#and because of that + the fact that he's half blind without his glasses makes it really hard for him to walk around and shit

[twovialsofamortentia]

a little bit about my favourite tattoo of james’ and why he’s my dirty numb angel boy 💊

james had been told all his life that he was hot. fit, sexy, handsome, all the masculine ones. but it wasn’t until he met you that he saw himself for what he was.

the first time you called him pretty, he laughed. half because he was high, bloodstream full of ecstasy and jägerbombs and god knows what else. he clenched his jaw, the wad of white gum in his teeth being squished down flat as he grinned, trying not to let his jaw swing too much.

when your hands slid under his tshirt he laughed again, one of his hands reaching up to push his sunglasses into his hair so that he could look you in the eye. he had to blink a few times to unblur his vision, his pupils like saucers, but even that didn’t quite work, so he took what he could get as he gazed down at you through the haze. the strobe lights in the club weren’t exactly helping, but james would look for you in total darkness, so he didn’t mind squinting to see what he could of you. he didn’t think to consider that he was totally blind without his glasses.

he leaned against the wall, head tilted back so he could stare down at you, because that angle helped, apparently.

“pretty?” he echoed your words, chuckling again when you nodded insistently.

james blacked out then, and didn’t clock where he was again until you shoved him playfully into a bathroom stall, locking the door and dropping to your knees. his eyes widened, if that were at all possible, but he gave you a wonky smile, his palm coming to rest against your cheek. he was chewing pretty hard on his gum, which only made his smirk twice as pretty.

when you pulled his cock out of his jeans and ran your tongue all the way up it, james laughed again, because he had forgotten how good it felt to do this high. as you took him into your mouth, his jaw dropped, but the smile didn’t.

a moan slipped past james’ lips when he hit the back of your throat and made you gag. his hand shoved into your hair, gripping it to pull you off of his cock and get a look at you, knowing that there’d be tears streaming down your face, blackened by your makeup as it stained your under-eyes.

you giggled as you spat on his tip, sucking air in through your gritted teeth as you grinned up at him, making him smile.

“fucking hell.” james huffed as you took him all the way back into your mouth, and the hand that wasn’t in your hair was what james used to brace himself on the wall in front of him so that he could fuck further into your throat, making you gag around him again.

it was all james could do not to spill himself over your tonsils, and he decided, in his drug-induced stupidity, that he needed a distraction from cumming after two minutes of being in your mouth.

so, shakily, james lit a cigarette, oblivious to the fact that there was a smoke alarm on the ceiling above his head. his hands shook as he pressed it between his lips, holding it with his thumb and forefinger as he watched you sucking his dick. it might have just been the molly giving him the shakes, or it was just the ‘sertraline shakes’ from his antidepressants.

stupidly enough, james never chalked it up to the fact that your nose was brushing against his v-line and your cheeks were hollowed, working his cock as if he owed you money for it. and fuck, james would have given you anything you wanted if it meant you’d do this to him again.

if james was in the bathroom on any other night and his favourite song came on, he’d be dashing out of the door like he was running from something. now, though, he just beamed, because it meant he got to hear born slippy ringing distantly in his ears while you dragged your fingers up and down the half of his length that you weren’t swirling your tongue over.

your fingers ghosted over the tattoo on his ribs- dirty numb angel boy- as if you were acknowledging that you had seen it, and you could hear just as well as james the song that it came from.

“i’m gonna cum.” james breathed, just as the filter of the cigarette started to burn his fingers because he had smoked it down too far and had nowhere to dispose of it.

“where?”

“god- on your fucking face.”

you smirked, locking eyes with james as you stroked his cock a final few times, and he went to smile at you, but then you winced and your eyes fluttered shut as white ropes of cum hit your face, heavy on your lashes, painting your cheeks. james’ grin returned when you gasped, thumb coming up to swipe it away from your eye so that you could open them. you cleaned it off with your tongue.

it took him a minute to get his breath back, and he chucked the cigarette in the toilet behind him, not bothering to flush it. james took your face in his hands again, tilting your head so he could watch his cum glisten like glitter as the fluorescent light hit it.

when you called him pretty again, james was a step closer to believing it. he leaned back, looking down at you, half considering the notion of being a pretty boy, half trying to listen to the best part of the song as it faded out into some shitty house track that james hated by default, because james fucking hated house music.

“you high?” james asked you as you stood up, tugging you closer by hooking his fingers through your belt loops, eyes scanning your face rapidly because it was still coated with his cum.

“not so much, anymore.” you replied, reaching up to push two of your fingers into james’ mouth, so that he could clean them. his eyes widened at the sheer filth of it, but he did it anyway. “you?”

“yeah.” james gasped as soon as his mouth was free, making you smile. he blinked down at you, and it felt as if the eyeliner along his own waterline was blurring his vision, but he knew it was just the pills.

james blacked out again, then, and when he came to he was grateful he didn’t do it while you were blowing him in the bathroom, because he wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single second of it. he was outside, in the shitty smoking area that was just an alleyway with a fence around it, hands still shaking from god knows what as he tried to ash his cigarette.

you were there, james could feel you watching him, but he had no idea where his friends had gone. he also wasn’t sure if he minded, because you were stood in front of him, and you thought he was pretty. when you told him that again, he just shrugged.

james didn’t have it in him to disagree with anything you said.

[rc-writes]

𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 | 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢

pairings: matt murdock x reader (could be both romantic & platonic)

warnings: reader has poor vision and can't really get around on their own without their glasses

a/n: brought to you by this little blurb i wrote a little while ago! completely inspired by me realizing a few weeks ago that i would be useless even in my own house without my glasses/contacts and then thinking about what would happen if i was outside anywhere lol

This could not be happening.

All you wanted to do was go home and celebrate by doing nothing the rest of the day because your boss let everyone in your department go home early. But then the elevator just had to be out of order, and you just had to take the stairs, and you just had to have happened to wear those shoes you couldn't fully walk correctly in just yet, and you just had to momentarily stumble on the third step down.

All events just had to happen in a domino effect that resulted in your glasses sliding off your face and then over the railing. You being forced to helplessly listen to them clank against other rails as they went down until they hit the ground, most likely shattering into a million pieces.

For a long moment you just looked over the railing, down into the blurry abyss as you contemplated whether or not you could make it the rest of the way down by yourself. A decision that was abruptly decided when you realized even if you made it the rest of the way down without falling, there was no way you would be able to make it back home. No way you could walk through New York City half blind and no way you would trust getting into a taxi without being able to see where they were taking you. You did NOT want to end up on one of those true crime shows all because you tripped on the third freaking step!

After another long moment of panic creeping in you suddenly remembered there was one person you could call for help. One person you knew would never let you hear the end of this but also someone who wouldn't laugh at you cruelly.

You had to call Matt Murdock. You had to call the one blind man in your life to guide YOU home.

And so, here you were sitting on the top of the steps as you searched through your phone contacts with your phone just a few inches from your face. A task so simple if it wasn't for the fact that if you moved your hand just the tiniest bit back you could no longer read the names on the screen and the fact that in your panicked state your hands shaking.

Finally, you found his name and clicked the call button as if your life depended on it. Which considering you probably couldn't tell who or when someone else entered the stairwell, this could be considered a life-or-death situation.

Unfortunately, however, at this moment Matt, Foggy, and Karen were in a meeting with a potential client at the office. Something that shouldn't have caused too much of an issue since Matt would normally have immediately left the room when his phone rang and said you were calling, but there was another domino effect in place.

Earlier that morning when Matt put his phone on his desk, he somehow accidentally set it to silent. There was no sound signaling someone was calling and it being in the other room meant no one could see that it was lighting up.

Not knowing why he wasn't answering, you were forced to leave a voicemail and pray he would get to it soon. And then when "soon" didn't happen you decided texting Karen to tell him to check his phone was the backup move. Though you refrained from telling her any details, not wanting your little mishap to spread to more ears.

This refraining being one of the three causes Matt was just about to have a heart attack in the middle of the office at 1pm.

The second being your vague and terrifying voicemail. "Matt can you please come get me from my work? I'm in the stairwell. Hurry please!"

The third being that any of his attempts to call you back failed, it kept going straight to the recorder.

Now while you were sitting in the corner at the top of the stairwell praying no one else used these stairs with a phone that died right before he tried to call, Matt was in the middle of Hell's Kitchen looking like a lunatic jumping from roof to roof.

"Hey, where did Matt go? He was just here?" Foggy had asked Karen about two minutes after Matt left.

"Uh, he just said he had to leave right now because his "world depended on it" and then he kinda just jumped out the window…"

"I'm going to kill him, I swear. We were so close to getting a client that actually wanted to pay us!"

As Matt drew closer and closer to your office building, he grew more and more confused. Yes, he could hear that there didn't seem to be any real danger around you, but that didn't explain why your heart was beating a million miles per minute.

"Wait, that's why you called me sounding so frantic? God, I thought you were hurt!" Matt said between a laugh and a huff when you explained to him your predicament.

"Well, my ego is definitely hurt so you weren't that far off." You had tried to joke. You couldn't exactly see the look on his face, but the blob in front of you looked vaguely like his hands were on his hips which told you he wasn't exactly in the joking mood at the moment.

Eventually, after just a few steps out the building the jokes from him did start piling in.

"One of us is legally blind, the other is partially visually impaired. Guess who's the one leading who!"

"I think you just stepped in an odd substance." "What!?" "Just kidding!"

"Watch out there's a car there." "Matt I'm pretty sure I can still see a giant metal rectangle five feet from me." "Just wanted to make sure!"

"Watch out for that lamp post!" "I'm pretty sure that's a dog." "No, I think it's definitely a lamp post."

Oh, how you wanted to just push him into oncoming traffic. If you did though you'd probably get charged with a hate crime, AND you would have to wonder half blindly the rest of the way back home.

So, you don't push him. this time. Matt could be such a little shit but who else would have dropped everything to scurry across the city at the odd chance that you were in trouble? Who else would make you feel not stupid about being afraid to go off on your own? Who else would make a situation that is incredibly terrifying in an insane city seem like just another fun day with someone you cared about? Who else could possibly replace Matt Murdock?

[drabbles-mc]

Invisible Silver Linings (5/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: it wouldn't be Thunderbolts* fanfiction without some suffering on Bob's part, i hate to say

The lights came back on again. Food got dropped off. You heard the sound of a door scraping against the floor as it opened. The only reason you knew it was Bob that was being taken was because he was talking loud enough as they took him out for you to hear him. He wasn't saying anything of consequence, but you knew from his tone that he was just trying to let you know that they were taking him somewhere. You wondered if that meant they were going to come for you soon too.

You got your answer a little while later. You were pacing around your room when they opened your door. It was a different woman than before, but she had the same outfit and clipboard. She stood in the gap of your doorway and watched you closely as you walked up to her.

“Cutting me loose, or?”

She motioned for you to step out. “We're moving onto the next phase of the trial, as long as you're still interested.”

You nodded, more out of desperation to be done with this entire excursion than anything else. When you'd signed on for this, you figured they'd stick a needle in you, or give you a few doses of pills to take and then keep you for a week or so to see if it killed you or balanced you out. You hadn't been expecting to get thrown into all of this.

She had you follow her to an elevator, and your eyes went wide at how many stories were in the building that you'd been stuck in. They must've been keeping you all in some hellish maze of subbasements then, since no daylight got in. Seemedlike adding insult to injury, keeping you all in the dark when there were so many other places they could've put you.

You had to squint your eyes when the elevator doors opened back up again. You'd spent who knows how long in darkness and manufactured light, but the floor she'd brought you to seemed to be wall-to-wall windows. Sunlight streamed in and covered anything. It was blinding, but you almost didn’t want to shield your eyes. You didn’t know if they were going to toss you back down into the dark again.

Half of the room looked like a lab straight out of the movies. Vials and beakers and monitors with scans on them. The other half of the room was sectioned off into tiny boxes, all glass and curtains. Sort of like exam rooms in a doctor's office only no doctor in their right mind would agree to this setup for their patients. You could make out silhouettes in some, your first assurance that there were in fact other people still here besides you and Bob. You wondered if he was in one of the rooms. Maybe you two were neighbors again.

The woman pushed open the door to one of the makeshift exam rooms. “Have a seat.”

You looked at the chair that was more of a chair-bed-hybrid, just like the ones at your doctor's office. After a moment of standing in the doorway, you looked at her again. “You guys gonna knock me out again?”

Her face gave nothing away, not even an acknowledgment of what'd happened to you before. “They'll be with you shortly to answer all of your questions. Please, take a seat.”

There was no use in arguing, so you went into the room. You were just going to stand and pace until someone else came in, but as the woman lingered in the doorway you realized she wasn’t going to leave until you did as you were told. Hopping up onto the seat you'd been provided, you made unwavering eye contact with the woman until she stepped away and shut the door behind her. You didn’t miss the click of the lock.

Since you were alone, you got right back off the bed and went over towards the window. You pulled in a deep breath, like you were breathing the fresh air from outside and not the over-circulated air coming out of the vents in the building. You could almost trick your mind into thinking they were the same, though, as you stared out over the expanse of the city. So many buildings, so many people looking so tiny on the sidewalks beneath you. It was peaceful in its chaos. Beautiful. You subconsciously rubbed at the insides of your wrists. To think that you'd nearly given it all up because—

Your enlightenment moment was cut short by the sound of someone screaming. Peeling yourself away from the window, you went back towards the door to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening out there. The curtains stopped you from seeing into the other matchbox-sized rooms, but you saw white blurs of lab coats as people ran past your door, presumably, towards the screaming.

The yell was definitely one born out of pain. You cringed at the sound, hoping for the sake of whoever it was that it would be over soon. If what was happening to them was that painful, maybe they'd just pass out. Hopefully you would too, if this was what you had to look forward to in phase two of whatever the hell this was.

“Stop! Stop!” they yelled. “I don't wanna do this anymore!”

Once the person spoke, you knew immediately that it was Bob. Your heart tightened inside your chest, like a set of vines were choking it out. Pressing your face against the glass door, you desperately tried to get a look at whatever it was that was going on. You flattened your palms on the door, one on either side of your head, and pushed as you continued to try and see what was happening.

The yelling continued. Bob begging them to stop whatever it was that they were doing to him. Doctors and scientists yelling for assistance in a way that had you thinking whatever was happening they hadn’t seen yet before. Before you realized what you were doing, you were pounding on the door and begging to be let out.

It reached a crescendo of screaming and then it fell silent. Dread seeped through every vein and artery of your body as you tried to figure out what had happened. Did they kill him? Was whatever this was too much and it killed him? Did the pain finally knock him out? But then why weren't they saying anything either?

You started hitting the door harder. You screamed Bob's name and waited for the glass to break beneath the slamming of your fists. Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you were forced to simply stand there and wait for whatever happened next. How did you always end up in this position? How did you always end up being so useless when people needed you the most?

Then the lights cut out. It was only for a second, two at most. But everything went dark. The brief power outage reset the lock on your door, so you eagerly ripped it open and launched yourself out into the expanse of the lab without a second thought. Looking around, you didn’t see anyone. The eerie part, though, was that nothing really seemed like it was out of place.

Your heart was thundering inside your chest as you took one tentative step after another. You called out for Bob but got no answer from him or anyone else. As you continued to walk, you glanced into each of the exam rooms. Most of them seemed untouched.

The second to last one gave you pause before you even got to it. The door was flung open, and black streaks were coming out of the doorway. Even on your best day, you wouldn't have been able to venture a guess as to what would case something like that.

“Bob?” You wished your voice wasn't so shaky.

Then you heard it. Footsteps. Slow and heavy. You stopped walking, holding your breath as you tried to gear up for whatever was about to happen. There was no more trying to predict the next move now—you just had to take them as they came.

The relief you felt when Bob stepped out of the exam room was indescribable. He looked like hell, his hair all a mess and tears on his face. If you thought that he'd looked scared before, it was nothing compared to the look in his eyes now. But it was him. He was alive. That was better than you had been preparing yourself for.

You didn’t even bother trying to stop the sob in your throat as you quickly went to collapse the distance between the two of you. “Thank god you're alright,” you said, managing a smile through the tears.

The deer-in-headlights look on his face intensified tenfold as you reached out for him. He held his hands up, palms facing you like he was surrendering. “Wait, wait don't—”

You'd hardly started to process what he was saying, or the fact that his hands and wrists were now an inky black color as you went to take his hands in yours. He tried to pull back away from you, but he wasn't fast enough. Your next kind words died halfway up your throat as your fingers brushed against his. Suddenly you were gone, and Bob was all alone once more.

He dropped to his knees just outside the room he'd been stuck in. Holding his hands out in front of him, he stared at his palms through his tears. Clenching his fists, he felt his fingernails bite into the meat of his palms. It didn't do anything to him, though, not like what it had done to everyone else, not like what it had done to you.

He stared at the shadow left behind where you had once stood. Reaching out, he pressed his fingertips to it, not knowing what he expected it to do. When nothing happened, he figured that it was fitting. That was about what he deserved.

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[skyahri]

Remember Part Four |SatoSugu X Reader| HC Series

Part Three Masterlist Ko-fi

A/N: Y'all, I'm so sorry it's so late. My mind has been buzzing in a different direction.

- - - - -

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Satoru..."

He'd been begging to join you on your unofficial outing for the better part of an hour. He'd been following you around, making empty promises to behave and offering you random things in return if you'd just allow him to accompany you. But you knew better, and after nearly thirteen years of knowing the man, it was safe to assume he'd only cause a headache.

"I'm serious. Let me go with you. You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know."

"Satoru..."

Your patience is wearing thin at this point. There's a silent warning that follows the hiss of his name, but he ignores it all the same.

"Just let us in. Let us help."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"I know it has something to do with Suguru."

You froze, staring blankly in front of you for only a moment before turning around to face him. His expression was hard, something that you've seen many times over the years, but never one you'd expect from pre-tragedy Gojo- someone still high on the spoils of his upbringing and blind to the heartache of the real world.

He'd said it with all the confidence in the world, like it was a fact and not some half-assed conclusion he (and presumably Geto, too) had come to. Your lack of response and obvious shock must have been all the confirmation he needed- to say everything that's been on his mind since that encounter in the bathroom two weeks ago. To hell with Suguru's endless warnings about coming on too strong. He was tired of waiting for you to come around.

"You're struggling..." his voice was uncharacteristically soft, like he was worried he'd spook you, "You don't sleep. You skip meals. You disappear without so much as a goodbye. We know you're doing all of this for the greater good, or whatever, but it's hard watching you kill yourself in the process. I just want to take some of the weight off of you, but you won't let me."

You can only stare up at him. He'd tipped his glasses down to the tip of his nose, allowing you to look into his pretty blue eyes. (That asshole knows your weaknesses). It's easy to get a read on him, the seriousness of his words reflecting perfectly on his face. But even if he does mean it, you can't bring yourself to drag him into your never-ending pit of hopelessness.

"I appreciate it, Satoru, but I can't take that kind of risk. This could very well be my only shot and I can't risk losing him just because I can't handle a little pressure-"

"It's not a little pressure and we both know it."

"You just don't understand-"

"Then make me understand!"

"He leaves, Satoru!"

Maybe he's more in tune with your brain than you are, or maybe he just knows all the right buttons to push, because the stress simmering in your mind seems to bubble over in that moment. You inhale sharply and let it all out.

"Things happen, terrible things, and it changes him, and he just... leaves. I can't tell you because I can't risk fucking up our only chance to save him. I just-" a heavy sob breaks through your sentence, but it doesn't deter you, "I love you and you love me, but we love him. We need him, Satoru, and he isn't around. We're not the same. We're sad and empty and it's lonely."

It spills out like word vomit. You can't control what you're saying and you can barely process the actual syllables, but you don't stop.

"I can't spend another decade wearing his shirts that you've spritzed with his cologne and wishing he were there. I can't spend another Sunday looking at the extra chair we keep at the dining table just in case he comes back. I avoid your nightstand because I know you keep a ring in there for him. You and I still text in the group chat even though he's been inactive since that night!"

Satoru is quiet for once in his life. He's been completely stunned into silence, not daring to interrupt your ranting. Your eerily calm pleading turned into shouting at some point and he's grateful for the privacy of an empty school on a particularly busy day.

He hates the tears in your eyes, even more so when they start to drip down your flushed cheeks. He wishes that he had better listened to all of Suguru's annoying lectures about sympathy and empathy (or whatever it's called) because he's grossly ill-prepared for this conversation.

He settles on pulling you into a hug, because while words aren't his strong suit, actions certainly are. He lets you cry into his chest without complaint. You grip the fabric of his school-issued white button-up and let go of all the pent-up grief from the past twelve years.

"So,"

He waits for you to become slightly more composed.

"What are we gonna do about it?"

You chuckle at how unapologetically comfortable he is with himself. You don't remove yourself from his embrace, choosing instead to hide the incoming tension.

"We stop him."

"From?"

"A year and a half from now, Suguru goes on a solo mission to a small village, where he will kill a hundred and twelve villagers. He takes over a cult, whose new goal is to kill all non-sorcerers in an attempt to end curses forever."

Satoru swallow hard. Honestly, what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"... seriously?"

Well, apparently not that.

You push off of him and punch him square in the chest. It's playful, kind of, lightening the atmosphere a bit.

"Okay, okay. I just mean, like, if Suguru were to switch sides, that's definitely the prerogative he'd take. So, what now?"

- - - - -

You sat across from him on the city bus to your destination, an envelope in his hands.

"This is it?"

There are three newspaper clippings inside. Obituaries, spaced years apart, and non-specific. Names, dates, and kind words, but nothing more.

"Yeah... that's it."

Satoru slumps back in his seat, his blue and white kimono fanning out across the seat. He sighs and slides further down, pouting like a child who didn't get his way.

"Why not wait until we have more information, then? Seems like a waste to me."

"They host a harvest festival twice a year to bring in money, but other than that, it's pretty closed off. This is the only time I can gather information without raising suspicion."

"What are we looking for?"

"Suguru spares two little girls. I only met them once and I didn't have the opportunity to ever ask him about it, so my knowledge is limited. I know they're sorcerers and that they adored Suguru, but nothing else. I was hoping to check out their home situation, if possible. The request the elders send in is very... hostile to say the least, so I was wondering if there was some build-up to the event."

"You think maybe they're being mistreated? Suguru would definitely snap over something like that."

"I think that something happened right around the time the girls would've acquired their cursed techniques. Villages like this tend to be irrationally superstitious. Three unexplained deaths and two girls who can see monsters probably won't go over very well."

Satoru let his head fall onto the window with a loud thunk. His brain was starting to hurt. Is this really what you're up to when you sneak off? Coming up with an elaborate hypothesis based on nothing but (only possibly relevent) future knowledge and guesswork? He'd only been on the case for two hours and he was already drained.

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Depends. I brought some talismans to hide around the area at the very least. If we see anything concrete, we'll return to the school and submit an official request to Yaga."

"I don't understand why we're sneaking around. Isn't future vision a good enough reason to investigate?"

"I'd like to keep this whole thing away from the elders if possible. Yaga and I have an understanding of sorts, but the geezers aren't as amicable."

You knew Satoru could at least understand that much. While he doesn't have the extensive experience you have with them yet, he's still vividly aware of just how scrutinizing they can be.

You can see the restlessness settle onto his face. He hates the back road way of things, preferring to charge in head first and think about consequences later- a big reason (among many) that you didn't initially plan to key him into any of this.

"We can't just, I don't know, ask Suguru to chill out or something?"

You lean over him and flick his forehead. He flinches back and starts to complain, but is cut off by the screeching of the bus's brakes.

The two of you exit the vehicle and make your way down the dirt path that leads to the village. You expected to feel something, anything really, but even once you're past the torii there's nothing. No cursed energy, residuals, or any sign of abnormality.

Satoru must not see anything either, because his brows are pulled together and there's a slight frown on his face.

Even without seeing anything off about the place, it's still weird. The only time you've ever been here before was directly after the massacre. Now, not only are all of the villagers alive, but the whole area is bustling with tourists.

You only have a moment to glance over the sea of people before Satoru is pulling you over towards the food stands. He heads straight for the Takoyaki stand and stuffs a handful of yen into the vendor's hand. He practically shoves one of the trays in your face and takes one for himself before pulling you off again.

"Satoru, stop! What are you doing? We aren't here to dick around!"

Two minutes. It's only been two minutes and yet he's already lost sight of the goalpost.

He doesn't show any signs that he's heard you, instead opting to maneuver through people until you're parked next to a giant oak tree on a small hill. He drops the wrist he had taken and turns around. He's wearing that shit-eating grin, the one that clearly says he's up to no good and doesn't feel all that sorry about it.

"We can do both. Enjoy the sights, eat some food, grab some fresh produce, and gather information. Consider it a win-win situation."

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to come. You never take anything seriously."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing two things at once, princess. Besides-"

He grabs your tray and sets both down on the ground. He turns you around rather aggressively and pushes on your shoulders until you're both sat on the grass, his long legs awkwardlybent on either side of you. He leans forward so his head is over your shoulder and his hands slide down to rest on your elbows.

"Look."

You're rolling your eyes at his not-so-subtle flirting, about to lecture him, but then you see it- two little girls, a blonde and a brunette.

They're with two people who you can only assume are their parents. They seem fine. Happy. Healthy. Smiles on their face, sweet pastries in their hands, and powdered sugar on their cheeks.

You glance around from your elevated space and notice that everyone you can confidently assume belongs to this village looks fine. Vendors are laughing with their customers and farmers are helping kids pick berries off the remaining bushes.

"I don't understand..."

"It's just too early to intervene. We'll come back in the summer and go from there, okay?"

You relax your body and lean back into him.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. Now,

He hands you the tray kindly this time and leans back just enough so he can enjoy his own while still invading your personal space.

"How about we eat our Takoyaki, browse around a bit, hang up some talismans, and then head back home? Suguru should be back tonight."

He'd successfully worn you down. You couldn't argue with him even if you wanted to. He'd gone with you to the (apparently useless) event, found exactly what you were looking for, and solidified that nothing could be done quite yet.

So what else is there to do besides having to his demands?

"... alright."

Nothing.

He smiled at you.

"Good girl."

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[staranghae]

baby you drive me crazy

summary. seokmin and reader meet at a young changemakers convention because that's how filthy rich people have meet-cutes. :)

pairing. nepo kid ceo! l.sm x self-made ceo! fem! reader genre. fluff, crack., meet-cute warnings. profanity, mentions of alchohol w/c. 1.4k a/n. ah yes. finely marinated fanfiction, delicious. ( i mean this in all seriousness, this has been in my drafts since august of last year so...) song recc. unlock it (lock it) by charli xcx and jay park

seokmin really needed to start finding better ways to get out of these events. his age old excuse of "there's a really important project for the quarter due in a few weeks and i'm utterly clueless about it" was starting to wear thin considering the fact that half of these parties happen towards the end of the year when his company has already wrapped up their projects.

but then, this particular convention didn't seem like the rest. it was the annual "young changemakers" convention, his first one since he took over the company. he'd talked to a grand total of six people his age in the few hours he'd been there, and all of them had done nothing but brag about their money and wealth! not one of them seemed actually interested in the business aspect of the well, you know, running a business. to seokmin, this was better than being surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged people asking very invasive questions about his private life.

as he kept wandering about the convention, making small talk here and there with a few familiar faces, he spots you, sitting on one of the corner tables nursing a glass of chardonnay. he quickly calls over his secretary,

"minghao, come here. i need you to do something for me."

xu minghao, seokmin's secretary of the past seven years, was quite accustomed to his boss' peculiar requests. despite being the same age, minghao was far more perceptive and mature as compared to seokmin. he finishes off his glass of wine and walks over, exasperated.

"yes sir, what is it?"

"do you happen to have any idea of who that is?" he says, pointing to you.

minghao looks over at you and back at seokmin.

"are you seriously telling me you have no idea who she is?" questions minghao, annoyed by his boss' lack of ability to remember crucial information during networking events such as this one.

seokmin looks over at him, completely clueless about your identity.

minghao answers with a sigh,

"that's y/n, the ceo of l/n enterprises. i specifically mentioned her to you because she's the only person here without a family business. her company was completely built by her and her alone. also, her achievements are exemplary, she made the dean's list at harvard and is one of our major shareholders so technically speaking, she's kinda like your boss."

seokmin blinks at him. "in commoner words, please?"

"basically, she's the only one here who isn't a damn nepo baby and happens to own a good chunk of our company."

"ah! got it."

"so if i'm done here, i will take my leave."

minghao turns on his heel and leaves before seokmin has the chance to say anything. he just chuckles to himself and starts walking towards you when he hears minghao call after him,

"also, i didn't tell you this but your father has been trying to set up a blind date with her for you. something about you being incapable of making her fall for you on your own or something."

now, more determined than ever, he walks over to you and sits down across you.

"hi, i'm seokmin, ceo of lee enterprises, and you are?"

"y/n, your blind date for tomorrow evening. although i'm guessing your father hasn't told you about it yet."

he looks away, flustered. you laugh and he might as well have gotten whiplash with how fast he turned his head to look at you.

"he might've. i get quite a few of those, so i tend to lose track."

you stare at him incredulously. you knew about him from your uni days, the only nepo kid in oxford business that gave a fuck about his academics enough to make it onto the dean's list. now, here he was, sitting in front of you, looking and acting every bit the cocky brat you didn't expect him to be. you voice this thought out loud,

"i didn't expect someone who ended up on the dean's list at oxford to act like this but apparently, appearences can be deceiving after all"

seokmin visibly lights up at the mention of the dean's list. you see, only a handful of people actually bothered to find out about him as a person rather than as just an extension of his father and lee enterprises. so, when someone generally tried finding out about him, the dean's list was one of the first things that would pop up.

"you know about the dean's list at oxford business?"

you roll your eyes, "well yeah, obviously! we were required to know who we would be competing against in the industry so we had to find out about the dean's list of most ivy league b-schools"

seokmin has never admired someone as much as he admires you in that exact moment.

"so, about that date..."

you look at him over the rim of your wine glass, "what about it?"

seokmin can't believe it. he's about to ask someone out on a date. like a normal person.

"um, well, instead of, y'know, letting my dad decide the time and place and everything, i was wondering if i could take you out. as lee seokmin, business nerd, not as lee seokmin, ceo."

you chuckle at his description of himself.

"business nerd?" that's an interesting nickname to give yourself."

"i didn't give it to myself, my best friend did. we weren't in the same university but that didn't stop us from being absolute headaches to each other from opposite ends of the world."

"best friend? is it someone in the industry or..?"

"oh, he's the heir to jeon and kim associates."

you've heard the name before. jeon & kim.

"wait, is your friend mingyu?"

seokmin is surprised at the mention. he nods excitedly, looking like an eager poodle.

"d'you know him?"

"know him?! i studied with him! the two of us always partnered up for group projects because we meshed so well together," as you're rattling off about your memories with mingyu to seokmin, you remember it.

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! YOU'RE MINNIE?!"

seokmin snorts his soda at your sudden outburst. he's still coughing and sputtering as you apologise to the people who had turned around to stare at you while passing him tissues to clean himself up. once everything is back into the lull it was in previously, you elaborate,

"you're minnie, right?"

seokmin recalls his friend constantly calling him that when on call with him so he nods, a wave of nostalgia washing over him at the fond memories. he really needs to catch up with gyu soon. maybe he could get minghao to set up a meeti-

"i always thought he was talking about his girlfriend whenever he talked about 'minnie'. turns out it was you, huh? funny."

seokmin pauses mid-sip to give you a look that says 'are you kidding me?'

"okay, first of all, he already had a girlfriend when he was in college to whom he got married to last month. secondly, if the two of you are so close, then how come i didn't see you at the wedding, huh?"

"probably because i was the maid of honour and busy making sure it was perfect, but y'know, who cares."

seokmin vividly remembers the maid of honour at mingyu's wedding. and it was not you.

"okay, i remember that day really well and know for a fact that the maid of honour had red hair, and you don't."

"ever heard of hair dye, seokmin?" you reply dryly.

seokmin lets out a laugh at that and you become mesmerised for a moment because wow! how is a person so pretty and handsome and smart at the same time?

finally out of things to talk about, you and seokmin look around the room, trying to find something to keep the conversation going. seokmin gives up first, finally asking the million dollar question,

"d'you wanna get out of here? i'm honestly just bored at this point."

you look back at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes,

"you wanna go on that blind date right now? the food here isn't all that great and i know a really good seafood place nearby."

seokmin could really go for some seafood right about now. he nods and gets up from the table, and you follow suit. the two of you manage to make it out undetected, much to the disappointment of your secretaries, who only find out about your escapade through the headline of the dispatch article released the next day.

"Mated for life or just another fish in the sea? CEOs of L/N Enterprises and Lee Enterprises spotted on a romantic date at seafood restaurant."

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[1arkspur-aconitum]

THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Spencer shows up late to work wearing glasses for the first time…

PAIRING: Season 3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff

CONTENT: pining, oblivious idiots in love, swearing, Emily being a little meddler

WORD COUNT: 3.7 (this was meant to be only 1k…whoops…)

PUBLISHED: 03/10/24

‘OH MY GOD.’

It’s the best I can do. It is the only thing I can think as Spencer Reid steps through the glass doors into the bullpen.

It’s one of those rare days where Spencer arrives later than me—later than the rest of the team, in fact—and I’m already sitting at my desk when he walks in. A cup of coffee from the Paper Cup (arguably the best coffee in Virginia, bite me Derek Morgan) steams away beside a half-eaten blueberry muffin, the crumbs of which litter the crossword before me. It’s partially completed, but I have yet to finish this specific paper’s puzzle without the genius’ help—I swear it’s almost as if they designed it for him. I’ve even marked little stars next to the ones I’m intending to ask Spencer.

Or, at least, the questions I was intending to ask Spencer. I may not ever get the opportunity to because I think he has decided to kill me this morning.

Spencer Reid steps into the bullpen dressed in brown slacks (as usual) and a striped shirt tucked into said slacks (also normal), but that’s where the familiarity ends.

He’s not wearing a tie which is very bizarre. In fact, the top buttons of his shirt are undone as if he’s rushed out of the door. From this distance I can see the contours of his throat.

We once had a surprisingly in-depth conversation about why ties are more commonly associated with men (due to the inherent power and authority we attach to them) and Spencer said that he tried to always wear one because it made people take him more seriously. I distinctly remember it because it made me kind of sad. The idea that people didn’t take him seriously bothered me more than I’d care to admit.

It’s not the tardiness, nor the lack of a tie, that wipes every thought from my brain, though. It’s not even the way he has pushed his hair away from his face like he’s some kind of Disney prince—though that on any other day would have done something similar to hitting the delete key on a computer.

No, it’s the damn glasses.

Spencer Reid has the audacity to be wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses.

They’re perched on his nose as if they belong there, which—judging by the way they make his face distort when he turns to greet Derek—they do. I don’t know what it is specifically, but seeing him in glasses makes my stomach drop out of my feet, through several floors of the Quantico building, and deep into the ground.

Obviously Spencer is smart. Anyone who has the luxury of meeting him can tell you as such. It’s not as if he hides it, mister three PhDs and counting. But…but the glasses just do something extra, highlight that aspect of him, and I’ve always been a sucker for intelligence.

I genuinely didn’t think he could get prettier.

‘Shut your mouth, you’ll start drooling.’ Emily sidles up to my desk, thankfully keeping her voice low. I jump embarrassingly and manage to drag my eyes away from where Spencer is deep in discussion with Derek about something Derek doesn’t appear to want to talk about. Astrophysics? The flight path of bumblebees? If I was in Derek’s place, I would be hanging off of Spencer’s every word. ‘Honestly, could you be any more transparent?’

‘I…I’m not transparent!’ I say, but it does take me a second to work out what she’s saying. I take a distracting sip of my coffee, trying to ignore how the light slicks off of the frames as Spencer nods vigorously. A small strand of hair falls into his face and he brushes it away carelessly. ‘Maybe—maybe I was just…admiring the make, or something.’

‘I’m not stupid.’ Emily scoffs, knocking me with the back of her hand. She seems as if she is enjoying this way too much. There’s a sardonic gleam in her eye as she raises an eyebrow. I glower up at her over the rim of my coffee, imagining how it would feel to toss it in her face—anything to get that smug look off of it. ‘You can barely form a sentence.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I turn my nose up at her haughtily. I feel very much the petulant child denying having broken into the biscuit jar even when their mouth is covered in crumbs. ‘See? A perfect sentence.’

‘You’re not fooling anyone.’ Emily feels the need to tell me, eyes flickering between me and Spencer. I make a conscious effort not to look at him. It’s harder than I thought it would be. I wedge my foot underneath one of the spokes of my chair, forcing it to stay directed towards Emily. She grins as if she can sense my inner discord. ‘Y’know, for a profiler, you’re not very good at being discreet.’

‘I’m always discreet.’ The lie tastes bitter in my mouth and I follow it up with a sip of coffee. I don’t know where to look, what to do with myself, so I decide to focus on Emily. She’s wearing a new pair of trousers that have an embellishment up the side, a few beads shining in the sunlight streaming into the office. I wonder if she’ll let me borrow them…

‘I beg to differ.’ Emily perches herself on Spencer’s desk, crossing her legs. The tiny beads glitter like a mirrorball. This is fun for her. She likes making me squirm, and my respect for Emily is declining with every moment she holds me under this particular microscope. Part of me wonders if Emily truly is a sadist. ‘Come on, just admit it.’

‘I refer you to my previous statement,’ I swing my chair around even more to face her, firmly putting my back to where I assume Spencer and Derek are still talking. God, please don’t overhear this. What would I even say if he did? ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure.’ She laughs brightly, not believing me for a second—to be fair to her, I don’t even believe myself. I really should get better at lying to my coworkers. It’s frustrating that, to be a profiler, you have to be inherently astute. I’ve always been a relatively open book, which makes this whole situation worse. I have no doubt that my every thought is plastered there for her to dissect. ‘I can’t blame you, you know. I mean, it is very…different. If you’re into that kinda thing, which I think you are—’

‘Please stop.’ I say. My fingers tangle into my hair as I lean forwards, the points of my elbows bruising the soft flesh above my knee.

I hate this feeling. Being so exposed, so vulnerable, being seen like this has never been something I’ve enjoyed. Maybe it is something to do with my childhood, but I never like to think about that too hard. What it comes down to is that I can tease people incessantly, but when the tables have flipped? I hate it. I wonder what that says about me..

‘Just ask him out.’ Emily’s voice is softer now, less ribbed with merciless humour. I look up at her with a disgusted expression–as if that would ever happen. Spencer is my colleague, my friend. There’s no way I’m putting myself out there like that, and she should know that already. She sighs. ‘Seriously. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Uh, everything? He could say no. I could seriously embarrass myself–a habit I have a tendency to do. I could vomit on his new shoes. In fact, Spencer probably doesn’t even like me in that way–thinking about it, I have no idea if Spencer’s even attracted to anyone. He’s never spoken about dates like Derek does, nor mentioned exes. When we talk about our first kisses, he stays silent. Whenever the topic deviates towards something unsuitable for work, Spencer noticeably stays out of it. Maybe he’s just not into anything like that.

That thought hollows out the pit of my stomach for a second.

‘If I answer that, then you’ll just think that I know what you’re talking about.’ I sense her words for the trap that they are. What a sneaky bitch. I narrow my eyes at her and Emily’s eyebrow twitches imperceptibly. A tell. Ever since we met, Emily has had a thing about trying to trick me into confessing my secrets at any opportunity she can get. I think she thinks it’s more fun if she doesn’t ask the question straight up. ‘So no. I’m not going to deign that with a response.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Emily groans. She tries to kick my chair with a free foot, but misses by a mile. Sucker. Like the child I am, I stick my tongue out at her. ‘Come on, you have no idea how painful it is to watch you pining–’

‘You think watching me pine is painful?’ I retort, propping my chin up on my elbow. It’s only when the words are out of my mouth that I realise I may have given a little bit too much away. Emily’s eyes light up with a familiar glee. My cheeks heat and I scowl. ‘Besides, I was merely observing.’

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.’ Emily practically purrs, a mischievous glint in her eye that I decidedly do not like. She pushes off of Spencer’s desk, her fingers trailing along the edge as she meanders to her own. As she does so, her lips curve into a knowing smirk. She mutters something under her breath that is just loud enough for me to catch the hint of amusement.

‘Care to share?’ The words are out of my mouth before I realise that I probably won’t want to hear what she has to say. Yet another one of Emily’s verbal pitfalls—I can’t be expected to spot all of them after-all. Sometimes I think talking to Emily is like navigating a field of bear traps.

‘Oh, nothing—just that you two are more similar than you realise.’ Her voice drips with feigned innocence. She chuckles as she sits herself down, opening a stack of files on her desk with a flourish, effectively ending the conversation and leaving me in a whirlwind of my own thoughts.

More similar than I realise? What on Earth does she mean by that? I know we’re both considered smart—we’re both doctors, we work in the same field, we’re around the same age. Admittedly, I’m not as smart as he is, but everyone can say that. There’s always been something different about Spencer.. He has always been a cut above the rest, a standard no one else can possibly hope to achieve. How could I ever compare myself to that?

I turn my seat around and allow myself a brief glance over to where Spencer and Derek are still standing. Spencer is still talking animatedly, hands gesturing in the space between them. Don’t even get me started on his hands because we could be here for literal hours. A doctoral thesis is 60,000–80,000 words. I reckon I could write that much purely on his hands.

Derek is currently looking at him with a fond, if slightly exasperated expression, having succumbed to his fate of listening to whatever it is Spencer is rambling about. They’re a strange pair but there’s no doubting the love they share between them. It’s honestly so endearing.

My gaze drifts from the pair of them to Spencer. With the glasses, it’s different somehow. The lenses magnify his eyes, making them larger, more expressive. I can see the rapid movement as he processes whatever Derek is saying in response to his rambling, I can watch the slight furrow of his brow as he formulates a response. The more I inspect him, the harder it is for me to work out why I like them so much. Perhaps it’s because he seems…softer, somehow. Less intimidating and more approachable.

More human.

Then it hits me.

The glasses are a vulnerability. They’re an admission that the perfect Spencer Reid is anything but, that, as much as his mind is as sharp as a blade, his eyesight is not. For some reason, that makes him even more attractive to me. Though, to be fair, there’s not much that would make him less attractive to me.

I tear my eyes away, a familiar heat rippling up the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m having thoughts like this about my coworker. It’s unprofessional, impolite, and definitely dangerous. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

Every time I see him in those glasses, the more I think about what it would be like to kiss him with them on. Would he take them off, or would I? Or, maybe, he leaves them on as I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards me. They wouldn’t get in the way if we were careful…

For God’s sake.

I try to focus on my crossword but the words swim before my eyes. All I can see is Spencer’s face with those damn glasses, and the annoyingly infuriating way that they make his eyes sparkle. Perhaps Emily is right–perhaps I am as transparent as a window. This whole thing is stupid. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but it’s not like I can defenestrate them very easily.

Just as I am contemplating burying myself under several feet of damp earth, effectively giving up on the day entirely, Spencer and Derek seem as if they finish their conversation. Derek claps Spencer on the shoulder as the pair of them start to make their way towards us. I do my best to look busy, scribbling down a word on my puzzle that I am 99% sure isn’t correct. My heart hammers in my chest.

Jesus Christ, get your shit together, girl. It’s just an awkward, tall, lanky man. He’s not Hugh Grant. Or James Marsters. He’s just Spencer.

I don’t know if that sentiment makes it better or worse.

‘Morning, June.’ Spencer’s gentle, warm voice drags me out of my shame spiral. When I look up, he’s standing next to his desk, hands clasped in front of him as he peers down at me through those fucking glasses.

I plaster as much of a genuine smile on my face as possible. ‘Morning, Spencer. You’re looking very dashing today.’

Dashing? What the hell was that? Who says that? If I could make a time machine and return back to a few seconds earlier, I would. But, alas, I simply have to wait and see how Spencer responds.

His lips quirk upwards in a shy smile. ‘Really? Thank you. You, uh, you look rather…rather lovely yourself.’

‘Oh, uh, thanks, Spence.’ I mentally kick myself for sounding so flustered, looking anywhere but directly at him. I don’t think I look ‘rather lovely’ today–I’m wearing brown denim flares and a shirt, nothing too fancy. I try to regain some composure. This is so unlike me that it scares me. ‘So, new glasses?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. My eyes trace a vein that vanishes under the cuff. ‘I ran out of contacts and didn’t have time to go to the opticians. I don’t really like them, though, they kind of get in the way.’

‘Really?’ I try not to sound too surprised and/or offended, but I don’t think it worked very well. The next words I say are pumped with honesty. ‘I think they look good on you. Actually, they really suit you.’

‘Do you genuinely think so?’ He sounds as if he doesn’t believe me, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. I nod, mouth suddenly very dry. Spencer sits on the edge of his desk where Emily had been moments before, crossing his long legs at the ankle. The odd socks (pink on the left, neon green on the right) make me smile. ‘I always think they make me look…well, nerdy. Derek agrees.’

I can’t not laugh a little at that, taking a sip of my coffee as I work out how to say what I want to without seriously offending him.

‘Spencer, sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you are the epitome of nerdy without the glasses. And–and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest. It’s part of what I like about you.’

‘Oh.’ Spencer turns a furious shade of red, eyes dropping like a stone to stare intently at the floor. I immediately regret the words, but have to play it off as if I don’t. Sweetheart is a new term of endearment and one I didn’t intend to use, but it slipped out. I lean back in my seat, angle my head…do I backtrack? Do I apologise? I’m about to do as such when I see it. A tiny smile. Spencer’s next words are just loud enough for me to hear. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘That’s okay.’ I grin, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to put on a picture of nonchalance. If Emily is to be believed, he can see right through it, but it makes me feel better. I need to say something–anything–else before the silence gets too loud. ‘I actually didn’t know you wore contacts, let alone glasses.’

‘Yeah, I just find contacts easier–did you know that Leonardo da Vinci was the one who was first credited with coming up with the idea of contact lenses in 1508? It wasn’t created in his time, of course, but he was the one who first posited the idea of altering corneal power.’ Spencer’s hands gesture in the space between us as he endearingly rambles on about the creation of contact lenses. It’s sweet, and I let him talk for a while, using this opportunity to watch him. He’s just so pretty that it’s hard to focus. ‘And modern day lenses, the silicone ones, weren’t made until 1998.’

‘Wow, that’s kinda cool.’ I hum, taking a sip of my now almost-cold coffee. ‘I don’t know, I had you pegged as the kind of guy who doesn’t like putting his finger in his eye.’

‘What?’ Spencer chuckles, raising an eyebrow. He pushes his glasses up again and my heart stammers. ‘How could you possibly know that about someone?’

‘Spencer, you’re a known germaphobe. You don’t even shake hands.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want someone else to put my lenses in,’ Spencer physically shudders at this idea. ‘But if I do it, it’s just my germs.’

‘I suppose that makes sense. If you had a twin, though, would you let them do it? Or someone with super clean hands? What about if you broke your hands and your glasses, and needed someone else to put them in for you?’ I rattle off question after question, knowing I really should stop talking, but it’s as if there’s a torrent of words I cannot control. ‘I mean, there are plenty of, of situations where you may need someone to…to put your contacts in…’

What the fuck am I on about? Oh God, this isn’t happening to me…I never thought I would be so swayed by a pretty face.

‘You’re a strange one.’ Spencer says, after a beat, and his voice is playful. He leans backwards and braces himself on the desk. ‘I don’t know, it depends. I mean, I wouldn’t let Derek do it, but…’

‘I wouldn’t let Derek do it for me, and I don’t even wear contacts.’ I laugh, tilting my head to the side and giving him a cheeky grin. He returns it, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The world narrows, as it always does, to just me and him. There’s a familiar warmth in my stomach that has always been intoxicating.

‘I’d let you put my contacts in.’ Spencer says the words as if they had been building up behind his lips. Pink stains the tops of his cheekbones. It might be a trick of the light, but I’m pretty sure that his gaze flickers down to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning back to my eyes. My breath hitches and I have to look away.

‘Really? I don’t know if I should be flattered or kind of grossed out.’ Another sentence I regret saying, but what does one say to something like that?

Spencer laughs, but it sounds kind of forced. ‘Well, let us hope that it will never come to that. But, if it does, don’t let any of the others do it. Lord knows where their hands have been.’

I laugh too, but before I can say anything more, Hotch’s voice booms across the bullpen. He’s calling Spencer to his office, and the tranquil spell between us is shattered.

Spencer jumps, startled, and clears his throat. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and stands up. He offers me a muttered ‘sorry’ as he walks away, speeding out of the bullpen of desks and heading towards Hotch. I watch him go reluctantly, only looking away when he vanishes inside and the door closes behind him.

The groan I let out is loud enough to make Derek look up, but I bury my head in my hands before any of them can jump on me whilst I’m vulnerable. What the fuck was that? I’m not usually one to get flustered when faced with a pretty man, and usually I’m pretty confident around Spencer. Evidently there’s something about the glasses that turns me into a blathering school girl. It’s so stupid that I have no choice but to get a grip.

When I look up from my hands, determined to not let Spencer’s new eyewear affect me, Emily is watching me with a bemused expression. She must have heard the entire interaction.

‘Smooth, June. Real smooth.’ She says from over her coffee mug, the steam coiling around her like she’s some demon. The devious grin on her face doesn’t help that mental image.

I simply flip her off and return to my crossword.

Nosy bitch.

THANK YOU FOR READING! I CAN’T DECIDE IF I LIKE THIS OR NOT BUT FIGURED WHY NOT? MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY!

[leehopehocarat]

Binding Faith to Truth | Chapter 1

The Tale Begins | Origin Story

Ateez are the only known Pirate group of Vampires within The Toreador Vampire Clan. The Captain Hongjoong, along with Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho are feared throughout the seas and lands when they step foot on an island they have set to loot.

They all found each other as refugees of war when The Vampire clans first fell from power in the great War of Lost Souls. The clans consisted of Malkavian, Gangrel, Nosferatu, Lasombra, Assamite, and of course Toreador. The Toreador clan members were artistic and pacifists that liked to move in the upper class of humans. The 8 of them never felt like they fit in, in an exact place within the Toreador Clan, even though it's in their blood. So they banded together to make a name for themselves.

Hongjoong; The Captain: The leader of the crew of pirates. A sharp tongue but also a sharp mind who doesn't take any bullshit. He has a playful nature about him. And is always intrigued by those who can keep up with his sarcastic banter. His special power that isn't shared with the others is Soul Reaping. He's able to conjure up orb like spirits that can side with him in battle.

Seonghwa: The second in Command; as he's actually older than Hongjoong but serves at his side. His face has a cold, dark aura to him. But as soon as he speaks, he turns into almost an ethereal being. Even with this aura he carries, he's nothing to be played with. His stare alone would make you fall to your knees without a word. His special power that isn't shared with the others is Vocal Hypnosis. Because of this ability, his nickname among the others is The Siren.

Yunho: The Golden Ace; there's nothing that he can't do and nothing that he can't quickly learn within just a few minutes. He's the Captains go to when it comes to choosing someone to go on a spy mission. He has a more playful side to him, and at times it could be dangerous or fun; it just depends on whether he chooses to like you or not. His personality matches well with his special power that's not shared with others: Elemental. Having control over the 4 main elements; Water, Fire, Earth, and Air.

Yeosang: The Sly Cadaver. The face of an angel, the body of a God, and the knife skills of an assassin. When it comes to interrogation, he is Hongjoong's right hand man when they need to give some physical reinforcement to people they choose to hold prisoner if they believe they're a spy. His special power that isn't shared with the others is Core detection; meaning he's able to detect if someone is being truthful or deceitful by being able to see the person's invisible aura surrounding them.

San: The Reinforcement. His sharp, but soft facial features shouldn't blind you from the fact that he could lift you, throw you, and possibly break you in half with ease. Even though all the Pirates share super human strength, San's strength is bigger compared to them. He like Seonghwa, also have a stare that could cut through glass, his voice deep and naturally commanding. But there is another side to him. His special power that he doesn't share with the others is Blindness. Not just being able to take away people's sight, but their other senses too. Making them have "blind" spots in their ability to function and carry out tasks.

Mingi: The Time Tempter. The name given to him because of his special power: Time Manipulation. Which he uses to his advantage when in battle. He like Yunho, is also able to pick up on skills extremely quickly, as well as pick up on them when they are too good to be true. Like when they're about to walk into a trap. His Time Manipulation power works with his own senses, cueing to his nervous system and mind, when possible danger is near.

Wooyoung: The Sly Seduction. Wooyoung is a wild card. His presence alone will put you in a trance, leaving you wondering if he's gonna kill you, kiss you, or both. His dark, but soft eyes are hard to look away from, along with sharp facial features. His special power that he doesn't share with the others is Simulation Hypnosis; the ability to create illusions and have people fall under a time stopping trance when they interact with them. Leaving them feeling like they're in a twilight zone.

Jongho: The Break Machine. Jongho has strength similar to San, to where he can break pretty much anything in half. His soft face may make you think other wise, but when he's able to break out of chains with ease, you'll think twice about second guessing him. His special power that he doesn't share with the others is meloasis. The ability to put people in a deep sleep by the snap of his fingers, and washing their memory of what happened to them before he put them to sleep.

They roam the seas and islands, looting and forging their own legacy. Having forged their own name throughout the seas, they sail together searching for more treasure and adventure together, until one day that decides to change.

Read More Here.

[rainbow-wolf120]

Dumping my RayEvils here because these guys are floating in my brain again

A lot of these are very self-indulgent I mean, very reasonable and totally make sense

Couple of facts / hcs below:

They were all created to oppose Rayman or someone else once in their life

All the RayEvil’s were built / ‘owned’ by a different Rayman villain throughout the franchise. Some overlay, yes, but mostly it’s diverse

Most of the times their creators would leave 'brands' on them to know who belongs to who

RayEvil’s aren’t entirely natural Thingamajigs. They were all artificially made for whatever their creator desired. These normally consist of a Blue Lum and whatever else they have (most commonly Dark Magic)

Now some individual facts about the characters!!

Raymesis:

Created by Mr. Dark, stolen by Ales Mansay at a young 'age'

Hates Mansay and wants to go back to being Mr. Dark's creation (Mansay claims that he created Raymesis)

Became an 'older brother' figure to Shadow after Mansay dumped the two in a room together

Super snappy, angry, and extremely petty. Thinks he's Rayman's true rival but Rayman couldn't give a shit

Created the Antis (Him, Glombrox, First King, and Selena) as a way to get back at Rayman

Shadow Ray:

Created by a Blue Lum and copious amounts of Dark Magic. This made them extremely unstable and (if they could feel it) in lots of pain

Ales Mansay's favorite creation. Thinks that they're the most 'sucessful'

Half-blind and only really cackles / giggles. Needs glasses to sorta see

Can't fully move. They need to 'mark' someone and follow their 'trail' to even go anywhere

Fascinated with art and film. Loves a good movie and is easily amused

Shadi (Bad Rayman)

Also created by Mr. Dark but left for dead in the Livid Dead after his defeat

Did not understand free will until she met Goth Teensy. He helped her find her own personality and being

Very disliked in the Livid Dead with the other Nightmares. She looked too much like Rayman for them

Can pick things up super easily by just watching

Still friends with Goth but became distant after he because the Livid Dead Door guard

RayX

Created by Razorbeard; he was left in the Glade after the Robo Pirates fled the Glade

Made to tire Rayman out and keep him occupied. Very much destined for sports and high-energy activities

Very competitive and will do anything to win. He will cheat, cry, and fight to get what he wants

Cannot handle loosing. He will throw a fit and get extremely violent

One of the only RayEvil's without a Blue Lum. He is pure machinery and alien technology

Showbiz

Mansay's first RayEvil. He created him, but he was sold to Rigatoni. Gave him a hatred for Mansay

Athletic, can breathe / control fire, and can detect his limbs. Everything Rigitoni wants in a star

He's very snobbish and under the impression he's more popular than Rayman (He also has never left the circus)

Even as a performer, still has his old programming. If he see Rayman or anything similar, he will get needlessly violent

Extremle 'one man show' and hates working with others

So yeah, these are my silly guys!! Feel free to ask me anything about them. I love them all dearly <3

[yallthemwitches]

A soft silence falls over them, strangely comfortable given the circumstances. She can feel his heartbeat against her forearm, a defiant thump thump thump that serves as a reminder that yes, you are in his bed with his hand over your body and his face unreasonably close to yours.

Been reading 'The Last Enemy' by CH_Darling ( if you haven't read it go NOW) and it has put me in a severe 'mutual pining but make it teenage idiocy' mood so I cranked out this little 1.2k word piece. Please enjoy pure unadulterated fluff (rated T for teenage obliviousness)

Read on AO3 or Under the cut!

Sunlight pours through the gap between the curtains, spilling a line of heat into the otherwise frigid air. Lily grumbles and turns her face to the light, simultaneously enjoying the sensation while hating its reminder of reality. Shifting slightly, she feels another stretch of heat on her lower half accompanied by a particular pressure–a fleshy, bony, human one. 

She blinks her eyes open and two golden brown orbs peer back, the sunlight catching on his long eyelashes. 

Oh god. 

“How long have you been staring at me?”

It comes out as a whine, hovering somewhere between embarrassed and exasperated. Now fully awake, she recognizes that the heated pressure on her lower hip is in fact related to the aforementioned pair of eyes—more specifically a rather toned arm in which the accompanied hand drapes idly onto her back so the fingers press into her skin. 

“M’not staring,” he murmurs back, eyes darting to some other part of the room as proof, “Don’t have my glasses on–can’t see even if I wanted to.”

“You aren’t blind,” she huffs. “Obviously you can see that I am in front of you, laying here…uh–”

Suddenly, that line of thought feels hazardous. 

“Yes, ok. You caught me,” he admits, the mischievous glint in his eye more pronounced without his glasses, “--but only because I’ve awoken to find a red, human-shaped blob taking up half of my pillow and assumed Sirius stuffed a pack of fire slugs next to me.”

“So I resemble fire slugs then—you really know how to woo a lady, don’t you?”

James grins and a twinge of red blankets his cheeks. “Evidently it comes natural.”

She knows she should move, gently push his arm off her midsection and pick herself out of bed, James’ bed, but the room is so cold and the pillow so soft, and her body perfectly relaxed with no rush….

“I guess I should apologize now, while you are still too groggy to be angry at me,” James says, pulling her mind back. Lily crinkles her forehead.

“Apologize for what, you actually did me a favor. The common room couches are deceitfully uncomfortable to sleep on, and god knows I wasn’t going to try to enter my room after—-you know.”

He does know, because the whole bloody school probably did by this point: the quidditch party devolving into a loud screaming match between Sophia McCloud and Marlene Mckinnon, the throwing of drinks, the loud slamming of doors and locking charms barring anyone (dorm mates  included) from entering the sixth year girls’ room. 

“Yeah well,” James starts, his batting eyelashes making him look sheepish—but not cute, and certainly not attractive in an endearing, sweet sort of way. “I had truly meant to transfigure one of the pillows into a cot for you but I guess the firewhiskey and perpetual sleep deprivation caught up to me quicker than I expected.”

His eyes shift again, this time down her neck before snapping back to her face, cheeks blazing harder than before. Can’t see, my ass. But the action gives a sudden pang to the gut, reminding her that she also had let the firewhiskey get away from her and maybe she was in less form than she thought. 

Peering down, she gives an audible sigh of relief to see she is still in her clothes from the night before–Thank merlin, christ almighty. But just the same, her dress for the evening had been a little muggle number that gave less to the imagination than her stuffy school uniform– and judging by James’ vantage point he probably was able to get a decent view down the V in the neckline. 

“Well anyways,” she says, shifting to fold a hand across her chest between them. “It was nice of you. I’m sorry for any pillow stealing that might have occurred in my slumber.”

A soft silence falls over them, strangely comfortable given the circumstances. She can feel his heartbeat against her forearm, a defiant thump thump thump that serves as a reminder that yes, you are in his bed with his hand over your body and his face unreasonably close to yours.

“So, what do we do now?” She doesn’t know why she whispers it—maybe, if she is being honest with herself, because a deep dark part of her wishes she didn’t say anything and could fall back asleep with him just a little bit longer. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, eyelashes doing that thing again that makes her definitely not want to lean in and press her lips to his eyelids, “Don’t quote me on this, but I think the general idea is: you wake up, lift yourself off the mattress, place both feet on the floor, force yourself into a standing position, then—”

“Nevermind, forget I asked,” Lily groans, trying and failing to suppress a giggle. Her head leans forward and taps into his collarbone, just as warm and stable as the arm still still! wrapped around her. 

“Any chance we will be able to walk away from this without an avalanche of gossip?” She feels him stiffen against her. 

“Er–unfortunately not. Though I’ll do my duty to say nothing happened if you do—because that’s what happened—nothing. Just helping a friend, nothing more.”

The ever increasing clang in his chest makes the repetition of the word nothing feel wildly unconvincing despite it being the truth. 

“Ok, so how about we don’t talk about it instead—it’s none of their business anyway,” she says, a flush crawling onto her face.

James goes quiet again and the heat from his chest starts to lull her eyes shut. She can feel a small indent in the mattress where he must usually lay and lets the image of him splayed out in his bed swirl in her head: his hair sticking in all directions, night shirt riding up, mouth slightly agape—

Nope. Bad idea. 

“Hey Evans?” His voice travels as though coming out of a vast tunnel. The smell of sweat and spice willing her to nuzzle deeper—definitely not a smell she wishes she could bottle forever.

A tiny, more coherent part of her waits for him to call again, but she is greeted with only silence. The arm around her waist trembles, making a hesitant decision before pulling in tighter, pressing strong, stable finger pads into the bit of exposed skin found there. Being between the weight of his hand and the cocoon of his chest feels safe and only as the dancing images behind her eyelids fade and sleep takes her again does she have the epiphany that what she is experiencing is the sensation of being held. 

Under the depths of sleep, her hand uncurls into the front of his shirt, a reciprocation in the smallest of senses. Another pressure appears against the top of her head as his lips linger there, sweet and soft and over sooner than she would like.

 For a moment her coherent side rears up, urging her to tilt upwards enough to catch his lips before they drift away, but it's already too late. Another missed opportunity in their shared comedy of errors. 

Later they will step out of bed into the sunlight, face the day and the questions of berating friends and gossip. They will say it was nothing—a favor among friends, an act of necessity. But for now, she lets her walls crumble, grow flimsy and crack with years of service.

 Free of obtrusion she basks in the afterglow, the rise and fall of his chest now the rhythm of the universe; a constant beat in which she hopes to never lose time. 

[mercymermaid]

human ax headcanons!! (feat. human bill as well)

1- ax is perfectly happy with letting mabel use them as a personal makeover doll, allowing her to paint their nails in colors so bright human eyes can't comprehend and use their face to try out every color of eyeshadow her new palette has. their hair has endured countless styling, and they've proudly donned the handmade dresses mabel would make during her sleepovers with grenda and candy. they vocally express their appreciation for her actions anytime she gets self-conscious about a project, and even make the first move to ask her about her latest ideas. they even get bill in on the fun as well, and though he throws a hissy fit whenever mabel brings in the sparkly hair gel, he secretly adores the attention even more than the axolotl.

2- bill has a severe coffee addiction, via ford once giving him a cup as a last resort. ax drinks exclusively tea, and while they claim that they do so for health reasons, deep down they know that if they ever got their hands on coffee, they'd be just as obsessed as bill, and when you're a god half of reality prays to, you need to keep up appearances.

3- while bill is a human-human, with maybe some triangle and dream demon still deep inside him, accessible only through really dramatic and plot-convenient circumstances, ax is still very much a god, just shaped into a human form. unfortunately, since such an entity cannot be smushed into such a fragile form, a lot of ax's perks (such as impenetrability and immortality) don't quite make it into the body with ax themselves. they still have full access to their powers, limited only by their state of mind, which is unfortunately also affected by their 'mortal' form. this means the axolotl is now more or less prone to injury and illness, surprising for such a powerful entity.

4- ax doesn't really need glasses, they just think they're charming.

5- sometimes ax tries to subconsciously float because they're not used to gravity actually affecting them, and then realize with a shock of embarrassment that unless they actually try, the stupid mortal body limitations prevent them from doing so. bill does this as well, but while the ax can still float on command, he cannot, and this pisses him off to no end.

6- the first time mabel made ax a sweater, they nearly cried; they're used to receiving gifts out of blind, selfish worship, and having someone give them a gift simply for being themselves is a novel experience. they blamed the tears on human body allergies. they now proudly wear mabel's twenty-million friendship bracelets, without fail.

7- ax loves deep philosophical discussion, and embrace dipper's endless questioning with open arms, excited to share their infinite wisdom.

8- ford and dipper are the last to figure out ax's real identity.

9- speaking in rhymes is the ax's way of getting a point across, such as trying to tell bill that his actions have consequences, but with the amount of prophecies they've had to give, speaking in rhymes is now a subconscious self-soothing mechanism.

bonus (not exclusive to human ax):

the axolotl's tail fin is normally a gorgeous sky blue, sometimes able to change colors to paint galaxies across night skies, but a little-known fact is that the tail fin is actually a tell-all mood ring for the ax. in theory, it's supposed to change colors based on what they're feeling; classic yellow for happy, red for angry, etc. however, the axolotl was always one to repress emotions, too afraid of what their anger (or, god forbid, joy) could unintentionally cause due to their immense power (loosely inspired by this post). after an eternity of purposefully staying calm, the axolotl's tail fin has adopted a permanent shade of relaxed blue, and no one is any the wiser. however, that doesn't mean it can't change color at all. in rare situations, the hue will change - it'll turn a more greenish teal when the ax is happier (yellow), a more purple shade when frustrated (red, quite rare), or a more indigo/dark blue shade when upset (blue). these changes are minuscule and imperceptible to most, but some that they have close relationships with (i.e. bill) can sniff these changes out. this color-changing rule also applies to the human ax's blue hair tips!

[aza-writes]

The Columbia Party

college!matt murdock x reader

Summary: you're a law student at Yale and your friend takes you to a Columbia Law school party one night where you so happen to meet a really cute blind guy

Warnings: use of y/n, few curse words, alludes to future smut

Based on the quote: "Everyone knows that the only real Ivy's are the Holy Trinity; Harvard, Yale, and Princeton" because Blair Waldorf is an icon

requested: no

The music playing in the bar was so loud that you could barely hear the guy standing next to me. His smile was charming but he was trying way too hard to be Mr. Cool Guy. Bragging about how he went to an Ivy League when everyone here is doing the same. I fake smile and giggle, hoping it’s enough for him to buy me a free drink. And I was so close. One more playful touch on his arm and I would be sucking down something strong for free, getting buzzed after a minute. But no. My friend who brought me here, Bre, grabbed my hand and pulled me away into the crowd. 

“You have to meet my friends! You’ll have so much fun with them!” Even with her yelling, her voice is barely audible over the music and loud conversations. She pulls me through the crowd insisting that a quiet spot is only “a little further away.” It wasn’t until after we finished one song, listened to a full one, and started the next that we finally made it to a small corner booth with two guys and a girl sitting there. 

 

"Bre!" the long-haired guy who kinda looks like a hippy yelled toward us. He immediately stands up and hurries over to her. 

Bre grips my hand harder as she walks towards the hippy man. “Foggy! How are you?” She’s speaking louder than usual, indicating the buzz of alcohol in her system. She goes to hug him without letting go of my hand, leaving me awkwardly standing there. 

She finally pulls away after a few long seconds. “This is the girl I was telling you about!” She lets go of my hand and makes a grand gesture to me. “Isn’t she so pretty! I told you she was pretty!” I giggle at her drunk compliments. Bre was the type of girl to brag about her friends but she gets even more affectionate after she’s been drinking. The perfect hype woman. 

I was expecting him to hold out his hand for me to shake, instead, he pulls me into a big bear hug. “I’m Foggy,” he turns and points to a girl at their booth, “That’s Marci, and that one with the glasses is Matt.” 

I wave at everyone. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m y/n.” I smile as Bre again grabs my hand and pulls me to the booth to sit down. 

Bre giggles as we sit down, then immediately stands up. “I’m gonna get us drinks!” She smiles and dramatically kisses the top of my head with a “mwah” before she runs back into the crowd to the bar. 

“So,” Foggy breaks the silence, “Bre said you’re in law school too.” 

Matt perks up at this, finally allowing me to see his full face and the upper half of his shoulders. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol but he has a very pretty face and extremely broad shoulders. Nice muscles too. Before I got to respond, Matt asks another question. 

“You go to Colombia too?” He faces me, with furrowed brows. You can see the wheels in his head spinning but I have no idea what he’s thinking. 

“No, I go to Yale.” I smile softly, uncomfortable with the fact Bre left me with three strangers. I only know Marci from the one time we met. I was staying the night in Bre’s dorm when Marci hurried in and packed an overnight bag to meet up with what Bre refers to as ‘mystery whipped man’ which I now think is Foggy by the way he’s sitting so close to her. 

Marci giggles at this and looks up at Matt. “Oh, this is just perfect!” I look at her confused until she turns to Matt. “Weren’t you just saying that people that go to Yale are-” 

“Shh-” Foggy cuts her off, but that doesn’t stop her. 

“A bunch of pretentious-”

“Shhhhhh!” This time it was Matt trying to get her to stop talking. 

“Assholes.”

My eyes widen. “Oh really?” I look back at Matt. “Everyone that goes to Yale.” 

“That’s not at all what I meant.” His voice is a bit more defensive but nervous beyond everything else. “It’s just a lot of people there are a bit more high class and um,” he looks at Foggy, trying to get his help in the situation. Foggy just sits there and puts his hands up in surrender. “Snobby?” 

“Snobby?”

“Shit that isn’t the right word.” 

“Snobby? Says that guy that goes to Colombia. You probably think that you’re too cool for one of the top law schools in the country.”

Matt scoffs. “Colombia is an Ivy League school, just like Yale.” 

“Oh please, everyone knows that the real Ivy’s are the Holy Trinity; Harvad, Yale, and Princeton.” 

Matt opens his mouth, about to rebuttal, when Bre returns with two Long Island ice teas. 

“Sooo, what did I miss?” She smiles and sits right next to me, trapping me next to Matt. “Is everyone getting along?”

“It’s going just great.” I give her an obviously fake smile before sipping my drink. I’m too sober to deal with any of this right now. 

An hour passed, as well as two Long Island ice teas, two rounds of shots for the table, and something fruity Bre brought me. I was too buzzed at that point to even ask what it was, but it was good. I was doing relatively okay, drunk enough to feel fine but I could still think logically-ish. Bre on the other hand, was wasted out of her mind. She was so drunk to the point Foggy and Marci had to get her back to her dorm. 

“I’ll drop her off then run back to grab you and Matt.” And with those three leaving, it left me and Matt alone. 

I don’t feel like talking to him and I don’t want to talk to him, but the awkward silence was enough to make me want to bang my head into a wall. I’m honestly considering it. I slowly turn my head to look at Matt who was taking a sip out of his beer. His hands look so good holding the bottle. His jaw tense as he drinks it, his lips wrapped around the opening. 

Fuck he’s hot. 

He pulls me out of my daydream by chuckling a bit as he sets his beer down. 

“What’s so funny?” I’m at that stage of drinking where I say anything that comes to my mind. I can’t tell if I like this part or hate it. 

He just shakes his head and smiles. “I-it’s nothing,” he tries to compose himself but he starts laughing again. 

“Tell me. It’s not like I’m gonna remember it in the morning.” I lie, I’ll remember it perfectly fine. I just want him to tell me. What about this whole thing is so funny he can’t help himself from laughing. 

He chuckles a bit more and turns to me. “Okay then.” He smirks then leans in close. “When I took a drink your heart rate spiked, your skin is hotter, and your breath quickened. You find me attractive, don’t you?” 

My eyes widen. How the fuck did he know that? “Excuse me?” 

He chuckles again. “It spiked again.”

“H-how do you know that? And I don’t. And how the fuck do you know about my heart rate?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” he straightens up, his smirk still lying across his face. 

I wanna smack it off of him… Or fuck it off. 

Only a few seconds after I let that thought slip in, he’s smirking and giggling like a fucking mind reader. 

[erimeows]

Knowing (NSFW)

The night that Vogler gets voted off the board, Wilson drives back up to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in the pouring rain to go celebrate with Chase, Foreman, and House in the latter’s office. Wilson, whose position was conveniently reinstated by Cuddy and the rest of the board, brings a bottle of whiskey in for the four of them to split between the shot glasses he knows House keeps in his desk drawer.

They stay there, making fun of Vogler and chatting away until half past midnight. Chase and Foreman excuse themselves around the same time. 

“And then there were two,” Wilson chimes with a half smile as he screws the lid back onto the glass whiskey bottle and slides it under House’s desk. He doesn’t drink much- hardly drank any of it tonight- so he figures House will get more use out of it than he ever will. “How are you feeling?”

“Think they’re going home together?” House hums, totally ignoring Wilson’s question. House is shaken due to that day’s happenings and just refuses to admit it to anyone- even himself. It makes sense that he won’t acknowledge it. “I could’ve sworn there was some tension recently.”

“I think that has more to do with the fact that you had them at each other’s throats than it has to do with what you’re implying,” Wilson scoffs and shakes his head.

Wilson looks toward the window. House has the blinds open for once. Finally, even if it’s only for tonight, House isn’t closing off the rest of the world.

Wilson stands from where he’s sat in front of House’s desk so he can go to peer out the window. Rain continuously showers over the building and trickles down the window in big fat drops to shroud their already-foggy view of the city. 

“Ah, you’re no fun,” House feigns a pout and lifts himself from his spinning chair so he can slip his big coat over his shoulders. A few awkward seconds pass. Wilson waits for House to inevitably make his exit with a sarcastic farewell, but the exit never comes. Instead, House uses his cane to walk until he’s standing next to Wilson. He leans against the window and stares out at the city rather than at Wilson himself. Meanwhile, all Wilson can stare at is House. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be going home to your wife? She might get lonely without you. Poor thing.”

Wilson rolls his eyes at that. He doesn’t want his wife- he wants House. His marriage has been over since it started and at this point, he’s just waiting for Julie to serve him with papers. 

“I’m an oncologist, House, it’s not like she’s used to having me home at this time of night anyways. The only reason I’m not working right now is because I just got hired back.”

“But you could be home with her if you really wanted to,” House points out- ever so excited to correct someone, even if it’s Wilson- no, especially if it’s Wilson. The man is sadistic; always seizing the opportunity to point out somebody else’s flaws if it draws attention away from his own. By pointing out the fact that Wilson should be home with his wife right now, he draws the attention away from how he refused to keep his head down with Vogler and got Wilson fired. “And you could also be pounding that hot nurse you had lunch with if you really wanted to. I bet she’d light some candles at her apartment and put rose petals on the bed to make it real nice- a contrast from the dead bedroom you’re probably suffering from with Julie right now. So, why are you here with me when you could be with either of them? Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“You’re right,” Wilson shrugs. He knows better to engage with House by arguing. That’s exactly what House wants, so he refuses to play into it. He puts his own jacket on and shoots House a sharp glare. “If you’re going to be like this about it, though, I’m going home.”

Wilson goes to leave, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to see House standing there with an unreadable expression (because even after all these years, this man is still an enigma).

“But do you want to go home to her?”

Wilson gulps and looks down, avoiding House’s prying gaze.

House reaches up to grab Wilson’s chin- to make Wilson look at him. Wilson does what he knows House wants him to and makes eye contact. Icy blue burns into light brown at the same time that Wilson’s cheeks flush pink. 

He’s had feelings for House since… Well, he doesn’t know when. One day, their friendship was just that, and the next, Wilson found himself with a notebook full of the man’s favorite things; found himself stealing glances and dreaming of things that he shouldn’t have been. Casual outings with his best friend turned into him spending his afternoons in preparation, trying on different outfits and mulling over which one would impress House the most. Peaceful nights with his wife- wives, over the years- turned into early mornings with him knelt on the floor of his bathroom, praying to God for House’s health, for House’s happiness, for House’s work, for House. Things changed so fast he couldn’t see it coming, let alone stop it.

Wilson remains lost in thought until House clears his throat, impatient. He recenters himself and meets House’s eyes again. Clearly, House reciprocates. Wilson isn’t oblivious to that. Wilson is the only person House spends time with, the only person House is interested in, the only person House has decided not to shut out. Wilson is the only person House has loved since Stacy.

But, whether or not House actually wants a relationship, Wilson has no idea. House isn’t the kind of man to hesitate. He would’ve made a move by now if he wanted it. Then again, he clearly returns Wilson’s feelings. So, if it’s not a relationship, what does House want? For them to stay in this limbo forever, wanting each other so desperately but never doing anything about it?

Wilson eyes House up and down. Still, his expression remains unreadable, but Wilson can tell that he’s tense with the way he taps his cane against the floor and purses his lips. 

“You know Julie and I haven’t been doing well. Why would I want to go home to her right now? And why does it matter to you?”

At that, House’s face falls. Wilson has successfully backed him into a corner and it’s apparent he doesn’t like it. 

“No reason.”

House backs away from Wilson like he’s on fire and retreats to his desk to gather his things. Wilson follows, unable to notice how House puts extra effort into facing away from him to hide his reddening cheeks.

“You never ask questions without a reason- you never do anything without a reason,” He argues.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re still here,” House grumbles and points up at the analogue clock on the wall. It’s almost one in the morning now. “You said you were going to leave two minutes ago, so leave.”

“You’re the one who stopped me,” Wilson shrugs. With each of these tense, awkward interactions, he feels as if he and House are getting progressively closer to something big. But then nothing happens, and he’s left disappointed like he is every other time. “You should be getting home, too. It’s late.”

“Ooh, so we can leave together,” House smirks and clacks his cane against the floor again. “I love it.”

Wilson flinches at a crack of thunder that booms through the sky.

“Are you sure you should drive in this?” He asks in reference to the downpour outside.

“What, are you gonna offer to chauffeur me to my place and then make that drive all the way back to yours?”

“No,” Wilson answers with a shake of his head. “I was gonna ask if I could drive us both to your apartment and stay with you tonight.”

“Wow, you’re really trying to get in my pants, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Wilson snaps. House blinks in what Wilson assumes is surprise. “You’re not a genius for figuring that one out; I’ve only been interested for a decade. So what?”

House pauses, standing behind his desk and staring at Wilson with a twinkle in his icy blue eyes. The tension in the room becomes so thick that it’s palpable until House walks towards the door of his office and utters one sentence.

“I don’t sleep with married men.”

Then, he shoots Wilson a wink and a smile before gingerly exiting the office, leaving nothing more than a confused and disappointed oncologist. Wilson sighs and looks at the clock again.

It’s one in the morning. He should be getting home.

~

A few months pass. Wilson moves out of the apartment he shared with Julie, which she doesn’t question. He also gets together with a lawyer and gets her served with divorce papers. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t question that either, and when he goes back to the apartment for the rest of his things, he’s not shocked by the fact that there’s another car in his parking space and a pair of men’s steel-toed boots by the front door. 

As much as Wilson could complain about acquiring a third alimony payment, he’s so relieved that it’s over that he doesn’t think to do so. Instead, he makes copies of all the documents pertaining to the divorce, storms into House’s office, and throws them down onto the diagnostician’s desk. 

House, who was sitting in his chair and bouncing his tennis ball on the floor, glances up at Wilson with a half-smile.

“What’s this? STD test results? I knew your panty-peeling ways would catch up to you eventually,” House jokes before picking up the stack of papers and staring down at it. Upon reading the words, his eyes go wide. “You really did it…”

“I’m not a married man anymore,” Wilson smirks. “What now?”

House tilts his head. His small half of a smile morphs into a large, cheshire grin.

“I don’t sleep with people who know me.”

“Really? That’s it? Not ‘I’m not gay’?” Wilson sputters. House must be coming up with excuses to avoid the inevitable at this point- either that or just trying to fuck with him for the fun of it. They love each other, and they both know they love each other, but that was never the problem. It’s always been House and whatever reservations he has back in that complicated head of his. “That’s your reason, that you know me?”

“Yes,” House nods and tosses the copies of Wilson’s divorce papers into the trash can next to his desk. Then, he starts spinning in his chair like a child and tosses his tennis ball in Wilson’s direction. Wilson barely catches it. “And I’ve never confirmed or denied the thing about being gay- I like to keep people on their toes, keep ‘em guessing.”

“You like to keep people on their toes, huh? That’s one hell of an understatement. What about Cuddy? Or Stacy? And I’m pretty sure you’ve at least considered Cameron. You know all of them.”

“Sure I do, but they don’t know me,” House explains and crosses his arms. “You, however, do.”

“And you don’t sleep with people who know you- you won’t risk being with me even though we have these feelings for each other-” Wilson pauses, pointing at himself as he puts it together. “Because you’re afraid of being known.”

“No. I just know better than to mix being known with the terrible thing that is my sex life. Why are you so insistent on making this a me problem?” House demands. While it’s apparent that he’s trying to maintain his composure, Wilson has known the man long enough to tell that he’s frazzled as he looks for his cane. Upon locating it, House grabs it from where it fell onto the floor at some point and gets up from his chair. “Is it because you don’t want to admit that it could be you?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Wilson huffs. He throws his hands up in frustration and furrows his brow in anger. House starts to walk like he’s going to go past Wilson and to the door of his office, so Wilson blocks his way by moving in front of him. House shoots a glare that would work on just about anyone else- that would make Cameron or Chase or Foreman or any of House’s clinic patients turn their backs and walk away- but Wilson hasn’t been friends with House for over a decade by walking away from him. “You just admitted it was you and the weird prerequisites that you have for your sexual partners!”

“Well, you’ve had three failed marriages and you’re the only common denominator, so are we going to sit here and pretend that I’m the problem in this relationship?”

“I know I’m not perfect, you idiot- we’re both the problem!”

“Listen, Wilson, we’re at work and I’m sure you’ve got a ton of dying bald little freaks to save,” House says with a harsh tap of his cane to the floor for emphasis. 

“You’re fucked up.”

“I know. We both are,” House says and leans down to Wilson’s ear, daring to nip on the lobe. A flash of heat tears through Wilson’s spine. He can’t remember the last time he was so enthralled with someone; was it during his marriages? No, he would’ve remembered. Before House? Or was it always House? He’s so close that Wilson can smell past the cologne he wears and the shampoo he puts in his hair to get the scent of him, just him. Wilson knows his eyes are wide as House whispers in his ear. “Now get back to work. Or, if you’re just going to spend the rest of your shift thinking about me anyway, go home where you can fantasize about what I’m like in bed without getting interrupted.”

House, thinking he’s won this, side-steps as smoothly as he can given his infarction and goes to take another step forward so he can briskly escape this tense situation. Wilson, however, doesn’t intend on letting House escape. He’s always been good at surprising House, which he does yet again when he entangles his fingers in the loose ends of House’s hair and moves closer until they’re chest to chest. He waits for House to push him away, to say something, to tell Wilson that he doesn’t want this for some other stupid reason he’s come up with to push Wilson away for the millionth time.

Silence ensues. House doesn’t speak, just remains perfectly still with his back pin straight and his icy blue eyes trained on Wilson. He’s just holding his breath, watching, waiting for the oncologist to make the next move. Wilson enjoys the moment for what it is; being this close to House and being able to touch him isn’t something he’s ever gotten to partake in. 

House’s hair is peppery in color and a little coarse, and the ends are grown out so he has a couple small curls at the base of his neck. He’s long overdue for a hair cut. Wilson runs his fingers through it and revels in the sensation of his chest against House’s. 

He wonders what it would be like if they were at House’s apartment and not surrounded by the staff of the hospital walking by. He thinks about what this would feel like without the layers of clothes between them. He imagines what House would sound like if they weren’t standing here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital staring each other down- if they were in House’s queen-sized bed, mouths on each other’s, hands roaming bodies and sweat staining House’s dark blue bed sheets.

“Tell me you don’t love me, or that I’m ugly, or that I have too much baggage. Tell me something- anything- about me that’s so bad that you don’t want this,” Wilson commands. “Tell me that I’ve put on too much weight since my second divorce, that my savior-complex is annoying, that I’m a serial cheater, that I always put your empty cereal boxes back in the pantry after I finish off the bag, anything. Please.”

“It’s not-” House starts with a quizzical expression, only for Wilson to quickly interject.

“Not about you or your fears. Give me a good, valid reason you don’t want me, and I’ll stop. I’ll leave, we can go back to being normal friends- hell, you can choose not to talk to me ever again- and that’ll be the end of it. But I’m not going to walk away knowing that you want me just as much as I want you. I can’t do that to us, House.”

“I…”

House looks anywhere but at Wilson now; the clock on the wall, the cane in his hand, the floor, Wilson’s stupid pink tie. He can’t do it and they both know that. Wilson isn’t surprised. What he is surprised by is how House kisses his forehead so tenderly. Wilson almost doesn’t believe it’s him doing it… and then it’s his nose, and his cheek, and finally, House is kissing him on the lips, slow and sweet.

Wilson hesitantly kisses back. It doesn’t seem real, but it is. It must be real if the large hand squeezing his waist and the stubble brushing against his chin are anything to go off of. He pulls away just enough to whisper against House’s lips.

“We’re at work. Shouldn’t you stop now?”

“Yes,” House breathes, even as he goes in for another kiss, and then another, as if he’ll die without; as if he’s drowning and Wilson is his only source of air. Wilson accepts it, craves it, allows himself to be taken in and kissed until he’s out of breath and his lips are bruised. It quickly escalates into something that he knows he’d get fired for at any other hospital. Briefly, he worries about people walking past and seeing this through the glass door of House’s office until he realizes that he wants them to see. He wants them to see that no, his devotion to House isn’t meaningless- that their relationship does mean something, that House can and will feel love for the right person, and that Wilson is the only one worthy of said love. “I should.”

“But you’re not going to?” Wilson laughs.

“No, I’m not,” House says and dips for another peck between sentences. “Fuck, I don’t think I could stop this even if I wanted to.”

“Then shut the blinds, lock your office door, and bend over the desk.”

~

A couple more weeks pass. Some days, they sleep together. Some days, they don’t. Regardless, things are the same as they always have been minus the sex.

Wilson should be disappointed. He wanted House to open up and he wanted them to connect, to have a real relationship. But right now…

Well, he can’t bring himself to be disappointed when they’re like this, having just finished. 

He’d seen House naked many times before; it’s hard not to when you’re friends with someone for so long. He can’t even count the number of times he’s accidentally walked in on House jerking off or pinned to his couch by some random hooker. He can count the number of times the pain has been so bad that House has needed help with things as basic as getting dressed or getting in and out of the shower. It was never like this, though, with House underneath him, back arching off his bed. The older man’s icy blue eyes are shut with his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He’s flushed dark pink from his head to the center of his narrow chest, which rapidly rises and falls with every labored breath he takes.

The mattress they’re on is an old, creaky piece of shit that creaks when Wilson carefully rests his weight on top of House. They’re covered in sweat and cum and god knows what else.

“Look at me,” Wilson pleads. House does just that, forcing his eyes open enough to meet Wilson’s. His pupils are blown wide and though it’s clear he’s drowning in their shared pleasure, Wilson can’t read much else. Is House just as enraptured by Wilson as Wilson is by him? Is House hoping he’ll stay after they clean up? “You’re beautiful… So beautiful.”

“And you’re cringeworthy. We’re in my bed, not The Notebook,” House references with a half-hearted roll of his eyes and a playful smack of one hand against Wilson’s shoulder. “So shut up and get off of me.”

Wilson does as told and rolls off of House, onto the bed. He’s learned where House keeps everything so that House can just lie there and let Wilson clean the both of them up on nights like this. They never have sex at Wilson’s as Wilson is living in a hotel following the divorce and has yet to settle into a new place of his own. 

He settles on his side next to House with his head on one of the pillows. There used to be one, but Wilson noticed after the first night he came over to do this, House bought another. Still, he hasn’t asked Wilson to stay the night. Wilson wonders if House even wants him to. Then again, there’s a lot of things he wonders about House. 

Wilson stares at House, who is still on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He already has his boxers back on which makes Wilson self conscious enough to grab his from the floor and put them on as well. 

Wilson wishes he knew what was running through the man’s mind right now. He’s quiet, contemplative, and serious in a way that’s out of character for him. Usually it’s awkward enough that Wilson leaves, and they pretend this never happened (until the next time it happens), but Wilson is growing weary of this cycle they’ve created over the last few weeks. Instead of quickly dressing himself and leaving, he gets back into the bed and pulls one of House’s large blankets over the two of them. House’s eyes widen. His gaze flickers to Wilson; questioning, cautious.

“There’s more I wish I knew about you,” Wilson softly murmurs. “More I wish you’d tell me. Things I’d ask about if I thought I could actually get an honest answer out of you.”

House furrows his brow.

“Like what?”

“Will you answer me honestly?”

“Depends on what you wanna know,” House answers.

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Wilson worms his way between one of House’s arms and his body so he can rest his head on the man’s chest. House tenses at first before relaxing his muscles and wrapping his arm around Wilson’s body to return the affection.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this… A few months ago, you lied to me about that transplant patient- Carly Forlano- you lied to all of us.”

“Who was that again?” House questions. 

Wilson doesn’t know if he’s serious or not.

“That business woman who came in with a ton of problems and ended up in congestive heart failure despite being perfectly healthy. You lied-”

“I like to call it ‘spinning the truth’.”

“So? What was wrong with the patient that met the exclusion criteria for the transplant list anyway? We both know that Chase figured it out and ratted to Vogler and Cuddy during her surgery.”

“She was taking Ipepac,” House says after a long pause, to which Wilson blinks up at him with confusion written on his face.

“You mean she took it once? There’s no way one use would cause that kind of damage to someone so young unless-”

“She said ‘maybe three times a week’. She was bulimic- or, is bulimic- who knows,” House shrugs as much as he can do so considering that Wilson’s weight is on top of him. Still, the expression on his face is unreadable. Wilson remains baffled; why would he lie for her? Why would he take the chance with his medical license by lying like that? Did he have some sort of personal connection with her, or was it just for the sake of solving one of his cases? Just to prove to himself that he was right? “But when bulimics give you a number for the amount they’re purging, it’s usually much more than what they’re actually willing to admit out loud, so I’d bank on it being at least once a day.”

“She’s a smart woman; smart enough to know the kind of damage that could do to her heart, and she did it anyway,” Wilson huffs. He knows everyone copes with stress differently, but he also remembers being very frustrated with that patient while she was in their care. She would use her cell phone during important texting and prioritize her many business calls over her health. Worst of all, she tried to rush herself out of the hospital to get back to work, assuming nothing was seriously wrong and that it was just a random one time health scare at first. If not for the staff’s insistence that she stay, she would’ve died from heart failure. “So why the hell would you grant her the transplant? Better yet, why would you lie to everyone to get her that transplant and risk your job- your medical license? You said you thought you were doing what’s right when we talked about it the first time.”

“I did, because that’s what I thought, and I still think that.”

“Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said I saw a bit of you in that patient?”

At that, Wilson gets off of House and sits up in the bed to stare down at the man, whose expression is unreadable as ever. 

“House, I’m not-”

“I know you’re not bulimic, but you’re great at making the worst possible choices for yourself at every turn and ruining your otherwise very accomplished life. That’s another form of self-harm in itself,” House says, sitting up as well. Wilson doesn’t miss the wince that momentarily takes over the other man’s face as he grabs his leg in pain from performing the motion. “Going into oncology even though it makes you miserable, jumping into three marriages that you knew weren’t going to work out, beating up that guy over a Billy Joel song at a bar during an important medical conference, allowing me to befriend you-”

“-you bailed me out of jail, what was I-”

“Staying as my friend even after the conference, allowing me to seep into your personal life and ruin aspect of it, and better yet, your professional life, too!”

“I still have a job and a good reputation, so-”

“Sure, because you got lucky with Cuddy pulling the plug on Vogler, which you had no way of knowing she would do. If that hadn’t happened, your little gesture of voting to keep me on staff even though you knew you’d get canned too still would’ve played out the way it was supposed to. You would’ve been fucked.”

“And what you’re saying is?” Wilson sighs. 

“Everyone else in my life; they’re sane enough to not want to deal with me the way I am but crazy enough to try and fix me. You, on the other hand, are sane enough to know I can’t be fixed but crazy enough to stay with me anyway. Even though you’ve made the mistake of getting to know me, you’re still here,” Silence. Wilson isn’t sure what to say, so he tentatively reaches out. House holds his hand and intertwines their fingers with a bittersweet smile. “Nothing to say?”

“Well… What’s so bad about knowing you?”

“Being known is simultaneously one of the best and worst things that could happen to someone. When it works out, it’s great, and when it doesn’t work out, it’s not… And let’s not pretend I’m not a huge asshole. It’s a miracle you’re still friends with me after all these years.”

“That’s all it is?” Wilson asks, to which House nods. “I don’t get it, then. We’ve been friends for a long time, House, you know I can take whatever you can dish out… Unless… Are you afraid I’m going to leave?”

“We could be naive enough to sit here and assume that things are always going to be this way; that we’ll always catch each other when we fall, but people fall out of love. People turn their backs, and they let each other fall. People grow and change and before you know it, your best friend becomes a stranger, and you don’t know them like you thought you did,” House drops Wilson’s hand and turns around to toss both of his legs over the side of the bed. Again, he winces from the pain caused by his infarction. It looks like he wants to stand to leave the room for something but can’t gather the strength to do so. “We’ve both had it happen to us before, and you know it’s real. You’ve been through three marriages and I’ve ran through plenty of relationships in the last few decades. You’re just making the worst possible decision for yourself yet again by throwing yourself into the pits with me.”

“But that’s my decision to make. Whether or not we do anything about our feelings doesn’t change them. There’s no stopping this, at least not for me,” Wilson insists and rushes to stand up so he can go around the side of the bed and offer his hands.

House refuses to take them, refuses to accept the help. The older man fumbles around until he manages to retrieve his cane from where he abandoned it on the floor earlier. Instead of using Wilson as leverage, he uses his cane and stands from the bed to walk towards the door of the bedroom. Wilson follows him into the kitchen in wait of a response.

“You’re not scared at all?”

“Of course I’m scared! I’m terrified. I’ve seen our track records with relationships, but… If it means that I get to be with you, I can be scared and still put my best foot forward, to try and make this work. I’m in love with you, Greg House.”

House walks towards the fridge without a word. Again, Wilson follows in wait of a response, this time wrapping his arms around House’s waist and resting his chin on the man’s shoulder from behind.

“You’re persistent.”

“So? You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep making me wait on you. Seriously, it’s been over a decade of this nonsense with two weeks of confusing sex stacked on top of it,” Wilson scolds. House just looks back at him as if he’s not sure this is real. “So? What do you say?” “I say… I’m in love with you too, James Wilson,” House chuckles, reaches into the fridge, and grabs a beer for each of them with a large grin. “Good luck.”

[pells-beautiful-wife]

Shattered hearts and bottles

Zoro x reader

Warnings:angst, angst without comfort, drinking, arguing, established relationship, breakups

I'm so, so, sorry but yall are suffering with me

Inspired by this song:

He knew he should have been softer. Should have listened to you. But it was too late now.

Your argument still stung his heart as it replayed in his head, as if the first time hadn't been painful enough.

He clenched his fists tight. Slamming his left hand into the wall leaving a huge dent.

It hurt more knowing you would stay with sanji out of spite.

He could hear you both know. He knew you wouldn't cheat you weren't like that.

Why did he have to get so mad?

He lifted the bottle back up to his lips taking a lengthy glug.

He moved his legs slightly the countless empty glass bottles clinking together.

It took a lot to get zoro drunk and right now he was cursing that fact.

He wished the alcohol would wash away the image of your hurt angry face.

Wished the alcohol could take away the fact that he was the reason for that expression.

You and sanji had just been cooking, and he had to get all protective over you, well fuck him.

"What do I do now ive added the chicken?" You'd fretted.

"Calm down love, just add the stock and stir it."

"Oh ok."

"Whats this?" He'd asked.

"Oh sanji was just teaching me to cook?" You'd replied innocently.

"Oh he was?"

"I'm sorry is there an issue?"

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" He'd felt the rage stur in his stomach.

"What?"

"You know what just keep flirting with shitty brows."

"Flirting? No zoro we were just cooking."

"Oh so that's what you call this?"

"Yes because that's what it is," you'd stiffened going on the defensive. "Do you think I'm lying?"

"Yes."

"Why? What have I ever done to make me unloyal in your eyes?"

"I-"

"No I don't wanna hear it. Why are you so... frustrating?"

"Me? Woman have you met yourself?"

"Yes I have but I've also sadly met you, and with how your acting right now I wish I never had!"

"How am I acting then?"

"Like an incompetent child denied a toy,"

"At least I'm not flirting with some third rate cook."

"Neither am I!"

He had scoffed, causing you to place your hands on your hips eyebrows high.

"If you have something to say say it!" You spat.

"Why bother, your obviously to bussy with him, you know what why dont you just fuck him while your at it."

"Zoro!" Sanji warned.

"And you, stay away from her, the only thing your good for is food, fucking remember it."

"Zoro leave sanji out of this."

"I'd love to but your the one you fucked him into this!"

"Omg do you even have a brain in there, or is it just as empty as your heart!"

"At least I have a heart, bitch!" He'd regretted that instantly. But that hadn't stopped him. "Why are you even here you can't fight, you can't think and you most certainly can't fuck!"

"Me? Zoro you can barely take two steps without getting lost! All you do is sleep, to be honest all you do is take up space!"

"And your just a whore!" He spat.

"I can't believe I fell in love with you," you'd said in disgust.

"You love me?"

"NO! NO I DONT! NOT ANYMORE!" Her face stained with tears.

"You don't mean that?"

"Try me!"

"Whos acting like a child now!"

"Leave us alone zoro."

"No I'm not leaving you alone with him," he had pointed to sanji.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!" then she'd thrown the wine bottle.

The shards of glass didn't hurt half as much as her words.

His heart hurt.

You'd confessed your love in that argument.

But had zoro ruined things?

That moment wasn't what he expected he'd never considered being in love with you but now, after that he realised he did.

He was madly inlove with you and he worried that now you'd realised you didn't love him afterall.

He felt suffocated, he had been rendered blind to all but his thoughts and the bottle in his hand.

His tears run free down his cheeks and trickling down the glass of the bottle.

His eyes stung slightly.

Oh how he wished you were here to hold. Here on his lap nesting into his chest as he burrowed his face in your hair.

He instinctively wrapped his arms tighter but finding nothing but himself.

He sobbed into his elbow. Tucking his knees up higher.

In his head he could hear you voice asking if he was ok. He lifted his head throwing it back against the wall his hand clutching at his shirt over his heart.

"DAMN YOU!" He cried out his tears coming thick and fast. His head throbbed but not nearly as much as his heart.

He didn't doubt everyone on the ship had heard his scream but it didn't even compare to the screaming of his heart.

He stood quickly, lobbing the still half full bottle at the wall. The throw caught him off balance and he stumbled forwards causing him to fall to his knees.

His knees stung as the bottles shattered under his weight.

No one had come to check on him, he could hear them comforting you. More proof he was in the wrong.

His strong fist thudded against the floor inpailing glass into it.

"FUCK!" He sobbed.

His head spun at his own voice, he seemed to have skipped the drunk stage and gone straight into hangover.

Grabbing another full bottle he sat back on his knees and downed that one too.

If you were here you would rub his back and scold him for drinking so much.

But you weren't and every breath he took was a sick reminder.

He needed comfort too. But he didn't deserve it. Rolling onto his back his threw his arm over his eyes sheltering his gaze from the throbbing lights. Or maybe it was his head that was throbbing.

If he could take it back he would.

You deserved better than him. Maybe Sanji could treat you better.

Sanji? What the fuck was he thinking?

He swigged his booze again.

Had he lost you forever now? You'd argued before but this felt more real. He'd never made you yell before let alone cry.

What if you really didn't want him?

He couldn't stand this, this unknowing, this turmoil.

So ignoring his pounding head, he stood leaving the bottle he stumbled through the door, down hallways until he was in the kitchen.

You were sitting on the table crying into sanjis shoulder and nami rubbed you back.

"Hey, um," he rubbed the back of his neck, not quite able to slurr out your name.

"You!" Nami seethed.

"Can I talk to her alone," he slurred slightly.

"Zoro your completely intoxicated, I don't think you want to talk to her now," sanji offered.

"I do," his gaze slipped to the floor.

You just sat there head on sanjis shoulder, listening.

"Ok but we're staying!" Nami glared at him.

He just nodded.

Sanji and nami took a couple of steps away and zoro strode over to you. Standing just a baby step away from you.

"Uum, I just- I'm sorry," he spluttered, the other two exchanged a shocked look. "I over reacted and, i shouldn't have said, any, of those things, I was just mad but not at you, at me. I guess-"

He looked away gritting his teeth fists clenched.

"I guess it made me realise I love you too!" He finished looking to you with bated breath.

You both stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds.

"Zoro," you said softly, tilted your head up to his. He saw your face, scarily absent of tears. "I'm sorry but, I meant what I said."

Cold fear gripped his heart and twisted his gut.

His heart thudding in his ears as cold sweat covered him.

"I don't love you anymore," you smiled gently.

His head spun this time for a completely different reason.

"I've decided to leave, there's an island pretty close by, I'm going to stay there."

His own tears threatened to fall.

He could see himself reflected in your gorgeous eyes. The same eyes that had once looked to him with such love, now completely void of emotion.

"Oh, ok!" His voice shook as his lip wobbled. "I understand!" He wiped his eyes quickly exiting the room.

The door clicked shut behind him and he collapsed against it not bothering to hide his sobs as they echoed across the whole ship.

[the-oc-lass]

Does Wrecker have fangirls? If not, he fucking should

GOOD EVENING FOLKS AND WELCOME BACK TO MY BULLSHIT. I've got more baby content for you!

This week we expand our story with Wrecker and a Baby. I love this giant man. I need a hug from him ASAP. If you missed the Crosshair chapter from a few days ago, it's posted here.

The full fic (a little longer than Crosshair's because we get a little more OC mom screentime) is also below the cut:

After a very long day of playing general, Rayona Yothia, mother to Echo “Ec” Yothia, is ready to fall down on her bunk and pass out for a few hours. The problem is, Ec does not share her wishes and is instead insistent on staying wide awake. She’s just finished trying and failing to feed Ec when, like a gift from the stars themselves, Wrecker walks in. He pauses when he sees her, his good eye darting across her face as he inspects her. 

“You look tired, Ray,” he says. She hums, bouncing her son on her lap. 

“Let’s just say our little friend here isn’t interested in sleeping at the moment,” she says. Wrecker watches her for another few seconds, then smiles at her.

“I’ll watch him.” She raises an eyebrow. 

“Aren’t you afraid to hold him without supervision because you think you’ll drop him?” His smile turns a little more bashful and he scratches the back of his neck. 

“I still wanna help you, Ray,” he says. Her gaze softens and she watches him for a moment before nodding. 

“Okay. I’d appreciate it,” she says. He smiles and walks over to the bunk, waiting for her to stand up. He’s extra careful as she helps him adjust Ec in his arms, treating the infant like he’s made of glass. Once he’s comfortable, Rayona sets her hand on Wrecker’s arm. “You sure you’ll be okay?” He nods. 

“Don’t worry, Ray. I’ve got him. You get some sleep,” he says. She smiles softly at him, squeezing his arm and nodding. She lies down and watches Wrecker as he leaves her room. A small part of her is anxious, but she knows Wrecker will be nothing but gentle with her son. 

Wrecker doesn’t go far once he’s out of Rayona’s room. In fact, he only goes down the hall, finding a quiet place to sit down. The base isn’t the best place to raise a baby, but they make do. After all, Ec is great for morale. A long day of work and missions is all worth it when they get to come back and see him. And lucky for Wrecker, those who are close with Rayona get extra Ec time. He carefully shifts Ec in his arms, holding him up and bouncing him slightly. Ec giggles, waving his arms a little. After bouncing the baby a few times, Wrecker pauses and tilts his head slightly. 

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he asks the baby. Ec babbles in response. Wrecker tries to figure out what kinds of things you do with babies and, after a few moments, he remembers a game he’s seen Echo play with the baby. Echo is good with him. Maybe it’s because the baby is named after him. Maybe it creates some kind of…Name bond. Wrecker doesn’t know, but he does know that the game made Ec laugh. So, Wrecker adjusts slightly, pulling his legs up and carefully resting Ec against them. Then, he covers his eyes—both of them, just in case his blind eye confuses the baby. “Where’d you go?” He uncovers his eyes and smiles widely at Ec. “There you are!” Ec giggles with pure glee, clapping tiny hands and babbling. His laughter makes Wrecker laugh too, and he continues with the game for a little while before Ec starts to lose interest. Wrecker bounces him again slightly, watching him closely. He looks a little more tired than he was earlier, but not by much. 

“I heard you volunteered to watch the baby.” Wrecker lifts his head and Echo is looking down at him, clearly amused. Ec babbles happily, reaching a hand up toward the man he’s named after. Echo smiles, waving back with his droid hand—a gift Rayona and Tech made before…Well, everything. Those were simpler times. 

“I thought Ray was asleep!” Wrecker says, bouncing Ec slightly again. Echo shrugs. 

“She was half asleep when she told me.” He suddenly holds up a bottle. “She also told me that he needs to eat before he sleeps.” Wrecker perks up slightly. 

“Oh! I can do that!” he says. Echo raises an eyebrow. 

“You sure? He can be a little stubborn,” he warns. Wrecker just laughs. 

“Like his mum!” he says. Echo smiles a bit at that, then hands the bottle to Wrecker. 

“Just let me know if he won’t eat. I can usually convince him,” he says. Wrecker tilts his head. 

“How do you do that?” he asks. Echo grins slightly and shrugs one shoulder. 

“I’m the family’s weakness.” Wrecker chuckles, then turns back to Ec, holding up the bottle. The infant takes it eagerly and the two clones chuckle before Echo says something about checking in with Rex and excuses himself. By the time Ec has finished the contents of the bottle, he looks ready to fall asleep. Wrecker does his best to burp the child the way he’s seen Rayona and some of the others do before, and when it’s all said and done, Ec has fallen asleep. His tiny hand is curled into a fist, grasping onto the fabric of Wrecker’s blacks. The big man chuckles softly, setting the bottle aside and then curling his arms gently around the baby. After ducking his head slightly to kiss the top of Ec’s head, he decides he’ll stay here for a bit so that the kid can sleep. In the end, Wrecker falls asleep too. 

A few hours later, Echo passes by the same spot again, pausing and smiling at the sight before him. Wrecker is still asleep against the wall, Ec peacefully resting against his chest, and Rayona, who clearly sensed that her son was never brought back to her, is now curled up against Wrecker’s side, her head on his shoulder. Though Wrecker isn’t Ec’s father, he stepped up during Rayona’s pregnancy and supported her even while he and Hunter went searching for Omega. Before Ec was even born, Wrecker swore that he’d be the best uncle he could be. Though he’s cautious due to his own strength and Ec’s small size, Wrecker has stood dutifully to that promise, just as he’s stood dutifully by Rayona. And he’ll continue to do so for as long as she needs him to, just as they all will. Echo snaps a quick holo of the sleepy pile, then quietly leaves them to rest for a little while longer.

[weaverpop]

So... idk if this applies to Lionsword, but MK and Wukong canonically have ADHD.

Do you have any headcanons of anyone having any disabilities, mental or otherwise?

Fun fact about that! Nezha canonically can’t fly without his wheels! Everyone else can, even Jing to an extent, but Nezha can’t!

Azure is half blind in his right eye, and his arm has all sorts of nasty lighting like scars from the JE’s powers. Struggles with the pain some days, though it’s mostly better. He can’t feel his pinky or ring finger on that side tho.

Jing canonically suffers from Postpartum Depression (PPD) after having his last baby. But also, as a result from his nurising days, as well as taking care of so many kids, he develops arthritis! It’s very mild and mostly in the shoulders, he takes meds for it, but now he uses it as an excuse to not have to do things.

Muzha sometimes has seizures. A brick to the head while mortal, especially a GOLD one, will kinda fuck you up there. Thankfully he’s on meds to control them now.

Not really a disability, but Nezha sleep walks. He’s scared Jing many times this way.

Macaques right eye, unlike azure, is totally blind. He’s had to do many doctors appointments when Erlang found out bc he heard of a thing where the brain starts attacking the good eye and makes it go blind too. (True thing. Very scary)

Wukong has awful vision because of the Furnace and needs glasses. But something new they discover is… asthma. Apparently being isolated on a clean air mountain for so long opens you up to all sorts of shit in the post-industrial world. So yeah, inhaler! Also the adhd.

Tang also has asthma! He and Wukong are asthma buddies!

Mk has developed insomnia due to his persistent nightmares. Nezha being there helps, but they can’t always be together. Sandy has Mk referred to a doctor to get a prescription for meds that help him sleep. That, plus the aforementioned adhd.

Pif suffered from anorexia for the longest time. The unfair beauty standards her parents pushed on her, particularly the Queen mum, stuck with her for a long time. It wasn’t until she was told that it was the reason she kept having miscarriage after miscarriage did she force herself to get better. That’s how Redson was born.

One of Jings and azures kids is born deaf. I won’t say which one tho. :)

[vxntrix]

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄- Elijah x Fem oc!

Summary: Liliana and Elijah has been married for a millennium, their marriage was forced by Mikael Mikaelson and her father, though they had a mutual agreement; in front of praying eyes and nosy people they would act has an affectionate and loving couple but behind closed doors they would act differently.

Now, almost millennia later, Elijah's platonic feelings had turned into romantic feelings for his wife that had stuck with him through everything, even when he was at a time where he had loved other women in a way he hadn't with her and he realises just how sacred Liliana has been all this time.

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 is all he'd ever shown, all he'd ever know with her, despite being married to Liliana for almost a millennium. He doesn't understand how to love her.

But with Hayley it's different, Elijah understood how to love her, how to make her smile, how to get her to laugh, but that love didn't least, she'd left him and married Jackson.

They had similarities, well at least in Elijah's eyes he saw similarities between the two women, yet his love for each woman was different. But what can he make of this? what can he make of actually feeling something for Liliana?

She was a closed book, often reserved and quiet yet loud and brutal all at once like time ticking bomb. She'd been since he had met her, and no matter how hard Elijah tried he just couldn't woo her, sway her, get her to feeling at least something for him.

So why does he love her? was he because they'd been together for so long his platonic feelings turned into romantic? he had thought numerous times throughout the day, often wondering the possibilities of Liliana showing him she did in fact care.

It was a warm summer night, Elijah had saved his brother from yet, another one of his crazy antics and had wanted to come home and just sit back and Realx when he had stumble upon his wife,

half bare, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, slightly lent forward, wearing red and black lace underwear with a plain black shirt hanging from her slim shoulders as she fixed herself up.

She looked breathtaking, half awake, short Raven black hair messliy hung just slightly above her shoulders. And for the first time he had looked at her, really looked at her, taking in her appearance for once rather then being occupied with a book and a glass of whisky.

His eyes glazed over her slim body, seeing the scars and burn marks on her uper back and torso some new and most old, a frown forming on his face, had he been so blind all this time? when had she gotten them? and why hadn't he known in the first place? Elijah didn't dare to let his gaze wonder lower then it always was.

But he felt stupid, ashamed, and regretful he had neglected his duty towards her as her husband, he felt self conflicted about this, when didn't she just tell him? why hadn't she gone to him for help? and why hadn't he bee— ''You know it's quite rude to stare at one for a long period of time without speaking a word to them.''

He tore his gaze reluctantly away from the burn and scars marks on her body, shifting to meet her gaze finding her already staring at him. a faint flush plastered on her pale skin.

''I—..I apologise dearest Liliana I seem to have gotten...'' He began to explain not before he heard her laughter fill the bathroom, a genuine and sweet laugh, one he hadn't ever heard before.

''Lost in looking at my scars? please, they are old...well, most of them are,'' Elijah watched his wife, watching the smile that looped onto her lips and the small shake of her head. She truly was breathtaking.

then a quiet silence falls upon them, the pair just silently watching the other, Liliana tilted her head one way, her raven black hair following suit.

Elijah's mind was racing, questions erupting, and unspoken words filling his mind. desperately trying to say something, anything to break the silence that fell upon them.

then, without thinking he blurred out the first words that came to mind.

''How did you get them?''

''Which ones?''

''All of them, old and new, I would like to know where and whom you have gotten them from.''

And suddenly, he felt the rush of shame run through his whole body, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

''I apologise again, dearest Liliana—''

''It's okay, you're okay. You don't need to apologise for being curious Lijah.''

With her reassuring words, he calmed himself a bit, maybe..just maybe, they could be something more then a couple in a loveless marriage