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[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon was seething. Never had he been so viscerally angry, his temper dangerously towing the tight rope that was his self control. You’d almost been killed. You’d been shot, and you were damn lucky that it hadn’t been fatal.

He found you on the roof later that night, no longer hiding the pain the bullet wound in your side had caused once you thought you were alone. It took all of two seconds of him seeing you hurting like that for him to snap.

“The fuck were you thinking out there, Y/N?!” His voice echoed in the night air, causing you to flinch slightly. “Do please tell me you’ve got a reasonable explanation for what happened.”

“Simon, please just calm down for a minute.” Your voice was soft, too soft, and it only fueled his anger more.

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” Simon bellowed, his self control rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “You almost fuckin’ died, Y/N!”

Simon hated the way you flinched, hated the way you backed up ever so slightly away from him, but he couldn’t control himself. He had almost lost you.

“I know that, Simon. I know. But I don’t regret what went down.” You forced your voice steady, your eyes not leaving his as you attempted to stand your ground. “I-.”

“You don’t regret almost getting shot? Y/N, you’re not on this team to make reckless decisions. If I knew you’d be making choices like that, I’d have had Price kick you off the team months ago! Almost dying, for what? For what?!” Simon moved closer to you, the red in his vision nearly blinding, and this time you didn’t back away.

“For you, asshole!” You screamed, your hands reaching for Simon’s chest, pushing him as hard as you possibly could. Simon barely moved an inch before you screamed again. “For you! If I hadn’t taken that bullet, you would’ve died!”

Simon’s world stopped in that moment, the red vanishing from his vision, his heart coming to a slow halt in his chest as he absorbed your words. For him?

“He was aiming at you, Simon. If I hadn’t stepped in the way, we would’ve lost you. And I.” You trailed off, unable to look at the hulking man in front of you. “I don’t know, I didn’t hesitate, it was as if it was just instinct for me.”

Simon could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the soft thud thud thud the only thing keeping him grounded. You’d saved him. You’d risked your life to save him.

You, the sweet soldier who always put others first. You, the one who’d always patched him up late at night, laughing at his shitty jokes. You, the one who understood him like nobody else. You, the one person in this godforsaken world that got him to lower the never ending walls within him. You, the one he’d unknowingly loved for years. Saved him.

“I know it was stupid, and if you want to kick me off of the team for it, fine. But I’d do it again.” You threw your hands up in the air, and Simon didn’t miss the way you winced from the pain in your side. “I don’t regret it.”

Simon only stared at you, his eyes betraying none of the inner turmoil that he was currently experiencing.

“I couldn’t lose you, Simon.” Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, your eyes falling on the lower half of his mask. “Not now, not ever. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that bullet hit you.”

Simon’s eyes found yours as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt heavy, incapable of moving. For the first time in his life, he truly didn’t know what to say.

He watched as you chewed your bottom lip, your eyes leaving his yet again as you looked down at your feet. God he wishes he could say something, anything, but as always words failed him around you.

“I’ve got to go report in to Price.” You said, slowly turning away from him to face the door. “I won’t apologize for what I did, but I’m sorry for causing you to doubt my ability to support the team. Have a good night, lieutenant.”

Watching you turn away from him had finally stirred something within him, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. He had to make this right.

“Y/N.” Simon found his voice as you reached the roof’s door, causing you to turn to face him. “Wait.”

Your heart practically stopped beating upon finding Simon’s mask discarded, his face now fully bare for you to see. You weren’t sure what you had expected, once you’d finally seen him, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He was simply beautiful. Every scar, every small freckle, dimple, wrinkle had formed his face impeccably well, and you couldn’t help but stare at him as your mind ran completely blank.

You’d fallen for the masked man long ago, his dry humor, loyalty and bravery were something that’d you’d found yourself drawn to. You’d meant what you said to him about not regretting taking a bullet for him. You loved him. And truthfully couldn’t fathom a life without him.

“Now you see me.” Simon breathed, his eyes softening as he watched you take in every inch of his face. He should’ve felt vulnerable, shy even. But he didn’t. Not with you. He wanted you to see him, every imperfect inch of him.

He bared himself to you, let his face and eyes tell you everything he didn’t know how to express with words.

“I’ve always seen you, Simon Riley.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as your hand softly cupped his cheek. “Always.”

And that was all it took for Simon to know he loved you.

[bleach-your-panties]

sexy prompts for inumaki! all characters aged 18+

"T-Toge...we shouldn't do this here...they could easily see us, even from down there!"

The white-haired male only breathed a warm sigh into the crook of your neck as he helped you balance your leg up on the windowsill.

While Maki, Yuta, and Panda trained in the courtyard down below, Toge was sliding his long cock between your creamy, wet folds.

Your left hand haphazardly gripped onto the material of his pants while your right arm laid wrapped around his neck.

His nose bumped against your cheek, his silent way of asking you if you wanted him to continue.

"Yes, but, please Toge, we need to be careful. Okay?"

Those last words were lost on his ears as he shifted and gripped you underneath your armpits.

He expertly aimed his cock up at your hole and allowed you to sink yourself onto it just as you'd done so many times before.

Your face swarmed with heat as Toge bounced you on him hurriedly - there was no telling who might come around the corner or down the hallway and see the two of you in this position, but that was the entire thrill of public sex, wasn't it?

Not to mention your friends who might idly decide to glance upwards and get an eyeful of Toge pounding you in front of the open window.

But Toge, the ever-observant boyfriend noticed your apprehension about being caught, so what did he do?

He folded you at the waist, never slipping out of you as he continued his relentless thrusts.

"T-Toge! Slow down!" Your hands gripped his legs now while your head hung upside down, giving you a perfect view of his balls slamming against your ass.

"Huh, did you guys hear something? It sounded like it came from the second floor." Panda pointed a clawed finger up towards the window, where Inumaki gave him a close-eyed smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh, never mind, it's just Inumaki."

Maki pushed the furry away and adjusted her glasses to gaze up at the window as well.

"Inumaki?! What are you doing up there? Your ass should be down here training with the rest of us! And where's Y/N?!"

She impatiently stalked off with her staff thrown over her shoulder, mumbling something about slackers. Yuta brushed a hand through his dark hair sighed, and followed after the green-haired woman with Panda in tow.

"I'm gonna cum, Toge..I...my head...getting dizzy..."

Next, you were pulled up and your back slammed up against the wall beside the window. Your shaky legs came up to wrap around your boyfriend's waist.

Toge continued to bounce you on him in this new position, relishing in the sound of your moans and the way your chest bounced in rhythm with his thrusts.

Your nails dug into his shoulders while your head lolled to one side. He wanted to laugh at you, but instead let out a loud grunt. His hips stuttered and he carefully lowered both of your bodies to the floor, dick pulsing and shooting his cum up against your walls that gripped him for dear life.

"Toge...you're a monster..." You huffed at him once you came down from your orgasm and he did laugh this time while holding up the "I love you" hand signal.

"I love you, too, you bitch."

----

sexy prompt list:

#21 - Fucking with the window wide open

💗💗🍡°tagging: @darkstarlight82 @eternalalmondd

[midnight-pluto]

SAY ON SKIBIDI — damian w.

After an unfortunate incident involving a ball and your kneecap, you get sent to the nurses office with Damian in tow. In the isolation of the office, Damian tells you something that makes your mind short-circuit, and proceed to make him say that he means it.

contains: bsf!damian x reader, fluff, brainrot, swearing, humor, they're in middle school — both 14 years old, mention/description of injury, reader doesn't know damian is robin, short fic

a/n: this is the most brainrot thing i've ever written but i found this idea hilarious so i had to write it out

P.E. IS A stupid elective to have is what you've concluded. Sure, you've always thought that but you were normally able to sit out of most of the activities since all they cared about was the no phones rule and sometimes cared about what shoes you wore. You were content with that though.

You could spend the whole hour yapping Damian's ear off and he never objected to it all throughout the countless amount of times you did so. That was something you were thankful for since he was surprisingly a fantastic listener despite himself also being a yapper.

However, the one time a game has mandatory participation in P.E. is the one time you get hurt. What was the game? Dodgeball, because of course it had to be dodgeball along with the kids with the super good aim for some reason all being on the other team. Minus Damian, mainly because you begged him to stay.

Was it a good call though? Not sure since he'd end up by your side regardless of what team he was on, in the nurses office.

"What was the name of the boy who hit you?" the nurse asked, walking through the door, ice pack in hand.

"Dunno," you simply responded, gently taking the ice pack from her. Nodding your head in thanks, you wince a little at the contact with your ugly purple bruise and the sheer coldness of the ice pack.

"You both can stay here for the rest of the period which will end in," she cranes her head to look at the clock behind her, "roughly fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks."

"Thank you," Damian nods.

The nurse smiles in response. "It's not a problem," she says before she exits through the door and closes it halfway.

Once he could no longer hear the soft sound of her shoes stepping on the cold tile floor, Damian lets out a sigh. "That dude really needs to watch how hard he's throwing things."

"I know," you scoff, gently pressing down on your bruise with the ice pack, "But it's whatever I guess, he didn't intend on seriously hurting me anyways. I don't think so at least."

He merely tsk's at your statement. "How can you be so nonchalant when someone hurts you? Intentionally or not, how can you act so normal about it?"

You tilt your head in confusion at his words, "What do you mean by that?"

He just looks at you for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind, I just don't want to see you hurt. Physically or emotionally."

"Is... Is this your way of saying you care about me?"

"Do you really need me to say it out loud for you?" Damian sighed.

"Yes," you eagerly nodded, a smug smile on your face as Damian ran a hand through his black strands; head hanging low as he slouched against the wall he was leaning on.

"I care about you," he lifted his head to look you in your eyes.

Your smile soon turned into a wide-toothed grin at his words when a brilliant idea popped into your head. "Say on skibidi."

"Excuse me?"

"Say on skibidi. Say on skibidi that you care about me," you repeated.

"The brainrot has gotten the better of you, you're going to need more than just that ice pack," he deadpans.

"Wow! That's so mean," you gasp, lifting the ice pack slightly to glance at the bruise which has now turned into an icky yellow color. "C'mon, just say it."

"This is shameful," he says exasperatedly. "On skibidi," he visibly shudders, spitting out the word as if it were profanity, "I care about you." His head was turned away, facing the nurse's bathroom door instead of you with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Yipee!" you laugh at his facial expression when he turned his head back towards you, Damian's lips curled into a frown as well as an eyebrow twitching in annoyance. "See? It wasn't that hard to say."

"My pride has taken irreparable damage, I will never recover from this experience," he monotonously said.

"Now you're just being dramatic!" you huff out, "Are you really incapable of being silly?"

He pauses for a second as if in thought, "Maybe."

Truth was, it was a reoccurring thought that passed through his mind multiple times whenever he hung out with you. Being so carefree and open was never a luxury he got to have, even when he moved in with his father he still felt some form of obligation of stoicism in the manor.

"Wow, we really need to find a way to heal your inner child," you mention offhandedly paying more attention to your knee, not noticing the way Damian's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe," he muttered, barely audible enough for you to hear. His inner child, huh? He didn't know if it was still there at this point but your antics made him self-aware of the reality that he's a child soldier, his childhood wasn't the same as his peers and he knew there would always be a disconnect.

Though, maybe he could finally live as a child instead of a soldier around you.

a/n: turned more into a character study at the end there and it was kinda bittersweet but womp womp

[icarryitin]

Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

series masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

summary: You get injured on a case, and Spencer gets to play nurse. It’s a special kind of torture for both of you.

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

[soobnny]

brownies 4 u — lee felix x reader ; there is love in a batch of freshly baked brownies (0.7k words)

happy bday felix!

The sun had come down hours ago when you arrive at Felix’s dorm.

It’s late, a little too late for your liking because you tether between quiet footsteps and gentle actions so as to not shake anyone awake from their slumber.

You politely set your shoes down where everyone else’s are. Their dorm has always been the cleanest between the four. You suppose it might be his roommate, Seungmin’s doing.

“Baby?”

You hear him before you see him.

You would’ve ran to the direction of the sound had the air not been so delicate. Guilt sits horrendously at the bottom of your stomach at the thought that maybe the beeping of the door had woken him up, but in the periphery of your vision, there’s evidence that contrasts your suspicions.

“What are you doing awake?” You suppose you don’t need to ask upon closer look.

Between the commotion in the kitchen and the flowery apron he’s sporting around his neck (the one you’d gifted to him last Christmas), you already know what.

The more appropriate question was why.

“You said you were craving brownies earlier.”

Oh.

He’s so warm, and so kind, and he’s speaking so gently that it matches the way he’s smiling at you.

Your stomach swirls with an emotion entirely different from the guilt that had occupied it earlier. Despite your eyes dimming with tire, there’s no mistaking the fondness that litters your pupils when you look at the boy.

So that’s why.

“Sit down, they’re almost done.” Felix doesn’t leave without a kiss on your forehead, careful not to touch you with his flour-filled hands.

The proximity is enough for you to catch a whiff of his soap and the sweetness of the brownie batter.

You’ve never felt this way before.

And if the boy was being honest, he’d never felt this way before either. He’s never been the type to sacrifice his sleep over a simple craving you’d mentioned in passing.

While he has always been kind, Felix had no trouble drawing the line where friendship and love tow dangerously close to one another. With you, he finds that he doesn’t mind losing the extra hours he could’ve gotten had he not started baking. He doesn’t mind if he’s doing it in the premise of love.

Hyunjin had asked him to describe it once.

Love.

There is nothing potently more romantic than the way your heart feels, he thinks.

Felix will never find the words to answer Hyunjin, but if anyone were to spend a second being as in love with you as he is, they’d know. Sometimes, there’s no need for words. It’s just the way you make his heart beat in a way it has never before.

“You didn’t have to make me this.” Your heart swells when he takes the seat next to yours, two pieces of perfectly cut brownies on a plate.

“I wanted to.”

Your ‘thank you’ comes out whispered, and Felix spends the remainder of the time memorizing your smile the moment you take a bite.

“It’s really good.”

He mirrors your smile. Your cheeks puff up a little bit while you’re chewing, and there’s years of happiness and pain littered through little marks all over your skin. There’s no sight as perfect as the one he’s subjected to right now.

“Is it?” He asks, eyes quiet with comfort.

You hum. It doesn’t take long for you to finish it. You didn’t know before that something as simple as a brownie and the hands and the patience and the person behind it could be the brief peace that you needed amidst a rough week.

“Thank you, Felix.” Sincerity drips from your voice, and it makes Felix warm.

There is nothing more beautiful than genuineness, especially when it’s aimed at you. He’s convinced God had modeled you after kindness, and he’s even more thankful that he’d walked a path in his life that led him straight to you.

“Bed?”

“Hmm..”

“Don’t do this again when you’re tired, okay?” You mumble, pressing a kiss on his lips as your eyes struggle to keep open. But it’s something you have to remind him, so he won’t risk his sleep again. “We can always wait til the morning.”

“Okay.”

(Felix still does. He doesn’t think you understand that his sleep is a small price to pay to see you smile despite your own exhaustion. He’s always been weak at heart when it comes to you.)

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

The Rival (Part 2)

(Summary: Alastor sought to possess one of the only does in Pentagram City for the rut season, however, you wanted a mate, not a master. But what happens when a handsome new buck shows up one day and tries to capture your attention away from the Radio Demon. Who will you choose?)

Hey, so here is part two as promised (I rewrote it like 40 times 😅) please continue keep in mind that it's just practice for a beginner's writing class

***

Alastor POV

GOD, DAMN HIM ALL OVER AGAIN! How dare this bastard come into HIS territory and make eyes at HIS adorable doe. And how could Charlie, the naïve ninny, allow this…this interloper into their hotel as a guest? Going as far as to prevent him from watering the front lawn with the other male’s blood (and perhaps impaling his head on the entrance gate) in warning for any other foolish would-be usurper. He felt that the spice garden could use some Canadian reindeer mulch.

 Alastor couldn’t help but feel he was behind the eight ball thanks to his agreement with the Princess to not lay a finger on any who sought the hotel’s services; however, she even placed the rake next to your room. It seemed like she expected you to show him around and ensure he acclimated to the new environment without issue. To be a friend to this new guest. Was there no end to Charlie’s flagrant disrespect?!

You had had to walk him down to breakfast once because he had gotten “lost” in the hallways and ended up “accidentally” darkening your door asking for assistance. However Alastor knew it was intentional on the misguided reindeer’s part. It was as if James thought he could capture your heart within the span of a five-minute walk to the lobby. Nonsense. But, Alastor noticed how you sported a slight blush when you rejoined the others, with the newest guest in tow by the hand, in response to whatever inane attempt at charm he had thrown your way.

If the flannel fiend wished for a duel, Alastor would gladly oblige.

He had made certain that his precious doe’s hotel door frame was properly marked with scoring from his antlers and his shadow insisted on being posted on guard at night in case of any “lost” reindeer. This didn’t seem to bother you, as your instincts most likely told you to let the males fight it out, so he continued his pissing contest. For instance, no matter where you were, so was Alastor. He continuously shirked his hotel duties in favor of gluing himself to you and if he wasn’t (very publicly) rubbing against your neck or hair to leave traces of his heavy musk, and attempting to jump-start your heat with his pheromones, he was feeding you from the same plate as himself or whispering sweet words into your sensitive ears.

Oh yes, he saw with satisfaction how your ears twitched in contact with his warm breath and how you shivered slightly at his honeyed words of love. He also didn’t miss the glare that the Canadian continuously shot towards him, and aimed a shit-eating grin of his own right back, as you once again unconsciously relaxed into Alastor’s side.

***

Oh yes, The Radio Demon was absolutely certain that HIS doe would choose HIM as the superior mating option like she did every season over the trash that begged for a mere glance from her direction. HE was the one who always provided protection for her during this fragile time. HE always saw to her meals and ensured her nutrition as is the responsibility of the courting male. And HE was the one who you harbored romantic feelings for.

…Those same warm feelings that slept within him as well…

Alastor tried to shut the thought down before his mind strangled itself in a black cloud of doubt. To say that he was wholly unfamiliar with genuine romance, even throughout his many decades in Hell, was an understatement.

He huffed heavily through his nose.

Carmilla better have a good reason for dragging him away from his territory at such a time. As he begrudgingly made his way to the overlord meeting, Couldn't look weak during a season now could he? Alastor reflected on the last time he had allowed his heart to open itself for another long ago. It ended in his technological "friend" nearly voiding him to make a quick buck.

 …Never again…

 It certainly didn’t help his mood that the start of the rut season was ever hot on Alastor’s heels, but he could only wait for his pheromones to trigger his doe’s heat so every second away from you felt frustratingly wasted. He wondered if your body was taking longer than usual in response to the multiple suitors.

…What if she’s with him…

He shook his head as if trying to forcefully repel the vision of you accepting the other male’s advances. Laughing at James’s crude sense of humor turning into allowing him to drift ever closer to you and eventually seizing his chance to- no, his doe would never betray him.

...She's not mine...

It felt like a stone had settled in the pit of Alastor’s stomach at the thought of you being moved even emotionally by another. Ok fine! He was not the most romantically inclined during the rest of the year, but it wasn’t like you weren’t well aware of this relationship's transaction.

…What if she throws me away too?...

Alastor’s grip nearly broke his cane in half, but he didn’t notice in his shock at such an intrusive thought. She’d never reject him. He remembered how it felt like the whole of Hell suddenly stopped spinning the moment he found you hunched and bloody from defending yourself after an entire herd of bucks had stalked and cornered you in an alleyway. He normally never went out during a rut (can’t let anyone see his body’s weakness) but, even from the hotel, he had smelled something too alluring to ignore. A doe in heat.

Alastor thought you were magnificent in your demon form; legs bent like an actual cervid, claws sharp as knives, and covered in the blood of those filthy bucks who tried to take you by force. Even now the image continues to take his breath away.  

…I know her heart needs more…what if I …

No, that is not what this agreement is. You used him and he used you. Just like every other lost soul in Hell, you were leveraging your Satan-given circumstance to better your situation under his powerful allowances. Romance was merely a tool at best and a distraction at worst (Alastor tried to convince himself).

…What if her body chooses the other male’s pheromones…

He stopped dead in his tracks, just a short distance from the Carmine compound, as the surrounding windows shattered, and nearby demons fled from the intensity of his sudden static outburst. He felt his antlers grow and his bones shift in the fury that overcame him at the image of you held under the other man. Keening and gasping James’s name in your desperation to find relief from your heat. A loud snarl escaped him. Dammit! He never should have left her!

…What if his name is on her lips right now??!...

 Alastor had never phased through the shadows so fast in his afterlife.

***

Your POV

The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun once you felt yourself suddenly pulled into a suffocating nothingness, you opened your eyes to see that James was being violently shaken around in the air like a ragdoll. Only then did the blood in your ears stop pounding long enough for you to hear the sharp screeching of a ruined record and the overwhelming sensation of staticky pinpricks uncomfortably all over your body. Your instincts kicked in and you immediately scanned the yard for the cause of the disruption though you already knew its source as Alastor’s shadow was winding around your body protectively, but also in a restraining manner.

Your eyes searched for Alastor and found him, standing in between you and the flailing reindeer, to be almost unrecognizable in the most demonic appearance you have ever seen him and it broke your heart. Shit, he must have seen James kiss you and maybe even heard what you two had discussed. His body was completely stretched out and bent at impossible angles as he laughed manically at his rough treatment of James and snarled wildly, “HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON MY MATE!!!!”.

“ALASTOR! STOP IT!”, you cried out in hopes of capturing his attention away from James, but it seemed as though your voice had only made things worse as Alastor flung his prey high into the air with another laugh before turning his attention towards you.

Heavy footsteps rumbled through the air as Alastor stomped towards you menacingly slow like a predator taking his sweet time in devouring its next meal and you pulled at his shadow with all you were worth to free yourself of its confining hold. “Please wait!”, you pleaded with the Radio Demon (this wasn’t Alastor anymore). Surely he was about to kill you just like every other demon who he felt had crossed him and their screams and lifeless eyes danced in your memory, but, until now, you had never felt fear of the same fate. You knew hot tears were pouring down your cheeks and you tried to look as small as possible as the giant deer finally made his way towards you with the most strained smile you had ever seen split his face. It seemed like the green stitches that lined the smile were about to pop and you saw the black void of The Radio Demon’s eyes that were pinpointed by fastmoving golden dials.

You could only continue to sob and whimper out pleas for your life, quickly losing your voice in desperation, as Alastor kneeled down and bent his neck to look into your eyes before growling fiercely in your face. It wasn’t really understandable, but it sounded like the accusation that you could see in his twisted face and your heart sank even further. Of course, he must be feeling betrayed and angry, however, he also looked a bit…hurt? It was only for a moment but you were sure of what you saw and it made you wonder if this was really because he felt mating competition from the other male. You couldn’t ponder this any further, though, because you were suddenly whisked away from the hold of Alastor’s shadow in a vice of muscled arms, a firm chest, and white fur.

The fuck?!

“GIVE HER BACK TO MEEE!!!!”, Alastor roared so loud that your ears began to bleed and tighten even further against your skull.

You were quickly placed onto the safety of the hotel’s nearby back porch and looked up to your new kidnapper, only for your mind to completely blank as you took in James’s transformed body and the eerily powerful aura that radiated from his very soul. He walked in a circling motion towards Alastor as the two sized each other up. James now had two sets of strong, bent deer-like legs that attached to the abdomen of, what you assumed to be, a huge reindeer. His humanoid torso connected to the deer body and his shoulders to his head was adorned with spikes of thick, black antlers that grew more massive and curved as they reached the crown of his hairline. You recognized this form.

Dude was a freaking cervitaur? Wait…are DxD characters actually real??!

You noticed that thin vines lined his antlers with small, colorful flowers growing on them and that with each powerful step he took new plants sprouted from the contact of his hooves with the ground. James’s expression was marred with a threatening look towards Alastor and he began to kick out his back legs into the dirt as he twisted his, now thicc neck, from side to side in a warning display of his impressive but deadly rack.

The Radio Demon didn’t back down, however, returning the gesture as he coiled his body before both demons sprinted directly at each other as two harsh cervid howls rang out through the air like a thunderclap.

***

I really hope that you liked reading this! I enjoyed focusing on Alastor's side of things and James's demon transformation that is actually inspired by a DxD character. The cervidtaur, though James's powers will differ a bit, I believe that the fight of the next part will show off how awesome of a character design it is. 😊(See the pic below) I think I spent like a week researching reindeer aggression signs and how to write in a dude's pov 😂

Taglist: I hope I did this right!

@Xalygatorx , @songbirdpond , @bitter-rabittt, @sakuraluna2468, @cinnamon-galaxies, @speedycoffeedelight, @diffidentphantom, @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this, @eris-norwega, @anngray1369, @ladyadrasteia666, @wends, @prime-in-time-and-space, @supeersimpeer, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @type-ink, @fantasyhopperhea, @martinys-world, @apad-ravya, @galaxywolf3, @thoughfullovercreator, @Boogiemansbitch, @helluva-simper, @alastorsgirl48, @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog, @need-a-life-or-grass, @michi-keinz, @milkissesx, @ari42, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard, @lil-glum, @amariskygal, @strawberryoverlord1893, @cherry-cola-100, @noellebellq, @lettuce-frog16, @junieshohoho, @phoephan-123, @dreamraven13

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | minor character death, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo finds out the consequences of his actions and finds one of his friends dead

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 third chapter is here!! Do remember to give feedback, thank you!!

beta read:: @nowitsmissing <33

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

According to Coryo, Dean Highbottom deserves to be punched. Coriolanus truly wishes he could punch that man's face and break his teeth in the process.

As soon as he entered the classroom, with you in tow. Highbottom doesn't waste a second to praise your insight into welcoming the tributes at the zoo and how you acted in front of the cameras. Creating the very spectacle they had been aiming for. Snow was fuming because he was sure it was because of his songbird, not his soulmate that the views had gotten up.

But, he doesn't think Mr. High As A Kite cares. Coriolanus almost thought he wouldn't even get any attention, neither positive nor negative. He was willing to accept that outcome considering the fact he perhaps broke several rules being inside the cage along with the tributes.

He was wrong.

‘Three demerits and you will be expelled.’

And he officially has his first demerit, on his perfect darn record. He opens his mouth to speak against it-

“Snow falls down on the cage.

It falls down on the cage

But it landed…” Dr. Gauls’ voice echoes around the classroom as she walks down the stairs to Coriolanus level.

“On stage,” he replied, his face nonchalant but his hands fisted on his lap, hidden from view. He had an urge to kick at the table, his mind reeling over what if Dean Highbottom removed him from the games. Would that mean he will be disqualified from the Plinth Prize?

He can't have that. He can't.

Before his mind spirals into a panic attack, dr. Gaul steals his attention with her words.

“You're good at Games,” she said, “Perhaps one day you'll be a game maker like me.” Coriolanus Snow couldn't possibly think of a future in which he's a gamemaker, he never thought of it as a real career. Nothing of his interests nor challenging enough for him. Of course, he doesn't say his thoughts out loud.

He doesn't reply at all, he doesn't have to because Dr. Gaul asks him a question. What are the Hunger Games for? There's no true answer to that. Something so cruel, something so horrible. There's no way to justify that with the truth. Lies perhaps, lies he was taught in the textbooks.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, only to be replied with “Dull, dull, dull,” by Dr. Gaul.

“Why the games?” She asked again. And Coriolanus had no answer. Because there were plenty of ways to punish the districts. Starvation. Bombing. Public execution.

Why the games?

Coriolanus Snow had no answer and Sejanus Plinth took over instead. As usual, he spewed about the wrongness of the games. The words that will go one ear in and another ear out. Dean Highbottom butts in the discussion as well, talking about how the game had run its course.

Coriolanus can't have that, he can't even fathom the thought of the games gone and in return losing his chance of winning. Coriolanus stands up, gaining the attention of his peers and authoritative figures alike with a daring but simple sentence.

“Dean Highbottom is wrong. My classmates too,” he said, his voice filled with the confidence he didn't feel.

His fingers twitch, feeling the urge to touch the burned soulmate mark on his wrist as a way to calm his soul down. He did no such thing, burying the urge deep in his mind as he began to explain his reasoning.

“People need someone to root for and to root against. . .” He continues, “And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even get people to place bets.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had begun to sweat as he waited for a reply. After a bit, dr. Volumnia Gaul grinned. Her smile made his bones chill.

“Very well, Coriolanus Snow,” she said, her tone calm yet underneath laid excitement. “I’d like you to write a proposal of these thoughts, Mr. Snow.”

Before Coriolanus could agree to the opportunity, you jump in. You stand up, beside Coryo. Your soft voice rang in his ear and he subconsciously closed his eyes to savor your voice no matter what it said. For a moment he didn't even seem to hear what you were saying, he quickly opened his eyes, looking down on the wooden floor instead. His pale cheeks burning, praying that no one saw that.

He finally hears what you say.

“Let's not limit the Games to the Capitol. Let's unite the whole of Panem with it,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. “I am sure Dr. Gaul if you give me the chance to write a proposal too, you won't be less than impressed.”

“Very well, miss,” she said, cordially, “I will be looking forward to seeing what the star mentors have to say.”

“Do not disappoint,” Dr. Volumnia Gaul grins before taking herself out of the classroom.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

After a quick lunch (not, he decided to sneak food for Lucy Gray) and a plan to meet up with you in the library at night. He sets out in the Zoo with Sejanus Plinth on his toe. The rich boy carrying a whole bag of food, something Coriolanus could only dream of. While Coriolanus had some sloppy sandwich and cold cookies wrapped in a napkin.

Shamed filled his veins about the fact that in his current abilities, he could bring stolen food for his tribute. He takes solace in the fact Sejanus’ tribute refused the bacon sandwich offered to him. A satisfaction in his mind to see Sejanus being rejected by his tribute while Lucy Gray was cooperative as before.

She takes the food, giving some of it to the district twelve boy. Coriolanus frowned as he saw her share the food he bought her. He leaned into the cage to whisper, “Are you going to share everything I give you?”

Lucy Gray replied, not skipping a beat, “You think I ought to build up my strength so I can strangle him in the arena?”

Coriolanus wishes to snap at her and say yes but he knew he had to show kindness to the songbird for her to do his bidding. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, as Lucy Gray's eyes divert to his classmate, Arachne, his classmate who was busy amusing herself with her district ten tribute.

“Hunger is a weapon in the districts,” Lucy Gray comments, “Seems like your friend here knows it.”

Coryo barely suppressed a snort as he replied, “She's not a friend. She's poison with perfect teeth.” He smiles along with Lucy Gray. He leans down to Lucy Gray's level, his fingers gripping the bars between them. He whispered, “I may have the chance to help you. Make suggestions. I might even get the chance to send you gifts in the arena. Food and water.”

Lucy Gray replied, her voice hardening with the fact that she knew there was a catch, “What's the catch?”

“You might need to sing.”

“I don't sing when I am told. I sing when I have something to say.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows as he hears her response. She would rather die in the arena than create a spectacle of herself. Stupid in his opinion, to value the integrity of art over their life. He opens his mouth to convince her otherwise but then an incident happens that leaves him shaken to his core.

The district ten girl, the tribute Arachne was playing with snatched the water bottle from his peer, smashes it against the cage… and in a blink of an eye, Arachne had her throat slit.

Horror fills Coriolanus as he rushes to her side. His hands over her wound, putting pressure to stop the flow of never-ending crimson blood. He sees her eyes losing life, he almost didn't hear the gunshots killing the tribute who caused this. He cried out for help, only to be ignored. He was grabbed by the shoulder by a peacekeeper. He was dragged away, as Arachne Crane bled out in front of him.

She was dead.

The people from the district were truly animals is his last thought, as he blinks away the tears and shock and goes to his home.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

In the comfort of his ruined home, he had taken a shower and had dinner with his family. He listens to the warnings his grandma’am spewed and hears Tigris voice her opinion against it. He doesn't say a word in between, his fingers tracing the scar over and over again, it was the action that managed to keep him sane for the moment.

After the dinner, he begins to change his outfit. He wears a black shirt, something from his father's closet, and too-tight grey pants. He looks at his hands and imagines Arachne on them. He takes a sharp breath and watches the red fade away from his mind. He tugs at his shirt sleeve and the burned tissue comes into view.

He does so hoping that you're waiting for him in the library. Lucy Gray was a disappointment, Sejanus too. Arachne death is a disappointment too. You were the only one he could rely on not to do the same.

He pressed his lips to the scar and for a mere flash of the moment imagines kissing you instead. For a moment, he forgets you're District, for a moment you're just his and he indulges himself in the fantasy of having your soft lips against his.

Tigris breaks him from his daydream by asking, “Are you sure that she will be waiting, Coryo?”

He looks back at Tigris, his lips pulled in a smirk, his thoughts free of mourning. He covers the scar and replies,

“She was never one to disappoint.”

Next Chapter

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[tacticaldiary]

I love your fics so much 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x wife reader where he has a nightmare about losing them

Solace For The Rough Nights

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love."

Masterlist

Ghost was running.

Footsteps crunching on dried leaves, he weaves through the trees, shaking off the sounds of harshly barked orders, as crisp and as hold as the cold air around him.

The trees around him are densely packed together, a mixing pot of leaves, roots, and coarsely misplaced footsteps.

He can't remember how he got here, or what op he was on and it sends his normally razor-focused mind into a slight frenzy.

Ghost is a man of action. A plan and a way to execute it was all he needed to bring back a victory in tow, but right now he has neither of those things, hasn't even a bare recollection of ever having those things in the first place.

What was a Ghost without a purpose to haunt?

He stumbles.

It's already an odd situation. Ghost doesn't stumble or hesitate. He's a well-oiled machine, self-sufficient and cut-throat. Missteps are simply not viable with him, especially not something as simple as tripping.

Catching himself on his arm, he swings around, gun already aimed towards the ground, sees a vest-clad figure sprawled over the ground under him.

He fires without thinking. A bullet straight to the head, brain matter splattering the trees and forest, the expanse of his arms. The impact of the bullet jolts the body onto its back and-

Every part of him freezes in pure, undiluted horror.

Because his wife stares up at the sky, eyes unseeing, eerily still. Her hair bloodstained, splayed out onto the ground caught in twigs and branches, face filthy with dirt and crimson that he drew from her.

He's not sure when the trembling starts, only that it begins with his hands and travels up his spine, singeing his soul with a terror that would marr him forever. Circumstances completely forgotten, he drops to his knees in front of her, hands shaking as he calls out her name, pressing his fingers to her neck to find a pulse as if he hadn't just blown her brain out and-and fuck it was still on his arms, his hands, the blood was everywhere and there was no way Ghost had just taken the one thing he wanted to keep in his life-

A strangled sound leaves his lips, not a laugh and not quite a cry. He wants to laugh at the irony.

He's always been so afraid that someone would hurt her at his expense, that someone would take her away, tear her apart from him.

He never thought it'd be him who carried out the deed.

Nothing comes out of his mouth, because nothing can fix this. He gathers her into his arms, shaking silently. He deserves this, deserves to suffer in silence with what he's done.

The release of crying was not one he deserved.

"Fuck, I-...you're okay." His voice breaks, rough and gritty, and desperate. "I didn't-I swear I-..."

Someone's voice sounds behind him but he refuses to look back, letting the screaming in his head, the crescendo of grief consume him. His hands never let up from touching her, pressing her against himself as if his own heartbeat may bring her to life.

How could someone like her face the end when someone as disgustingly tainted and bloodstained as him continued on living?

It wasn't right, but then again, the world never was fair.

He registers he's panicking, knows that he can't quite get a full breath in and that the noise of talking is getting louder but death itself would be the only thing to take him away from her.

"..i..on."

He squeezes his eye shut, rasping out suffocating breaths.

"Simon...Simon!"

His eyes snap open, a strangled gasp tearing out of his throat. It's blindingly dark, and he's...there's hands on him. Steeling himself he sits up hazy and confused, lingering panic making his throat close up.

A click and the room fills with light.

Room. He's in...he's in his room. He's in their room.

"You okay?"

Her voice makes him shiver violently, ignites his frayed nerves. He's almost afraid to look over lest he find her bloody and mangled, because she was, wasn't she? He'd seen it, held her, felt guilt choke him and...

But there weren't any leaves here. No trees, and no blood on his hand (that was the first thing his eyes had snapped down to confirm.)

With a shaky breath, he finally turns his head towards her voice.

Some of the hastily built scaffolding inside him collapses at the sight of her. Alive. Well. Clean.

Worried.

Patient as always, she's waiting for him to get his bearing, not wanting to swarm and overwhelm him.

"Simon?" Her voice is a crack of softness a man like him doesn't deserve. The sheets rustle as she shifts closer. "You were tossing around, mumbling something." She furrows her brows, coming to sit in front of him. "You're all sweaty. Do you feel ill?" The back of her hand presses against his forehead, and the touch snaps something in him.

Breaks apart the harrowing gates of relief, but also smashes the wave of diluted panic he'd been too disorientated to feel.

His hand snaps to her wrist, a gentle and firm hold. Her eyes widen but she doesn't interrupt, lets him press his lips against her pulse point with trembling fingers. "You're all right." He breathes out, half to himself.

"I'm right here." She reassures him immediately. It loosens up his shoulders a little, but he still reaches out to her, pulls her close into a hug so crushingly tight it knocks the breath out of her.

She hugs him tighter, still.

Simon wasn't a hugger, so something must really have shaken him up.

"Hey..." She mumbles against his shoulder.

Simon pulls back, hands travelling up her arms, her shoulders, her neck, to press against her temples. His gaze flickers down to his own arms, then back to her head.

"Talk to me, baby." She says quietly, letting him ground himself. His hands tangle in her loose hair, weaving the strands between his fingers as if he might pick out phantom leaves and twigs. "Why so worked up?"

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"You didn't."

The sharp interrupting startles him enough to still his hands from where they've been mapping out her skin to ensure it was still unmarred.

"You didn't." She repeats. Gently untangling his hand from her hair, she brings it to press against her chest, right over where her heart is. "I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love." She smiles and Simon feels his heart twist. The way she leans forward to press her lips to his is a kind of gentle he's still getting used to. "You're not getting rid of me any time soon." She whispers against his lips, a warmth that's a welcome reprieve from the shivers that wracked his body moments prior.

They sit there taking in each other's presence until Simon's thoughts slow from a sprint to a run to a walk, until the taste of copper, and the tang of iron fade from his senses.

Until it's just her, just them. In their bed, in their home. Off duty and safe.

When she slides her hands up to his shoulders, pushing him down he goes willingly, lets her straddle him. Never once do his hands leave her, they wrap around her hips to keep her steady.

"Tell me about it?" She asks, hands on his chest. After a moment of thought, Simon shakes his heavy with a long, heavy exhale.

"I'd rather not think about it." He rasps.

"It might help." The gentle shapes she traces on his chest give him something to latch onto. "I don't want you to deal with these nightmares alone." She snakes a hand up to his head, gently tapping his temple. "Don't want you to get stuck here without me. We're a team, right?"

"I suppose we are." He hums. Simon considers changing the subject, letting it go and falling back to sleep, but the need to get these vile thoughts out of him...

So he talks.

For once, he talks.

Simon tells her in halting phrases and clenched fists about what he remembers, how he held the gun, how there was no hesitation pulling the trigger.

His tension is met with hums and soothing circles rubbed onto his skin, keeping him with her even when he unravels the threads of his worst nightmare.

"I remember thinking how I was the one who took your life." He swallows harshly. "How I lost someone else...how it'd have been my fault." She doesn't comment on the fact that his grip on her hips has tightened considerably as he spoke.

"Well you haven't shot me yet, so I think we're safe for now."

Her attempt at a joke is met with a blank glare, but she snickers anyway. "Look Simon, if it'd be anybody I'd have liked it to be you-"

"No."

Her smile falters at the way he pushes up onto his elbows. "No?"

"I wouldn't..." He gathers his thoughts, clenches his jaw briefly. "I'd rather cut my own hands off, love."

"That's a bold claim, but-"

"It's a promise."

The conviction he says it with renders her speechless. His eyes so firm and determined and honest in the meagre light of their nightlamp sparks a warm heat through her, a reminder of how much she loves the man under her, of why she adores him.

He means what he says. It should scare her, someone so willing to go that far, but instead it's a fierce reassurance that her passion is returned. Maybe not in hugs or dopey smiles, but instead in moments like these, with promises that carve their way into their very bones, etching the proof of devotion into permanence.

She tips her head forward until their foreheads are pressed together. "I love you, Simon." She whispers. "So fucking much. I'm not going anywhere, alright. Not without you."

A hand wraps around the back of her neck, tugs her down to crash their lips together, the only affirmation she needs. He pulls her down until they're a tangle of limbs and breaths.

He doesn't need to say it back. Not when his hands burn sparks into her skin, when his arms around her guarantee safety and protection like nobody else can provide.

"You're here." He breathes, like he needs to.

"I'm here." A kiss pressed to the underside of his jaw. "I'm here."

And he finally believes it.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(16/08/2023)

[storiesfromafan]

Antisocial Bookworm

A/N: I haven't written anything in like 3-4 years, but then I ended up down the Mattheo Riddle rabbit hole on TikTok. And here I am lol. Please be kind, as I haven’t written about him before, this is my first go at it.

Part 2 😊

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think of yourself of a main character, but rather a background character. Though the Slytherin heart throb thought otherwise.

                                  Antisocial Bookworm

The afternoon was on the sunny side, but there was a cool breeze that had students wearing jumpers and cardigans. You were no different. You were sitting under a tree in the courtyard, legs stretched out in front with ankles crossed, and engrossed in a book. The students around you made noise that you barely took note of, for the book in your hand being far too interesting then the real world. You didn’t really have any friends, nor did you socialize. Books were better company than people.

But hearing the voice of the one and only Mattheo Riddle, you took your gaze from the book before you and looked at Slytherin heart throb that was joking around with his friends. Watching the smile upon his face as he laughed at whatever one of them had said, seeing the brightness in his deep brown eyes. Not to mention how the breeze tousled his curly brown locks. Mattheo was so appealing to the eye that he could easily be the physical form of a character from a book.

You sighed. Like you had a chance with Mattheo. You weren’t in any way like a main girl from a book. You didn't think you were that bad looking, but you weren’t no great beauty. You would say you are average. You chose clothing that was comfortable over fashionable. Your hair was tied up out of your way, though bangs framed your eyes. You were more aimed as a background character then the main female of any book you read.

Turning your gaze from the no chance in hell of a male before you, you went back to your book and enjoyed the afternoon of peace. Book’s may take you on a rollercoaster of emotions; but they would never let you down, never hurt you. They were safe, they were comfort to an antisocial body like you.

If you believed you couldn't be the main girl from any of the books you read, Mattheo thought the opposite. To him you were the central character. You may not have noticed but the Slytherin male noticed you and how you were always reading. Studying you he knew when you had reached a rather fascinating part of a book, for you would draw the book closer to your face, eyes moving slightly faster than normal taking in the words from the pages. Or when you had reached a more romantic moment, for you would have a soft smile upon your face while playing with the necklace around your neck. Or when you came to a sad moment, you would frown and look like you were ready to put the book down, but force yourself to read on.

Compared to the other girls that flirted, threw themselves at him or he could tell they were interested in him, you were a breath of fresh air. Mattheo knew you chose to keep your distance from people. He knew you didn't really have friends, but rather acquaintances. And it wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes having to put time and effort into relationships was tiresome, and he had thought about taking a page from your book - no pun intended - sometimes.

Soon time passed and students began to head back inside and to their common rooms or dorm rooms, to discard their bags and get ready for dinner in the Great Hall. You finally stopped after a rather thrilling chapter, putting in your bookmark you put the book in your bag before getting up off the ground. After a quick stretch, you slung the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder and headed back into the castle. The whole time not realizing the deep brown eyes that followed your every more. Or when the owner of the gaze followed you inside, his friends in tow.

There had been a few times Mattheo had had a chance to talk to you, but his nerves would always get the best of him and he would chicken out. Which was very unlike him. Everyone had this image about him. Confident, a little cocky, smartass, chaotic and a tad mysterious. But he honestly was far from most of those words. For the guy couldnt work up the courage to actually talk to you!

Eventually he lost sight of you when Draco Malfoy had called him over. Reluctantly Mattheo stopped and turned from you, though it was very hard to. The fellow Slytherin had informed him that the party in their common room was going ahead. The finer details had been sorted out, and Mattheo was advised to spread the word to anyone from the other houses. Part of Mattheo hoped you would show up to the party, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. For you hadn’t shown up to any recent parties, or really any of the parties thrown.

                                                          ~~~

Later that night in the Slytherin common room, the planned party was in full swing. Student’s were dancing to the loud music, and smuggled alcohol was being consumed. All in all it looked to be talked about for weeks to come. Everyone knew every house threw parties to try and outdo the other houses. And no one was complaining.

Mattheo was standing around with his friends, drink in hand while listening to a story he’d heard Merlin know’s how many times. But get alcohol in anyone’s system and they will say just about anything, all depending on their level of intoxication. He scanned the room, noting all the girls that were eyeing him off and smiling when his gaze rolled over them. But none of them were his little antisocial bookworm.

Though unbeknownst to Mattheo; you had been dragged to the party by none other than Pansy Parkinson. You may not call her a friend, but to her you were. As you were the only brutally honest girl in your year. And Pansy respected you for it. So she had pushed you to come to the party, attempted to get you out of your shell and try to make human contact and conversation. Besides being in a classroom and maybe the brief pass in a hall or meal breaks in the Great Hall, Pansy barely heard you speak. Many thought you were mute because of your lack of speaking.

“Pansy, really I was fine staying in my dorm” you said as the mentioned female held your arm and led you through the dancing bodies. “And did you really have to pick my clothes and do my hair!?”

Ah yes she had to give you a small makeover. Pansy not only wanted to do something nice for you, she also wanted to entice one Mattheo Riddle. Pansy may come off a tad vapid and self centered, but she could see the looks both you and Mattheo gave each other. So she thought a small push might be good for you both.

“You need to socialize. Books are good, but they can’t be everything Y/N/N” Pansy said, giving you a pointed look. “And it's a party, you need to wear something a little more out there”. You rolled your eyes at Pansy’s words.

You looked down at the long sleeved, slightly low cut v-neck top Pansy had picked, and matched with a simple corduroy mini skirt that had buttons down the front. Both clothing items paired with black ankle boots. It was more fashion forward then you are used to. But you decided to humor Pansy, throw her a bone. And with your hair out, cute pins holding the hair back from your face, you felt somewhat like the main girl from your books. Though you could laugh at that notion. You weren’t meant to be the lead.

“Hello boy’s” Pansy said after you both made it through the dancing students, and over to the Slytherin boy’s she hung out with.

Deep brown orbs looked up, shock shining in his eyes upon seeing the creature at Pansy’s side. Mattheo blinked a few times, making sure it wasn't the alcohol that had him seeing you before him. And dressed in something that wasn’t the school’s uniform or lackluster clothing he had seen you in around the castle or at Hogsmeade.

Then his deep brown eyes were met with soft Y/E/C eyes, and his breath hitched before taking it away completely. Never had your eyes met this close before. Sure across the hall or class room. But here you were standing before him, allowing him to see how crystal clear your eyes are. Let’s not forget that the reaction’s Mattheo was having was exactly the same as yourself. You had run over this kind of scenario in your mind, a small moment of fantasy to get you through the afternoon or night. But you had never thought it would ever happen, till this moment.

“Y/L/N? I almost didn't recognize you!” Draco said with a surprised laugh. Which made you shrink into yourself, that self conscious feeling creeping up.

“Oh Draco, be nice” Pansy said, wrapping her arm around you, making you stiffen up from the contact. “Y/N/N is a friend. Play nice”.

‘Friend…how foreign’ you thought, observing Draco and Pansy as they continue to converse.

Mattheo was doing his best to sit back at Draco’s comments. He might have been his friend, but the guy had no ability to read a room or a person. Right from you arriving at the group he could see how uncomfortable you were, how you moved from foot to foot with uncertainty that you should be there. How fish out of water you were.

The group continued to talk, Mattheo speaking only when spoken too. You not talking, keeping to yourself like always. You had moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, once Blaise Zabini said you could and he didn’t bite. Pansy saw the pointed glare Mattheo had given the male for that comment, and she couldn't help the smirk that crept on her face.

“Y/L/N, this is the first party you've come to this year, right?” Draco asked, and you nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve stayed in your room so much. But with your head in a book, it happens”. He laughed.

Mattheo’s fist clenched. He did not like anyone making fun of his bookworm. Downing the last of his drink, Mattheo did his best to keep down what he’d like to say to his friend. He rose from his seat, he decided to get you away from this situation, fueled by the alcohol in his system giving him the courage to do so.

“Y/N” he said, a strange but exciting word leaving his tongue, getting your attention. “Why don’t we get some drinks?” Mattheo asked, holding up his empty cup and silently saying let’s take a break from them.

“Okay…” you finally spoke, not hesitating to get up from the armrest, and moving to follow Mattheo. All the while Pansy watched on, the smile on her face growing with every passing moment.

You both moved over to a corner where the drink’s were situated. Putting down his own cup, Mattheo grabbed a clean cup for you, and proceeded to pour you both a drink. You stood beside him. Not sure what to do or say, just moving from foot to foot. Handing you a cup, Mattheo clinked your cups together before taking a sip from is, not once taking his eyes off you. You followed his lead and took a large gulp of the liquid, hoping it would help with your nerves from the fine specimen before you.

“Don’t listen to Draco” Mattheo started after swallowing his sip. “The guy doesn’t understand how to read a room. He’s full of himself” he finished with a small smile.

You felt your heart skip a beat at Mattheo's small smile, brown eyes focused on you and messy brown curls that were begging to have a hand run through, ever so enticing. The temptation to pinch yourself to make sure this was real, was strong but went against it. If this was a dream you didn't want to wake up. So far tonight was female lead level, not background character. Has the world finally gone mad? This didn’t seem plausible. But here you were. At a Slytherin party. Dressed like a cool kid, drinking and standing before the leading male character. Yeah, if this was a dream you didn't want to wake up.

“It’s hard to not listen to him,” you said looking at your drink. “I’m not exactly known for my social skills” you looked back at Mattheo with a small smile, that did a number on him.

He nodded, “still...don’t take it to heart”. It was your turn to nod your head. “Is your drink alright?”

You looked down at the cup of liquor before back up to the brunet before you. “Yeah, it's fine. Thanks”.

With drink in hand, you both reluctantly went back to Pansy, Draco and Blaise. Upon your arrival, you took to sitting on the couch next to Pansy, as Blaise had moved to sit next to Draco and converse. Mattheo took to sitting on the armrest next to you. You all sat there, conversation being made by the Slytherin friends. You sat there and observed them, being so close to people you had observed from afar was strange. Going from the onlooker, to the insider was new.

After a few more drinks, consumed by you and Pansy, said girl dragged you to dance. You had tried to dig your heels in and protest, but she didn't take no for an answer. You moved with the uncertainty and grace of a baby animal learning to walk. A total train wreck. But Mattheo thought it added to your quirky, cuteness. He watched as you slowly loosen up, and soon moved more freely, feeling the music. The liquor in your system was finally taking effect. You felt like you were floating as you moved around with Pansy, a small smile on your lips and an occasional laugh escaping your mouth.

Once you and Pansy started to get out of breath and tired, both made it back over to the boys. By now their group had gained three other people; two Ravenclaw girls and one Hufflepuff boy. You perched yourself on an armrest catching your breath and fanning yourself. All the while Mattheo never taking his eyes off you, unless entirely necessary.

“How about we play a party game” Pansy said, suddenly looking around the group. “Has anyone ever played suck and blow?”

A few answered they had, Mattheo being one of them. You on the other hand had not, nor any idea of what the game was. Thankfully both Ravenclaw girl’s didn't know what the game was either. So Pansy explained the game. Using a playing card, you had to pass the card around to another player only using your mouth, hence suck and blow. The goal is to make it around the circle without dropping the card; if it's one person or two that drops the card, they need to take a drink from their cup before trying again.

“Everyone understand?” Pansy asked, getting a playing card. Everyone nodded their heads. “Wonderful! Now let's move to sit in a circle.

You all moved to a decent space away from the dance floor. Pansy took charge and made sure it went boy, girl, boy, girl, etc. And making sure to put you and Mattheo next to each other, and sadly one of the Ravenclaw girls on his other side. When everyone was sitting, cups in front and ready to go. Pansy started it off going right, placing the card to her lips she sucked to hold the card in place before getting close to Draco to hand the card off to his mouth. As he came in and sucked, Pansy blew just enough so the card was passed off perfectly. Draco turned and handed off to the other Ravenclaw girl, who then passed off to Blaise. From there he passed onto the next Ravenclaw girl, she just managed to save the card from dropping, making everyone watch with bated breath. She passed the card onto Mattheo, who took it with ease. Then he turned to you, eyes looking directly into yours. He moved close and brought his card covered lips to yours. Thankfully you managed to somehow function and take the card from him. Though his scent, cigarettes and cologne hit you, dulling your sensors for a moment.

The first round would have been successful if the Hufflepuff guy, after getting the card from you, had been able to off load to Pansy. But their timing at pass over faltered, the card falling from them. And they both had to drink from their cups, all the while everyone else laughed. Draco commented she was lucky he didn't kiss her. Which sent your and Mattheo’s minds into thought. That could have been them. How close they would be to kissing. Mattheo had wished he had been tempted and dropped the card, his lips coming in contact with your own. He had always wondered what it would be like, what your lips felt like. He knew he had to do it, the liquor encouraging him to do so.

Draco started this time, passing the card onto Pansy, who then passed it to the Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff guy looked to be struggling, and Mattheo prayed his pass to you either was successful or it dropped and no lips touching. They were his lips, and only he would get your kiss. The hand off failed and the card fell, thankfully no lip colliding. Both you and the Hufflepuff guy took a drink. But when he tried again, he failed again and had no lip touch. Another drink from the alcohol before you both. Your head was starting to swim, you weren’t sure if you liked it or not. This time the hand off was successful, the group cheering with a laugh. Now you had to pass it to Mattheo. Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours, the pointed gaze he gave you, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You moved in towards Mattheo, just as he moved towards you. You moved your arm, hand on the ground to brace yourself, and it brushed his leg just as you both came in close to pass the card to the other. Feeling your arm brush his leg caused Mattheo to lose his breath. The playing card falling from between you both, as you had just blown the card. Mattheo’s lips came into contact with your lips. Realization flashed across your eyes, that continued to look into the brown pools of Mattheo's. He noted your lips were soft, fitting perfectly with his own. Hearing the laughter and whistles from those around you, you pulled away from Mattheo, saying sorry and avoiding his gaze. He never took his eyes off you, more interested in watching you then playing the game or those around you both.

Pansy was grinning like the cat that got the cream. But then told you both to drink up, which you did, and then had to try again. This time you managed to hand off the card, making sure to avoid Mattheo’s gaze. Afraid that you’d falter and the card would fall, but would you both kiss again? You shook the thought from your head. The thought of kissing him made your stomach flutter with butterflies. Yes, you had fantasized kissing Mattheo. You never thought you would get too. But you did. Truly an experience that no imagination could get right.

After that round a few more people came over wanting to join the game so you opted out, a Gryfindor girl taking your place. You headed over to the drinks table and made yourself another drink, slightly on the stronger side. After kissing Mattheo you needed the drink. You drank your drink watching the group you had just been a part of. You watched Mattheo. He was laughing and enjoying himself. You watched as the Ravenclaw passed him the playing card, she was so close you know she'd gladly get in his lap. Then he turned, now passing the card to the Gryffindor girl, who you saw place her hand on his knee.

Reality washed over you in a harsh wave as you watched those before you. They were laughing, drinking and having fun. The dancing bodies across the room, lost in the music. It was all another life, part of the social scene. One which you knew you didn't fit into. The role of the observer, the outcast screaming in your mind. Part of you telling you that you didn't belong, that Pansy, Mattheo and their friends were humoring you, maybe you were some sick joke for their amusement.

Your breathing began to pick up with the thoughts running through your mind. Maybe you were a joke, a social experiment. Slytherins were known to be cruel. But a small part of you didnt believe Pansy would do that. You both had a mutual respect for the other after one time being in the girls bathroom after Potions class. Two Gyrffindor girls were making fun of Pansy. Unfortunately neither realized that said girl was in the stall next to you. Pansy casually opened the door while one of the girls was mid insult, upon seeing the Slytherin girl all words were lost and silence followed. Next there was the turn of a tap and running water, you gathered Pansy was washing her hands. As she dried her hands, that's when the Slytherin bared her fangs before striking, Pany's retort to what the gossiping girls was the brutalest you had ever heard. Without a word both Gyrffindor's hightailed it out the bathroom. You heard her sigh in frustration. And that was the moment you bumped the cubicle door.

"Who's there!? Come out!" She said in anger.

You exited the stall with hands up, showing no ill intention. Upon seeing you Pansy relaxed, leaning back against the sink. You slowly moved to the sink next to her, when you were sure she wasn't going to verbally abuse you, and washed your hands.

"I know everyone talks about me" Pansy said offhandedly. "I shouldn't play into their hands. But sometimes you have to stand up for yourself".

You nodded your head drying your hands. "I understand. If people are going to paint you as a villain, you might as well give them what they want" and with that you left the bathroom and Pansy.

You downed what was left in your cup before placing it on the table, that was it for the night. It was time to leave, time to take yourself back to your dorm room, where you could finally feel safe and secure. Time to discard the clothing that you wore and put on that that was familiar, trustworthy. You could take refuge in your bed, wrap yourself up in your blankets where no one would judge you, mock you. It was time to crawl back into the background, hide from the main stage and go back to being nothing more.

Mattheo had been playing the tedious game, making his friends happy. But he had been keeping an eye on you. Watching and gauging your every movement. He wondered what was going through your mind. Were you thinking about him, the kiss? Because he had been. It was just about consuming him. And fueled by alcohol he wanted to kiss you again, feeling the courage to do it. When both Ravenclaw and Gryfindor girls had got bold during that round of suck and blow, Mattheo decided to step away from the game, saying he was getting a drink.

Looking back to the drink table and you once he was up on his feet, Mattheo was confused when you werent there any more. He looked around, surely you couldn't have gone far. He spotted your back as you made your way towards the dancing students. Without another thought he went after you. He needed to check on you, make sure you were okay. Coming to a hallway he saw you slowly making your way from the common room.

"Y/N" Matheo called out to you. You stopped upon hearing your name but never turned to face him. "You okay?" He asked, walking closer to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to get your head to focus and form words. You were shocked someone had come after you, but you were in disbelief it was Mattheo. Said male came to your side, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Ah...yeah!" You said a little flustered. "Just heading to my room...all partied out…"

Mattheo nodded his head, though he didn't fully buy your answer. But he did not push it. He was grateful for this moment, for tonight. And wasn't going to ruin it in any way. Mattheo moved to lean against the wall of the hall, his eyes never leaving you. Maybe he was afraid if he looked away you'd be gone.

"You look good" Mattheo suddenly said, eyes roaming over you. "Not that you don't look good everyday! It's just nice to see you in something different!" He'd kick himself if he could. Tripping over his words.

You could feel the blush on your face from his words. Hearing what he had to say made your stomach flip. "Thank you…" you said softly.

Mattheo smiled at your words. "Did you have a good time tonight? Hopefully the party wasn't too boring" he laughed softly rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up at Mattheo, your eyes meeting yet again. "It wasn't bad…" you started, pausing to think over your next choice of words. "It wasn't bad...just not something I'm used to. After all; I'm the recluse, antisocial bookworm haha".

He nodded. "I get it. But I'm glad you came" he said with a soft smile.

Those butterflies coming back in full force. Pushing off the wall, liquid courage taking over, Mattheo moved to stand before you. He pushed back your hair so it fell over your shoulder and down you back, his finger moving softly along your shoulder, softly caressing the small chain around your neck and finger tips running over the pendant of your necklace.

"I hope you'll come to the next party" he said breathlessly, his brown orbs drowning in your own. "Maybe you could even come to The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer with us?" Neither of you were sure if he meant just the two of you or with him and his friends. But there was no clearing that up on his part.

"Sounds...good" you replied with a shaking breath.

Flashing you a bright smile Mattheo reluctantly dropped his hand and stepped back from you, allowing you both a chance to breathe. "I will say good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow", and finished with a slightly dramatic bow.

At first you were stunned. Letting his words and actions compute in your brain. Once it registered you blushed and laughed softly at his ode to a classic play that you read often.

"Goodnight Mattheo…" you said softly before turning from the Slytherin before you, and finally heading back to your room for the night.

                                                             ~~~

A/N: I’m open to constructive criticism haha. I’m thinking of doing a follow up one-shot, let me know what you think.

[aimtowing]

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[harunayuuka2060]

Malleus:

I tossed a stone, oh what a sight,

Hoping you'd wake in the pale moonlight.

But you slumbered on, quite deep in dreams,

So I aimed anew, or so it seems.

A rock I flung, with a hopeful heart,

A louder crash, a shattered part.

Yet still you snoozed, in your dreamy keep,

Unfazed by the noise, sound asleep.

MC:

Oh dear, oh goodness gracious me,

What in the world just came to be?

I slumbered deep, with twigs and sea horses in my dreams,

When suddenly struck, it's not as it seems.

A boulder, massive, came crashing down,

Turning my world completely around.

I awoke in the hospital, head injury in tow,

From whimsical dreams to a painful blow.

Lilia: *laughing hysterically*

Sebek: *sniffles* Verily, a splendid verse thou didst compose, my liege!

Silver: Did... Did that happen in reality?

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬, 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗠𝗬 𝗪𝗔𝗬 kimi räikkönen x fem! photographer! reader (fluff) “. . . you try to capture kimi's smile but you capture his heart instead.”

( main masterlist ) ( requests )

joining formula one

Bustling. That's what he'd describe the track on such a day. Pushing through the people, Kimi didn't have the patience and to stop and apologize. You didn't neither, but you still repeated the same phrase trying to squeeze through the crowd with a polite smile.

You looked . . . Kimi was to busy watching to think about that. His eyes followed you as you clutched your camera, trying to frame a moment before your dead line. You had this . . . bubbly-like aura that kimi couldn't quite put a finger on. The way you smile and apologized, the way you helped give people directions or explain things even though your clock was ticking.

He's heard about you from his mechanics. The new intern who seems to be practically towing the joy and warmth sun behind wherever she goes. He had to agree with them on that, you sure were . . . something.

Click.

He was too concentrated to realize it was him you were pointing the lens at until it was too late. And he didn't like that. A bright smile made its way to your lips as you looked down at your product, proud of the moment you captured.

You looked up, ready to push yourself in the direction of where you last saw the Finnish boy, only to find him gone already. He'd walked away without sparing you a second glance.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Kimi!" You tried to get his attention. Well you did, but not long enough for him to make eyecontact with the camera lens. You smiled nonetheless at your product. "Still no eyecontact?"

You yelped in surprise at the new voice only to relax upon realizing your new friend. "You know, I'd look in the camera and pose for you any time." Fernando Alonso said cheekily as he leaned his shoulder on the wall next to you, watching you blush as he gently held your chin.

Kimi did not like what he was seeing. Watching you pull away from Fernando, shyly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. But why? Was it because he knew the Spaniard's intentions were only going to take away your innocence. Or maybe because he wanted to keep the joy you radiated all to himself.

You were aiming to get his attention after all. The only thought that now ran through his head was that he also wanted to see the pictures you took.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"BOO!" Kimi turned to look at you unamused as you tried to get his attention ( successfully ). A squeel rang through your throat as you jumped in place from excitement. Finally!

The sun was practically in your eyes as you stared at the new addition to your camera roll, feeling mesmerized by the beauty of a singular man. Unaware of his presence, Kimi stood behind you also staring at the pictures you took, putting a hand on his waist sighing deeply.

"I like this one." He pointed, pointing at the screen. You jolted surprised, looking up at the finish man with a shy blush. He raised an eyebrow waiting for you to reply or do something but you didn't. "Are you going to keep staring at me or . . . ?" He tilted his head waiting.

You could feel your face redden even deeper as you looked up at him. "I— I was thinking . . . You'd look way better if you took those of. Cause you know— you have—" You stuttered over your words as you gently reached and pulled his glasses off gently, staring deep in his eyes. ". . . Very pretty eyes." You found yourself whispering, like it was a secret.

Kimi hummed, titling his hear the other way, staring deep into your sole which only made you shrink and tense further. "I'll think about it." You couldn't catch it, but the smallest curl of a smile made its way to his lips as he took his sun glasses from you softly, his skin brushing against yours as he tool his leave.

God you loved Finnish men. Blond Finnish men. Blond Finnish men who drive fast cars. Blond Finnish men who were Kimi Räikkönen.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Kimi didn't like early mornings. At all.

He grumbled as he walked down the semi-empty paddock with his hands in his pockets. The sun was blazing brightly and he didn't like the new see through sunglasses.

Well, he didn't like them until he saw you sitting on a motor home's roof ( how you got up there he didn't think he wanted to know). He stood there, watching you swing your legs and hum a song's melody as you cleaned your disassembled camera.

He didn't want to interrupt you, but he also wanted your . . . attention? It took you a few moments to look down confused at the none moving human. All it took was your wide smile and laugh to make Kimi Räikkönen feel lighter and brighter as he waved up at you hello.

"You got new glasses!" You cheered, throwing your hands up happily. Oh how you loved his eyes. This would do nicely, you thought as you dismounted. You couldn't stop the giggles as you jogged to where kimi was standing waiting for you.

"Do I look camera worthy?" He chuckled, the smallest smile curving on his lips as he leaned a hand on his hand on his hip, tilting his head down for you to get a closer look.

"Camera worthy? I can get you an a magazine." You giggled happily, holding your hands together. The sun shone brighter and Kimi smiled all the way, gently ruffling your hair as he continued his walk through the paddock.

You found that smile on his face time and time again each time he noticed your camera pointed at him. He didn't bother looking away and smiled at you, watching you work and jump in excitement with each perfect shot.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He lost the glasses ( on purpose, but you didn't need to know that ) and shrugged about it when you asked about it. "It's better for you." He waved off, ruffling your hair and patting your back ( gently ).

You watched as he pushed power cameras and hid his face from them. But to your camera, he presented himself, posing even. Giving the smile that induced your own. The smile that was only for you, genuine and heart stopping. You were his designated photographer at this point. Not only in formula one but in commercials, marketing businesses, and third party events.

He was never that far from you, always by your side, watching you go through the camera roll from a top your head. You enjoyed the small smile and hearing his chuckle from behind you as you held up the screen to show a photo you personally liked. But he wasn't watching them, he was watching you.

You felt your heart flutter and face redden as he offered simple gestures. You'd often find Kimi brushing your hair out of your face or typing it in a loose ponytail, sometimes putting his team cap on your head during sunny days. The way he pulled you to walk under his umbrella when it rained or helped apply the sunscreen to your back when he invited you to out to his yacht in Monaco.

Kimi wasn't big with words or conversations, but you knew what he was asking you when asked you turn around. You felt him gently drape the expensive necklace around your neck with KR7 pendant, clipping it into place. You loved the soft smile that covered his face when he leaned down to connect your lips with his.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

thank you, formula racing

"Kimi, love." You held his hand, pulling him still in his tracks. He gave his immediate and all of his attention to you. This was unusual. You weren't smiling or radiating your halo of joy and warmth. You were dragging along a cloud atop your head, with an uncertain and hesitant look.

Kimi didn't hesitate to cup your cheeks, turning you right and left and around, checking for injuries or bruises. "What happened? Whats wrong?" You closed your eyes, leaning into his soft hands that you've come to love so much.

"I— Remember that magazine photo shoot about 'Schumacher's nightmare'? I . . . I Got a job offer with hypercar. My boss is forcing me to go."

That was great news! Hypercar! Endurance races, night races, 24 hours of le mans! Porsche, Ferrari, McLarwn, Mercedes and more! More money and experience! Lots of new things! Different circuits and calender as well!

. . . different circuits and calender.

You didn't dare to open your eyes and see your boyfriend's reaction. But the way he ran his thumb across your cheek, you couldn't look away from his eyes.

He was stoic. The same way you saw him for the first time. Same way he didn't give a shit about anything outside you. You furrowed your eyebrows, silently begging him to say something.

But this was kimi we were talking about. His hands slowly pulled away from you, and if you closed your eyes, you could still feel him. He hesitantly and simply nodded, holding his hand out for you to shake.

You eyes teared up as you looked down at his open palm. You tried blinking your tears away as you shook his hand gently before watching him pull away and carry on with his previous task.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

welcome home

"Kimi." You whispered. You missed his name on your lips. The quiet man snapped his head up at the familiar voice. Kimi found himself smiling widely upon finding your face, leaning his head on your hand. He could recognize your voice anywhere, in a crowded room after years of being apart.

The gaze in his eyes said everything as you waved a hello and he mounted back one to you. You weren't holding up your camera but Kimi still found himself looking and smiling at you.

You were still beautiful and innocent, your halo and warmth were still intact. Especially your smile, oh how he missed your smile. The way you made him feel, relaxing as he stared at you like a teenager in love. He hasn't felt this at ease in years, and he was glad you were back.

He didn't get the chance to catch you after the press conference, but he found you sitting on the balcony of his garage, legs swinging down the edge. He stood behind you, listening to you hum a melody as you looked at the pictures from today.

You must've been too into your little word to notice him crouched behind you, looking through your pictures with you. A soft smile on his face as he admired your concentrated face. "Baby," He held your chin gently turning you to face him. "Look my way."

Pink dusted your cheeks as you looked at him shyly. "Hi." You whispered barley loud enough for him to hear. "Hi." He glanced down at your lips, not giving it a second thought before leaning down upon seeing the necklace he's gifted you years ago.

[artiststarme]

Here’s a little something something prompted by @nburkhardt. I wanted to go angstier but she specifically requested a happy ending lol.

Enjoy and leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

As fall grew into winter, Steve started to feel more and more wrong-footed. Gone we’re the dinner invitations from the Wheelers and the drop-in visits from Dustin. They had better things to do, he guessed, than have over the town’s loser for company. Just like the weather, he also grew cold. With each lost invite and every day alone, the chasm in his chest grew until there was only emptiness where his hope used to be.

One day though, it all made sense. Mike and Dustin blew into Family Video with Eddie Munson in tow. They were all laughing and speaking in weird voices that only they understood. It seemed that Steve had been replaced as the “older male figure”, still creepy, and he’d been replaced by Munson. The moat between him and the kids only seemed to widen when he refused to rent them a rated R movie and Eddie rented it himself.

He’d been replaced. After everything they’d gone through, the fate he’d always imagined but hoped wouldn’t, had come. Everywhere he looked, he noticed. He saw Munson driving the kids home from school, saw them walking in town together, and even saw Eddie being invited into the Henderson home for dinner on one particular Tuesday. His worst fear had come true; the kids didn’t need him anymore. Worst yet, it seemed they didn’t even want him.

Instead of wallowing in the well-deserved self-pity, he moves on. Steve distances himself from the kids (not that they notice) and picks up a second job. He doesn’t love working at Melvald’s but Mrs. Byers’ position was open and he was desperate. He needed to save all the money he could so that he and Robin could move once she graduated. Steve couldn’t let her leave without him just because he didn’t have the funds to leave Hawkins. He didn’t know what he’d do if she left him too.

So he worked himself to exhaustion and avoided Robin’s questions at work and Mrs. Henderson’s curious glances at the grocery store. He hides in the back room of Family Video when Munson tracks him down to gloat and locks his front door to avoid the kids if they were ever to come to his house and rub it in.

He continues his melancholic loathing until he couldn’t anymore. Eventually his lack of sleep and empty diet had to catch up to him and catch up to him it did. Embarrassingly, it caught up to him right as he started yelling about Munson replacing him right to Eddie’s face and he passed out in his arms like some damsel in distress.

When he woke up in the hospital, it wasn’t a huge surprise. He’d felt it coming just as he’d felt the kids pulling away. What was a surprise was the ringed hand wrapped in his and the soft lull of someone reading Lord of the Rings to him.

The sleeping Henderson mother sitting in the chair at the end of his bed was also a surprise albeit the hissing cat in her lap was not. God, Steve hated Mews 2.

When everyone woke up, there would be screaming and crying and an outpouring of love. Steve would see that Eddie didn’t replace him but instead aimed to join him as a part of the family. He’d show him through hand-holding, kisses, and bringing Steve lunch in his free period.

Steve could finally see how loved he was as part of the Henderson family. He also saw how fun it was to be the older brother once he could gross Dustin out by flirting with his boyfriend in front of him. And the best part? Eddie liked horrifying the kid too.

[twstgarden]

❁ ❝ 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝟰𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝗿𝘆 ❞

━ twisted wonderland cast (night raven college only) and gn! student! reader (f/n means first name, n/n means nickname, reader is not yuu) ━ you are celebrating the anniversary of the prestigious academy with your fellow schoolmates.

slight (?) spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia's arc!

do not steal or translate without my permission.

buy me a coffee here and ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

march 18th.

the anniversary date of night raven college. as a student of this prestigious academy, you naturally had to celebrate with your fellow students. receiving an invitation from ramshackle, you decided to join them in the festivities.

the staff arrived there first, and even asked grim to cook up some meals for the party. of course, yuu thought they were exempted from this task until grim dragged them to the kitchen. you walked around the previously abandoned dormitory, eyeing the purple, black, white, and muted gold balloons, and the other decorations.

some time has passed and grim came out of the dormitory, wearing a chef outfit with a grin on his face, “done!” yuu, on the other hand, sighed before smiling a little, seemingly a little exhausted from all the cooking. to be fair, only the two of them were cooking up the feast and it isn’t exactly easy with a companion who has paws for hands.

a soft chuckle left your lips as you crossed your arms, “well, well, you seem proud, grim.”

“of course! no task is too hard for the great grim-sama!” exclaimed grim before rushing to the tables with yuu in tow as they placed the cooked meals in a presentable manner. with a smile, the headmaster clapped his hands together as he spoke, “wonderful! this is a great way to develop your culinary skills! aren’t i so kind?”

trein sighed at crowley’s remark while crewel stepped forward as he eyed the dishes, “it’s best not to overwork these two pups from ramshackle, headmaster crowley.”

“this calls for a picture!” spoke sam as he glanced at you with a smile, “little imp, will you kindly take a picture of us?” yuu handed the ghost camera to you as soon as you nodded, bringing the camera up to your face as you aimed it towards the staff members.

“okay! ready…”

they immediately lined up and posed together with grim settled on crowley’s shoulder with a big smile on his face, holding his paws out to put up the number 4, and the rest of the staff did the same.

“happy 4th anniversary!”

click!

after the satisfaction of taking a photo, you handed the camera back to yuu and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the day. it did not take long until the rest of the students came by and you found yourself enjoying a drink by the snacks table. a pair of footsteps suddenly caught your attention as you sipped on your drink before taking a glance at your side, seeing ace and deuce approaching you.

“heya, n/n! why are you standing there all alone? come!” spoke ace as he linked his arm around yours and dragged you to where the rest of the first years stood, “have you tried the food? the fudge brownies taste soooo good!”

the moment you stood before the banquet table, epel nudged your arm and pointed at the dessert section, “i saw some tasty treats over there and yuu told me the one i tasted was called kolaches. you should try it!”

the first years proceed to try and feed you every single food on the banquet table as they munched on their chosen treats. even sebek was asking you to try the green apple cucumber smoothie, while jack asked you to try the creamy macaroni salad.

after miraculously getting away from the first years attempting to overfeed you, you bumped into riddle and immediately apologised, “oh! i’m so sorry, riddle.” he shrugged you off and smiled, “no matter. you seem a little dazed, however.” his revelation made you awkwardly laugh a little, “i kinda snacked a little too much….”

“oh dear, it seems our little angelfish is full from all that snacks.”

riddle sighed as soon as he heard that voice, and you turned around to see azul standing there with a smile, the twins on either side of him as they both also held grins on their faces. it was a slightly chilling sight, but you have grown accustomed to it by this time.

“hello, octavinelle,” you greeted as you smiled at them. “we should go for a walk,” spoke riddle as he held your wrist in an attempt to drag you away from the trio. however, they decided to trail behind the both of you. riddle glanced from behind, realising they were following along.

you, on the other hand, did not really mind.

“f/n~!”

a familiar call of your name caused you to pause in your tracks as you saw ruggie approaching you, “where are you going? shishishi, i thought we were going to start packing food for leftovers.”

“ah, right. we can do that later. the rest of the students are still eating,” you replied, causing ruggie to sulk a little. “what if they end up clearing the banquet?! i’m really looking forward to having the spicy meatballs as tomorrow’s lunch, y’know?” spoke ruggie as he clasped his hands together.

before you could reply back, another voice chirped into your conversation.

“do you want more food? we can always share!”

really, what’s with everyone and interrupting conversations today?

you turned to see kalim and jamil as the former waved at you enthusiastically. riddle’s grip on your wrist loosened a little as he remained standing beside you, while the octavinelle trio remained smiling.

“wait, for real?” questioned ruggie, causing jamil to shake his head only to be interrupted by kalim.

“yeah! the more food the better, right?”

you looked at ruggie with a snicker as you patted his back, “well, you won’t have to worry about tomorrow’s lunch. if there’s any leftovers, we can start packing.” with a smile, ruggie nodded and proceeded to walk around the ramshackle dormitory with you and the rest of the second years in tow.

after your walk with the second years, you got back to sipping on your beverage by the entrance, standing beside the balloons as you eyed the rest of the students enjoying their time. with another sip, you saw grim trying to sneak his paw into deuce’s plate and no one seemed to notice his little food thievery. another sip and you saw jamil staring at the dates with a perplexed expression before it morphed back into a blank one. one more sip and you saw malleus standing beside you.

wait, what?

your heart almost jumped out of your chest at the presence of the diasomnia dormitory leader. it was a good thing your glass did not drop to the grass. malleus seemed to notice your surprise as he smiled and apologised, “oh. my apologies. i did not mean to frighten you.”

once you calmed down a little, you smiled at him, “no worries, i was a little too focused on observing everyone else that i did not notice your approach.” malleus merely hummed in response as he, too, looked at the same group of people you were currently eyeing – the third years.

lilia was having a drink with idia as vil approached the two and proceeded to have a conversation. leona was nearby, holding a plate of honey-glazed meatballs and party franks with rook eyeing him at a distance – well, that was odd. on the other hand, trey was holding a glass of cocktail with cater holding up a selfie stick and taking a picture with him.

“lilia seems to be enjoying his beverage a lot,” remarked malleus as he noticed lilia pouring another glass for himself in the middle of his conversation with idia and vil – or vil, with idia panicking to himself due to the social interaction.

“and rook seems to be sneaking on leona,” you added, causing malleus to take a quick glance at the aforementioned individuals with a snicker. you glanced at him and chuckled, “hey now, it’s not funny.”

“yes, but do you see the way kingscholar avoids hunt’s advances? i find it amusing,” replied malleus. you decided to focus on the two of them and realised leona was purposely trying to lose rook in the crowd, only for the latter to find him again.

you blinked and mumbled, “do you think rook just wants to have a conversation with him?”

malleus stayed silent for a moment, “…a conversation would be the possible choice, but the topic of said conversation may appear to be quite threatening.” you hummed in reply, aware of rook’s antics with non-human students, so it isn’t a surprise if malleus had his own experiences as well.

“my my, it seems the two of you are quite busy with student observations.”

you and malleus were fixated on leona and rook that you did not notice lilia standing beside you with a smile on his face. malleus seemed as if he had expected that, however. you smiled and waved at lilia, “oh, hello.”

“are you enjoying the party, little bat?” asked lilia as he sipped on his tomato juice, which made sense why he refilled his glass over and over again. you nodded, sipping on your own beverage, “quite so. i have tasted every dish that is being served, thanks to the first years.”

a soft laugh left lilia’s lips as he replied, “right! i did see sebek trying to coerce you into drinking the smoothie.”

“i have not seen silver around, though,” you added as you looked around, causing malleus and lilia to glance around the entrance as well. “could he have fallen asleep somewhere?” asked malleus.

“i suppose i know where he is. come,” spoke lilia as he started walking towards ramshackle’s backyard with you and malleus in tow. as soon as you arrived to the backyard, you noticed a figure leaning by the tree, wearing diasomnia’s uniform as a few birds surrounded the said figure.

“there he is!” exclaimed lilia like a parent overjoyed at the sight of his child. you approached the dozing figure as malleus spoke, “i suppose the tree is quite comfortable to rest on.” hearing malleus’ voice made silver flutter his eyes open before he stood up straight, “ah! s-sorry, i did not realise i had fallen asleep…”

“why are you standing here? join the party! there’s lots of snacks you can eat,” spoke lilia as he grabbed silver’s hand. the latter hummed a little before glancing at you, “ah… n/n…” malleus glanced back at the banquet table before looking back at silver, “come, silver. let’s indulge ourselves.”

“yes, malleus-sama,” replied silver as he quickly walked beside malleus, both heading to the table and plating their chosen meals. you and lilia were left by the tree in the backyard, smiling at the sight of everyone enjoying the party with no worries in the world, stuffing themselves and laughing with their friends.

lilia eyed malleus and silver with a relieved smile, “…well, i’m very happy.”

“hm?” you turned your head to look at lilia with a puzzled expression, “oh… well, the atmosphere of this anniversary party is quite light-hearted, it makes me happy too.” lilia merely smiled, his eyes still on malleus and silver picking some food with sebek joining them and pointing at the meals they need to try.

“yes, and… i’m happy they’ve reassured me they can take care of themselves now…” mumbled lilia, causing you to blink as you did not know what he meant or what he was hinting at. nonetheless, you smiled and patted his back as he laughed a little, “happy 4th anniversary to our prestigious academy~!”

“mhm, happy 4th anniversary.”

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[j2h5b5]

There was only one thing that could have dragged Steve out of bed at two in the morning when he was nursing a booze-induced headache and an Eddie Munson-induced heartache.

“We need you,” she said.

He didn’t even bother putting on a jacket.

***

Dustin was sloppy, red-eyed and so unsteady that when Steve thunked a strong hand down on his shoulder, he almost lost his balance turning away from the group of asshats he’d taken up with to see who had grabbed him. Some of the drink in his hand sloshed over the sides of the cup and dribbled down the front of his shirt and onto the already filthy kitchen floor.

“Hey, what the—” he began, and then he dragged his gaze up to land on Steve.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when those same eyes would’ve lit up at the sight of his babysitter slash idol slash best friend. He would wrap him in a hug if it had been a day or two since he’d seen him, or sling a companionable arm around him, or punch him good-naturedly in the arm in hopes of initiating a play scuffle, which inevitably ended with him in a headlock getting his mop of curls aggressively tousled because he was just never going to have any kind of athletic edge on Steve.

But now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the younger boy asked in a tone so sharp and cold and so very NOT-Dustin that it made Steve’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

“Hey, man,” Steve said, aiming for casual if only to keep Dustin from embarrassing himself in front of his new asshat friends. “Can I talk to you? Step outside with me for a sec, okay?”

“Um, no,” Dustin bit out. “This’s my party, i'ss my house. It would be rude to leave my guests.”

“Yeah, since you brought that up … who are these people?” Steve swept his gaze over the Henderson kitchen, which was almost unrecognizable with all of the clutter, displaced furniture, and wasted teenagers. “And Dustin … where’s your mom?”

“Not here.”

“Well yeah, I kind of gathered that. Listen, Dust…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are the others here?”

“Oh, you mean the traitors who called and ratted me out to YOU? Who the fuck cares?” His voice lowered to what he seemed to think was a conspiratorial level but was really just an extremely loud stage whisper. “Maybe they tripped and fell and landed their buzzkill asses back in the Upside Down.”

“Okay, that’s it.”

Before Dustin could protest, the cup was plucked from his hand and tossed expertly across the room, over the heads of several unwary drunken youths and into the crusty-dish-crowded sink and he was being towed along behind Steve through the kitchen, the living room, out the front door.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Let go of me! Let go!” Dustin struggled against the vise grip on his bicep but only succeeded in ensuring he’d probably have finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow.

Steve paid him no mind until he had deposited the boy into the passenger seat of his car, slammed the door, and locked it. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked it only long enough to get in, relocked it, and turned to Dustin.

“First of all,” he began loudly, drowning out Dustin’s sputtering attempts to find the words he wanted to hurl at Steve in his outrage at being manhandled out of his own party. “First of all. Joking about the Upside Down in a room full of strangers? NOT OKAY.”

“They don’t even know what—”

“Not. Fucking. Okay. SECOND, if you ever imply again that one of ours should BE in the Upside Down, you will find yourself with my foot so far up your ass you’ll choke on my shoe, and if you think I’m joking about that, Dustin, try me.”

This time there was only an eye-roll from Dustin, because he kind of didn’t want to try Steve on that point and because he kind of felt bad about saying it.

“Third, your friends are not traitors. They care about you and they’re worried about you; they called me for help because you’re treating them like shit and shut down every attempt they make to help you. Listen, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, Dustin, but you have to let someone help you. You’re not okay, buddy. This isn’t you. And all this shit you’re doing, the drinking and the partying and the pretending not to give a damn? It isn’t going to fix anything. It … it won’t bring him back.”

“Shut up!” Dustin shouted, flinching so hard at the words that he smacked the back of his head against the side window. Steve winced at the sound of skull meeting glass and resisted the urge to reach out and check for blood, or a bump. Dustin seemed not to have noticed that he’d nearly brained himself, infusing his next words with all the venom he could muster. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Steve. Even if you were right, it’s none of your business what I do! I am none of your business.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Dustin. Of course you’re my business.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! What are you saying?”

Dustin barked out a humorless laugh. “As much as I’d like to sit here with you and have a heart to heart right now, I have to get back to my guests.”

“No,” Steve snapped, reaching over Dustin to slap down the peg lock when the teen yanked it up. “We’re not done here. Now I can go inside and clear out your house and we can talk there, or you can drop the bullshit and talk to me right now.”

“You’re not shutting down my party.”

“Then we talk here.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Right, sure you don’t. Maybe I can give you some words, then. How about this, Dustin? How about: ‘Hey, Steve, you useless idiot loser, you promised to keep us safe and then you fucked it all up like you always do. The plan didn’t work and Max got hurt and Eddie fucking died, and you couldn’t stop it. I hate you for that, for lying and making us feel safe and telling us it was going to be okay. I can’t even look at you anymore and I hate my friends because they don’t hate you for some reason, but we know, don’t we? We know whose fault it is that we came back a man short. It’s yours, Steve. Yours.’” Steve’s voice was cracked and painful, like he’d been eating gravel and chasing it with cheap whisky and cigarettes. It hurt, that voice. “How’s that, Dust?” he finished, staring unflinching into Dustin’s shocked eyes. “Am I in the ballpark?”

Before Steve could react, Dustin unlocked his door and flung himself out of the car. He was drunk and it was dark, though, and he only made it a few yards before tripping and landing hard on the grass. Steve was on him almost instantly, hauling him up by the arms and scanning him for injuries.

He didn’t see the punch coming, wouldn’t have believed Dustin Henderson capable of such an effective hit, right in the mouth, knocking him back a couple of feet. “Jesus, Dustin!” he shouted, touching his lip and staring dumbfounded when his fingers came away wet with blood. “What the fuck, man?”

“Hit me back.”

“What? No! Dustin, what’s—”

“HIT ME BACK, STEVE! You have to!” Dustin’s voice cracked, the sudden violent burst of emotion threatening to unleash something big and scary and unforgivable. A tidal wave that had a name.

Steve grappled wildly with the boy, trying to grab his flailing arms so he could pin him, but Dustin was surprisingly swift in his current state, and he launched another punch, this one landing heavy in Steve’s gut and socking the breath right out of him.

“HIT ME, STEVE! I KNOW YOU WANT TO, JUST DO IT!”

Fueled by a burst of frustration and a sharper burst of fear (what is this?), Steve recovered enough to trap Dustin’s arms against his body, using his own weight to twist the boy around until he was trapped with his back against Steve, the hold immobilizing him so all he could do was squirm and shout out his fury. “LET ME GO FUCK YOU STEVE WHY WON’T YOU JUST FIGHT BACK YOU ASSHOLE?!”

“Dustin, stop. Stop it. Breathe, Dustin. Take a breath. No, hey, stop. You’re not going anywhere until you calm down for me. Breathe. Shhh, buddy. Breathe,” Steve’s hold was unbudging, his tone stern but soothing. Dustin’s violent struggles gradually slowed, and it took a couple of minutes for Steve to realize that the boy was shaking with silent sobs. And then the sobs became words, almost indecipherable in the wrecked, wretched voice that was rough and strained from screaming.

Every sentence Steve parsed from the stream of horrible self-accusations added another crack to his heart, which couldn’t have been more than a mess of spiderwebbing at this point.

It’s my fault.

He’s dead because of me.

I couldn’t save him.

You loved him, I know you did.

Why don’t you hate me?

Why don’t you hate me?

Why don’t you hate me?

Finally, finally, the words stopped and Dustin sagged, exhausted, in Steve’s arms. Only then did Steve ease up on his hold, but only long enough to turn the boy around and hug him properly. He bent down to bury his face in the unruly curls, his own tears falling unchecked and inconsequential.

“Dustin,” he whispered into the mop of hair. “Oh, Dustin, never.”

And when he realized he didn’t have the right words, he just stopped. He just picked Dustin up and carried him to his car, buckled him into the passenger seat, and told him he would be right back. He had a party to break up, some kids to chase away, and a boy—his boy—to mend.

“You loved him, I know you did.”

With a soul-cleansing breath that sounded more like a sob, Steve made his way back up to the Hendersons’ house.