#Some Kinda Hurricane

[rolandrockover]

Kover It Up Vol. 5 - New York Groove

Hello, Russ Ballard, Kiss. As soon as one even mentally pronounces this chain of associations, the bell should ring for every halfway educated Kissalomaniac that one is dealing with a definitive key figure for Kiss kover songs. Songs that were written by Russ Ballard, and that Kiss or their closer associates have reinterpreted and recorded, mind you.

All in all, this has resulted in a total of five tracks (1), respectively two of which Ace has tackled more or less on his own. And today, of course, we want to talk about the very first one, namely nothing other than New York Groove from Ace's first solo album from 1978 (2). And as is well known, it was Eddie Kramer who persuaded Ace to cover this song, which the latter will probably have learned to appreciate over time.

But let's get down to business.

Hello's version of this NY vision sounds a little as if Chris Norman, in his best Smokie days, had been forced by strict medical prescription to spare his vocal chords as much as possible and not to sing but only to whisper. Such an idiosyncratic decision lends the music a determinedly passive, but nonetheless equally commanding and energetic effect, which is only reinforced by the unusually light, but all the more confident harmonic flow of the background chorus, pushing itself rhythmically into the mix and taking the song to a higher level overall.

What Ace and Eddie cooked up together for their part doesn't sound that dissimilar at all. They certainly didn't reinvent the song (as one could later claim of 2000 Man), and which Eddie Kramer definitely didn't set out to do, but made it just a bit more straightforward and, above all, designed it all around Ace. And that's exactly the key, an emotionally intelligent focus on Ace, his voice, and his person, because that's what this is all about here: The humanization of a rock n' roll alien from the craziest rock band in the world to that point.

The guitars at the beginning are comfortably reminiscent of a quirky Swedish children's television series from the 70s (3) and create, at least in me, a warm-hearted and positively charged energy that, thanks to Ace's charm, doesn't intend to get lost again throughout the entire song. His imperfect voice sounds somewhat tight, thanks to doubling and whatever studio gimmick, and saturated enough, and at the same time left with enough room to be nothing but himself, which brings song and mood to life, and even works to his advantage lead vocally. Is there anyone else here besides me who is also reminded of Peter Criss and Beth? I mean in principle.

Be that as it may, to conclude with a brief mention of Ace's solo playing. Its production seems surprisingly thin and used just as sparingly, but staged in an all the more lively manner, which really puts the finishing touches to this simple but equally gorgeous piece of good-feeling music. And here it is, an urban anthem for the people to believe in, presented by a true New Yorker for all New Yorkers, and of course everyone else too.

More authentic than the original.

Side Note:

(1) New York Groove on Ace Frehley (1978), Some Kinda Hurricane and Let Me Rock You on Peter Criss' eponymous Let Me Rock You (1982), Into the Night from Frehley's Comet's debut (1987), and last but not least Kiss' real last smash God Gave Rock n' Roll to You II (1991).

(2) Incidentally, I have no idea whether the Ace and Peter songs from the 80s are actual cover versions or just purchased tracks without a previous release. I just threw it out there because it fits so well, and what do you do for a halfway successful introduction?

(3) Karlson on the Roof (1974) by Astrid Lindgren.

New York Groove (1975)

New York Groove (1978)

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

Written by Russ Ballard

[fluffypotatey]

My fellow zillennial. It's come to my attention that Gen Alpha is apparently making aesthetic tiktoks romanticizing 2020, like they want to be a teenager during that time??? Like no? You don't? I can't even begin to start breaking down how bad that year was in every category. McDonalds apparently now has "standards" yet another rubbish thing to add to the "college degrees make you overqualified with zero experience sorry you can't get this entry job" bucket. And Lunchables news reporters are like 30 years too late to be writing an expose on the toxic levels of metal in that.

people were dying????? we were in a state of panic and isolation???? schools were struggling with the switch to online only classes????

do we all remember the BLM protests and the tips on how to keep your face hidden and how to stay safe from getting maced???? do we remember the pushback against it??? calling on botched stats???

do we even remember the fucking US election???? how heated it got???? how much distrust republicans tried to seed into mail-in ballots?????

and then literally January of 2021, the US legislative house gets stormed in, Texas has a freeze so bad our gridlock shuts down and PEOPLE DIED FROM THE COLD WHILE EVERYONE ELSE MOCKED US FOR FREEZING!!!

2020 was not a good year. it is the furthest from a a good year, but it sure as hell emphasized a motley of issues the world had going on (tho i’m more versed in the US issues bc i live there)

[lucybianchi]

.

[umemiyan]

it smells very faintly of something burning in here and i can't tell if it's actually in my apartment or if one of my numbers just sucks at cooking LOL

[brutal-out-here]

*Feel free to also mention if that natural disaster is common in your area or not!! I’m curious to know if that effects your answer or not

[orcelito]

doing a deep analysis of a relatively minor character for itnl reasons

im gonna have fun with this

[rafey-baby]

stepdad!rafe being gross about his stepdaughter…

c/w: stepcest, kinda angsty, slight somnophilia & some dubcon fingering, use of dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 880

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx 

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

Her relationship with her stepdad has always been rather strange.  

But she’s never really minded, because it felt nice to have someone fill that hollow pit inside her, the one that’s always been there, haunting her ever since her father left when she was just a little girl. An itch she could never quite scratch.  

It didn’t help that her mother was never exactly present in her life either— always too busy with work or looking for solace from the bottom of a wine bottle or blaming her for everything wrong in her life.

She was sixteen when her mom brought Rafe home for the first time. And she never quite understood why he had married the woman in the first place— why he filed for divorce only after she’d moved out for uni, and not the moment he found out his wife wasn’t spending all those late nights in the office, but instead in the bed of a stranger.

However, she didn’t much care for his reasons because he’d always been more of a parent to her than the people who were supposed to. She always secretly wished he would’ve been her real dad— not just someone she assumed felt obligated to take her under his wing when he found out how horribly she’d been treated all her life.  

That’s why she never really paid too much attention to his lingering touches or the borderline controlling tendencies that always seemed to fizzle to the surface whenever she’d do something he deemed bad. She was just happy that she finally had someone who made her feel safe, protected. What more could she really ask for? 

It felt nice when someone cared. 

And now, even if she’s legally an adult and capable of making her own decisions, she prefers when Rafe makes them for her. After all, is it so wrong to just want to be taken care of?  

Because university was a lot. And the never-ending deadlines, assignments and all the late nights she spent trying to understand something she just couldn’t, had grown into this hurricane inside of her. It swallowed up everything that once made life beautiful and worth living; hiding them away from her, until she was crying to her phone nearly every night with her daddy on the other end, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.  

And she could only take it for so long until one day, she was knocking on the door of Rafe’s brand new house with tear-soaked eyes and a suitcase— his strong arms wrapped tightly around her the only thing able to placate her in months because with him, everything felt secure.  

And she liked spending time with him and living on the island, had even gotten a weekend job at a surf shop (despite his protests) because she wanted to do something useful, something other than loitering around the house that felt more like a spooky mansion whenever he was at work.  

The empty hallways and her spacious bedroom were especially unsettling at night when she’d had a bad dream— more often than not making her tiptoe over to Rafe’s bedroom with a pout, asking if she could sleep there instead. ‘Of course you can, sweetheart’ he’d always murmur; voice gravelly with sleep and already making space for her under the covers…

Then one night, as she’s peacefully snoozing off in his warm embrace, his fingertips slip past the waistband of her fleecy pajama bottoms— merely grazing at the smooth skin of her lower tummy, telling himself he’s just trying to do something with his hands so sleep could find him faster.

That’s until he notices she’s not wearing any panties, getting an insatiable urge to tuck his fingers between her soft thighs— already meeting a sticky mess there. After all, he only has so much self-control around the innocent little angel he swears was sent from heaven just for him to taint; to ruin.  

And it’s not like she seems to mind with the way she snuggles closer to him in her sweet slumber; the round of her ass pressing closer and closer against his crotch with every unconscious shift of her hips.  

Only when he begins mindlessly thumbing at her clit, does she stir— drowsy voice panicky when she mumbles out something inaudible.  

“Shh. S’just me, relax, yeah?” he hushes her, wet fingertips rubbing lazy circles over her weepy cunt when she whines— a complaint already blossoming on her tongue, something about him being gross, no doubt.  

“Is dad not makin’ you feel nice?” he coos, other hand dragging her closer with a grip on her thigh when she tries to pull away.  

“This is— you shouldn’t…” she stumbles over her words, trying to wriggle away from his overwhelming touch.   

“Shh, what do I always tell you, hm?” he clicks his tongue, his hold firm as he coaxes her to tell him what he wants to hear.  

Momentarily, she gets distracted from squirming around as she searches through her fuzzy brain before whispering out the answer. “…dad knows what’s best.” 

“There you go, that’s m’girl,” he breathes out, pressing a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek as a reward— smiling against the skin when she lets out a muffled whimper, because his hands do feel nice.

[writersdrug]

Bartender Ghost when waitress reader gives someone a hurricane shot

I had to look this up and now I want to do this so badly

Slight NSFW, slapping

It wasn't a busy night; some new faces on a Thursday evening, the three regulars that practically lived on the barstools, a group of college boys in the corner...

Ghost doesn't bat an eye when you put in four shots of tequila and four waters for those punks, an excited smile on your face. He pours them quickly, eyes narrowing at them as they eye you with their own giddy expression, clapping each other on their backs.

He can't help but check in. "They botherin' ya?"

You laugh and take the tray of shots from him. "Not at all - watch this."

He grabs a glass and starts polishing it with a rag as you saunter back to the college students, ass barely contained in your high waisted shorts (he knows he said the dress code was "not your birthday suit", but you're pushing it in those shorts and that tanktop). Pauses his actions when you pass the shots around, then plant your ass on the table in front of one of the guys, thighs spread and holding a plastic solo cup of water in one hand.

The bloke takes the shot - you promptly throw the water in his face and rear your hand back, slapping him across the cheek with your open palm.

The glass nearly shatters in his grip. He's about to scale the counter and grab you by the scruff of your neck... but they were cheering. The other three men slapping his back and laughing as he wipes the water from his face - he gets up from his seat as you grab another cup of water, grinning at the new fella that sits between your legs.

You do the same thing: wait for him to take the shot, drench him in water, and smack your hand across his face. The crack echoes around the pub, followed by their laughter and loud curses. Ghost doesn't let himself yell at you from across the bar, not when he's stiffening up in his pants and wondering how best to ask you to do that to him.

Soap peeks his head out from the kitchen, right as you deliver the third smack. "Feck is goin' on?!" He asks bewilderdly.

Simon's at a loss for words, palms gripping the edges of the bar as he watches the last guy sit in the chair between your thighs, looking up at you like you're some kind of succubus - and you are, staring down at the lad with a smirk as he takes his shot, dousing him with the water and delivering the final blow.

"Shite- gonna try tha' with me after closin'?" Soap says, the both of them watching as you pluck a twenty from each of their hands and stuff them into your bra.

Ghost finds himself again, masking his sexual frustration with his usual grumpiness. "Where's tha' burger I put in fifteen minutes ago?" He says, making the Scot turn back into the kitchen with a dreamy sigh.

You make your way back to the bar and lean against it, still smiling ear to ear, your chest pushing against the counter - Simon can see the edges of the bills poking out of your tank top. "You ever seen that before?"

"Don't do tha' again." He snaps, glaring down at you with his arms folded over his burly chest, making you pout. "This ain't some college bar, I don' want tha' kinda crowd 'ere, understand?"

"They want eight more shots." You said, looking at him through your sweet, doe eyes.

Fuck - bringing in business, and getting to watch you slap the shit out of those guys? Pretending it was himself? He grumbled and snagged more shot glasses from the shelf.

[darkmatilda]

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you find out spencer has never been to new york you decide to do everything you can to make him fall in love with the city that raised you. and maybe, just maybe, fall in love with you too.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: early seasons spencer reid x bau!female reader, reader is kinda tough, description of the case (stalking), spencer is so blind you'll want to kick him, idiots in love

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9k

𝐚/𝐧: this is a request i got from @written-in-the-stars06 ! thank you for this amazing idea <3 i hope it meets your expectations (even if only a little)

"JJ, I need your help."

The blonde woman froze in the doorway.

"Did you kill someone?" she asked after a moment. And though she seemed surprised, her voice had already adjusted to the situation, lowering into a conspiratorial whisper. As if signaling her readiness to help hide a body. A friend in crime is a friend indeed.

Or however it goes. 

If your eyebrows competed in the Olympic high jump, they’d win a gold medal.

"What? How did you even…wait, is that seriously the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw me?" You watched as your friend shrugged. Her posture relaxed slightly, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward at the sight of your expression. "Anyway, never mind. Are you going to let me in, or are we just going to stand here?"

For a moment, she studied you intently before stepping aside. You’d known she would; it was exactly why you’d come to her. You crossed into her apartment with heavy, restless steps, stopping only when you reached the living room—and only then realizing you hadn’t even taken off your coat.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you turned to face JJ, whose worry was written all over her face.

“Well? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself as you prepared to say the words out loud.

Words that felt absurd.

Words that had invaded your mind, refusing to let go.

Words you couldn’t decide whether to embrace or reject entirely.

“I’m in love.”

Silence filled the room. A soft, disbelieving snort escaped her lips, quickly morphing into loud, unabashed laughter.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m not. Why? Is it really that strange for me to be in love?”

JJ snorted again, shaking her head from side to side.

“No. What’s strange is you storming into my apartment like a hurricane, nervous and… terrified, just to tell me you’re in love. Seriously, I thought something was wrong!”

“Because something is wrong,” you hissed through clenched teeth.

You weren’t angry—not at JJ, not at yourself, not at anyone. It was more… the weight of it all, the unfamiliar feelings that left you overwhelmed, spilling out in sudden bursts of frustration.

Your romantic life up until now had always existed on the fringes of your attention. Present, but without all the…symptoms. The dry throat whenever they were around, the inability to get them out of your head.

It all felt like something out of a sugar-coated entry in a teenager’s pink diary, not the mind of a grown woman.

“I’ll make you some tea,” JJ offered suddenly. The worry that had been etched on her face earlier was completely gone, replaced by genuine amusement at your behavior, visible in the soft smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll tell me everything. But now, take off that coat before you overheat…”

True to her word, fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting on the couch with steaming mugs of tea in your hands.

While JJ had been in the kitchen preparing it, doubts began to creep in. Was it really a good idea to tell anyone about this? About your…infatuation?

Even though you were friends, the whole thing made you feel a little pathetic. 

“So…” she began after a long moment of silence. “Are you going to say anything?”

You couldn’t find the right words. Instead of answering, you took a big sip of hot tea and winced as it burned your throat.

“Okay,” JJ sighed, setting her mug down on the table and folding her arms across her chest. “If you’re not going to, let me just guess.”

“Since when are you a psychic?”

“Not a psychic. Just someone who spends most of her life around profilers. That should be enough to figure out why my friend is acting so weird about a simple crush.”

“Can we please not call it a crush?”

“Love interest. Better?” You muttered not really but she completely ignored it and continued. “Let’s start with the fact that you came here. To me. Considering how private you are, it must mean you’re totally losing it over this. You seem confused, like you don’t know what to feel. You’re unsure whether they feel the same, so you don’t know what to do. And it doesn’t help that you’ve never had to chase anyone before. You’ve always been the one that guys chased after, not the other way around. And…” she hesitated, taking a breath. “The fact that you seem embarrassed, plus how much you work, leaving no time for dating, leads me to think… it’s probably someone from our team.”

With every sentence that left her lips, your hands tightened more around the mug. When she fell silent, your knuckles turned completely white. Everything she said was true.

"What should I do?" you asked quietly.

"Well, it would definitely be easier for me to advise you if you tell me who it’s about."

Instinctively, you shook your head. You didn’t want to reveal your feelings that much. Surprisingly, you weren’t worried that she would figure it out. After all, it wasn’t that obvious...

"Is it Spencer?"

"Fuck, is it really that obvious?" you blurted out in panic. If she could notice, who else could? The rest of the team? Reid himself?

JJ made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choked laugh.

"Actually, I was just going to randomly list all the options one by one," she said, then let out a short sigh, raising her eyebrows. "You surprised me a little. I mean, it's not that I think you two don’t fit together..."

You knew exactly what she meant. Your specialty at work was kidnappings, often handling negotiations and providing detailed instructions to the families of victims. You had learned to project an aura of calm control, and more often than not, you came across as stiff in the eyes of others. Something that had been pointed out to you multiple times in life, whether in jest or not. Reid, in many ways, was your complete opposite. While you surrounded yourself with a shield of silence due to stress, his mouth never seemed to stop. While you marched forward with apparent indifference, he seemed genuinely interested in everything happening around him, every tiny process on this planet. And maybe that was what fascinated you most about him? Or perhaps it was more about his extraordinary mind, knowing the answer to every question that ever drifted through your thoughts? Or how effortlessly he could make you laugh? Or maybe it was the ease with which you could gently tug at the edge of that serious mask, always settled upon your face, and lift it just enough to let a certain lightness slip inside? To breathe?

"You should just invite him somewhere," JJ snapped you out of your thoughts.

"I tried," you said, wincing slightly at the memory of that failed attempt. Well, not entirely failed...

"Are you talking about how you asked in the office, in front of everyone, if anyone would like to go to the movies with you on Friday, and almost everyone volunteered?" she asked, amused. "That's not how you ask someone out on a date!"

"What else was I supposed to do? Walk up and ask if he wants to go to the movies with me?"

JJ blinked.

"Yes? Exactly like that? I mean, that’s how it usually goes. I don’t know what’s so weird about it for you."

"I’m just not made for this," you blurted out, pressing your lips together. "I can’t stand the thought that he might say no, because maybe he’s not interested in me. Not like I am in him."

"No offense, but you're such a hopeless case," she sighed heavily. "In that case, you need to find out. Invite him somewhere, not necessarily on a date, just a casual hangout. Spend some time together and you'll find out if he likes you."

"What if he doesn't?"

"What if he does?"

After a moment of silence, you managed to smile weakly.

"Maybe you're right," you said, emphasizing the first word. And before saying anything else, you nodded, as if giving yourself courage. "I'll give it a try."

*

Well, you didn’t get a chance to put that plan into motion.

Work didn’t slow down for even a moment, throwing you back onto the jet with your team, deep in discussion about everything uncovered so far regarding the unsub and the victims. Hardly the right time to ask someone on a date.

As usual, the case file commanded your full attention, isolating you from the buzz of conversation around you. You always needed a moment to absorb and analyze the details on your own. The voices of your teammates reached your ears faintly, their words blending into background noise—until one particular sentence jolted your brain awake, cutting through like a baseball slicing the air.

"You’ve never been to New York?" you asked, directing the question to Spencer, seated beside you, shoulder to shoulder.

All eyes turned to him. Startled by the attention, he gave a small shrug and absently picked up the deck of cards from the table, the ones you’d been playing with before the discussion began.

“We’ve never had a case there before,” he admitted simply. 

You closed the folder, and the slight breeze it caused swept a few cards off the table from the game you’d been playing earlier.

“Why am I only now finding out that you’ve never, ever, ever been to New York?” you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. He furrowed his brows, clearly surprised by your emotional reaction.

“I grew up there,” you added.

“And why am I only now finding out that you grew up in New York?” he mimicked your earlier tone. Rolling your eyes, you tried to swat him with the folder, but he deftly dodged it.

“Seriously though, you never told me,” he said.

“Don’t worry, man,” Morgan chimed in from across the table. “She never told me, either. In fact, I’d bet she never told any of us.”

You raised your hands in a defensive gesture.

“None of you ever asked.”

"Does that bother you?" Reid asked, his gaze fixed on you, intense and unwavering. A strand of his slightly too-long hair had slipped out from behind his ear. You had the sudden urge to reach out, tuck it back where it belonged, away from his line of sight. "That I’ve never been there?"

"Of course not," you assured him with a quick huff of laughter. "You just have a lot—and I mean a lot—to catch up on."

"If only I knew someone who knew the city well," he sighed dramatically. "Someone who, for example, grew up there and kept that fact a secret for as long as we know each other. Someone who could show me around..."

"You’d want me to show you around?" The words escaped your mouth a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. Your mind flashed back to your conversation with JJ, to her suggestion that you should invite him somewhere. You’d been too nervous to ask outright, but this? Showing him around the city was a perfect excuse to spend time together!

You felt like an evil mastermind rubbing your hands together in triumph over a new invention that could turn half of humanity into rubber ducks. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to mask the disproportionate excitement now threatening to take over your face. 

"I mean, if we had the time. Who knows how demanding this case might end up being."

"Right," he admitted. Some flicker of emotion crossed his face—a flash of something unplaceable. Could it have been a disappointment? 

He cleared his throat, a soft, tentative smile tugging at his lips. "But if it turns out we do have time... I’d be very happy if you’d show me a few places."

You couldn’t hold back any longer and allowed yourself a brief smile.

“But just so we’re clear,” you began after a moment, your tone carrying a seriousness that didn’t quite match the expression on your face. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret. Just no one ever asked me!”

Spencer let out a small snort at that.

"You know, I think you're the type of person who could go over a decade without revealing your name just because no one bothered to ask..."

“Are you done with discussing your secrets? Could we get back to focusing on the case?” Hotch’s voice suddenly cut in, sharp and calm, as he glanced at the two of you over the top of his file.

In perfect unison, you both turned toward him, sitting straighter than ever. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Reid’s gaze for one more fleeting moment.

He wanted you to show him around.

Of course, that didn’t automatically mean he liked you. But it felt like it brought you a step closer to figuring out if there was even the smallest, most microscopic chance that he might feel the same way.

That hopeful thought was quickly chased by doubts—what if he didn’t?

You knew such thoughts would haunt you, tormenting and humiliating you in the quiet moments you were alone with yourself. So, you resolved not to dwell on them for the duration of your time in New York. Instead, you would focus on one thing —making him fall in love with the city where you’d grown up, the city that still held your heart even years after you’d left.

The discussion about the case had ended, but despite that, you continued to carefully examine the files. Well, not exactly them. On the back of the last page, a blank piece of paper, you started writing with the pen you had pulled out of your jacket pocket all the places you could take Spencer. You drifted through memories, trying to recall those places you had visited with your parents, the ones you had gone to with friends after school, the places you were taken on dates...

You crossed them all out. You doubted a sandwich bar would impress him. You didn’t know how many chances you’d have to go anywhere, so you had to aim for something really special. Maybe something that fit more with his interests. A museum? Or something more characteristic of the neighborhood where you’d be staying. A walk on the Brooklyn Bridge?

You felt someone’s gaze on you. You snapped the folder shut as if you had been caught doing something and saw Morgan staring at you with a slightly mocking smile on his lips.

"If you’re playing a tour guide, maybe you’d like to show me around too?" he asked.

You leaned slightly over the table, your face expressionless.

"I’m sure if you ask Garcia nicely, she’ll find you a guide online. At a good price."

"And here she is. The Ice Queen back in shape. Tell me, how’s it that just fifteen minutes ago you were acting completely differently?"

Amused, he shook his head, leaving you with the unsettling thought that maybe it really was that obvious.

*

“Alright. I’m a serial killer and a rapist. I stalk my victims by placing cameras in their apartment. Where do I hide them to get a good view of everything, but at the same time, make sure they're not noticed?”

"Reid, I’m begging you, never say something like that out loud again."

You and Spencer had been sent to the apartment of one of, unfortunately, many victims. All of them had been attacked in their own homes, with no visible signs of forced entry. That was the first puzzling element of this case. The second were the emails Garcia had found in each of the women’s inboxes. Emails suggesting they had been watched for a long time.

You made my favorite pasta for dinner. You should wear the red dress, sweetheart. Actually, who are you planning to meet?

The very thought of someone watching you in your own home sent a shiver down your spine.

“Apologies,” he muttered. “But I’m not under arrest, am I?”

“Who knows? It’d make for some interesting headlines. Or for the title of a true-crime documentary about you. FBI Agent on a Dark Path of Crime…”

“It’s Doctor.”

“My eternal apologies. Does mistaking your title also come with a sentence?”

“Well, we probably wouldn’t be sharing a cell, but maybe we’d run into each other in the cafeteria a few times.”

"I can't wait." You wandered around the apartment, peeking into every spot that came to mind. Since your back was turned to him, he couldn’t see the corners of your mouth curling upward. “You check the bathroom, alright? I don’t even want to imagine where that creep might have hidden a camera. I’ll be terrified to shower in my own place.”

Spencer gave a mock salute, as if you’d just given him an order. Well, in your tone, even polite requests rarely left room for refusal. But before he disappeared into the small bathroom with green-tiled walls, he paused for a moment, his fingers brushing the doorframe.

“That was a joke, right?” he asked, his voice shifting from light to soft and slightly concerned.

You turned toward him, arms crossed over your chest, not entirely sure what he meant.

“I mean…” he started, briefly scratching his forehead. “I just hope you’re not getting too involved in this case. I mean, you are, but not to the point where… where you’re scared afterward. Of being home alone. Taking a shower or…Does that even make sense?”

"That’s..." you began, trying your hardest not to say that’s sweet. The hint of concern that had flickered across his face, present in the way his eyes lingered on you. The fact that your offhand comment had moved him enough to bring it up at all. “Yeah, that does make sense. You know, considering all these women were my age and lived alone, just like me, it does feel a little personal. But don’t worry, I won’t let it stop me from maintaining proper hygiene.”

You tried to steer the conversation away from the unexpected seriousness, to shake off the weight that had suddenly settled over it. Well, you didn’t quite succeed. Spencer didn’t look particularly convinced—or amused. He gave a slight nod, barely noticeable and likely unconscious.

“I just wanted to make sure. That it’s not getting to you. Not… too much,” he clarified. His words grew tangled again. He dropped his gaze to the doorframe, as if contemplating whether to knock his forehead against it. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

You had spent far too long staring at the door behind which he had disappeared. Only shaking your head helped you force yourself to return to work. The victim's apartment wasn't huge; the living room, kitchen, and bedroom were all part of one room. You stopped by the kitchen area, where a large bowl on the counter still contained fresh fruit. Right next to it lay the apartment key, and although you should have been looking for cameras, you hesitantly picked it up. There was no keychain attached to it, nor was it part of a set of several other keys, as people usually did to keep from losing them. A number of disordered conclusions and theories crossed your mind, even though it was just a key, not a significant piece of evidence or something that shouldn't be there. Maybe the apartment's owner had lost the keys not long ago and had had one copied just before her disappearance, which would explain the lack of wear on it.

That lost set might have ended up in the wrong hands. Or it might not have been lost at all, but stolen.

Absentmindedly, you turned it in your hands, your gaze wandering across your surroundings. A very small space, with a real brick wall on one side and a shelf of dishes above the sink. You knew that the camera had to be somewhere in here, after all, one of the emails had referred to a meal cooked by the victim. Eventually, you stopped at a green plant on the shelf, just beside a stack of clean plates. It was artificial, meaning the victim didn't need to water it, which meant it probably hadn't been paid much attention to, and that meant it was a good hiding spot for a hidden camera.

You parted the leaves and took the small black device in your hand.

Instead of calling Spencer, who was still in the bathroom, you tilted your head back and with a sigh, headed toward the balcony doors, feeling a slight ringing in your ears. It was awful. The very thought of being watched in your own apartment, a place where you should feel safest, for an unknown amount of time.

You leaned against the black railing of the small balcony, which was probably there only because of the fire escape stairs running along the entire building. You just needed to breathe in some fresh air, spend literally a minute outside, but as soon as you looked ahead, that minute started turning into minutes.

After you arrived in New York, you immediately got to work on the case; there had been no time for nostalgic sighs over familiar streets.

You tore your gaze away from them only when someone’s silhouette appeared beside you, turned sideways to face you.

“Two cameras in the bathroom,” Spencer announced. As per your earlier request, he didn’t say exactly where they were placed, and after his words, a moment of silence fell.

You tried your hardest to ensure that no grimace passed across your face. You considered it unprofessional, getting too emotionally involved in the investigation, imagining yourself in the victim's place. But apparently, it even happened to the best of them.

“You really value your privacy, don’t you?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, stopping yourself from rolling them.

"Are you still dwelling on what I said earlier? I'm fine, Spencer."

"I’m only dwelling on what I’ve noticed a long time ago," he said, ignoring your dismissive response. "Well, and also making sure you’re okay. But what I really mean is that you don’t talk much about yourself. I only just found out today that you grew up here. I’m not saying this in a bad way, I get that you might not want to tell me everything about yourself…"

"It’s not about you," you interrupted him, finally turning so you were fully facing him. You once again took note that the balcony was really small. You realized how close you were standing. The closeness that made honesty a bit more necessary. The closeness that made you swallow more often from the dryness in your throat. You cleared your throat, wanting to clarify your somewhat vague words. "I mean, it’s not like I have a problem telling you about me, it’s just… I don’t know, I’ve always been like this. I never really know what’s worth sharing and what’s not. I’ve always been better at listening to what others have to say."

Reid listened to your words with understanding written on his face. You had the feeling that he had become a little bit lighter. He glanced briefly at the railing, and when he looked back at you, he squinted against the sunlight that was streaming onto the balcony.

"I was a bit worried that your silence was because it tires you how much I can talk," he admitted, his tone betraying a hint of hesitation.

You almost let out a laugh.

"It’s actually quite the opposite, trust me."

With those words, you turned back towards the city, trying to avoid his gaze.

"I like listening to you," you added quietly.

You thought he wouldn't add anything more. That you'd both remain frozen for another prolonged moment on this balcony, with the cameras you'd found tucked into your pockets and the looming return to work on the case. That you'd step back inside the apartment, letting the chill in your cheeks fade along with their faintly rosy hue.

"And I..." he began, nervously shifting his grip on the railing. "I really like talking to you."

You strained your memory, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't recall any other day at work when you'd smiled so many times.

“The rest is probably still in the other victims’ apartments,” you stated cautiously, recalling the locations of those places. Speaking each word slowly helped you build the courage to voice the spontaneous idea that had just come to you. “We’ve found what we were looking for. Hotch hasn’t called us yet, so I guess we’re free. Are you...are you maybe hungry?”

*

Your knees had brushed against each other.

“Sorry,” Spencer muttered immediately, shifting his chair back slightly.

You pretended to be preoccupied with surveying the interior of the café. To be fair, there was a lot to take in. The décor defied categorization, with every wall covered in a different material and painted a different color. One wall was entirely obscured by an antique bookshelf. From what you could tell, the mismatch extended to the furniture; no two chairs were alike. Some were made of different types of wood, others upholstered in leather, and one even spun on a swivel.

In short, the place looked like the kind of room you’d stumble into during a fever dream—where two chubby cats braid your hair while you have a very serious conversation with a purple teapot trying to convince you to take out a loan at its bank. And somehow, none of it feels the least bit strange. In fact, you’d wake up from the dream genuinely considering the loan.

One of your hands rested on your knee, the same one his had accidentally grazed. You tapped your fingers lightly on it, keeping rhythm with the pop song playing faintly in the background. The other hand was tucked beneath your chin in a classic thinker’s pose. Except, instead of contemplating the mysteries of the universe or arriving at profound insights, you were solely focused on one pressing question: Who on earth decided to use such narrow tables? Tables that constantly forced you to be hyper-aware of the risk of touching his leg. Again.

“There used to be a sandwich bar here,” you said, tearing the croissant apart with your fingers. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t even consider that anything could have changed. Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Spencer assured you. “Actually, I didn’t realize how much I needed coffee until I caught the smell. Did you come here often?”

“All the time,” you admitted briefly.

You noticed him looking at you with a hint of amusement, which made you furrow your brows.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied dismissively, turning the cup in his hands. “It’s just…I remembered what we were talking about earlier, and I thought this might be one of those things worth sharing.”

“Alright,” you said, rolling your eyes, though there wasn’t an ounce of irritation in the gesture. “I used to come here with my friends literally every Friday. It was cheap and relatively close to our school, and none of us had a driver’s license yet, so we walked everywhere, complaining about sweaty people on the subway. Do you think that piece of information is going to be useful to you in any way? Was it worth sharing?”

“Well, believe it or not, I absolutely do,” he chuckled. “Besides, you never know which piece of information might come in handy someday.”

You summed it up with another roll of your eyes, but a soft smile remained stubbornly on your lips. You were genuinely pleased with yourself for breaking the ice and inviting him somewhere, even if at any moment this brief reprieve could be interrupted by a call from your boss, demanding your immediate return. JJ had been right. All it took was just doing it.

“I promised to show you around a bit, remember?” you asked. Having scored a small victory, you decided to keep the momentum going and suggest taking him to a truly special place.

“The offer hasn’t expired, right?”

“It doesn’t have an expiration date. It just depends on, well, our work. I doubt we’ll be able to visit many places. So I’ve made…” you hesitated, unsure if you should admit to spending two full hours obsessively considering where you could take him and even writing it down in the case files. “I’ve thought it through and picked out a few key ones. Places I think you’ll like. So, whenever we have time, maybe in the evening… though no, some of them might be closed then…”

"Places you think I might like?" Spencer interjected gently. You stopped, surprised, unsure why he focused on that particular part of your sentence. "What about the ones that are important to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he trailed off, making some vague gesture with his hand. "I was curious about the places you used to visit when you lived here. The ones that meant something to you. Are they on the list, too?"

You didn’t need to physically glance at the list; you had it memorized entirely and knew they weren’t on it. You had chosen the places solely with him in mind—his interests and your desire to impress him. You cleared your throat.

“We don’t have much time,” you gently reminded him. “I wanted to show you the really important places. The highlights of New York or something that would stick in your memory. Not some sandwich bar that, by the way, doesn’t even exist anymore, or a drive-in theater...”

“A drive-in theater?”

“You know, you drive up to a spot and watch a movie being projected. I absolutely loved it, really, but it doesn’t matter because there’s no way we could arrange something like that now.” you explained, your thoughts oddly lingering on the idea of spending time with him in a similar way. "God, I didn’t expect being a tour guide to be this hard. Not only do we barely have time for anything I planned, but my client keeps complaining the whole time..."

"Okay, fine, sorry," he raised his hands in a defensive gesture, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Apologies for wanting to spend time the way you would enjoy. What a jerk I am."

"Exactly, you should be ashamed. I’ll add it to your bill," you teased, taking a sip of your coffee, which you’d completely forgotten about. It had gone cold during your conversation.

"And now, completely seriously," Spencer began again, the sarcastic expression disappearing from his face as he looked at you with genuine interest, those brown eyes steady and curious. "I’ll let you take me anywhere you want. So, what places did you pick?"

You were internally excited to finally tell him about them.

But then, your phone rang.

*

The rest of the day was intense and entirely consumed by the investigation. Unfortunately, you didn’t uncover anything that could genuinely bring you closer to catching the perpetrator. In fact, you didn’t even have a profile yet.

Each of you felt a bit disheartened by the lack of progress. After all, every passing day meant a greater risk that another victim could be harmed in her own home. It was even more unsettling knowing that some woman was likely being stalked at that very moment.

Still, despite the mediocre morale and mounting exhaustion, you managed to summon enough energy and resolve to visit one particular place.

You were just returning from there, walking one behind the other down the narrow hallway of the hotel where you'd been stationed. You could feel Spencer's presence and hear his footsteps just behind you. In your mind, you stubbornly tried to figure out what you should say before you both retreated to your respective rooms.

There was a certain lightness in you, brought on by the release of tension through a pleasant evening, but also a heaviness caused by the weight of your feelings. It had been nice. It had been... wonderful. Yet, it hadn’t brought you any closer to knowing whether he liked you.

Maybe you should talk to JJ again.

You stopped suddenly, hearing Spencer let out a quiet sigh as he almost bumped into your back. You turned on your heel, slowly, feeling a dryness creep into your throat.

Spencer was standing just in front of you, his gaze shifting uncertainly between your face and the floor. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but immediately closed it, lost in thought. You pressed your lips into a thin line, determined to wait for whatever he might want to say.

“Where are you two coming from at this hour?”

The door to the room next to you suddenly swung open, and Morgan��s head poked out, a smirk plastered across his face as he looked at the two of you.

You both exchanged a brief glance before locking your eyes on him. The sudden presence of another person, standing in front of you with his arms crossed and curiosity in his gaze, made it painfully clear how close you had become to each other.

The most awkward thing you could possibly do now was to step away from each other. And, well, that’s exactly what Spencer did.

You didn’t even flinch, glancing briefly at your colleague.

“From the library,” you replied.

It was the truth. In a compromise between places that might interest him and those that were important to you, you had ended up there. And not just any library, but the largest one in the entire district.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind, a warmth spread inside you. The warmth of walking among the shelves, barely catching glimpses of each other’s faces through the surrounding orange light of the lamps fighting to dominate over the engulfing shadows. The warmth of your clumsy attempts to focus on the environment, not on Spencer’s face, which was so mesmerized as he studied the books. His brow slightly furrowed, hair escaping from its place and falling across his face. Eyes fixed on one spot, pupils stretching across the entire surface of his irises, creating two truly hypnotizing points on his face, which you struggled to avoid staring into.

“From the library at night?” Morgan repeated, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “I knew you were a nerd, Reid, but you… I’m really disappointed in you.”

“Oh no, how will I survive this?” you scoffed. You saw Spencer briefly smile as well. “Anyway, goodnight, my dear coworkers. See you tomorrow.”

With those words, you made your way to your room, feeling somewhat like an escapee.

You knew that there were only a few hours of sleep left, and you needed to at least function a bit in the morning, so you immediately headed for the shower, grabbing something to change into on the way. Two things were on your mind. Was Morgan still torturing Spencer with questions in the hallway? And did Spencer enjoy your time together as much as you did?

As you analyzed your interactions with him, you realized there was an awkwardness you hadn’t noticed before. You never realized that awkwardness could be sweet. You’d always seen it as a purely negative feeling, something that caused embarrassment. But it could also make your heart race and cause your breathing to quicken. And dizziness, when you tried to control it all.

You felt like you had regressed to your high school days. You almost wanted to run to your friend and excitedly tell her all about the evening. For a moment, you even considered it, but JJ was probably already asleep.

You stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and when you pulled on a tank top and some loose pajama pants, you started gathering the clothes you’d worn earlier that day. As you lifted your pants, something small fell out of the pocket and clinked as it hit the floor.

A single key.

It took you a moment to realize that you must have accidentally taken it from one of the victims' apartments. Back when you discovered the hidden camera in the plant, you must have mindlessly shoved it into your pocket. A nervous pang of anxiety shot through your chest. You shouldn’t have taken anything from that place. Another sharp pang followed quickly after, as the sight in front of your eyes suddenly blurred, and something started to form in your mind.

At first, it was a shy thought. But almost immediately, it became a thought that needed to be discussed. Because it could push the investigation forward.

You rushed into the hallway before even deciding where to go. There, you turned in circles, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t an idea that warranted waking Hotch; honestly, you would’ve felt foolish going to him in the middle of the night with just a flicker of an insight in your head. So you thought of someone else—sharp in the way you needed, incredibly intelligent, and probably still awake, since you had just parted ways a mere fifteen minutes ago.

You knocked on Spencer's door.

“I have a theory,” you announced, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

His face registered surprise at the sight of you at this hour, his hand—still rubbing sleep from his eye—froze in place before dropping to his side. He must’ve just been lying down.

“A theory about what?” he asked, his voice a little rough with sleep.

Quite a pleasant rasp. Wait, no, refocusing…

“About who built the pyramids in Giza,” you huffed, the potential solution to the case accompanied by a little stress, and stress, for you, always came out in the form of a biting sarcasm as soon as you opened your mouth.

You slipped past him, effectively inviting yourself inside. Spencer was too surprised to step aside in time, so you inadvertently brushed against his side. Well, you didn’t want to have this conversation in the hallway, for fear that your voices would attract Morgan or anyone else.

“Well, it’s not really a secret, despite what some people like to think,” Spencer started, closing the door behind you and turning uncertainly toward you. His gaze quickly darted to you, sweeping over your body. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to focus. He must’ve been sleepy, and it probably wasn’t coming easily. “The construction of those monumental structures required the labor of many workers…”

“I have a theory about the case.”

You didn’t really think it would need further clarification. Without fully controlling your movements, you collapsed onto his bed, sitting at the edge. Suddenly, the confidence you had felt in the bathroom vanished.

He didn’t sit down, instead standing in front of you, his hands constantly shifting position. At one moment, they were crossed over his chest, and then, after a brief pause, he dropped them back to his sides. His gaze seemed restless too—almost strange. Sometimes it dropped to you, but then quickly changed direction, as though he was trying to find the right exit off a roundabout before giving up and returning to the starting point. That is, back to you. But you were too lost in your own thoughts to wonder what it was about your appearance that so intensely drew his gaze.

"Okay," he said slowly, coughing into his clenched fist to clear the roughness in his voice. "Okay. I guess that's a good thing. What's the theory? Do you need to talk it through?"

“That’s why I came here,” you replied, taking in a little more air than necessary, trying to logically connect the scattered conclusions that had formed in your mind. “Listen, it might turn out that what I’m saying makes absolutely no sense. But it might also turn out that it does have some logic to it. I want you to tell me which of these options you think is true. So... I couldn’t stop thinking about that key in the victim’s apartment, the one we were in. It looked brand new, like it had just been made. At first, I thought maybe she’d lost the old one somewhere. It ended up in the wrong hands. The unsub’s hands. That would explain how he got inside without leaving any signs of forced entry. But that would make sense if there had only been one victim. There were many, though, and it’s impossible for each one of them to have lost their keys recently. Unless they were stolen. Or maybe it was the loss of the keys that led to them becoming victims in the first place.”

The biggest mystery that had come up on your team’s path was how the unsub was even choosing his victims. They were all around the same age, all women, and lived alone. Other than that, they were completely different. They lived in different places, looked nothing alike, had different professions, and were of different races.

“So…” you continued, searching his face for any sign. Any trace of understanding, a hint that he was connecting the dots. Some confirmation. But Spencer just stood there, motionless, looking like he was only half present, his gaze fixed on you.

“I came to what might be...a bit of a bold conclusion. Maybe the unsub works as someone who makes spare keys. People come to him, including women. He picks the ones that fit his preferences, makes himself a copy, and that’s how he gets in to install hidden cameras. And then... well, to…” You paused, noticing his unwavering stare. “What? What are you looking at me like that for? Do you think I’m talking nonsense?”

He looked like he had suddenly snapped out of some daydream. He shook his head, scratching his chin, and taking a step in place, all of these actions flowing together in an incoherent, chaotic manner.

“I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. “It’s... interesting, and…you know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in something other than a formal outfit.”

Your eyebrows shot up. That was the last thing you expected him to say. While he had been fidgeting earlier, now he stood completely still. It was true, you usually dressed quite elegantly, not just for work. But you didn’t know why it seemed to impress him so much.

You didn’t know until you looked down and remembered your top. The one hastily thrown on, with a deep neckline. Seriously, was that really all about it? 

You sighed in disbelief and stood up from the bed.

"Sure," you let out a biting chuckle, though, despite not wanting to admit it to yourself, you could feel a tingling sensation creeping under your skin. "Tell a guy about your breakthrough discovery, and he won't even listen, too busy staring at your boobs."

You took two steps toward the door, but Spencer blocked your way, grabbing your forearm.

“Th-that's not what I meant!” he stammered in an unusually high-pitched tone, his wide eyes reflecting panic. Whether from your sudden reaction or the fact that you caught him.

His hand loosened its grip on your arm, just below your elbow, but he didn't let go. The way he held on brought you closer together, and the realization of how near you were, along with his face right in front of yours, stole the breath from your chest. You couldn't help but reflect on how everything so far had made you both close in proximity. First the narrow balcony where your shoulders almost brushed against each other, then the tiny table in the café where your knees kept knocking, even the way you accidentally brushed past him when you entered his room.

But this closeness wasn’t accidental. It was his doing, controlled by him, and, judging by the shock on his face after a quick glance, it seemed to surprise him as well.

He didn’t let go of you.

Instead, he focused his gaze on your face. You kept your head lowered, staring at his fingers gently holding your arm. You could hear him swallow softly before he spoke, his voice slightly raspy again, but this time not from sleep.

"I think your theory makes a lot of sense," he said. "And...it’s given me a lot to think about. It’s probably a man around forty years old. He works as a locksmith, using that job to gain access to his victims’ homes where he installs cameras. He sees these women as objects of his fantasies, and watching them provides him with some sort of fulfillment. His behavior stems from an unfulfilled need for closeness and control, which he can’t find in normal relationships. He’s socially inept, has low self-esteem, and a poor sense of self-worth. He writes to these women, idealizes them, sees them as his chosen ones, living in an alternate reality where he doesn’t see the boundary between fantasy and reality."

There was a moment of silence between you, as you analyzed the profile he had just presented.

"That's...impressive," you confessed slowly, still dazed by the sudden closeness, your gaze stubbornly avoiding his face.

"And that's all..." he began, but then suddenly stopped. The word simply dissolved in a hesitant, trembling way. You heard him take a deep breath. "And that's all while looking at your breast."

You suddenly lifted your head.

Never, not in a million years, did you think you’d find yourself in a situation where you’d hear such words coming from him. Your jaw slightly dropped, and a strange feeling spread through your stomach. You were not only shocked but also, in a way, on the verge of laughter because of the surprise on his face. It was as if he had said it by accident and didn't quite believe it himself. At the same time, something inside you tickled.

You let out a short sigh, sounding almost like a burst of laughter.

Spencer released your forearm, and as your silence dragged on, deep embarrassment began to consume his expression.

"Sorry...I don't know why I said that..."

You interrupted him by raising your hand.

"No," you said briefly, shaking your head slightly. "That was really impressive."

Confused, he studied your face. When you smiled, he hesitantly mirrored it, though he probably didn’t even know why—he was simply mimicking your expression.

Without turning back, you took two slow steps toward the door.

"You’ll have to present that profile to Hotch," you announced, resting your hand on the doorknob. Spencer still hadn’t moved, and his face bore a hard-to-decipher expression—part apology, part embarrassment, and part... something else. A certain spark.

Before stepping out and leaving him in that state, you glanced back at him one last time with a smirk.

"Just do me a favor and don’t mention the circumstances under which it was developed, alright?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself one more smile—this time a genuine one.

"Trust me. I wasn’t planning on it.” 

*

Hotch stared at you for a moment in silence, and the corner of his mouth…twitched?! For the first time since you started working at the BAU, you managed to make your boss smile.

 It would be nice to know why.

The next day, thanks to the conclusions you and Spencer had reached in his room, you finally managed to catch the unsub. Your theory about the locksmith turned out to be correct. And when you realized it was Friday, a certain thought crossed your mind. You just needed to clear it with the boss. Well, actually, you only needed to inform him that you and one other team member wouldn't be on the jet that day. Taking advantage of the upcoming weekend, you decided to extend your stay in New York for one more day.

A day that you could spend however you wanted.

The idea came to you so spontaneously that you hadn’t even discussed it with Spencer yet, but you felt, you hoped, that he wouldn't surprise you by turning it down.

The only thing standing in your way was that mysterious smile on Hotch’s face.

“Is that a problem?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

He just shook his head, returning to his usual expression. Though it seemed slightly softer, or maybe it was just your impression.

“It’s not a problem,” he assured. “Reid actually asked me the same thing about ten minutes ago.”

*

“Just, for the record, don’t mention to anyone what we used the company car for,”

"Do you really think I'd go bragging to the office that we used an unmarked police car just to have a place to watch movies at a drive-in?"

He barely caught the bag of chips you tossed at him.

"Just making sure," you said, climbing into the back of the car.

Well, it was definitely a pastime much more popular in the summer, which is why there weren’t many other vehicles around. And also why you immediately curled up under your cozy blanket, claiming almost all of it for yourself. The only source of light in that peaceful spot was the large screen ahead of you, with the movie beginning. But even in the dim lighting, you could see him tilt his head and slightly pout.

You sighed and shared the blanket with him. Or rather, you moved closer enough that the fabric could cover both of you. You added it to the list of situations where, once again, you found yourselves in circumstances that somehow required physical contact. It made you wonder if, somewhere up there, some force was orchestrating the universe’s chessboard in such a way that these moments seemed to happen more often than not.

Of course, not that it bothered you.

While you were still struggling with the blanket, trying to find the most comfortable position, Spencer told you a little about the awards that Roman Holiday had won.

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you,” he suddenly said.

“I told you, I like listening to you,” you reminded him, turning your face slightly toward his.

Finally, everything was perfect. The blanket wrapped around you in the most comfortable way, you could lean your back against the trunk and your shoulder against his. He was there.

“Yeah, but the movie just started.”

“I’ve seen it,” you announced. Somehow, you couldn’t take your eyes off his profile, even though all you could see was the outline of his jaw and nose, and the barely noticeable glint in his eye. “And I really like it. But just so you know, I didn’t pick it just to... you know.”

“Know what?”

“It’s a romantic comedy.”

He turned toward you, and you saw him flinch slightly, realizing that your gaze had been on him for quite some time. Spencer gave a slight shake of his head, furrowing his brows in confusion. You could have easily brushed it off, accepted that he didn’t understand what you meant. Probably, with anyone else, you would have. But you noticed that the more time you spent with him, the surprisingly more talkative you became. So, you continued without thinking too much about your words.

“What I mean is, I didn’t pick this movie to fit a date. It just so happens that today…”

“Is this a date?” he blurted out.

You stiffened completely, not just because of his question, but because of the genuine surprise in his voice. You wanted to ask, isn’t this a date? but your lips refused to open. Instead, you just stared at him motionless for a moment, hoping he might laugh it off.

After the conversation in his room, after he decided to stay one more day in New York for you, after you both chose to watch the movie just the two of you…Officially, neither of you had called it a date, but you had assumed that deep down, you both saw it that way. Apparently, you were wrong.

"The movie has already started," you muttered, nodding toward the screen. It had begun some time ago, but you had no idea how to change the topic. You had to do it because of the growing sense of embarrassment consuming you from the inside.

 You had told him you thought it was a date. It was like telling him you liked him. Which, in fact, was true, but you didn’t want him to be aware of it, especially since he didn’t feel the same!

“Hey,” he suddenly began, his voice a little strained. You pretended not to hear, staring at the screen. Spencer sighed and leaned forward to block your view of it, forcing you to look at him. His eyes nervously searched your face, you saw him swallow. “Is this a date for you?”

You wanted to push him away for asking the same question again.

"It doesn’t matter," you replied. Your tone was sharp but not aggressive. It was the same tone you used most days at work to make it clear to others that you expected to be treated with respect and that the situation or case you were working on was serious. "If this isn’t a date for you, then it isn’t a date. End of story. Can you move? I can’t see…”

“But I…” he began, not moving an inch. His forehead remained furrowed, and his brows slightly lowered over his eyes—genuine, still somewhat surprised eyes, trying to connect with yours. Finally, under their silent pressure, you gave in and looked at him. Spencer’s expression softened. "I didn't even dare to hope that this was a date!"

Something—some feeling—clung tightly to your shoulders, pulling them both forward, toward him, and backward, against the wall of the trunk.

“You’re only saying that to spare me from feeling awkward. And so we don’t have to spend the next few hours… the next day in an unbearably embarrassing atmosphere,” you stated, genuinely believing those words to be true. “Which I’m probably not making any easier. Maybe we should just forget it…”

 “Do you wish this was a date?” he asked, and you barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, you did. You wanted to scream it into his beautiful face. Spencer exhaled loudly. “Because I’d want it to be. I really would.”

You lingered in a moment of suspension, unable to decide whether to believe him. Your job had taught you not to always trust words. Just words.

 “Prove it,” you said softly but firmly.

Deep down, you didn’t know what you expected. And neither did Spencer, standing opposite you. Like you, he didn’t move at all. Only subtle changes flickered across his expression. Another crease formed on his forehead as he tried to decipher what lay behind your words. After a long moment, during which neither of you seemed to breathe, his gaze dropped to your lips. That’s when he understood.

You knew he was going to kiss you. You waited for it, ready to meet him, to gently place your hand on his cheek and feel the warmth of his lips against yours. You waited to sweep away the lingering question mark hanging above you both with one decisive motion, replacing it with a firm period.

Was this a date?

It was a date.

Spencer placed his hand under your chin, holding it close to him. Preventing you from pulling away when he momentarily broke the kiss. You saw the smooth flutter of his eyelashes as he shifted his sparkling gaze from your lips to your eyes.

“Sorry,” he rasped.

You couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“Are you apologizing for kissing me?” you asked, raising your eyebrows slightly.

He shook his head, a fleeting smile appearing on his face as well.

“I’m sorry for sometimes being so stupid,” he replied. “About these things.”

You closed your eyes again, letting out a soft snort of laughter. Suddenly, all of it—this whole dance you had been performing around each other, the panic when you realized you liked him, and the fear that he wouldn’t feel the same—seemed utterly absurd. But that’s just how people are, isn’t it? Looking back at the past with a touch of pity.

"Let’s agree on this. We’re both complete idiots."

Spencer was silent for a moment, lost in thought.

“We were,” he corrected you.

"We aren’t anymore?” you asked.

He answered by placing another kiss on your lips.

taglist:

@she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I do not know if you're looking for comic recommendations at the moment but as a big fan of the greatest estate developer I wanted to recommend some stuff that struck me as similar:

Unlucky is as lucky does (weird name, good story, weird faces galore. Fantasy but not transmigration)

Love advice from the great duke of hell (comedy, weird faces slightly to the left, kinda isekai if summoning counts? Fun demon guys in there)

Vainglorious is... admittedly the weird one out here for having less weird faces but the shenanigans at times feel similar.

Princess Hurricane is two isekais for the price of one and although there isn't much out yet I would say it does hit some of the greatest estate's good spots, both comedy-vise and weird faces-vise.

That's all, have a good day, big fan of the normal spaceship, peace and wellfishes!

So I get that an isekai is a portal fantasy with Asian characters but what the fuck is a transmigration

I spent too long working in biology and I can only imagine a flock of wild Protagonists heading closer to the equator for the winter

[aquamystic]

what kind of trope will your next relationship be like?

hiiii! i am back again trying to help you romanticize your life because reality kinda... sucks sometimes SO let's bring some cool romantic tropes and see what your next relationship will be like!! remember that it is mostly to have fun and - again - to appreciate the beauty of our life!! 🌷 basically, if your next love story was a movie, what kind of trope would it be?

it will not speak to everyone so just let it go! 🧚🏻‍♀️

choose the picture you feel most called to or that sparks a memory! 💫

pile 1.

enemies to lovers. hot passionate tension. strong disgust yet incredible chemistry. constant fighting and feeling like fate is against you. you both have tempers and you enjoy annoying the others, especially when it comes to what you believe in. there is some opposition between your views on life and that creates exciting debates. slowly, you will both realize your feelings but all this tension and an external situation will make you deny all those feelings - although the sexual tension is hard to ignore. your lover is fiery, aggressive, hot, passionate, fun. before completely exploring all this chemistry, you are separated by fate and you try to convince yourself that it does not matter, that you do not care - but you do. it feels like you have not been able to really live it, to fully enjoy it and it feels bitter. but you will start to fight for it because you will both realize that this potential is rare to find and that it can’t just go to waste. the electricity when you touch them can’t be ignored and just forgotten. so you fight for it. they might help you heal your inner child, let you loosen up a little and well, they will appreciate you in your worst state because they will be very much aware of your WORST side but you will realize that someone loves you in your worst and that feels very healing.

pile 2.

age difference or one of them has not lived as much as the other. spiritual experience. soulmate kind of love. adrenaline. feeling complete - finally. perhaps someone who is of a different ethnicity. one of the two is younger or less mature but brings so much energy and life to the older / more mature one who gets to share all his experiences. very passionate and loving. love at first sight even. something is preventing them to reunite but the younger one is ready to rise above society’s expectations that appear dull and dumb. risking everything together and going on crazy adventures. also, impossible love because of hierarchy : a royal, a servant or a boss, a subordinate. discovering what life really is about together. your love story will feel like a hurricane, you or your person will just storm into your life and destroy every conceptions and representations you have of love and even of life. one of the two is very unpredictable but they have a heart of gold while the other feels very much broken (i was listening to the shining by the neighbourhood and the lyrics stuck for this group). one of the two could feel like they have the weight of the world on their shoulders and bam, here arrives this little ball of energy who lives life to the fullest. very refreshing love, like a breath of fresh air.

pile 3.

i hate everyone but you and everyone hates me but you. two people against the world. no one can defy us. the other is their home. could also be a third-party situation : one of them is the conventionally attractive love interest you are supposed to fall in love with but this other person… there is something about them you can’t deny. they are better than most humans you know. they are all you care about. the decision is taken but others do not agree with this. you are a powerful queen, rich and destined to compromise for your country. but there is this one person - enemy of the nation, old friend of lesser condition - that you feel is your real lover deep within. they are your home. the solution to your loneliness. the remedy to your broken heart. feeling guilty because of all those expectations on you. but you can’t listen to them, you want to feel selfish and listen to your heart. maybe you will break their heart at first - or the other way around - and you will have some time apart before reuniting. maybe they are a childhood friend you lost too, someone you hurt. but after this loss and hurt, you will be regretting and when you see them again… wow, all the anger, frustration and love will resurface. it will take some time again but at the end, you will be together and it feels like life is finally complete.

[disaster-j]

A lot of speculation (and some bitchass judgemental commentary) on why Tommy calls Buck Evan and i wanna give my two cents

I believe that Chim did NOT introduce them properly when he showed up. He was just like "hey Tommy bro it's been forever we gotta meet under non someone's life threatening circumstances oh yeah these losers are with me they're at the 118 too say hi losers this guy is gonna steal us a chopper"

And Buck was standing there a little starstruck as Tommy smiled and shook his hand and he definitely did his lil anxious stutter thing where he went "oh um hi im- evan- evan buckley" and before he could manage to get out the "you can call me Buck part" Tommy went "hi Evan, nice to meet you" and the fucking SOFT way Tommy said his name just had Buck's brain melting so he forgot about the Buck thing and then well they were stealing helicopters flying into hurricanes and it just settled as A Thing in his head that Tommy calls him Evan and Buck kinda just Likes It.

Meanwhile Tommy is increasingly confused about the Buck thing the more time they spend together and the more time he spends with the extended 118 fam the more he realises that NO ONE calls Buck Evan except Evan had very specifically introduced himself as "Evan. Evan Buckley" and had never once told Tommy he could call him Buck and now it's been so long Tommy's just afraid to ask what's going on.

This is all now canon in my head also I wanna read fics where Tommy is confused about the name thing now HAS ANYONE WRITTEN THE FICS!?!?

[yowumi]

underground boxer katsuki bakugou x nurse f! reader [ modern au ] TW. angst & smut

Underground boxer Katsuki Bakugou x Nurse F! Reader

Summary. Underground boxer Katsuki Bakugou who grew up watching his father fight in the ring, seeing the way men get knocked down just from the strikes of his fathers fist made his heart pump, he wanted to feel that adrenaline rush. Since then his father has passed and he fought his way into the life of a boxer. He wasn’t raised to be cared for or enjoy relying on other people, so why is it that he can’t wait for you to patch him up?

.

.

.

Warnings. Fighting, Violence, Slight gore (nothing too serious), Angst (not as much as i thought there would be) Crying, Smut, Masterbation, Obsession, Bakugou has lowkey never felt the touch of a woman, etc. (Not too much smut really)

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

A/N. this won the vote, i hope you guys enjoy (I love angsty shit) there’s implied smut and masterbation althought it isn’t very heavy. Ive been recovering from the hurricane that has been passing so I kinda brainstormed this and quick wrote in in 3 days, I hope you guys enjoy and stay safe with all the crazy weather happening <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

One hit to the left, another to the right, 3 hits to the left and STRIKE. A man down.

Katsuki can feel the man get back up in hesitation, seeing his legs threatening to fall yet katsuki was untouched having the man on defense the whole round. What a sad component and this is supposed to be one of the best?

What a joke.

Taking katsuki lost in pride for granted, the man strikes him with a punch straight to the jaw, katsuki laughs already drunk of the adrenaline of such an unexpected move from someone as pathetic as him.

“atta girl, you’ve finally put your big girl pants on, i see” he teased the man, only making his rage stronger.

the guy comes charging at him in full rage, giving katsuki the advantage and knocking the man straight out leaving the man to hit the floor in a thump.

“yeah katsuki, you get his ass!” Kirishima cheers on from the bleachers knowing he’s up next.

Kirishima throws him his towel, “you make it hard for me to top that” and Katsuki gives a small glance of acknowledgment.

Katsuki wasn’t very talkative or perhaps he was talkative, but not very friendly. Although, Kirishima was someone he respected, he had known him since middle school so he’s friendly in his own way.

As Katsuki chugs down his water, some spilling on his chin, As stain begins to walk around the court, coming closer to Katsuki. Stain was known for his intense boxing skills, leaving some of them with eternal injuries that were fatal for many.

But Katsuki couldn’t give one shit. He had never met nor cared enough to listen to who he was, he hated the way he walked in like he owned the place, with that smug grin of his. God, he just wanted to punch that stupid look off his face.

“Who the hell is that runt” Katsuki orders answers from Kirishima, feeling the adrenaline rush comeback to him.

Kirishima gives off a small laugh, He wondered how Katsuki really didn’t know who he was, the guy was basically famous in the underground world.

“That’s Stain, he’s one of the best” Kirishima starts standing up knowing Katsuki’s temper might get the best of him, “He’s one of the guys you might not want to mess with in here, heard he’s killed a few.” He warned.

Stain notices the angry blonde haired man staring at him with hatred, in fact, Stain noticed from the second he walked in. He’s heard a lot about this new upcoming boxer ‘bakugou’, Katsuki being known for his punches being referred to as a ‘bomb’ or ‘explosion’, knocking his opponent’s out in one blow.

“Yeah, well it seems that bitch has a staring problem, he’s been staring at me like he wants my ass ever since he’s walked in.”

Katsuki begins to make his way over to Stain with nails in his fists as he hears Kirishima chase after him, “Hey katsuki wait- hold on now, you aren’t thinking man!”

“I’m just gonna put it out straight, I don’t like you or the way you walk around like you own everyone, so quit staring at me, will you!” Katsuki yells out at him with his usual annoyed aggression.

“Ah Bakugou, it’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard plenty, nice to finally meet you” Stain says giving a nonchalant and unreadable expression on him.

“I don’t care, i’ll care enough to know who you are if you can beat me in the ring.”

Stain thinks about his offer, “Hm, I guess we should settle this in the ring then Mr. Bakugou” He says giving one of his smirks that ticks Katsuki off.

“Yeah whatever, when I win, you’ll have to take your old ass away from here, maybe take yourself to a nursing home while you’re at it, grandma!” Katsuki yells at the man.

“And if I win?” Stain raises a brow. Kirishima sends a worried expression towards Bakugou, In which he ignores.

“You can take my spot in the ring for good or my ass, I don’t care, it’s not like I’ll lose anyways,” Katsuki says over confidently.

“If I win, you Katsuki Bakugou, will have to retire early.”

“Bet that.”

“I’ll see you in 7 months.” And like that it was settled.

They shake on it and go their separate ways.

Kirishima and Katsuki walk out into the dark alley in their usual comfortable silence before Kirishima finally breaks it,

“I don’t have a good feelings about this Katsuki, the guys dangerous and you both are putting your lives on the line” He expresses his concern.

“Every time we step into that ring we put our life on the line, this is no different, he is nothing special, quit worrying about it already.” Katsuki brushes him off.

Kirishima stares away as if he’s biting his tongue trying not to say what’s on his mind, Katsuki notices.

“If it’s bothering you that much, just come out and say it already, jeez” Katsuki says annoyed putting his hands in his pockets and stops walking.

“Well…maybe it isn’t a bad idea for you to retire early, you’re an amazing fighter, i’m not saying this because i think you aren’t good but because you have potential to get out of this place, you aren’t too deep in yet, you can still have a way out and live a good life, I don’t want you dying in here.” Kirishima feels relived finally getting that off his chest.

“Fighting is all I know, there’s nothing else for me, that’s just stupid, why the hell would i quit for a simple life like that when i could be rocking people’s shit and ego’s to the ground and you have a baby on the way with your girl, if anything you should be taking your own advice.”

Kirishima goes quiet, he knows he isn’t the person to be speaking about that subject when he knows Katsuki is right. They both needed help. Though they would never admit that.

With that they say their goodbyes to each other waving each other off as they go their separate ways.

Katsuki walks his way home on his usual route before he sees the same white van pass by him 3 times now, which stands out in the darkness of the night. He stares it down annoyed by it already before the van stops.

Katsuki takes his hands out of his pockets getting ready to take on whoever the hell is in that van.

Before he could react a guy comes up from behind him pressing a knife slashing against his rib leaving a huge scar of blood across his stomach. “Fuck! Come here, I’ll fucking kill you bitch!”

The man who stabbed him was covered in all black, jumping his way into the van before it drives off in a rush, Katsuki holds his wound with little complaints: to be fair, it isn’t the first time he’s been stabbed.

He walks his way home holding a hand against his stomach, figuring he will fix it up once he gets home with some alcohol and gauze.

Before he could reach his block he starts to feel his vision blur and the world starts spinning, before he hits the ground harshly, bleeding out onto the floor.

and just like that, he’s out.

“Oh my! Don’t worry sir, I’ll call an ambulance right now! They are on their way!” Katsuki heard an elderly woman’s voice say in a panic as he blacked out, barely remaining conscious.

He woke up in the hospital.

He hates hospitals, he hated the sounds of the beeping, he hated the pathetic ass nightgowns, he hated the nurses that think they can fix everything, he hated being taken care of.

It was pathetic, he thought.

He gets up to walk out the room, taking out the shit the doctors have injected in him with no reaction. Before he reaches the door handle a young women opens the door.

You smile at him, “Oh it seems you’re awake Mr. Bakugou, how are you feeling?”, sending him a comforting arm around his waist, directing him back towards his bed with a light expression.

Katsuki doesn’t move your hand, he just sits back down. What drugs did they give him, holy shit.

“Don’t worry, the slash in your rib wasn’t too deep and was an easy stitch, you will only be left with a scar. It seems you were already bleeding and bruised all over your body before you were cut, can you explain what happened last night for me sir?” you look up at him from your stool.

You looked like an angel, he thought maybe he died.

What the hell, why is he thinking these things?

“Got stabbed that’s all, can i get out of here now” He says looking away, deciding your eyes on him we’re making him not think properly.

How long has it been since a woman was nice to him? or looked at him like that? Had a woman ever shown concern for him before?

You let out a soft laugh at his desperation to get out, “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t be long sir, I would just like to hold you here a bit longer to ask you some questions and make sure you heal properly!”

“Okay” He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, your laugh was mesmerizing. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

As the days go by, you helped him change his bandages, watched over him, helped him get up, even though the feeling of your touch on his bare chest made him see stars.

In this time he also learned about you, how they were the same age, how you became a doctor because of your mother who was sick and noticed how your coffee was always cold.

On the fourth and final day you were changing his bandages once again, “Mr. Bakugou” You say grabbing his attention.

“You can call me Katsuki, don’t like being called that.” he stated out, he wasn’t in his annoyed state as often when he was with you.

“Okay, Katsuki…May I ask what you do for a living, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it but you’re bruised and cut everywhere and some look old and others look recent, all look different from one another, I’m concerned.” you say while running your fingers around the bruises and cuts examining them with your eyes.

“Why?” He asks

“Why what?” You ask, confused.

“Why are you concerned?” He was genuinely confused, Why were you so careful and concerned about him? Why did you take care of him like this?

“Because I’m your nurse, Katsuki, it’s my job” you say not thinking of anything of it, you were his nurse. Of course you noticed how beautiful he was, and how you found it cute when he looked down like a kid in trouble when he would slightly raise his tone at you, and maybe you did like his company a bit but you were his nurse, right? you had only know him for a few days, it’s just part of the job, right?

Katsuki looks away.

How could be so stupid.

It was your job, there was no reason behind any of it or feelings, you’re a nurse, he is your patient. Why did he feel so disappointed in your answer? Why was he expecting more from you, what was wrong with him.

You notice the change in expression as you finish wrapping him up,

“Did i say something wrong or accidentally hurt you? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t go prying like that, your business is your business Mr. Bakugou.”

“You are fine, think i’m ready to be let out though.” He says not maintaining eye contact as he puts his shirt on getting ready to leave.

“Oh, I understand. You are already signed for release but I will walk you out!” you offer with a smile hoping to cheer him up.

“I’m good, I’ve got it.” He says while walking out.

And just like that, you were gone.

But you weren’t, not from his mind. For the 3 weeks he would think about you constantly, craving the way you held his waist and body like a fragile piece of glass, missing your sweet laugh and comforting smile, the thought of you lingered inside his mind and soul, leaving him distracted constantly. Which was new for Katsuki.

He got in the ring, yet his mind felt so far away from it. Your face in his head, playing back the few days you spent together, as your patient. He needed to take a few shots before the round, just to get his mind off you.

He didn’t want that to be the last time he felt your warmth and hospitality. He wanted more, he wanted to be embraced in it.

Just like that he sent a striking punch to his opponent, another easy day, although he had some blood on his hands.

He never went to the hospital, he hates hospitals.

He can take care of himself, and it was a small bleeding and the usual fracture and pain of getting hurt out there.

So why did he drive his way to the hospital and specifically request that only you could check to see if his hand was broken?

When he saw your face he immediately felt the warmth in his chests, like a hole had been filled in it. Like it wasn’t empty anymore.

The way your hands felt examining his hands, tracing your fingers all over his big veiny hands.

In which you noticed, you had never noticed his hands before, how much bigger they were than yours or how much taller he was than you that you suddenly started to realize.

Or the way he looked at you like you were an angel sent down just for him.

Suddenly you felt suffocated and trapped by his stare, feelings nervous, why did you feel nervous with a patient?

“Come with me, Mr. Bakugou, I’ll get you examined right away” You say looking into his eyes

He nods and follows you to a room where he sits down and watches you as you examine his hands, not taking his eyes off you, feeling like the world has paused now that he’s with you again.

Like nothing else matters.

Is this what Kirishima was talking about?

Is this the simple life, simple needs, he needed you, but he loved that he needed you? He wanted more, more, more.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, right?

“did you get bangs?” he asked now noticing the change of appearance, it looked good on her.

You blushed, surprised that he would notice something like that. “I did, im surprised you noticed.” Why did you feel so jittery all of a sudden?

“I like them.” He compliments you.

“Thank you, Mr. Bakugou.” You respond slightly losing composure as your face turns a light red at his compliments.

“Makes you look more mature, it’s sexy” He says without thinking, it was like he couldn’t control his thoughts today.

You wonder if you heard him right, his face showed no expression so you figured you misheard. “What happened to your hand today?” You ask taking advantage of how talkative he is today compared to the last time you talked.

“It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about” He looks down at you, his heart felt heavy, he wanted to kiss you so bad.

He wanted you to take care of him in all the places he needed you.

He wanted you to touch him more, he needed it.

Before thinking he leaned down to press his lips against yours in the dark room.

And you let him. For a few seconds, you wanted to enjoy it, entranced in the moment.

You let his tongue enter your mouth and hold your cheek, letting him enter your mouth before coming back to reality, you were at work. Anyone could walk in.

And then you taste it.

The alcohol on his breath wasn’t something you could ignore.

No.

This was wrong on so many levels, he is your patient. you shouldn’t take advantage on him.

you push him off.

After you allow yourself to catch your breathe and see bakugou wait for you to say something, did he do something wrong?

“I think you should be assigned a new nurse.” you say. “I’ll have nurse jenna come and check you out, I don’t feel this is an appointment thing to do as your nurse.”

“Wait- what? I don’t want a new nurse, I requested you.” He said in slight sadness in his eyes, he had came here for you.

“I am sorry, Mr. Bakugou.” You say walking out.

He had no interest being in this hospital any longer if you weren’t taking care of him, he walked out back to his home.

His home that he lived alone in.

He sat in his bed still a bit tipsy, he fucked everything up didn’t he? He scared you off just because he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself.

And yet he can’t feel sorry he did it.

He would do it again.

He would do anything to feel your lips against his again, he took the bottle of liquor near his bed and pressed it to his lips.

He wanted to taste you again.

And just like that Katsuki slid a hand down his chest, the same way you would, trying to mimic the way you did.

He let himself do that, not rushing, doing it slowly just how you would. He closes his eyes, imagining it was you.

Before he slides his hand down to his lower stomach, going even slower, hesitating.

This was so wrong.

But it felt so fucking good.

He pressed his palm over his sweatpants, rubbing the bulge in his pants to ease it some.

Before he slowly slid his hands in his pants, the same hands you touched.

He stroked himself over his boxers. feeling the precum already start to leak from him.

He felt so overstimulated.

He just needed you.

Just let him have tonight to think of you this way, it will be the last time, he promises.

…

1 Month Later.

Match after Match.

It was all he could do to get his mind away from you, before it was you taking his mind away from the matches.

One punch after another, he couldn’t stop fighting, He needed to keep fighting.

He found himself becoming even more aggressive, even shutting out Kirishima completely, as Kirishima became more concerned coming closer by the day to retiring.

He also found himself drinking more.

He never really was a drinker, he just wanted to numb the thoughts of you.

“Get me my usual” he demands the bartender as he slides some cash across the table.

“Alright sir, i’m just gonna need some Identification to confirm your over the age of 21.”

“You guys don’t usually ask for that, You’ve known me long enough to know i’m of age, now just get me it, i’m not in the mood” He says growing irritated.

“I’m sorry sir, but our new policy requires us to check everytime.”

“Well I don’t have my ID on me so can’t you just take a rain check or something.” Katsuki says growing even more annoyed by the second.

“I’m afraid I cannot sell you any alcohol until I see some ID, i’m going to need you to leave” The bartender slides him back his cash.

This ticks Katsuki off and he loses it. He randomly punches a guy who was walking in the bar as he starts to head out.

The guy turns towards him in anger, much bigger than katsuki

“What are you looking at big guy, you want a kiss or something, fuck off” He says now yelling.

The guys says to take this outside and little did Katsuki know that the man had a gun on him.

BOW!

one shot barely grazing his skin near the left side of his stomach and the pressure of the bullet sends Katsuki stepping back before the man comes at him with full force, bruising him.

Next thing he knows he’s in a corner of an alley beaten up half to death before he sees a familiar face.

He sees you.

He must have died.

How are you here?

“Katsuki! Is that you? What happened, It’s okay, I’ll take of you now just stay conscious for me please! your badly injured!” You say as you try to keep your composure but tears end up spilling out anyways. You try and pick up his body weight as he slouches against you as you take him to your apartment.

You lay him down on your couch carefully, thankfully he was only grazed so it wasn’t anything too major but he was still beaten up pretty badly.

You take care of him, you both don’t look nor say anything to each other. Before Katsuki stops your movements, placing a soft hand on your wrists.

“I’m so sorry.” he says looking you now in the eye with something you’ve never seen before. Not that angry or annoyed look, he seemed hurt, genuine, desperate.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t like you weren’t thinking of him too, it isn’t like you disliked the shared kiss between the two of you. It wasn’t like you weren’t waiting on him, as well.

maybe you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even realize Bakugou was now crying against your chest softly and quietly, holding onto your waist.

You held him.

Before you could think anymore, you pressed soft kisses against his forehead and ran your hands through his hair.

He looked up with you with teary eyes, “I get so angry constantly, I don’t even mean it, I never think before i do anything, please tell me if i’m doing this wrong. Don’t act accordingly, I don’t want to be your patient.”

“You aren’t my patient, Katsuki. I want you.” you say trying to reassure him as you cup his face, and he gives you a boyish expression as if he’s relieved by your answer.

“Please let me take care of you.” You look down at him desperately wanting to tend to his wounds, his hand is twitching.

Little does she knows it’s because he is nervous, not injured.

he nods and lets you.

You trace your fingers around his hands, this time more carefully, you kiss his fingers after wrapping his hands as he watches, never taking his eyes off you.

You’re kissing the same hands he used to jerk off to you.

He finds himself growing aroused at the thought, you were on top of him, he tried his best to contain his dick and not be such a guy.

Before you could think twice, you looked hard at his fingers before taking two in your mouth, kissing his finger tips as you stare at him.

You knew what it was doing to him.

You felt Katsuki grow under you, he felt big. You could feel him twitch as you took 2 fingers into your mouth, softly sucking.

You slowly begin to grind against the bulge under you as he grabs your hips holding you against him as he struggles not to let his eyes fall to the back of his head.

You begin to crouch over to him getting ready to take his pants off before he stops you.

“No” He says bluntly.

“Wha-“ you didn’t finish your sentence before he flipped you over with no effort, hovering over you now.

“I want to be the one to take care of you now.” He says looking down at your body like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

He placed a soft peck kiss on your lips, “You’re beautiful, Y/n.” He says softly moaning against the skin of your neck before softly kissing the skin.

You blush under him and look away, he turns your face towards him. “Please don’t look away from me, want to look at your face while i take care of you, angel”

You nod in obedience and open your arms away from your chest to give him room to work his way down.

He kisses the softness of your collar bones, he thinks he’s never been this gentle in his life, it felt so easy being gentle with you, like he didn’t have to hold up his rude boy attitude with you.

He looked up for you to search for any discomfort, making sure you were perfectly comfortable as he did this. He took a hand to your chest and laid a soft firm grab, unbuttoning your shirt.

He leaves your bra on as he places his mouth over the soft plush skin of your breasts, playing with your nipples giving it a gentle twists loving the way your arch against him and let out a small whine when he touches you.

He loved that he was calling you pleasure, not harm.

“Katsuki, I need you.” The way you moaned out his name had him struggling to keep himself calm.

He wanted to hear more of it, just like that.

“i know, baby” He says while taking all your clothes off before removing his own as well.

That night he took care of you, in every way you needed. He wanted to return the favor you gave to him so many times. He would do it over and over again, He felt like a dog, loyal to you in every way.

…

The day of the Fight.

5 months later.

Stain enters the ring confidently as fans cheered loudly ranting on, some even making bets on who would die in the ring tonight.

Katsuki walks out onto the ring, blocking out all noises around him, his mind only on his fiancé (you) at home thinking he was asleep.

God, she would kill me if she found out, he thought to himself.

He hasn’t been in this ring since the day you’ve made love, he decided to completely devote himself to be a better man for you.

He just couldn’t miss this fight, and honestly if he did he probably would’ve been killed for it or worst they would’ve hurt you considering the fact that Stain was most likely the one who sent that man to stab him that day.

“You ready to get your ass beat, kid” Stain said spitting on the ground they walked on.

“Give me all you’ve got, old man”

And like that the match started, blow after blow, both stain and Katsuki going at each others throats, not backing down on anything, fighting for dominance in the ring.

Before Katsuki takes the high ground now finding a weak spot, landing a sharp punch sending a shock to Stain, earning a cocky chuckle from him

“Not bad, kid”

Katsuki takes this chance to come at full power, not giving Stain time to get up or reclaim his place, he knocks him down to the ground.

RIGHT.

LEFT.

He cockily laughs feeling himself getting cocky and drunk over the adrenaline of this before his mind runs back to you, a home to go back to.

He has a home to go back to.

He wants to come home to you, safe and sound, he doesn’t want you to cry or see him hurt, He wanted to be the one to take care of you.

Stain took Katsukis distraction to his advantage before pinning him to the ground harshly, making Katsuki groan. That’s gonna leave a bruise on his back.

Stain gets up and hangs on the ring.

No more.

He hears your voice, your sweet gentle voice.

Enough.

Katsuki could have easily gotten up. He easily could have dodged Stain. He easily could have beat him, claiming the title of number one.

BANG.

Stain jumped on top of Katsuki’s body landing a finishing fist on Katsuki’s chest before it hits the ground next to him, almost grazing him.

He missed.

He missed?

Why didn’t he hit him?

“What the hell” Katsuki yells out in confusion.

“I’m not gonna kill ya, kid. Your friend over there saved your ass, You both got something to go home to, don’t die here.”

Kirishima.

That little bastard saved his ass.

And just like that the match was over, Katsuki let Stain win.

This would be Katsuki’s last match.

Stain was right.

He had something to go home to, a beautiful woman who cared about him and that he was crazy about. He had a life ahead of him.

No title is worth more than that.

You were his home.

…

.

.

.

A/N. Apologies for the rushed and corny ending lowkey 😭 I have my mind set on a gojo fic at the moment that i am trying to work up the courage to write so i’ve been preoccupied, reblogs and notes are appreciated !! This isn’t proof read so srry if there’s any mistakes

[feirceangel]

Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.

So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!

Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.

Word Count: 1,737

Warnings: arranged marriage, attempted choking/stabbing, non-sexual nudity (reader), Powerful! Reader.

"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.

"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."

Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"

"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."

Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."

The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."

Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.

Always plans within plans within plans.

It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.

House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.

The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.

Until now, apparently.

A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.

He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.

And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.

He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.

~~~

Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.

So much more colour than Feyd is used to.

His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.

"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.

"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."

Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.

"As I said, it's an honour."

His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.

"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.

"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."

This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"

"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."

Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.

His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.

They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.

The viewing box is empty.

"There my lord."

Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.

"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.

He hadn't expected this.

Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.

She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.

He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.

“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.

“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”

He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.

“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”

He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.

“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”

Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.

He cannot wait.

There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.

Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.

He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.

You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”

His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.

“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.

“I prefer to do it myself.”

He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”

“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.

It seems he’s struck a nerve.

“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”

You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”

Your last statement has him pausing.

“What did you say?”

Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.

“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”

He does not remember such a thing.

“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”

Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.

A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.

He’s shocked he forgot it.

You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.

“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.

“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”

He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.

“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.

You smirk, “Does it not please you?”

“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.

“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”

He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.

You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.

Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.

You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.

Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.

“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”

“None were you, my lord.”

“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.

You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”

“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.

He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.

He releases his hold.

“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”

You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.

“Because I will make you.”

Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.

“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.”

[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]

[demonic0angel]

Ooooh, Athena as Jazz's guardian goddess was kinda cool. I was like to see a prompt like that.

Red Hood clicked his guns and cursed. He had run out of bullets and the gang members were now about to find him and his henchmen in a few minutes. He glanced to the side, where the rest of his henchmen also shook their heads, waving their empty guns. He turned to Wolf next, who looked largely unconcerned despite her having empty guns as well. In fact, she was holding her hands together in some sort of prayer.

He had never taken her as the religious type, but whatever.

“Alright,” Red Hood hissed. “I’ll stay as a distraction, but you all will scatter and then come back to the base, okay? Stay there. If you don’t see me in the next few hours, wait until the next morning. Wolf is in charge.”

“No need.”

They all turned to Wolf, who finally straightened from her devout posture. “I can handle this, Hood.”

“… there’s twenty-five gang members with guns and only eight of us. You should run. I have armor and I know my way around here so—”

There was a soft cooing noise.

They all glanced up, where an owl had flown in and was now resting on a utility pole. It cooed, and Red Hood tensed, but quickly ignored it as the other gang members finally rushed in.

“There they are!”

Fuck! They were too late to run away!

Red Hood moved to block Wolf from the oncoming bullets, but before anything could happen, a gold spear flew over him and then struck straight through the head of a opposing gang member.

Silence reigned as everyone stared in shock. Before Red Hood could react, Wolf ran past him and took a running leap, jumping into the fray as she pulled the spear out of the corpse and then swung. She was holding a large, shimmering shield with a Medusa head on it to block the bullets as the opposing gang members screamed, and she moved expertly, swinging the spear like she was straight out of Rome.

Like a hurricane, she completely bulldozed the opposition.

Red Hood and his henchmen all stood there in silence, completely and utterly stunned.

When she was done, she stood in the middle of the bloodbath with her shield and spear in hand like some warrior goddess out of the legends. In fact, she was so beautiful that Red Hood almost wanted to drop to his knees and worship.

“… are you a goddess?” Red Hood blurted out.

Wolf paused in flicking away the blood from her spear and then burst into laughter. She was still giggling as she came over and the owl that they had all forgotten about flew down to sit on her shoulders. It fluffed its feathers and watched them all with sharp, golden eyes.

“No,” Wolf said, her voice sounding amused. “But I follow an excellent goddess.”

The owl hooted proudly.

Red Hood’s eyes widened as he then asked, “Holy shit, can I join?”