#first fic sorry

[blackswankisser]

First ever fic!

Part one

tags; dom!mtf acheron , sub!femreader, size kink, begging, cunnillingus

Warnings; nsfw mdni, microfic

Acheron pushed you down onto the bed with hunger and want, your clothes already off as she began to take hers off as well. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up at her in the rushed state, looking as she threw off her shirt and started unbuckling her jeans.

Your eyes lingered on her stomach and slowly you looked lower, the bulge through her boxers was intimidating, yet intriguing, it excited you.

She wasn’t going to let you have it easy though.

Once her clothes were off she practically pounced onto you, her eyes full of lust and need as she began kissing and nibbling your neck.

A light whimper came out of your throat at the feeling, you can feel her desperation for you through each lick and bite, making the heat between your legs grow wetter.

“Please, Acheron.” You say with a slight shake in your voice.

“Be paitent.”

“I can tell you’re ready..please.”

“I am. But you aren’t,” she slides her hand down your stomach to the top of your underwear, leaning so her mouth is close to your ear, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Don’t rush for what you can’t handle.”

You moan at the sound of her voice in your ear. She continues kissing down your body, at your stomach now, closer than she was before to your core.

While licking and kissing your stomach she pulls down your underwear and looks up at you for permission.

You inhale and nod your head “fuck- please.”

“Please what?”

You sigh, her teasing always gets you. “Please fuck me.”

She grins lightly and grabs your legs to put them over her shoulders.

[katsukistofu]

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x teacher! fem reader. fluff. ⭑ he keeps staring. the kids notice.

In your five years of teaching, you never thought you’d see Dynamight sitting cross-legged on the daisy shaped carpet in the center of your classroom, while your kids swarm around him to paint his face.

Warmth spreads across your chest as you take it all in. It’s quite the sight, to see the big, buff, seasoned twenty five year old pro hero letting all these tiny toddlers take turns taking clumsy swipes at his face with the colorful paints you bought for them the week before for art class.

What you don’t notice is the way his eyes trail to you wherever you are in the classroom. When you move to open the windows to let the fresh air in, to wipe the chalkboard, even when you’re organizing the mess of crayons on your desk into their rightful bins.

“Why do you keep staring at our teacher?” One of them, a little boy wearing his t-shirt backwards, curiously pipes up. Everyone else nods in agreement, they’ve been wondering the exact same thing.

“You gonna tell her what I said when I leave later?” Katsuki raises a brow. A chorus of playful noooo’s follow him.

“We’re gonna tell her while you’re still here!”

These little brats. He’s barely known these kids for two hours and already he knows that they love you like a second mother, and wouldn’t be letting him go so easily. There’s fondness in his eyes as Katsuki chuckles and leans in, and the kids eagerly lean in to hear what he has to say.

“I’m starin’ cause she’s pretty.”

Gasps and nods of agreement spread across the carpet just as you clap your hands together, your sweet voice ringing through the classroom, to which everyone, including Katsuki with his paint bedazzled face, turns to give you their fullest attention.

“Alright my angels, let’s give Mr. Dynamight some space now okay?”

Curious little eyes glance back and forth between you and Dynamight with, when someone loudly pipes up, “Ms. L/n doesn’t have a boyfriend!”

“Mr. Dynamight thinks you’re pretty!”

“He stares at you like the way my brother stares at ice cream!”

“Hey I was going to say that!”

Bickering ensues across the carpet and you simply gape at them as a hint of a smirk appears on Katsuki’s face.

Should we tell them after class? He mouths in your direction.

No, you mouth back, covering a giggle behind your hand at the continued chaos of your kids behind your boyfriend.

A little homework never hurt anyone.

[stoopidstapler]

SO IVE BEEN GOIN INSANE SINCE THIS TRAILER DROPPED. JUST. SIMON. SIMON. SIMON.

[unluckywisher]

Period sex with Sylus <3

Warnings: Obvious blood kink. Graphic descriptions (no violence!). He loves seeing your blood. He licks his fingers stained with your blood but he doesn't eat you out. This is surprisingly tame tbh.

Word count: ~1.6k

You were laying on the couch in your apartment, head on the pillow, clutching your abdomen. It was the second day of your period, and thus the most painful for you; and even though you had taken an ibuprofen, it hadn't taken effect yet.

Just as you were groaning in pain, someone knocked on the door. Ugh. Who could it be now. You stood up, checking that you didn't look too bad before opening the door.

"Good morning, dearest." Sylus greeted, leaning on the doorframe.

"What." You huffed, awaiting an explanation for his uninvited presence. Normally you would have welcomed him in with a smile and a hug, but right now it felt like a sword was lodged in your pelvis, and you had no time for niceties.

"You're on the second day of your period." He stated, no harm meant.

He knew, of course he did. He had asked about your cycle so he could mark it on his calendar.

"Yes, and?"

"I couldn't come by yesterday because I had things to take care of, but I wanted to drop by as soon as I could to bring you a little something." He raised his arm, a gift bag dangling from it.

You reached to grab it, but he moved his arm up.

"Ah, ah. Let me in first properly, and then you can have it." He leaned forward, waiting.

You sighed, but a smile crept up your lips as you gave him a kiss.

"Come in." You moved aside.

"That's my girl."

You closed the door behind him as he entered, and he made his way to the couch, you following behind and sitting down next to him. You extended your hand and he handed you the gift bag, propping his ankle on his knee and resting his arm around you on top of the couch's backrest.

The bag wasn't all that heavy, but by it's weight, you could tell there were a few items in it. You picked up the first thing your fingers touched, and pulled it out. A plushie of your favorite animal.

"Oh my gosh..." You mumbled, hugging it to your face. "It's so cute!"

"I see I picked right." He chuckled.

You put the plushie on your lap and picked the second object. An assortment of your favorite candy and chocolates.

Gasping, you took one and ate it. "Mmmm..."

"May I have one?" He opened his mouth.

You picked the flavor you liked less and put the piece on his tongue, earning an equal sound as the one you made, but lower. It sent butterflies to your stomach. He smirked knowingly.

In an attempt to regain focus, you cleared your throat and picked the last item. A... pack of condoms. Okay. Straightforward. You side-eyed him, holding them up.

He didn't say anything. He just stared, amused.

"So..." You started. "These are to use... When my period's over?"

He shook his head.

"Sylus, I-"

His arm sneaked around your waist and pulled you closer sharply, the objects on your lap falling to the ground. His breath mixed with yours, noses almost touching.

"What's the problem?" He murmured. "Why can't we?"

"Well-" You started, losing resolve fast. "I'm in pain, and I feel gross..."

"You know that sex helps reduce period pain, don't fool me." He tilted his head. "And you might feel that way, but I personally can't wait to see you dripping down my dick."

He put a hand to your abdomen, his Evol flaring. There was a surge, like a rush, almost like the butterflies you felt before, but tenfold. You squirmed and gasped, clutching his shirt. It wasn't the first time he used his Evol to arouse you, but it was the first time he used it during your period.

"Please?" He purred.

Dammit. You pushed his hand away, standing up. "I'll go grab a towel."

The last time you were on your period, you two hadn't started dating, so you didn't know this about Sylus yet, but the fact was that he lived for period sex. And the prospect of having you right now had had him hard ever since he woke up. Yesterday, in fact, knowing you were already on it and he couldn't be with you, he had jacked off a couple of times thinking about it.

He stood up, stopping you. "I'll get everything ready, you go rest."

You had no complaints, so you did as you were told, and went to your bedroom to sit on the bed while he moved around your apartment. Soon, he brought two towels (just in case), a bottle of water, and the condoms. He asked you to stand up so he could arrange the bed properly with the towels.

"Are you ready?" Despite his husky voice, it was a genuine question.

"I'm gonna clean myself first with some water."

"Why? I'll help you get clean afterwards, it makes more sense."

"I mean, yeah, but I'm wearing a pad and I'm stained with blood and..."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not caring at all if you were. "I already told you I don't mind."

To be fair, you weren't uncomfortable with the bleeding, just embarrassed that he would fuck you like this.

"So, are you ready or not?" He repeated.

"Mhm." You raised your hand to his cheek to bring him in for a kiss, him already moving forward to reciprocate it.

He lifted you into his arms and onto the bed as his tongue slipped inside your mouth, hands finding the edges of your clothes and swiftly pulling off your shirt and pants, leaving you in your underwear.

You unbuttoned his vest and shirt, unbuckling his pants. He grunted when your hand finally made contact with his skin, sliding down his abdomen and pulling down his boxers. His fully erect cock twitched in anticipation.

He broke the kiss, lips red, and looked down to pull your underwear off slowly. Nervous, you swallowed.

His eyes seemed to shine a brighter red as he discarded the piece of clothing on the floor and looked at your bare cunt. His mouth went dry.

"I'll go slow, I promise." By how his eyes didn't meet yours, it sounded like he was talking to himself.

He grabbed one of the condoms and ripped it open, handing it to you to do the honors. This time, he was looking at you. You grabbed it and propped yourself up to put it on him, his hands caressing your naked body. A hiss escaped his lips as you fisted his cock to slide the condom down. You looked up at him as he stood on the edge of the bed, and leaned back.

"If it hurts, tell me." He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, before aligning himself with your entrance.

God, your blood was barely on him and he was already losing it in his mind. He sunk the tip, eyes darting back to your face to gauge your reaction, your mouth parting in a gasp - in pleasure, so he kept going until he bottomed out, both of you gasping now.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes..." You nodded for him to keep going.

He looked back down and pulled back, watching your blood now coating his dick and streaming down your cunt. He almost came. You felt his fingers dig into your thighs, thumbs pulling your labia apart for him to take a better look.

Thanks to the mix of arousal and blood, he sunk himself back in with ease. You moaned, making him look up, he didn't want to miss a single expression.

He made a faster thrust, and you could feel the fluids dripping down your side. Your hands flew to his neck, bringing him closer. He picked up the pace, still moving somewhat slow but consistently.

His right hand moved from your thigh to your clit, rubbing circles. He felt the blood stain his fingers, and his breath hitched.

"M-more." You moaned. "Faster."

"My pleasure." He smirked.

His thrusts got quicker and sharper, hitting that spot that had you mumbling incoherent words. You leaned your head back on the bed, fingernails digging into his back. He looked down, how you were taking him, your walls tight around him, the blood pumping out and being fucked back in.

"You look... So pretty... Like this... For me..."

You answered by whimpering.

He couldn't take this much longer. Between the wet sounds, your noises, your nails, how you squeezed his cock, and the dripping he now felt on his balls too, this was too much. But he knew you still had a bit to reach his state, so he put his left hand on your abdomen, Evol flaring, and pressed.

You choked on a moan, the overwhelming feeling rushing across your body.

"Cum for me," he muttered, equally consumed, "like the good girl I know you are."

That did it. You clenched around him, legs shaking, and scratched his back as you reflexively leaned forward. He moaned, reaching his climax as well. You felt his cock twitch inside of you.

"That's my girl... Yes..." His breathing was labored, moving a bit still to let both of you ride it out, before resting on your shoulder.

You caressed his hair as you came down, recovering your breath. He pulled back to give you a kiss and bite your bottom lip, before bringing his hand up and licking his bloodied fingers with a smirk. You blushed.

"Lovely." He chuckled. "Next time you let me taste you fully, hm?"

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/saradika

[sincerelybubbles]

it's a date || spencer reid x reader

part 2

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention. 

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you. 

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight. 

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind. 

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain. 

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door. 

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous. 

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. 

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee. 

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply. 

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over. 

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide. 

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge. 

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove. 

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh. 

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor. 

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book. 

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand. 

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta. 

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart. 

You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news. 

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting. 

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident. 

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet. 

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well. 

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face. 

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief. 

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest. 

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled. 

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression. 

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere. 

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder. 

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile. 

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are. 

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted. 

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him. 

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space. 

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones. 

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically. 

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head. 

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name. 

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone. 

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait. 

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in. 

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks. 

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack. 

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something. 

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder. 

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow. 

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him. 

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up. 

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains. 

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little. 

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one. 

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted. 

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread. 

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him. 

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it. 

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes. 

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him. 

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about. 

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere. 

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable. 

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away. 

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms. 

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly. 

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something. 

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers. 

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging. 

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering. 

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct. 

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back. 

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly. 

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored. 

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory. 

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught. 

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street. 

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food. 

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street. 

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs. 

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks. 

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer. 

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house. 

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head. 

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window. 

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology. 

You wish he hadn’t. 

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again. 

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle. 

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts. 

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway. 

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side. 

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun. 

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks. 

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low. 

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms. 

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid. 

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy. 

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head. 

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket. 

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team. 

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway. 

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you. 

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away. 

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it. 

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile. 

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

[zweig-eater]

art turning his brain off every time you guys are together…

something about you, everything about you.. he feels safe, cared for, wanted, needed even. it all just makes his head dizzy and clouded with nothing but his love for you.

you noticed it gradually as he became more and more relaxed with you. it started simple, he would let you order his food for him, and pull him wherever you wanted during dates. he was your puppy, just happy to be there and tingling in your presence.

the longer you were together, the more time you spent together, he leaned further and further into you. as soon as he walked into your dorm room, his head fell and his shoulders relaxed as he dropped his bag to the floor, racket clanking as it landed, and padded over to you. every millisecond spent without your skin connected felt like a millennia for art. your room smelled of coconut and vanilla, your perfume, making his brain start to melt already.

you laid on your bed, sat up with your back against the head board. as soon as he stepped in, you closed your laptop and gave him your full attention. something he always noticed. at the beginning, this undivided attention was enough to well tears in his eyes as he realized he might have finally found a home as warm as he’d always longed for. as his eyes met yours and he was in arms length, you reached out, and just that was enough for him to give in and collapse into you.

laying directly between your legs, he rested his head against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. your hands found his hair and lower back and instinctively started scratching and tracing heart shapes into him. your legs tangled naturally and you gave art a few moments of this bliss. both of your breathing matched paces, your heart beat thumped in his ear and he swore he could feel it through his whole body. as if your heart was beating for the both of you. he breathed in your skin, your scent, every inch of you lulled him into a state of tranquility.

he could feel himself slipping. not into sleep, no, he was wide awake. slipping into some other state. his head spun, brain melting to mush, all his worries, stress and the never ending expectations piled onto him disappeared into thin air. he couldn’t even remember how he got to your dorm, god, he was forgetting his own name. everything he knew was just out of grasp, leaving only you. he felt hypnotized. tranced into this state of consciousness that was just past the brink of reality, but close enough that he knew you were real. you both were. and he was yours. entirely. you owned him. he craved it, you. he wanted to be nothing but an extension of you.

“hi puppy”, you whispered gently into his ear. the nickname sending him over the edge as everything inside of him unravelled. his tight wound strings, gently lacing and connecting with yours.

“nng i love you” he whined, it sounded pitiful, and he didnt care for a second. it was all he had the mental capacity to utter, he was drowning in his love for you, and it practically spilled out of his lips, as his hands pawed and gripped you even harder.

“i love you baby, endlessly” you told him. as you gently tugged his hair and left a kiss on his forehead.

and he believed you. you loved him. him. not art donaldson the tennis player. not the versions of him everyone else seemed to create. not the version of him he felt like he had to be. not the versions of him he couldn’t even recognize in the mirror anymore, but everyone else claimed to know so well. just him, and all of him, with no caveats or expectations. he didnt have to fight, or play, every single day for your love, for your praise. he was just him, and you loved him. and he was devoted to you.

the hearts you continued to trace on his lower back, a constant reminder, he was yours, entirely, your lap dog, and he fucking loved it.

[bubblingsteam]

[frownyalfred]

i just know, in my heart of hearts, that if the Justice League was trapped in a situation where they were all definitely about to die, Hal would absolutely turn to Bruce and go "to be honest, I always thought you were hot as fuck and we had mad chemistry. wanna try it?" and Clark is right there and just absolutely sputtering while Bruce, reluctantly, horrifyingly, contemplates how much he wants to hate himself for his last seventeen minutes on earth

[theonewhowails]

silly stuff i drew while reading Feel No Evil by @payasita , in which the Lamb does not know how to propose, Narinder does not know how to be alive, and neither of them knows what an obligate carnivore is

bonus? lmao

[enden-agolor]

oh god its those freaks again

[hinamie]

hi!! I love your art and the jjk atla au has grabbed my brain in Ways That I Cannot Explain. i love them sm. also ty for the inuokko promise, bc trust they are my favorite ship ever (sorry itafushi, you guys are second place). i wish you well in the process and hope that everything goes smoothly for you!!!!

!!! thank u so much I'm happy u like my art and our little passion project <3 <3 <3

also. hm . inuokko u say :>

pov u look up and u see this ^

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[izzystizzys]

There is a scratch mark on the floor of the Council chambers that Mace has never noticed before. Not a deep one, mind, quite shallow. This matters because it’s making the white-hot pulse of agony stabbing through his eyeballs ebb momentarily. Then, he chances a glance upwards at the fidgeting Knight in front of them, and it returns in full force.

Huh, he’s never seen Oppo Rancisis’ face turn that colour before.

“Hmm”, Master Yoda hums, deep and scratchy. His expression is unreadable even to Mace beyond a baseline gremlinness, and the force with which he grips the edges of his seat is making his bones creak. Master of the Order you should become, they said. Follow the calling of the Force, you should. A fulfilling purpose, it will be. Mace is going to hunt the little goblin for sport when this is all over, and he’s going to laugh the whole time.

“Show us the livestream again, could you, Knight Parvo?” Yoda asks. Mace bursts a capillary, he’s pretty sure, and so does poor Knight Parvo, whose orange Mon Cala skin tips all the way into blood red with stress. “Most unusual, this is.”

“Absolutely not!”, Ki Adi intervenes before Mace has to, thank the Force for little mercies. Plo Koon’s tusks tremble slightly with either suppressed laughter or abject horror, maybe both, and Stass Allie has her head in her hands. “The holo stills should be enough”, Ki Adi proceeds to add, and Mace has to reconsider all feelings of grace he just felt towards his fellow Councillor.

He never wants to watch Yoda zoom in on someone’s abs again. Or Depa raise her eyebrows at the curve of thighs bent over the dripping front of a speeder.

“Speeder Wash For Our Troops”, his former padawan reads out loud from a still of what has to be hundreds of the things gathered in the public senate parking lot. “Fund Our Boys And Get A Wet Seeing-To!” The series of images features dozens of Coruscant Guard troopers in various stages of unkitted, gleaming and shining with soap suds and water. The fact that the whole thing is also massive shatterpoint after massive shatterpoint is, quite frankly, insulting.

“Well hello- oh dear”, Obi-Wan’s blue form crackles to life in his chair, followed by several sounds of choking that are definitely not him. Good, Mace thinks acidly. If he has to deal with this, then so does kriffing Skywalker. “I’m sorry, why am I looking at Commander Thorn using a washrag like a lasso on top of a speeder?”

“Oh, the Guard’s little fundraising project”, Bail Organa says, as he steps into the Council chambers. Normally, Mace likes the man well enough. Now, he just smiles and adds on, “I’ve already donated, in mine and Breha’s name. Remotely, of course.”

“The Guard’s fundraising speeder wash?”, Obi-Wan repeats, edges of his holo form flickering with what Mace suspects is Skywalker very unsubtly trying to edge in. Force, but the man really is horrible at any and all stealth, like kissing his secret wife in an open arena in front of his Master. “And they are fundraising for…?”

“GAR budget allocations have to come from somewhere”, Organa shrugs. “And with the tide of public opinion turning, they’ve been tending towards cuts. The Guard feels them more keenly than any other sector - they’ve been reduced from half to quarter rations, and medical supplies have not made more than a token appearance in the last draft. The Chancellor has cancelled three consecutive meetings on the matter, and thus it was agreed that a more hands-on approach was needed. Any surplus will go into the Army fund.”

“Surely it can’t be that dire”, Oppo protests, a slightly less concerning shade of purple now. Senator Organa shrugs again, jostling the smattering of cracks slowly building around his person in a way that makes Mace wince quietly. “It’s all publicly available data, Masters.”

It really can be that dire, as it turns out. And quarter rations is only scratching the surface of how dire, considering the Guard has apparently never had access to bacta in all their posting, and also includes requisitioning forms available to the Senate for reconditionings and decommissionings, two words Mace has only heard Ponds whispers amidst shuddering in the early days of the war before Shaak Ti went off and just about tore some throats out over it.

“Alright”, he concedes, rubbing at his temples. “Fair enough, we have failed to tackle a massive blind spot in the Guard’s well being. There is no Jedi assigned to Coruscant, and that’s an oversight on our behalf. But how in the everloving kriff did this get past the Chancellor and Commander Fox?!”

Who have both signed, black on white. Bail Organa smiles cryptically. “Well, if you scroll a bit past that one image, up to the industrial speeder in the back - Commander Fox is currently having credits stuffed into his codpiece in the back, I believe.”

“HE’S WHAT IN THE WHAT NOW”, Commander Cody screeches through the speaker of Obi-Wan’s holo image, and Mace has to summon every bit of Jedi-serenity he possesses in his body to keep from dropkicking a cackling Yoda through the chamber windows.

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[spiderziege]

kings and clocks and stories

inspired by @bellshazes Realisa Onum

[thechildofshadows]

js realized that Percy didn’t let go of Annabeth in MOA bc the last time she fell off a cliff alone, she went missing for a week.

He wanted to go with her then, he went with her now.

[lihhelsing]

steddie | 1,7k words | angst | mature

Written for @steddieangstyaugust Day 13

Prompt: "Please, Stay"

Read Part 1 | Part 2

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eddie spends a lot of time having no words. 

As Steve carries him back to the beemer, Eddie doesn't have words. He hums against Steve's shoulder when Steve asks him if it's ok for him to put him down but in reality he would very much like to keep clinging to Steve. 

He has no words as Steve pats his pockets until he finds his keys to open the trailer door and he almost says something to calm Steve down about Wayne not being there but Steve doesn't seem worried about it.

Which really should clue him in that there are things he is unaware of, but his face is bloodied and his chest hurts every time he breathes and he doesn't have energy to worry about it. 

Steve carries him to the couch and puts him down gently, but it still hurts. 

Eddie closes his eyes when his head hits the pillow but he lets out a low groan when he feels Steve moving away. 

"I need to clean you," Steve says and Eddie can hear him moving through the trailer. Maybe he should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't. 

Steve Harrington is at his house after all. If Eddie plays his cards right maybe he'll get his Star Wars marathon after all. 

When he comes back, Eddie almost says something, but then Steve is touching him and it hurts but it's also so good. He's gentle and sweet and he bats Eddie's hands away when he tries to touch his cut. 

"Behave, Eddie," Steve says, and Eddie groans, but he abides. 

When he's done, Eddie immediately misses his touch. 

"I'm gonna get you something for the pain. I think you might have a broken rib and the best advice I can give you is to rest and wait until it's healed."

Eddie groans again and delights himself with Steve's laugh as he walks around the trailer as if he belongs there. Eddie imagined someone like Steve wouldn't feel comfortable in a shithole like the trailer. 

Not that Eddie doesn't love it. He does. So fucking much. But Steve lives in a mansion, his bedroom alone is probably bigger than Eddie's entire house. 

Steve comes back and he helps Eddie to sit down. He feels better, even if everything still hurts. But he's home and Steve's there because he found him by some miracle and now he's putting a glass of water to Eddie's lips and helping him swallow a pill that will probably make him sleepy. 

Steve smiles proudly when Eddie drinks the entire glass and moves to put it back in the kitchen and that's when Eddie sees it. 

His eyes move to their old center table and he knows what he's going to find there. One of his Star Wars cassettes that he was too lazy to put away the other day. 

Maybe he could get away with suggesting they watch it but as his brain is considering the best way to ask Steve that, he spots something that so obviously doesn't belong there he has no idea how he hadn't noticed it before. 

A big bouquet of flowers. Red roses, if Eddie is not mistaken. 

He moves even as his entire body seems about to catch on fire and grabs it, pulling it closer to smell it. 

They smell good. Eddie doesn't think he ever saw such gorgeous flowers and he knows for a fact Wayne didn't buy them. He's more of a Peonies kind of guy. 

Which only leaves...

"Oh, uh, sorry, I shouldn't have-" Steve says once he's back, and he moves to get the flowers but Eddie holds on to them. 

"Did you really stood up a date to go rescue me?" Eddie asks, and he doesn't know why he does it.

Steve frowns as he looks down at Eddie, "Oh, no, the flowers are-"

Eddie breaks eye contact with Steve because he feels bad now. Glances at the clock, it's almost nine. 

"If you show up at her doorstep with these flowers, I bet she'll forgive you for missing the date," Eddie says, and then he raises the bouquet in Steve's direction so he can take it. "I'm sorry I got in the way."

Steve grabs the flowers and Eddie thinks this is it, he's going to leave and Eddie will be left alone to lick his wounds. But then he puts them back on the table and kneels in front of Eddie. 

"Don't be sorry. I was worried about you and I'm glad I trusted my gut," Steve says and he does the sweetest thing, cupping Eddie's face and looking directly into his eyes.

Eddie feels... naked. Completely stripped of his attitude and his snark and everything else he uses to protect himself. 

The worst of it all is that it feels good. He feels a calm washing over him when he's this close to Steve. He has no idea when his dynamic with Steve changed from the King and the Freak to this. 

To Steve on his knees on the trailer being the one fucking good thing in Eddie's life right now. 

But Eddie knows better than to believe that things are really like this. That even if Steve is something good in his life, he knows it's not the same for Steve. Eddie is still just his drug dealer, the one person who can get him some weed for free. 

"You don't have to do that," Eddie says and Steve raises a brow. Up this close, Eddie can count the freckles on his face and he's trying so hard not to stare at his lips. 

"Do what?"

"Take care of me," Eddie says even as he's cringing inside. Even as if all he ever wanted was someone to take care of him like Steve is doing and now he's pushing him away. 

"I don't mind," Steve says as his thumb moves on Eddie's cheek.

It's too soft and Eddie is all sharp edges. 

"You don't have to do that to get free weed."

Steve pulls back as if he got burned. There's a shift in his expression that Eddie hates and he thinks maybe this is the reason he has nothing good in his life. 

"Maybe I should go," Steve says and Eddie feels it on a molecular level. He doesn't want Steve to go but he doesn't know how to ask him to stay. 

"Don't forget the flowers," Eddie says and Steve looks at him like he's insane. 

"Eddie," he says softly. Eddie sees him almost reaching his hand but giving up mid-air. 

"She probably won't even care about the flowers, dude. If you show up looking like this, she'll take you anyway."

Steve presses his lips together. He's annoyed, Eddie can tell, but he has no idea why. Eddie is complimenting Steve and the fact that all he has to do is smile and then he has any girl he wants. 

"That's good, because the flowers weren't for 'her'," Steve says the last word making air quotes and Eddie doesn't get it. 

"I'm not following," Eddie says. He's still on the couch and Steve is still on his knees and it's so fucking weird. 

"There's no girl, Eddie," Steve says and maybe Eddie hit his head when he fell because this doesn't make sense. 

"Are they for your mother?" He asks and even as he does it he knows it's a dumb question. Steve doesn't talk about his family a lot, but from the little he does, Eddie knows his mom is not the flower type. 

She would need to be around for his son to get her flowers. 

"You know they are not for my mother. I carried you inside, Eddie. How the hell would I've brought the flowers too?"

Eddie stares at him as he lets the words sink in. It's a little embarrassing that Steve had him in his arms, especially because he could've walked on his own but Steve felt warm and nice and Eddie had no idea when he would have him this close again. 

"The flowers were already here," Eddie says under his breath and he can't lie, Steve's exasperated expression is kind of cute. 

"The flowers were already here," Steve repeats as if Eddie needs him to. And maybe he does because that doesn't make sense unless...

"Were you here waiting for me? Did Wayne let you in?"

Steve smiles and claps his hands once as if he's proud of Eddie for figuring it out. 

"I was waiting for you. And Wayne did let me in. I was actually waiting in my car because I didn't know if you'd appreciate me meeting your uncle like this, but he tapped on my window and said he knew who I was and told me I could wait inside if I wanted. He had to leave and said you'd probably be here soon and then you weren't and I started getting worried and I decided to go look for you."

Steve says all in one go and Eddie feels glued in place as he looks at him. Wayne knows Eddie's been sporting a huge crush on Steve for months and he knows his uncle was delighted that he would have something to mock Eddie with. 

"Why were you waiting for me?" Eddie asks and he feels dumb as the words leave his mouth but Steve just smiles fondly, as if he thinks it's cute that Eddie is that naive. 

"With flowers," Steve adds and Eddie sighs. 

"Why were you waiting for me with flowers, Steve?"

"Because," Steve says and Eddie's afraid he's not going to elaborate. That he's going to leave Eddie to figure out for himself and worse, that he's just going to leave because he can't take Eddie's dumbness. "I was hoping the flowers would make my intentions clear."

"I'm not sure they did," Eddie says, eyeing the flowers behind Steve. They are nice. The kind of flowers you get for someone you really care about. 

"Eddie!" Steve says and Eddie snorts because he's being a little shit on purpose. "I'm going to leave."

"Please, Steve," Eddie says and he has him again. Doe eyes and full attention on him. "Please, stay."

Steve smiles and nods and Steve leans in and Eddie thinks he's going for a kiss but he just hugs Eddie and for now, that's enough.