Omegaverse TW: NSFW, dubcon, past bullying, possessiveness words: 419

You don't understand why he won't just leave you alone.

Katsuki has been a constant pain in your ass since elementary school, always tugging on your hair and pushing you down on the playground. Your teachers always used to tell you it was just a phase ― that you just needed to ignore him, and he'd eventually get bored and leave you alone.

But he didn't. No, if anything, it just got worse as the years passed. All throughout school, It's like Katsuki made it his daily mission to torment you as much as possible. Like he wanted to see just how far he could push you until you shattered like glass in his hand. But then you presented as an omega, and suddenly, everything was..different.

He stopped shoving you around, no longer talked down to you like you were just a bug he wanted to step on. No, he started following you around, looking almost concerned when you'd get hurt. He used to encourage his friends to mock you, but suddenly, he's defending you, throwing threatening glares at anyone who says anything remotely insulting towards you.

It's not until he corners you by your locker one day, shoving his scent-covered hoodie into your arms with a firm 'wear this,' that you realize what's happening. And by that point, it's too late.

You wish he would have just stuck with the bullying.

You try to keep your heat as hidden as possible, taking suppressants and practically drowning yourself in the strongest perfume you have in an attempt to mask the scent. And it works!

Well, at least at first.

That's clearly not the case today ― otherwise, he wouldn't have jerked you into a secluded classroom and bent you over a desk. "You smell so good," he mumbles, pressing his nose harder above your pulse point as he desperately fucks you. You wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is racing, if he can tell how nervous you are. A part of you knows it likely wouldn't make a difference, anyway.

"K-Katsuki! W-We should..get back to class," you try to convince him, but he just lets out a low growl and buries his face deeper into your neck.

"This is more important than class," he murmurs. "I wanna make sure to knot you. I need to claim you as my omega before somebody else tries to steal you from me." His words come out as a certainty, it's obviously not up for debate.

You're his, after all.

[gliphyartfan]

I've been thinking about this a bit and wanted to know your opinion, but every time they involve Reader and The Chain in an isekai, Reader knows the Links from video games.

But what if she/he/they knew about The Chain through The videogames, the comic and the writings it reads on Tumblr, just like we do? A Yandere content writer or consumer of said content, Reader will know how to read the signs and avoid becoming obsessed with she/he/they

Or no

Or you can choose to make them obsess over You, why go back to the stress of modern life where everyone is doing everything they can to survive? Why not just stay and pretend ignorance? Why not be pampered to the extreme and never lift a finger again? Sorry for the people who got hurt in your name, but you didn't know any of them deeply and you didn't witness the scene either, so why bother with something that doesn't affect your new life? Of course You would have to pretend to be stubborn so they don't suspect And being very good to them, but that is already returning the affection they give you, a reward for what they do for you...,all that sounds much better than worrying about working, saving, paying bills...

this is such a juicy premise, won’t lie. A self-aware Reader who knows everything about the Chain.

Like…Wild would blush furiously if they casually mentioned cooking all the stat-boosting meals he used to make.

Or Legend would probably be smug if they quoted his exploits from the games or stories or how people talk about his adventure decades after they were told.

Hyrule might be freaked out at first (like, people know of his journey??? People know about HIM???) but would eventually see it as proof Reader was meant to know them on a deeper level.

and all of them would take it as a personal challenge to live up to every expectation Reader’s have of them.

Now…let’s think about it a bit

Reader would know exactly what’s happening when they catch the boys watching them too closely, when their protective behavior ramps up, or when they subtly isolate Reader from others. They’ve read this all before, heck, Reader might’ve even written about it.

They’d immediately try to keep a safe distance, avoiding favoritism or letting them get too close. But let’s face it, The Chain isn’t going to let that happen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

They’d be hyper away if Reader’s behavior. The second they start acting evasive, they’ll probably see it as a sign that they’re scared of something and need even more of their ‘protection.’

They might ‘accidentally’ stumble upon Reader’s escape attempts, but make it look natural enough that Reader can’t tell if they are actually aware of their attempt or if they actually stumbled upon them.

Now~ if Reader either consumed or written yandere content, then they are painfully aware of how the chain react to resistance. Every attempt to push them away just makes them cling tighter. Reader is caught in the trap of knowing too much, and that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to escape.

In fact, Reader would probably overthink the chain’s habits and words and stuff like that (if they are an overthinker.)

Hyrule’s innocent smile, Legend’s sharp tongue, Warriors’ charming words. They ARE genuine.

But they’re also all masks, and Reader would know it. But they also know that the chain will use every trick in the book to keep them if they get a hint that Reader wants to leave.

If they ever find out Reader knew about them from games, comics, and fanfiction? Oh, it’s over. They’ll think it’s destiny, that Reader was meant to be theirs.

Like, I can genuinely see Sky say something like ‘You’ve always known us,” and he’s say it with a gentle, almost eerie smile. “You were always meant to be here.”

And everyone KNOWS if Sky makes such a decision, then they are ALL gonna be stubborn too.

And…

if Reader DECIDES to play along, well can anyone blame them?

Modern life is stressful. Bills, jobs, societal expectations, don’t even get them started on the chaos around the world.

it’s all exhausting. Reader would realize they could have a life of comfort and adoration if they just… stop fighting it.

Sure, they might have some murderous tendencies, but Reader’s read enough fanfiction to know how to keep them happy. Play along, stay on their good side, and reap the benefits of being their one and only obsession.

And if Reader is an introverted who doesn’t like being near too many people and prefers to stay home. Then even better for them! (Both Reader and the Chain)

Reader would make a conscious effort to pretend ignorance. When Wild smiles just a little too widely or Twilight’s growls seem directed at someone standing too close to them, They even feign obliviousness when they see a bit TOO much red on their clothes. (Though Reader would probably find a way for them to NOT kill anyone. Beat the hell out of? Sure no problem. Kill? eeeeh…not so much.)

Reader would reward their affection with kindness. compliments, gratitude, maybe even initiating a hug now and then. It keeps them sated, like giving treats to a pack of overprotective wolves. (Twilight is definitely doing the growly growls of happiness when Reader runs their fingers through his hair.)

Like…Reader knows they’ve probably already done a lot of terrible things in their name, but… well…Reader didn’t witness it, and it doesn’t affect their day-to-day life. It’s easy to compartmentalize when they treat them like royalty, their sole focus on keeping Reader happy.

Time would bring them tea, Warriors would ensure they’d never uncomfortable, and Sky offers you soft, soothing music. Wild hums and cooks. Why go back to stressing about rent when Reader can have this?

I mean…they’d have to pretend to be stubborn at times, just enough to keep the chain from getting suspicious. Let’s face it, if Reader is too accommodating, they might worry they’re hiding something or question why they aren’t more wary.

The trick is to keep them believing Reader is slowly being won over. Let them think their affection is working, and they’ll continue pouring their energy into doting on them rather than spiraling into paranoia.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

WHY HIM?

I have been writing daily and I think the next few days updates would be a bit more chill as I would be prepping for the Zayne angst series. If you're my follower, you would know what I am talking about ;)

A oneshot featuring you, choosing another guy over him. The songs were curated according to what the boys are probably thinking, just in the form of songs. Accompanied with the boys' POV.

Warnings: Angst, no comfort for the boys because mc is a bitch in this

Zayne - SNOW WHITE

'SHE WAS SNOW, SNOW LIKE THE WHITE LIES'

"Any excuses on why you had to reschedule for your last health checkup?" Zayne spoke, eyes never leaving the health report, studying the numbers and facts running through his mind like a vision.

"I just had to tend to work at the very last minute." She replied, tucking her brunette strand behind her ear. Clearly a lie. Zayne knew her well and long enough to tell the bad habits she has whenever she is lying.

The doctor chuckled softly under his breath. "Sure." Seeing right through her white lies. "Your heart seems to be functioning well. Keep up the good work." His praise raised a smile on her face. A sight he shall never forget.

"I remember you talked about a dessert shop not far from here. How about we head there after I am done with my next consultation?" Zayne asked, the report placed onto the wooden desk of his, fingers intertwined into a combined fist and he looked up. It was rare for Zayne to suddenly ask for a casual hang out just like this. He is always either too busy or too tired to go for any social sessions after he was done for the day.

'COLD LIKE THE NIGHT SHE LET ME GO'

His shift ended and once the last patient was checked out, he swiftly packed his briefcase and headed out of his office, not wanting to spare another minute. A nurse approached him mid-way, asking him to check through the files of a patient prior to submission to the report but Zayne kindly rejected with, "I shall review it tomorrow. Please leave it on my desk."

His response left the nurse bamboozled. He is the last doctor she expected to reject looking into a report for a patient. Guess there is a first for everything. "Sure, Dr.Zayne." She followed him with her gaze, seeing the figure quickly dissipated amongst the crowd of people within the hospital's lobby.

Zayne's excitement immediately died out. There she stood, basked under the dim lighting of the street lamps. Casting an overhead shadow of her, and another individual standing next to her. Zayne could not make out what they were talking about but he could tell she looked happy. Head thrown back, hands covering her mouth to mask her loud laughters. The guy stood in front of her reached his hand up to pat her head in a loving gesture.

'WAS IT THE FROSTBITE OR JUST THE ICE INSIDE HER SOUL? I DON'T KNOW'

Zayne winced, a jolting pain shot up his right arm. A searing pain that he knew was a direct reflection of his heart. If being with her hurts him, being away from her probably hurts him just as much, or perhaps, worse. He gritted his teeth, jaw tightened and his right fist curled tightly into a ball, trying his best to be in control of the pain.

The torture continues as he desperately wanted to intervene, to walk up to her side and introduce himself to the guy. But he stood still, unable to do anything as he watched her expressions closely. Joy, bashful, meek. But whenever she is with him, it would be the opposite effect. Nervous, hesitant, awkward. Was that what he really wanted from her? Of course not.

'I USED TO MELT IN HER ARMS NOW IM FALLIN' APART LIKE THE SNOW'

There were times she would pay him surprise visits in between his schedule, to bring him something to eat or to just spend time with him. But he would dismiss her, stating that it is not necessary for her to be around as it might cause a distraction. But he secretly liked the distraction. He liked watching her looking stressed as she tried to type out her report, looking at him every once in a while, using his face as a medium to recall her memories during the fight with Wanderers.

He also secretly likes it when she brings him desserts, tempting him forcefully by blackmailing him. No floss, no desserts. And he would not comply, purposely saying he has to catch a surgery, only to come back and see the dessert box being left on his table, with a packet of floss and a note that says '𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼!'

He blames himself, it is probably his coldness that drove her away, his indefinite display of love for her an opposing language towards her approach. His cold demeanour being a reality check for the curse that he has to succumb to, but fails terribly when he noticed the way his heart gravitates towards her.

'NEVER KNEW LOVE SO BRIGHT COULD EVER GET THIS COLD'

Zayne's phone vibrated in the pocket of his slacks and he unlocked it with his fingertip, reading the short message that was sent by her. <𝖧𝖾𝗒 𝖹𝖺𝗒𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖱𝖺𝖿𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗉.> A rejection clear as day within the enveloping darkness of the night.

Lies. Her face faded back into the darkness and a motion showcased her shoving her phone back into her jeans. The purple haired guy beside her snakes an arm around her waist comfortably and they both trudged down the streets together, an echo of their laughter carried by the wind. Zayne wished he could give up on everything to be in Rafayel's spot now.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Xavier - FLOORBOARDS

'BURY ME UNDER THE FLOORBOARDS'

Xavier woke up, dreary and wilted. Contrary to the sun that is exploding sun rays into everyone's houses, Xavier's house remained dark, with the sun-free curtains drawn closed for the past few days. It has been a few days since he had last heard from his partner, ever since that day he nearly got her killed due to his carelessness.

Xavier and his partner were deployed onto a mission involving a dangerous underground society named Onichynus. But their cover was blown when one of their moles ended up betraying both of the deepspace hunters, given Xavier has a bounty on his head.

During combat, Xavier managed to eliminate everyone who were trying to decapitate him but he failed to remember that his partner is not exactly the most durable fighter and that got her into a life threatening situation. Laying in her own pool of blood, she was suffocating because of the multiple lodged bullets in her torso.

"Y/N!" Xavier rushed over, skidding past dead bodies to reach to her, holding her up and pulling her into his arms effortlessly. "Help is already on its way. Don't worry about it. I am sorry." He spoke, everything a blur to him because his vision was only narrowed down to the girl in his arms. The girl that made him tear off his own clothes to press it against her bullet wounds to stop the bleeding, the girl that made his work life enjoyable and the girl that gave him a meaning to live, to live FOR HER.

'HIDE AWAY WITH THE LOVE YOU LEFT BEFORE'

Xavier made his way to the kitchen, feet dragged against the flooring, as if he had ankle weights that are too heavy for him to lift up with his legs. Passing by the kitchen isle, he noticed a book sat on it. The same exact book she had given him a few days prior to the accident. Small strips of sticky notes peeking out from the side of the book, an indication for the notes she would like him to be aware of.

Xavier's constant memory loss for deepspace hunter's rules and regulations resulted in the book having to be highlighted and lent to him. Her constant nagging about him needing to be constantly following the protocols used to be a pain in his ass but now he misses it so much. Holding up the thick book in his hand, a sigh ran past his lips and he tossed the book into the thrash can that sat right beside the isle.

'WASTE OF A HEART IF IT'S NOT YOURS'

Almost every night, he sat at the benches outside of Akso Hospital, awaiting for calls from the hospital. Hoping for a report on her wellbeing, or an autopsy if there were any. It was agonizing even for someone as strong-willed as him. Days went by in silence, drowning him further into his own misery.

During his wait for her return, work goes on, with him getting paired up with other deepspace hunters whom are females. Their admiration towards him a one-sided experience for them. There was only missions and home. It shall no longer be missions, then a good meal, then home. Without her, the routine shall only ever part between missions and home.

'STRANGERS AGAIN AND I'M NOT SURE WHAT YOU LEFT FOR'

His phone's ringtone jolted him to his wake, snatching the phone off of his nightstand and the news about her finally came. Within matter of seconds, he is already on his bike, riding at full speed, heading towards Akso Hospital. The low rumble of his engine coming to a full stop when he parked his motorbike at the allocated parking for bikes and he ran in.

His sneakers screeched against the cool tiled floors, making his way past people and up the flights of stairs rather than using the elevator. He could not wait to see her again, not only to give her a proper apology, but to give her a hug as well and to confess to her his true feelings.

After running up more than enough stairs to last a normie for a lifetime of workouts, he came to the floor where patients are housed. He approached the nurses at the oval table and asked for her room. "May I know what's your relationship with the patient?" The nurse asked, fingers flying across the space in front of her, pulling up the requested patient's records with holographic images.

"Boyfriend." He replied and she appointed the room to him.

'LOVE ME LESS, I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU'

He peeked his head in and spotted her from the door, her body lounging under the warmth of the sunlight. When her eyes caught his, she mimicked his expression, eyes widened and seemingly acknowledging his existence.

"How are you doing?" He walked in, closing the door behind him and taking a seat next to her. "I came by as soon as the hospital called me. Are you alright?" His cerulean blues eyeing her from top to bottom in the least sexual way, just wanting to know if she was doing alright physically. The last he met her, she was wrapped tightly like a cocoon, the once white sheets turned red at the amount of blood she had lost.

"Wait." She does not sound shocked nor happy, she sounded curious. "Who are you again?"

'I CAN'T STAND TO SEE YOU WITH SOMEONE ELSE'

Xavier stood outside of the door, silent tears invisible as he watched nurses holding her down as she screamed bloody murder, mistaking Xavier as to be one of the Onychinus. A tall man, with broad shoulders and dark hair walked past Xavier, two men accompanying behind him. Xavier caught the name tag on the man, Zayne. Stepping aside, he watched on as Dr. Zayne---who did not even spare the blond guy a stare---went into the room and he heard her cried out.

"They came for me Zayne! THEY CAME FOR ME!" She was on her wits end, grabbing hold onto Zayne's arms once he took his place beside her. "Please save me." Tears of fear a constant theme for her since she started crying and when Xavier evicted himself out of her personal space.

"It's alright, y/n." Zayne beckoned for everyone to leave the room and they all formed a trail, stepping out of the room one by one.

'WITH SOMEONE ELSE'

"Nobody is going to hurt you when I am here." Xavier caught sight of Zayne hugging her close to him, pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. It made Xavier's eye twitch unwillingly, his breath hitching in his throat, making it super uncomfortable for him to breathe.

Xavier chose to leave, he had decided that his love for her shall only be kept to himself. Furthermore, she deserves someone who could take better care of her. Both physically and mentally. A trait Xavier strongly believes he could excel in, only if she could remember him.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Rafayel - IRIS

'AND ALL I CAN TASTE IS THIS MOMENT'

Fingers came up to run past her brunette curls, Rafayel pulled a sakura petal out of her hair. "Even if you have hair colour like this sakura pink, I think it would be a good match to mine. Since they are both from the same spectrum." He chuckled, an invigorating smile on his handsome features. "Mixing paints to get the right swatch would not be so much of a pain in the ass anymore."

"You're funny Rafayel." She replied, eyes connected to his, her words sincere like his feelings for her.

"As so I was told. Most of the time." He then slowly leaned in and they both shared a tender kiss, under the shadows of the sakura trees, children laughters and people's chatting voices framing as background music for their ears.

'AND ALL I CAN BREATHE IS YOUR LIFE'

Rafayel laid in bed next to her, studying her features closely. Her eyes closed, soft breaths circulating in and out of her nose, her cherry red lips glossed under the soft lighting present within his room, making them look extra kissable.

His fingers skimmed past her soft cheeks, causing her to stir ever so slightly but dozed right back off into her dreamland. She had gotten herself so drunk at his event just a while before. But he never knew the reason behind the willingness of her wanting to drink all of a sudden.

But there she laid, within his touch, well asleep. "How I wish you could have just told me what was bothering you rather than keeping it to yourself." His hushed voice seemingly causing no disturbance to her sleep, but it made its way into her dreamland, with him appearing in her dreams, telling her what was told in reality.

'AND SOONER OR LATER ITS OVER, I JUST DONT WANNA MISS YOU TONIGHT'

"Im sorry." Rafayel looked down at the girl in front of him, the bouquet of roses he had prepared for her being returned back to him. Her face displaying nothing but repudiation. "I can't take this. Im sorry."

"Why?" Rafayel looked at the roses. The carmine red standing out from the pristine white of the bouquet wrapper. "Are these flowers not what you like? I can go back to the florist to get different ones, the ones you may-"

"No. Rafayel, no." Her voice barely tepid. "I don't think we should meet each other anymore. I..." Her fingers toying with one another. "I fell in love with someone else." And she walked away, Rafayel's figure slowly shrunk further into the distance.

'AND I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO SEE ME'

Rafayel holed himself up in his room, artworks all completed way before it was supposed to be done, but Thomas is not allowed anywhere near his house. He did not want to deal with anymore distractions when his mind is already in aberration.

His every stroke messy and not thought through, unalike his usual perfectionist attitude. His pupils were dull, just like the colours shown on his paintings. "It needs more black." He turned to his pots of paints, everything in shades of dark. The colour black itself, has its own palette of tones, although to the naked eyes, it looks black.

'CAUSE I DON'T THINK THAT THEY'LL UNDERSTAND'

He attended events in a timely fashion as well, arriving in his sports car and getting photographed in public. A smile as fake as his belief in love. He used to think that his life hangs in the balance for his relationship, but now it turns out his relationship is what hangs in the balance for his life.

"Is there anything you have to say about your recent change in tones, a drastic change from colourful pastels to gloomy dark shades?" One of the exhibition attendees asked, their eyes blazed with passion as they awaited for his brilliant answer.

"I don't have much to say. But I do have a context to give." He took a deep breath in, calming his nerves. "Paintings are like museums too, they are pieces of memory that one can't touch nor relive." And he left the exhibition right then and there.

'WHEN EVERYTHING'S MEANT TO BE BROKEN'

Rafayel took a walk by the boardwalk near the ocean he always visits. The sky bloomed in blue, the moon hung up high in the cloudless skies like a static mobile. A bonfire set in the distance puffing smokes out into the distance. The smokes carrying hints of red but soon blended in within the skies of blue.

Two figures sat a few feet apart from the bonfire, mashing into one under the blanket to gather warmth. Their shadows elongated behind them, a dark veil against the sands on the ground. As Rafayel got closer, he started regretting it more. There she is, within the arms of another man.

The man she was leaning up against had features like the stars in the sky, with pale complexion and striking blue eyes, with hair colour that matches the theoretically coloured stars. So, that is the guy that Rafayel was in a competition with, not that Rafayel knew to begin with. But the night she got drunk, and the following days after she stopped showing up at his house, the thought surfaced in his head. But it further confirmed it now.

'I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM'

Rafayel stayed behind a huge rock that shields him away from the merry couple, eyes watching, heart longing for a love like theirs. The bride of his from his past life no longer related to him. He stared out towards the ocean, his vision incapable of taking in the full view of the waters.

He slowly descended into the waters, feeling the seas crawled onto his body bit by bit. He had always loved the ocean even if it tried to kill him. But losing the love of his life only meant that he looses his life as well, as his body devolved into bubbles and off he floated off the surface of the waters and taking his place within the infinite skies.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Another angst to get by another day my lovelies, I am so happy with the amount of love I am getting from all of you so I hope that this gives you guys the right amount of heart ache you guys had requested for ;)

Behind the scenes: The songs I had curated for the boys are the songs I listen to on a weekly basis if I am having mood swings, I hope this may help you to discover these underrated songs and singers :)

But ofc, the hard part for me was to think up scenarios that may match the boys' personality as always, but it also has to rhyme with the songs I am writing with. That itself put me into a writer's block and took a while to get this uploaded. But I hope it is still satisfactory for you all <3

Have a good day my loves!

[pickingupmymercedes]

Hiya! Could you do  “why do you always do this to yourself? i don’t fucking get it" with lewis like maybe she’s pushing him away because she’s not used to being loved like this, I’ll let your creative mind take it from there😙 adore your writing

And here's the last of Celebration Blurbs!

A special angst, because that's what we love around here ❤️

“why do you always do this to yourself? i don’t fucking get it"

Rain lashed against the balcony to Lewis's Monaco home, a rhythmic sound that did little to soothe the tension inside.

Y/n sat hunched over her notebook, her hand scribbling like the beating of her heart had a direct connection to the ink being left on paper. Her desperate attempt to drown out the growing sense of isolation that crept into her mind.

Lewis approached her cautiously. He sat beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a comforting embrace. "Hey," he said softly, his voice always a gentle anchor.

Y/N flinched, her fingers stilling on the paper. She didn't want to be a burden, not with everything else he had to deal with, not when they finally had time alone with each other.

"Hi" her voice a mere whisper.

Lewis's grip tightened around her shoulders. "Don't lie to me, Y/N" he said, his voice firm but gentle. "I know when something's wrong."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as her eyes fixed on the window before her.

Lewis knew better. He always did. He'd seen this look before, the mask she wore when she was building walls around herself.

"Everything else can wait, you know?!" his voice laced with a quiet authority.

Y/N turned to face him but she hesitated, her mind racing. How do you explain the fear of vulnerability, the deep-rooted belief that love is a fleeting illusion? her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.

"I'm strong, Lewis. I can handle it." She finally mumbled, a weak intonation that didn’t even convince herself.  

He reached out and turned her body towards him, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the contours of her jawline. "I know you are" he said, his voice soft. "But you don't always have to be."

A lump formed in Y/N's throat, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew he was right, but admitting it felt like exposing a raw nerve. She'd spent a lifetime being the strong one, the one who always had to figure things out on her own. To admit her vulnerability, to let herself be vulnerable, was terrifying.

"Why do you always do this to yourself?" Lewis asked, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. "I don't fucking get it."

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Y/N was taken aback by his bluntness, but then again, there was also a sense of relief in hearing him express his frustration. He cared, enough for him to be annoyed that she wouldn’t want him invested in her well-being.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's just… how I am."

Lewis shook his head, his expression determined. "You're not just that, love. You're so much more."

She looked at him. He was right, of course he was. It was something she would always hold like a mantra - she was strong, but before being strong she was everything else, her strength came not in spite of who she was, but because of who she was.

Yet, she had spent her life building walls around herself, protecting herself from the pain of rejection.

Lewis squeezed her hand, his grip firm but gentle. "Y/N, look at me," he said, his voice low and insistent.  She leaned into his warmth, the familiar comfort of his touch grounding her.

"I'm scared," she admitted after a few moments of holding his gaze, her voice barely a whisper.

Lewis's expression softened. "Of what?"

"Scared of losing control, of being vulnerable." " she replied, her voice trembling. "Of being hurt, of losing you

Lewis pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms offering a safe haven from the storm raging within her and outside. "I'm here now though" he said, his voice a steady soothing with a small chuckle. "And I promise, you’re gonna have to push me away a lot harder and I’m not easily scared, love."

Maybe, just maybe, she could begin to dismantle the walls she had so carefully constructed. Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to be vulnerable, to trust in the love they shared.

______________________________________________________________

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[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *sitting in front of Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos while staring at them blankly*

Diavolo: We're really glad to finally see you conscious, MC.

Lucifer: Please tell us if you're still feeling unwell. *smiles* We can stay here in Demon Lord's Castle for your fast recovery.

MC: ...

MC: *tilts their head* Fast... recovery? Have you never been aware that this body has lost its soul?

Diavolo: We're aware of that fact, yes. But seeing you right now, it means that your soul has found its way back.

MC: *blinks at him* Why would it return? Does it have any reason to?

Diavolo: ...

Barbatos: I'm guessing that there's not-

Lucifer: You love us, MC. Yes. We might've driven you to despair, but we will do everything in our power to fix that.

MC: So you think you can fix a broken glass?

MC: You are... so full of yourself. No wonder this body feels so empty inside.

MC: That I want to shatter it.

Diavolo: I won't allow you to hurt yourself!

MC: Why not? Its previous owner wants the same thing, for this body to begone.

MC: If you're truly concerned about them, wouldn't it be better to follow their wish?

Lucifer and Diavolo: ...

Barbatos: MC- No, what are you?

MC: Nothing. My existence is of no importance. Just allow me to end it so I can be on my way.

Lucifer: That won't happen. *uses a spell to make them sleep*

MC: *their body goes limp as they close their eyes*

Barbatos: Lucifer...

Diavolo: It seems MC is still angry with us. But I'm certain that it will go away just like with Satan's.

Barbatos: ...

Luke: *still cuddling MC* Are you really the MC I know? You're not just an illusion?

MC: *smiles* Yes. It's me, Luke.

Luke: *tearing up again*

MC: Please don't cry. Your eyes are already puffy. *wiping his tears away*

Luke: Will you never leave again? I see that you've become an angel. D-Does that mean father has given you another chance?

MC: ...

MC: *masked their expression as to not worry him* Yes. Isn't that wonderful?

Luke: Hm! *finally smiled* You look great as an angel, MC!

MC: Thank you, Luke.

Raphael: I've failed to catch them.

Michael: They must've found a secure place to hide.

Raphael: ...

Raphael: You don't seem to be worried now, Michael. Why is that?

Michael: MC is still an angel. Sooner or later, I would be able to feel their presence and they could never hide from us again.

Raphael: ...

Raphael: Once we see them, I suggest that you finish what needs to be done.

Michael: Hm? Why, Raphael?

Michael: What's wrong with having a little bit of fun?

Raphael: ...

Mammon: You told us that MC finally woke up and now you made them sleep?!

Lucifer: I had to. MC is not in their usual self. I'm only trying to protect them.

Levi: We understand that, but... Is that an enough reason to make them stay in the attic?

Lucifer: That is the safest part of the house.

Belphie: *feels sick hearing that, but he doesn't make a comment*

Lucifer: All of you, when MC wakes up, pay heed no mind to whatever they say.

Asmo: What does that mean?

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: *holds their cheek and caresses it with his thumb* They are unwell.

His brothers: ...