#but your heart threads these bits and does the fic 'oh' before you even read it

[mister-eames]

Anyway, thinking about formative OTPs from your youth slash childhood, yknow, the ones before you even know what shipping or fanfic is, and how they are not so much the blueprint for subsequent OTPs but the first thing that makes every nook and cranny in your brain go ding ding ding !!!!! and in a world of contrived media it makes your heart swell and bellow: that's love!! that's chemistry!!!

and suddenly it's been twenty years and it's a friday night and you come to an abrupt understanding of why the fics you're reading now make you feel like you're 12 years old again and discovering shipping for the first time - because maybe you weren't watching or reading the thing for a ship but your heart stops traffic all over again, points, and says: that's love!!! that's chemistry!!

[ghostsy]

Birds of Prey

WARNINGS: yandere, nsfw, noncon, abuse, blood, possessiveness, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment

A/N: the fic i wanted to post is taking too long, so pls enjoy a not very short, not very sweet, slightly unhinged hawks drabble

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! HAWKS X READER

“You’re mine, you know?”

“You’re insufferable, you know?” 

A laugh, deep and raspy, filled the space between them as his head fell back in surprise. Though, the fingers digging like claws into the skin of her waist betrayed his irritation.

He brought his face to her own, smile turning razor sharp; that ever present glint in his eyes, while entertained, sparked with a dare she was too stubborn to ignore, no matter the ensuing consequences.

“Pretty pretty Bird,” His tongue poked out from his canines, swiping up to lick the tip of her nose, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Rather than recoil in disgust, she leaned closer, fingers threading in his golden locks, “Selfish, mindless, animal,” Each word enunciated with a sharp tug, “Ruin all you like,” Her lips brushed against his ear, and she was met with a pleasured groan, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

“Fuck,” His hips bucked upwards, his clothed hardness grinding against her in a failed attempt to soothe the growing ache, “You promise?”

It was her turn to laugh; it was sharp and spiteful, and she leaned back on his lap to meet his eyes, hands falling to his face to trace the sharp curve of his jaw in resigned admiration, “What makes you think you’ll like it?”

His own hands trailed from her waist to squeeze at the fat of her thighs, fingers sinking like talons as they spread her further, pulling her into him.

“Oh, my pretty Bird,” A hand moved to brush under her shirt, ghosting against the skin, and bringing goosebumps to the surface, “If it���s you,” Dextrous, devious fingers worked their way underneath her bra, “I’ll love it.” 

Despite her resolve, a whimper escaped her lips, and the predator under her pounced, shoving her back onto the mattress below them.

Blood red wings spread behind him, and eyes glowing with the celebration of premature victory, he looked like some harbinger of death, beautiful in all his glory, but come to rip her to shreds, and feast on her insides with that golden smile.

She wasn’t far off, she realized bitterly. Though, her chance at revenge came sooner than anticipated when he dove forward, shoving his tongue past her parted lips, licking the taste of her mouth from inside while he tore at her clothes.

And, steeling her nerves, she bit down, teeth tearing into the intruder, replacing the taste of spit with syrupy copper. Her reward came in the form of a strangled groan as he ripped himself from her.

“Fuck—!” A curse, low and raspy with the interruption of dribbling blood.

The sight before her was enough to send her heart leaping to her throat, embers of satisfaction dying as quickly as they lit. If he had looked like a harbinger of death before, now, with the back of his hand swiping crimson to smear across his cheek, feathers puffed and poised to attack, and hair falling to shadow his eyes, the man above her was a type of demon king she tried to force herself not to regret awakening.

He spat to the side, blood dripping from his lips, and turned back to her with a smile more sinister and sharp than she thought him capable of showing. Slowly, he pulled at his own shirt to reveal a body too sculpted and too pretty to belong to him.

“Caged Bird has teeth, does she?” He breathed, “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, baby.”

“The only game I’m interested in,” She growled, “Is one where you lose.”

She had already scanned the room when she’d woken up dizzy and groggy and surrounded by a space all too familiar but not her own. He hadn’t even bothered with chains. Cocky bastard. There was no place to go where he couldn’t follow, but she’d be damned if she just laid there and took it.

She held her breath, and the pause between them was interrupted by a low, building chuckle that raised in volume and pitch until he fell forward in a fit of giggles underlaid with a twisted and angry amusement.

Lifting his gaze to hers, she found his eyes burning through her with the giddy anticipation of a hawk playing with its food. The condescension was enough to stroke her own need to fight, and she forced a sardonic smile despite her growing unease.

“What? Too much?” Swollen lips pulling into a sneer, “I thought you said you’d love it if I ruined you.”

He snorted, eyes moving to sweep across her body: fabric hanging in threads from her skin, lacey undergarments serving as her only decoration, traces of his blood smearing her lips, and tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. Too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of falling. God, did he love this woman.

“Between the two of us, little Bird,” He leaned forward, taking her jaw in a bruising grip, and forced her gaze to his own, “I’d say you’re plenty ruined yourself.”

There was a twitch in her brow that sated his ego, and he pushed forward to give her a peck, retreating with the quickness of a man who had learned his lesson. For now, he reminded himself.

“Though,” Still, he couldn’t help but push, “Not nearly ruined enough.”

And he surged forward, taking her throat in one hand, and forced her backwards into the pillow; her legs flailed while her hands shot up to claw at his own. It was time to give her a little lesson of his own.

He settled himself between her thighs, ripping the last of her coverings to leave her bare and thrashing. Her heels kicked at his back, lips parting in short, sharp gasps.

“Fuck–fucking–” A strangled whine, “Bast–bastard–”

“Come on now, Birdie,” He leaned forward, fingers flexing, “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” Nose to nose, his canines gleaming, “You don’t say anything at all.”

With the twitch of her jaw, she pursed her lips, refusing to consider the consequences, and sent a glob of spit flying right at his face, watching with glee as it splattered under his eye. 

He jerked back in surprise, releasing her neck to swipe at the offended cheek. Through a fit of raspy coughs, her chest sparked with a sort of vindicated satisfaction.

Her victory was short lived, however, and a burning smack echoed in the empty space, whipping her face sideways, a ringing in her ears growing to match her blurring vision. The strength of a hero, she thought sarcastically.

It was her turn to spit out blood, before her eyes rolled back to him, angry, but cautious. His fingers worked at his belt buckle, and he shirked off his pants in her momentary incapacitation, entirely unbothered by his own sudden show of violence. 

She did her best to avoid looking at the monster between his legs, and, like any sign of weakness, he seized the opportunity to mock her.

“Fight all you like, pretty Bird,” A hand was back on her throat, tight, but not squeezing, “But you and I both know this only ends one way.”

She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but the ache of bruised pride burning in her chest insisted on hurting him back. Hurting him more than he would ever hurt her. Because he would hurt her.

Her hands moved back to his chest, pushing as he wrenched her thighs apart, “Fucking villain,” She’d lost her appetite for this game of theirs, opting instead to let her acidic resentment pour outwards, “Get off.” After all, words were her only true defense.

In a flash his free hand took hold of one frantic wrist, “Villain? I can be a villain,” His face twitched in irritation, and her bones screamed under the force of his fingers, “Keep pushing, and I’ll break it.” 

The sudden flip had her hands falling limp, retreating in shock once he released her wrist, and balling into fists beside her head. And as fast as it came, the darkness left him, only that treacherous smugness remaining.

She cursed herself for her fear, put off by the unpredictability of his own emotional landmines. But still, she squared her face back to a disdained neutral, unwilling to show more weakness than he’d already sniffed out.

He pumped at his length, positioning it at her entrance. She was damp, but not nearly prepared enough for the size of him, and he hummed, fingers dipping down to toy at her clit, sending her hips jolting upwards in regretful anticipation.

“Say something nice, baby,” He breathed lazily, “Say something nice, and I’ll make you feel good, too.”

There was a beat as they stared at each other, “I…” She whispered, a growing conflict in her eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against her own.

“Yeah?” His hot breath spread across her cheeks, “C’mon Birdie, I wanna hear something pretty come from that filthy mouth of yours.”

They were nose to nose, golden eyes piercing into her own, each pair glowing with emotions too loud to speak, “I,” Breathy and wanton, “Would,”

“Yeah? You’d what?”

“Rather fucking die.”

For the hundredth time that night he was taken aback, incredulous laughter his only response as he pulled away from her, eyes snapping back to her own with a promise he’d been eager to fulfill.

“Suit yourself,” And he shoved inside.

A yelp, surprised and pained, “Fuck–!”

He was only halfway in, and rather than let her adjust, he sunk his nails into her thighs as leverage, and forced himself further. She whined in pain, a coat of crimson serving as response around his pulsing length, and he moved to trap her hands in his own, fingers intertwined.

“Tight like a virgin, huh, little Bird?” Once fully sheathed, he set a brutal pace, the head of his cock bruising her cervix with each greedy thrust. His face dipped down to lick a stripe up her stomach, trailing marks up her chest and throat with gnashing tongue and teeth.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She bit out, trying and failing to pull her hands from his crushing grip, “Wouldn’t know wet pussy if it—mmgh!—if it smacked you in the face.”

He huffed another laugh, “Don’t tempt me, baby,” His hands released her own to dig into the fat of her ass as he pulled her hips upwards and into his own with a renewed violence, grunting as her knees dug spitefully into his sides. 

Her newly free fingers clawed at his back, and despite his earlier threat, he seemed to revel in the streaks of red she tore in the skin between his wings, responding in kind with a hiss of masochistic pleasure.

“Not my fault the only way to get your dick wet,” A sharp, pained gasp, “Is to make a girl bleed.”

There was a glint in his eye that brought back her unease, and one of his sinful hands flew to the space where they met, finger pressing with irritating accuracy into her bundle of nerves. His other readjusted to push one leg to her chest, pausing his movement.

“Pain not a good enough lesson for you?” A too bright smile, “Fine with me,” That gleam in his eye sparkled with a sadistic satisfaction, “How ‘bout we see how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out.”

And the thrusts returned, chasing his own pleasure while the hand at her clit swirled in circles and stars, faster and faster until a whine more pleasured than pained escaped her lips.

“Like you–fuck–” She groaned as his fingers sped their motions, cock rocking into her with a deliciously savage rhythm she dared not acknowledge, “Like you fucking could–” A moan, full and long, drowned out her words, and her nails dug crescents into his shoulders.

He only hummed in response, her clit twitching under his thumb, “What’s that, Birdie?” A pulsing ache formed in her gut, “Words, baby, use your words,” Her pussy squeezed against his member in a way that had him groaning.

“Fuck you.”

“With pleasure, little Bird.”

He drew his hips back, pulling out of her dripping entrance to tease the hole with his tip, before diving back inside with unfairly gratifying precision against that spongy, tingling spot inside of her. Faster and faster, her bundle of nerves pulsed greedily under his fingers, and her teeth tore into her lip, trying to will the pleasure away, or, more shamefully, will it to peak.

Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blooming inside her that had her eyes rolling backwards, open mouthed moans raising in volume in an attempt to settle the warm buzzing between her thighs.

Though, she couldn’t find it within herself to care about the knowing smirk that pulled at his lips, too focused on his continued thrusts, and the quick rebuild of overwhelming pleasure.

“What are you–Stop!” A groan as he released her clit in favor of throwing both of her legs over his shoulders, and pressed against her chest, fucking into her at an angle that had her seeing stars, “What are you doing?!”

“If I’m correct, baby Bird,” He smiled, turning to press a quick kiss to her thigh, “You’re still conscious,” She growled as he nipped at the skin, but a particularly harsh push inside her cut the murderous thoughts short, “Which means we’ve still got a ways to go.”

His words were smug, but the growing sloppiness of his movements betrayed his own pleasure. Her eyes widened in realization, and her fingers leapt to pull and push at his back, tearing at what feathers she could reach in an attempt to get him off of her. Get him out of her.

“Not inside,” She rasped, “Don’t do it inside–”

“Hmm?” A mocking tilt of his head, “No? You don’t want me to fill you up?” One hand shifted to deliver a harsh slap to her ass, “Breed you like a needy little bitch?”

“Fucking—get off—get off!” She shrieked, beating at his shoulders, “Fucking psycho!”

“Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” His hips were stuttering, and before she could stop herself, the words shot out through her lips.

“Please,” A couple stray, humiliated tears as she whimpered his name, “Please, not inside. Please, don’t cum inside!”

“Oh, so you do know how to talk pretty,” He breathed, fingers massaging at her abused flesh, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Please,” She swallowed her spit and her pride, “Please–”

“That’s right,” He was panting now, lips meeting her neck, teeth sinking in to add to the ring of bruises, “Beg me some more.”

Throwing her dignity out the window, she obliged, pleas working in tandem with the savage strokes of his cock, trying and failing to ignore her own mounting pleasure until finally he stilled, pouring deep inside her with a raspy groan, and sending her once again over that dreaded and savored edge.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?” He ignored the defeated, broken whines that left her while they both returned to reality, “You’re mine.”

As his eyes trailed down the collage of her forming bruises, he was sure he bore his own battle scars, heart strangely skipping at the thought. She was his, but he had long belonged to her. A fact he’d hoard to himself as long as he could.

He caught his breath, readjusting to brush sweaty strands of hair from her forehead to behind her ear, pressing a reverent kiss to her temple before pulling away. It was a gesture entirely too soft, and she could have forgotten it was the monster above her had it not been for his next words.

“Oh don’t cry, my broken little Bird,” That vicious golden grin was back, “I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

Looking down at the ruined little thing shaking underneath him, he felt a type of satisfaction one only gets from dethroning a queen, fight fucked out of her. Not for good, he reminded himself gleefully. His pretty Bird was too stubborn for that. His softening cock twitched to life at the thought.

The flare of her nostrils sent lightning in his veins as she growled, “I’ll ruin you,” The words were venomous, humor sucked out in favor of acidic hatred, but his chest only vibrated with a sadistic urge to play, “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“Ruin all you like, baby,” Breath wet and hot, shaking with anticipation, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

[brianwashere]

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

[roguedruid]

"Oh great druid this humble petitioner asks for your recommendations on fics you did not write but enjoyed greatly I look forward to getting your top 15."

Uhhhh Damn. Hold on. Lets seee..... I can give you eleven- in no particular order- that come to mind with a bit of searching. but questioner- I read so many fics. This is gonna be a crapshoot of fandoms, so hold on. Of Harrowed Hearts by Sable_Scribe: A Naruto fic which is sadly unfinished- but had an awesome vibe and really dives into the characterization of the Konoha 12 and their potential. It does have Naruto/Sasuke vibes- but when it last left off the slow burn was slow and Sasuke was barely realizing his emotions. The Games We Play by Ryuugi: It's posted on Spacebattles origionally- but it's been reposted a few other places. It's massive- nearly a million words. This was my first real 'Massive fic' i followed as it was updating- and my real intro to Space Battles/Sufficent Velocity as fanfic sites. Also- first Gamer fic that went *way* into the power scaling and endgame stuff. Jaune in this story escalates hard as fuck. I'm talking supernatural kung fu, elemental powers, the ability to destroy cities- And his threats are scary enough to match it. This was before Salem for most of the story- but the Grimm that show up are terrifying. Keeping on the forums real fast- Two Quests (Essentially reader driven stories) deserve to be on this list. Xander [Quest] by one Judge Mental is another of those Monolithic kind of reading experiences. it's massive- on a word count I can't even figure out- spread across like 28 threads. it starts as a simple premise- You are Alexander Harris- and you are born as the reincarnation of Ganondorf. Yeah- that Ganondorf. Things only escalate past that point- to where the last i checked we were possibly the strongest sorcerer on earth- and only 12.

"A Geeks Guide: CORE" series by Sage_of_Eyes. Again, monolithic in scope- it's a complete reimagining of the Highschool DXD mythology (yes, the ecchi novels/anime. Yes it's way deeper then it deserves. Yes, it's also metal as fuck)

Swerving back from forums:

A Drop of Poison by Angel Of Snapdragons: Naruto's Shadow Clones are fucking crazy- and if you've ever wanted to see the power fantasy of them escalating non stop- this is the good shit. Drifting by AlphaDelta1001: More Naruto- but this one has some of my favorite 'Kinda Genius' Naruto moments. It mixes up the timelines, throws in a completley revamped Chuunin exam, introduces tones of new characters- and completely revamps Naruto's methods- if you ever got bored of 'it's all Rasengan' in canon- this is definitely a suggestion.

From Fake Dreams by Third Fang: Fate Stay/Night. Supercharged. This is a bit of a controversal pick- mainly because Third Fang is one of those authors who's sense of humor is... off. Just a bit of that old school Shonen Jump Pervert vibe in the background- snarky comments and purile humor creep around the corners of his writing- but FFD is still immensly fun to read. The power creep- already high as fuck in Canon FSN- goes so high. Where recently Shirou isn't fighting Servants- But True Ancestors. Son of the Western Sea by Mac_Ceallach: If you want Percy Jackson going solo on a world-wide adventure- this is it. its after the War for New York, before the romans showed up- and Its got Percy just... being cool vibing. Hitting into other myths by accident. In contrast, if you want some true off the rocker Percy- An Impractical Guide to Godhood by Antony444 It's technically a crossover with A practical guide to Evil- but if you ever wanted to see olympus and the rest of the percy jackson verse just... implode with chaos? This is it. Flooding Hades with the flaming river- beating Ceaser in Gladatorial Events, fucking with the olympians? This goes hard. The Many Quirks Of Phantom Thievery by PsychicBeagle Persona 5, reloaded. Featuring New Game+ shenanagains, plenty of romance and memes, and puns. If you're a P5 fan, I highly reccomend it. It's Time For Another Good Idea, Bad Idea by Haurvatat: This is a weird one- for one it's Solo leveling, so it's fandom was kinda niche. on the other... It's got Cannabilism in it. But! As a Cook? this is a guilty pleasure fic. The cooking scenes are all written like Binging with Babish episodes, the humor is on point, there's actual stakes and emotions- theres closure? What more does a fic need.

[alwerakoo]

Baby Blue (Chapter 4)

Rise of the TMNT Leonardo/Yuichi Usagi Chapter 4 of a longer fic THIS IS PART OF A SERIES - might be confusing to read without context

AO3

--- They sit in silence for a moment before Leo finally asks:

“Is that why you live with your aunt?” Out of his entire family, Usagi mentioned her the most. Which is an honor on a par with being the largest slice of pineapple on a Hawaiian pizza. Which was quite an achievement, seeing as in most cases they were only neutral statements or anecdotes. “Mhm.” Usagi shifts a little further, to the side, so that he can better watch the hazy horizon, which Leo accepts with only a slight disappointment.

Not that he lets it be known, because these kinds of thoughts did not fit their current conversation in any way, and really, it all made him feel rather embarrassed. “Me and my brother,” Usagi adds. He picks up the plushie, previously thrown aside, brushing the dust off the green material in an almost apologetic gesture. And then he reaches out his hands, promptly handing the toy over to Leo.

Obediently, Leo takes it in a slightly awkward hold. “Oh, right.” It's easy to forget that Usagi is not an only child. True, he didn't have the same little, annoying habits as April (who still hasn't gotten used to the concept of sharing), but Leo always had a hard time imagining siblings he doesn't treat as extensions of himself.

He's not sure which of them is more normal in this aspect – him or Usagi. Probably neither.

“Yeah, exactly.” “So, I guess you two also 'don't get along'?” Leo asks, purely rhetorically.

“We don't,” Usagi replies, not without a hint of bitterness.

He clearly wants to add something more, and Leo has no intention of rushing him.

His friend leans forward a bit, twisting a loose thread from his pants around his finger. Leo wonders if he's cold in just his undershirt. He probably is.

For a moment he considers offering him his hoodie, and then he realizes how stupid it sounds, even in his own head.

“I guess he never quite forgave me for killing our mom,” says Usagi. “Fucking hell,” says Leo. He suddenly feels very grateful for the stuffed animal on his lap, mostly because he has something to hold onto tightly. With some care, because his claws could use a little trimming. “Was that too weird to say?” Usagi asks. He's probably just embarrassed, because he raises his shoulders, hunching slightly, as if trying to curl into himself as much as possible. “That's...” Leo thinks for a moment. The thought that he doesn't have to worry too much about the usual rules of social interaction fills him with peace. The thought that Usagi might honestly believe what he's saying �� something bitter.

The anger is sudden, but not unexpected; it's lighting a match he's been holding onto for a while now. It has a familiar shape; something like how he always feels when he sees Raph with Splinter. Fierce and protective. Even if this is different. There's a certain understanding in Usagi's voice, an acceptance of the painful truth. It's not soaked in denial, some sad version of love. Usagi knows his family doesn't like him. Leo knows his father can't stand him. But only one of them is able to admit it without a shadow of shame. “Did he tell you that?” Leo asks. Something in his tone must betray how hard his hearts are beating, because Usagi frowns, studying his face. Leo wonders if he can read the truth just from his eyes, like Raph does. Probably not. Maybe it's a part of Leo reserved exclusively for his oldest brother. “No,” Usagi admits, but there's something stubborn in his voice. “But I know he thinks that.” He was wrong. Usagi was bitten. He can see it now; all the short and long, and pink, and faded scars he's covered in. And yet he doesn't hesitate for a moment, as if to him, everything that Leo holds hidden deep inside himself, is as easy to say as objective truth. (Things like the thought that he might hate his father. Or that he doesn't hate him as much as he should.)

He speaks like he knows his place in all of this. Like there's some peace to be had after the initial realization that not all love can be unconditional.

Leo has been living in it for over ten years. He doesn't think there's anything waiting for him on the other side. “That's stupid,” Leo says. “You know it's stupid, right?”

Usagi doesn't answer for a moment, looking back at the horizon. “Even if I did, I was, like, one minute old,” he says. “I think I can be forgiven.” “It wasn't you.” “Then what?” Usagi looks at him again. “The doctor?” It sounds like a completely honest question, which isn't all that weird for Usagi, but it still throws Leo off his rhythm for a moment. Enough so that he finally stops tightening his fingers around the innocent plushie's neck. “Well...” He thinks for a moment. Thinking slows his beating heart a bit, at least one of them. “Most likely, probably an infection. Or a hemorrhage.”

Usagi nods, like they were having a perfectly normal conversation and coming to perfectly normal conclusions.

“Sounds about right,” he says.

Leo presses his lips together, considering his words for a moment. “Parents are overrated,” he finally says, because he thinks it might make Usagi laugh. It does. “Trust me, I know something about that.” “Hmm. Lou Jitsu is overrated?”

Leo grimaces, wrinkling his nose. Then he quickly realizes it probably makes him look like Donnie, so he stops. “Never meet your heroes,” he says. “Don and Mikey can attest to that.”

He knows that Usagi is only joking, but the thought that he might actually meet Splinter one day fills him with a new kind of fear. And anger. Usagi nods. “Donnie really hates your dad,” he says. Leo knows that, but the revelation that his brother's feelings are so sincere that even Usagi knows about them fills him with a wave of rather complicated feelings. Mostly good ones. He raises his hand reflexively, smoothing over his chest where he can feel Donnie's heartbeat. “He has his reasons.” He doesn't want the conversation to turn to his family (or rather, to one of its members). Firstly, because he's trying to be a good friend, and secondly – because he's a coward. “Listen,” he says, leaning down to look him in the eye. “If you ever need to... Take a break from your family, you can always call me.”

Perhaps 'you can always come over' would be a slightly nicer offer, but also an impossible one for many reasons, only some of which involved his father. “Thanks.” Usagi tilts his head, resting his cheek on his shoulder. “I usually just go over to your brothers'. Mr. Barry said I'm always welcome.” Leo's eyes widen a little in surprise. “He did?”

Usagi smiles a little “No.” Before Leo can respond in any way, the pocket of his hoodie buzzes to life. He reaches into it, pulling out his phone, and gives his friend an apologetic smile when he reads the name in the middle of the screen. A name and a pizza emoji, because ever since it became his exclusive property, Raph had saved all the contacts on their old phone in a pictogram form. Leo isn't entirely sure why, but there's something funny about it, and definitely worth mocking.

He swipes on the screen, lifting the phone to his ear. “What's up?” And then the smile on his face falls completely. Leo jumps to his feet, so abruptly that he almost trips over his own legs. He reaches behind his back, grabbing his sword. “What do you mean prison?”

***

When Leo sees his brother again, he seems to be in a much better mood than when he left him. He sensed it even during the phone conversation. Raph has one of those smiles you can hear even in his voice – one of the few traits he shares with Mikey. (Sometimes, Leo wondered whether it might be a trait they both inherited from Splinter. But he's never seen him smile enough to notice.) “Hey!” Raph raises a hand, waving as he meets them halfway. Leo catches up to his brother before the portal even starts to close, gripping his forearms and pulling him closer. Up close, Raph seems mostly unharmed. Leo shakes him lightly, just to be sure. “What do you mean prison?” He's not angry. More impressed, because although the game of 'Who would end up in jail the fastest?' stopped having any significance in their family since Mikey came into the picture, Raph has never been high on Leo's personal list. He hadn't been on it at all, actually. But his brother seems rather unfazed by the whole experience, if not quite the opposite, which definitely calms Leo's already frayed nerves. “You went to prison without me?” He adds with theatrical drama, shaking his brother once more. Raph lets him.

“Hi, Usagi.” Raph nods in greeting, clearly just for the sake of ignoring Leo. “Look at the shirt I got.”

His plastron is now adorned with a white T-shirt, spelling out: 'I WENT TO THE BATTLE NEXUS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SHIRT'. The font and color scheme are one of the worst Leo has ever seen, and he's pretty sure Raph wasn't wearing it earlier that day. Mainly because he wouldn't let him leave the house in it. Some of the spikes on his shell have already torn through the material, but Raph seems unbothered by it. “I have one like this, too.” Usagi nods in appreciation, like it's something to be proud of. “Are you going to tell us what happened or not?” Leo reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Did you text the others?” “I called.”

Just in case, Leo sends Donnie another text. He gets a somewhat vague reply, that mostly conveys that it will take them a few more minutes to get to the Hotel. Leo asks if a portal wouldn't be a more convenient method of transportation, to which Donnie responds with a very firm ''no''.

Leo chooses not to think too hard about it. Raph's story turns out to be as simple, as it is absurd and hard to believe. Leo, sitting across from his brother with his legs pulled up on the couch, taps his finger against his cheek, slowly digesting all of his words. Usagi mostly just seems amused, munching on another biscuit and squeezing his dinosaur in the crook of his elbow. “But you don't even look the same,” Leo snorts, looking at the poster on the table. “That's what I told them.” Raph shrugs. Leo hears the faint sound of thread tearing. “That's racist,” he says. “What happened to those guys?” “The ones you helped rob the police.” Usagi lets out a short laugh. “Don't laugh,” Leo scolds, but only gently, and only because Raph has a bit of special treatment today. “Raph doesn't do well under pressure.” Raph raises his shoulders a little, clearly embarrassed. “I don't know. Big Mama said she'd take care of them.” He straightens up a little, almost beaming at the memory. “She's really nice, you know?” Big Mama and Raph had met only once before, and under less than favorable circumstances. Personally, Leo still kept her on a long leash. It wasn't often that he met someone like her. Someone full of energy and charisma, and wit, and fake in almost every way. In a way, she reminded him of himself. It made something in his chest tighten painfully and irrevocably. Sometimes, he felt the same way about Mikey. But Mikey was his brother, and that made all the difference. But if Big Mama was as charming and pampering with Raph as she was with Leo, he couldn't really blame him. “I know,” he says, short and clipped. Leo isn't entirely sure where Big Mama might be right now, but she left Raph in a room with a thickly draped curtains, soft couches, water, and a plate of biscuits (now almost completely empty), so he doesn't hold it against her that much. “She was really nice,” Raph repeats, wringing his fingers a little. “And she said I could visit her anytime I wanted.” At that, Leo frowns a little. There's a strange feeling rising in his chest; one he tucks away deep in the back of his mind to reconsider at another time. “You should.” Usagi nods eagerly. He's still holding onto Leo's yo-yo, which fills him with a unique sense of pride. “They serve awesome salmon on Thursdays.” That seems to catch Raph's attention, but before he has a chance to add anything else, the door to the side of the room bursts open with a sudden bang, slamming against the wall. Leo quickly realizes why the paint in that particular corner has so many white gaps. Mikey reaches the couch in just a few steps. “Raph!” He reaches out, wrapping his arms around his brother's neck from behind and leaning forward, probably so he can shout into his ear more easily.

“Hey, Mikey.” Mikey squeezes his arms tighter (which might've hurt if it was anyone other than Raph), pressing a loud kiss to his cheek. “I’m very proud,” he says, and he does sound it. “For going to prison?” April asks, emerging from the hallway, just behind Donnie. Her hair and cape are slightly stained with soot. Leo wonders if it has anything to do with the blossoming bruise on Donnie’s arm. “Of course,” Mikey confirms. “Prison is a very important stage of development.” “Oh,” Donnie huffs, running his hands over his staff. “But when I-”

“Because you wouldn’t survive in there,” Mikey cuts him off, firmly. Leo bites his cheek, like he’s actually thinking deeply about something. “You’d kill everyone there and then yourself,” he states finally. Donnie looks at him for a moment, tilts his head, then shrugs, as if that’s not the worst scenario.

“And what happened to you?” Usagi finally asks, staring intently at April's shoes.

Or her foot, because she somehow managed to lose one of them.

Leo only listens to their story with one ear.

Maybe that's unkind of him, but the whole day has left a mark so intense that he feels it in his bones. He's tired, in all the possible ways, pressing his shell into the back of the couch so hard that he almost sinks into it. But somewhere between the lines, Raph shifted to sit beside Leo, letting him rest his cheek on his shoulder, which was nice.

He quickly straightened up again, as soon as he realized that Usagi was still in the room with them, but it was the gesture itself that mattered.

Now, Raph nudges him gently, leaning in and lowering his voice, as if he could actually shout over April and Donnie's heated argument. “How was your date?”

Leo blinks.

Suddenly, he feels a lot more awake. He straightens up, running his hands over his shoulders and nervously glancing at Usagi. “It wasn't a date,” he lies. “Oh. Sorry, I assumed,” Raph says. But then he frowns, looking at him with something almost worried on his face. “Was that homophobic?” For a moment, Leo only looks at him in silent disbelief. “What?” Leo feels his lips stretch into a smile. “Whatever,” Raph huffs, slightly offended. Leo laughs quietly, resting his forehead against his shoulder for a moment.

***

On their way to The Lair, Usagi sends him a text. >And when do you talk about your home life? Leo replies: <Wait and see.

[wawamouse]

[sprints to your inbox to bother you about your fic] HI. ⭐️ for any of your Miguel/Chico fic or scenes that you feel like talking about? (I was going to say the bit with Miguel praying in Light On Water, but then I realized that leads directly into the smut and might be weird to ask you to expound on.)

Hehe, well I don't mind expounding on that, smut in fiction is the same as an action scene to me.

Writing the prayer scene in "Light On Water" was reaaally fun, altho it also involved a fair amount of research, me not being Catholic or growing up around Catholicism. I mentioned it in response to one of your comments, I believe, but I was writing LOW at the time that I started writing "Saving Sympathy", the soulmark AU. Specifically, I started writing SS on break from writing the post-prayer smut of Light On Water. So, the Catholic elements threaded into SS are a lot due to the fact that I already had Miguel's religious hang ups in mind. But, with "Light On Water", I didn't really want to make Miguel's main conflict all "~oh no, homosexuality is a sin~". I feel like that's too obvious. No, in that fic, Miguel gets assigned penance because he expresses that he's not sorry he engaged in fighting/violence on Chico's behalf (tho he doesn't name him). I think Miguel's real conflict should be that he isn't repentant for some of what he's done, and this bothers him because in the back of his mind, he still wants to be rehabilitated, and on the right path, but obviously if he's committing what are seen to be sins, that's not happening. And still, even more, he's not sorry because it just doesn't feel like something that's wrong to him. Of course he's going to commit violence if it means helping Chico—they're friends. (Yes, he does also vaguely want to bone Chico at this point, but at the heart of it, LOW is a friends to lovers take on Miguel/Chico, so I wanted to develop something between them that was also a platonic love) (Chico saving he loves Miguel in that fic, while, yeah, he does also, if he were to go from his perspective, also want to fuck Miguel at that point, when he says "I love you" he does also mean it in an entirely brotherly way, imo).

Looool, but yeah, but yes, the prayer scene! The prayer scene! Another thing I think is that in this fic, Miguel does wish Chico was more godly or religious than he is—he's not going to push it because he's not zealous or anything, but in this fic, I did try to write him more in the vein of someone who holds faith close to his heart and at least subconsciously thinks it's truly a loss for Chico that he doesn't really attend mass or go to confession as he once did (although Miguel completely understands why, and feels conflicted himself, once they kill Skinny Mike and he knows he can't in good conscious go to Confession anymore, either). On the flip side, as we've talked about before, Chico is someone who values community so I think while in the Speak Low universe, he is to some degree actually agnostic or doesn't think about it much anymore, he still remembers that aspect of mass. He also remembers the prayers, and imo (bc I didn't explicitly write this observation anywhere, so this is somewhat of a headcanon), even tho he dismisses the whole thing later with jokes, when he starts to join Miguel in praying, even prompting Miguel, it's like half for horny reasons and half trying to comfort Miguel? If that makes sense? Like Chico's completely aware that it means something to Miguel (and he appreciates that it does?) so he's not actually trying to mock. And even after, he's praying the Spanish version of Anima Christi as a joke, but I chose that prayer because not only is it a common one, from my understanding, but I read that anyone who prays the Anima Christi receives a partial indulgence (Catholic indulgences are "a way to reduce the amount of punishment one has to undergo for (forgiven sins)" according to Wikipedia. Maybe I am wrong about how I understood/wrote the prayers and whatnot, but my goal was to make the moment feel intimate, not just in a sexually charged way, but spiritually as well? Even though Chico turns around and leans into the sexual part of it? Lol. I also wanted to make it clear that even though Miguel observes that Chico doesn't really partake in practices of the Church or anything anymore, the rituals and significances are still completely etched into his psyche, and that he understands that part of Miguel.

The intimacy of Chico praying with him (and also the other factors of Miguel being on Destiny, and them back to the established cuddling) give Miguel the kick to then propose what he does. His Catholic guilt and related cynicism also plays a role, of course. IMO, this is the closest that Miguel gets to fretting over the actual Sin of Homosexuality aspect (until he places some blame on it in "Fugitive Light")—when he's feeling that clock ticking (Chico potentially leaving him) and realising he can't go to Confession after killing Skinny intentionally and without his previous self-defense reasonings… The longing and conflict of the fic so far all comes to a head here —> Nothing lasts, and good will can crumble with the barest touch. / That recklessness comes over him again. Hellfire licks at his soles. … and Miguel bends to that Need To Know :)

…Look, I can expound on this scene without even really dipping my toes into the ensuing smut! 😆 Hopefully my rambling commentary here makes an iota of sense.

[notallwonder]

good news. I finally fell asleep waiting for the ep to drop. and then I woke up again! so now imma do this.

Spoilers, etc. for CME 17x06. 🥰

I watched this episode at 4am. But it's 11:30 am now and I've already seen it two more times. 🥳

- oh I don't like this. Dream sequence for sure, right. Luke! No no no no

- EMILY. oh you motherfuckers. oh my god. wow even when they killed her the first time they didn't make me watch her die like THIS. FUCK ME. Erica Messer I will never forgive you!!! 😈

- (wish I could retire the small part of my brain that resents that this scene happens in service of Rossi's pain.)

- Haunting lil echo over the title card. 😈

- Rossi losing it does make a great case for promoting someone else as (acting) UC........like JJ. C'mon now.

- oh look!!! JJ and GARCIA. I know they had a couple scenes (one?) in s16 but it always warms my heart to have them together. Just like ye olden times. Kind of. The vibe is off? Maybe the way it's shot? They're not even looking at each other much? I am nitpicking now.

- "you're an angel of helping" - truer words about Jennifer Jareau etc etc. she is an angel.

- "put on your awkward pants." I giggled! the delivery

- "I do talk about it...with Emily." 😭

- (but also dude, retire and go hang out with your grandson for fucks sake. let yourself heal)

- UH oh here we are. omg. Look, I have not put on the clown shoes bc I know better. But I am excited they have a scene, together. CHEETOS (cheese puffs) CAMEO. what is going on

- "you see that movie...idiot city...wait...idiot city?" oh I'm cackling already LMAO. Yeah. I enjoyed that.

- and now we are low-key setting up Luke & Teresa? "I have a thing for army guys" okay miss ma'am 👀

- Rossi, buddy. You don't have time to NOT do therapy. I wonder if this is where Mrs Ex Gideon comes in? Is she gonna be the trauma counselor? Hm.

- @ Luke's face when Garcia pairs them off to go thru Tyler's history to figure out who's been stalking Teresa: I can just hear the tiny voice yelling in his brain "put on your awkward pants!"

- I'm digging this whole thing with JJ & Emily. We finally get a sort of glimpse at the fabled girls nights. But I'm struggling with the logic a bit here. Emily being pushed to her limit, "crossing a line she's never crossed before" with Voit. Apparently ready to give up in some way. Reminiscent of that scene when Barnes puts her on leave and all of a sudden she's packing her apartment. I guess the discomfort of that, for me, is that seems like a core distinction between pre-Doyle-exile Emily and later seasons defanged Emily. I always struggled to reconcile these two Emilies. Also - nitpicking - Emily "Vonnegut enthusiast" (Elizabeth) Prentiss has never bothered to read Catcher in the Rye? hm. It's been One Million Years since I read Catcher but I imagine it could have resonated with Emily a bit vis-a-vis Matthew.

- maybe the common thread is that Emily leaves. When things get hairy, emotionally or otherwise, Emily dips. Is that the thru line? It is, according to several brilliant fic writers. And it does make sense, in terms of her upbringing/formative years. It made sense after Doyle that she needed a new context. I guess any reminder of s12-15 Prentiss just gives me the willies?

- LMAO fuck of course the cheese puffs were not just an Easter egg.

- not JJ getting "why are the walls closing in" high, cut to Dave getting PTSD halluci-squished in the elevator. 🤣 They just keep torturing that old man

- every time we cut to the "Stoneward Penitentiary" exterior my brain only sees "Squidward Penitentiary" lol

- OH SHIT. THAT'S where she comes in!!!! Jill Gideon started Gold Star???!!! fml

- I keep saying it... I'm finding this season quite enjoyable fr. Even though I don't care about Tyler a whole lot, he fits in to the team better and the effort Luke is making with him is nice to see. The Brian Garrity / conspiracy theory angle is working for me as a mystery. I don't care much about Gold Star but I've never been here for the crime. And I am enjoying Voit insofar as I like the frame of him as a twisted little boy foil to Rossi. I just like Zach Gilford.

- also I like how each narrative opportunity for JJ and Emily to have a confrontation has not been a blow up/angsty mess. I like an angsty mess too! But it's a testament to their years of friendship and professional trust, all they've been through and the ways they've been through it *together*, that JJ is handling it like this.

- god I continue to love JJ more and more. For me, she is a stronger character without Will in the picture. And I don't mean that Will is some kind of bad part of her story. He's just better as background noise. Their chemistry has never been fully convincing for me, and I'm not sure precisely why that is. But this season? JJ is incredible, and I'm not distracted from that by her husband. It's so nice!

- [some stuff with Tyler happened here I guess]

- oh my goodness! 🥹🥹🥹 THIS SCENE 🥹🥹🥹 JJ laying it ALL out. I'm so happy. This is so emotionally satisfying!! This is so much better than the parallel scene with Emily & Spencer in season 13 (that scene is a mess). You know it's funny how the arc of JJ & Emily's relationship was shaped by the fucked behavior of the network in firing AJ & Paget. I mean, they absolutely had chemistry and vibes and moments in the early seasons, but the nuts & bolts of who they are to each other now are so tied up in how the actors (and show) were wronged and came through that. Wish it need not have happened, but I find something sweet about the results. Maybe just that the emotional weight of it is genuine. Idk it's 4:30am as I write this.

- something I will never fucking tire of: the way JJ says "Emily"

- "I didn't quit on you, in Paris. You didn't quit on me, after my miscarriage." god damn. I gasped. And the way Emily reacts! This is such good food! I appreciate it so much. This feels like a long awaited antidote to the subtextual emotional constipation between these two. ALSO - as far as I can recall it's just been fanon that JJ shared about her miscarriage with Emily, and now it's confirmed. That's a really nice detail, as is the level of intimacy that suggests.

- AJ COOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- JJ you are never beating the "lowkey-in-(unrequited?)-love-with-emily-prentiss" allegations

- I am fully ready to exchange "grab your keys, let's fuckin' roll" for "wheels up". That's Prentiss, baby.

- lmao and they have to uber hahahaahaaaaa (but woulda been fun to have Tara pick them up lol!)

- I think the only thing about their scenes together that I maybe wish was different is when JJ does confront Emily about BAUgate, we're given no discussion of how JJ is doing. She is handling it, even before the edibles she's more sure of herself / less visibly traumatized this episode. But no real check in yet.

- Still. This episode was a fucking gift. More than I thought we would ever get. Beautiful ❤️

- oh and Garcia was Emily's safe haven for her little bender, and was keeping her whereabouts a secret (from JJ at least). Probably partly bc this is essentially a bottle episode and they didn't lay out cash for a new location for Emily's home. But I like the implications.

Final thoughts:

- shoutout to JJ for the belt buckle representation in this important Jemily moment

- I did get some Drunk History Paget vibes from high Prentiss but that didn't bother me. Didn't feel out of character. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- also shoutout to AJ's "crisp white" line delivery 😂

- JJ & Will get high together sometimes, for sure

- Everytime someone refers to the FBI director as Madison I can't help but picture like, a gossip girl

- I'm so sleepy... time for sweet dreams...

[notanotherreidgirl]

I just had an idea based on my recent health experience: What if Spence had to wear a Holter for 24 or 72 hours to measure his heart's activity (maybe as part of the FBIs health checks) ? And he has to take notes of everything he does so that they can match it with the information collected so he cannot have sex or masturbate unless he's willing to justify his increased heart activity to a team of doctors. So, reader being reader, decides to drive him nuts, teasing him again and again because she knows he can't do anything about it. (Does he end up cumming in his pants because he's trying so hard not to touch himself and increase his heart rate?) ☺️🥰

Love ya! Have a great day!

Let's Get Physical

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, edging, blowjob, grinding, coming in pants

Word Count: 1380 (i'm inclined to just call this a full fic)

A/N: First, an apology. This has been in my inbox for quite a while and I am very sorry about the wait. Secondly, I made this entire scenario up after doing some minimal research on Holter monitors so it might not make sense.

Spencer gave Hotch’s door a light tap before taking a deep breath and then giving two sharp knocks. “Come in”

The door swung open and Derek patted him on the shoulder with a smile as he exited, no doubt having just received a glowing report regarding his physical health. Spencer dropped into the seat, casting a quick glance at the team of health professionals on Hotch’s couch and immediately regretting it. They were very clinical looking - pressed white lab coats, hair combed and gelled back, clipboards piled with papers, already scribbling away and speaking among themselves in hushed voices. “Ok Dr. Reid, we just have a few questions to ask you regarding your health practices and then we’ll take a look at the results from the Holter Monitor. Is that alright?”

“Um yeah. Yeah, that’s fine” he glanced over at Hotch who was leafing through Spencer’s notes with a raised eyebrow. The first few questions about his diet and lifestyle practices were easy but then came the dreaded evaluation of the Holter measurements. “Now we just have a few questions about some of the readings from the Holter. I see there was a bit of a spike right after you put it on that you attributed to nerves?”

“O-oh uh yeah, I was just a little nervous about having it on. That was it.” But that wasn’t the exact truth.

---

You had Spencer sit cross-legged on the bed without his shirt when he came home with the Holter. He was explaining how it worked as you studied the diagram detailing how to put it on. You slipped the wearable recording device over his head and climbed into his lap, surreptitiously rocking your hips into his as you untangled the wires. His hands encircled your waist, adjusting your angle so your clothed core ran against his entire length. You attached the electrodes carefully, kissing each patch of skin before covering it. His breath came out in soft pants as his release mounted and he squeezed his eyes shut. Just as he was about to come, you clicked the machine on and his eyes flew open.

“Wait, Y/N! I can’t - I’m supposed to keep my heart rate down.” The panic in his voice was evident and you smirked. If there was one thing you knew about Spencer it was that he liked succeeding. One might even say he liked winning - 3 Ph.Ds, prolific poker player, unsubs behind bars - so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that he was keen on passing his health evaluation. You trailed a hand down his chest, feeling the pounding heart he was trying to calm with deep breaths. “If you say so, doc”

---

The evaluator’s next question snapped him from his reverie. “That sounds fine but there was a concerning increase in your heart activity at 2 AM. It says here that you were exercising, specifically sprinting?”

Spencer dropped the pen he had been twirling and dove under his chair to get it. “Ah yes, I - uh - those are my nightly sprints.”

If Hotch’s eyebrows went up any farther they’d disappear in his hairline. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation when he spotted your face peeking out through an opening in his office blinds. You darted away quickly, sprinting back to your desk. Meanwhile, Spencer mentally chastised himself for his lack of self-restraint, saying that he was doing sprints at 2 AM was stupid but it was the only thing he could think of that could somewhat explain his elevated heart rate without revealing his actual activities.

---

He couldn’t sleep with the monitor on, tossing and turning in your arms until he rolled onto his back and let out a frustrated huff. You sleepily propped yourself up on your elbow. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

He scooted in closer, curling his body into yours and burying his face into your tits. He whined, “Can’t sleep with this thing on me”

“Oh, poor baby. Do you need me to make you feel better?” You dipped a hand down the front of his pajama pants and he automatically pressed his hips forward, used to you soothing him in this way after nightmares. He was already half-hard and you stroked him softly before sliding down the bed. His whimpers at the loss of your breasts exploded into loud moans as you swallowed his length, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and sucking at the tip before taking him back into your throat. Usually, you would take your time but you were feeling particularly wicked tonight, bringing a hand up to cradle his balls as the other forced his wild hips down onto the bed. Once again you pulled away just as his orgasm began to materialize and he threw his head back against the pillows, whines devolving into a choked sob. “We wouldn’t want to mess up your Holter results, now would we?”

Needless to say, he didn’t get any sleep that night.

---

“Well Dr. Reid, this kind of activity is most unusual and frankly quite concerning. Your heart rate even shot up right before you returned the monitor which you again attributed to nerves.” Spencer’s face reddened as he recalled the events that transpired that morning.

---

He was pacing down a vacant hallway in the basement of the Bureau, willing his nerves away. He was sure he would fail. Could you even fail one of these evaluations? Probably. If anyone could fail it would be Spencer. Between the events of the last 24 hours and the fact that Derek was going right before him, he knew he was screwed. And then as if the universe were conspiring against him there you were coming out of the printer room, heels clicking against the floor, hips swaying, a form-fitting blouse leaving just enough to the imagination. And Spencer had a very vivid imagination. Watching you float towards him was really all it took to have him standing at attention, heart rate skyrocketing. But you were ever the overachiever, threading his tie between your fingers and pulling him in for a kiss. Your knee came up between his legs and he automatically rocked into you, still worked up from your relentless denial. You ran your tongue over his bottom lip, deepening the kiss and applying even more pressure. “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. Trying your very hardest to control yourself. It’s adorable.”

It didn’t even occur to Spencer that he had to return the monitor along with his notes in less than 10 minutes, he was cumming in his pants as soon as the praise left your lips, whining into your mouth as he finally attained his long-awaited release. He looked down at you in shock as you stepped back. “Shit, Y/N! What do I do? They’re gonna call me up in 5 minutes!”

You gave him a mocking look of sympathy as you smoothed the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Guess you better get cleaned up then”

---

“Dr. Reid, I’d like to see you again for a follow-up.” The doctor on the left scribbled their name on the bottom of a form and handed it to Spencer. He gave the paper a quick glance before looking over at Hotch with wide eyes. Help me.

Hotch sighed, taking the form from Spencer and giving it a quick scan before returning it to the evaluation team. “As we know, Dr. Reid has had a tumultuous history with these physical assessments. However, he is an invaluable member of this team and has proven himself in the field time and time again. I don’t see any reason to prolong this evaluation. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe Dr. Reid was your last appointment of the day”

They protested but Hotch fixed them with his trademark stare and they stood up to leave. “Very well, but Dr. Reid will not be exempt from his yearly fitness test this time.”

Spencer gulped, watching them file out the room. He turned to Hotch thanking him as he took his file and turned to leave, glad it was over. But before he could leave, Hotch cleared his throat. “I take it Y/N will be helping you train for your fitness test”

[peachycheol]

| lost in translation |

➸ summary: jeonghan asks you to translate some of his fans’ comments, but you hadn’t expected them to be so... dirty.  ➸ genre: pwp  ➸ pairing: idol!jeonghan x english-speaking friend!reader ➸ warning: dirty talk, oral sex (m. and fem. receiving), face fucking, deep throating, cum swallowing <333, **the italicized comments are in english**  ➸ w.c: 2.6k

➸ author’s note: hi i’m alive!! i’m so sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long, but i kinda just lost my mojo for a little bit 😔  but worry not- i have experienced a reawakening and i am now more of a whore than ever so hopefully i can get back to posting more. i have a lot i have planned out, but i wanted to get a quick fic out to y’all as a BIG THANK YOU bc i reached so many milestones while i was gone 🥺 🥰 💕  i love you guys and i’m really glad ppl are reading my fics haha

this fic is based on the infamous jeonghan gym video, y’all know the one (thank you to @haechanblr​ for reminding me of it and helping me with this fic i love u so much!!). i was actually in the middle of writing this when hoshi decided to post his own gym video and PHEW. JEEZ. I’M STILL RECOVERING. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this one bc i really enjoyed writing it 💖 🍑 

[ foreversvt ] commented: I AM ON MY KNEES  [ yoon1004 ] commented: is it jeonghan’s birthday or is it mine [ happy bday angel! ] commented: YOON JEONGHAN ???? [ twinkluvr69 ] commented: grrr wanna slurp those noodle arms like spaghetti 

You continue scrolling through the comments left underneath the video, trying to keep your face composed as you come across more and more explicit reactions from fans all over the world. Seokmin had uploaded the video to Weverse as an innocent birthday prank for Jeonghan, but he probably had not anticipated just how horny their fans could get over a seemingly harmless video of Jeonghan doing some leg presses. To be fair to the fans though, you yourself had watched the clip several times and you would be lying if you didn’t say you were… affected. 

“Well? What are they saying?” Jeonghan leans over to watch you scroll, and you are acutely aware of the warmth of his arm pressing against yours. The two of you are sitting on the floor of  your living room with your backs resting against your couch, hanging out after a small birthday dinner with some of his other friends. As one of Jeonghan’s english-speaking friends, he had asked you to help him translate some of his birthday wishes before his day ended, though you’re not sure how to tell him that his fans are not exactly sending in wholesome professions of love. 

Instead, you decide to try giving him some tamer versions in the hopes of satisfying him before you get to anything too blunt. “This user says you have noodle arms, but I think they like it so it’s okay.” 

“Hey! I’ve been trying my best to get thicker, but not all of us can be born beefed up like Seungcheol.” 

“You asked me what they said!” you laugh. “Most of these are just birthday messages anyway-- I’m sure you don’t need me to translate ‘Happy birthday, I love you!’ a thousand times.” 

“Yeah, obviously I understand the more common phrases, but there’s so many that I don’t understand today for some reason!” Jeonghan huffs, then points to a comment that you had purposefully hid under your thumb. “Like okay, what’s that one say?” 

[ seungcheolswife ] commented: wow the way this video made my pussy clench,,,, 

“Uh,” you start, already feeling your ears go warm. Should you just lie? It’s not like he would be able to tell, right? You and Jeonghan are close, but not so close that you can just say these things to him. Especially when this comment may be hitting a little too close to home for you. Even now, you remember the bolt of arousal that shot to your pussy the moment you  heard Jeonghan’s first grunt of effort. You bite your lip. No, Jeonghan really didn’t need to know about that. “I-it says something like ‘you made their heart flutter’.”

“Wait.” Jeonghan takes a moment to scan your face before his eyes narrow at you suspiciously. You give him your best innocent smile, but you already know he’s caught you. You had always been a shitty liar. “What does it really say? Is it bad?”

You sigh. Of course he hadn’t bought it. “No, it’s not bad. I just don’t know if you want to hear stuff like this…” 

“Well now I have to know. Tell me exactly what it says.” 

“E-exactly?” You meet Jeonghan’s stern gaze and you know that there’s no convincing him otherwise. What Jeonghan wants, Jeonghan gets. “I-it says that the video made their p-pussy clench.”

After several beats of silence, you look over to Jeonghan to see he is completely unaffected by the comment. Or maybe he is. His eyes glint mischievously in the light when he responds.  “I said exactly, baby. Try again.” 

Your whole body feels hot under his smug, expectant gaze; you should be surprised by the sudden pet name, but it only makes your mind fuzzy with the beginnings of arousal. You swallow thickly, unable to disobey him. “T-this video made m-my pussy clench.” 

“So naughty… Just this short clip has your cute little pussy all needy,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, but a knowing grin spreads on his lips. His words have you shifting in your seat in an attempt to relieve the dull ache setting in between your legs, though you don’t dare let it on. It’s clear Jeonghan is playing a game with you, and although you know you’re going to lose, you’ll be damned if you let him win so easily. “Let’s read some more, hm? Translate this one for me.”

[ daddy_hannie ] commented: omg i bet jeonghan makes the hottest sounds when he’s fucking 

The comment he scrolls to nearly makes you whimper. It’s embarrassing how clearly you can recall the sound of each of his low groans coming through the screen, how sexy he sounded. Images of Jeonghan on top of you, his eyebrows furrowed as he grits out desperate groans of pleasure, leave you in a daze while your panties quickly dampen with your arousal. 

“Go on.” Jeonghan’s firm tone only makes you squirm more, and this time he takes note of the way your breathing has gone shallow and how your eyes are already hazy. 

“I bet Jeonghan makes the hottest sounds when he’s fucking,” you say softly. 

Jeonghan chuckles, his breath tickling against your neck. “Now you’re just making me blush, sweetheart. I bet you’d make some pretty noises when I’m fucking into you too,” he muses casually. You finally let out a soft whine, tired of holding your breath as he moves to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“J-jeonghan…” 

“Hm, I think we should read a couple more,” the boy says, ignoring you and scrolling through more of the comments. You pout - your wetness has already soaked through your panties, your cunt just aching for his attention, but of course Jeonghan isn’t done teasing you. 

You’re wondering how long it will take for him to finally push your back to the floor and fuck you senseless when you spot a comment that might help you get you what you want quicker. ”I want to read this one,” you tell him, already rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. 

[ ~hanniehae!~ ] commented: god i KNOW your dick is big like PLEASE I WANNA SUCK UR DICK SO BAD

He raises an amused eyebrow at you, and you wait for him to stop you, biting back a smile when he doesn’t. You make sure to look him in the eyes when you say it, his own dark eyes telling you that he’s impatient for you too, and you nearly let it out in a whine from how much you mean it. “Please Jeonghan… I want to suck your dick so bad.” 

For a sliver of a  moment, Jeonghan goes rigid. Then, his smug smile returns as he brings up a thumb to tug on your bottom lip. “Mmm, such a pretty mouth saying such filthy words,” he sighs, shaking his head. “If you wanted to put it to good use, all you had to do was ask, baby.” 

Jeonghan chuckles at how eagerly you follow him as he moves to sit on the couch behind you, keeping his hold on your chin so that you keep your eyes on his. He has you kneel between his legs and you don’t waste any time in reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans. 

The man helps you tug his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and your mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock springing back against his stomach. Of course it’s pretty just like the rest of him. “You’ve been teasing me all this time, but you’re already this hard?” you whisper tauntingly as you lean forward to ghost your lips over the base of his shaft. 

Jeonghan’s shaky exhale does not go unnoticed by you, but his response comes out smooth as ever. “Could you blame me? You just looked so cute getting all worked up from saying all those dirty things about me. I bet your little panties are soaked through by now-- guh!” He lets out a surprised groan when you suddenly flatten your tongue against him, letting it drag slowly up to his tip. 

“You talk too much.” You look up at him with a smile before you wrap your lips around his leaking tip, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. Teasingly, you swirl your tongue against his slit until you feel his hand thread through your hair, as though he’s begging you for more. You decide to be nice, lowering your mouth further down his cock, letting him feel the slide of your wet tongue on his sensitive skin. 

A soft sigh leaves his lips at the sensation, pleasantly carding his fingers through your hair as you take as much of him as you can. “That’s it. Good girl.”

His praise has you clenching around nothing, and you whine as you steadily begin to bob your head along his hard cock, reveling in how he would let out small whimpers whenever you would lightly suckle on it. 

Just as he gets used to the feeling of your mouth on him, you suddenly take him as deep as you can into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks tightly around his cock. “Oh, f-fuck!” Jeonghan lets out a strangled moan, his hips lifting from the couch to fuck further into your mouth. 

You feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, but it only spurs you on even more as you swallow around him, causing him to throw his head back in ecstasy. At this point, a dull ache starts setting in your jaw and drool begins to messily slip from the corners of your mouth as you return to sucking him at a more steady pace, and you feel your pussy throb from how dirty it all felt. Though you and Jeonghan did flirt occasionally, he had always felt off-limits to you-- he’s an idol and you’re just one of his normal-person friends. But here you are with his cock in your mouth, all thanks to the horny thoughts of his fans no less. 

To their credit, they were right. Jeonghan does make the hottest sounds while fucking. He lets out another throaty groan from above you and, unexpectedly, he pulls you off his cock. His pupils are blown wide with desire, his chest heaving slightly as he looks at the state you’re in with your swollen lips and the drool on your chin. “Can I fuck your mouth?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Yes please,” you reply, voice already a little hoarse from your efforts. You shift back on your knees to make room for Jeonghan when he stands, opening your mouth obediently when he moves to slide his cock back onto your tongue. Jeonghan tightens his grip on your hair, keeping you still as he starts to fuck into your mouth with quick, shallow thrusts. “Mmh!”

“Fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good, baby,” Jeonghan sighs appreciatively. You bring your hands up to grip at the backs of his thighs to keep yourself steady when his thrusts become a little more erratic, causing you to gag around him as his cock continues to hit the back of your throat. Still, all your focus remains on hearing more of Jeonghan’s pleasured groans, on seeing his face scrunch up in absolute bliss, so you keep your mouth open wide despite the tears that prick at your eyes. When Jeonghan looks down at you taking his cock, eyes glazed over and fucked out, he curses loudly. “Shit-- can I come in your mouth?” 

Unable to speak with your mouth stuffed full, you cutely give him a thumbs up. Jeonghan would have laughed if he wasn’t so close to cumming. With several more thrusts, he cries out a strained warning before his hot release fills your mouth. He rides out his orgasm, twitching in your hold as his pleasure bleeds into oversensitivity. Once he’s pulled out, you make sure to stick your tongue out so he can see how his cum coats your tongue right before you swallow it all down; all he can do is smile thinking about how he really should have fucked you sooner. 

“So good for me,” Jeonghan says to you softly, helping you up to your feet so that he can pull you into a heated kiss full of tongue and whimpers. You desperately grip onto Jeoghan’s shirt, pressing your body against him in search for some sort of relief for the arousal that is pumping through you and straight to your neglected pussy. He can’t help but smile against your lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you now.” 

You let him lead you to sit on the couch-- this time you are the one sitting on the edge of the cushions with Jeonghan’s head between your legs. He slides a hand over your clothed core, humming when he finds that you really have soaked straight through your panties. Just as you begin to squirm underneath his teasing fingers, he strips you of both your leggings and underwear in one swift movement, leaving you bare before him. 

The sight of him pushing your legs apart is enough to leave you in a daze. Your breath catches when you feel cool air brushing against your inner thighs, slick with your wetness, then it all comes out in a whine when you feel Jeonghan’s velvet tongue swipes at the spot for a taste. “O-oh!” a cry slips from your lips once his tongue finally slides through your folds. “Mmh!” 

“Does it feel good?” Jeonghan whispers, not bothering to wait for a proper answer because your broken moans tell him to keep going. He spreads your lips open with his fingers, eating you out slowly and deliberately as though he is savoring his favorite meal.

The room is filled with your soft whimpers and the lewd sounds of Jeonghan’s mouth working against your pussy and it only tightens the pressure in your stomach, causing your toes to curl. “P-please-- please let me cum,” you rasp out, and your eyes roll to the back, your hand clutching tightly at the back of Jeonghan’s head, at the feeling of his tongue flattening against your clit. “Ngh! Y-yes!” 

He skillfully flicks his tongue on your bud, shaking his head back and forth until his chin is absolutely covered in your juices. When your hips begin to move of their own accord, he lets you ride his face as you please, his cock twitching at how desperate you are for him. “S-so good,” you sob, only able to mutter unintelligible nonsense in your delirium. Then, he wraps his mouth around your clit, and you’re left squealing as your legs begin to shake from how obscenely good it feels. “Shit, I-- I’m--!” 

You come undone with a loud cry of Jeonghan’s name, your body going rigid from how hard your orgasm hits you. Jeonghan takes it all, his eyes closed as he works you through your release, only letting up when you slump away from him.

The both of you finally look at each other properly in the aftermath, chests heaving and hair wild. Suddenly you’re both erupting in giggles at the realization of what you two had just done. “What are you looking at?” Jeonghan asks, eyes bright as he smiles handsomely up at you. 

You reach down to swipe your thumb against his chin, which is still shining with your cum, barely able to contain your giggles. “Who’s got the dirty mouth now?”

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[actualbird]

Oh man I wasn't expecting the dragon fic to get even better! My favourite morning fairytale is ramping up and I'm definitely not complaining.

No matter what lives they live Ria and Luke will never be able to cook properly before they start learning. How did Luke catch a soup on fire...?

I like how it's Luke this time who has the nightmares of the canon event instead of Ria. Just one of those things that are different yet similar in their different yet similar lives. Also I was going to make a looming nightmare pun here but I couldn't make it work so you get marginally more insightful commentary instead dryifdtud

Oh man when Luke realised his hands couldn't move I actually got worried for a second aha. It's definitely a Vyn move to be dramatic and ominous especially when he doesn't know Luke that well but also dammit Vyn why.

Nice owl motif reference, I always really like it when ToT fics make use of the boys' associated animals to describe them. It always feels like a nice small reference for fans who know about them.

I really wasn't expecting Vyn to be a fae what that's so clever???? Using the canon of him having changed his name to match the fae lore of names having power and thus them hiding their true names I honestly would never have thought about that. Does that mean Vyn still goes by Vilhelm here normally?

Luke being that one guy on dragon threads is absolutely accurate oh my god those questions I'm wheezing. What was going through Vyn's mind when he read those I really want to know now.

So I really like all the nods to the canon versions of these characters and how you use them in ways that make sense. Luke finding Vyn an easy person to vent to as a nod to him being a therapist in canon is so clever and I'm really looking forward to how many more references there'll be.

Ria eating a deer's heart sure is a strange moment for Luke to feel warm and fuzzy in his own heart but I'm not judging Luke you do you.

That's about it for my comments on the fic! I absolutely agree with that point in the author's note about Luke thinking like a hero. Having someone who thinks like that for a partner seems like you have an ideal partner on the surface but part of having a romantic relationship, hell of loving in general, is going through tough times together as a team and supporting each other. It's the trust to let yourself be vulnerable around your partner, and you won't get that with a hero type who solves everything themselves, and that can feel awful sometimes. Man, even when I don't go on character study tamgents in the main fic commentary your author's note finds a way to send me off on another one digdtif anyways!! Thank you for the delightfully long chapter, and I look forward to the next one! Don't worry about the longer wait between chapters, it's absolutely justified when the tradeoff is for longer chapters and a deeper au!

🌌

EYYYY, hi hi milkyway!!

thank u for reading ch2 of "yes, she’s my lover, yes, she’s a half-dragon. any more questions?" and HHRGHRH THIS COMMENT IS LOVELY, i owe u my life. im glad this cld be a nice morning fairytale to start off ur day :D

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now to my thoughts on ur thoughts cuz i love rambling HAHAJHSFKJ:

how did luke burn a soup? well, it hasnt been completely talked abt in the fic itself, but i did slip in a little mention in this chapter that luke knows how to forge metals! in this au, ive got it in my head that luke has some pretty nice swordsmithing skills, it felt like a nice way to bring his canon skill of weapon-making and gadgetry into a medieval fantasy setting.

why did i bring that up abt his on-fire soup? cuz luke basically went about cooking the soup like how he heats steel in a forge when swordmaking. whoulda thunk that steel and soup are Not The Same

(i say this bit now cuz i rlly did have this whole backstory but it didnt fit with the sentence structure and of how i wanted to write that bit, so this is a behind the scenes exclusive i guess, HAHA)

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luke in this au 🤝 mc in canon nightmares about death regarding the other

they all need therapy JHVSKJFSD

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ngl, my desire to write vyn's Entire Thing is one of the key factors that made me restructure and further deepen this Whole Fic sjhfvjkskjVKJH.

my outline at first only had luke and mc, but that version felt so...empty. so i brought the other boys in, but their personalities are so distinct and itd be a waste not to give em each a fun little role in this medieval fantasy aaaaand, the rest is history.

keep an eye out for who the nxx boy of chapter 3 will be >:3c

i had so much with vyn btw. i knew he was a fae from the moment i brought him into this fic and tried my best to like, foreshadow it but only truly go HUZZAH, REVEAL! at that one line

the owl thing was fun to do to, im a sucker for like...giving magic a tangible image to draw the sensation out from. cuz magic (sadly) doesnt exist!! how tf do i describe it!!! with OTHER THINGS

and it's always been my modus operandi to make magic feel like different things based on who is using it. it's kinda like how i feel abt writing, in a sense? theres a set list of stuff it can do, but the intent and style and how it feels differs for everybody

HEHE, the name thing was what made me wanna make vyn a fae here in the first place!! and as behind the scenes commentary once again, i think he does still go by vyn. it's not his "true" name but i figure he still likes it better. plus, it gives him some more protection, since saying a fae's name shifts the power away from the fae in question and onto the speaker

and vyn? giving control to somebody else? oh he'd rather find a ditch to go die in JHVSKJDFHJ

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i adore luke and he is so intelligent but that does make me wanna nerf him sometimes, esp when hes more focused on His Beloved and is wracked with worry jshfvkjs. his braincells took a vacation, he just wanted all the answers and he is new to this entire environment

vyn, reading luke's letters: oh this poor thing needs to learn how the magic community works or else they'll eat him alive

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me: hehe references go BRRRRRR

im so glad u enjoyed that tho, it's a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine to be tongue-in-cheek abt the 4th wall whenever it can be entertaining ajhsvfkjashfja

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love is stored in the "watching ur dragon!gf absolutely go to town munching on a dead deer while eating the dinner she made for u that is delightfully Edible" <3!!!

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im SOOO GLAD U ENJOYED my little character thought in the author's notes huhu. i am Incredibly Passionate about dissecting luke's character and it just delights me to no end that many traits that make him strong are also the same traits that can be his downfall

cuz idk, i figure character traits arent inherently good or bad, they become good or bad based on situations. him thinking like a hero when he was alone was alright, but now that hes got somebody who loves him and wants him to be here with her, he cant think like a hero anymore. at least not with her. he has to think like a partner for all the reasons u so wonderfully articulated hhHHHH!!!

im so emotional about luke and mc so much all the time, basically

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thank you so SO much for this in depth comment!! and also for ur reassurance that wait-time is okay huhu, that rlly soothes my soul since ive got big damn anxiety abt wait-timez.

that being said, im raring to write ch3 HAHA but i have to wait until im a bit more rested cuz...i am SO SLEEPY TODAY for staying up late last night KJAHSVFKJAS

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[beesinspades]

bee’s ace xie lian fics~

No matter the fic, I always write Xie Lian as ace and think of Hua Cheng as demi. Though not that much talked about, after a year of being in this fandom, I can safely say that it turns out ace(spec) Xie Lian is actually a pretty popular headcanon, which brings me immense joy!!

I used to be scared of making that kind of post, but seeing how much the rep in these fics means to many fellow aces, I thought I’d do a short masterpost for anyone else who might be interested!

I don’t tag the ones in which there's no mention of the headcanon, but I do tag even those where it’s briefly mentioned or just implied. I kept those out of the list, but you can easily find them on my AO3 account by setting the Additional Tags filter on Asexual Character. I only included those that have either a big focus on it, or those that have at least dialogue or some narration about it.

I will also link in the replies a Twitter thread with fics by other authors!

just this | rated T, 2.8k

“Xie Lian smiles, bright and heartfelt, and oh, here’s that feeling again. I get to have this. Wake up to this. This beautiful thing from my wildest dreams; my most beloved, shining his heavenly light on me.”

or, the first of many moments of intimacy in Paradise Manor.    

This one it remains very dear to my heart! It has a big focus since it was my first attempt at exploring this headcanon.

the sunlit altar | rated E, 4.6k

““Since you’ve mentioned it. . . I’ve been thinking,” Xie Lian says softly. He returns to Hua Cheng to grasp his hand, looking resolute. His cheeks are dusted pink, tainted both with embarrassment and the vulnerability of complete trust. “I'd like to try it.””

or, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian's first time on Taicang Mountain.   

This is the direct sequel to the first fic but, like all the other fics in the “in your arms (i am loved)” series, it can totally be read as a standalone (it’s even the fourth fic I wrote because writing in chronological order? what’s that)

all yours (all mine)  | rated E, 4.8k

Hua Cheng’s eye is dark; hungry as he looks at Xie Lian splayed bare for him, yet a tender adoration too great for words flows alongside it. Xie Lian tries for a moment to understand it, before deciding it doesn’t matter. Whether he does understand it or not, the result tonight will remain the same; they’ll have fun, and it'll make Heaven pale in comparison.

to have and to hold | rated T, 3.9k

“In a flash, Hua Cheng is undressed. Xie Lian’s eyes flick away from the scroll for a brief moment before returning to it, utterly unfazed.

Hua Cheng sits on the bed, poking at Xie Lian’s hand.

Getting no reaction, he takes it, kisses it, then pecks his way along Xie Lian’s arm and, upon reaching his shoulder, adds a bit of teeth. Xie Lian’s eyes remain resolutely set on his scroll, brows furrowing at a line of characters, relaxing at the next.”

or, leisure time at Taicang Mountain cottage doesn't quite go as Hua Cheng had hoped.

in you, i find myself | rated T, 1.7k

“Through the burning flush of his cheeks, Xie Lian thinks for a moment, interrupting his braiding to place a second bead. “So, towards everyone else. . . you’re like me, in some way?””

Big focus on asexuality in this one as it was written for International Asexuality Day! Also, demi Hua Cheng!

rhododendrons | rated M, 2.5k

“Gege, did you know bodies can grow flowers?”

or, Hua Cheng paints Xie Lian a body of flowers.

This is the sequel of another fic in which it’s only mentioned in passing, but reading it isn’t required to understand the sequel! This one also has demi Hua Cheng.

steady love (in a place we know) | rated T, 10.9k

Living and working out of his old van, Xie Lian has always travelled alone. When his best friend suggests they go on a trip together, he enthusiastically agrees—unaware that he's not only about to take Hua Cheng on an unexpected journey, but his own heart as well.

no ice left to break | rated T, 2.6k

““What are you thinking about?” Hua Cheng wondered, reaching out to wipe ice-cream off the corner of Xie Lian’s mouth.

He did it like he does everything else; gently, almost tenderly. As naturally as tugging on Xie Lian’s hand when he wants something, or blowing on a spoonful of broth so Xie Lian doesn’t burn his tongue before offering it to him.

“We should go on a date,” Xie Lian blurted.”

always like this, with you | rated G, 1.4k

Xie Lian sets down his halfway done sweater on his lap, and taps his chin thoughtfully. “So. . . from what you told me back then, you'd be demisexual. . . and I'd be greysexual?”

Obviously very ace focused since this was written for Ace Danmei Week! I wanted to do something different and wrote greyace Xie Lian for this one.

of simple, wondrous things | rated E,  21.1k

In a college that strongly prohibits sex on campus grounds, Xie Lian goes about his studies as a confused spectator of the struggles many students claim to be going through. But when his roommates enter a relationship and sneak out at night to escape the rules, Xie Lian's curiosity on the matter gets the best of him; expecting to be rejected, he contacts Hua Cheng, a sex worker who only accepts new clients by recommendation.

Yet, to Xie Lian's surprise, Hua Cheng doesn't refuse him.

A lot about being ace in there but this time in full story form rather than a short fic! Also has demi Hua Cheng. (as a note, this is not a college au despite what the summary might make you think)

That’s all! For now >:) I hope these fics can bring you as much joy as writing them brought me! <3

[starxscream]

Morning Off

“   Forced to take the morning off, Swatch realizes what exactly they have been missing. “

SwatchKaard fic!

Oh buddy we got another bc I have problems and it’s them. (Also check it out on ao3 if it’s easier for y’all to read there!)

It was hard to tell when it was morning or evening in the dark world, but time flowed all the same.  Just today, it happened to be early morning, the sound of the rushing fountain in the middle of Ralsei’s kingdom filtering through the windows as if to say ‘it’s time to wake up’.  Other than that, however, there was nothing but a blissful silence, Castle Town still in a state of slumber while the Darkeners continue to rest while few others begin to slowly wake up.

Swatch was one of the latter, always an early riser, even if today they did not have to go into work until later- forcibly given the morning off due to the swatchlings thinking that they ‘worked too much’.  It would have been the whole day, but Swatch was not having that, needing to make sure that the cafe was being run in perfect order.

The bird sighs sleepily, a part of them torn between trying to doze or shaking off their tiredness and getting up anyways.  Eyes barely cracked open, they slowly take in their surroundings, waking up just slightly.  They become aware of someone’s back pressed against their chest.  Arms still wrapped tightly around the other person, Swatch doesn’t make any sudden movement yet, instead dipping their beak down slightly to be able to bury their face in the mass of hair beside them. They could make out quiet snores from the other person, Swatch’s feathered fingers unconsciously stroking the patches of skin where they held him.

As much as Swatch complained about having the morning off, this was…nice.  The knowing that they didn’t have to get up and leave so quickly, just being able to lay here and take in the slow morning.  They let their eyes slowly flutter shut again, silently making their decision on what to do this morning.

Unbeknownst to Swatch, however, their oh-so-wonderful partner had started to stir, his internal clock telling him it was time to wake up.  Unfortunately he did not want to wake up.  A silent groan works past his lips, mouth curved into a frown as he suddenly rolls over in Swatch's arms and pulls himself even closer to the bird, resting his head on his chest.

The sudden movement rouses Swatch from their state of dozing, cracking open a singular eye to gaze down at the other, lifting their beak only slightly while he shifts his position around.  Once settled, Swatch lowers their head back down to rest on top of their partner’s a soft coo escaping their beak.

“Good morning beloved.” Swatch whispers quietly, only earning a tired grunt from the other, pushing himself further into Swatch- at least, attempting to.  He hung tightly to Swatch, wrapped around them like a coiled rod.  It earns a chuckle from Swatch, moving a hand to pet their partner’s messy hair.

“Rouxls…” Swatch speaks again, trying to get their partner’s attention.  Hoping to catch him off guard and get him to respond, at least just for a second, a guilty pleasure.

There’s another groan, Rouxls still nuzzling Swatch’s chest, before a huff, rolling his head slightly back to sleepily peer up at Swatch’s face.  He sits there for a minute, slowly blinking, trying to shake off his own sleep but not wanting to.

“What does- doeseth…thou…” Rouxls fumbles over his words, trying to speak with his usual accent but too sleepy to properly think it out.  There’s a frustrated sigh, Rouxls grumbling quietly before speaking again, “…Good morning.” The blue man lowers his head to bury it back into Swatch’s chest after that, hoping for just a moment’s more peace, expecting Swatch to have to get up and leave soon and Rouxls not wanting him to- as it was every morning.  The amount of times Rouxls complained and tried to get Swatch to stay home…

A smile spreads across Swatch’s beak as Rouxls speaks, catching the poor attempt and then lack of the usual arrogant accent, a pleased chitter vibrating from his throat, “Hm…” Their gaze lingers on Rouxls for a moment, “I now see why you are so desperate to keep me around in the morning.”  Casually poking at Rouxls as they usually did, waiting for the moment Rouxls remembers what      this    morning was.

Rouxls mumbles something incoherent, still refusing to pry himself away from the bird.  Still too sleepy to question why Swatch hadn't tried to get up for work yet? The thoughts immediately erased by the tired selfishness of wanting to keep Swatch here.  To actually stay for even just a morning…

Wait…

Puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, Rouxls’ mind finally jump-starting itself into working. Swatch is still here… It takes Rouxls a moment to realize, still enjoying how warm and comfortable it was in Swatch’s arms, before it suddenly hits and Rouxls’ eyes snap open.  He cranes his head back to look up at the bird, blinking slowly.

“Thou art still hereth?” It’s phrased as a question, sleep still lingering on Rouxls’ voice- having not entirely figured it out yet, but enough to realize the important thing.

“Yes my love, I am still here.  Did you forget what day it was?” Swatch leans down to give a kiss to the top of Rouxls’ head, “I will be here all morning.”

It takes Rouxls a moment for Swatch’s words to register and when they do his face breaks into a large smile, arms squeezing Swatch tighter.  “Of courseth I did not forgete!” Rouxls boasts, obviously lying, “I am...happyeth that thou is hereth.” His voice gets quieter the move he speaks, flush rising to his cheeks at the admittance.

Swatch’s own smile gets wider, heart giving a pang in their chest at Rouxls’ admittance- truly Rouxls’ expressions were their guilty pleasure.  “If it makes you so happy, perhaps I can entertain the idea of doing this more often.”  They watch as Rouxls seems to light up at that, his own sleepiness fading at the prospect.

“As thou should! Thine paramour shouldeth spend thy morn with their belovedeth! It is as thy haveth always toldeth thou.”  A smug tone invites itself into Rouxls’ words, Swatch unable to keep themselves from rolling their eyes at it.  Not that the smile ever left their face however.

Rouxls’ hands move upwards, threading into the fluffy feathery hair on Swatch’s head, “I enjoyeth waking upeth and seeing thou faceth, even if thou is stilleth thy most frustratingeth and annoyinge worm-avian.”  He hums, no ill-intent behind his words, feeling just a little bit more confident this morning, “Howevere that meanseth, that thou art here, I can noweth do this…” Rouxls pulls himself up further, giving Swatch a soft kiss to their beak.

“Mmm...if I knew I would be getting such special attention from you, I would have taken a morning off ages ago…” Swatch chuckles, opting to pepper Rouxls in more kisses, not satisfied with just the one, “So…” Swatch speaks between kisses, “What is it that you commonfolk do during the morning if not preparing for work?”

Rouxls scoffs at that, yet still giggling in between each kiss, “Commonfolk? Thou must surelyest be mistakene! I am enjoyingeth my time, somethinge thateth thou shouldeth take into considerationeth more ofteneth.” His voice slowly turns to a mumble, a half-hearted attempt to keep up the banter, “Thou ist more commonfolk than thy…”

“Says the ‘butler supremeth’ who has no one to buttle for…” Swatch murmurs in response, fingers tangling in Rouxls hair.  Still leaving kisses on Rouxls’ lips, casually and so...normal. Swatch felt as if all of their worries were just...gone, like work was nothing more than an idle thought in the background.  Why were they so adamant about not taking time off...

The two continue to cuddle and kiss during their idle banter, neither making any effort to move or get up.  Instead just enjoying the time between them that was not usually shared.  So distracted with each other, neither of them noticed the door to their room creaking open with a stifled giggle of someone (poorly) trying to sneak in.

It wasn’t until a small round flash of blue and white flew onto the bed loudly announcing, “SURPRISE LANCERBALL ATTACK!” And crashing into them both that they realized Lancer had snuck into their room.  The little round prince slams into them, knocking them with a loud oomph, forcing the two to separate from one another.

“LANCER?” Rouxls loudly gasps in surprise, skipping his usual nicknames due to the shock of the sudden appearance.  Swatch blinks in confusion, stunned silent for a moment, just taking it in and letting Rouxls handle it for now while he registered the situation.

Lancer laughs loudly, plopping down into the bed in the space between Rouxls and Swatch, his music player in hand.  “You should’ve seen your FACES…LOL!” He says the term letter by letter aloud, “Mom Dad showed me how to make MIXTAPES and I made a really really good one! So as my other dads, you have to listen!”  His tongue sticks from his mouth, wiggling the earbuds coiled and tangled around him and holding the ends up for Rouxls and Swatch to take.

Rouxls sighs dramatically, “Thine dearest water-beetle, how manyeth times haveth I told thee to knocketh!  Does thou needest to learneth thou manners as parteth thou royaleth duties...” He pulls himself up, back resting on the headboard, Swatch mirroring the motions.  Lancer’s grin seems to falter for a moment as he’s being reprimanded, before Rouxls continues speaking, “However! I shalt entertaine thee request to listeneth to thou ‘mixtape’ that shalt certainly be nothinge moreth than rackety driveleth.”  There was no real harshness in Rouxls’ words, and Lancer lit up again, rolling over and clambering into Rouxls’ lap, the man instinctively wrapping an arm around the prince.  Swatch opts to accept the earbud, moving closer and sliding their free arm behind Rouxls to pull the two closer into them.   Rouxls accepts the other earbud, the two sticking them into their respective ears.

“I am sure it will sound lovely.” Swatch coos, counterbalancing Rouxls dramatic demeanor with their calmness, “Thank you for sharing Lancer.” Always so polite.

Lancer laughs loudly again, “Of course it will! Now hurry it up, I wanna go show Ralsei!” Kicking his legs up and down in excitement, snuggling closer to Rouxls as if he wasn’t planning on leaving.  Rouxls rolls his eyes, still with a hint of a grin on his face, giving a glance towards Swatch who only offers a shrug and a smile.

“Thou needeth to press play.”

“Oh…right.  Thanks for the reminder, vice father!”

Lancer slams the play button…unleashing the monstrosity of his fully splat sfx “mixtape” upon Rouxls and Swatch.  Swatch was caught off guard, hand flying to his beak to keep from laughing, shoulders quietly bouncing at the absurdity of it.  Rouxls…saw it coming, wearing a tired pleasant smile as he endured listening to it- at least this was different than just the usual sounds Lancer constantly played.

Leaning over, Rouxls rests his head on Swatch’s shoulder, watching Lancer fiddle with his music player with one hand and grabbing Rouxls’ and bouncing it around with the other.

Swatch peers over at Rouxls, a contented smile on their face as they lower their hand, resting their own head on top of Rouxls’ while the blue man appeases Lancer- the two keeping with their usual banter as the mixtape finished.  Swatch remains silent, simply enjoying the moment with them both, maybe they would thank the swatchlings for giving them the morning off.

Maybe.  They wouldn’t want them to get too cocky.

But…perhaps they will take a full day off sometime in the future, if this is what they were missing when they were always at work… Mmm, maybe not a full day.  But another morning for sure.

[genshinobsession]

About the sentience au, i have no idea if u take request/ consider ideas so feel free to ignore

I got some thoughts so i hope u don't mind me ranting here hehe

But here's the thing, if the character somehow got to our world and found out that their life was created by someone for ppl to pass time and entertain themselves, what would be their reaction to the fandom (fics, ships, reader insert stuff, fanart and other fan made stuff), the creator (and them getting profit or being responsible for their suffering and creating them the way they are? Like flaws/ appearance/ personality n that shit), the gatcha, other characters that they knew, and just generally to the whole thing about them being a fictional character from a game in a different world

Thank you for coming to my ted talk <3

Sentience Au

characters included:

Diluc,Kaeya,Zhongli

(More is coming after, I just didn’t want there to be do much scrolling to get to the character you want)

Diluc

“So, what you’re saying is I’m from a video game, and I am a very desired character. And because of this many people draw pictures of me.” He asks, standing with his hand on his chin as he tried to process this.

You nodded and you got your phone and looked up a simple

“Diluc fanart”

And showed him the results.

He was a little put off now knowing that there were so many people watching him at all times. Not only were they were watching him but they liked him enough to draw him.

“Well, they all are very talented, but why is this one titled ‘Daddy Diluc’ with my shirt off?” He asked, and you snatched your phone from a him as quick as possible and closed out of whatever file or photo album he scrolled to.

With a nervous laugh you turned back to him hiding your phone, not wanting to admit to what he had seen.

“How about we look at some fanfics instead.” You suggested, changing tabs on your phone. You showed him the Tumblr thread as he began to scroll.

“And these are-?” He asked as he looked back at you.

“Stories about you and other characters, or somethings you and the person reading. Those are called self inserts.” You explained, he nodded, slightly understanding until he had scrolled to an NSFW story.

“What does NSFW stand for?” He asked, you shot up from your chair and smacked the phone out of his hand as quickly as possible.

“Okay maybe that’s not a good idea either.” You laughed nervously again as Diluc stared at you curiously. As far as he was concerned NSFW was just a couple of meaningless letters thrown together, but your reaction makes him think it was obviously more than that.

“How about I explain it this way. Because you’re a very desired character, many people are attracted to you,” You began. He nodded, understanding.

“myself included,” you mumbled, he didn’t catch it so you cleared your throat and continued.

“Many of them make art of you and other characters together and more often than not it’s because of a ship.”

Right at that moment you completely lost him. He looked at you confused,

“What do boats have anything to do with this?” He asked, his eyebrows were furrowed together as he tried to think of a logical way that a mode of water transport would have anything to do with him and other characters.

“No no, this kind of ship is a pairing of you and another character, like a relationSHIP.”

Diluc nodded in response,

“So wait, people pair me with other characters? Like who?” He asked, you sighed knowing the question was going to come up sooner or later.

“Well-“ you began as you listed off every person he had been shipped with. As you went on Dilucs face began to contort out of confusion and slight disgust.

“Just... don’t ask and we can both forget about it.” You suggested and he nodded in agreement.

“Gladly.”

Kaeya

“Well this is... interesting.” The blue haired man muttered as he had scrolled through the object that he held in his hands.

He had just seen it lying face up on the counter and his curiosity got the better of him.

And he was very surprised by what he saw.

Just, pages and pages and pages of him in different poses with different people, in varying levels of... intensity.

He was very confused at first, unsure of how to respond but as he wen through he realized each post had a red heart underneath it.

What could that possibly mean?

As he scrolled through he eventually got into the works of writing, all with the same ‘Kaeya x reader’ underneath their titles.

Before he could scroll any farther he heard the door creak open as you walked into the room with a warm joyous smile on your face.

Well until you saw Kaeya with your phone.

“Kaeya, why do you have my phone?” You asked, he looked down at the bright object then back at you.

“So that’s what it’s called, well you did just leave it open so I decided to have a look.” He admitted with a shrug.

You quickly snatched it from him and looked at it realizing he had been through all your posts that you had saved under the label ‘Kaeya’.

Your heart pace quickened out of embarrassment,

“How much did you see?” You asked, he chuckled and moved closer to you, he lightly lifted you chin so you’d look at him, he leaned into your ear and whispered,

“You seem to like me in some interesting positions.” He teased, and let go of your face.

You covered your face, not wanting to look at him.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, its quite cute that you like me that much. I find it, oddly endearing.” He admitted, patting your head lightly.

You finally took your head out of your hands as you looked up at him. He smiled at you as he leaned in close to your face yet again.

“Although, you should be more careful about having your ‘phone’ open to such a... suggestive image.” He teased yet again as you backed up from your face and walked out of the room.

You looked down at your phone which screen has been dimmed a bit, as you raised the brightness you saw a picture of Kaeya you definitely would not be able to unsee for a long while.

Zhongli

Zhongli is definitely a fan of stories,

But the stories he found were definitely not the ones he had in mind.

You didn’t know how to explain to Zhongli that he’s from a game and people all over the internet love and adore him, without showing him.

He doesn’t even know what technology is, let alone the fact people use it to create artwork of him.

“Traveler, I apologize if this is a bit odd, but I saw you looking at some paintings of me on your phone item. How do you have so many? Did you make them also yourself? You’re quite talented if so.” He asked, as you looked from him, to your phone, then back up to him.

He was just patiently standing infront of you, waiting for an answer.

You sighed slightly as you put down whatever you were doing and grabbed your phone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that not something I was supposed to bring up?” He asked, confused by your reaction.

You shook your head as you patted the spot next to you, gesturing for him to sit down next to him.

“No no, you were going to find out sooner or later.” You said as he politely sat down next to you and faced you, ready to listen to whatever story or explanation you were going to give him.

As you explained he asked a few questions, which you answered as best you could.

After you explained how the world Zhongli came from was not exactly real, he was just a character in a video game, and because of that, many people around the world love him and make things to show their love and appreciation for him.

He nodded, trying to understand,

“Well that’s definitely not what I expected. I’ve always had some sort of following but this, admittedly was not what I expected. So all of these people know about Rex Lapis?” He asked, to which you nodded in response.

“I see, well. There’s not much I can to about it now I suppose.” He said, turning back to you with a slight sigh. All the effort putting into hiding and it was, somewhat for nothing.

Liyue was going to have to learn how to be on their own regardless, so leaving wasn’t going to affect them to much, which was comforting to him.

“Thank you, traveler, for answering my question. I understand it was probably hard to explain this to me but I believe I understand now.” He thanked, you nodded accepting it and smiled at him.

However, your smile faltered when you saw Zhongli so lost in thought. You supposed it was because he basically left behind the only thing he’s every known.

You lightly put your hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Why don’t we make some tea, I feel like you’d want to try these flavours.” You said, as he looked back over to you, he recognized this as a way to cheer him up and appreciated it.

“That would be wonderful.”

(Next part coming out is ‘they escape Part 2 pocket edition’)

-Birdy

[intheticklecloset]

Control (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

I really love writing about these two, whether platonic like it is here or romantically like in one of my previous fics. Their dynamic is so great, and I really love what little I’ve seen of their friendship so far. Thank you for the fun prompt! I had a blast exploring Shinsou’s quirk a bit with this one. ^^

7. “Don’t look at me like that!” “Like what?” “Like you’re going to…do something!”

~

Shinsou was starting to hang out around the 1-A dorms more and more these days, and Deku couldn’t be happier about it. Despite his standoffish nature and I-don’t-want-friends attitude, the boy from 1-C didn’t seem to mind that Kaminari and Ojiro had become attached to him. Deku would often see the three of them together in the living room chatting, or outside sparring, or walking to and from the school building together. It made him happy to know Shinsou was starting to feel more comfortable around their neck of the woods. And, if he was honest, he was hoping to start forming a friendship with the purple-haired boy as well.

“Hi, Shinsou,” he greeted one evening after school as Shinsou stepped into their residence, his blonde companions by his side.

Shinsou nodded at him. “Midoriya.”

This would often be how their interactions went. An enthusiastic greeting, followed by a polite return of some kind. As time went on said returns became slightly warmer, but only marginally. Deku didn’t mind. It was a start.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Ojiro said, waving at him. “We’re going to introduce Shinsou to Mario Kart. Somehow he’s never played it before.”

“What?” Deku exclaimed, staring. “You’re kidding!”

Shinsou shrugged.

Kaminari beamed. “I know, right? You want to join? It’d be cool to have four players.”

Yes! Deku leapt out of his seat. “Of course! I’d love to.”

That game – while not one-on-one – was a good ice breaker for Deku and Shinsou, as the former naturally bantered and exclaimed and laughed along with Kami and Ojiro while the latter occasionally spoke up and held conversations but mostly muttered about how his character always seemed to be going the wrong way.

After that, their greetings became much friendlier.

Deku stepped into the backyard of their dorm one Saturday afternoon with the intention of getting some fresh air. He’d been sleeping much better lately, and now that it was getting warmer outside he enjoyed spending time in nature when he could. When he opened the sliding door, he was surprised to see Shinsou sitting on the patio, staring intently into the near distance where his blonde friends were currently duking it out.

“Hi, Shinsou,” Deku greeted, taking a seat beside him.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou replied, offering a small smile.

“Are they sparring or actually fighting about something?”

“I honestly can’t figure it out myself.”

“Oh, boy.” Deku laughed, stretching and then leaning back to look up at the sky. “Nice weather.”

“Yeah.”

There was a slight pause. “Hey, do you want to spar?”

Shinsou turned to look at him, deadpan. “Midoriya.”

Deku realized how silly that sounded, now that he was getting that look. He chuckled sheepishly. “I mean, we could go quirkless. Just physical combat.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“You know, keeping in shape. Staying on top of our reflexes.”

“In what situation would a villain ever fight without their quirk?”

Deku thought back to the quirk-ereasing serum, but then shook it off. “That’s a fair point. It was just a suggestion; we don’t have to.” Silence settled again, but a few moments later he took his notepad out of his shorts pocket and scribbled something down.

Shinsou glanced at the pad in his hand. Does he always keep writing material on him? he wondered, then froze when his eyes caught what was written on the page. It was a list, with his own name at the top. Deku was currently writing “doesn’t prefer quirkless combat” directly underneath a bullet with an entirely different theme.

According to Ojiro – really ticklish?

Shinsou felt his cheeks heat up in a blush and he snapped his eyes back up to Deku just as the boy finished writing, closing the notepad and storing it away once more. When he turned to look at him, Shinsou quickly averted his eyes, staring not at his friends in the field, but at the ground.

“Shinsou?”

Crap. What do I do? There’s no way he doesn’t notice I’m blushing.

“Are you okay?” Deku asked, sounding worried. “You look really flushed all of a sudden.”

“I-I…um…” Pull it together! “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just getting a little warm out here.”

There was a pause. “I mean, I guess it is kind of fluctuating between warm and cold.”

He knows I’m lying.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou started, then stopped. Great. What do I say now? He’s looking at me. Say something! “I…I’ve changed my mind. I wouldn’t mind sparring.”

Deku blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, uh…kind of.” What am I doing? “I want to…try something. But…it would require me using my quirk on you. Only if it’s okay. I’ll never use it on you outside of combat.”

“Isn’t sparring combat?”

I am digging my own grave here. Shinsou was growing more flustered by the moment, but he plowed onward, uncertain why he was suddenly following this strange train of thought. “What I want to try isn’t exactly sparring. It’s, um. Endurance training.” Oh, brilliant. Truly genius, Shinsou.

But Deku looked intrigued, which encouraged him a little. “Endurance training? Enduring what?” When even more color flooded Shinsou’s cheeks, Deku hesitated. “What…what exactly are you going to make me do?”

“I won’t make you do anything,” Shinsou replied quickly. “Not if you don’t want to. But it’s not…nothing untoward. I just…” He let out a groan and ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. It’s stupid, it doesn’t make any sense. It probably won’t work anyw—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Deku protested, sounding earnest. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

That’s what he’s worried about? Shinsou gave him another tiny smile. “You won’t.”

After another moment, Deku nodded. “Okay. Sure. As long as you don’t make me hurt you, you can use me to test whatever it is you want to test.”

Shinsou couldn’t believe his ears. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Midoriya, are you sure? Do I have your permission?”

“You can brainwash me, Shinsou.”

And with that, his face went slack, his eyes lost their shine, and he was under Shinsou’s control.

What am I doing? Shinsou thought frantically as he watched Deku’s unmoving features and body. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?!

Still, he’d passed the point of no return. He’d followed his gut reaction to seeing that note about himself this far down the rabbit hole; he might as well go all the way now. He cleared his throat, shifted a little. Heart racing, he mustered up the courage to speak exactly two words.

“Tickle me.”

Deku moved to obey, making Shinsou flinch slightly, but he forced himself to stay put as the green-haired boy found his sides and started digging. Shinsou sputtered, giggles spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably, his cheeks heating up with flustered embarrassment as he watched Deku’s expressionless face. He knows what’s happening. Somewhere in there, he realizes what I’ve asked him to do. He knows. He knows. He knows…

And yet, Shinsou still had control. He whined, then forced himself to speak again. “Hahaharder.”

Deku increased the pressure of his tickling, moving up to Shinsou’s ribs, steadily pushing him down so he was lying on his back on the patio. Absentmindedly, Deku knelt beside him and continued tickling even harder, drawing louder giggles out of Shinsou.

I’ve still got him. “Hahahahaharder,” he said again, and again, Deku complied. Shinsou could feel his control wavering, but he still had it. “Hahahahahaharder!”

Soon Shinsou realized it wasn’t the amount of pressure Deku was applying that would make him lose control, as he was tickling about as hard as he could in this spot and the boy from 1-C still had him under his command. The only way to really test this would be to switch spots. “Stohohohohohop!” he commanded, and Deku obeyed.

Shinsou was blushing furiously, but he was also genuinely curious now, so he continued in his mission. “Straddle my thighs,” he said, “and tickle my hips as hard as you can.”

Deku swung a leg over so he was sitting on Shinsou’s legs, pinned them to the patio, grabbed his hips, and tickled with everything he had.

Shinsou tossed his head back and screamed with laughter. He lost control instantly, feeling the thread connecting his mind to Deku’s snapping in half like a twig, and after a few more moments, the tickling stopped as well.

Deku stared down at the usually quiet boy in awe. “You…you wanted me to tickle you?”

Shinsou covered his face, too embarrassed to look at him. “I wanted to know if I could maintain control while being tickled. It’s a pretty distracting thing. Clearly, when tickled in the right spot, I can’t stay in control. You can put that in your notes, too.”

“What?” Deku sounded surprised. “Wait…did you see…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, man.” Now Deku sounded embarrassed. Shinsou dared a peek at him. Sure enough, he was blushing now, too. “I’m sorry. That was probably weird to read.”

“It turned out to be a win-win for us both, though. I got my answer, and you got to see for yourself how ticklish I am.”

Deku frowned. He still hadn’t moved from his straddling position. “I mean…technically. But I wasn’t myself. I’d hoped to catch Ojiro tickling you sometime, or maybe Kaminari.”

Shinsou looked up at him. “Is it true? Do we share a death spot?”

Deku glanced down at his hips, and something seemed to change in his expression. He went from looking slightly bothered to looking incredibly inspired and mischievous. He grabbed onto Shinsou’s hips and kneaded. “Well, let’s see.”

“GAH!!” Shinsou yelled, unable to help the flood of laughter that bubbled up and spilled out of him in response. “MIDORIYA!!”

“It certainly seems to be a good spot, but there are plenty of other places I didn’t try just now,” Deku mused aloud as though he were mentally taking note. He probably was. His fingers moved up Shinsou’s sides, skittered across his belly, tweaked his ribs, scribbled in his underarms. Shinsou was kept in constant giggles, squirming as much as possible and hiding his face a lot, but never protesting.

Finally, Deku moved back down to his hips and dug in again, beaming at the laughter he produced. “Yeah, I think we do share a death spot, Shinsou.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” The purple-haired boy pleaded, squealing and shrieking. “PLEHEHEHEASE, NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

Deku couldn’t help but laugh. “You even sound like me!”

That’s exactly what Kaminari said!

“I have to admit, it’s kind of fun tickling someone else who has the same worst spot as me.” Deku chuckled. “Now I can see what I look like to the others. No wonder everyone goes for that spot so fast. It’s fun to tickle you here!”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Shinsou cried, trying to grab at Deku’s wrists and failing. “MIDOHOHOHORIYAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I’M SOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

Deku did stop, frowning down at him. “Huh? Sorry for what?”

Shinsou gasped for breath, trying to circulate enough oxygen to his brain to formulate a response. “For…um…I-I don’t know…brainwashing you?”

“I gave you permission.”

“F-For…ah…for looking in your notes? Ruining your chance to see how ticklish I am while still in control of yourself?”

Deku smirked.

Shinsou’s heartrate sped up. “Midoriya…d-don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to…do something…”

“Oh, well, sorry about that, Shinsou. But I am going to do something.” Deku grabbed the taller boy’s wrists and pulled them down to his sides, pinning them there with his knees. “Because you haven’t ruined my chances to see how ticklish you are.” He grabbed his hips but didn’t tickle yet, enjoying how Shinsou gasped and flinched with a look of clear excitement on his face. “There is one thing I have to ask you, though, that I won’t be able to figure out on my own.”

“W-What?”

“Ojiro told me you ‘don’t mind’ being tickled. Since we’re already so similar when it comes to tickling, does your saying you ‘don’t mind’ actually mean you like it? Because that’s what I mean when I say I don’t mind.”

And that’s exactly what Ojiro said, too!

Shinsou couldn’t help but whine, flustered and embarrassed and blushing so hard he felt the heat of it on his cheeks. But having Class 1-A’s most fascinating student on top of him like this, so close to making him laugh again, made him give in.

“Y-Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I like it.”

Deku smirked, and he pressed his thumbs into his hipbones, and Shinsou was lost to his laughter.