#but right now ... not enough to keep the gears churning

[the-physicality]

i am actually so thrilled that we have the order as of right now down.. i've said it before i'll say it again, i. need. coaches. but people are yapping about how dallas sucks, but she is the player that will make it not suck.

[ceesimz]

Wallflower

Autistic Reader x Barça Femení

The main story can be found here, this is just a small one shot I had the idea for :)

Birthdays. What a massive inconvenience.

Actually, scratch that. You enjoyed other people's birthdays, just not your own. In fact, it was your worst nightmare. One of the most dreaded days of the year.

Having all of the attention on you? Having gifts and envelopes and surprises forced your way? People singing to you? God, it made you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.

Not to sound ungrateful, of course. The idea that people liked you enough to make a fuss of you did spark something in your heart, but it was too much. In the nicest way possible, it was utterly overwhelming, and often at some point during the day, there would be tears. Possibly a shutdown too, or  even a meltdown of some kind. 

All in all, it was a terrifying experience no matter how you spent it.

Now double that, triple it again, multiply it by ten, and that's how it felt waking up on your first birthday at Barcelona. 

For the whole month so far, you had near enough begged Ingrid to make sure the team doesn't do anything excessive. You needed the day to be as normal as possible, just so you could get through it. And to be fair to her, with a sad smile, she had promised that your wishes would be met. 

So waking up alone to an empty flat on the dreaded day was both calming and uncomfortable. You'd asked for it, obviously, so had to get over it. You showered, got dressed into your training gear, and sat down on the sofa whilst waiting for Ingrid to arrive. Again, it was just like any other day. If you ignored the way your phone vibrated every few minutes, that is. And the stomach-churning anxiety that only increased as time went on.

There was a knock on the door and, expecting it to be Ingrid, you shouted for her to come in. Except, it wasn't her. Though you couldn't really be too disgruntled by the surprise guest.

“Good morning, cariño. Can I come in?” Alexia peered around the door cautiously, smiling hopefully over at you. 

With a solemn nod, she quickly stepped in and closed the door behind her. In her arms was a bouquet containing some of the flowers you had gawked at way back when on your first date with her. That was a few weeks ago now, and being in the early stages of a relationship did have its difficulties, but only due to the adjustment of it. Everything else was, well, perfect. Alexia was perfect. 

But having her, your girlfriend, show up unannounced on your birthday wasn't the worst thing in the world, you supposed.

“Is it okay that I'm here?” She asked nervously, pausing a few feet away from you.

“It is.” You smiled shyly up at her, standing so you could greet her properly. 

In an instant, there was a cheesy grin on her face, and she placed the flowers down gently on your coffee table before lifting you off the ground into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, mi amor.” She whispered before scattering light kisses from your neck, up to your cheek, down along your jaw, and reaching her final destination, sealing her greeting with a soft kiss to your lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Stressed. Anxious.” You laughed nervously, leaning into her hand when she puts you down and cups your cheek.

“That’s okay. I… I haven’t made you feel worse by showing up, right? I can go if you would prefer.” With a silent shake of your head, you wrapped your arms back around her and buried your face in her shoulder. She smiled and happily complied, keeping you close to her. “Then I will stay.”

“I’m really glad you came.” You stated, slightly muffled by the material of her jumper. “Thank you.”

“No, no need to thank me. It is my girlfriend's birthday, and I will always show up for her if she lets me.” 

She voiced her determination to love you, even though those three words hadn't been said aloud by either of you yet. You were sure of it; the warmth you got in your chest was the first time an all-consuming feeling didn't feel quite so terrifying. It was at first, the initial realisation was something that kept you up at night for a few days, until one morning it clicked and all that was left was serenity and security in your feelings. Telling her such was an entirely different challenge.

After her latest admission, it took everything in you to keep those words inside rather than spilling straight out.

“Will you drive me to training?” You asked, seemingly out of nowhere. But, with so much running through your mind, so much weighing on you today, it was easier to stick to the simpler things rather than focus on all the stuff that’s overwhelming in that moment. The day still felt like a mountainous obstacle to get over, hence your need for simplicity and slight dissociative nature. 

“Of course. Have Mapi and Ingrid been yet?” Alexia said, watching as you pulled away and slumped down onto the sofa again, your legs pressed up against your chest and your arms folding around them. You shook your head no, to which she nodded and collected the flowers again to put them in a vase.

“Thank you for the flowers, Ale.” You mumbled, resting your chin on your knee whilst watching her and fidgeting with the TV remote. She smiled over at you from the kitchen before turning back to the bouquet, spreading some of the flowers out a little and leaving them on the kitchen counter. 

Another thing about your birthday, though it had only developed once you got into your teenage years, was that receiving gifts from people caused a lot of anxiety. When the dust settled, the sentiment behind each gift one was something you treasured. But getting them and opening them was an event you worried about much more than the average person- was your reaction what they wanted? Did you thank them enough? Did you come across as rude and ungrateful? There was just too much to think about.

With Alexia, you didn’t have to stress about any of those things. She was great at reading you by now, she knew what version she would get and when. And yet, her adoration still never faltered. You had come to know her just as well as she knew you, so you were sure she had gotten you other presents than just a bouquet of flowers (though they were more than enough for you) and that she was just waiting for the right time to give you her proper gifts. That, you were grateful for. 

“De nada, amor.” Alexia murmured as she sat down beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Instantly, you curled into her side, smiling when her lips pressed against your temple in a soft kiss. “Training will be okay, you know. I understand it is the unknown that makes you anxious, but once you have a ball at your feet, it will all calm down. Try to remind yourself that, okay?”

“I just hate the anticipation, the waiting. Want to get it over and done with.” You sighed, relishing in the comfort Alexia provides just by being beside you.

“I know. Time isn’t kind.” Alexia whispered, taking one of your hands with her free one and squeezing it. “You wanna skip breakfast at training?”

You raised your head quickly at her question, not even knowing that idea was a possibility.

“People won’t be mad if I do? That I won’t be there?” You checked, because if you could get away with doing such a thing, it’d get rid of a mighty chunk of your worries.

Being seated in the canteen with everyone at Barcelona on the one day dedicated to you was terrifying really. There would be expectations, possible celebrations, and the eyes of everyone would surely be on you. They meant well, you knew that of course, but that unfortunately didn’t make it any less frightening. Breakfast was a social event, for some hell-sent reason, whereas training was a professional setting, it was work. Avoiding it altogether would be a dream, except you know the mass disappointment it’d cause. And everybody knows how that ends.

“No one would be mad, cariño. They would understand.” Alexia physically felt the tension leave you under her hands at that, your body deflating as you let out a breath of relief. You moved to wrap your arms around Alexia’s torso then, and leaned up to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Ale. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You said, punctuated with yet more kisses.

All those weeks ago, Alexia had been right. Having someone by your side did make a lot of things so much easier. It was like night and day. You recognised the difference in yourself since you had met her, and you never knew it was possible for you to grow like this. With the move from Germany to Spain, you were well aware that there would be some changes for you, but the unknown came into play again. Would those changes be progression or regression? Evidently, and to your relief, it was progression. Your dream of thriving here was fast on its way to becoming true.

“Feliz cumpleaños, preciosa!” A certain Spaniard bellowed the second she opened your door, giving you and Alexia slight heart attacks.

“Mapi, dios mío! Why!?” Alexia groaned, you giggling beside her as you could hear her heart racing at the jumpscare so kindly given by the shorter woman.

“I warned her, she did not listen.” Ingrid sighed with feigned annoyance, but the second she looked over at you, there was a beaming smile on her face. “Come here, søster!”

Sheepishly, you unwound yourself from Alexia’s hold and walked over to Ingrid, laughing when she squished your cheeks together and kissed your forehead before embracing you tightly.

“Happy birthday!” Ingrid squealed, grunting when her girlfriend’s gangly arms flung around you both. Mapi squeezed you both together before looking over at Alexia who was watching the interaction fondly, still seated on the sofa.

“Ale, come join.” Mapi demanded, only for her to shake her head and wave the defender off. Mapi wasn’t having it though. She left the hug for a moment and grabbed her friend by the wrist to drag her over, before manually moving Alexia’s arms to wrap around the three of you. “Stop being a party pooper, Alexia. Get that grumpy look off your face, we know you are enjoying this.”

“Yeah, Ale.” You looked to your side at her with a teasing smile, the love radiating off of the both of you when your eyes met. Ingrid could feel it, Mapi could feel it. You were possibly the only two in the world opting out of acknowledging it.

After the impromptu group hug, Ingrid went over to the bag she had brought and unpacked a load of your favourite pastries. You knew she was making them for you, but in your anxious daze of the morning so far you’d entirely forgotten about them. The way your face lit up at the sight was enough for Ingrid’s day to be made and for Alexia’s heart to run wild in her chest. All four of you sat down at the dining table to share them since Ingrid had made enough for everybody, and like always you mostly stayed quiet and let the other three carry the conversation. You’d drop in every now and then, but most of the time you just liked to listen. They all knew that by now and were more than happy to keep the chat flowing, until it was time to leave for training.

Having Alexia drive you there had its advantages and disadvantages, and you were well versed with them by now. Being a passenger meant you were free to get caught up in your thoughts, which could either go really well or really bad. Meanwhile, being the driver meant you had to focus on the road, forcing the doubts to be silent. Yet, sometimes not having the chance to mentally work through what was stressing you out only made the situation worse.

In this instance, you had no time for overthinking when Alexia was emphatically singing along to any song that played on the radio, keeping you entertained and distracted for pretty much the whole journey.

It was a completely different story once you arrived though.

Alexia near enough had to lead you through the building and into the locker room, her hand on your back as a comforting reminder. Thankfully you managed to get there without bumping into anyone since the pair of you were some of the first to arrive. The only teammates you had seen so far were Ona, Aitana, and Jana, but they hadn’t seen you. Alexia had laughed when you ducked behind her dramatically, using her as a cover to stay hidden as they walked ahead of you both. They took a left turn to go to the canteen, whilst you headed in the other direction. 

You sat down at your cubby and slumped back against the wall, body sagging with relief. Alexia smiled softly and took her seat a few down the line, and the pair of you both booted up in comfortable silence. 

Being captain of the team, the midfielder obviously had the authority to get her team to listen to her. Without making much of a deal out of it, herself and Ingrid had discreetly gone around the team to ensure there were no surprises or big occasions prepared without your knowledge. Instead, they were taking a much more low-key approach that they hoped would convey just how overjoyed they were to have you on their team.

She sat not too far from you with the knowledge of what the surprise was, and she was probably the most excited out of the lot for you to receive it. It was nothing big, in fact most of the team worried it was too little, but having known you for so long Ingrid had reassured them there wasn’t really anything you would appreciate more than the gesture they had in mind. Some of the members you were slightly closer with had decided on small gifts of their own they would give to you in their own time, but for today, they would stick with their collective plan and hope for the best. 

“You ready for me to beat you at free-kicks?” Alexia grinned once she was ready, standing as she tied her hair back into her usual updo.

“I’ve beat you the last two times we’ve done this, I wouldn’t get too cocky.” You smirked, squirming when she squeezed your sides as you walked past her. “Plus, it’s my birthday.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that card. I’m definitely going to win now.”

For just over half an hour, you got invested in a free-kick contest with none other than La Reina herself. It had become somewhat of a tradition now, to the point where you had even made a points system for it. The further out you went, or the harder the angle, the more points you scored. A few months back, after Alexia had caught you once again avoiding breakfast, she had suggested the pair of you practise free-kicks after she had missed one in the game before that day. It quickly became a thing for you both, getting so competitive with each other and scoring goal after goal in the secluded morning sessions together, that a points system just had to be introduced after two draws in a row. Neither of you had looked back since. Those moments together, with a ball at your feet and the quiet company of the other, had become something you both looked forward to. 

Unfortunately, Alexia beat you this time, by just one point. One. And she was gloating like she’d gotten another Ballon d’Or.

“I told you, cariño. Just because it is your day doesn’t mean I will go easy on you.” She shrugged arrogantly, wandering back over to where you stood with your arms crossed petulantly over your chest. She grinned at the unimpressed look on your face, raising a hand to poke at the corner of your mouth. “Smile, amor!”

With a scoff, you swatted her hand away and turned to walk over to where your drink lay on the sidelines. Not a second later, you heard her jogging after you before two arms wound around your waist and a chin rested on your shoulder.

“You know I should have won that. You put me off.” You grumbled, referring to the moment she had crept up behind you and made a weird noise right by your ear just as you stepped off to take the kick.

“No no no, there was just a bug on your shoulder. I had to protect my girlfriend.” She said, grunting when you lightly jabbed your elbow back into her stomach.

“Protect me from what? A tiny fly? You are the only irritating little bug I need saving from.” You argued. As you picked up your own bottle, you got Alexia’s too, only you dropped it purposely when she went to take it from you. “What comes around, goes around, Alexia.”

Alexia wasn’t quick enough to come up with her own payback before the rest of the team started filing out for the actual training session. First came Esmee on her own, who, at the sight of you, immediately lit up and came over. Quietly, without making too much of a fuss, she wished you a happy birthday before hugging you. She was just as shy as you sometimes, so she left it at that. Ultimately though, being on a team of people that mostly came from affectionate countries, they all couldn’t resist. Funnily enough, you didn’t hate it. The hugs, the well wishes, the toothy grins sent your way, the cheek kisses and pats on the back were welcomed. It wasn’t overbearing, or too much, it made you feel… loved. And appreciated.

For the first time in your career, it didn't feel entirely fake either. Not that your other teams didn’t shower you in their gratitude, but it always felt like there was a barrier between you and them. Like you weren’t fully with them. You knew exactly why it felt like that, but not an ounce of you was prepared to solve it. This time around, that blockade wasn’t there. They knew you, not a facade, and still they willingly conveyed their feelings towards you. Quickly you were learning that this was the right way to live. Not like you had in the past, where you weren’t even half of your true self.

Living unapologetically as yourself was freeing. You couldn’t go back if you tried.

As always, you loved training. It was equal parts light-hearted and competitive, the perfect combination. Everybody was playing well, feeling well, and it was evident on everyone’s face. Not a moment passed without everybody smiling or laughing. Even during the gruelling seven-a-side game at the end. During a brief reprieve from the tight match where you were stood on the sidelines, watching on, it gave a moment of clarity. You did belong here. 

“Has Ale given you your presents yet?” Aitana joined you with a smile on her face, but you looked down at her in confusion. “Ah, I see. She hasn’t. Well, take it from me, they are really cool. You will love them.”

“What are they?” You tried to get it out of her, but obviously she wasn’t letting up that easily.

“You will see! I am not spoiling it.” She laughed. “Tell me when she has, I have to talk about them with you.”

“How do you know what they are?” You wondered, only for her to shrug slyly.

“You just have to find out. Go on! You’re being called back in.” She shooed you away, smiling again when you shake your head at her antics.

The game didn’t go on for much longer before the end of training was called. On the way in, you were watching Pina and Vicky spray each other with the remainders of their drinks, laughing when one of them accidentally sprayed Marta. Before you knew it, all of the ‘class clowns’ were chasing the team around with the ice cold liquids, and you found yourself at the centre of it. Apparently, turning 27 meant getting doused in sports drinks, because by the time you were back in the locker room, your shirt was mostly damp.

Alexia had stuck to the back of the group with Patri who had unusually opted out of joining in, though it wasn’t something you picked up on. The two were talking calmly as if there wasn’t a full blown water fight ahead of them, but Alexia knew Patri was itching to join in. What caused her to stay out of it though was very important to her. 

“Hey.” She came over to you in the locker room with a spare towel for you to somewhat dry yourself off with, another item hidden behind her back. “I have something else for you.”

You could tell everybody in the room was fighting to keep their eyes averted, but their curiosity got the better of them. After all, it was a small token of appreciation from everybody.

“Oh, okay. Sure, what is it?” You forced a smile, but below the surface, Ingrid and Alexia could tell there were alarm bells going off in your mind.

“Well it is your birthday, and though you said you don’t want to make a big deal of it, we couldn’t let it go under the radar. This is just something small from all of us.” Patri revealed an envelope in her hand and held it out for you. Your name was written on the front, as well as a huge smiley face.

“You don’t have to open it now, in front of everyone, don’t worry. Look at it in your own time, that’s more than okay.” The midfielder smiled her bright smile at you, squeezing your shoulder before heading back to her cubby. 

It was then that Alexia came over, standing beside you when you turned back to your space.

“Was that alright?” Alexia murmured quietly. Everybody else was back to doing their own thing now, giving you two the privacy you probably needed.

“Yes, just unexpected.” You said, eyes still staring at the yellow envelope.

“I know. Like Patri said, you don’t have to open it now. You can look at it whenever, it’s fine. Okay?” She checked, smiling in relief when you looked up at her and nodded.

“Did you do this?” You wondered. Instantly, there was a redness to her cheeks that couldn’t be blamed on the weather or the training session beforehand.

“I may have played a part in it. But it was the other guys’ idea. I just approved it.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You showering?”

“Yep. When I get out, I’ll look at it.”

You liked taking your time in the shower post-workout, whether that be training or a game or even just a 5k jog. By the time you got out, most of the team had left. It was just Alexia sat there on her own, scrolling through her phone whilst she waited for you. One of her legs was bouncing up and down, and you weren’t sure if that was a sign of anything or not.

“Ale?” You got her attention as you dropped your towel and training kit down into your locker, now dressed in comfy sweats and a t-shirt.

“Mhm?”

“I’m going to open the envelope now.” You stated shyly. She tried to disguise the excitement on her face, but she didn’t do a great job. It didn’t really help your nerves, but there were worse audiences to do it in front of.

“Absolutely, go for it.”

Shaking hands tore open the paper, revealing a birthday card. What was in it, though, made it much more than just a card.

On both pages inside were personal messages from every member of the team. From Cata, to Irene, to Salma, and even Alexia. From the first one you read, there were tears in your eyes. Alexia could read you well, but she wasn’t perfect yet.

“Amor? Are you not happy?” She asked nervously, coming over to you. You shook your head, only worrying her further, before burying your face in her chest. “I’m so sorry you don’t like it. I’m so so sorry. I-”

“No, I love it. I really, really love it.” 

Every message was personal, not just a generic one. Whether it contained an inside joke or a compliment, you couldn’t have imagined they thought these things about you. They weren’t saying things for the sake of a congratulatory message, or just to come across as kind, they were deeply meaningful and thought-out. From Mapi’s teasing message that was filled with love, to Frido’s reminder of the car park fiasco and how she signed it as ‘cupid’, to Aitana’s that relayed the memory of your first goal, signifying it wasn’t just a special moment for you but for her too. 

You were left speechless. All you could do was read it again and again and again, something you know you’d be doing for the rest of your life. You’d get it framed if it was socially acceptable. 

The idea, no, the fact that these people, Ballon d’Or winners, World Cup winners, Euros winners, the people you held at such a high regard like this. It was almost unimaginable, if it wasn’t written right in front of your eyes. If the months beforehand hadn’t shown you how important it was to be vulnerable and open and honest, this gesture sealed that decision and was all the proof you needed that everything that had led you to this moment, the good and the awful, was undoubtedly worth it. 

You were part of a record breaking team, sure, but it was the people in it that made your personal dreams come true.

“I wrote my message last so that nobody saw me being soft.” Alexia admitted, making you giggle as you read hers. “So you are okay with it?”

“Okay with it? Alexia, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” You said, placing the card down and embracing her tightly. “Thank you. I need to thank everyone, but thank you.” 

“I’m glad.” She whispered. “There was one issue on my behalf though.” 

“What?” You wondered, leaning back and looking up at her with a frown.

“I was too scared to write how I truly felt.” Well fuck, if that didn’t make your heart drop and your stomach churn.

“Ale, what do you mean?” You said quietly, taking a step back from her. She chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her neck.

“I… wanted to write that I love you in it, but I didn’t want to ruin the card.” 

It took a few moments for your mind to settle at that proclamation, but eventually it did. It left Alexia stood there, looking terrified though.

Your first thought, once the commotion had settled in your mind, was that you were utterly in love with her too. You kind of thought you’d known that the day she took care of you when you collapsed in training. Your second thought was, why would that ruin the card?

“Ale, you’re such a dork.” You laughed. Okay, maybe not the best reaction. “You must know that I love you too, right?”

“You do?” Alexia asked in a childlike wonder, as if all her wildest dreams were coming true. “You sure?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that.” You said. Any further doubts that began to creep in were immediately cut off when she cradled your face and kissed you. Just like you did to her during your first kiss.

“I love you, cariño, and I will not have you worrying otherwise. I really love you.” Alexia breathed out, as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders.

“I really love you, too.” You stated shyly, gazing up into the eyes you'd come to love, only to see sincerity and mirth swirling in the hazel of her orbs. She wasn't kidding, this wasn't some evil birthday prank, she actually was in love with you.

It certainly wasn't a gift you were expecting, but it topped them all indefinitely. Frankly, it was hard to process. Hard to comprehend. How someone of her stature could love a person like you. But, seemingly so, it would have to be something you came to terms with. Because she was stood before you, professing exactly how she felt, and when she gave such a brave show like that, it'd be cruel to reject her.

Except, there was one question you had.

“Was that the gift that Aitana mentioned?” 

“What? No!” Alexia tutted, rolling her eyes affectionately as you grinned. “Your actual gifts are in the boot of my car, in the cardboard box I told you was full of old Barça kits.”

That wasn't a total lie. In the aforementioned box, there were old kits in there, but they weren't all Barça ones. They were real, match-worn shirts from not only Alexia's collection she'd made over the years, but from Aitana's, and Mapi’s, and a few of Alexia's ex-teammates turned good friends. They ranged from international jerseys, like the USWNT jersey with Christen Press' name and number, as well as one of Christine Sinclair's Canada shirts. Not to mention the array of club kits. There were loads of them, god knows how valuable they all were, but you adored every single one. Your personal favourite was Alexia's old Barça shirt from her first season in 2012, one of your favourite designs from Barcelona as a whole.

The fact that Alexia had listened to your stories of when you were younger where you were crazy for any kind of memorabilia, even going as far as asking her friends for their shirts, was a notion you couldn't begin to understand. To be loved is to be heard, and Alexia had taken that phrase and ran with it. You gazed at each shirt, having laid them out across your bed to send a video to Ingrid (and Aitana, of course), but for a while you just stared at them. 

Alexia stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, a proud smile on her face. She knew she had done a good job, but seeing you geek out like you were over them was so endearing, she couldn't help but fall further in love. It was her mission to show you a life of joy and compassion, and in her professional opinion, she'd made a damn good start.

Her love for you was woven through the fabric of the jerseys she had gifted. Your approval of that fact was shown in the way you barely let her out of your hold for the rest of the evening, even as you slept that night. 

The be all and end all of everything was written into the bonds formed with people in the world, and yours with Alexia was enough reason to wake up everyday with a smile on your face and contentment in your heart. The essence of your existence was not limited to the three words of your medical diagnosis, but rather the three words that were whispered in your ear the moment you opened your eyes in the morning and the moment you closed them at night.

Maybe birthdays didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[writeriguess]

hi sweetie, I hope you are well ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡). I came to request katsuki Bakugou x female reader. They are married but due to Bakugou hero's busy schedule they have few moments together, I would like the plot to be based on the reader discovering Bakugou's infidelity (I want to suffer) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) following the appearance of a pregnant woman (or some crazy stuff like that?) If it's too much, don't worry! I just want that kind of anguish. tysm .ᐟ.ᐟ

author's note: Thank you, I am well <3 The upcoming work trip stresses me out a little though! I'm likely on it when this publishes.

A House Built on Ashes

The apartment is silent when you wake up, the other side of the bed cold. Again.

You stare at the ceiling, blinking away the sleep that threatens to pull you back under. Katsuki’s been working late. Too late. Always too late. Your hands glide across the empty sheets, searching for warmth that hasn’t been there in weeks. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:14 AM. A part of you wonders if he’ll even come home tonight.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you wrap his hoodie around your frame and pad barefoot into the kitchen. Your heart sinks when you see the untouched dinner, still wrapped and waiting for him. The weight in your chest grows heavier as you unwrap the food, staring at the cold meal you made hours ago. It’s stupid, really. You should be used to this by now.

The sound of the front door unlocking makes you flinch. You turn, breath caught in your throat, as Katsuki steps inside. His ash-blond hair is disheveled, his hero uniform half undone, revealing the black compression shirt underneath. He looks tired—exhausted even—but not in the way he should be. Not in the way of a man who’s just been fighting villains all day.

His crimson eyes meet yours, widening slightly as if he wasn’t expecting you to be awake.

“Yer still up?” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming. Or lying.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. “Where were you?”

He hesitates. It’s barely a second, but it’s enough.

“Work ran late.”

A simple answer. A practiced one. But something is off. His uniform smells like detergent—freshly washed. His scent is there, but it’s muted. As if someone else’s perfume had been scrubbed away. A cold tendril of doubt coils around your heart.

“I called,” you say, watching his expression carefully. “Three times.”

His jaw tightens. “Phone died.”

Lies.

You want to believe him. Gods, you want to. You want to be the supportive wife, the one who understands that being the Number Two Pro Hero means sacrifices. But you know Katsuki. You know how meticulous he is about keeping his gear—and his phone—charged.

You know when he’s lying.

A week passes, and the distance between you both grows like a festering wound. He kisses you still, but there’s something different. Guilt, maybe. Or obligation. And then it happens. The moment everything unravels.

It’s a grocery run. A normal, mindless errand. Until you see her.

She’s beautiful. Dark hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing an oversized sweater that hides the curve of her stomach—almost. But you see it. The subtle swell of a life growing inside her. And more than that, you see the way her hands hover protectively over her belly.

You might have walked past her without a second glance if it weren’t for the conversation you overheard.

“Oh, please,” the woman scoffs, rolling her eyes as she adjusts the shopping basket on her arm. “Like she really thinks he’s still faithful to her? She’s pathetic.”

You freeze.

Her friend giggles, covering her mouth. “I mean, Y/N is stupidly naive if she thinks a man like Katsuki would actually stick around forever.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

The woman—this stranger—laughs, a bitter, knowing sound. “Right? He knocked me up, and she’s still playing house like nothing’s wrong. I mean, come on, he spends more nights with me than her at this point.”

Your stomach churns. It feels like the ground is swallowing you whole.

Her friend nudges her playfully. “So, when’s Bakugou finally ditching her and stepping up?”

The woman sighs, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “Soon, hopefully. I mean, we all know he’s just staying out of guilt. But once this baby’s here?” She grins. “She’ll just be the embarrassing ex-wife.”

You don’t remember walking out of the store. You don’t remember the drive home. You don’t remember anything except the way your heart beats so violently against your ribs that it hurts.

By the time Katsuki comes home that night, you’re sitting on the couch, his hoodie pulled tight around you, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

He doesn’t get the chance to speak before you ask, voice hollow—“Do you love her?”

The silence that follows is the worst part. Because it’s not immediate denial. It’s not outrage at the accusation. It’s nothing. Just quiet, suffocating nothingness.

Your whole world burns.

The silence stretches between you like a yawning abyss. Your heart pounds so violently that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Katsuki stares at you, crimson eyes unreadable, but his lips part like he’s searching for something to say—an excuse, a reason, a lie that will make this all go away.

But nothing comes.

Nothing.

And that is the final straw.

Your hands tremble as you push yourself to your feet, and suddenly, all the pain that’s been simmering inside you—festering, growing, poisoning every quiet moment you spent waiting for him—boils over.

“You bastard,” you whisper, but it’s more than that. It’s not just an insult. It’s a curse, a condemnation, a blade forged from every night you spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t try to defend himself.

Coward.

“Say something, Katsuki!” you shout, and your voice cracks on his name. His name—the one you’ve whispered in love, in devotion, in trust. Now it tastes like ash on your tongue.

But he doesn’t say anything.

The quiet shatters something inside you. You shove past the coffee table, hands shaking as you grab the untouched dinner you left wrapped for him hours ago. The plate crashes into the sink with a sharp, ringing clatter, the sound echoing through the suffocating apartment. “You could’ve just told me,” you say, voice shaking. “You could’ve told me that you didn’t love me anymore instead of—”

Instead of this.

Instead of letting you rot away in this lie.

Instead of making you look like a fucking fool.

You press a hand against your forehead, breathing hard, fighting against the sob that threatens to rip itself from your chest. Your vision is blurry with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall—not yet. Not in front of him.

Katsuki finally moves, stepping forward, hands raised as if he can fix this—as if he has the right to touch you after everything. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice like glass shards. He flinches, and good. Let him feel just a fraction of what you feel. Let it fucking hurt.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it tastes more like grief than amusement. “I cooked for you. I waited up for you. I defended you every single time someone said you wouldn’t settle down. And you—” You shake your head, chest heaving. “You weren’t even fucking careful. You didn’t even have the decency to make sure I didn’t find out like this.”

His eyes darken, but there’s shame there, too. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, sure. You just tripped and fell into another woman? And now she’s having your kid?”

His lips press into a thin line, and for the first time, you see it. The guilt. The regret. But it’s too late for that now. Too fucking late.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms until you’re sure they’ll leave crescent-shaped marks. You’re shaking, your whole body vibrating with rage, with devastation, with betrayal so deep it makes you sick to your stomach.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper, voice raw. “You don’t get to make me love you, to promise me forever, and then throw me away like I meant nothing.”

His hands tighten at his sides. “You didn’t mean nothing.”

But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

Your breath catches, the dam finally breaking as a sob rips through your throat. “Then why wasn’t I enough?”

And for the first time, Katsuki has no answer.

You nod, wiping at your face furiously before turning on your heel, heading straight for the bedroom. Your mind is racing, already thinking about packing, about leaving, about never looking back. About how much it’s going to hurt.

He calls your name—soft, desperate.

But you don’t stop.

You don’t look back.

Because if you do, you might break completely.

[tenjikufag]

Shut Up.

Denji x Male!Reader

-fluff, comfort, smut, bottom denji, top reader, closeted(?) denji, established relationship , mentions of slight jealousy, yoshida mentions

-this was requested by @tsukikor quite some time ago, thank you for the req!

Denji didn’t really know what to do with these emotions, yeah it was well known by everyone that he liked women but he also liked men- in particular you- his boyfriend.

He didn’t mean to keep it a secret, he really didn’t mean anything by not coming out it just.. wasn’t something he ever thought of and couldn’t ever really find a moment to think about if he really needed to tell anyone?

That’s what’s brought him to this, the feeling of ugly envy and jealousy watching you interact with Yoshida… now, it’s not like he disliked Yoshida but he didn’t particularly find himself fond of him either. Watching you laugh and joke with him worried him.. Yoshida was kind of openly gay or maybe he just acted like that, he wasn’t all too sure if he was honest.

That aside, the thought of Yoshida taking you away from him made him nauseous.

The two of you of course never disclosed the relationship but they should know that you’re off the market! At least!

“You wanna get out of here? It’s getting a bit stuffy, don’t ya think?”

Yoshida chuckled across the room, you scratched the back of your neck and said something that denji couldn’t quite hear because of the distance but he was quick to follow the two of you out of the room.

“Are you doing anything after this?”

“No, I’m probably gonna walk Denji home afterwards.”

You stretched your arms, raising your brow as you saw Yoshida turn his gaze to the entrance of the building.

“What are you guys doin out here?”

Smiling, you lowered your arms and greeted Denji.

“Just came out to get some air, what’s up?”

“Why didn’t you get me?”

Denji pouted, making the two of you laugh lightly

“Jeez, he’s acting like your boyfriend huh?”

Yoshida smirked, he knew that there was obviously something going on between the two of you but would wait for one of you to admit..

Denji opened his mouth to speak, only to close his mouth when you spoke

“We all have one member of the group who is like that, it’s nice, if only someone liked you enough for that.”

You smiled brightly at your friend, he sighed and laughed- used to your usual jabs at him and his distant relationships with everyone. He just wasn’t one to exert himself.

“I want to go home, Y/n.”

Raising your brow, you looked at a deflated Denji. You nodded, quickly checking your pockets to make sure you had everything.

“Alright, well my ‘boyfriend’ will like to go home. I’ll text ya later.”

Yoshida nodded, watching the two of you go off with a wide smirk on his lips.

—

“You’re awfully quiet..”

“Shut up.”

You were just as shocked as Denji was when he realized what left his mouth, frowning at your boyfriend you created a slight distance infront of him.

“Alright, we’ll discuss that when we get to your place..”

Denji felt his stomach churn in guilt. He’d never been outwardly rude to you since you started your relationship.

Joking quips were typical but never once had he ever told you to ‘shut up’, and neither had you. He cringed, he was in for a long conversation with you so he brainstormed how to apologize..

—

The two of you entered his apartment, he silently watched as you took off your coat and shoes, watching you enter his bedroom. He bit his lip, nervously following you into the bedroom.

“So what was that? Telling me to shut up now?”

You weren’t mad, more so disappointed and worried about what would make him do that.

“I.. it’s just! What if he takes you away?”

The gears were turning in your boyfriends head, you sighed and opened your arms for him to go in for a hug. He happily dove into your arms and rubbed his face into your neck.

“Yoshida? You’re kidding right?”

He tensed, lip quivering slightly as he buried himself further into you

“No! I’m not! I’ve never done any of this before I don’t know what to do when I’m jealous!”

That was true, the fact he could vocalize that he was actually jealous was a testament to how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned in this relationship. He was an unpredictable partner, and you had to be patient with him in these moments.

“And.. and when you acted like you weren’t my boyfriend in-front of him, I don’t know! It feels wrong! It is wrong!”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, it was true. Under any other circumstance, with anyone else, it would be ‘normal’ to say he was actually your boyfriend but this wasn’t a normal relationship as much as you wanted to make it seem so.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have indulged in that joke. But, if you want them to know it’s gonna be from you, you know that right?”

Rubbing your hand up and down his back, he only sighed and mumbled ‘yeah’, it wasn’t a formal agreement but it wasn’t exactly something that he had discussed.. wanting everyone to know. He quickly sat up, moving to sit in your lap and look down at you. His hands rested on your abdomen, a determined look in his eyes.

“I’m ready to tell them! We’ve already had sex, they should know you’re mine!”

You blushed, but laughed and nodded

“Okay, that’s one way to choose. We’ll tell them next time we see them.”

He grinned widely, showcasing all of his teeth before he leaned down and caught your lips. You returned the kiss, biting his bottom lip and making him moan- taking advantage of it to explore the familiar warm space. Denji started to grind his hips against yours, you felt his hands start to trail up your chest and moving to tangle his fingers in your hair.

You felt his bulge brushing against your stomach, pulling away to catch your breathe you gazed up at him- his face flushed bright red and he still bucked his hips.

“That little bit of jealousy got you all worked up, Hm?”

He nodded, leaning down you leave wet kisses on your neck

“I’m all yours Denji, no need to worry about anyone else. I love you.”

He whimpered, feeling his own precum leaking from him and becoming desperate for more contact

“ ‘am sorry, I love you too- ugh- please..”

You switched positions with him, flipping him on his back and climbing to hover just above him. Leaning down to return the wet kisses to his neck, marking his collar bone before slipping his shirt up and over his head. He pushed himself up to chase your lips, fumbling with your shirt to try and start to undress you. Smiling into the kiss, you briefly pulled away to toss your own shirt across the room. Denji continued to keep your mouthes connected, his kisses felt like he was trying to eat you out of desperation. You pulled away and returned to lapping at his neck, the soft skin becoming pink and red with the new marks and suction.

He began fidgeting with his belt, eager to kick off his pants that only slid down to his knees because of the position.

“Calm down, we have all the time in the world..”

Forcing your hand onto his chest, you pushed him down gently and watched as he panted. Denji was always one to rush things, always wanting to get from point a to point b as quick as possible.

You wanted to teach him that patience can be gratifying, he’d never really been given the chance to learn that not everything is running away from him, not everything is going to leave him hanging, especially not you.

He nodded, catching his breathe and getting comfortable like you’d shown him before. It made you smile softly, he reciprocated and smiled up at you. Gently, you pulled down his pants like he’d wanted, and took off your own.

“We’re gonna go slow today, you’re worked up and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Denji felt loved, and for once it wasn’t just a familial or obligated love. It was a tender, caring, intimate love. Love that made his heart beat fast, his brain fuzzy, and always catches his breathe in his throat.

He always a had a choice with you.

He had a choice in if he wanted to love you, if he wanted you to love him.

And he did, wholeheartedly. For once in his life, he felt like he had control in a relationship.. he wasn’t being used, he wasn’t being gawked at, he was being looked at with pure adoration and love.

The boy felt like crying, out of joy from the intimate moments he shared with you.

You had no ulterior motives, you just wanted him.

Denji.

Not the chainsaw man, not a stupid guy with nothing, not a naive no morals guy.

You kissed his shoulder, taking him out of his reflection.

“Can you lay down?”

Leaving a ghostly kiss on his cheek, you obliged and laid down. Holding his hands as he sat atop of you. Despite the arousal from both of you, he still took his time running his fingers across your skin and investigating every curve and dip on your body.

Laughing lightly at the faint tickling sensation, you let him continue his little journey.

“When you’re ready, it’s in the drawer.”

Nudging your head, he momentarily gazed at the bedside drawer. Denji laid down on you, bare skin warm to the touch and he felt your heart beat against his as he kept his chin up to look at you. Wrapping your arms around him, he sighed in content feeling your hands against his bare skin.

While he laid there, his arm stretched to the drawer and struggled getting the lube and condoms out. Gazing at him, you let him control what to do. He kissed your jaw before sitting up again, smirking when he saw your dick spring up at the release from being pressed between the two of you. Slipping a condom out of the box, he ripped the package and slowly unrolled it over your head and secured it down your shaft. Denji kissed you again, passing you the lubricant- squirting some in his own hands before he let you.

Denji liked to help himself out before he let you properly prep him, it was more of a mental thing for him so you let him do it. Your boyfriend groaned, wiggling around on top of you.

It took him a few minutes but when he laid down on your chest, he saddled his ass up in the air for you. You kissed his forehead and praised him, making him blush and smile stupidly against your chest.

Taking a generous amount of lube in your hand, you warmed it between your fingers before letting the excess drip onto his ass.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes..”

Gently, you circled his rim and took note of how it puckered on contact. Sliding in a finger, Denji sighed out and closed his eyes. Putting in a second finger, you started to stretch out his tight, gummy walls. His ass tensed and released with every thrust your fingers made, and he softly moaned into your skin while he adjusted.

You prepped him thoroughly, never wanting to hurt him or make him feel rushed. Only when he became warm and comfortably loose did you lower his hips.

“Do you think you can handle this? We can stop if you’d like.”

Nuzzling into his blonde hair, he nodded and moved himself to where his ass would meet your dick. You took in a deep breathe, sliding yourself into his prepped but still taught ass.. he grimaced slightly but sighed in relief at the quick adjustment.

Despite the lazy position and non-caring attitude, Denji felt himself in ecstasy, being filled by you was one of the few pleasures he could never get enough of- one of the only indulgences that he craves.

You thrusted up into him, relishing in the soft sounds he made- he reached up to catch your lips and with that you sat up with him still in your lap. Sitting against the headboard of the bed, he began rolling his hips in tune with your thrusts.

He moaned in your mouth, lazily kissing you in between his moans. Moving your hand, you wrapped it around his dick and softly pumped it in your hand. Denji pulled away and moved to bite down on your shoulder, his breathe heavy and hot against your skin.

Denji felt fulfilled, he was safe in your embrace and you were taking full care of him in such a vulnerable state.

Your boyfriend was quick to let out a whimpering groan, feeling his dick tense before he came. The cum pumping out in strings onto your hand.

“Do you still want to continue?”

“I want you to finish.”

He sighed, nuzzling into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. You picked up the pace, not too much, but just enough to chase your own orgasm so your boyfriend could rest and not get too overstimulated.

He moaned, clutching you tighter and letting his nails prick at your skin.

“I’m almost done.. just a few more minutes..”

Quickly, you finished yourself and pulled out of him slowly. Taking off the condom and tying it off before throwing it away in the bin beside the bed.

“You okay now? Know that I love you and won’t take anyone else?”

Teasing him, you pecked his nose and he pouted.

“You better not.. just.. don’t talk to Yoshida too much until I tell everyone.. okay?”

He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed, but he got over it when you agreed and didn’t make him feel bad about it.

You were helping him explore these complex emotions, not teaching because he didn’t need to be taught how to have them, but to be shown how to work with them. To cope.

You both knew that he would never tell you to shut up again, even if there were no actual repercussions from you it just.. wasn’t something to be said to your boyfriend. He didn’t want to be mean to you, and you wanted to understand him.

[faeprincess777]

Say Sorry

Synopsis: You speak poorly about yourself again, and Seonghwa is fed up with it.

Seonghwa x afab reader 18+

TW: sexual content (MDNI), dom!hwa, sub!reader, spanking, hair pulling, hwa is kind of mean

I'm not that proud of this one but, let me know if I missed anything! (Not proofread, sorry for any typos)

The words slipped out before you even realized, but the damage was done. He heard you.

Lounging on the couch, Seonghwa freezes as the words leave those pretty lips of yours. Slowly, he reaches for the remote, pausing the movie that was currently playing before turning his glare towards you.

"What did you just say?" He asks almost calmly, but you know he is anything but calm right now. Quickly you try to think of anything that could get you out of your current predicament.

"I asked you a question, sweetheart." He says impatiently. He can practically see the gears turning in your head, but he is not about to let this issue slide, not again. Too many times, you've both had this conversation about the things you say about yourself and too many times he let it go. He decides it may be time for a different approach.

"Come here." He says sternly, leaving now room to disobey. You take your time making it over to him, trying to drag out the inevitable and irritating him even more in the process. By the time you reach him, Seonghwa quietly points to the bit of floor between his spread legs. Your submissive side taking over, you obediently kneel on the floor in front of him.

For a moment, he just stares at you, trying to calm down a little before deciding on the best way to get you to finally understand what you see.

He leans forward, grasping your chin and tilting so that you meet his eyes. “What did you say, princess?” he repeats, needing to be sure he heard you right before he continues. You try looking anywhere but him, knowing that you’ll crumble if you make eye contact, but he won't let you. You know drawing this out any longer will only upset him even more. So you decide to just come clean. 

You mumble just loud enough for him to hear you, “I said that I probably look like a whale with how much I ate today.” Silently he leaned back into the couch, deep in thought. After a few moments of silence, Seonghwa’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you up and across his lap. It all happened so fast, and before you knew it, you were over his lap, skirt flipped up, and ass high in the air. You were completely exposed to him. Seonghwas has never had you like this before, it has arousal churning in your stomach.

“Whale, hm? That has five letters, right?” He asked, gently rubbing you over your panties. You didn’t respond, knowing it was a rhetorical question. You were curious what he had planned, and you found out very quickly. 

A hard slap landed on your ass, and you found yourself yelping in surprise and trying to wiggle away. Though no matter how much you wigged, he held you tightly. 

“Count.” he said, his voice once again carrying that dominant tone. Best not keep him waiting, you begin to count each slap. By the time he delivered the fifth slap, you were a mess of pain and pleasure. You had no idea spanking could be enjoyable, though your ass was definitely going to be sore for a while.

Seonghwa helped you off of his lap and back onto the floor where you were kneeling before, only now you know you’ve probably looked like a flushed, breathless mess. "Look at you, looking all fucked out from getting spanked. So cute. Maybe I just need to keep you so fucked dumb that you can't think to make up such lies about yourself, hm?" He says, caressing your cheeks softly. 

Before you have the chance to respond, he is once again taking your chin between his fingers, but this time pulling you in for a kiss. The flip from his dominant side to his sweet, nurturing side had your head spinning.

Pulling back to catch his breath, he leans his forehead against yours. "No one is allowed to disrespect my woman, not even you. Do you understand me?" He says. Even with his voice being much gentler now, there is still an edge of dominance, letting you know that he's serious.

You simply nod, not trusting your voice. You were a little scared. He has never been this upset with you. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the new feelings his “punishment” stirred up. It's something much more primal, something that makes you want to stay on your knees for him until he forgives you.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer he smiles at you, his hand coming up to gently stroke your head. "Good girl. Now apologize." Shocked by his request, you still do as you're told. “I’m sorry, Seonghwa, for-” you start before he abruptly cuts you off. “No. Not to me. To yourself.” he replies. 

You take a moment to process what he just asked you and you find yourself internally cringing at his request. Apparently, those thoughts made it to your face as Seonghwa could clearly see your disgust at having to be nice to yourself. 

“Or I can take you over my lap again. And I promise you that you won't be sitting for at least a week if I do.” He says, raising an eyebrow at your disobedience. Though the offer is tempting, you can still feel the stink your previous punishment left behind. Bowing your head you reply, quietly, “I’m sorry I was mean to myself.”

Seonghwa, losing his patients, laces a hand into your hair, pulling you up towards him so there's hardly any space between you. “I can't hear you.” he said through gritted teeth. Startled by his sudden aggression you are quick to correct your mistake, repeating yourself louder than before. But you notice that primal feeling again, and decide to revisit it later. 

Please with your answer, Seonghwa releases you and smoothes your hair down before searching your face for any sign of distress, to make sure that you’re okay. But all he finds is that beautiful blissed out expression that he loves so much.

He, himself, looks and feels much calmer now that he’s got the situation sorted out.

“Good girl. I’m sorry I had to be mean, but you cannot talk about yourself like that. Do you understand me? This behavior ends now.” A gentle smile graces his face, but his tone is almost apologetic. You nod quickly before responding, “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry.” This time, Seonghwa breaks into a full smile, he doesn’t know how he got so lucky with you. Even after he spanked you, though it was for your own good, you are still so sweet. 

“You're forgiven, baby. Let's just go back to the movie, okay?” Seonghwas suggests. This time his voice was much softer, more like the Seonghwa you knew, but you didn’t mind the version of him you just met either.

Without a word, he helps you from the floor and into his lap. You shift slightly, feeling the discomfort of your sore ass rubbing against Seonghwa’s rough jeans. Seonghwa, noticing your discomfort, quickly moves you so that you are lying on your stomach across the couch before running to the bathroom to retrieve the aloe. When he returns, he once again flips your skirt up and begins to massage your sore cheeks. You sigh happily, and before you know it, you're dozing off, movie forgotten.

Tagging: @mimikittysblog

[aezuria]

Could you maybe do jason grace x jealous fem!reader? We know that Jason is canonically VERY attractive. He's legit all American boy fr, so obv he'd have so many ppl crushing on him in camp. So reader thinks she's not pretty enough for him or something and jason finds out abt it, and reassures her that's she's perfect :( ahh just some fluffiness maybe?

*ੈ✎ golden boy, can i be your golden girl?

content: jason grace x reader; oneshot

╰┈▸ back cover: part I | part II

warnings: bit of angst BUT it ends in fluff dw

librarian's annotations: IM SO SORRY ANON mitski started playing and i forgot u said "just some fluffiness" 😔😔

sometimes, you could hardly believe that you were dating the jason grace. "the jason grace," as if he was some world-famous football player, which he'll probably turn out to be. every single student knew his name like it was stamped into their brain as soon as they started attending this school. it made you both proud and uneasy, especially when more popular, pretty girls went up to him. you didn't doubt his loyalty, of course, but you often felt that he could have done so much better. any girl would gladly date him as soon as he requested. but he chose a no-name like you, instead. you couldn't count the amount of times your own classmates said "who?" when jason mentioned you.

it wasn't fair, you knew. you could tell he very obviously loved you by the way he handled you with such gentleness it made your heart hurt. his air alone seemed to shine like the sun, illuminating you and everyone around him. but akin to the sun, it hurt to look at him for too long.

and yet, you couldn’t bear to leave his side and offer a better, more suitable partner for him— for you were too selfish. he was all you ever wanted, was it so wrong to hold onto that dream for a few moments more?

(yes, it was)

"you'll be at my next game, right?" jason pressed a kiss to your temple as he cradled you in his arms, your back to his chest. "you're my good luck charm after all."

it was stupid. so stupid, because you knew he wanted you there— he just asked you at that. but it didn't stop the churning in your stomach about how you felt that you didn't belong on the bleachers.

"yeah. i'll be there for sure." you smiled. troubling jason would hurt you more than keeping your thoughts to yourself. you wouldn't let his sunshine dim if you could help it. and that, you could.

your heart was too heavy for you to fall asleep. it weighed you down, filling your lungs so you couldn't breathe. your rampant tossing and turning led you to the moon, shining timidly behind the curtain. you reached out to part it to the side, the moon sneaking into your room and drowning your sheets in a soft glow. it tickled your skin and did away with the uneasiness in your heart, scaring it away into tomorrow. rest easy, now.

but the moon was gone with the night, the sun in its place as it tugged at your heartstrings to wake you up. it's brightness was warm yet harsh, urging you to get ready and see your own golden boy. you heaved a sigh and obeyed, swinging your feet off the side of your bed and getting up. as you picked out your clothes, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and paused. was this really what he wants? it was hard to believe. you didn't have to look close to see the imperfections etched on your face, your body. put next to jason, it'd only make you seem worse.

"y/n!" jason scooped you into a hug, already dressed in his gear, save for his helmet. the sun does have its quirks after all. his touch burned the most of your thoughts away, leaving only amusement behind.

"you're squeezing too tight!" you croaked out through a fit of giggles only he could make.

he loosened almost immediately, pulling away to look at you with a bright smile, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. "sorry."

you only grinned and pulled him down for a quick good-luck kiss. "play hard, sunshine."

jason's nose wrinkled at the nickname. "sunshine?" he laughed. "whatever you say, beautiful."

his coach blew the whistle for the team to gather 'round, jason waving goodbye before you could answer. beautiful? how was it that he always knew the right thing to say at the right time?

you made your way to the bleachers, sitting near the front where the team's close friends (girlfriends) and family sat. the tendrils of your mind crept up your back once again as you sat near the edge. you couldn't help but feel out of place— many of them were already talking with each other, having been together for the previous years. whenever they'd lean in to giggle at something, you couldn't help but think that they were talking about you. was it because you did your makeup bad today? was your outfit wrinkled? did the wind mess up your hair? the feeling in your gut returned, more persistent than last time.

you forced a bright smile as jason ran up to you once again, a triumphant grin splitting his face. "i won for you!" as he always did. you were happy, truly, and you hoped it showed instead of the emotions you just couldn't seem to get rid of.

"i saw! you did so good, jason!"

okay... something was definitely up. usually, you'd give him a kiss as soon as he came here— where was his kiss? and why didn't your sweet smile reach your eyes? but he knew you wouldn't tell him, especially not with this many people around.

"all for you," he repeated softly, his arm wrapping around your waist as he led you out of the field. "can you come over? i feel i'm in need of your therapeutic cuddles." he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, knowing the only way him to get you in a place he was able to comfort you was by making it seem as if he needed it. because for some reason, helping came so easily to you for the sake of anyone but yourself.

"..alright." you agreed after a brief pause. "is something wrong? or are you just tired?"

ever the angel, your immediate concern was heartwarming. jason gave you a reassuring smile. "just tired."

you came out of his bathroom, changed into one of his shirts. it smelled like him, touched with sunburnt kisses. he was already in bed, half of the blanket folded open for you to slip in.

and that you did, curling up beside him as his arms wrapped you up like a gift. he buried his face into your neck, breathing deeply before he whispered, "you wanna tell me what's going on?"

you froze. how did he know? were you that obvious? you should’ve hid it better! it’s not even a big deal, he shouldn’t have to-

“you know i love you, right?” jason spoke up, interrupting your thoughts. he said it so earnestly there was no other answer but yes. so, you nodded against him.

“only you. did you know you’re my first real girlfriend?” he pulled away, a soft light dancing in his eyes.

“really?” it was a hard thing to believe. with all the girls throwing themselves at him, it would be odd for him to not like any of them. “but, you’re so.. you. you’re kind and smart and talented.. tall and handsome too..”

“well.. i wouldn’t say that…” he chuckled nervously, not expecting to be hit with the side barrage of compliments. “but look at you— you’re smart and sweet, thoughtful and considerate..” he trailed off, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “and so, so, beautiful.” before you had a chance to doubt yourself, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, before moving his hand and doing the same with the other. soft lips moved to the tip of your nose, then up to your forehead, ending with one to your lips.

“the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.” he looked at you with such fondness, all your thoughts disappeared, whisked away into the air.

you met his eyes, a smile starting to show. oh, how he missed it.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things: Hunter/Hunted Part 2 (Omnivore)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! ReaderWord Count: 4k Warnings: Murder. Blood. Death. Weapons. Canon typical violence. Everything that makes Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds. a/n: i am freaking out over this 100 arc. i literally said screw the other WIPS we are jumping straight there. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! march 2009

Bookend: "I have learned over the years that when one's mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear." -Rosa Parks

You and Hotch remain in his hotel room, scouring through pictures and paperwork, trying to find something—anything—that could point you in the right direction. Whenever you think you’re getting close to a breakthrough, something pulls you in elsewhere. The Reaper is taunting you, always staying one step ahead, his clues never leading where you need them to.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts your focus, and you jump slightly. You realize it’s not the best look to be caught alone in your boss’s hotel room. Hotch shoots you a quick glance and silently gestures for you to stay out of view.

He moves to the door and opens it just enough to peek through. You hear Rossi’s voice, low but urgent.

“Hotch, we've been called to another crime scene. A bus. We need to go now. Bring Y/N, I know she’s in there.”

You sit up straighter, the adrenaline kicking in as you exchange a brief look with Hotch. He doesn’t hesitate before nodding, turning back to you, "Ready?"

You nod quickly, gathering your things, your mind already shifting gears. Hotch moves toward the door to let you out, but Rossi’s voice becomes more insistent this time.

“He’s escalating, Hotch. A bus. This isn’t just another random act. He’s going bigger. We’re looking at something far worse if we don’t stop him soon.”

The weight of Rossi’s words settles in the room. Hotch’s eyes don’t leave you. He knows the stakes are higher now.

“Let’s go,” Hotch says, his tone clipped, decisive. You follow him without delay. Whatever this new development means, it’s clear that the Reaper is intensifying, and you’re about to dive into the chaos headfirst.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

At the crime scene, you walk alongside Hotch, your eyes scanning him as much as the surroundings. There’s a heaviness in his steps that you haven’t seen before. When you approach the bus, he hesitates. Without thinking, you touch his arm lightly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his jacket.

“We’re in this together,” you say, your voice collected despite the unease churning in your stomach.

He gives you a brief nod, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. But you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes.

As you step onto the bus, the stench of blood and death hits you like a wave. You immediately pull your shirt over your nose, struggling to keep the bile from rising in your throat. The sight of the carnage is overwhelming—bodies slumped over seats, blood pooling on the floor.

“Six bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi announces grimly from behind you.

You force yourself to focus, even as your stomach betrays you. “He used guns this time and then finished off with his knife,” you note, your voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

Hotch stops near the driver’s seat, his expression tightening as he crouches down. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” he reveals, his voice laden with guilt and frustration.

Your heart twinges at his tone, the way it carries the weight of every victim he couldn’t save. You step closer to him, instinctively putting yourself between him and the chaos behind you.

“Hotch,” you say, concern laced in your voice as you notice his face pale and his balance waver ever so slightly. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond, not immediately. His eyes stay fixed on the driver as though he’s trying to absorb the loss and turn it into something actionable. But you can see the toll it’s taking on him.

“What did he take?” Rossi asks from further down the aisle.

Hotch exhales, his outrage barely contained. “Does it matter?” he snaps, defeated, as he stands abruptly and heads toward the exit.

You glance at Rossi, unsure.

“Go,” Rossi says gently, his voice kind and understanding.

“Me?” you ask, taken aback. “You’d get through to him before I ever could.”

Rossi arches an eyebrow, his expression knowing. “Are you sure about that?” He nods toward the exit, urging you forward.

You hesitate for a moment before moving, your feet carrying you after Hotch, your heart pounding harder with every step. As you turn the corner, you spot him retreating into an alley, his hand running over his face, his posture rigid.

“Hotch,” you call out, trying to steady your voice despite the concern clawing at your chest. But he doesn’t stop.

“Aaron!” you say more audible, desperation creeping into your tone.

He freezes at the sound of his first name, turning toward you. His usually stoic face is cracked wide open, the weight of his emotions finally surfacing. His hands are restless, fidgeting as if searching for a place to channel the storm within him. His eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, meet yours, and their raw vulnerability almost takes your breath away.

“Talk to me,” you implore, stepping closer. You can see the battle waging inside him, the fierce need to maintain control warring with the sheer heaviness of the moment.

“I hung up on him, and then he does this." He clamors as though trying to force his emotions back into submission, his composure slipping moment by moment.

“Aaron,” your tone firm yet gentle, your eyes wide with worry. “None of this is your fault.”

His breath hitches, and finally, a tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek. He swiftly turns his head, avoiding your gaze. 

“It is,” he whispers, his voice trembling. His lip quivers as he exhales shakily, trying to hold himself together.

You step closer, closing the distance between you, searching his face for something—anything—that might guide you in this moment. Your mind races as you try to think of what Rossi would say and how he would pull Aaron back from the edge.

Instead, an idea forms, reckless but fueled by your need to pull him out of the spiral. You unholster your gun and hold it out, your voice subdued. “Okay then, here.”

His eyes snap to yours, startled, then drop to the weapon in your hands. He looks utterly lost for a moment, as though the gesture has shattered the walls he’s so carefully built. His hand instinctively rises to his face, covering his eyes as if shielding himself from an unbearable truth. He turns away, his fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose, his shoulders trembling almost as if he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin.

"What? I mean, you practically killed them yourself, Aaron," you say firmer now. "Get it over with. No need to worry about us. We'll catch this son of a bitch without you."

He's desperate, running his hand over his face, pinching his temples, shaking profusely now. You've struck a nerve.

“I don’t need that,” he says hoarsely, his voice shuddering but stronger now. “I don’t—God, I can’t—”

“Then what is it, Aaron? Tell me. Let me help you,” you plead with him, your voice delicate but anguished, as if you could pull the weight off his shoulders just by offering to carry it with him.

“Y/N, I had ten years to do something about it,” he expresses, frustration bubbling over.

“Shaunessy is the one who took the deal! You had no idea what evil was being done behind the scenes. For ten years, how many lives did you save because of the cases you’ve worked?” You’re not angry, just trying to make him see the truth, to remind him of all the lives he’s touched for the better.

“But I kept coming back to this one, to this profile,” he restates, his voice tinged with regret. The weight of it all is too much for him to bear.

“If you want to end up like Shaunessy or Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, go ahead,” you bite, “But Aaron, you are not them. You are among the most remarkable and powerful men I have ever met. As long as there is a fight for justice, you are right in the middle of it. Like you said, you’re the guy who catches these bastards.”

The stillness between you feels suffocating, but you don’t break it. He needs to hear this, even if it’s not what he wants to accept right now. You stand by him, determined.

After a long beat, he nods in a barely noticeable motion, his shoulders sagging as if letting go of something heavy. His breath is unsteady as he looks at you again, his face streaked with tears.

“They are the bad guys for a reason,” you continue, your voice calming with empathy. “And we profile them for a reason. It’s their fault, Aaron. It is always their fault. You are doing your job, and when you stop doing it, someone else will. Maybe not as good as you, but they’ll try.”

He exhales gradually, a quiet thanks slipping from his lips, barely audible. 

You reach for him, your hand resting on his shoulder in a grounding gesture, offering him strength. “We’re in this together. Always.”

He doesn’t say anything in return, but his posture relaxes. 

“Let’s get back to work,” he resolves like he’s found a small part of himself again.

“Right behind you,” you assure him as you fall into step beside him, ready to face whatever comes next. Together.

Aaron approaches Rossi, the two trailing behind you, as you return to the bus to continue your search. You’re focused, eyes scanning the exterior for any details that might have slipped through the cracks, but part of you is aware of their conversation, just out of earshot.

“Who’s idea was it for her to come after me?” Aaron asks, his exhaustion evident.

Rossi smiles, a knowing glint in his eyes. “The world may never know,” he replies, his voice light but not dismissive.

Aaron’s frustration is noticeable as he continues, “She shouldn’t have to reign in her boss. It would have been more proper for you to—”

Rossi cuts him off with a gentle firmness, stepping closer. “She cares about you, Aaron. We both do. You’re more than just our Unit Chief. You are our friend, our family. It shouldn’t matter which of us came after you. We have the same goal in mind: to protect our family.”

Aaron is quiet momentarily, his gaze on you from across the scene. His shoulders stiffen, and he persists, “Still, she shouldn’t have to console me.”

Rossi laughs, shaking his head. “From what I saw, she was holding a gun towards you. Doesn’t seem very consoling, does it?” He smirks slightly, then his expression softens. “It seems like she profiled you—or maybe she just knows you well enough to get through to you. Either way, I really like her, Aaron.”

Hotch watches you from where you stand, his thoughts momentarily preoccupied by Dave’s words. The truth of it sinks in. You meant it when you said you were there for him, no matter what he needed. You were more than just a colleague—more than just the person waving the gun in his face to make sure he listened.

You meant it. And for the first time in a long time, that realization gave him a small sense of peace.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Back at the precinct, you and Hotch pore over the crime scene photos, each image more unsettling than the last. One in particular grabs your attention—the crimson numbers painted on the bus windows. The thought of what was used to paint them, and how much of it there was to cover the windows, almost makes you recoil.

“Are you alright?” Hotch asks, leaning in a little closer, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, your throat tight, the only response you can manage now.

“He never used code before, so why now? Why these numbers?” he asks, looking to you for insight.

The usual sharpness and quip you rely on don’t come easily now, but as you meet Hotch’s gaze, his quiet hope pushes you to dig deep. You force a breath, pushing past the unease.

“Well, they aren’t part of any obvious pattern or equation,” you say, “But I know I’ve seen them before. Now would be a great time to have Spencer’s freaky memory.”

Hotch lets out a soft chuckle, enough to give you a brief burst of energy. That sense of pride flares back to life in you, revitalizing the moment.

“Foyet said The Reaper likes to attack people in their cars. That’s why he would always take the bus. It was the number 7 bus,” he adds, walking over to the map, “Which stops right in front of Foyet’s apartment.”

“Which means he knows where Foyet lives, and he wants us to know it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the chill creeping in.

“What was the address of his apartment we went to?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as he processes the information.

“Wait,” you say, the puzzle pieces finally clicking together. You pull out the paper Foyet had handed you, listing all his aliases and addresses.

“Hotch, these are all Foyet’s addresses,” you say, your heart racing as the realization sinks in. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You and Morgan arrive at one of Foyet’s last known addresses, a quiet, nondescript house. The area feels too still, and the tension in the air weighs heavily on you as you move cautiously toward the front door. Morgan moves ahead, the familiarity of his presence a comfort, though it doesn’t quite dispel the gnawing unease gnawing at your gut.

You approach the house from different angles, your steps quiet and deliberate. As you round the corner, your instincts scream that something is off. You scan the area—no movement, no noise—but the feeling of being watched prickles at your skin.

“Y/N, you good?” Morgan’s voice crackles over the comms, his tone low but laced with concern.

“Yeah. Just… keep your head on a swivel,” you reply, keeping your eyes on every shadow, every movement.

You move toward the back of the house, your hand on your weapon as you glance through a small window. Nothing. No signs of movement. But something doesn’t sit right, and your gut tightens.

Suddenly, you feel the shift in the air, the weight of someone’s presence behind you.

Before you can react, hands seize you from behind, clamping around your throat with brutal force. The pressure is immediate and suffocating, your breath cut off as you struggle to break free. You try to fight back, kicking and squirming, but the attacker is too strong.

In the struggle, your gun slips from your grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You reach for it, but your vision blurs as you gasp for air, every movement growing weaker.

Your attacker’s grip tightens, your head swimming from the lack of oxygen. Your arms fall limp by your sides, the world fading in and out of focus. Panic claws at your chest, but your body is betraying you, growing heavy with each passing second. You manage one last desperate attempt to free yourself, but your vision blacks out before you can make another move.

The last thing you hear is Morgan’s voice, distant but growing louder, calling your name.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Hotch doesn’t remember much of what happens between hearing from Morgan that you’re injured and racing to the location. His thoughts blur together in a rush of fear and adrenaline. The car skids to a stop, and without hesitation, he’s out, running toward the building. 

The sounds of sirens, the chaos of paramedics flooding the scene, all feel distant as his mind focuses on one thing—getting to you. He has no idea whether you’re dead or alive, and all Morgan said was, “Come quick.” The words echo in his head, gnawing at him with every step.

“Please, let me through!” He tries to weave between the police officers and paramedics, panic tightening in his chest. Every fiber of his being screams for him to see you, to know you’re okay.

And then, just when his heart feels like it’s going to shatter from the weight of waiting, he hears it.

“Where’s Hotch?”

You. It’s you. Your voice is enough to send him sprinting forward, his legs pushing harder, faster, as if he can outrun the terror gnawing at him.

He reaches the doorway and sees you.

Blood covers your face, your skin battered and bruised, your clothes torn in places. The sight of you like this sends a cold, sharp pain through his chest, and he can’t breathe for a moment. His heart stops, but his legs keep moving, reaching your side.

“I’m right here. I’m here,” Hotch whispers urgently, stepping closer to you. His hands twitch at his sides, aching to reach and touch you, to reassure himself that you’re truly alright. But the room is full of people—paramedics, officers—and the implied boundary of being your boss holds him back.

Your eyes flutter open, weak, and you meet his gaze, but you look… broken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I—I couldn’t stop him.”

Hotch shakes his head, the emotion in his chest threatening to overtake him. He leans closer to you. “No,” he says firmly, his voice somber, “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

He watches you as you try to steady your breathing, his heart aching for you. The pain in your voice makes his chest tighten, but he can’t let himself collapse into that panic. Not yet. Not while you’re here with him.

“I think he—” You pause, swallowing hard as emotion swells in your chest. “I think he left you a message.”

Hotch’s blood runs cold. The words hit him like a punch. If The Reaper had used you to get to him, if this was his way of reaching him… Hotch knows nothing good will come of it. And Aaron will ensure he pays for every ounce of pain he’s caused you.

Before Hotch can respond, you nod slightly toward one of the paramedics nearby, signaling them to show him. The medic carefully lifts the blanket draped over your body, revealing the extent of the damage.

Hotch’s breath catches in his throat when he sees it—your abdomen, marred by jagged, hateful letters carved into your skin: AH.

It takes everything in him not to fall apart right there. The rage is immediate, sharp, and icy cold, but it’s mixed with an overwhelming sense of relief that you’re alive. That you’re still here.

Dave appears beside Hotch, his gaze immediately falling on the message carved into your skin. His expression hardens as he gently touches the back of his hand to your face, a silent gesture of comfort and concern. “It’s personal now,” he declares, the weight of the situation settling heavily between them.

You barely have the strength to keep your eyes open, but you manage to whisper, “L-look at Foyet.”

Dave’s gaze flickers to Hotch before responding. “There’s blood in the house that suggests Foyet was killed.”

You shake your head weakly, fighting through the exhaustion and pain. “Please. Just look,” you beg, your voice barely audible but filled with urgency.

Without another word, Hotch storms out of the house, his jaw clenched, his movements sharp and determined. He’s already thinking two steps ahead, the only thing on his mind now is ending this.

Dave stays with you, his presence grounding, though the tension in the air is palpable. He kneels beside you, his voice reassuring.

“We will get him,” Dave promises, the confidence in his words convincing.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You aren’t there when the team finally catches The Reaper, aka Foyet. Just as you had feared. Instead, you’re confined to a hospital bed, your body aching, and your mind restless. The sterile beeps of the machines around you are disorienting, a constant reminder of the vulnerability you’ve been forced into. The soft, rhythmic sound is maddening in its repetition, making it feel like time is crawling by, each second stretching longer than the last. All you can do is lie there, wishing you could be out there with your team, doing your part.

A gentle knock comes at your door, and you summon them in. As if answering your silent wish, Hotch appears on the other side, his expression serious but softening when he sees you. “Hotch,” you beam, relief flooding through you despite the pain.

He makes his way slowly to your bedside and sits, his posture fixed yet comforting in its familiarity.

“The doctors told me you’re their most stubborn patient,” he says, his voice tinged with sorrow. ���They said their only clue as to when you’re in pain is the heart rate monitor.”

You let out a small, strained chuckle. “It’s not so much stubbornness as it is pride. I don’t want to seem weak.”

He nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “The two run hand in hand.”

Your gaze drifts to his face, eyes locked on his amber gaze. The pain you feel in your body fades to the background as a different ache lingers—an ache you can’t ignore. It’s new, unfamiliar, but you know it well: a longing for something you’re not sure you have the right to want. You want to hug him. You want to lean into him, find comfort in his strength, but the words get stuck in your throat.

“How is—” he starts, but stops himself, his voice trailing off as his eyes move to the bandages that cover your abdomen, shielding the jagged branding now carved into your skin. 

“You can look,” you say sheepishly. “It’s your initials, after all.”

His breath catches in his throat at the thought, as he unwraps the bandages. The reminder of the pain you’ve endured is there underneath, permanently etched into your skin because of him. And yet, that doesn’t seem to be the part that’s affecting him most. It’s the reminder that he couldn’t protect you from it, even as he did everything he could to stop Foyet.

He takes in a long, shaky breath and his eyes trace the carvings with an almost reverent tenderness, but there’s something else in his expression, something deeper—regret. Remorse. You know that look.

“It’s okay, Aaron,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “You caught him. Like you said you would. It’s not your fault.”

But then, you notice the way his shoulders constrict. His jaw tenses. He’s holding something back.

You tilt your head, furrowing your brows, trying to read him. “What is it, Hotch?” Your voice is more insistent now, tinged with concern.

When he doesn’t answer, you feel the knot in your chest tighten. The silence stretches on, heavy and thick, and panic rises within you. You try to sit up more, but the pain flares through you, and you have to surrender back to the bed.

“Please, Aaron,” you beg, the desperation creeping into your voice.

His face hardens slightly, and it feels like the walls are going up between you again, but then, quietly, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, he says, “He escaped.”

Your heart stops. Time stills. Every ounce of hope you had for closure, for peace, shatters in that single moment.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Taglist: @minkyungseokie

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 5 - The Easy Cleft of My Mortality

{daughter - new ways}

Daniel swallows.

Maybe he’s had enough, but he claws at Marius’s shoulders, bites down again to tear the wound open deeper. The arterial spray hits the roof of his mouth and he moans in pleasure.

They’ve been doing this for a while now. Daniel knows it, like a secret that’s buried. He knows that the ritual is muscle memory now—the way Marius comes to him, he way he straddles Marius’s lap. Marius’s strong hands always settle on Daniel’s hips, and he always stares into Daniel’s face when it’s over. Always combs Daniel’s hair into place with his fingers after, and always asks him questions.

Daniel doesn’t usually answer. Usually slides right off of him, and goes back to sleep. Lately, he’s been staying awake longer. He’s spent some nights watching Marius paint. 

You shouldn’t sleep all day, Armand told him once, and it had turned into an argument.

But he sees it in the visions. Marius scolding him for the same. Coming home at dusk to Armand in his bed, and none of the studying done. 

Anyway.

No, the point is.

They’ve been doing this for a while, and Daniel knows he’s seen visions in the blood. Didn’t have the energy to understand, maybe. Stored them away for later, to make sense of everything.

So maybe tonight is Later. And he looks, really looks. Tears at Marius’s throat to stay there.

The memories are infused with Marius’s thirst. Years of little tastes, when he’d wanted to take Armand’s life so, so badly. Daniel can feel the hunger, the lust. The willpower, every time, forcing himself to stop before he took too much. And the taste of it, coating his mouth. How he’d pull back and just sit there sometimes, holding it without swallowing, savoring it until it just absorbed.

Something hideous about these visions, seeing Armand so ruddy and alive. It’s a series of grotesqueries, really, and Daniel can’t look away. Staring into them feels as important as the powerful surge of Marius’s blood, as important as Armand’s had been when Daniel was alive. He thinks maybe these days he lives for them. 

The way he touches himself. The human smell of him. Cupping a hand around the healed wound on his throat as he masturbates with the other, his eyes half-lidded, color splotchy across his collar bones. Marius steps away, stands back, his mouth full of blood as he watches.

And what must it have felt like, finally? When he was feverish and dying, and Marius was finally able to take?

Perhaps how it felt for you, too, Marius suggests. He pets the back of Daniel’s head, and eases him away. 

The room around them snaps back into focus. His bedroom in Trondheim—he’s not sure he knew it was Trondheim before, but knows now. More information he’d tucked away for later. Hadn’t mattered before.

Marius holds him away, a hand gently on his shoulder. Studies his face for a moment, then fixes his hair, like he always does. 

It’s true, isn’t it. All those tiny sips, for years. Even longer than Marius waited. 

Daniel can’t remember the last time he spoke aloud. Isn’t sure he remembers how. He thinks, if he were human, his voice would be rusted and weak, but the dark blood keeps him too pristine. 

“Why didn’t you like him anymore?” he asks. Each word takes effort, and he feels them moving through, churning like disused gears, fighting their way to the surface. 

Surprise dusts across Marius’s face. Eyebrows lift for a moment, and he settles back against the couch cushions, thinking about it. 

“I don’t understand what you mean, Daniel,” he says softly.

The room spins and his mouth feels too heavy. His fingertips are numb. 

“After you turn them. You don’t like them anymore.”

Marius’s head tilts to the side. His hand cups Daniel’s jaw.

“That’s not true at all. How could you think that?”

Daniel’s consciousness recedes. More things to store away, for another later. Running on muscle memory once more, as he tucks himself under.

“He used to be a person,” Daniel mumbles. 

The room blurs. Everything looks red for a moment. Marius is speaking—Daniel sort of hears it. Sees his mouth moving, but everything is out of order. 

That’s okay, maybe. He shuts his eyes, feeling for Marius’s blood in his body. Buzzing, beneath his skin, and if he focuses on the warm glow he doesn’t have to feel the pain caving in his chest.

Why didn’t you save him, then? Daniel thinks. His teeth chatter as the grief washes through.

“That isn’t so simple,” Marius says. His eyes narrow, trying to read Daniel better. “Are you all right?”

A wave of it rises again, in his chest. Punching the air out of him, and if he keeps talking he knows he’ll cry. 

“I wanted this,” he says. His voices folds under the emotion, and his vision is red again. And Marius is sitting up straighter, reaching for Daniel’s hand. Daniel can hear the heavy old heart beat a  little faster. “I begged him for it. For years. And then he didn’t want me once it was done.”

[peachyloveswriting]

Kyle x reader who has social anxiety?

CLUB CELEBRATION --- Kyle Brovloski

SUMMARY: Kyle drags you to the club for Kenny's birthday but you're not very thrilled.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Stan and Kenny are standing outside waiting for Kyle and I when we open the front door. Kyle smiles and greets them with a hello while I softly wave my hand. Reaching back Kyle intertwines our fingers before tugging me along beside him. "We're ready to go now?" He asks as he makes his way to his friends sides. All turning, we walk down the sidewalk towards Kenny's truck. It's still on, waiting for us while snow falls all around.

"Yeah. Night out at the club for your birthday Kenny." Stan claps him on the back and smirks at him. "Hell yeah!" Kenny retorts.

We all pile into the truck, squished closely together while Kenny shifts gears awkwardly in front of Stan's open legs. I'm squished in-between Stan and Kyle, my thighs pressed tightly together. I'm surprised they wanted me to come with, especially to a club. Kyle didn't want to disrespect me by going alone which I would've been completely fine with. But he begged for me to go. I didn't want to go for a good reason, being around so many people is nerve wracking. Even just sitting with so many people now is enough to unsettle me. Of course I know these people so I feel comfortable being here and chatting, however the public part is going to kill me.

After the longest ride to the club in the next town over, we file back out onto the snowy streets and make our way towards the entrance. Kenny's the first to make his way to the door, holding it open to the rest of us. "Let's get fucked up tonight, yeah?"

The guys around me cheer before pulling me into the chaos that is the club. Bright lights flash all around and loud electro music rumbles in the background. All around is the loud chatter and shouts of the visitors all around us, their bodies all merged together on the dancefloor. I can feel the tension building, all the half naked women grinding against guys making me nervous. Kyle drags me to an empty booth table. "We're going to go grab a drink. Want one?" He asks.

"I'm supposed to be the designated driver. Remember?" I respond. He stares at me before nodding and leading the guys off towards the bar. I'm left alone in my seat, everyone's walking around the table with purpose. Each one of them eyes me strangely as they pass. It must be strange seeing me sitting here all alone. They probably think I'm weird cause I'm not dressed inappropriately or drinking. That feeling grows unsettling on my shoulders. Setting my hand on the table top I pick at my nails before eventually pulling out my phone as a distraction. It feels like Kyle should have been back by now but trying to get through a crowd would take a while. So I try to keep still, dating the urge to jolt up and look for him by bouncing my knee.

"Excuse me ma'am." I hear over the noise. I glance over to see a tall slender lady with barely any clothes covering her body. She's absolutely drop dead gorgeous. "Are you here alone?" She quires.

My stomach drops and I open my mouth stupidly to speak. I'm not here alone, I'm with friends is what I want to say but nothing comes out. "Ma'am?" She repeats.

"Ah. She's with us." Kyle scoots from behind her and slides into the seat with me, he holds a beer in his hand and takes a sip of it before smiling at me. She nods, observing the other two as they sit down.

"Right. Enjoy your stay." She moves along to the side and disappears from sight. Small chatter between the boys begins to pick up but I sit silent in my corner. The occasional laughter calls for even somewhat relevant smiles or fake huffs of laughter, otherwise i don't say a word. This whole situation is rather uncomfortable and being brought here with so many people watching is horrible. I'm not terribly focused on the conversation at hand until Kyle nudges me.

"You well them what happened babe." He urges me. My stomach churns and a cold cavernous hole opens up inside my chest. I feel so small, everyone's looking right at me while I look on like a deer in headlights. I give a nervous smile.

"I'm sorry. What are we talking about?" If only the floor could open and wallow me whole, I'd gladly never come back. Kyle's smiles falls and his brows crease. 'Well, ok. Let's move on shall me?" He suggests to the others. Very softly his hand slides around my waist and softly squeezes my side. I figure it's a way of reassurance, just to show not to be worried but my heart is already pounding in my ears. Suddenly it feels like the middle of summer and the moisture is choking every breath.

"I'm going to step out for a bit." I whisper into Kyles ear. He looks and smiles with a nod, sliding out of the seat to let me past. All three watch me as I rush around the corner, my small bag slung around my shoulder. Shoving past a small group of people and towards the door, sporadically I shove it open and step into the cold night's air. Taking a deep breath and looking up at the cloudy sky my eyes flutter. The streets are empty around me, save for the few stragglers. Walking towards Kenny's truck, I extend my hand to the door handle. It shakes harshly like a leaf in the wind, something I hadn't noticed until I stepped outside. Firmly gripping the handle I pull it open and toss my bag inside. The quiet around me is reaffirming that no one is watching, I'm alone.

I hop into the passenger side seat an settle in with my legs out the side. The wind blows softly around the truck, the wind somewhat finding it's way into the truck. I shudder. In my rush to get outside I sadly left my jacket inside and now that I'm out here I'm not going back in for a bit. Just the though of going back in makes my stomach churn with unease and nausea creep up my spine. The door to the club opens and a younger couple exits, I find myself hoping that it's Kyle coming to find me though I doubt he would try. he was already having such a great time with his friends and I don't want to ruin that. Pulling my phone from my pocket I stare at the blank screen, there's no notifications. It's always dry, but I want so badly to text him. Even just staring at our messages I can't gather the courage to bother or faulter his mood.

Nervous, I start typing the first words of what I want to say. Abruptly his voice startles me. Shouting, my phone slips from my hand and falls to the floorboard screen up. Kyle leans down and picks it up, carefully studying my words.

With a hand over my chest, I scowl. "Kyle, why would you do that? I nearly had a stroke!" I fuss. The scare makes my chest ache and body shake with adrenaline.Giving the phone back to me with a soft smile he chuckles. "Didn't meat to. You forgot your coat, I was coming out to give it to you before you got cold but, looks like I'm too late." He points out.

Turning the phone off and sliding it back in my pocket, I hum. "Well thanks Kyle, that's sweet." His gloved hands slide over mine, the warmth is stark in contrast. "Scoot over, let me get you warm." He takes the folded jacket from his arm and places it around my shoulder before sliding me over. I turn quietly while he slides in beside me, an arm eventually comes to rest around my shoulder.

"What if someone sees?" It feels weird to be so open about this sort of thing even with really no one around. Though my question might seem stupid just thinking of other people watching again makes my whole body ache.

Kyle looks at me inquisitively. "What would that matter?" he counters. I shrug and look at the floor board. I know it doesn't matter but my nerves are so shot already that I'm not sure I can handle much more. His arm slides down to my waist and pulls me closer before he grabs my other hand with his free one. "Why'd you come out here?"

I sigh and a white cloud leaves my mouth. I feel bad for pulling him away from his night out with his friends even though he came out here just because he wanted too. "I just needed fresh air." I raise my gaze to meet his. "I hate crowds."

A sympathetic frown tips the edges of his lips down. "Is there anything I can do?" He asks. Just like before when we were inside his hand reassuringly squeezes my side. I shake my head. "No. It's just social anxiety, I hate being in places like this." The though of all those people watching and judging me makes me shudder with discomfort.

'I'm sorry. I didn't know." He hums softly. his genuine disappointment bring amusement to my face. Chuckling, I shake my head and smile up at him. "Don't be sorry. It's not you're fault. I can't help it."

A glimmer in his eyes lights up and he grins at me, leaning forwards to press his forehead against mine. His warm breath fans my face as he speaks. "I know. I just feel responsible for you." Very quickly he kisses my forehead and engulfs me in a warm and safe hug. Smiling softly, I hide my face in his shoulder. "Thank you, for being worried."

Kyle pulls back to look at me again. "Don't, I'm supposed to be worried about you. we're dating." His reassurance makes the hold in my chest slowly closes, bringing with it the warmth of a fire.

I snort, resting my hand on his bicep gently. "I'm thankful anyway. I didn't meat to kill the mood though."

"Kill the mood?" He repeats. I nod sheepishly. "You didn't kill the mood. If anything you made it awkward without you there." He whines. 'You should come back inside with me, we can come back out whenever you like." He offers.

Looking down at his hand covering mine, I hum. "Sure." Knowing I didn't ruin anyone's night or cause any problems eases my nerves. AT least now that Kyle knows I won't be going in alone to deal with it myself. He'll be beside me to keep me grounded, so I'm not alone.

[alieinthemorning]

Inked Wrists [Dynamight | Bakugou Katsuki || Red Riot | Kirishima Eijirou]

Content: Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Angst, Polyamory, Established Relationship

Pronouns: None

Bakugou Header: @/coaco_rami | Kirishima Header: @/urachan1629

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

At one point, people were born equal. 

In the world of quirks, this is no longer true. 

In the world of soulmates, this is even more false. 

You were a part of the 5% population who had a soulmate.

You and your partners

You glanced at your right wrist: 

Bakugou Katsuki

Then your left:

Kirishima Eijirou 

These two names appeared on your wrists the moment you stepped foot on UA’s grounds. 

You didn’t know who they were during the exams, but the moment you walked through Class 1-A’s door, you knew. The three of you were immediately drawn to each other (even if Katsuki was too shy to admit it).

But now…

Now it just seemed to be you and Eijirou.

Katsuki was spending more time training (as if he wasn’t strong enough). More time studying (as if he wasn’t smart enough).

He was just 

gone.

“You seem to be thinking hard, what’s wrong?” He asked, raising a hand up to caress your cheek. 

You blinked at him, slowly returning to reality. 

You were in your room, on your bed, with Eijirou resting in your lap. It was after classes and training and—

“Oh. I’m sorry.” You resumed stroking his hair. That must have been why he said that.

Or maybe not— because he sat up, facing you head on. “What’s wrong? I can basically hear the gears churning up here.” He tapped your forehead. 

You sighed, “I can’t keep anything from you.”

“Well, something ya can, and other things…” He trailed off, caressing your wrist.

Your right wrist. 

Ah.

“So you noticed it too…” 

Eijirou nodded. “I feel like ever since we rescued him, he’s just been…off.” He paused, “And not just because of that— it’s like…”

“There’s something else he’s not telling us.” You finished. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment then

“We have to confront him.”

And what a fucking mistake that was. 

“Katsuki…is there something wrong—?” You barely got to get the entire question out before he was jumping down your throat and stalking toward you.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His hands flexed at his side.

Regardless, you held your ground. “Ever since the kidnapping, you’ve—”

His hands popped once, then he was turned away from you. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Eijirou was on his other side, arms crossed, stance strong. “At least hear us out, man…we know something is—”

“You don’t know shit!” Katsuki raised a crackling hand up, ready to slam it in the side of Eijirou’s head.

So you quickly activated your quirk, Gummy Gum, wrestling his arm back with the elastic substance. 

Katsuki looked between the two of you. “I’m not saying shit, so drop this weakass quirk before I make you drop it.” 

You did, knowing that he wasn’t going to actually harm you, but instead knew that he had reached his limit and pushing him any further would instead push him away from you. 

Even further that he already was.

So instead, you waited. 

Waited for him to come to you on his own.

And he did.

Just not in the way you were expecting. 

Battered and bruised. 

Eyes glazed over with what you could only identify as 

Regret. 

He didn’t tell you what happened, just stood at the door waiting. 

So with a quick glance at Eijirou, you did the only thing you could do

You opened your arms and heart for him.

As the two of you would always do.

Because at the end of the day, this is the only thing you could ask for.

For them to come home.

Until he didn’t.

This took like three days.

I'm not actively writing for this again btw. I just really needed to rewrite this lol.

I also I did not realize that I never posted this here.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[rizlowwritessortof]

Unforgivable - Part 2

Sequel to A Little Rowdy, because I just wasn’t done with those two! Planning for three parts (unless my muse goes crazy, it happens). Huge thanks to editsbymichele (IG) for the lovely Beau header - beautiful as always, my friend!! And thank you to @firefly-graphics for the divider!

Beau and Laney have settled into a comfortable relationship, things are smooth and easy - until Laney is threatened, and Beau strongly suspects she’s not the real target.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Laney Marcus

Word Count: 3012

Warnings: Smut (as usual), stalking, menacing behavior

Part 1

Laney watched as the tow truck hauled her car away, Beau’s arm around her shoulders as they stood, talking to Poppernak. “I know you probably think it’s overkill, but I just want to make damn sure nothing else was tampered with,” Beau said, giving her a squeeze, and she nodded.

“I know. I’ll feel better knowing it’s all checked out, thank you.” She had finally stopped shaking, but she was thoroughly spooked.

Beau pulled away, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her eyes. “Listen – I want you to go home with Pops, stay there until I get back.” Before she could speak in protest, he moved to cradle her face with a gentle smile. “I won’t be gone long. But I want to talk to your ex.”

She frowned in confusion. “Garrett? Beau, he’s in prison.”

“Yep. And I want to make sure he isn’t directing this little show from there.”

Poppernak cleared his throat. “You think he could swing something like that, boss?”

Beau sighed, pulling Laney into a hug. “I don’t know, but I want to see him face-to-face and get a read. If it’s not him, then we start from square one and figure it out.” He bent to place a lingering kiss on Laney’s lips. “Pops, drop me off at the office, I need to grab a squad car – Pedro’s out of commission.”

A couple of hours later, Beau sat in an interrogation room in Montana State Prison. It was a longshot that Laney’s ex had anything to do with threatening her, but he wanted to check every possibility. The guard ushered the prisoner into the room, handcuffed him to the ring on the table, and turned to stand quietly in the corner.

Garrett glared at the sheriff, and Beau geared back in his chair, a smirk on his lips as he took in the man’s appearance. “Been makin’ friends, I see.”

Garrett was sporting a black eye and stitches on the right side of his face, along with several other bruises and scrapes. “Fuck you.”

“I’m just here for one question. Did you send someone on the outside after Laney?”

The man stared back at him stupidly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Just answer the question.”

“How the fuck do you think I’d do that? I’ve been a little busy trying to watch my own ass in this hellhole, so no. I didn’t send anybody after anybody. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m done talking to you.”

Beau nodded. “Glad to hear it. If you did, I’d make sure your hell got much worse.” He stood as the guard came to let the prisoner loose from the table and turn him towards the door. “By the way – happy to see you’re getting a taste of your own medicine.” Garrett glared before turning to leave the room, guard at his back.

Beau stopped to speak to a couple of the guards on his way out, finally heading back out the gates, satisfied that his former prisoner had no involvement in whatever the hell was going on. His mind churned the whole drive home, a sick conviction in his gut that this wasn’t about Laney at all – somebody was targeting her to get to him.

Laney was in the kitchen talking to Poppernak’s mother when Beau got back to Helena, and Pop stepped outside to talk to him quietly before he came inside.

“So what did you find out?”

“It wasn’t him. I didn’t really think so, but I wanted to make sure. Talked to him, talked to the guards, they said he spends half his time in solitary and the other half getting patched up in the infirmary because he’s not smart enough to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t have any friends in there, and he hasn’t had any visitors or called anybody.” Beau sighed, biting on the inside of his lip. “I’m afraid what’s going on isn’t about her. It’s about me. Somebody’s going after Laney to get to me, and I can’t let that happen, Pops. We need to figure this out.”

The big man nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right boss. And we will. And we just won’t leave her alone until we do.”

“Damn straight.” Beau clapped his deputy on the back, heading inside the house.

“Beau!” Laney walked into his arms, squeezing him tight before pulling back to look up at him. He put a hand to her face with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It wasn’t Garrett, I’m sure of that. Wanted to look him in the eye to make sure. So we’re starting from square one, but I don’t want you to worry, honey. You’re gonna have somebody with you 24-7 until we get whoever’s doing this.”

Laney rode back to the office with Beau, and they picked up her car from the garage there. Beau spoke with the techs, verifying nothing had been tampered with, and they headed back to her place, both ready for a beer and a long, hot shower.

They showered together, but Laney was quiet, withdrawn, and Beau knew she was unsettled from the day’s events. He dried himself and went to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of black sleep pants, then headed to the kitchen to ready the coffee pot for the next morning. When he returned, Laney was still not there, so he walked into the bathroom, watching silently for a moment as she stood in front of the mirror, still wrapped in her damp towel, lost in thought.

At the warm touch of his hands on her shoulders, she moved her gaze to meet his in the mirror, a sorry attempt at a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She leaned back into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Not really.”

He turned her to face him, bending to kiss her, sweet and gentle. “I’m so sorry, Laney. Whoever this is, they went after you to get to me. I wish I could erase what happened, but I promise you, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“What about you? You keep saying you’ll keep me safe, but what about you, Beau?” She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and he clenched his teeth against a wave of guilt. Because of something he had done, someone he had pissed off – he didn’t know what, or who, but they were willing to terrorize a completely innocent person just to get to him. And she was worrying about him.

“I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve got Pops and Jenny, my whole team to help me figure it out. We’ll be okay.” He kissed her again, and she reached up to cling to his neck, Beau’s hands splayed over her back to hold her tight. The way her lips moved on his, the tip of her tongue teasing at the seam sent a flash of heat through him, his cock twitching and swelling as their kiss deepened. He lifted his head, his lips parted as he inhaled, staring down into her eyes. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?” she asked innocently, and he shook his head slightly, a smirk teasing at his mouth.

“Make me want to protect you like some precious thing and at the same time want to make you scream my name.”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “Can’t you do both?” she teased, her eyes sparkling as she loosened her towel, letting it drop to the floor.

“Oh, hell, yeah…” He scooped her up in his arms, moving quickly to the bedroom and laying her down, immediately covering her with his body, his lips on her throat and moving quickly downward to her breasts, her nipples already hard and begging for attention. He teased and nibbled at them briefly, moving down with a low chuckle at her whine. “Patience, darlin’.”

“Don’t be mean,” she pouted, and Beau flashed a sexy grin as he continued kissing his way down her body. He finally settled himself down between her legs, dragging his thumbs up the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs.

“So damn pretty,” he crooned, leaning in close to give a little flick of his tongue to her clit before burrowing into her folds with his lips and tongue, forcing a startled little cry from her lips.

“Beau, oh, my god…”

He peeked up at her again with a smirk. “You can do better than that,” he teased, and then went back to work, determined to make her forget everything but the two of them. Before long she was grasping his hair, writhing underneath him as he held her in place with one arm, his other hand a blur as he fucked her with his fingers, sucking her clit as he worked it with his tongue.

Everything inside her broke loose and she wailed his name, her hand wound so tight in his hair that it ached, and he almost lost control along with her at the desperation in her voice as she begged. “Please, oh god, PLEAAASE… Beau!!” He backed off slowly, easing her down until she went limp, whimpering softly as he grabbed the corner of the sheet and scrubbed it over his face, then moved up to drop gentle kisses to her face and lips.

“You alright, sweet girl?” he murmured as he nuzzled at her neck, lacing the fingers of one hand through hers.

She finally let her eyes drift open, looking up at him with a dreamy smile. “You, sir, are a menace.”

He chuckled, bending down to kiss her softly, teasing at her tongue with the tip of his. She sighed, wrapping her arms around him and dragging her nails whisper-soft down the smooth skin of his back, making him moan.

“That’s your fault. I mean, hell, I walk around at work half-hard all day long.” Her hands reached the firm globes of his ass and squeezed, and he moaned again as the head of his cock barely breached her entrance, still slick and hot from her climax. He pushed ahead, his breath catching in his chest at the feel of her, pulsing and squeezing him tight, and she slid her silken legs up to cling to his hips, straining to pull him deeper.

“Fuck me, Beau,” she whispered, nipping gently at his lower lip, barely able to breathe at the heat in his gaze. He let out a desperate groan, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss and driving deep inside her, smothering the sounds forced from her with each stroke until they had to break apart, gasping for air.

He kissed her neck, moving down to brush his face over the curve of her breast before latching on to suck a mark into the soft flesh. He looked up into her eyes, the green of his own dark, pupils blown. “You want me nice and deep?” Laney whined softly as he held himself still, resisting her coaxing him to move, and she nodded before tossing her head back into the pillow. “Turn over for me, darlin’.”

He pulled himself free and raised up to his knees, helping her roll to her stomach, his hands smoothing over her hips and helping her raise them until she was on her knees, her head still resting on the pillow. She grabbed fistfuls of the bedding as Beau slid slowly back inside her, rocking back and forth gently for a moment, hands caressing over her smooth skin. Then he pulled back, hesitating for a second before plunging back in to the limit as Laney cried out, her voice muffled in the pillow. He gripped her hips and kept his promise, fucking into her hard and deep, their bodies slapping together in a furious rhythm until she was begging incoherently. Beau clenched his jaw and reached down to strum at her clit, and she shouted into the pillow, almost sobbing as she came, clutching wildly at the sheets.

Beau drove himself on, teeth bared, balls drawn up tight as he finally exploded with a growl, his head spinning with the force of his climax. He fell forward, catching himself on his arms, his heaving chest against her back as she whimpered weakly beneath him.

Laney closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before fielding yet another phone call. The office was hopping the last few days with the annual Oktoberfest and rodeo on the upcoming weekend, and as the week wore on it got crazier. The event was held at the county fairgrounds, so it fell on the County Sheriff’s department instead of the city police, and they were swamped with vendors and participants coming in for permits, asking for information, and settling disputes over anything and everything. When the festival actually began on Thursday, the town would be full to overflowing with people attending, which usually involved a lot of drunks, bar fights and cowboy wannabes getting themselves injured.

She had only seen Beau in flashes, except for when he finally made it back to her place at night, usually late. He had gently laid down the law about her having someone with her at all times if she was out and about, even though they had seen nothing more of their stalker. He was okay with her at the office, where she was surrounded by cops, but made her promise not to leave without Pops or Jenny or someone with her. Her spirit of independence was rebelling, but she knew he was right, and that he just had her safety in mind, so she complied without complaint. Hopefully whoever it was had been discouraged at the organized chaos currently going on in town, but she had that ominous feeling that the other shoe would drop sooner or later.

She finished up her call, looking up at the sound of Beau’s voice near the front desk, where he was dealing with two feuding vendors. She smiled to herself at the way he just seemed to charm them, calming the situation and sending them on their way. He turned, his eyes landing on her, and he spoke to the desk officer before walking her way. “Hey, Laney – how’s your day going?”

“Not as crazy as yours.” She smiled up at him as he perched on the corner of her desk. “You look exhausted, Beau.”

“Nah, I’m good. Gotta be. Got a few more days of this insanity before it’s over, so…” He looked into her eyes with that searching-your-soul gaze that always made her breath hitch in her chest. “Are you doing okay, really? I hate leaving you alone so much after…”

“Beau, I’m fine, really. You’re just doing your job, and I’m a big girl, don’t waste time worrying about me.”

“Nothing to do with you is a waste of my time, darlin’.” His lips quirked in a wistful little smile. “I’d love to kiss you right now.”

“I’d love for you to kiss me right now.” She bit her lip, and he groaned softly.

His tongue darted out to sweep over his lips, and he stood reluctantly. “I’d better get back to work before I do something that’ll get me fired. See you later.” Laney sent him off with a gentle smile, reaching for her ringing phone as he headed into his office.

Cassie and Denise picked her up for lunch, and Denise’s gushing over some of the recently arrived cowboys was a welcome distraction for a while. When she got back to work, Beau was out, and Laney settled back in at her desk to more calls and forms to file.

Beau came in later on, Pops on his heels, and they both headed for his office. A couple of minutes later, Beau charged out of his door, his expression thunderous, his voice loud as he approached the front desk. “Who brought this in?” He waved a manila envelope in the air, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. “Madge?”

Madge glared back at him over the top of her glasses, then barked out, “Aaron!” The desk officer excused himself from the person he was helping and approached the two of them.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Who dropped this envelope off for the sheriff?” Her usual humorless stare was aimed at the young officer, who stammered a little as he answered, aiming his words to Beau.

“Well, sir – I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I was busy with several people, and by the time I noticed it laying on the counter, whoever dropped it off was long gone.”

Beau’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded curtly. “Okay, thank you. I get it, it’s been crazy in here. Better get back to…” he gestured with a head nod towards the man waiting at the counter.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Beau turned, walking back towards his office, tossing his words over his shoulder. “And stop calling me ‘sir’!”

Laney rose from her desk and walked to Beau’s office, glancing at Poppernak as she walked through the door. His face was grim, and she turned to face Beau, who was standing with his hands braced on his desk, his jaw working. “Beau, what is it?”

He shot a glance Pop’s way before standing up straight. “Shut the door, Laney.”

She nodded, then came to his side, and he turned to put his arms around her, hugging her tight for a moment. When he finally let her go, she looked up at him with a worried frown. “Tell me.”

He tilted his head towards his desk, and she pulled free from his grasp to turn and look. The envelope was on top, addressed simply to ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen – Confidential.’ She moved it, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she stared down at the array of photographs, pictures of her and Beau during their movie night, obviously shot with a long-range lens. With the photos was another handwritten note in large, red letters – ‘YOU CAN’T PROTECT HER.’

Part 3

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[tiny-necromancer]

A warning...

Chance woke with a start. Darkness swirled around him and he had to fight to catch his breath. The pain in his body reminding him about what he'd just endured, and how he ought not to be trying to move just yet.

He rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow to his chest, biting into it to keep from screaming. He felt raw, wide open, like all his internal organs were spilling out of him. But he knew logically that they weren't. Just as he knew the pounding in his head wasn't from anything more sinister then having someone digging around in there with a shovel. And that seemed wrong. That thought. Because why should someone be rooting around in there at all?

Everything came back to him in flashes of images. Flashes of screams. Flashes of blood. There was so much blood. And Desmond. Oh Desmond....Desmond was dead. Tears pricked his eyes and he hugged the pillow tighter.

But then, he remembered something else. Something that wasn't pain or fear. Something that felt...comforting. And it took him only a moment more before he remembered what it was. Who it was. Wes had been there. In his head. Crooning to him. Stroking him. Or at least that's what it felt like. But Wes hadn't been there. He was sure of it. But that also meant that Wes was in trouble.

Chance heaved his battered body from the bed. Staggering a bit as his legs threatened to buckle. He had to get to Wes. Had to warn him. His father knew about him now. He'd hurt him, maybe even kill him. And Chance just could not handle that.

He escaped into the darkened hallway. Somehow it was quiet. An eerie quiet. That didn't bode well for anyone. Chance shivered a little from so many things. Turning to make his way towards the main doors, he nearly ran right into Caius.

Caius was close to Chance's age. But that was where there similarities ended. Chance wasn't afraid of him, not as he was afraid of others. But he was wary of him. Mostly because he had his father's ear. But Caius had never actually done anything to Chance. So he didn't feel like he ought to be afraid of him. Even though he knew what he could do. What he did do. "What are you doing out here?" Caius demanded, and there was something strange about him tonight. But Chance didn't know what it was. And he didn't have the time to try and figure it out.

Chance decided then that he needed to get Caius on his side. Because if Caius went and told his father what he was up to. He'd never make it to Wes. "I need to go to Twilight." He said insistently.

"The Vampire Bar?" Caius looked dubious. "Right now? Why?"

"Because I need to find someone. And I think he'll be there." Chance bit his lip, considering Caius for a moment. "Look. I just really need to go. Come with me if you have to. But I have to go." Asking for permission wouldn't work. And Chance didn't need permission to leave. There was no formal rule that said he couldn't leave. And he knew that's what Caius was deliberating. "Please..."

The strange thing about Caius was his emotions didn't make sense. He was never angry when he should be, never sad when he should have been that too. And Chance didn't know what it was exactly that his father had done to him. He'd never wanted to know. He had enough nightmares of his own. But tonight, Caius was pensive. And that was a curious thing. Because he usually wasn't. "Twilight?" He asked again.

"Yes." Chance responded, watching the gears churn behind Caius' eyes.

And somehow, they made it there. Chance didn't really know how. He was still shaky, still shocky, still just not right. And it felt like his skin was on fire. Like someone had poured molten lava over him. But still, he kept moving forward. Because he had something he needed to protect. And nothing else mattered other then that.

The bar was crowded. And Chance shuddered against Caius who had a steadying arm around his waist. For the first time, Chance started to panic a little. What if Wes wasn't here? What if they'd come all this way and he couldn't find him? He pulled away from Caius, taking a step forward. He closed his eyes, reaching for something, anything that could tell him Wes was here. And then, as if by magic, he found him in the murky darkness. Found him and pulled him towards him. And it wasn't in a physical sense, but a much deeper, more intimate sense. It screamed Wes. His essence. His blood. His unlife. When Chance opened his eyes again, he saw him.

"Wes...." He whimpered, staggering forward a step.

@that-kinky-photographer

[bee-tee-rus]

MML AU where King Pistachion is a single dad going on a T/indr date with you and Derek keeps fucking shit up:

(press "Keep Reading" for the fic)

Your legs bounce with anticipation. You tie the 50th knot out of the paper sheath that your straw came in, now noticing how strong it-- oh! Nope, it finally tore. Broken out of your daze now, you take a look around the little sandwich shop that you sit alone in, wondering when your date will show.

Online dating isn't really your thing, due to the countless articles and stories you've sunken time into reading, giving your paranoia a whole 'nother level of paranoia. But it really can't be that bad, right? You are hyper aware or any potential danger, so it all should be fine.

Some minutes pass, and you just got back to your seat with a Pistachio latte. You laugh to yourself, remembering that the guy's screename who you are supposed to meet was... "King Pistachion". He didn't look like your typical human. In fact, dude didn't look human in the slightest. Like some hot sexy monstrous treeman. Hey, there's a first time for everything! You pat your pocket to be sure you brought tweezers-- in case of any splinters.

RING! The door opens after what seemed like an eternity and you are 99% sure that the being who came through is him. I mean, how many men made of wood really live around here... Actually, that's a great question and you'll look into that later.

The tree man swivels his head and squints his eyes as he looks around the room. I lock my eyes onto him, yet remain silent as he surveys the room. I can't help but feel a bit intimidated. Once he turns my way and meets my gaze, I flash a weak smile and wave. He straightens up, nearly missing the ceiling as a huge smile forms across his face. The man comes forward and then I realize just how much taller he is than I. If this date gets far enough... I wonder how THAT will play out? I shake those unwanted thoughts away.

"H-hi, I'm Anon. Um from the uh... The app." God, why are you nervous?

"I know, as soon as those gems glistened my way, they drew me in... Anon~" the man says with smoothness as he kneels down and grabs your hand, his large stick thumb caressing the top of your hand in a seductive way.

Oh God, he is laying it on a little too thick.

"Uh..." You pull your hand away, feeling awkward from the sudden gesture. "Here, let's sit down and maybe talk some first, kinda get to know each other?"

"Ha ha yes, my little berry. Here... Let me--"

"AH!"

Suddenly, you are light on your feet. In fact, you aren't even on your feet anymore! This man had the audacity to pick you up and carry you bridal style to your seat. Sir, this is a Jimmy John's. He pulls out your chair with one hand and gently sits you down, then goes over to his seat and plops down in it. He leans his chin on his clasped hands as he leans forward to give you his undivided attention. What is with this guy? It seems like he is wanting to get to the good part already, like slow down!

"Haha... " You chuckle nervously, not knowing how to react to his chivalrous antics. "So... Is 'King Pistachion' your real name?"

"Yes."

"Really? No really?"

"Well I suppose if I had a human identity, I would go by 'Pcarl'. The 'P' is silent."

His face looks proud of his swift answer to you. The gears in your brain start turning and churning. There's not a single 'P' in 'Carl', what is he... ? Whatever, you won't question his logic for now.

"Okay, Pcarl..." You look the strange man up and down, not really feeling the name. You get the strong feeling that he just made that up on the spot. "Can I call you KP?"

"If that's what your heart desires, little berry~" he purrs out as he flashes a wink in your general direction.

You let out a sigh and try your best to reel the tree man back to square one with you.

"Anyways, KP, tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for fun? What sorta job do you do?"

"Oh you know. Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."

A smirk forms on his face as he leans back with his arms crossed.

With a strained poker face, you can only bring yourself to respond with a repeated question.

"... And for work?"

"Terraforming foreign lands with my bountiful seed to grow my fiersome army of Pistachion soilders so we can rule this dying planet."

Hm, so he's pretty much a Line A to Line B guy. You are uncertain whether you should feel threatened or not. Your thoughts get cut off when you hear an adult male voice boom through the restaurant.

"DAAAAAD! DAAAAAD WHERE ARE YOU?"

The whiny voice feels as though it is being focused towards us. KP lets out a grumble, face palming and muttering something under his breath. You can only make out a, "Not now" due to the Ed Sheeran music drowning out miniscule sounds. King Pistachion lifts up a finger to you as though he is motioning you to hold on, stands up and turns to face the door where the voice came from. He inhales as his eyes close and brows furrow, then responds.

"What now, Derek? Daddy's busy with 'business'!" KP holds out his hands towards you. So you are a business matter now? You would feel offended, yet the curiosity of this situation keeps you quiet as you become the onlooker of whatever is about to transpire.

This "Derek" was smaller in size compared to his father, being the size of a human adult male. He kinda had a BioShock thing going on with his fashion, with the top hat and tailcoat combo. He stuck some resemblance to his dad, except for the chiseled features of his face. You would think this guy could be a model or something.

"You said you would be quick and it's been 5 hours already!" Derek says with exasperation.

"Derek, stop being so dramatic. I've only been in here for 10 minutes and was this close you getting you a mommy" KP hisses as he presses his index finger against his thumb to emphasize how close he was to--

"What? I never agreed to anything like-- Is that why you have been so flirtatious from the get-go?" You can't believe that this guy really thought that it would take a mere day of cheesy romantic antics to get someone to just marry him.

"It was going so well, I could see in your eyes that your heart began to call out to me." He turns his head to you and looks a little smug, as though he truly believed this date was going great.

"I don't want a new mom! I'm happy with the one we got at home" Derek stomps his foot to assert his belief.

"Your 'mom' is a heat lamp, that's not a mother. That's a machine that aids. We need the touch and love of a real being, especially for when I'm busy with my plans."

"Her name is 'Laura' and you would know that if you ever came home and spent time with us!"

You are assuming that the heat lamp 's name is Laura. It's a bit hard to follow this conversation, yet you try your best since it involves you in the mix. Derek begins to walk towards the table and stands in front of you, rubbing his chin as he thinks.

"How old are you?" He asks as he narrows his eyes, making sure that you do not lie to him.

"30?"

He huffs as he throws his arms up and spins around to walk away. Derek begins to become as boisterous as he was before.

"Really, Dad? They're not much older from me or your other kids! That's like you're dating my siblings or something!"

"Don't be disgusting, Derek. It's not like that at all, get over it!" King Pistachion 's tone is now becoming more impatient at how his son is publically judging him around strangers. Something flat and green grows from the bush on his head, he reaches and picks it off. Wait, is that... Did he just illegally grow cash?

"Here's $50, just-- PLEASE, go find some entertainment and let Daddy finish business."

The steamed tree man towers over his son, holding out the totally legal cash for Derek to accept. A few seconds pass and Derek silently snatches the cash and leaves. Kind Pistachion lets out a heavy sigh of relief and dusts his hands, sitting back down and his face quickly transforms from anger to... Oh he's gonna keep trying, isn't he?

"So... Anyways, have you ever lay with a man of lumber?" His eyebrow raises as he leans forward, doing his best (and failing) to woo you.

"Uhh... "

"YOU KNOW I SPRINKLED WEED KILLER ON YOU IN YOUR SLEEP SO YOU CAN'T MAKE BABIES!"

This time, you did not hear the door open but you recognize the voice. It's Derek once more, only this time he is holding a yellow dog. You hear the chair scoot and look to find King Pistachion looking horrified. Is this man afraid of dogs?

"D-Derek, put that thing away now! You don't know what you're doing!" KP shakily says as he presses his back against the wall.

Derek chuckles as he pets the blissfully unaware dog that he carries.

"Oh I do know what I am doing, father..."

He puts his hands under the dog's arms and holds it up and far from him, Lion King style. The smile of Derek fades, his head tilted down with his brows furrowed, causing dramatic shadows on his face.

"I just gave this dog a full bowl of water and cranberries... He hasn't relieved himself yet. Now if you don't piss off from this pointless date and take me home..." Derek pats the dog's belly and a swoosh of fluids can be heard. "Then I'll have no choice but to piss you out of here."

What the hell is going on? Without a peep, King Pistachion stands up and heads towards the door. He seems cautious as he passes the airborne pup, squeezing his large frame by his son and through the exit. Derek has a prideful grin, puts the dog down and goes to follow his dad into the parking lot.

You are now out of your seat and rush to the window. You want to see what sort of vehicle these two travelled in. What exactly are these beings? Are they aliens? A science experiment gone wrong? Surely, something like them wouldn't be driving something so basic, right?

Wrong.

Why are you surprised? KP and his son enter a dual colored PT Cruiser, the top half being a pale green while the bottom half is a pale yellow. Ha, it's a PisTachio Cruiser. From here, you can vaguely make out both of their expressions from the car. King Pistachion wears a look of irked defeat and Derek has the smile of someone who got their way. The car drives off and now you are just sitting alone in the shop, not wanting to even finish your pistachio coffee.

"I don't think I like pistachios anymore."

[izzet-always-r-versus-u]

Universes Within theorycrafting: Assassin's Creed (part 1)

Kept sliding off making posts for the bigger sets (LTR, PIP...WHO is mostly pending more data on the space opera plane) just because I was struggling to organize my thoughts on them; ACR has about half the total new cards as the commander products, and a lot of those are on the simpler end, so it's a lot easier to just go through on a case-by-case basis. Hopefully that'll help get the word-gears churning for the other sets.

Part 1's gonna be the cards that don't need name changes for UniWit adaptation; 49 out of 105 (not counting Raven Clan War-Axe, which would be close to the line in a vacuum but is mechanically tied to a card that does need a rename regardless), a little under half.

Battlefield Improvisation

Works more or less anywhere, but one particular interpretation that tickles me is a bit of flashy showmanship in Valor's Reach when a fighter is reduced to a 1v2 and starts going to town using their fallen partner's weapon. Given the colors, maybe Regna dual-wielding her scythe and whatever massive polearm Krav is rocking?

Detained by Legionnaires

Even on Ravnica I figure actual Pacifism is more likely to see a reprint, but the Boros are legionnaire-cops, so this would translate there fine.

Distract the Guards

Assassins and Rogues? Those are both outlaws, so Thunder Junction's the obvious fit. I'm gonna say it's a Freestrider operation, one group drawing the Sterling Company wardens away while another group stages a jailbreak.

Escarpment Fortress

Apparently an escarpment is a kind of cliff face, so this is a fortress built on or into a cliff. No shortage of fits there; could be an Akroan outpost, could be a Zendikari refuge, could be a highland monastery of the Jeskai/Ojutai...et cetera, et cetera. Take your pick.

Fall of the First Civilization

Could be Fall of the Thran but slightly to the left, but I like this as an Oltec tale of the First People of Ixalan; just because they're unknowable due to being four apocalypses deep doesn't mean the Oltec wouldn't have stories about them in some capacity, and "how their world ended" would be right at the top of the list.

Haystack

The same bit as the original could work in most of the multiverse's cities, but I actually like the idea of setting this on Innistrad: the terrified eyes of a pair of peasants barely visible peaking out from within a pile of hay as a shadow shaped distinctly like a werewolf passes across it. A perfect hiding spot...so long as your breathing doesn't give you away.

Hookblade

Zendikari kor lineslinger equipment. One of those "you could put it in a set and most people wouldn't even realize it's a reprint, it fits so cleanly" cards: White "hook" equipment that grants temporary flying? Yeah, that's a kor card alright.

Keen-Eyed Raven

Mostly notable in that, as far as I can see, Magic's ravens have been entirely restricted to Blue and Black up to now. Certainly doesn't mean they can't fit there, though: maybe the Beskir have taken to keeping and training ravens in emulation of the Omenseekers, or maybe Will has gotten what exists of the Eldraine courts to start using them as couriers and scouts.

Settlement Blacksmith

The two natural fits for planes referring to "settlements" are Zendikar and Thunder Junction, and this works fine with either. Zendikar's the one with a history of Equipment themes, though, and there's more than enough space for flavor text talking about times of necessity spread stoneforging traditions beyond the kor that developed and long kept them. (Could even make it a Nahiri quote, have her complaining about what she sees as wrong about Zendikar these days.)

Tax Collector

Magic doesn't exactly spend a lot of time talking about tax policy, but anywhere that has actual money is gonna have taxes. The Orzhov are definitely the most obvious fit, though, even if detain is an Azorius mechanic.

Templar Knight

There are two other extant Magic cards with "templar" in their name: Capashen Templar, a Benalish Knight, and Noble Templar, an Otarian Cleric Soldier. The latter has a more obvious legendary artifact to amass an army to quest for - the Mirari - while the former is actually a Knight (the gap between Knight and Cleric Soldier is not a large one, but creature types mattered in Otarian sets). Either could reasonably be expanded out into a cohort of knights going on a "holy" quest; just a matter of preference.

What Must Be Done

I feel like there's an even cleaner fit I'm failing to think of, but the main place my mind goes is to Liliana's ultimatum to Thalia in original Innistrad block: sunder the Helvault and release Griselbrand, or Liliana kills all of the Thraben cathars guarding it. Reanimation or boardwipe, a choice faced by a White-aligned character - it works.

Assassin Den

In the MKM story, Etrata had a well-hidden personal base/crash pad that was also extensively trapped against anyone trying to break in. Feels like a natural fit for a Wall with >0 power that can buff a creature and enhance their stealth - the interior would naturally be equipped with every tool a master assassin could need. Presumably other Dimir assassins have their own hideouts, justifying it being nonlegendary, but that'd be the specific one I'd depict; there's more than a bit of space for an Etrata quote in the flavor text.

Assassin Gauntlet

Would be perfect as a piece of hacking tech in modern Kamigawa if Ninja wasn't a separate type. As is, we do know that the Dimir sometimes use the Izzet as a magitech development program (sometimes outright hiring them, more often through espionage and subterfuge), so an Izzet-sourced gauntlet with some sort of built-in smoke bomb or flashbang being used by a Dimir assassin would fit well enough.

Ballad of the Black Flag

I...don't know that we actually have any art of specifically the flags of Brazen Coalition ships? So it's not a given that they actually have black flags to line up with the name, but that also means that I can just decide they do and that can just be something that first becomes clear with the UniWit art for this.

Otherwise it fits fine, though: the tale (told by shanty, perhaps, if that's something that can be conveyed/implied through Saga-style art) of the humans and orcs of Torrezon fleeing across the ocean in search of better fortunes, and the often-violent steps they would take to claim and secure those fortunes.

Become Anonymous

Lazav, fading back into the obscurity of the crowd in the wake of the invasion. Could easily have very similar composition to the ACR art, though obviously that's far from a requirement. Just naturally leans into the same vibe.

Brotherhood Spy

Let me pull up the flavor text from the original Time Spiral printing of Assassinate:

The rulers of old Dominaria kept assassins on retainer. However, the true loyalty of these master killers was always to their peers. This elite brotherhood survived the fall of the old royal order.

That's right, Dominaria has a canonical brotherhood of assassins! That plane is the kitchen sink that keeps on giving. Given the context, that brotherhood presumably survived up until the Rift Crisis, so it may well still be around in the present day. The lack of specific information gives me plenty of freedom in interpreting the various "Brotherhood" cards in the set to fit that context.

In this case, there's plenty of space for flavor text to talk about the network of informants that support and assist the members of the brotherhood actually assigned the task of assassination.

Desynchronization

On an entirely different note (heh) from the rest of this post, I'd set this one at Strixhaven: with mundane music, the worst that happens when an orchestra falls out of sync is that the performance grinds to a halt after just sounding really bad for a bit. With music magic, discordance can have a much more tangible blowback, tightly woven harmonics pulling apart into a chaotic, concussive blast.

("Let's just...try it again from the top." -Zaffai, thunder conductor)

Eagle Vision

An Obscura-aligned eagle aven scoping out the location of an impending job - sometimes there's something to be said for taking a name literally.

Escape Detection

A suitably generic "Dimir sneakiness" effect.

Hookblade Veteran

Unlike the actual Hookblade, I don't think a mono-Blue Human Assassin lines up nearly as well with established Zendikar flavor. The best fit I can come up with is actually on Kaladesh; none of the night market-associated creature cards had the Assassin subtype, but it wouldn't be a stretch for Gonti to employ assassins, and a gauntlet with an integrated, extendable grappling hook would be real handy for Spiderman-ing around the spires of Ghirapur.

Loyal Inventor

Somehow the first Fioran card in this post: once she took the throne, the High Paliano Academy was subject to Marchesa's demands, and some of its finest minds now vie for her favor, presenting their newest, most cutting-edge inventions before the royal court.

Tranquilize

Sleeper Dart was an Ikorian card, so this is just a slightly different framing of the use of that same bit of poacher tech. Not exactly hard to make work elsewhere, but that's the most clean fit.

Assassin Initiate

I like to imagine Marchesa's used the resources of the crown to open an official (if not particularly publicized) royal school for assassins - the Renaissance equivalent to the CIA academy, basically. She didn't exactly cut ties with her old connections, but as the new seat of power in the high city, her eyes (and blades) need to extend far further, which means she needs more manpower. Conveniently, this card's got space for a solid four lines of flavor text to exposit about those developments.

Brotherhood Ambushers

As the most generic of the "Brotherhood" cards, this would probably be the card that exposits more broadly about the Dominarian assassin brotherhood as a whole, building on that Assassinate FT to talk about the position they fill in the modern day.

Brotherhood Patriarch

The death trigger points me toward the trope of "you become the master assassin by being the one to take out the current master assassin."

Hemlock Vial

The art and flavor text are both generic enough that they could probably just reprint the whole card exactly as-is aside from the frame and it'd work fine as a "UniWit" treatment. Otherwise, the obvious home for this is to ground it in Theros - probably Meletis in particular. They already did the same bit with Sip of Hemlock, but Theros isn't exactly averse to reusing tropes when necessary.

Merciless Harlequin

Appropriately for a design that's Blade Juggler but slightly to the left, this is a pitch-perfect fit for a Rakdos assassin.

Petty Larceny

Card name is a crime? Check. Card is mechanically a crime? Check. This definitely belongs on Thunder Junction - have Tinybones picking someone's pocket in the middle of a bar brawl. (Maybe show Vraska fighting in the background to help justify the Assassin-typal element.)

Phantom Blade

I'd go more classic-fantasy with this one, I think: a cursed sword that captured the soul of the first being it killed, becoming wreathed in ominous spectral energy. Feels right at home with the sword-and-sorcery vibes of Corondor on Dominaria, but off the top of my head I could also see it fitting pretty cleanly on Innistrad or Ixalan.

Poison-Blade Mentor

Another part of that Paliano assassin school - can't have students without people to teach them.

Restart Sequence

The grand prize of her daring heist was also her escape plan.

(Art: a ninja stands at a control panel in a dimly-lit Futurist laboratory, her hands flying across the screen as lines of light begin to glow across a prototype mech in the background as it starts up.)

I mostly try to keep Freerunning cards flavorfully tied to Assassins in particular, but there's some where it makes more sense to bend a little further, and this is pretty close to top of the list. It helps that Ninja and Assassin have pretty heavy overlap.

Headsplitter

Not all poachers favor range or stealth.

The two Ikorian cards with the Assassin type are both specifically archers, but poachers being able to be Assassins is the best way I've found to square "Headsplitter" implying an immensely un-assassin-y weapon while also specifically making an Assassin token. Thus, a poacher with a gnarly, Monster Hunter-esque bone blade. Probably not too big since it only gives +1/+0, but not exactly subtle.

Hidden Footblade

Stiletto heels, where the heel (or possibly the toe, depending on what would work best for the art) conceals a stiletto blade - I'm far from the first person to make that pun, but, well, if the shoe fits...

(Most natural fit in the multiverse for that concept is probably New Capenna, specifically the Cabaretti - elaborate fashion that's more practical/deadly than it appears is right up their alley.)

Labyrinth Adversary

That sure is a Minotaur card, all right. The specific callout to a labyrinth in the name means that probably the most natural fit for this is Theros. (Technically Ulgrotha also had minotaurs connected to labyrinths, but Theros actually has a modern visual identity to build off of, whereas Ulgrotha would be pretty close to starting from scratch, which is a hell of a tiebreaker.)

Monastery Raid

Another pretty literal one: Khans!Zurgo leading the sacking of a Jeskai monastery by a Mardu raiding party. (Leaning more into the "or commander" side of Freerunning here.)

Overpowering Attack

This one's more in line with the printed Assassin poachers than Headsplitter: Kelsien leading a veritable army of poachers armed with bows, raining hellfire down from atop a cliff onto a big monster below.

Hunter's Bow

This one works damn near anywhere, but putting it on Kaldheim (tying it to either the Kannah or the elves of Skemfar) tickles me because it means it could even keep the flavor text as-is if it wanted.

Palazzo Archers

The high throne of Paliano has been extensively guarded against the subtlest possible angles of attack, but that doesn't mean it leaves the more obvious approaches unguarded: the archers that watch the skies around it are sharp and well-armed.

Viewpoint Synchronization

The best idea I've got for this one is set on modern Kamigawa: a ninja watching a security feed displaying the views of several different cameras at once. Kind of mundane, but everything else I've come up with runs headlong into "how would an artist even convey this concept in a single piece of card art," so simple and literal carries the day.

Rooftop Bypass

Just a fairly straightforward bit of Dimir stealth/infiltration. Ravnica's not exactly short on options for rooftop travel.

Bleeding Effect

It's not quite a perfect color match, but the best fit I've come up with for this name and effect is the Order of Saint Traft, who willingly allowed themselves to be possessed by the geists of former cathars in cooperative union. In such a situation, it would make sense for the lines between the living and the dead to blur - becoming hard to tell where the skills and memories of one end and the other begin.

Bureau Headmaster

Another Fioran, in one respect or another. Could be another teacher at assassin school, could be positioned at the Paliano embassy (/assassin cell) on Thunder Junction (not really featuring in this half of the post, but one of the better throughlines I've been able to come up with the various mostly-legendary RW Assassins in the set). Probably a slightly better fit for the former, as a leading weapons teacher.

Brotherhood Regalia

The Dominarian brotherhood probably wants something approximating a unified visual identity anyway, so this is just the clearest portrayal of their garb.

Hidden Blade

The Dimir did more or less exactly this bit with Silent Dart in GRN, so this is just that again. One of those cases where someone who wanted to proxy could just directly lift another bit of Magic art and it would still work fine.

Smoke Bomb

Kamigawa feels like the best fit for a smoke bomb - either classic or modern. Solidly a ninja tool either way.

Towering Viewpoint

Another one that works basically anywhere, but I like the full-circle take of tying this to the Amonkhet version of Mighty Leap - making it a particularly tall obelisk in Naktamun that initiates would jump from, either as part of a trial, just on a dare, or as a statement of proof of their faith.

Brotherhood Headquarters

Could more or less swipe the flavor text from ACR Assassin's Den for this one, since it translates as basically the same beat: a covert base of operations hidden in plain sight in a major city. (In the context of modern Dominaria, that's New Benalia, New Argive, or possibly whatever the biggest city of Suq'ata or Femeref is these days.)

[placesyoucallhome]

FFXIVWrite #9 Fair

He didn’t invite people up to Azys Lla anymore. 

He wouldn’t take people on his ‘jobs’ out to most places at all anymore. Out on trips to Radz-at-Han, or Kugane, or wherever else? Sure, fanciful little vacations he had the ability to give people, wherever they wanted that he could reach, and he had quite a reach. But he no longer stole into castrums, crashed garlean vessels and hideouts, no longer scoured the Bozjan front for spare parts, no longer dealt with the worst of the underground he’d dug himself into so long ago. 

In truth he could barely remember why he’d ever done so in the first place. He wanted an airship, yes, he’s fairly sure that’s where it had started. He had stolen pieces and parts from the castrum up the cliffs from Costa, guns and schematics, sold in back alleys, realized working pieces when for far far more, more enough that it was worth taking the time to learn to do it himself. Step by step by step he’d dug further down thinking it was out. Then he had employees to look after, then he had strays he picked up. A pirate that refused to become a slaver, an expat desperate to save his father, a node that dreamed of freedom. 

He had blinked, and suddenly he was dressed in silk and gold. He hadn’t wanted that, it just, it got what everyone else needed. 

It turned out he was a good actor when it came down to it. He could be the gracious host, the chatty bartender, the charming captain, the ruthless merchant. He needed nothing, wanted for nothing, gave anything his people asked for, chipping away every part of him in favor of what was needed of him. 

Fair was fair. 

Yes, fair was fair, he thought, sitting in a dirty alcove, full of cobwebs and rot, in between humming machines churning out abomination after abomination on some random floating piece of hell the allagans had built. He would go into the places too dangerous for anyone else now, he would make the deals no one else could afford, get all the things they needed. He already had blood on his hands, what was more? His lungs burned, from exertion and the acrid chemicals leaking into the gears and wires, his arm burned, from the beam of light that had bore a hole right through. He blinked more blood from his eye, drying on his eyelashes. It was fair, he thought, pulling a flask out from his thigh boot with a shaky grip, he’d been damned from the start, so he owed it to give everything away. He would heal like nothing had ever happened, he would need to act like it too. He didn’t deserve to be saved, protected, and one day this would kill him. 

Not today, probably, he wouldn’t be that lucky to have earned it yet. 

A sip of warm rum wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, but he’d have to pick up and keep going before long. There was no rest for the wicked, he had chosen to be the villain in his own story.

[blackblood-n-redink]

itch

Hank has his usual place on the medical table, his body laid on the cold steel wearing only his boxers. fresh bandages were wrapped up along his scarred thighs and arms with Doc currently working on the gaping hole in his side. Hank glanced down to watch as Doc’s fingers worked, he was working with some tweezers as he was picking out shrapnel that was embedded in his flesh. Hank did feel pain, he’s just gotten so used to it so he really could care less.

He rolled his head back listening to the hum of the low hum of the light that was hanging above them. Something was itching at them for a while, crawling up his spine and worming it’s way around in his brain like some fucked parasite. It pissed them off, but it pissed them off more trying to figure it out.

"Why do you say it like that."

"What"

"My name."

Doc paused, turning his head slightly to look at him for a moment before continuing with picking at their flayed open side.

"Elaborate."

"Your tone. It’s different."

"What about my tone is different?"

"You don't sound like you're spitting it out when you say it.”

That had Doc quiet and a little more still than Hank liked, they usually notice him gently fidgeting by tapping his fingers on something or idly bouncing his leg but he was completely still, and stiff. Like he said something he shouldn’t have.

“What are you asking me?”

Hank grunted, even more confused than before. Why is this such a hard question for him to answer?

“I’m asking why.”

Doc set his tools down and rolled his chair over to look at Hank, setting his arm along the edge of the table.

“Maybe it’s because I’m the only one who can tolerate your stubborn ass.”

Hank huffed in response.

“Deimos and Sanford, they say it fine.”

Hank sat up slightly with a grunt with his elbows tucked under him, being sure not to piss Doc off by flexing his abdomen too much.

“But you say it nicer, why?”

Doc stood still for a moment and then rolled himself back over to the wound, smacking his hand against Hank’s arm.

“Lay back down I’m not done.”

Hank let out a grunt and dropped himself back down with a dull thump. Asking this got them nowhere and it pissed them off more.

Why the hell does Doc care so much, sure they’ve known each other for a while and whatever the hell but it’s just how it is. They die or get mangled to hell, Doc brings em back and Hank continues to do his work for him and in return Doc gets information about the other place and whatever shit he needs taken care of. Hank is the rifle and Doc is the scope.

And Doc has branches all over the place, all sorts of grunts he deals with.

But why does Doc act different around them, treat Hank differently.

Hank is used to special treatment in the way of a whole agency hunting him down and everyone wanting to get their hands on them just to snuff out every drop of life in their body.

But this is different, Hank could care less but it’s been confusing him and itching at him more and more. Is Doc up to something? He knows Doc is smart, smart enough to really pull strings where he needs it.

And It’s not like Doc needs to keep Hank on a leash, they’re both very able to kill each other if they wanted to and they both know this.

“You care too much about me.”

Hank finally spoke up after letting the gears churn in his skull.

Doc let out an irritated and almost tired huff, at this point he was treading a hooked needle to get to work stitching the mangled meat together.

“Do you really need to be asking me these questions right now?”

“Yes.”

Doc just grunted, mindlessly continuing as Hank studied whatever facial expression he had even when they couldn’t see his face.

“Why does it matter to you.”

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer”

Doc pushed the needle through one fold of the skin and through the other, starting in the first stitch.

“We’ve worked together for years, I feel like you should know that I’m going to treat you differently than anyone else who just works with you because they have to or because they hate you.”

Hank grunted in response, deciding he's bored of trying to ask and that's probably the best answer he’s gonna get.

“-And because you’re close to me.”

close?

“The hell does that mean?”

Doc tugged a little harder in the stitching to jostle Hank around.

“you’re a dumbass, you know that?”

Yeah they’ve been told that several times already, and each time doesn’t hold more weight than any other time. But the way Doc says it never feels bitter, but often just more blunt and amused instead of an insult. But they’re getting somewhere though with this.

Hank let out a chuff in amusement, staring up at the ceiling.

“So you like me?”

“Yeah maybe I do.”

that was more of a joke but somehow that kinda rolled around in their head more than they expected. Noone ever likes him besides liking him dead. They regret starting this.

“What is that what you wanted to hear?”

It was Doc’s turn to poke at them now, he was halfway done with sewing up the gash but he paused to lean over and stare at Hank who stared right back at him.

“I say your name the way I say it because I like you.”

Hank lets out an amused huff, almost a scoff.

“People don’t like me.”

Doc chuckled slightly

“I know, it’s why I keep having to piece you together.”

“Why.”

“That’s a loaded question, I don’t have time for it.”

fair, probably wouldn’t want to open that. Hank didn’t feel like having to think of all this deeper than he already is. They just needed to get that parasite in their head to shut up.

It was enough to shut them up, and Doc was right back to stitching up his side. Moments like this were always good though, they loved the rush of running, beating into and ripping into whatever was in their way, the burning in their lungs and skin and hurting so much and hurting so good. But they gotta admit, they like being able to lay here for a while. It’s not boring when they’ve got the stimulus of pain keeping them busy and the only person they feel even remotely comfortable with being the one to piece him together instead of him having to fumble and work to restore himself. They like the noise of their work but they also like the quietness of being back at Doc’s place.

guess he sorta liked Doc too.