#I've been sitting on this fic for a long time

[xxmooxmooxx]

irritable. ~ s.r. x fem reader.

MDNI 18+ ONLY

- told from spencer’s pov

prompt: Spencer accidentally sees y/n secret nsfw twt account and is struggling dealing with working along side her now.

warnings: angry Spence, nsfwtwt, mentions of sex, sex toys, perv! Spencer if you squint your eyes, age gap, lmk if im missing anything :)

a/n: BLURB! not a v long story. my first Spencer fic AND my first time writing smut. NOW reader and Spencer don’t hookup in this but it’s talked about quite a bit so proceed with caution loves. gimme feed back pls!!!! Lmk if you’d want a pt 2!!!

“i can't fucking do this, y/n. We have a lot of work left to do on this case.” I say getting out of my seat and walking towards the office door. It’s just too much right now. We’ve gotten nowhere close to finding this god awful unsub. Then here is y/n smelling like cocoanut and vanilla. Looking at me… no searching my eyes for answers I don’t have. And her hair? God. It’s down. Unlike most days where she wears it pulled back.

“Spencer! What the fuck? You told me if i needed to confied or talk to someone to go to you? If thats no longer okay then just tell me. You don’t have to talk to me like this.” She says getting out of their chair and stepping in my path to the door.

Shes right. I am being a complete an total ass right now. It’s not her fault. When she started last year I did tell her to come to me and she has taken me up on that offer lots of times and I've never minded it. I don't mind it. At Least I didn’t before… I look down defeated and sigh before looking at her. “You’re right. I apologize. Please, excuse me.” I take a step to the door.

“Reid…” She grabbed my arm looking up at me. “Please. What’s going on?”

I jerked off and came multiple times to your secret twitter account, y/n. I have your body engraved into my brain. I know exactly what i’d have to do, where to touch, how to touch, where to lick and suck now from watching the videos of you playing with yourself. I cant look at you let alone work with you, without wanting to take you into an empty office and showing you all the many things about your perfect fucking body I have learned and memorize. God even now during this stressful case all I can think of is fucking you so hard over this table that you cant remember what you came in here to ask for in the first place. But I can’t say that.

“I’m… fine. Okay? Many daily things in our lives especially in this field can cause irritability, for example: we’ve been on this case for 48 hours, we’ve gotten nowhere close to a profile, no idea how to stop this unsub, exactly how many victims he has so far, which means there's gonna be more innocent people dying. So, if I'm irritable that may be the reason. Now if you excuse me i need to go look the files we found on Amy Cassandra and Olivia Hidmen.” And with that, she let me go and I made my way out.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a long week we are finally back home. I avoided y/n as much as I could which is the only way to deal with this until I can figure out how to move on. Then of course… once we get home going out to “split” the teams favorite local bar was suggested. We all agreed to meet up in an hour, giving ourselves time to go home and get ready.

I was sitting at our usual table with Derek and Emily when y/n walked in talking with Hotch. Fuck. me. She was wearing a short, silk, black dress that was hugging her body perfectly. Her hair was down framing her face perfectly and she was wearing her glasses. Last time i saw her glasses, they were on her bed side table in the background of the video she posted, showing off her new toys a sex toy company sent her. My thoughts are interrupted by her looking at me. I can't. I turn to Emily and Derek asking to be excused before walking past y/n and out the bars glass doors.

She’s your coworker, spencer. Not only is she a coworker, shes damn near 10 years younger than you, sees you as a mentor, and trusts you. What the fuck have I done.

“Reid!” i hear yelled from behind me.

No no no no… I turn to see her jogging towards me.

“y/n please go back inside.”

“No.”

“y/n…”

“Spencer, please stop.”

“No. y/n. You. please stop. Leave me alone and go back inside with the others…” I turn to walk away. After a few paces I hear:

“I saw.”

I pause in my tracks. Looking down at my feet. I’m fucked. I take a deep breath before turning and walking back to her. “You saw what?” I say looking down at her. My voice coming out deeper than intended.

“You liking and unliking one of my post on twitter.” She says softly and almost unsure.

I dont break eye contact. I’m frozen. What am i suppose to say to that?

“Spencer, please don’t tell anyone. I’m-”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t planning on talking to anyone about this.”

“Oh… okay…” A few more moments of silence. “I’m really really fucking sorry you saw that, no one i know in person was ever meant to see it. I just do it for fun and…”

‘I cant be having this conversation right now.’ i think to myself as she continues to ramble. “y/n. Stop.”

“... i know youre probably mortified…” she continues.

“Stop.”

“... I just dont wanna lose you-”

“y/n!’ I say louder than intended as i grab her shoulders trying to get her to listen to me. Shes staring wide eyed at me, silent. I losen my grip and lead her to a near by empty stairwell. I let her go and brush her hair off her shoulders and try to straighten the straps of her dress that was underneath my hands.

“Now…” i start calmly. I see her relax more and start looking at me with curiosity. “y/n, you have no reason to be apologoizing to me. You-” i stop myself to think before i let more rambling come out of my mouth. “I should be the one apologizing to you.” I say taking a step back attempting to give her some space.

“For what?” She asked genuinely.

“For invading your privacy. I saw your account and I was intrigued then after a few moments of analizing i realized it was you. I shouldve clicked away immediately but I didn’t, I kept scrolling and looking and I’m so sorry, y/n. You’re an amazing person, agent, and friend and I’m someone you trusted and i-”

“Did you like them?” she asked bluntly looking up at me.

Spencer. Stop. you cannot entertain this.

“Yes.” I answered searching her eyes for any signs of regret or disgust.

None to be found.

She takes a step closer to me making our hight difference extremely noticeable. “Spencer,” she started softly. The sound of my name on her lips going straight to my cock. “Did you touch yourself to me?”

“I did.”

She searches my face almost the same way i did hers moments ago before she yanks me into her by my tie our lips meeting and her pulling away before I could even register what happened. I look at her as if asking if she's sure she wants this before we quickly grab each other crashing our lips together again. Our bodies moving together and our mouths hungry.

“Fuck, I need you closer.” I moan into our kiss before softly pushing her against the wall of the stairwell. My hands roaming her body until they find their way to her beautiful thighs. I yank one of her legs up by her knee taking the opportunity to get my body closer to her. I can feel her hot core against my aching cock. My hands now resting on her ass and I leave kisses along her neck.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you to touch me like this for so long, Spencer.” She moans softly into my hair.

“Is that so?” I ask, looking up at her as I slowly drop down to my knees.

“Oh my god.” She whispers as she realizes my intentions for getting down here.

‘She’s definitely gonna believe in a god when i'm done with her.’ I think to myself as I start leaving kisses along her thighs.

“Y/n??”

We jump at Penelope’s voice we hear from around the corner. FUCK.

I immediately get back up and look at her attempting to straighten her dress and hair up. “We’re just having a conversation. Okay?” I whisper to her searching her eyes trying to keep her calm

“Okay.” She whispers back.

I nod as I take a seat on the steps crossing my arms over my knees in an attempt to hide my boner from Penelope.

“Oh my god! There you two are!” Penelope said relieved once she saw us. “Is everything okay with my two favorite nerds?”

“Yeah, just kinda debriefing the past week. It was a lot for me.” Y/n spoke up.

“Awwww okay pumpkin. If you need to take time to yourself it’s okay, everyone would understand.” She said as she pulled y/n into a hug.

“Yeah that’s probably what i'm gonna do. I need to decompress.” Y/n says in response, hugging our friend back.

“Okay baby cakes.” Garcia responded by pulling away. “What about you, my handsome wonder boy? You okay?”

“Yeah i'm good. Just got a bit overwhelmed. I’ll probably head home as well.” I say in response looking up at her from my seat on the stairs.

“Okay then my loves. I’ll go let them know.” She says as she starts to back up. “Reid, be a gentleman and make sure our sweet y/n gets home safe.” She turns and sends a winks to y/n before turning and making her way back to the bar.

“You um… maybe wanna come over and talk about everything?” I ask looking back to the beautiful woman I had in my arms moments ago.

“I would like that.”

[jina1028]

Right one

Taesan x fem!reader

Word count: 4.7K

Categories: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn (sorry it's so long), smut, virgin reader, older reader, daddy/mommy said as joke, kissing, cuddling, making out, handjob but not really (?), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this irl), creampie, tell me if I missed something.

This fic is based on this anon request, hope this somewhat meets your expectations 🫶

English is not my first language, so constructive criticism is appreciated!

Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated but don't repost!

The characters and facts described in this fic don't represents real people or events.

🚫 MDNI 🚫

~♡~

“You know what, we should go on a trip together!”

Your best friend Dongmin - or Taesan, like you used to call him in your friends group because of his height - suggested after a long talk about how your lives had felt stressful lately.

You had broken up with your boyfriend about a month ago, finding out he had been cheating on you with two different girls. Not that you had lost much since you dated for about four months, but still it hurt so much when you thought you were on the same page, thinking about possibly having a future together, while he fooled around behind your back.

As for Taesan, he was tired from university exams and his part time job at a convenience store, and he was finally having a break from both in two weeks, according to what he was saying.

“I don't know… What kind of trip? I've never traveled with friends before.”

Taesan pursed his lips and rested his chin on his palm, humming as he criss crossed his long legs sitting on your couch with his elbows on his knees.

"Uhm, what if we go to Japan? Tokyo? Osaka? Both?”

Your head snapped to look at him with wide eyes, so fast you almost hurt your neck.

“Oh you meant a trip abroad?”

“So what, it's a short trip by plane.”

“Yeah but… it's gonna be more expensive if we gotta buy tickets, and hotel rooms…”

“Well, it's not like it would be much cheaper if we went, I don't know, to Busan by train, or Jeju… We'll need hotel rooms anyway, unless you wanna share a room with a man.”

You stared at him, thinking about his proposal about Japan.

“Fine, sounds good!”

He looked taken aback for a moment, widening his eyes to look at you.

“You really wanna share a room with me?” he pointed at his own chest.

You sighed, rolling your eyes “Not that, I was talking about going to Japan, let's do it!”

And so it was settled, you decided for Tokyo in the end, you booked your hotel rooms and flight tickets, and two weeks later you were there.

On your first day you just walked around Akihabara, looking into stores and chilling into cute cafes, where you insisted on him to wear cat ears and commenting on how cute he looked, trying to reach your hand to pet his head as he swatted it away, frowning and pouting, making you giggle at how he looked even cuter like that.

Later you just found a nice place to have a quick dinner and called it a day since you both were tired.

“You wanna sleep right away? I can keep you company and watch something on netflix if you're not too tired.”

You pondered Taesan's offer but decided to part ways at your door since you felt exhausted.

“I think I'll just take a shower and head to bed.” You yawned, waving and saying goodnight to your friend.

That night, as much as you felt drained of your energies, you couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, blaming it on the different bed, even though you had to admit the bed felt like a cloud. So what was the problem?

You grabbed your phone from the night stand and typed a message to your friend.

You asleep?

You waited for a bit but received no reply, so you just sighed and scrolled through your socials, waiting for morning to arrive so you could wake him up too early instead of waiting for his alarm to go off.

You started getting ready at 5.30 A.M. just so you didn't waste time after waking up Taesan.

When it was 6.30 A.M. you decided you had waited enough, so you called him.

You had to try twice before he picked up the phone, his groggy, raspy voice greeting you on the other side.

“Hello?”

“Good morning! Rise and shine, we have places to go, come on!”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“It's 6 fucking 30. Leave me alone.”

You felt your eyebrow ticking.

“You have no respect for your elders, do you?”

Silence again. He hung up. You sighed, getting up from the bed where you sat and went straight to his room next to yours, knocking on the white colored PVC.

You knocked again until you heard noises and curses behind the door, Taesan’s tall figure soon standing in front of you, holding the shin he had just hit on the furniture on his way to the door.

His hair was a mess, eyes half closed, a frown on his face as he hissed because of the pain.

When he straightened up you couldn't help but notice his pants tenting as your eyes shifted up from his injured shin to his face.

“Uhm, will you take care of your friend here before taking me into your room, please?” you teased him.

He looked down, then up again into your eyes with a half smirk on his lips.

“It's rude to just stare without shaking hands when you first meet someone, my friend is offended.”

“Dude, just go to the bathroom and do your stuff, let's meet downstairs!”

You hoped you hid your flustered expression well enough and stormed off without waiting for a reply.

The fact was, you were attracted to Taesan, he was good looking of course, and you felt some kind of chemistry around him. But you always thought it was one sided, and not wanting to ruin your friendship you always ignored the butterflies whenever he got closer to you or he pulled some flirtatious joke. The trip together seemed fun, until you started to realize being so close to him all the time was starting to get difficult on your part.

“So, what are we gonna do today? Any ideas?” Taesan approached you sitting on the sofa at the reception, scaring you as you were lost in thought.

You observed his relaxed features as you recovered from the jumpscare, hand resting on your chest.

“Oh, you don't seem grumpy anymore…”

He smiled innocently at you “Yeah, I took a nice, refreshing shower and now I feel great… So, where do we go today?”

You tried to ignore the subtle implication in Taesan's reply, your mind briefly going back to his accidental morning wood reveal.

“I was looking through the brochures at the reception and I really wanna try this onsen.”

You showed him the brochure where it described the type of service, the cost and how to reach your destination, which was a bit outside the city towards the mountains.

Taesan read a bit through it and eyed you raising his brows “You know we're supposed to be naked in there, right?”

“Yeah I know, but it's fine as long as we can cover ourselves somehow, like with a towel or something… And we can have a private room with its little private pool so we don't have to be naked in front of a lot of people like it normally would be!” you explained with your index finger raised.

“Somehow that's even worse…”

“What?” you couldn't hear him talking to himself.

“Nothing, if you really wanna go…”

“Yeah, I can't leave Japan without trying a real onsen!”

So after a couple of hours you were at the onsen reception, renting your private room and your bathrobes and ordering some food since you didn't have breakfast yet.

You both changed outfits and went to your room with food and drinks in hand, relieved to at least find some towels next to the little pool.

You ate chatting about what to do for dinner once you get back to the city, but when you finished your food the room fell silent.

“Well… Should we get in now?”

Taesan questioned, looking at you as he undid the belt on his bathrobe and started sliding it off his broad shoulders.

You panicked “Wait! Not in front of me! At least grab a towel first!”

You didn't know where to put your hands, on your whole face or in front of his crotch to block the dangerous area from your sight.

Taesan laughed out loud “Relax, I was just kidding, I'm not gonna flash you like this!”

“You little moron…” you cursed at him under your breath as he kept snickering, getting up to get a towel for himself and another one which he tossed at your face, trying to lighten the atmosphere and bring back your usual bickering mood.

You felt your face burning up as you told him to turn around while you wrapped yourself in the white towel and he did the same covering his waist and crotch.

You tried not to ogle at his broad chest, not wanting to get caught and give yourself away. You were starting to regret suggesting this kind of activity, overestimating your control over your emotions and body reactions, the butterflies in your stomach storming around, making you almost nauseous.

You both carefully dipped into the hot water, keeping your towels secured around your bodies and you tried to relax, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths as you rested your head on a smooth rock.

It was silent for a while and your mind started wandering until you felt like sharing some of your concerns with Taesan, who was sitting with his arms spread on the edge of the pool, eyes closed.

“Hey… I was thinking, what would you do if your girlfriend didn't have sex with you even after months into the relationship?”

“What kind of question is this?” Taesan furrowed his brows.

“Just think about it and answer. Would you cheat on her? Wait until she feels like doing it? What would you do?”

“Wait for her to feel safe with me, of course.”

You opened your eyes, side eyeing him as he still rested his head on the edge of the pool with his eyes closed.

“Be honest, I won't judge you…”

“I'm being honest, if I was into a relationship I would have love and respect for her, if I ever feel the need to cheat on my girlfriend, why keep the relationship going in the first place?”

“Right, that's a good point!”

“And” he continued “much before starting to think about cheating, which makes no sense to me, I'd try and understand why my girlfriend doesn't want to have sex with me, if I think that's an issue.”

“What if she's just scared… ‘Cause she's a virgin?” You eyed him, his eyes now open, staring at the plants next to the pool as he thought about his answer.

“I'd try to make her feel safe, and try not to make her feel pressured into doing it until she feels ready.”

He then shifted his gaze on your eyes “I'd feel honored to be her first, so I'd patiently wait for her.”

You hummed, letting his words resonate in your head, while you slowly slipped under the hot water surface, your nose barely out as you started feeling dizzy and closing your eyes. You could barely hear Taesan's voice calling your name as the heat got to your head and made you faint.

You opened your eyes, finding yourself laying on the wooden floor next to the pool, Taesan kneeling next to you, holding up your legs and fanning your face with the uchiwa the onsen provided you earlier.

He called your name again, a clearly worried expression on his face while you gradually regained conscience and he breathed a relieved sigh as you called his name and assured him you were fine.

“Lay there and keep your legs up, I'm calling the staff.”

“No no, I'm ok, just ask for some shaved ice so I can eat it and cool down a bit!”

“You sure?” Taesan eyed you suspiciously as he grabbed the phone.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better here outside the pool. I want melon on the shaved ice!”

He hummed, calling for room service, his eyes never leaving you as you kept fanning yourself.

“I'm ordering some cold noodles as well since it's lunch time already.”

The rest of the morning passed as you ate and relaxed, cooling down as Taesan constantly kept an eye on you, insisting on going back to the hotel right after lunch so you could rest in your room.

He allowed you some privacy just so you both could take a shower in your respective rooms then insisted on keeping you company watching netflix from the tablet in your room until dinner, which you ordered once again with room service.

“What do you wanna do after dinner?” you asked while chewing on your chicken skewers.

"What do you mean? We're staying in your room tonight, I wanna be sure you're not fainting again.”

“But-”

“We'll see what to do tomorrow morning after you rest.” Taesan stared at you.

“Ok daddy…” you teased him.

“Don't call me that, you're older than me, it makes me cringe.”

“You're implying you wouldn't mind me calling you daddy if I were younger?”

“It's not like that… How’d you react if I called you mommy?”

You almost choked on your water, a playful smirk on Taesan's lips as he watched you try to regain some composure.

“It's so fun, you always start shit then get flustered when I play your own game…” He got up from the chair and reached for the door.

“Gonna brush my teeth, I'll be right back. Find something to watch on netflix in the meantime.”

When you let him in your room again he went straight to your bed, fixing a pillow behind his back and watching you expectantly, making room next to him as you joined.

You chose something light to watch, just so you could relax before bed, all the while Taesan kept you close to him with his arm around your shoulders, stroking your arm gently and eventually resting his cheek on the side of your head, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo.

You felt so warm, your cheeks heating up as you weren't used to such closeness, even though you enjoyed it.

When the movie was over and Taesan started moving to get up you suddenly clung to him and caged his arms and legs tangling yours together.

“Don't go, please…”

“What now, you wanna sleep together?”

When you didn't reply but just squeezed him more he squirmed just enough to free himself a bit and be able to look at your face, which you tried to hide against his chest, your eyes suddenly welling up with tears at the thought of being alone the whole night after the scare of that morning.

“Wait, you really want me to stay?”

“Don't laugh at me, I'm scared to be alone, ok?” You defended yourself.

“I'm not laughing at you. It's just, you acted so tough I thought I was the only one being worried… You really got scared, huh?”

He hugged you as you nodded your head as a reply.

“I'm sleeping here tonight if you want me to, don't worry.”

You eventually found yourself clawing at his white shirt like you were scared he would run away, as he shifted on his side to face you and get closer to you, his arm resting on your waist as you intertwined your leg between his.

After a while you thought he fell asleep as he didn't move anymore.

“Taesan…” you whispered and got no reply, but you continued anyway murmuring a little louder “Thanks, I really feel safe with you.”

He surprised you as he moved his arm, taking your hand into his big one, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles as you stopped breathing for a second.

“I'm glad, I really care about you, even though I always nag you…”

You chuckled “I like it, secretly…”

“And secretly, I like you… A lot.” Taesan confessed, looking at you in the faint light coming from the city outside the window.

“You better never scare me again like you did today, ok?”

He held you closer to his chest as he pressed his lips on your forehead, his warmth somewhat comforting even in the warm early summer weather.

You snuggled closer to him if that was even possible and raised your head, your noses brushing together as you gazed at him in the faint light, silently asking for him to cross the already blurry line between friendship and something more.

And he finally did, cupping your warm cheek into his large hand, holding you like he was scared to hurt you, as he brushed his lips against yours, then pressing them together when he felt your arms gripping his shirt, nails lightly scratching his back through the thin fabric.

You both sighed as you parted from the brief kiss, knowing your relationship would change forever and there was no going back.

You smiled as he pecked your lips again and again, his hands wandering until one rested on your hip, his thumb brushing your exposed skin as your pink shirt rode up your waist.

You hummed against his lips as his hand slid to the back of your thigh, hoisting it up to hook around his own thigh, his kisses now becoming more hot and passionate, your little positive sounds and reactions spurring him on.

His wet tongue slipped past your parted lips as you threaded your fingers through his dark locks, your making out more and more intense as he subtly started to roll his hips against yours.

And you felt it, his stiff bulge pressing against your clothed heat, eliciting a shy moan from you as his movements put pressure on your clit, a damp spot starting to form on your panties now.

This was all new to you, you never felt comfortable enough to go past some kissing with your ex.

You felt scared and safe at the same time, you felt an intimate connection with Taesan you'd never felt with anyone else before.

His soft lips and tongue sent sparks through your body as he kept kissing you with fervor, then he moved to your cheek, your jaw, your neck, as he pushed you to lay on your back, slotting himself between your spread legs, hips rolling and pressing down on you.

You couldn't stop your moans when he found a sensitive spot on your neck, sucking and biting on it, goosebumps forming on your body and shivers making you squirm under his weight.

Taesan stopped after a while, sliding his hands under the hem of your shirt and looking at you, making sure you still felt comfortable as he lifted your shirt above your chest and helped you remove it, revealing your white, lacey bra, his breath catching in his throat as he admired you.

“Don't stare…” your feeble voice snapped him out of his awestruck state and he smiled at you, looking directly into your eyes.

“Sorry…” he apologized before lifting his own shirt above his head, thinking if he was naked as well you would feel a bit less self conscious.

And it worked, your mind too preoccupied deciding whether or not to stare at his abs, or chest or just focus on his eyes.

Then your wandering eyes fell on the obvious tent in his grey sweats, your bottom lip between your teeth as you ogled it, curious to know how it would look if he was completely naked, if it really was as big as it looked while still restrained in his pants.

Taesan followed your gaze, noticing how you subtly squirmed, not being able to rub your thighs together as they were spread around his legs while he kneeled in front of you.

He then gently took your hand in his and put it on his abs just above the waistband, suggesting you touch him where he needed it most, but still not wanting to force you.

You looked up at him and then back down again where your hand rested, pressing a little and dragging it down to stroke on top of his bulge, experimentally wrapping your fingers around it as best as you could while it was still clothed.

It felt hot, hard and big, almost heavy as you curiously seized it, moving your hand slowly up and down.

You heard a groan leaving his throat as your thumb reached above the tip and pressed a bit, continuing your experimental strokes when Taesan suddenly wrapped his fingers around your wrist to stop your movements, using his other hand to pull down his sweats and reveal a wet patch on the side of his grey boxers, where his swollen tip sat, painfully restrained by the fabric.

He brought your hand on his clothed shaft again, your palm now damp with his precum as you resumed your strokes, looking up at him as he spoke, voice unusually raspy and strained.

“See what you do to me? Think I'll go insane… fuck-”

He cursed as you pressed your thumb under his slit, his shaft twitching as you kept stroking until he had to grab your wrist and stop you, already close to release.

You looked at him, concerned that maybe you did something wrong.

“Feels too good, don't wanna cum in my pants…” he chuckled as he pushed you down on the mattress once more, kissing you, tongues tangling together as he slowly reached a hand to massage on your breast through the fabric of your bra, eliciting a moan as his fingers brushed on your nipple, his hand then inching down to your blue shorts, slowly slipping his fingers past your waistband, observing your reaction as you took shaky breaths through your slightly agape lips.

He grasped the waistband and pulled your shorts down, revealing your white panties as he smirked, noticing how they matched your bra and asking himself if it was possible you actually planned this beforehand.

Taesan took a moment to admire you as you tried to cover yourself with your arms, suddenly feeling shy, before he reached his hand between your legs to caress your heat through the fabric, sliding his index and middle finger down your folds, feeling how your wetness pooled on the seat of your panties, the small squelching sounds leaving no doubts as he moved his fingers slowly up and down and in slow circles around your clit, little moans and whines filling his ears as he went back to kissing and sucking on your neck.

You suddenly felt his fingers pulling your panties to the side, his digits sliding through your wet folds as he groaned in your neck, nibbling and pulling on the skin, his fingers slowly circling your entrance until you felt his middle finger slowly prodding at your tight hole.

You gasped as he slowly and gently pushed inside, not expecting him to push to the knuckle but he did, stilling as you adjusted to the intrusion, then slowly starting to massage your walls, slightly curling it and pressing it upward until he found your most sensitive spot, signaled by your moans increasing in volume and frequency.

As you were still a virgin, you felt incredibly full just with one finger so you got a bit apprehensive when Taesan carefully started pushing his second digit along his middle finger as he slowly pumped in and out, your walls tight around it.

You grabbed his wrist stilling his movement before he could properly push his second digit inside.

“Wait, I- I think it’ll be too much… I'm not… Used to it.”

Taesan kissed your forehead and locked eyes with you, his face still close to yours, sharing the same air as you breathed heavily.

“This is your first time, right?”

You knew Taesan was not dumb, he would put two and two together after the apparently random talk that morning about cheating and virginity, so you just nodded without questions, still looking into his brown eyes.

“You still want me to be your first?”

“Yes.” You replied without hesitation.

“Please, trust me. I'll make you feel so good, I promise…”

You nodded before he closed the gap and kissed you slowly, your tongues chasing each other as he resumed his fingers’ movements, your muscles eventually relaxing and he took it as a sign to push his second finger in.

And so he did, carefully stretching you as the initial burn subsided and you started enjoying the sensation of his fingers curling and pressing around your warm walls.

He kept at it for a while, your hips eventually moving on their own as you started clenching around his digits, your climax slowly approaching, when a whine left your mouth, his fingers retracting from your wet warmth before you could reach your high.

Taesan brushed a hand on your hair and pecked your lips as he pulled down your underwear, his own following soon, leaving both of you naked except for your bra.

He grabbed one of your thighs, his still wet fingers dipping in the plush of your skin as his grip tightened and he wrapped it around his waist.

Like that you finally felt his shaft directly pressing against your core, and soon you understood why he insisted on stretching you out a bit more with his fingers.

His swollen tip struggled to slip past your tight entrance as he tried to guide it inside of you using his hand.

“Baby, relax, you're so tight…”

His tip was barely halfway in when he started massaging your clit, more wetness seeping around your entrance as he slowly pushed, feeling your muscles spasming, relaxing just to tighten again and again around his tip, but he eventually managed to fit inside, pausing for a moment, breathing heavily as you got accustomed to the feeling and he kept massaging your swollen clit.

“Doing so good, taking me so well…” he praised you, kissing your cheek as you panted and whimpered as he slowly started moving his hips again, moving back a little, spreading your arousal and pushing back a little more, your walls gripping him every time he tried to pull out a bit, until he felt he could push a little bit more roughly and he did, unable to hold back anymore as he finally bottomed out and he started thrusting as gently as his pleasure filled mind could allow.

The stretch felt unfamiliar but enjoyable as he dragged his shaft in and out, hitting deeply, spurred on by your moans and whimpers, your nails finding purchase on his neck and back.

Then you heard your own voice like it was someone else speaking, urging him to give you more, to fuck you harder, to come inside of you and make you his.

“You sure? Want me to- ugh- fuck you harder? Like this?” Taesan punctuated his words with hard thrusts as he grabbed both your legs and put them on his shoulders, almost folding you in half into the mattress.

You couldn't recognize your own voice as you moaned loudly with each deep thrust, your eyes squeezing shut as you finally came hard on his pistoning shaft, your walls convulsing on him, arousal coating his length as he groaned at the feeling, precum mixing to your juices.

With a final hard thrust he fucked into your spent cunt one more time and stilled as he emptied himself inside of you, the feeling of his warm seed coating your insides making you clench on his cock one more time, moaning his name as you slowly regained conscience of who you were and what had just happened.

Taesan carefully pulled out, observing in awe as his cum seeped out of you, cursing at the arousing sight, biting his lip.

You sat up and reached for him, pulling his face to yours to share a passionate kiss.

He caressed your cheek and opened his mouth to talk at the same moment as you did.

“I love you.”

You both giggled, the same sentence coming out of your mouths at the same time, and you were sure Taesan was the right one all this time and you were glad he felt the same.

[mmso-notlikethat]

fic prompt! Since I just landed on a flight home, how about Buck and Tommy fly somewhere and this is the time that Buck gets to really see Tommy being a nerd about flying, even if he's not flying the plane himself. If it sparks joy. 😊

Sarah i know i'm so late, but I've been thinking about this since you sent it.. finally, an idea came by lol (hope you like it 🥰)

Buck was mid-ramble about the aerodynamics of commercial planes—something he'd picked up during a late-night internet deep dive before their trip—when he paused, noticing Tommy sitting rigidly beside him.

Tommy’s hand gripped the armrest tightly, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm as though he couldn’t quite keep them still. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze flickered back and forth between the window and the seat in front of him.

“You okay?” Buck asked, tilting his head toward him.

“Yeah, fine,” Tommy replied quickly, his voice clipped. His eyes didn’t meet Buck’s, and his grip on the armrest tightened slightly as the plane jolted, turning onto the main runway.

Buck didn’t press him. Instead, he shifted in his seat, leaning just a little closer.

As the plane accelerated for takeoff, Tommy exhaled sharply, his foot bouncing lightly against the floor. His fingers tapped the armrest before curling tightly, knuckles pale. His breathing was shallow—measured, as if keeping himself in check. Buck noticed without a word, his gaze flicking briefly to Tommy’s hand before sliding his own over it. His thumb brushed lightly against Tommy’s wrist, a quiet reassurance.

Tommy didn’t react at first, but then Buck shifted his hand, gently coaxing Tommy’s fingers to relax. Tommy hesitated, glancing at Buck out of the corner of his eye, but the tension in his grip eased. Slowly, almost shyly, his fingers relaxing enough for Buck to intertwine them with his own.

Buck didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at him, just kept talking about the mechanics of lift-off as though nothing was out of the ordinary. His voice was steady and warm, grounding in a way that pulled Tommy’s focus from the roaring engines and the tilt of the plane as it left the ground.

Tommy’s grip tightened briefly around Buck’s hand, but this time it wasn’t out of nervousness—it was something quieter, steadier. Buck’s faint smile grew as he felt the shift, his thumb brushing lightly along the side of Tommy’s hand.

By the time the plane leveled out, Tommy had regained his composure. His usual confidence returned, and Buck could see it in the way he subtly shifted in his seat, reclaiming his space.

And their fingers stayed intertwined, neither of them letting go.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy muttered, finally looking at Buck. “Guess I do not like flying unless I’m the one in control.”

Buck shrugged, giving him an easy grin. “Makes sense. You’re used to being the guy behind the stick. Kind of weird to trust someone else to do the job.”

Tommy let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Exactly.”

Buck leaned closer, his eyes lighting up. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of amazing to just sit back and think about how all this works. I mean, did you know that commercial planes—”

“—can fly even if one engine goes out?” Tommy interrupted; his tone slightly smug. He gave Buck a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a grin. “Come on, Evan. I’ve been flying helicopters long enough to know a thing or two about rotors and wings—definitely more than you.”

Buck feigned offense, his hand still resting lightly in Tommy’s. “First of all, rude. Second of all, helicopters are completely different from planes. And third, this is my thing. You don’t get to outdo me in rambling about cool stuff.”

Tommy chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat. “Fine. You get this one. But only because I already know all the facts.”

“Oh, do you?” Buck shot back, leaning forward in challenge.

Tommy’s face lit up in a way Buck rarely saw. “Okay, look, I’ll give you this,” Tommy began, his tone shifting into the cadence of someone who truly loved what they were talking about. “Planes are efficient and all, but helicopters? They’re the real magic. Think about it—rotor blades generate lift, but they’re also responsible for propulsion. You’re balancing pitch, yaw, and roll all at the same time. It’s like juggling while standing on a tightrope during a windstorm.”

Tommy kept going, now diving into the mechanics of different flight systems and the nuances between military and civilian helicopters. “And then there’s autorotation recovery—people think it’s impossible, but if you’ve got the skill and focus—”

He suddenly trailed off, catching Buck’s gaze. Buck was staring at him, eyes twinkling and a soft smile curling his lips.

Tommy froze, blinking. “What?”

“What what?” Buck asked, his smile widening innocently.

Tommy’s cheeks turned pink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Buck chuckled. “Nothing, I’m just listening.”

“Oh…” Tommy hesitated, his blush deepening. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry? No, I like it. Come on, tell me more!” Buck urged, grinning. “But also, don’t be so biased about helicopters. I also need to know more about planes in general!”

Tommy’s lips twitched into a bashful smile before he nodded, launching back into his explanation with renewed enthusiasm. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, describing the differences in flight dynamics between fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft, his voice growing more animated with each passing second.

Buck watched him, mesmerized by the way Tommy’s eyes lit up, the way his hands moved as though he could hardly contain his excitement. Finally, Buck raised a hand, halting Tommy mid-sentence.

“Wait a minute,” Buck said, leaning in. Before Tommy could ask why, Buck kissed him—a brief, warm press of lips that left Tommy blinking in surprise.

Buck pulled back just enough to grin at him. “I might be starting to understand why you never stop me when I ramble.”

Tommy’s smile grew, wide and unrestrained, and before Buck could say another word, Tommy leaned in and kissed him again—a quick, joyful press of lips that made Buck’s heart flip.

When Tommy pulled back, his voice was soft and full of warmth. “I love you.”

Buck blinked, his grin spreading even wider. And he said in a mock-surprise “You do?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself.

“Just making sure,” Buck teased, his tone light, as if he wasn’t already beaming. “Because I love you too.”

Tommy let out a laugh and without thinking, he brought their intertwined hands up, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Buck’s hand. The small gesture made Buck’s heart skip, but before he could say anything, Tommy leaned back, his grin turning playful. “Okay, so… does this mean I get to win the argument about helicopters being better?”

“Absolutely not,” Buck said, laughing as he bumped his shoulder against Tommy’s. “But I’ll let you try and convince me.”

He glanced at Buck, hesitant for a beat, then took a breath and continued where he left off. “Okay, fine. But since you’re so determined to make this a debate, let me explain why helicopters still have the edge—”

Buck interrupted with a mock groan, throwing his head back. “Oh, here we go again.”

Tommy just laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small space between them, and Buck couldn’t help but think that this—this—was his favorite sound in the world.

[rafegetinmybed]

i dunno if you're gonna write smut or not ( no pressure bcs if not like i totally get it ) but maybe a lil fic where reader and bsf!rafe are watching a movie but he finally admits he doesn't just wanna be friends.. ? if you dont do smut you could easily make it suggestive instead !! ( you dont have to take this req, just thought i'd help ur writer's block )

I am gonna do smut, Im actually working on a longer one right now!! And I love this idea, sorry it took me a while to get back to it, Ive been doing school work.

Cw: p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, I think that's all but lmk

bsf!rafe x y/n

The Kissing Booth

you and your best friend rafe cameron were having your weekly movie night together, and you had somehow convinced him to watch The Kissing Booth with you though you weren't really sure how. you were laying with your head on his shoulder and his arms around you as you often did, you didn't really think anything of it because you guys had been this close for as long as you both could remember. even though you secretly had a crush on him you could never even think that he would like you back. he had never had a girlfriend before because he much prefered casual hookups or so you thought.

as it got to the part in the movie where elle is at the kissing booth facing her crush you start to ramble on about how cute the scene is and how you wished you could have a relationship like that. rafe looked at you with admiration as you rambled on and then before you knew it his lips were colliding with yours in a slow, passionate kiss. before you had time to process what was happening he was already pulling away.

"y/n," he said softly "i like you, like a lot"

"rafe, i-" you barely got out before he interupted you.

"no actually i love you y/n. i've always loved you. all those random hookups were always just a distraction-" he said before getting cut off by the feeling of your lips on his.

"i love you too rafey" you said softly as you pulled away from the kiss. feeling a coldness on your lips from missing the heat of his, though this feeling didn't last long because before you even finished your sentence he was pulling you up onto his lap and connecting your lips once again. this kiss was deeper, more sensual and filled with want.

you found yourself tugging at the hem of his white t shirt to signal to him that you wanted it off. he broke off the kiss long enough to get his shirt off and tossed it to the floor.

"can i?" he asked gently motioning to the little pink cami you had on.

"y-yeah, of course", you stuttered out. flushed from seeing him shirtless, i mean yeah sure you'd seen him shirtless before at the beach or at the pool but here and now was completely different and you were taking it all in. his hands worked to get your shirt off and you slowly started grinding on his lap

"ohh fuck" he let out in a low groan, and you felt his hard on getting bigger underneath you as his hands moved to sit on the top of your ass slowly guiding your hips. he moved his hands up to wrap around your waist as he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, walking the two of you over to your room and setting you on the bed as he stripped off his pants. walking over to you and and taking off your tiny matching pink shorts, leaving you in only your lacy bra and panties.

"you're so perfect y/n," he mumbled to you. "are you sure you want this?" he questioned, never wanting to push you into anything.

"yes, i'm positive rafe" you replied as your hands went to the waistband of his boxers teasing him slightly.

he pushed you back on the bed pulling you into another deep and needy kiss as his hands worked to remove your bra and panties and then his boxers, his cock springing up to hit his abs. he deepened the kiss further, one hand behind your head pulling you in and the other one working its way down to your core. he slid his fingers up and down your slick folds bringing your wetness up to rub circles on your clit. you moaned into his mouth and he moved his lips down to your neck kissing, sucking and nipping making sure to leave marks so everyone knew you were his now.

you moaned his name as he slipped in one finger, thumb rubbing your sensitive bud.

"yeah you like that princess? I love it when you moan my name like that." he groaned out, slipping in another finger and increasing his pace.

"shit rafe that feels so good" you forced out in between moans and whimpers, throwing your head back onto the pillows you squeezed your eyes shut getting lost in the pleasure.

"you gonna cum on my hand baby?" he questioned and grabbed onto your jaw making you look back at him. "eyes on me princess, i wanna watch you"

"oh fuck rafey, i'm so close.." you screamed out bucking your hips at his hand to reach that spongy spot. rafe chuckled and stuck in a third finger increasing his pace even more and pulling you into a kiss. you moaned and whimpered out his name as you came on his hand and he continued to finger you, riding out your high. he slowly pulled out, you whining at the feeling of emptiness inside you, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, grinning at you.

"taste so sweet baby, think you can handle more?" he questioned, eyes and hands wandering over your body as he took in how beautiful you looked.

"I guess we'll have to see" you smiled at him, eyes hungry with lust. you slipped out from under him and turned him over so you were now on top. you grinded on him teasingly, "baby please," he moaned as you kissed his neck, leaving a few marks of your own. "need you now, please". you pulled away from his neck and reached down to grab his dick, lining it up with the entrance of your tight pussy and sliding slightly down on it. you both moaned as you slid down either further onto his thick cock. " fuck y/n you feel so good" he growled at the feeling of you around him. you winced softly at the enjoyable pain of race stretching you out and his words made your walls clench around his length. rafes hands found their way to your hips and he gently pulled you down the rest of the way onto him, staying like that for a short second to adjust yourself to him. "shit rafe you're so big it hurts" you whined out quietly, smiling at him before slowly rising and falling back down on his dick.

still adjusting to his size you stay slow at first, gradually increasing your speed until your at a nice steady tempo. rafes hands dig into your hips holding and guiding you with each bounce, your head falls to his neck as you moan his name, "rafe, baby i'm so close." you manage to get out into moans and your walls clench around him again making him throw his head back and let out a loud groan.

"i know princess, me too" he says, voice rough from the pleasure taking over his body. your legs start to shake and and you get even tighter around rafes length as your thrusts get sloppier and more uneven. you scream and moan as you reach your high again staying on his cock to ride out your high. not far behind you feel rafe twitching inside of you "please cum in me rafe, i need it in me" you say. "fuck y/n whatever you want baby" rafe says matching your sloppy tempo as you feel his warm seed spill inside of you and he moans out your name.

you pull him into kiss with him still inside of you, not wanting this moment to end. eventually he flips you over with ease and slowly pulls out of you, you whimper at the feeling and watch as he walks away to get a warm cloth from the bathroom. he comes back and wipes you down gently with the warm cloth, you shiver at the sensation, still very sensitive, and he laughs lightly.

"you're mine now baby, all mine. i love you y/n" he says pulling his boxers back on and handing you his shirt to put on.

you giggle, taking the shirt "I've always been yours rafey, i love you too" you reply, putting the shirt on. rafe gets into your bed next you laying down with one arm around your waist and the other drawing patterns on your arms and back. he kisses your neck and you guys fall asleep like that, together just like how you've always imagined.

[ruubyys1]

Lower

synposis: you have wanting to tell him your secret for a long time, but still deciding to do it or not—

su x gn!reader . wc: 1.9k words

.☆ content warnings/notes: herrscher!reader, slight angst?? (if u squint), basically mentions of ppl making rumors about you, mizu5 and ena2 inspired fic (from prsk), expect some grammar mistakes here. —first part focuses on reader mostly while second part focuses on both reader and su.

.☆ a/n’s: Hello!! This is my first time publishing a full fanfiction. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, expect this fic to have some mistakes and a little confusing so please bear w/ me and understand. 🙏🏼

taglists: @rukianaa

You kept running.

Running, running, running away—

From among those few who already knew about your 'secret'. The secret about you being a herrscher to everyone.

You would never want to spill it, would you? Herrschers are evil, dangerous, killing machines that are destined to destroy humanity. Yet, what about your destiny? What kind of path will you take?

…Yet however, there is someone you think would accept you just as you are. Your relationship with him may not remain the same even if you try.

He was your light during the darkness, your savior,

—and especially, your most dearest.

Su.

But, will he actually love you?

…

Sitting on the bed with your legs crossed, you sigh softly in your room while gazing at the chilly ceiling and chatting to yourself. You thought of your "secret" while tapping your fingers softly on the mattress.

“I want to move on forward…” Those thoughts whisper down to your body with a sharp sense, biting you off with the feeling of wanting to tell others you are hiding. However, you decide to keep it a secret for the remaining years that you serve as a MOTH soldier.

"…I got to this point because I've been running the entire time and running like that…." It is true that you have continued to flee with the secret far away, from one place to another, long enough to avoid what is coming. Being a MOTH soldier and Herrscher at this point is hard for you due to how you were born.

—Nevertheless, he is there. Your dear friend Su, who would you always entrust with your feelings and everything no matter what.

“I will keep waiting for you if thats what you want.”

You just had that flashback in your head, remembering how Su once told you he'd wait until you were able to fully express yourself.

“Even if I rely on Su’s words a long time ago…”

“Yet…”

In your quiet room, you held your breath and then courageously released it.

“I want to talk about it.”

You placed your hands on your chest, holding to yourself tightly as if you never wanted to let go of anyone’s kind heart.

“If I’m going to talk about it… I have to tell Su first. Since he has been waiting for me this whole time…”

Starting now, you decided to plan whether to meet Su somewhere in a place you have both been before, even though you are still unsure whether to do it or not. Now, those sharp feelings returned to you, but this time, it seemed as though everything between you and Su will soon be surrounded by emptiness and darkness.

Like a faint ominous bell ringing in anticipation of the end of the world, it pierces your eyes as you come to a realization.

—Shoot.. You shouldn't think of that. Everything will go smoothly, right?

“A herrscher? Are you kidding me?”

A voice in the crowd, perhaps spreading rumors about you, and one of them being true, gave you a flashback that made your chest ache. You bit your lip, slightly clenching your fists, and attempted to calm down slowly, but the coldness in the room prevented it, leaving you struggling.

“…..I don't want to run away..” This time, your voice sounded shaky, like shattered glass that will never be able to be put back together. Then, you bravely grab your phone on the other side as the screen brightens up in your presence. Slowly, you typed out a message to Su in his contact. However— your fingers are also trembling from finding proper words, stumbling deeper and deeper to try to talk with him about your secret.

"My hands are shaking… I can't type well…" As you approach the end of composing your message, your fingers still tremble. While trying to find a way to calm down, the option you could take is to think about Su, your dearest friend, and how he once vowed to always be there whenever you have troubles ahead.

“…Calm down. Because if I take it slow, it will be okay—”

You finally completed the words that you typed on that screen.

“…Alright. All that is left… is to simply send it… Then maybe—”

“Eh…? Ah, that’s true. They may be a Herrscher.”

You are struck by another flashback, this time with a voice from an old acquaintance. Were they talking badly about you or only making up rumors?

“They are hard to deal with.”

“That’s how an ordinary herrscher talks, right?”

Again,

“Don’t they just want to stand out with humanity?”

And again.

Your mind is filled with increasingly familiar voices, as though they are repeating the same things over and over again. Were you genuinely human, or were you a herrscher set on destroying humanity?

The more you remember, the more it starts to hurt your head.

“It might be a misunderstanding, right?”

"Well, that sounds awful, doesn't it?"

“They’ll eventually betray our backs one day! Do you not ever even notice?!”

You tremble uneasily once again as more voices start to observe you from a distance.

"Everyone won't do something like reject me, will they? Su can easily ease someone's suffering if I believe…“

You clenched your left arm, suppressing the agony that has plagued you for years. Su is probably the last thing on your mind.

“I’ll keep waiting forever.” He spoke those words, which were as warm, consoling, and reassuring as a ray of sunshine. You came from the dark, and he was your light. Will he accept you for who you are, even though you intended to give him a sincere thank you?

He is kind, and so are the others. His warm smile fleeting in the bright sky onto yours, illuminating the shadows that kept you between.

How lovely Su was.

You have been close friends with Su as long as you can remember. In high school, he bumped into you and the two of you ended up exchanging texts.

His friendship would remain the same to you even after the incident— where he was trying to find you from the rubble and dirt that built up from destruction. Su would successfully find you when time passed, and he promised to protect you as always.

Su was calm and polite to you, and he was willing to understand your feelings, troubles, and secrets. He accepts and supports you in what you want to do and what you want to be.

He is kind, right? Will he be willing to accept your secret about you being a Herrscher?

For now, you'd like to think about that, but you're unsure because you are the honkai - and Su is a fighter. If you betray him now, would he hate you for what have you done? No. He won’t, right?

…

You spaced out on your work just as you were about to submit a file on Su’s documents. In that sight, you were only thinking about him, his lovely smile, and everything else about Su until it shifted towards your secret. Your eyes looked like they were about to empty and lose their shine too, as you only stared into the blinding light illuminated by the lamp.

“Su…”

“Yes, [Name]?”

You shifted back quickly to reality when Su called you behind, placing his warm hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright? You seem to be spacing out for a long time.” His face was a touch of concern even from the doctor himself. You try to find the words in your mind— until you decide to tell him that you are doing “alright”.

“Ah— I am okay, Su. I was thinking of something..”

That was a lie, and he believed it easily.

“I see… If you need help with any of your feelings— you can ask me.” Su smiled gently at you as if he drowned fully in your lies and mask. You smiled at him back too, however guilty also for the words you have said. You want to tell him more of your feelings, especially the deep ones, nevertheless, you do not want to pressure yourself fully.

“And about the file on the cure—”

“I’ll submit it tomorrow early morning. That’s all.”

You quickly assured him with almost raising your tone, which almost startled Su in his mind.

Shit.

“…Ah, alright then [Name]. See you tomorrow then, and goodnight to you.” His calm demeanor returned as his gaze softened to you, as if he was falling for your lies.

He waved his hand and left your office in the sound of the night.

You lied and lied again.

“…Hah. How can he easily follow with my words?” Your tone went blunt and straightforward. You cannot believe how pathetic he is to listen to you, always lending out a hand, and eventually comforting you. He was a warm heart indeed, like a bathing sunshine flowing in the wind, that is what you see in him.

He was your friend and always been.

Will you eventually deceive him with your secret one day?

…

Su sighed in his place, continuing the write one of his documents about researching a cure for the honkai— and for his patients as well.

In reality, he was thinking of you, especially on your tone since earlier.

“[Name]… Are they alright?” He spoke in the silence of his own office, slightly fidgeting the pen and staring at the paper. Sighing, he rested his hand on his cheek.

“I’m hoping that they feel well at least, I don't want to pressure them further…” Su’s voice full of concern wanted to think about you more; those positive moments that contained your genuine smile and unique personality. He loved you no matter what type of person you were, and would always continue to do those.

Even in the current time when honkai is invading, he promised to always be there for you as always.

…

You lie softly down in bed getting ready to sleep despite the time being 1:00 AM. —All of that hard work has been paid off, right?

You sighed staring at the empty-looking ceiling leaving your eyes to wander where you are and what you are doing.

“…Ah, alright then [Name]. See you tomorrow then,”

That flashback replayed in your head just now, almost letting out a gasp. You acknowledge that you did lie to him and he seems to simply accept it. Even if you are a dear friend of Su, you should not make a lie to him as he sometimes can perceive it in a way.

From your perspective, it seems you've been wanting to tell Su about your secret for as long as you can remember. For everyone, you also wished to reveal it too.

Unfortunately, if people found out, they would hate you and throw you out to death instead, especially in an organization called MOTH. Back then, you covered your identity as a herrscher and joined to find a purpose in your life.

—In that life, you were only a little person who yearned to find more of yourself, only to realize that you shouldn't belong here in this world.

Yet, one of your loved ones loved and accepted you for what you are. You were harmless, kind— and happy.

However, where did all of the happiness go?

You sighed once again, pulling the soft blankets in your bed and covering up the coldness. You clicked off the switch on the lamp shifting to complete darkness. To get rid of the negative thoughts in your head, you slowly close your eyes.

You thought about Su instead, his lovely smile.

Your lovely friend, and your savior.

—And eventually, you’ll go lower with him to discover your secret soon. Maybe in your imagination, he could accept you and keep it a secret ‘no one knows.’

thanks for reading! there will be a part 2 of this

©ruubyys.1 2024. all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, modify, or plagiarize any of my works without permission.

[cha-melodius]

May I ask you about your writing??? First of all and possibly most importantly, how do you do it? How do you find inspiration and such? How do you make it happen? Because I sat down with a really juicy idea not long ago and I was excited and it was incredibly hard. I deleted it, I was embarrassed. So how do you first, come up with a great idea (which you do you write such cool stuff!) and then bring it to fruition? I’ve always been a decent writer but I was really frustrated with the fic I set out to write!!!

Hey anon! Sorry for sitting on this for a while but it came in the night before a big academic conference for me, so I've had almost no time for anything, sadly.

First off, thank you so much for the compliment on my writing! A lot of the direct answers to your questions are not very satisfying, tbh. Ideas come to me from everywhere—things I watch, read, random internet things—and how I bring it to fruition mostly involves a lot of planning. I got a lot happier with my work when I started making outlines for my fics, so I always know where I want to go with the story and how I'm getting there, versus meandering around aimlessly.

I'm guessing that there was something about your idea that was particularly challenging, since you said that you've always been a decent writer but found what you produced frustrating. Since I don't know the details I'm gonna give some advice that will hopefully cover a few different aspects. And first, a short list, and then the details under the cut because I'm a wordy bitch.

Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

1. Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

I started writing fanfic (or, re-started, because I wrote when I was young and then took a looooong break) to get the stories out of my head, and my first fics were not great lol. They were also for a rarepair and approximately 5 people read them, so there wasn't much pressure I suppose. I was just putting them on AO3 because I figured why not? And then I just kept writing, off and on for different fandoms, until the writing bug really caught me and I started producing a lot more, about five years ago. But it probably took me ~20 fics (several of which were quite long) before I'd consider my stuff to be decent. Whether you share your early works or not is up to you, but in general I'd recommend it because there's a good chance someone will love it (even if you consider it to be substandard) and that can help you feel better about your own writing. I didn't start out good at writing action, but I wrote (and read, see below) consistently in a lot of action-heavy fandoms, so I got a lot of practice. I also feel like the more I wrote, the more ideas I got, and the more unique ideas I got.

You occasionally see someone in fandom who's like "this is my first fic!" and it gets really popular or and lots of hype or whatever, but that's not the typical experience. Most of us start out writing like crap. It's ok. It gets better.

2. Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Ok, so you wrote a first draft you were disappointed in. Ask yourself what was disappointing about it? Do you feel like the beats aren't hitting, or the action is wooden, or the language is awkward? The great thing about fandom and fanfiction is that there are so many people that are willing to help out as beta readers or even just someone to talk to. I understand that getting a beta reader can seem daunting. You don't want someone to criticize your work, or it might seem embarrassing to show someone else a work you feel bad about. But if you get someone else to read it, you'll have the chance to both hear good things about it and also get advice about things you're uncertain about. People come to fandom from all walks of life and I'm a big fan of asking for help if you're writing about something you're not super familiar with. I've never actually been to therapy, so getting help from @celeritas2997 was absolutely critical for me to feel good about my couple's therapy AU. Also you can ask people for advice if they write the kinds of fics you want to write—I've had multiple people ask me for help with their action scenes, and I'm always happy to lend an eye and give advice.

Also, related to this: it's ok if you don't like your first draft. But don't delete it! Put it aside, whether you ask someone else to look at it or not, and come back to it a while later with fresh eyes. It may not be as terrible as you thought! Or maybe there are parts you still hate, but there are other parts that you can work on and revise.

3. Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

Want to write sci-fi? Read a lot of sci-fi novels. Read a lot of sci-fi AUs. Break out of your fandom and read fics in fandoms you don't know—I used to do this a lot and it was one of the most important steps in my process of finding my own voice as well as understanding how stories are built. When you read in only one fandom, you get used to a lot of the same voices and types of stories, but there is SO MUCH out there. I've been known to scroll through the 'Enemies to Lovers' tag on occasion, but also I will go into fandoms for media I know but have no strong connection to, don't want to write in but know the characters, and read those. I spent a lot of time reading X-men, Good Omens, Witcher, even MCU juggernauts like Stucky even though I don't really ship them. I know it probably sounds crazy to tell you to go read other fandoms when (I'm assuming you're RWRB) there's so much in this one, but I do think it's valuable. This one is not only for getting exposed to a lot of writing styles, but also lots of ideas. I've definitely gotten a lot of ideas that spun off from something else I read.

I feel like none of this is particularly revolutionary advice, but I hope it at least gives you (and anyone else who manages to read this far lol) some confidence to keep going and go after those stories you want to write. Everyone—me, popular fandom writers, professional authors—started out just writing a lot, and they improved over time.

Most importantly: just keep going. You can do it!!

[dxmichelle]

New Fic: Boardwalk Boogie

Fic Summary: While on vacation visiting Téa in New York, Yugi and company detour out of the bustling cityscape for a carefree day at the beach.

Read on: AO3

--

This fic is part of the YuGiOh Travel Zine, "Wish You Were Here"! It was a lot of fun to write, so please enjoy!

[aioliravioli-69]

Detective Noir AU

Alright, this au has been sitting around, waiting for me to finish it but chances are, I never will :((

So instead, I'll just post what I have so far

This was inspired by that one comment on the au post the author made(at this point you could consider me a stalker for the amount of hours I've scrolled through her feed💀)

First things first, none other than our main character himself, Detective Hollow!

I made him the detective in this one mainly because I was basing it off of the theory that if there was no heroine the keyholder would simply become the hero instead(don't remember where I read this but I'm guessing it was the webtoon comment section).

I also my have just really wanted to draw him in an overcoat

gonna be honest, I did little to no research going into this AU, the thing I most tried to learn about was the femme fatale so I could get a good view on how to design Buddy

Speaking of the femme fatale:

Seems like someone got caught in the spotlight!

And before you ask, yes, those are pants. Weird ones, but pants nonetheless. I swear, I hate lighting when it's from the front. Frontal lighting can go fuck itself. Please ignore the little help lines I put in

Honestly, Buddy's outfit was probably the hardest part of this one. I wanted him to look slutty, but I didn't want to make it TOO slutty, but I feel like I may have added WAYY too many folds in his pantsuit and I kinda messed up on the overcoat lol. The diamond on his chest was inspired by the diamond on the villainess key more than anything and I tried to incorporate that into his gloves too.

Anyway, have some potential outfit sketches I made:

the two I thought might come off as too slutty and

the ultimate winner of the outfit ideas

As you can see the diamond chest window and fur coat were a mut in this outfit and I'm pretty happy with the end result

Y'all know how the femme fatale usually has to seduce the main character a.k.a. the detective?

Well, y'all know me so have an extra just for you <33

But I'm not done just yet!

Remember how I said that I made Chase the hero because of the lack of a heroine in the story? Well...

I did some more surface level research(and I mean very surface level) and decided to adapt the trope of the girl-next-door archetype for him!!

Don't think it suits him, since they usually just sit pretty and wait for the detective to notice them, but they do have badass roles once in a while and I live for those!!!

The one Chase has taken on doesn't though sadly :')

I decided to go with Charlie Hollow for this one because it sounded more like something the timid and 'pure'(yuck I know, but sadly film noir movies often prop up comparisons between the femme fatale and the girl-next-door, this being one of them) girl next door would have

Overall I tried to make this one as cutesy as possible because, why not lol

Lastly(I apologise, I made this in a rush because I was running out of motivation)

The distance between Buddy and the detective sure did close QUICK-

Originally I was planning on adding Deacon as a police officer and now that I think about it I could technically fit Prunella in here as well, but I just don't have any willpower left to keep this thing alive

My art blocks been acting up recently and I can't even pick up the pencil without immediately wanting to put it down :((

I wish I could have continued this and maybe I will someday, but until then this'll just stay in my drafts

[rockingrobin69]

Numbly

“I've been informed,” Harry Potter burst through the door with his habitual earth-quake of a shout, “that you don’t even like peppers!”

“Good morning,” Draco said dryly. Harry Potter glared.

With a sigh, Draco retreated to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits from the cupboard.

Around his third one, an insistent crumb hanging to his upper lip with all its tiny might: “Peppers, Malfoy!”

“Pardon?”

“Peppers!”

Draco blinked. “If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

“Pansy said you hate them!”

He looked absolutely outraged. Draco sipped his long-cold tea.

“Do I?”

“She said you’re allergic!”

“Am I?”

“Stop—fucking with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” But the corner of his lips was twitching. “I’m not allergic. I was simply a horribly dramatic child and she still naïve back when we were, what, six. Seven. I’m fine with peppers now.”

Harry Potter pouted, terribly chipmunk-ish, and even put the biscuit pack down. Down to business. “I cooked the—bloody hell, Malfoy, just, honestly. Why wouldn’t you say? That you hate peppers. I would’ve made something else. I would have happily—why?”

Utterly bemused, “I am. Honest, I mean. I don’t mind peppers anymore.”

“That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

Grasping at straws and failing, at least managing to stop the wobble of his stupid mouth, the automatic turning downwards. Went for his cup instead. The tea was ice-cold and flavourless and Draco poured it down his throat like it could cure him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he then said, venomous, and turned his eyes back to the wall, where they refused to stay. It was always like this when Harry Potter barged into his flat. Even the water stains on the ceiling lost their usual allure and could not hold his attention. “If it’s raining, cast a bloody Impervious. Or take an umbrella.”

Harry Potter took a deep breath instead, sounding awfully, weirdly small. Some of the tension bled out of him in increments, his shoulders first, then the fists unclenching, then his belly un-hardening. His jaw was last. Draco was helplessly mesmerised by the transformation.

“You’re impossible,” but his voice finally not straining, his fingers not twitching towards the biscuits. No longer needing the obvious distraction. “Next time, if I make something you dislike, you have to tell me.”

“An order,” Draco huffed. “How sweet.”

Harry Potter could blush all the way to the roots of his hair. It was such a stunning, breath-stealing wonder to witness.

“It’s not a… fuck you.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in strangely amicable silence. The oven still gave that choking, desperate cough every ten seconds, and it set a nice framework for their breathing, for the non-fidgeting. Harry Potter was always fidgety, but not when he sat in Draco’s kitchen like this.

“What’s your schedule? For today. Nev said you’re doing overtime again.” Leaning back, giving Draco that look all his friends liked to wear, the one on the border of a telling-off. It didn’t usually work on him, but Harry Potter had a slight edge to his disappointment that made Draco’s skin crawl.

“Not—exactly. Shouldn’t be so late. I’ll be home for bedtime, Mother, I promise.”

Even his mother didn’t glare like that. “Third time this week? I kind of want to strangle your boss.”

“Ha. I should inform you that violence is usually frowned upon in the workplace.”

He didn’t smile, but he came near it. Draco could tell, because the corners of his eyes were dancing. “Does it count if it's not my workplace?”

“Mm. Fair enough. Strangle away.”   

Now he was smiling. “When d’you start? Want a ride?”

And Draco was so grateful he didn’t launch yet another tirade about how Draco should quit that he said, “Why not.” (Only because he was distracted and rather tired, and not because sitting behind Harry Potter on his motorbike was in itself half-punishment, and not because clinging to his waist on tight turns at far-too-quick was—anything at all). On the downside, it made Harry Potter practically beam, and Draco still needed his eyes.

“Great! I mean. That’s good. That you won’t be late. Bad for your, er, record, and stuff, and you might not get a—bonus or something.”

They didn’t do bonuses at McMillan & McMillan, but that was neither here nor there. Draco nodded, pushed himself up on not so flimsy legs, collected his coat from where it was crumpled on the back of a chair.

“What about lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t take. Any lunch.”

Why was he so obsessed with food? It was dangerously endearing. “I have an apple in my bag. Come now, you promised I won’t be late.”

“An—” Harry Potter shook his head, loosening even more curls out of his bun. They were rain-flat and miserable and still entirely too sweet. “I’ll buy you a sandwich at that poor excuse for a cafeteria you got there. And so help me god, Malfoy, you’ll eat it, or—”

“All right,” both hands up, “no need to shout. Your wish is my command, etcetera.”

He pouted so hard it was almost comical. But there was something still wounded there, so Draco added, “As long as there’s peppers, you know,” and then he was fuming again, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to deliver yet-another lecture. Draco watched him, amused, and forgot to lock the door behind him, and forgot his scarf.

Did remember his umbrella, which he Leviosa-ed to follow the Death Machine, stuck it against the silly jacket's back when they reached the office. It wasn’t raining anymore, thankfully allowing Draco to arrive not wet-dog for a change, and it made absolutely no difference.

Harry Potter took off his helmet to watch Draco enter the building. Didn’t follow him inside (wise, to prevent a murder), and so Draco completely forgot about the sandwich threat until it was roughly lunchtime. At which point, a drawer in his desk suddenly jumped open, and a far-too-fancy £12 bready tower appeared. On it a note that scrawled pepper-free, git.

Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. Draco, distracted, chipped away at the sandwich all the same, and was only shouted at twice, and didn’t even spill coffee on his keyboard.

‘Not exactly overtime’ at the office meant staying after everyone else to take note of stock and arrange all the impossible paperwork. That Draco was given this task was already hilarious, and always a disaster: that his boss insisted on continuing to give it to him, possibly commendable. Maybe he thought Draco was being stubborn. Maybe he thought, nobody could really be this bad without actively trying. Well, he didn’t know Draco yet! There was always time to learn.

Stock was stocked. The backroom was stuffy and still smelling slightly of smoke (not Draco’s fault, probably), the sweet dusty smell of paperwork going to rot. It made his head spin, not unpleasantly, made him inhale a little brokenly and laugh to himself. The sandwich from all the way back lunch sat heavy in his belly, sweating. Everything was so incredibly laughable.

When he finally finished (after only forgetting three steps in the protocol), the sun had long set and the streetlights were humming. Not worrying, Draco thought, going back to the office (forgot his bag). Not worrying at all (back to the office, to check he locked the door). (Why would anyone give him the keys?) (Some disasters were just asking to happen).

On his way home he stopped by the corner shop for another pack of biscuits. Some disasters, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare in advance. Harry Potter would surge in soon enough with another grievance. Draco was giddy by nature, and so the shakiness was not necessarily to do with this.

To the crescent moon drowning in cloud he wondered, do I hate peppers?

Couldn’t remember to decide by the time he made it back.

[magnusbae]

"surprise i have feelings and you just hurt them" is so good

Thank you anon-dearest! 🥰🥰🥰

As I was given free reign, and also was too unreasonable for self control—I didn't only write it way longer than it should have been (250w per prompt LOL) I also fully rewritten in afterwards :')

Obikin || 1,500w || Obi-Wan & Anakin formed a new Force Bond and Obi-Wan has to deal with an increase in Force Migraines poor man

▾▾▾

“Surprise, I have feelings and you just hurt them.” Anakin spits the words out angrily, punctuating each word with a sharp hand gesture.

There’s heat rolling off of him in waves, it’s a tangible thing in the Force to anyone who is even mildly attuned to it. Even small living organisms would try and stir clear from someone so prominent in the force while they’re emitting such waves of emotions. It’s unsettling to all who is untrained, unable to recognize where and why the thing they are sensing is coming from. To someone who had even just begun their training, this would be a deafening roar. As for Obi-Wan, who had happened to share a somewhat-training-but-not-bond with said individual…. It’s destructively overwhelming.

There’s a pulsing migraine building up at Obi-Wan’s temples, swiftly spreading in pulses of pain through his forehead and head, blearing his vision in a way that is usually reserved to extreme battle fatigue. Obi-Wan’s patience is not only thinned out, but fully gone by this point. The pain, and the previously failed mission do not help. Anakin’s need to prove himself had cost them an important battle and speaking of Anakin’s feelings is truly not the thing they should be concerned most with—

“I think it’s hardly a surprise Anakin” he hears himself say more than he actually thinks through the words, he hardly manages to care as much as he probably should given how violate Anakin anyways is. “You are, more than less, hammering them against the minds of anyone unfortunate enough to be within the standard hour distance from us.”

Anakin’s mouth snaps open, there’s blotchy redness across his cheeks, he seems to not find the words to describe precisely how angry Obi-Wan’s word just made him. Silencing Anakin would be a feat to be commended on a normal day, if only that was true for his Force Signature as well. A fresh wave of emotions crush against his battered shields, straining them beyond their capacity.

The moment he feels the first crack run through, is the same moment they collapse completely.

Anger, hurt, betrayal, and…

Obi-Wan’s mind is momentarily blinded by the whirlpool of emotions washing over and sucking his own mind in. There’s too much of it, all at once, all different. The indignant anger, the vulnerable hurt, the deep sense of being abandoned and uncared for, the—

Obi-Wan whimpers silently. It’s a sharp exhale more than anything, yet it’s more than enough to alert Anakin. He might have found it endearing, how quickly Anakin’s attention had shifted from himself to him, if not for the crushing wave of new emotions, even more absolute in their intensity.

Worry, anxiety, fear, anger, confusion, fear, worry—

Obi-Wan feels like he might lose his mind within them.

“Stop,” he snaps at same time as Anakin had reached out for him. The boy pulls his hand away as if hit. Obi-Wan should care for this, care for how he feels more than how he himself feels at the moment….

Hurt, confusion, anger, hurt— anxiety, fear— fear—

Anakin’s emotions spiral into a deeper, more violent vortex of darkness, a never ending cycle, one emotion swallowing the tail of its predecessor, being reborn into the next one, each time bigger, stronger.

Oh Force. Obi-Wan thinks in desperation.This is too much.

“Master?” Anakin’s Force Signature is dripping fear, there’s an urgency to it that centers Obi-Wan enough to realize, with great shame, that his own pain started bleeding through their not-quite-training-bond— or…Force Bond, if he was honest enough. Call a Bantha a Bantha.

“Master, what is wrong, why are you…?” he reaches for him again, stopping quickly and retrieving his hand away. Anakin opening and closing his fist draws Obi-Wan’s attention. He looks like he’s about to blow up, and that, Obi-Wan knows, is something that would certainly echo even louder in the Force.

“Anakin please,” he reaches out to him, despite the inherent risk of touch increasing the intensity of the Bond. He must balance the boy long enough to give himself the opportunity to gather his shields into anything resembling those of a Jedi Master. That, or leave. He is not pained enough to be that cruel. Doesn’t ever plan to be. He braces himself instead.

“Dear One,” his knuckles touch Anakin’s cheek briefly, the word of endearment is strained, forced to some degree. It’s the one that never fails to get a reaction, uncover a meeker, more gentle side of Anakin. “You are deafening me” he gives the Bond a light, barely there nudge.

Anakin jumps at that as if zapped. Eyes wide, his face shifts through a number of complex thoughts, faster than what could register or broadcast emotionally through the Bond.

Suddenly, the storm is gone. What Anakin calls shields and Obi-Wan chides as only a suggestion of such is now a durasteel tight and not leaking anywhere. The silence that follows is deafening in its own right. He has to muffle the groan of relief, not wanting to rile Anakin again

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan smiles, pained. He knows that the migraine will only worsen now that it was set off, he still can appreciate not being radiated by a small sun through it, though.

“Excellent shielding, Padawan.” He sounds sarcastic even to his ears, even though he doesn’t mean to be. Anakin doesn’t react to it, looking more troubled than angry now, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“I’m…” Anakin bite his lower lip, still fuller than most despite him well and truly out of his teenage years. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things. “I didn’t mean to…” his cheeks are darker now, he looks ashamed. The aftertaste of Anakin’s emotion’s linger in Obi-Wan’s mind. Guilt. The last clear emotion Obi-Wan managed to decipher. Guilt for hurting him.

“I know.” Obi-Wan says curtly, he hopes that not unkindly. “I’d appreciate it if we could discuss the matter when I’m a little less…” he gestures at himself with what he hopes is the appropriate amount of self deprecation. There’s many reasons for Anakin’s lack of control, not all are good, but he still is a knight, still is learning.

There’s not a single good excuse for his own lack of mastery of himself.

“Obi-Wan, the Bond—” Anakin starts, disregarding Obi-Wan’s request in favor of what to his mind, is no bound far more urgent. The Bond. It had taken months for Obi-Wan to notice, the budding start of something new, growing in a different place than the long severed training Bond, developing over the months spent on joint missions on this endless war.

It seems that, as Obi-Wan had suspected, Anakin had managed to miss it out entirely.

“Not now, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice sharpens, he should feel more guilt for the way Anakin’s shoulders jump up and tense.

“Fine, whatever…” Anakin mutters, looking away, glancing back and then away again. “Feel better.” He says with more hesitation than such a simple wish should warrant for. This time, Obi-Wan feels the full extent of guilt. He was too strict with him, those past few months were strained beyond what either one of them had wanted. He needs to speak with him, properly, make amends, properly.

Not now though, not while his head is splitting into two and his Force Signature is shaking after Anakin ground it so relentlessly. Knowing that Anakin didn’t mean to, doesn’t change the reality of things, his Force Signature can be downright oppressive if left unchecked. It’s not so felt when he himself is in the state for proper shields, however the repeated missions, the lack of sleep and the loss of the recent planet… were factors that are hard to ignore.

He needs to rest. He needs to meditate. Then he’ll be fine.

Obi-Wan refuses to acknowledge, even now, that what would bring the most immediate relief would be severing the Bond. Today showcased just how dangerous it is, how out of control it is, how out of Obi-Wan’s control it is. It all makes sense, any one following logic would have done it. A bond developed without their conscious choice in the matter, one that is not appreciate for Jedi to have.

The only thing that makes sense, is to end it. Yet this is the only thing that Obi-Wan will not do, is unwilling to do. He will not severe another Bond with Anakin. The consequences of the first time still too fresh in his own mind. Both for their relationship and…himself.

“Thank you, Anakin.” he says politely, hoping that he looks more collected than what he feels like. He refuses to think of this further for today. Giving Anakin the barest of hand waves, he turns and walks off.

He needs to rest. He needs to meditate. Then, he’ll be fine…

[seventh-district]

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

-

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought.  “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand,  reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

-

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

-

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

-

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[burningblake]

WIP Tag Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @whydoyouhavetobefictional! I love this!

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

This is from a new mentalist/jisbon fic I'm currently writing. Not last sentence (and not one sentence either), but a secret third thing a part of the fic:

She snort-giggles. Because it's the only response she can summon. "I'm not kissing you for a case."  "What, no feelings of gratitude left for the knight that saved your life?"

I tag: @onedivinemisfit @nancyddrew @scarletslippers @queseraone @makeitastrength @destiniesfic @noobtiedoo @fireflyxrebel-writes @vidhurvrika @ladyverdance @pluckysidekick @likestosolvethepuzzle @kalebhawkeyekj1 @reviewdiaries @binancydrew @wikipedie @bundyshoes @dadlezal @theangrypomeranian @sherlockcrossing @dadralt and whoever else wants to do it, here's your tag: 🌷!

[jichanxo]

sunday six :D

taking the initiative for a change.... so i'm going to boop @four-white-trees @passthroughtime @skysquid22 @overdevelopedglasses

chipping away at sensei fic this week! here's kitakata and yagami making out lol excuse my bluntness... don't feel obligated to read if you're not into that o7

Yagami reached for Kitakata’s arm, found his hand, and guided it to his hip. Yagami pulled away from the kiss.

“Touch me, would you?”

Kitakata’s breath was warm on his lips. “Where would you like it?”

“Figure it out yourself.” He said and kissed him again. Kitakata didn’t seem to complain. His fingers slipped under the hem of Yagami’s shirt, meeting skin. He touched along the base of his spine, and Yagami couldn’t suppress the slight shiver that went through him. He could only imagine how gratifying this was for Kitakata. Hell, just seeing Yagami checking him out probably made his whole week, now this. He’d never be able to stop him from flirting now.

Yagami leaned into Kitakata’s hold, into his mouth, against that eager tongue. He was about to make Kitakata’s whole damn year.

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[frantic-babbling]

I'm free from the hell of school and I now get to play catch up with all the lore I've missed but more importantly all the fics I've missed