#hell if anything i’m doing worse on that front because i have no fucking energy now. i am constantly exhausted and dizzy. i can’t eat as

[quietwingsinthesky]

.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Night Changes

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 925

Notes: 🥹🥹🥹 I actually got a request what is this

Eddie had come home from work exhausted. Normally he was tired, but he could barely get into the shower on his own… not that he minded you having to help him. 

You’d helped him in while fully clothed and your clothes still ended up in a wet heap on the tiled floor somehow. 

Sure he didn’t have enough energy to wash his own body but apparently he had enough to watch you fuck yourself on him while he leaned again the shower wall for support. And he had absolutely no problem in pinning you to the wall and pushing his cum inside you as deeply as he could 

“Breeding you is my favorite thing to do,” He says in a dreamy-silly voice as you’re drying off his body and you giggle, rolling your eyes 

“It’s my favorite too” 

You served him dinner in bed… and that’s when the reason for all the soreness presented itself.

You weren’t even sure how you missed it, actually, you know exactly how, because he wouldn’t turn his back to you and whilst you thought it was weird you shrugged it off. But now that he’s in bed and has to lay on his side you see the large bruise on his back 

“Eddie?? What the hell!” You make him turn over on his stomach and he sighs guiltily 

“It’s way worse than it looks, baby”

“Oh?” You poke it and he hisses in pain, you slap his thigh and he lets his head fall into the pillows 

“What happened?” You ask quietly, you don’t want to know, but you need to. 

“The… building kind of, maybe, possibly, blew up? Uh in simplest terms I guess… it wasn’t anything crazy I swear. Everyone is okay, but I definitely got knocked back on my ass” 

“And you were just gonna hide this?” You reach into your bedside table and get out Buck's stupid bruise cream he swears works (it does and he always does little commercials when he gives you a new jar) you gently start applying it to his back and he moans softly 

“I wasn’t trying to hide it… I just- I couldn’t tell you right away, I didn’t want to scare you”

“This isn’t right away Eddie… this is hours later”

“You would have come to the station in a panic” 

“So?” You push down a little and he yelps 

“So! I didn’t want to scare you and then have to send you home… you can see where I’m coming from right?” 

“Unfortunately, yes” You finish rubbing it into his back, giving him a little massage and he hums happily

“You know what would really make me feel better?” He mumbles 

“What?” 

“Round two” 

“Eddie!”

You scream his name as you wake up, the images of him lying dead on the floor bleeding out still clear, you feel around for him, tears streaming down your cheeks trying to fight through the haze of watching him drown. 

“Jesus fuck-“ he wakes with a start, his hands waving around in little karate motions “What is it?!” He turns to you, your hands are shaking with the blood still stained on them 

“Y/N?” He says softly “Corazón?” 

He takes your hands and you jolt, blinking rapidly. He holds your hands tighter as he sees your chest heaving, the tears keep falling as you yank your hands back from him, trying your hardest to wipe the blood from them onto the blankets, it’s getting everywhere and he’s just lying there, lifeless, staring into your eyes. You couldn’t save him, even when you know what’s coming, you can’t swim deep enough, you can’t jump in front of the bullets fast enough.

There's nothing you can do. 

“Hey, hey shhh honey what’s going on??” He eases you into his lap, holding you tightly against his bare torso, hoping the skin-to-skin contact calms you down. He pushes your head gently against his chest, right over his heartbeat 

“Hear that?… beating just for you” He whispers, rocking you slowly as you cry into his arms. He shushes you, kissing your head and humming your wedding song to you, Dreaming of You by Selena. 

“Can you tell me about it?” He asks, and it takes a little while until your sobs are quieted and you can finally feel him against you. 

“It was that dream again…” you say quietly and he nods 

“Oh… the one where?”

“Yeah” you mumble and he cracks a smile, putting his cheek on your head 

“I should have told you sooner about getting hurt…” 

“You can’t control my dreams, Eddie”

“Yeah…but I could make things easier on you. You know I’m not going anywhere, right? I’m Superman baby I can’t die” 

You sniffle and giggle a little, wiping at your eyes “Eddie… things happen and-“

“And I will always come home to you, no matter where I am, no matter how late it is… no matter how many shots I take or how hot the fire burns, I will always come home to you Corazón. I promise you.” 

“Even if Buck promises ice cream sundaes with those sprinkles you like?” 

You look up at him and he kisses you, it’s long and slow as he cups your cheek. He pours all the love passion and emotions he feels for you into it. He feels your body relax against his and he knows he’s quieted your fears again, fears that he definitely has too sometimes. 

“Even if Buck promises ice cream sundaes with the sprinkles I like” 

[babytarttdoodoo]

fresh concrete in my mouth

((Winner of Whumptober Poll #1 | Day 3 | “Make it stop.”)) 

The door opened and Roy ignored it. Either it was Beard, who knew better than to say something, or Nate, who wouldn’t know how to say something, or it was someone who wouldn’t think to look for him on the floor behind his desk.

“Coach?”

Roy groaned, louder than intended. Because of course it was Jamie Fucking Tartt.

Sure enough, a mop of blonde hair invaded Roy’s view of the ceiling tiles as Jamie bounded around the desk, still full of energy after a full day of training.

Prick.

Jamie’s brow scrunched up in confusion as he took in the sight of Roy sat against his own desk drawers, legs stretched out in front of him. “What you doing down there?”

“None of your fucking business,” Roy grit out, annoyed enough already without stupid questions making it worse. “What do you want?”

Jamie’s nose wrinkled, adding to the overall scrunchyness of his face. “I were just wondering what your dinner plans are. You alright?”

“Do I look alright?” Roy snapped, frustration hot in his chest, and immediately regretted it when Jamie’s expression blanked and he held up his hands.

“Okay, okay, don’t got to bite my head off,” he chided, edging around Roy like he was keeping his distance from a wild animal. It was almost funny, that he thought Roy had a hope in hell of being able to reach him if he lashed out right now.

Except for all the ways it wasn’t funny at all.

Roy sighed, guilt cloying his throat as much as the pain. “Right. I don’t have dinner plans but I’m going to be here a while.”

“Okay…” Jamie drew the word out, head bobbing from side to side. “Why?”

“Because my knee fucking hurts!” It burst out of him without permission: too loud, too angry. But once it was out, Roy didn’t want to take it back, the words flowing through a wrecked dam of pride. “It fucking hurts, and it always fucking hurts, but apparently I can’t even stand still at the side of a bloody pitch in shitty weather without it fucking..."

He snarled wordlessly, gesturing at the offending limb in an attempt to encapsulate the throbbing, sickening, familiar sensation of pain that had sent him to the floor in desperation.

“And if it isn’t fucked because of the shitty fucking rain, it’s swollen from the heat because it’s shitting summer and everything’s awful and I can’t do this.”

His voice had risen to a shout and the silence became another entity in the room as he panted from the effort and Jamie stared.

Roy dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst into the darkness behind his lids. He tried to breathe through the inarticulate rage and helplessness that threatened to drag him under.

"I just want it to fucking stop hurting," he admitted quietly, as much to himself as to Jamie. “It never bloody stops.”

He gentled the pressure of his hands but didn’t drop them, still hiding his face behind his fingers so he didn’t have to see whatever stupid expression Jamie had conjured up in the name of empathy.

Though, it was quiet for longer than he expected. Instead of speaking, Jamie moved around quietly and there was a nearby rustle of clothes before Roy felt him settle in against his side, pressed up next to him on the floor.

“I don’t think saying ‘sorry’ is going to help much,” Jamie finally voiced, subdued and so careful that Roy was obligated to give him proper attention. He turned to look at him, blinking the haze from his vision.

Jamie’s eyes were fixed across the room, his mouth downturned and brow furrowed. He was so expressive, all the time, and Roy still found him so incredibly difficult to read.

“Not sure anything I say can help much. I don’t know what you’re going through.” He shrugged a little, as though that simple admission didn’t strike through Roy with all the precision of a scalpel. “But we’re here for you, mate. You’ve got good people around you.” He nudged him with his elbow and slid his eyes across to meet Roy’s. “You’ve got me, coach. Whatever you need.”

Roy didn’t know what to do with his soft smile. With being gently given permission to feel the way he did.

And worse, whatever Jamie saw in his face prompted him to continue.

“You’re allowed to be human, Roy.”

“Fuck.” Roy choked on a sob that punched out of him, unbidden, and slammed a hand across his mouth.

His knee still ached. But the sensation of a warm arm around his shoulders was familiar too.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT 48

✨GT Stands For Guilt Trip✨

Well, we finally made it to the home stretch.  This is the Shadow Dragons Saga, the last arc in Dragon Ball GT.  And it’s pretty fucking terrible, let’s make that clear up front.  I was willing to be diplomatic about GT when I started.  I was prepared to wade through the nonsense of the early episodes, and I let my interest in Tuffle lore keep me engaged with the Baby Saga, and I barely remembered the Super 17 Saga, so I powered through that one by sheer curiosity. 

But the Shadow Dragons Saga sucks ass.  I say this with zero respect to anyone who worked on this anime.  This arc is like watching an oil spill happen.  This arc is like the time I found a dead bird in the vent duct of my dryer.   I’d rather go to the dentist than watch this crap, because at least it wouldn’t take as long.

I’ll be honest with you, dear reader, liveblogging GT has really worn me down.  I wanted to cover this one for the sake of completion, and so I could have a handy reference to each episode in the future, and I also thought it could be a lot of fun to critique the show in a playful sort of way.  But I didn’t take into account just how awful this show really was, or the mental toll it would take on me to spend so much time on it. 

So from here on out, I’m just gonna augur in and get this over with.  Strap yourselves in, because we’re about to see quite possibly the worst Dragon Ball saga ever made.  I’m not sure if the individual episodes are worse than the ones we’ve seen so far, but the arc as a whole is a master class in how to piss away your audience’s goodwill.

✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨

Oh, where do I even begin?  Okay, so when Dr. Gero opened up that portal between Hell and Earth, it caused all these disasters across the Earth, on top of the damage done by Super 17 and Gero’s allies.  Dragon Team decided to summon Shenron to wish away all the death and destruction, but the Dragon Balls were cracked, and when they called Shenron, a bunch of smoke billowed out of the Balls, and a new, shady-looking Dragon emerged. 

King Kai warned Goku that it wasn’t Shenron, but the dragon itself seemed to identify as the same Shenron that Dragon Team had used in the past.  I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy, just changed beyond recognition.  Anyway, this is sometimes referred to as “Smoke Shenron”, and he never actually does anything in this form.  He just tells the good guys that he’s not going to be their “lapdog” any more, and then he takes the Dragon Balls and splits himself into seven parts, each one taking a Dragon Ball in a different direction. 

One annoying part of this is how no one can agree on who’s going to explain this situation. King Kai starts, but then the Elder Supreme Kai cuts him off, but then he’s so furious about it that Kibitoshin has to explain it instead, and then Dende and Mr. Popo show up to add their thoughts.  So I’m just going to give you the summary without getting into who says what.

During the Majin Buu Saga, Kibitoshin heard about the Earthling’s plans to use the Dragon Balls, but he seemed to have no idea what they were.  Later, the Elder Kai caught wind of it, and expressed disapproval.  According to him, the Dragon Balls were a special dispensation to Namekians, and should only be used sparingly.  The idea of the Earth having its own set was bothersome to him, and he seemed uncomfortable about using them to undo the damage of the Buu crisis, even when he was one of the people resurrected by the wishes.  In Dragon Ball Z, it sounded like he was just objecting to the whole thing on moral grounds.

But in this episode, we learn that his warnings we based on very real, very serious dangers. Each time you use the Dragon Balls, you introduce “minus energy” into them.  This arc really lays it on thick with the terms “plus energy” and “minus energy”, so get used to that.  I guess the deal is that it takes plus energy to grant a wish, so each time the Dragon Balls get used, they lose plus and gain minus?  Fuck it, who cares?  The point is that if they get used too often, the minus energy builds up inside the Dragon Balls, until they can’t contain it anymore, and this is what led to the events of this episode.  The next time Shenron is summoned, he comes out looking all weird and instead of granting wishes, he buggers off to start destroying the world.

In theory, the Dragon Balls can safely release this pent-up minus energy after each wish, but it takes about a hundred years for that to happen.  This is why the Dragon Balls scatter after each use.  By the time anyone can find all seven of them again, centuries would have passed, and the minus energy from the previous wish would be gone. 

However, that natural cooldown period got hijacked when Bulma invented the Dragon Radar.  Thanks to her, the Dragon Balls could be gathered much more easily.   Hell, just look at the last episode.  Goku, Trunks, and Pan went to gather the Balls at the tail end of Episode 47 and it didn’t take any time at all.  So over the past forty years, they’ve been making tons and tons of wishes, and that’s overloaded the Dragon Balls.  

The danger now is that Shenron will destroy the Earth.  I think there was a line about how it’s been cut off from the rest of the universe, but I’m not sure if I interpreted it correctly.  There’s also some concern that Shenron might continue his rampage and destroy the rest of the universe as well.  So Goku resolves to hunt down Shenron and kick his ass, which will presumably restore things to normal.

Okay, so that’s the premise.  Here’s why it sucks.

1) This is just a retread of the Black Star Dragon Balls.  I’ve already explained my gripes about the BS Dragon Balls, but the short version is that there was a prototype set of Dragon Balls hidden away for centuries, and using them can destroy the whole world, and Mr. Popo knew about them the whole time and never said anything.  The BS Dragon Balls were written out of the story in Episode 40, so now we’ve returned to the classic Red Star Dragon Balls we’ve always known, and suddenly they turn out to have the same problem, where they’re too dangerous to use.  So it’s not even original.

2) Why didn’t anyone say anything about this until now? This is the worst kind of retcon, the kind where new lore is introduced that doesn’t even remotely fit into the established history.  As this episode states, the gang have been using the Dragon Balls for decades.  During that time, they met Kami, who created the Dragon Balls, and other characters like Mr. Popo, Guru, Moori, and Dende, who know a great deal about creating and maintaining Dragon Balls.  Throughout Dragon Ball and DBZ, characters will pose questions about the kinds of wishes they can make, and what rules apply, and the experts will mull it over and give clear, concise answers.  On occasion, Shenron himself will counsel the characters who summon him, explaining the limitations of his powers and making helpful suggestions for how to word their wishes.  

The point I’m making here is that the Dragon Balls are extremely user-friendly.  The hard part is gathering them all together, but once you’ve done that, there’s plenty of guidance on how to use them and what not to do. And at no point did anyone ever bring up the dangers of overuse.  And yet, when Episode 48 comes along, you have King Kai, Kibitoshin, the Elder Kai, and Mr. Popo all going “Yeah, you assholes blew it.  You shouldn’t have used them so much.”  

3) If the Dragon Balls need 100 years to reset, then why do they work the way they do?  From the start, the Dragon Balls turn into stone for a year, after which they change back into orange crystal orbs and they can be used again.  This was written into the story to explain why the characters can’t just constantly re-gather the Dragon Balls for continuous wishing.  But it’s implied that this is a cooldown period to reset them for the next use.  This is further clarified when Dende reactivates the Dragon Balls in the Cell Saga.  They ask him to upgrade the Dragon Balls to grant three wishes instead of just one, and he can do it, but it means adjusting the “wishing power”.  Shenron can’t be made to grant 800 wishes in one go, because there’s a limit to what he can do in one summoning.  Porunga seems to have far greater capacity than Shenron, which is why he can resurrect people multiple times, restore whole planets, and always grant three wishes every 130 days.  But I assume this is because he’s built different.  

So there’s already a lot of logistical considerations built into the Dragon Ball concept.  And yet this episode suggests that the 1-year cooldown is only one percent of the time the Dragon Balls actually need to reset.  If that were true, then why didn’t Kami or Dende fix it so they turn to stone for 100 years instead of just one? 

Also, this episode mentions how Dende upgraded the Dragon Balls to grant more wishes, which only compounded the problem.  Well if Dende knew that was an issue, why the hell did he do it? And if he didn’t know, then how is he qualified to make and maintain Dragon Balls in the first place?  Dende doesn’t have much to say in this episode, which doesn’t make any fucking sense, because he should know more about Dragon Balls than anyone else in the show.  He’s a Dragon Type Namekian!  He literally studied the art of making Dragon Balls!  That’s why they recruited him to become the new Kami of Earth!  Moori said all of this when he recommended Dende to Goku! 

It really, really annoys me how this series keeps deferring to Mr. Popo for all of the Dragon Ball lore.  Popo is an attendant to the reigning Kami of Earth.  He’s not a Namekian, and everything he knows about Namekian culture and Dragon Balls, he learned from Kami, a Namekian.  Dende is a Namekian.  Everything he learned about Namekian culture and Dragong Balls, he learned on Namek.  He knew all about this stuff before he came to Earth, and then he kept studying it afterward.  And unlike Kami, Dende didn’t lose his memories of his people. 

If this Shadow Dragon nonsense made any sense at all, then Dende should be the one explaining it to the others.  Instead, they’re all explaining it to him, like he’s some idiot who never knew how any of this worked.

Seriously, how the fuck would Mr. Popo know about an evil dragon destroying another planet?  He’s never left Earth.  What would he know about any of this? I could see Dende reading about something like this in some book of Namekian legends, but not Popo.  Hey, speaking of Dende...

4) Why don’t they just kill Dende?  Everyone talks about this Shenron problem like it’s irreversible, but Shenron’s not invincible.  King Piccolo killed him with a ki blast, and he’s a weakling compared to most of the characters in this show.  But even if Shenron got stronger from all this minus energy, and killing Shenron isn’t an option, then why don’t they just kill Dende? 

This has always been the way it works.  When Nappa killed Piccolo, Kami died too, and the Dragon Balls were deactivated.  When Guru died, the Namekian Dragon Balls were deactivated.  When Kami and Piccolo fused into one, the Earth’s Dragon Balls were deactivated.  According to GT, their fusion somehow reactivated the Black Star Dragon Balls, which is why Piccolo allowed himself to die in Episode 40, so they would never endanger anyone again.  So it’s clear that the people making GT understood this concept. 

Well then, the Earth’s Dragon Balls are under the stewardship of Dende now, so if he dies, they should stop working.  This was a major plot point in the Buu Saga, where they needed to keep Dende alive in order to wish everyone back to life after Buu was defeated.  Kill Dende, kill Shenron. 

I’m not saying they should have actually gone through with this, but why doesn’t anyone bring it up?  Or, a more humane option would be to break that sculpture of Shenron that Mr. Popo made.  I’m pretty sure Kami and Dende always had the power to turn Shenron off when it suited their purposes.  We never saw that put into practice, but the pecking order was always very clear.  Shenron is not a “god” or a “mysterious legend”.  He’s a magic familiar under the control of Dende.  Shenron can’t do shit without Dende to allow it. 

5) What about the Namekian Dragon Balls?  If this is a problem on Earth, then why has it never been an issue on Namek, where the Dragon Balls can be used much more frequently?  Do they just know how to avoid the problem, or do they wait 100 years between wishes?  I ask this because we’ve seen Porunga grant a dozen wishes in about as many years.  Oh, and in GT, they used Porunga again to restore the Earth after it exploded in Episode 40.  So the Namekian Dragon Balls have been overused at least as badly as the Earth’s Dragon Balls.  So where’s their Shadow Dragon problem? 

But maybe I’m being too hard on this story.  Yeah, there’s a lot of plot holes to this, but ultimately it comes down to a pretty cool angle.  The final boss of Dragon Ball is the Dragon himself.  Goku has to fight the Dragon to save the universe, and the Dragon has split into seven, which means Goku has to throw down with seven badass monsters, like some kind of awesome fantasy martial arts gauntlet.  Right?

Right?

You’re shaking your head, are you saying that the Shadow Dragons are not badass monsters?  Well that can’t be right, I’m sure that.... Oh.  Oh.

6) The Shadow Dragons suck ass.   Goku tracks down the first one and he looks like a joke.  Then a rock falls on his toe and he cries out in pain, revealing that he doesn’t just look like a joke, he is a joke.

This is played off like some sort of “appearances can be deceiving” trope, where the moral is not to underestimate your foe.   But that’s really not what this series needed at this stage.  You kind of knew that the Shadow Dragons would get increasingly difficult with each one, so the very first one would be the weakest, but this is ridiculous.  By the end, the last three give Super Saiyan 4 Goku a hard time, but the first four Shadow Dragons are total chumps.  They play their tricks and give Goku some trouble, but not because of any physical strength they possess.  And then you finally get to the “serious” Dragons at the end, and the fights suck, because GT is terrible at presenting fight scenes.

And this is what makes the arc so damned infuriating.  The Saiyans Saga from Z worked because it opened with a devastating conflict--Goku dies, for goodness’ sake!-- and then it promises an even more terrible enemy will appear in one year.  So the heroes train and the story winds on and the arc relies on this suspense.  What are the two Saiyans going to do when they get here?  How strong could they be?   Can anything stop them?  Then they finally arrive and the first thing they do is destroy a whole city.   The second thing they do is kill several major characters.  After it’s over, Goku spends the next several episodes in the hospital, because Vegeta broke every bone in his body!  The Saiyans Saga did not fuck around, and the reason it’s such a classic is that it delivered on the hype.

The Shadow Dragons Saga is the polar opposite to this.  This arc opens with dire warnings about seven monsters who will surely destroy the whole world, and it blunders the execution in every possible way.  The last Shadow Dragon is the only one that really matters, and he throws a clock at Goku, just to give you an idea of how “intense” that battle is.   You watch this garbage hoping that each new Shadow Dragon will redeem the disappointments that came before, and then you finally look up and notice that there are no more.   All of the Shadow Dragons came and went, and they all sucked. 

✨Positivity Page✨

There was a montage of all the wishes made over the years, so I guess that was pretty nice.  I’ll be honest, it’s gonna be really hard to find anything nice to say about these next few episodes. 

✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨

Yes.  It is worse.  The Roaming Lake is pretty much guaranteed to make a clean sweep of this thing.  All hope is lost.

One major problem with this episode is that very little actually gets done.  Most of the runtime is spent infodumping the Shadow Dragon concept, and I think I’ve already made my opinion on that very clear.  They spent a lot of time explaining the thing, but they managed to avoid every question that I had about it.

The rest of the episode shows lots of pointless scenes of Shadow Dragons flying around the world, choosing their bases of operations and selecting their powers.  One of them flies into a volcano and he’s going to be their fire guy.  That sort of thing.   Then Goku remembers he forgot the Dragon Radar, so Pan offers to let him have Giru, but only if she can tag along.  Then they find Haze Shenron, who looks like the love child of a frog and a moldy potato.

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Yeah, this show gets worse. 

Don’t worry, though.  We still have

Plenty of Giru.

[onewholivesinloops]

The one time I’m right about a prediction I’m going to kill myself... it’s even worse here because Satoko bashing the fuck out of Teppei’s corpse happens off-screen which is lame because I loved how she looked so furious doing it while also being in one hell of a dissociative haze and the way they used the lights flickering as a visual indicator was cool so it would’ve been nice to have something like that but with internal monologue.

It’s not like they absolutely needed to show her washing herself here or at least they could’ve done it in a different way. It could’ve just been a head shot. In Sotsu it was payoff to the scene from Tataridamashi and it was a little more tasteful because it was from behind (still weird and absolutely unnecessary) but this is a full front shot with just her arms and legs covering anything... she is supposed to be 11 and Tomato still can’t hold back...

I don’t even have the energy to complain about it anymore because I’m tired so this is the first and last time I’m bringing it up. It’s just really disappointing how an arc that should be handled delicately is being bogged down by this bullshit. This is the last arc that needed to be incredibly horny. I just want it to be over at this point.

[smolthealmighty]

Spinaraki Week Round 3 Day 5: Mess

To Love This Mess We Make

Someday in the future, Tomura will tell the story with Spinner nestled neatly into his side and he’ll laugh alongside everyone else, but fuck if it wasn’t absolutely horrifying to experience in the moment. You’d freak out too if you thought you accidentally killed the love of your life.

~~~~~

It was just supposed to be a pat on the shoulder.

Between all the war plans and the squad managing and the doctor’s health screenings, moments like these where Spinner and Tomura could just sit on the couch and work their way through a gauntlet of LOL matches together were frustratingly hard to come by.

With the power of teamwork (and a couple illegal mods but mostly teamwork), their champions had successfully defeated the opposing side despite the larger numbers and objectively better stats, and as a result they gained more XP than they had ever seen before. So of course Tomura was gonna playfully slap his buddy’s back and lavish him with the praise he damn well deserved…

It was just supposed to be an encouraging pat on the shoulder… and now Spinner’s skin was falling apart in flakes.

“Ah shit,” said Spinner nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t slowly dissolving into dust. “Looks like it’s time.”

That was the line of dialogue that caused Tomura’s thought process to switch from buffering mode to full panic what have you done mode.

“No no no no no no it’s not. It’s absolutely not your time if I have any say in it- don’t touch it!” Tomura screeched as he began to tear his room apart in a frenzy. “You’ll make it spread faster! Just don’t move, stay calm, yeah? You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay- dammit, where the fuck did I put my emergency knife?!”

“Knife?” Spinner whipped around, his attention diverted enough to stop fiddling with the skin that was still cracking why was he making it worse on purpose?! “Boss I don’t need a knife for this. What’re you-”

Spinner paused as he was temporarily blinded by the gleam of the knife Tomura had found, giving the still-rattled villain time to respond as he also pulled out a roll of bandages from the same spot in the closet. “If we don’t amputate then at this rate it’ll reach your jugular and some major arteries and-”

“Amputate?!” Spinner yelped, starting to scooch backwards and away from the frightened mess that was trying to return to his side. Said mess was stalled somewhat by the bandages that had tangled around his legs, but those would not stop him from reaching his friend to save him from the crawling decay on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Tomura whined while struggling against the wraps, “I should’ve been more careful and now you’re taking the de-buff because I fucked up the-”

“Tomura stop!” He froze at his friend’s command but was visibly shaking, like he was using all his panicked energy to keep himself from rushing over anyway. Sensing this, Spinner quickly continued, “Tomura talk to me, what do you think is happening right now?”

“I touched you,” Tomura wheezed, his breathing uneven and cycling far too fast as his volume picked up, “I touched you and I must’ve forgotten to lift a finger and you’re falling to pieces right in front of me and you won’t let me help!”

“I’m sheading my skin!” Spinner shouted, then lowered his voice to a softer and calmer tone. “I’m just sheading my skin. This happens every two months or so, it’s normal for me. I’m not in pain, I’m not hurt, you didn’t hurt me. Boss breathe, please please breathe, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t breathe.”

Spinner waited for Tomura to get his breathing under control to slow it down, at long last hearing it even out for good before telling him, “I trust you not to hurt me, you know that?”

Tomura took one more long breath, then replied, “Yeah, you do trust me.” And I’d rather die than do anything to lose it.

“Hell, if anything I’m sorry,” Spinner sighed, crisis and potential shoulder loss now averted, “Now I’m gonna have to spend the next hour or so tearing this dead skin off of me instead of strategizing for the next match.”

Tomura made his way closer, getting a better look at the peeling skin and the scaled pattern it retained. “Would the work go by faster if I helped? Consider it some amends for freaking you out like that.”

“You sure? I mean it is kinda gross I guess.”

It was little one-off lines like this that made Tomura want to hunt down and kill every moron who ever made Spinner feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Spinner please. We’ve slaughtered countless people and left bloody carnage behind. I can’t for the life of me remember the last time either of us took a bath. We’re currently sitting in a room piled high in expired food and candy wrappers and who knows how many spilled cans of soda. We are probably the grossest people this side of Japan. A little dead skin isn’t gonna freak me out.”

Spinner blushed and smiled, before turning his head to the side and mumbling, “Even if I eat it?”

Oh what would I do without you, you beloved disgusting boy of mine, Tomura thought as he sighed and replied, “Even if you eat it.”

[yourmidnightlover]

letting go

summary - when spencer comes back from prison, there’s no doubt he’s changed, especially in the bedroom. 

warnings - cat-calling, inmates describing gross sex things, soft dom!spence, fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (female receiving), hair pulling, fingering, aftercare, bit of subspace, fluff. *let me know if i missed anything*

wc - 3,758

masterlist

-----------------------------

spencer had been gone for almost three months. in prison. he was in prison for three months. in hell for 84 days.

you had visited him as much as you could, remembering the times he would be bruised and beaten each time you would visit him. some days his bruises would be even worse than the previous time.

on your visits, the men in the back would holler and cat-call you. you didn’t mind, as long as you were able to see spencer. but spencer did mind. he minded that those criminals were thinking things about you that only he, as your boyfriend, should be thinking. 

but he couldn’t do anything about it. 

the few times he tried, he only got beat worse. he wanted to defend you, to let you know that he could protect your image, but inside of that prison he couldn’t. he had no power. he had no control. 

you told him it was okay.

“i can handle a few whistles, spence,” you reached your hand across the table to gently stroke his knuckles. “it’s alright,” you tried to ease the obvious tension in his body.

“no. it’s not alright,” he softly argued. “you don’t even want to know what they’re thinking about right now,” he turned his eyes to the table, avoiding your gaze entirely. 

“i don’t need to know. i just need to talk to you,” you whispered softly. “i just need you to know how much i love you.”

“i love you, y/n,” he finally met your eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. 

when he would go back to his cell, or to eat lunch he would overhear people talking about you. talking about the things they would do to you. the things they were thinking about you.

“she’s got a fine ass, too. i would slam it so fucking hard, shit,” a large man groaned, recalling the image of you walking out of the building.

“i’d make dr. fbi watch while i did it, too. i don’t know how he got a bitch that looks like that,” another one replied.

he could only try to tune it out. most of the time it wouldn’t work. he would be doomed to the psychological torture of hearing them mention the crude things about you, unable to do anything about it.

so anytime you came to visit, he would have to mentally prepare himself for the worst. he wanted to see you, he truly did, but them saying those things about you made him want to restrict you from seeing him as a whole. but he loved you too much for that, and as selfish as it was, he needed to see you.

he needed your light heart. he needed your kind spirit. he needed your lifted energy. he just needed you. and if he had to do that while taking a bit of the names and annoyances, he would.

and you knew he hated it. so every time you visited him after the first time you would wear sweatpants and a hoodie or anything that would hide your figure. you wouldn’t wear makeup, you would try to look as unappealing as you could, just to try and make spencer more comfortable. 

but it didn’t necessarily work.

the first time you ever visited him, you wore your normal work outfit. a charcoal gray skirt, a matching gray blazer, white button up blouse, and black heels. that was probably the worst it was for spencer. you heard them hollering from behind the glass, trying to get your attention. you played it off cool in front of spencer, in spite of feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

he knew it made you uneasy, but you kept up your spirit for him.

the last time you had to visit was to tell spencer he was finally coming home. he thought it was just another visit, but he was also in  private meeting room waiting to see you. 

you could wear your normal work outfit to visit him again. 

you walked through the door, a small smile on your face. your eyes began watering from the thought of actually being able to touch him again, to feel his arms around you. to feel his lips against yours.

“you’re coming home now, spencer,” you felt the tear leave your eye, now rolling down your cheek.

his face changed as he came to the realization that he was no longer trapped in that hell hole. his eyes went wide, watering just like yours had as he walked quickly over to you, enveloping you inside of his arms completely. 

the first hug he’s had since he got transferred to the prison. he was glad it was with you. 

his arms went around your waist as yours were over his shoulders, his face nuzzled in your neck, his sniffles muffled by your skin. 

he relished in the smell of your shampoo, the feeling of your soft skin against his, the warmth of your body he’d missed for so long. he relished in your presence.

he pulled back long enough to press a firm kiss to your lips, his hands trailing up to cup your face softly. your hands held his arms right where they were, not wanting to let him out of your reach again. 

“i love you,” he said once he left your lips long enough.

“i love you,” you returned. 

the sweet paradise didn’t last for long because there was still the matter with cat. spencer was troubled with what was going on with his mom. stressed from the realization that he might lose her forever. he leaned on you even more during that time, needing your strength to help guide him through the hurt. you were more than happy to oblige. 

once you had all found his mom, safe and sound, spencer was finally able to relax a bit. you both had decided to have a night in, just the two of you.

you turned on some soft music, and began making dinner together. you hadn’t had a moment to actually breath for so long, let alone spend quality time together in your shared apartment. 

making dinner with him was mostly just you doing all of the work. it’s not that he didn’t want to help, he really did. he’s just not the best in the kitchen. besides, you’d rather have his moral support than him to help. 

so as you hovered over the stove, stirring the sauce the pasta was just poured into, he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your shoulder and placing soft, gentle kisses. you turned around into his embrace, placing a kiss to his lips in return. 

“it’s almost ready, bubs,” you said with a smile. 

“smells fantastic,” he complimented. “but i’m also in the mood for something else right now,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“oh? and what is that?” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“i think you know what that is, darling,” he said, pressing a kiss to your jawline with a little nibble. 

“how about we save that for after dinner, yea? i don’t want it to get cold and i’m hungry right now,” you shrugged, releasing him from your grip and turning around completely. 

“well that doesn’t mean i don’t get to hold you while you finish up,” he argued, wrapping his arms around your waist again and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“okay, well you do that, sir,” you laughed, stirring the pasta once more. “actually, can you hand me the plates, please?”

“of course,” he complied, handing you the plates that were on the already set table. “here you are.”

you both ate relatively quickly, you weren’t lying when you said you were hungry. after cleaning up a bit, which was spencer’s job since you cooked, you had both settled on the couch and were cuddling while watching a rerun episode of doctor who. 

he was laying his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your body protectively as you stroked his hair softly.

then, he ran his hands underneath your shirt slowly, stroking the soft skin on your waist. his hands gradually went higher and higher on your stomach until the were right underneath your boobs.

“spencer?” you giggled. 

“hmm?”  he mumbled, lifting the shirt to reveal your stomach and lightly kissing it all over. 

“are you okay?” you asked, looking down at the man who was practically worshiping your body. 

“hmm, i’m perfect,” he hummed against your body. he let his hands go higher on your body, grasping your breasts through your bra. you let out a breathy exhale from his touch.

his lips traveled to replace his hands as they traveled to your back, looking up at you for permission before he unclasped your bra. you nodded eagerly.

“i need words, princess,” he ordered, his voice deeper than previous. 

“yes, please,” you squirmed, feeling the wetness pooling at your core as he undid your bra, revealing your chest to him as he threw it somewhere in the room. 

when his lips finally wrapped around one of your breasts, his hand went to the other one, playing with it gently. his tongue toyed with your nipple, his teeth gently grazing it occasionally.

“oh my god,” you breathed out heavily, your hips bucking up towards him for any friction. 

he brought his knee up to your core, giving you the perfect amount of pressure you needed. your hips ground against his knee quickly, begging for any kind of release you could get. his mouth switched breasts when he felt the other one was neglected. when he could tell you were getting close he snapped his knee away from your body, a low groan leaving your mouth.

“patience, princess,” he laughed against you, his mouth coming up to kiss yours fervently. “you’ll take what i give you, alright?” you nodded. “words,” he brought his hand up to wrap around your throat gently, not applying any pressure.

“yes, sir,” you moaned at this new found assertiveness. 

it wasn’t that he was never ‘in charge’ in the bedroom. it normally just took a while for him to get there. besides, he had also told you before how he kind of liked it when you were in control of him. you liked it either way, as long as you were with spencer you loved it. 

“i want you to go to the bedroom for me. you should be undressed by the time i go in there. no touching yourself. got it?” he asked, his hand moving from your neck to your chin, pressing it between his fingers.

“i’ve got it, sir,” you nodded eagerly as he allowed you to get up and make your way to the bedroom. you followed ever instruction he had given you, finding it even harder to not touch yourself while you waited for him. you sat in the center of the bed on your knees, facing the door.

after a few minutes you finally heard footsteps outside of the door. when he entered, he looked at you with such loving, caring eyes you weren’t sure what you had done to deserve him.

“princess,” spencer greeted you, “if you’re not comfortable with doing this you don’t have to act like it for me,” he said in his normal sweet tone as he sat beside you on the corner of the bed, his arm tracing down yours softly. “i need you to be totally and completely sure that you’re okay with this.”

“i am, spence,” you assured him. “i promise. if i don’t like anything i’ll say red like we normally do. i remember the stop light system,” you finished, leaning more into his touch.

“alright, i was just checking,” he leaned in, placing his free hand on the side of your face to bring you in for a tender kiss. “i love you.”

“i love you.”

“alright, princess,” he switched his normal tone into one of dominance. “ready?”

“yes, sir. i’m ready,” you agreed, clenching your thighs together to find any source of relief.

“good girl,” he leaned in, placing another kiss on your lips. when your hands went to wrap around his neck and in his hair he grabbed them in his own. “no. good girls ask for permission.”

“i-i’m sorry, sir,” you apologized. “i just-you’re so...” you trailed off.

“maybe i need to restrain these since you clearly have no control of them,” he wondered, moving to hold both of them in one of his hands.

“n-no sir, please. i’ll be good now. i promise,” you pleaded, trying to convince him otherwise.

“i don’t think so. sit against the bed frame,” he ordered as he moved to the closet to grab two ropes for your wrists. “now, maybe next time you’ll have half a mind to ask permission before touching me,” he began wrapping your wrists securely in the ropes.

“yes, sir,” you nodded sadly, your eyes reaching the bedspread.

“are these tight enough?” he asked as he pulled on one of the ropes.

“yes, sir. they’re tight enough,” you pouted.

“hey, princess,” spencer pulled his hand to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your cheekbone as you nuzzled into his touch. “this is because you need to learn, alright? it won’t be forever.”

“alright, sir,” you smiled as he placed his lips to yours one more time.

“you’re my girl, right?” he asked as his hand began trailing down your naked body, tracing every curve you have.

“yes, sir,” you breathed out, goosebumps forming from his touch.

“mmm, you’re so beautiful,” he hummed as his hands traced from your hips down to your center, purposely missing the one place you craved his touch.

“please, sir,” you closed your eyes, hoping to feel his hand giving you some kind of relief.

“what did we talk about patience earlier?” he said as he moved his position on the bed.

“i-i take what you g-give me,” you recalled from your earlier conversation.

“so you’ll take what i give you now,” he said as he trailed kissed across your thighs in an upward direction. “i can’t even tell you how much i missed your pretty pussy. how often i thought about it late at night when i was alone,” he growled into your body. “i thought about,” he moved his hand to trail right above your clit, going all around it but never making any contact, making you squirm even more, “how responsive you are. i thought about how good you taste on my tongue,” he said as he trailed his tongue right over your entrance, a low groan leaving your mouth. “thought about that noise.”

“oh, god,” you mumbled as his tongue continued to move at your entrance, occasionally going in and out, eventually his tongue making its way to your clit and flicking it gently. “shit, yes,” your hips were nearly grinding against his face, your arms yanking at the bedframe.

the way he would groan into your pussy, just turned on from all the noises that emitted from your body was enough to send you over the edge as his tongue continued it’s attack on your clit. the only thing is, you needed permission.

“please, please, please, sir,” you begged.

“please what, princess?” he asked, his fingers taking his tongues place and continuing to move.

“please can i cum? p-pleaseeee?” you pleaded, tears pricking your eyes.

“cum for me,” he ordered. “show me how pretty you are when you cum,” he said as his lips connected with your pussy once more, finally sending you over the edge.

“fuck! yesss! oh my god,” you cried out as he worked you through the high.

the only thing is, he didn’t stop once you came down. he kept on going. he moved his fingers to your center and slowly pushed them inside of you, moving them rapidly in motion with his tongue on your clit. his fingers accompanied with his tongue and the way he moaned against your body was quick to bring you right back to that edge, you found yourself falling over it very quickly.

“oh my- please! can i cum? i’m so so close please?!” you begged once more.

“go ahead, princess,” he mumbled quietly against you.

you came with a string of ‘thank you’s’ as your hands pulled against the restraints violently.

“yesss, oh my god!” you yelled as you came down from your high once more.

“good girl, you’re doing so good for me,” spencer praised as his hands trailed up to your breasts, gently massaging them.

“mm, thank you, sir,” you relished in his touch.

“i’ve missed you so much, waiting to taste you like that again...” he trailed off. “waiting to be inside you again. to feel you cum all over my dick, god i miss that,” he growled.

“me too, sir. please,” you huffed out, squirming as he trailed kisses up your torso. “i-i want to feel you, please,” you pulled against the ropes. 

“does my princess want to touch me?” he teased, trailing his hand down the side of your face.

“yes, sir. please!” 

“since you’ve been so good, i’ll allow it,” he complied, finally undoing the restraints. you held your arms against your side as he massaged them, trying to bring the feeling back. “alright, princess. you can touch me now.”

“thank you, sir,” you said as you brought your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you could kiss him. 

“on your knees,” you immediately rolled over to your knees, your ass waving in the air waiting for spencer. “good girl,” he chuckled, his hand tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a squeeze. 

before you knew it, spencer was pushing himself into you. it had been so long since you’d been with him, it felt like the first time you had been together. subtle whimpers left your mouth as he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“fuck, i missed your tight pussy,” he growled, his words causing more wetness to pool where the both of you met. 

“it-it’s too big, sir,” you cried as he pulled back out slowly, only to push himself inside once more. “ah!” 

“take it, sweet girl. i know you can take it,” he bent down to moan into your ear as he slowly thrusted into you again. “uh... just like that, princess. just like that,” he groaned. his hands found your hips, guiding them onto his cock even with his thrusts inside of you. 

“oh my god,” you huffed as your face began to turn into the bed, the pillows and sheets muffling your sounds. “fe-feels so full.”

“you’ve got it, sweet girl. be my strong girl, alright,” he said, noticing the way your head nodded in the pillows. he trailed his hand up your back and grasped your hair, pulling your body up to meet his. “words, princess.”

“yes, sir. i-i’m so s-sorry,” you stuttered out, your head leaning back on his shoulder as his hand trailed down the front of your body. his thrusts only sped up the longer he stayed inside you. “oh, yes, yes, please!” you begged, not sure what for.

“what is it? huh?” he moaned in your ear. “want me to cum inside of you? or do you want to cum all over my dick? which is it?”

“bo-both, sir. please!” you confirmed as he quickly pulled out of you just to flip the both of you over so he was on top of you.

his hand found its way to the crest at the center of your body, doing rapid yet gentle strokes to get you just where you needed to be. before you knew it, your third orgasm of the night had come and gone. your arms went around his waist and neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. the warmth and pulsing of your pussy helped pull spencer over the edge soon after you, his release inside of you being something you didn’t know you missed so much. 

“fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groaned as he fucked his own release back into you. “so good, y/n. you’re so amazing,” he praised, pulling out of you as you whimpered from the overstimulation

“spencer?” you asked, feeling a bit hazy. 

“yes, princess?” he asked as he rubbed gentle circles on your hips.

“mmm, i love you,” you smiled dizzily.

spencer noticed that look. the glazed over eyes, the way your smile seemed slightly faded. he knew exactly what to do for that, too. 

“i love you too, sweet girl,” he smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead. “why don’t we get you cleaned up, yea?” spencer’s hand found your hair, gently running his fingers through it.

“shower with me?” you asked, your hands trailing his jawline ever-so-softly, barely ghosting over his skin.

“of course, y/n,” he agreed, getting up so he could guide you to the bathroom. 

he gently sat you down on the toilet as he started the bath just how you liked it. he made sure to add lavender epsom salts to soothe your muscles, which were more than likely sore from the night’s activities. he added a few essential oils which were good for anxiety, worry, and body aches just to be sure. 

“alright, sweet girl. ready for the bath?” he looked over his shoulder to find you practically on top of him.

“yes, sir,” you nodded. 

spencer sat behind you as you leaned onto his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as his palms rested against your stomach. you interlaced your fingers with his on your stomach as your head tilted to lay onto his shoulder. 

“i missed you, spencer,” you broke the comfortable silence. “a lot.”

“i missed you too, y/n,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“can i ask something?”

“anything.”

“what was that tonight?” you asked. “i loved it, don’t get me wrong. it was amazing. it’s just... you normally aren’t like that.”

“well,” he sighed. “i guess it’s because every time you would visit, the other inmates would say things. like... really bad things about you,” he felt tears welling in his eyes from the memories. “and while i was in there, i couldn’t do anything about it. so i guess i was just a bit pent up from the frustration, is all,” he shrugged.

“i’m sorry, spence. but,” you turned to look him in the eyes. “you’re not there anymore. no matter where your mind might take you, you’re here. you’re back with me,” you wiped the tears that he didn’t even know fell as he mirrored that of yours.

“i’m so happy to be back,” he pressed your foreheads together, not breaking the eye contact. 

“i’m never letting you go again.”

[mercy-burning]

Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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[jarofstyles]

hey besties, pls do a football player Harry (soccer in case ur american lol) and physical therapist y/n !!

I know absolute shit all about football (soccer bc we are American) but we can give it a go!!! Plz don’t be mad I don’t know anything about it cause it’s ✨make believe ✨

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

—-

He was a little shit.

A beautiful, charming, irritating, little shit.

When Y/N has signed on for this team, being the medic was something she had been passionate about for years. Having her own accident and making it so she couldn’t properly play anymore, it was her mission to still be involved in the game so how. Y/N’s own injury and healing process had her become more and more interested in the profession, and here she was.

It wasn’t everything she had dreamed of, as nothing ever was, but it was good. She got to sit field-side every game, close to the action. And every injury she got first look at. She helped the guys with their stretches, their previous injuries and keeping them from Re-injuring themselves, taking care of them and making sure their physical shape was the best it could be.

In general? She was happy. But there was one man who was a thorn in her side and a pain in her crotch.

Harry Styles.

The man who decided it was his personal mission to follow her around like a puppy dog. Popping up in her singular moments of peace during game day. Texting her and asking about very, very small twists of ankles and giving her the ‘🥺 maybe you should come and look at it…’ whenever he did so.

Not to mention his complete and utter want to get into her pants.

Now it wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle a few sexual jokes. Y/N was a big girl and knew 99% of the time, the guys on the team knew their limit. And Harry? Harry, in reality, was a gentleman. Never touched her inappropriately, ever. But the problem was… she kind of wanted him to.

There was no actual clause against staff members and players being together or hooking up. Nope, just frowned upon. Maybe a slap on the wrist. However Y/N knew, she knew that the moment anyone caught wind of her potential affections for any team member or acting on it? It would end with everyone thinking she slept with them to get the job.

Y/N worked long and hard. Tireless hours for make sure these men were healthy, fit, and at their best. She wouldn’t sleep with anyone for any job, and she was actually respected by this team which was something a lot of women weren’t in this field. She could not and would not throw it away for a good dicking.

Fuck, did she want to sometimes.

—-

Harry had these hands. The perfect hands, in her opinion. Big, strong with thinner fingers. Long fingers. A good sized palm, not overly veiny, just perfection in male hand scales. Luckily (or unluckily, whatever way you’d put it) she got to handle them often.

“S’sore today, doc.” He winced, sitting on the table in front of her. Harry’s wrist throbbed. It was rainy, and it was usually a wreck when it was the perfect condition. The ache was annoying, and he knew she had a solution.

Her lips pouted softly as she gently took the hand in place, thumbing over the part of the wrist where rhe injury had occurred. She had learned a while ago where to press, how to rub and get it to lessen before she wrapped it up. “Yeah… old injuries tend to never let you forget.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

Harry never could get over how fucking gorgeous Y/N was. From her nose to her lips, the pretty sparkle in her eye, the curve of her hip… he was obsessed. Not to mention the fact that she was so gentle with him. So kind and sweet, though he knew he got on her nerves with his teasing sometime. She could handle it and he always tried to watch to make sure he wasn’t going too far, but he couldn’t help it.

He was a silly boy with a bit fat crush.

Y/N didn’t bite for any of them. Everyone had attempted when she first came on, testing the waters. Her pretty face was welcome to all the blokes in the team, and there was something incredibly attractive about a woman who could heal. Nonetheless, she never gave in to anything.

In Harry’s case, he knew it was different. He could see her smile at some jokes, see her get the bumps on her skin when he brushed her a certain way. But she avoided the eye contact. Avoided the touches. And it drove him mad.

Of course she wouldn’t know he had actual feelings for him because he was a giant coward most of the time. He hid his affection in the dirty jokes and the teasing squeezes of her waist and teasing. He was a thick skinned man but a full rejection form her would hurt.

Her soft fingers gently massaged over the wrist, making him groan. His head tilted back and he let it out, hissing slightly when she pressed too hard. “Oooh, don’t worry sweetheart. Y’know I like it to hurt a little.” His wide smirk made her roll her eyes huffing under her breath.

Y/N was not having a great day. She had been harassed by an Ex all fucking night over her new job. Making all the damn assumptions that she was getting ‘trained by the team’ in a much more vulgar way, and she had cried half the night. To say she wasn’t in the mood was an understatement, but she was trying.

Harry was not what she needed today, because it made her feel worse. Her blatant attraction to him made her feel guilty. She should be professional and leave it with. The way she had squeeze her legs tighter while he groaned didn’t help her case. The ugly words of how they’ only kept her around for a potential fuck’ was ringing in her head.

Harry though, he was a little oblivious. Her hands were so talented, and he didn’t watch her face for once as she hit a good spot again and he let out another remark.

“Jesus, that’s good. Do those magic hands work everywhere?”

That was the straw that broke her. It wasn’t his fault necessarily, he was just playing. But her eyes watered, hand yanking away as she turned from him, walking over to the bench. Trying to compose herself was hard as the tears burned so hard in her eyes, hands shaking slightly.

Harry startled, not used to that. She never flinched away like that, never ignored his remark and walked away. Usually told him to fuck off, rolled her eyes, something. But the energy in the room immediately shifted and he was uncomfortable. What had happened?

Cautiously, he cleared his throat and stood up from the bench, licking over his dry lips as he spoke again. “Uh… Y/N?”

“S’all I’m good for, right?” She muttered under her breath. Frantically wiping under her eyes she tried to focus on the paper in front of her but she could feel Harry approaching.

He furrowed his brow, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wha-“

Y/N whipped around fast, eyes teary and wet. “I said, that’s all I’m good for right? Only good for my hands and sex and all that pleasure you can get from me?” She hissed. “Only good for a romp in the sheets and a pretty face to heal your wounds and put on band aids. Only good to make you get off and feel good and then what? I’m left here with nothing.”

The tears left her, her hands shaking as she grabbed her bag. Harry felt his stomach drop. Never, ever had he wanted to make her feel like that. Her crying? That wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again. He felt like he had taken a ball to the gut, hard. Those eyes he adored being full of pain, full of tears was his own personal hell.

“Y/N… wait, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he tried to follow her to the door, stopping abruptly when she lifted a hand up to him. Her stomping had made him nervous. Now she was leaving without talking to him and he felt like a complete dick. It was their normal teasing, but he had crossed a line.

“Don’t. Just…. Just leave me alone. I’m going home.”

—-

As much as Harry had wanted to chase after her, he had already made her cry once. He wasn’t risking it again.

The icky, gross feeling in his stomach followed him all day. He was gutted. Not only has he apparently crossed a line with someone he respected, he had a fucking crush on her. The man was convinced no other feeling was worse than a crush being angry at him. Even if it sounded juvenile to place it like that.

Harry liked Y/N. He never ever wanted to make her upset in any capacity, let alone feeling like a sex object or violated. He prided himself on respecting women. And he had fucking failed. He needed to make it right, and fast.

-

He had found her address. In her employee file, and he knew that was bad but he needed to check on her. Regardless of what happened beforehand, she was upset by him enough to leave and go home and he wanted to make sure she was genuinely okay.

It was an overstep and Harry knew it. He had to try, though.

He arrived at her door step with a box of cupcakes and some flowers. Gently kicking the floor, he heard the door open and his heart broke a little more.

Y/N standing in front of him with swollen eyes. She had been crying, seemingly a lot. And she looked upset still. Though he expected her to close the door in his face and tell him to fuck off. But she didn’t.

Instead, she broke into tears again, throwing herself into his chest. Her arms wrapping around his waist, he nearly tumbled over but righted himself as he startled. Quickly he found himself recovering, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her. He was able to maneuver slightly and drop the cupcakes on her entry table, flowers as well before having his arms free.

“Hey…. Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He whispered softly, gently placing a hand on her back. Rubbing it up and down, letting her cry into his tee shirt. It was worrying. Whatever happened was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to let that take away from the fact he had added and made it worse.

“I’m sorry.” Her muffled response was sobbed into his shirt. “I’m sorry for yelling… and saying you thought those things, you were playing and I…” she pulled back worth tear streaked cheeks and Harry’s look of pure concern making her lip wobble. “You didn’t do it. It was… he kept sayin’ that all the team wants is in my pants, and you make me feel guilty because you’re so…. Beautiful, and I never slept with anyone to get this job! Never. And then he wouldn’t leave me alone-“ she hiccuped, looking up at Harry as he caressed the back of her head.

“Who, lovely? Who wouldn’t leave you alone?” He asked with a calm tone. Of course he wasn’t. Someone was harassing her. And Harry would fucking take care of it. It boiled his blood to think of someone making her feel less than.

“My ex.” She sniffled again, slowly calming. Harry had that quality, she thinks. “He-He broke up with me for taking the job. Said… said that I was going to be a personal whore for all of you. And not do my job.” She took a shuddery breath. It was embarrassing admitting this to him, but he had been on the receiving end for a meltdown that wasn’t his to fix.

“Well, can I tell you something?” He brought his thumb up to wipe away some of the sticky tears from her cheeks. “You arent. You’re no one’s whore. You’re a respected, talented and intelligent member of our staff. You so happen to be incredibly beautiful, which obviously makes people find you more bewitching… but I know that we all look at you as a professional talent. They may have tried their luck at the beginning but you laid down the law quickly and they all understood.” He whispered.

“Me? I was trying my luck, because you’re incredible. And I think you’re lovely. But that isn’t a conversation for now. Let’s make some tea, hm? Relax. I brought you some cupcakes. I need to properly apologize for being inappropriate to you. Regardless if it was a joke…”

—

He sat next to her on her couch. The poor girl was better now, washing her face and a mug of tea in hand while Harry had helped himself to a vase and put the flowers inside. Carnations. He thought they were pretty, didn’t know the name until Y/N had fawned over them.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.” She said softly, her big sweatshirt swallowing her up. Before Harry could interrupt, she put a finger up. “I know that you were just playing, Harry. I let you flirt with me like that. And I enjoy it.” She could feel herself get warm in the face. “If you’ve noticed, I let you get away with it. I enjoy it. And you didn’t do anything out of line. I was sensitive… I was still raw and I hadn’t had much sleep because he had blown up my phone and regardless he was telling me things he said in person over and over again. So…” Y/N shifted in her seat and used her sweater paws to bring the drink to her lips. “When you came in… I felt guilty for finding you attractive. For liking what you said to me.”

Harry sat for a moment, quiet. So she had liked it…. And felt guilty. Now knowing the context? It made sense. For the life of him he was trying not to hold in to the fact that she enjoyed it, but he couldn’t. It made him excited.

“Okay. That makes sense. Usually.. I do a better job at reading your physical cues. Sometimes I can see something isn’t the right thing to say because you’re tense already. But I was in my own world cause you were making the pain go away and I felt good. It isn’t an excuse, though.” He gently grabbed her hand once she set down her warm tee, thumbing over the knuckles.

“I felt like such a dick. I still do. You know that? And it isn’t because I’m attracted to you. But it’s because I didn’t think about the position I’m putting you in by flirting.” He moved a little closer. “I would never try and jeopardize your job. I’ve been blinded by my own feelings for a while and I was trying to feel it out but I didn’t think to think it was because someone else or a group of people would look down at you for it.” He frowned.

It was so unfair. They wouldn’t care if he slept with her. But they’d ridicule her for sleeping with him.

“I just want to let you know now as well… I wasn’t trying to come on to you to have a hookup.” He hummed. “The feelings I’ve got are genuine. Alright? They aren’t just too get into your pants. And I never want you to feel as though that’s your only purpose. Ever. You have so much worth, and while I’m positive you don’t need me to tell you that, I want tok anyways.”

He was unreal. She really thinks so. How did a man just… be like him. He was a fan favorite and had charm but behind the scenes he was even better than anything they said.

“Yeah. I think I was afraid. Because… I’m the same, you know?” She shyly admitted. “You’re charming and I didn’t want to admit I let your charm get to me, but it has. It has very much. And I like you. I don’t know what to do about it, but I think it’s only fair I admit it myself as well when you’ve put yourself out on the line.”

Harry’s grin grew, dimples pocketing in his cheeks. She liked him back. His heart was ringing in his ears, the shy little look into her eyes making him want to explode. Fucking adorable girl making him feel such intense emotions…. It was incredible.

Thank god. He thought he was going insane.

“We don’t have to do anything in the sense of our job right now. But since we both know… would you want to explore it? I would say privately. Just get to know each other better. Talk. Hang out. Cook food together… maybe kiss.” He smirked slightly at the end, making her let out a laugh. Her laugh soothed his Damn soul.

“I think I’d like that.”

——

Part II maybe? Who knows

[honey-lemonz]

Kokushibou [Satisfied smut]

Xmale reader

3rd

Warning! Sexual Content!

Includes: stress sex, fight then fuck, koku being a bratty bottom, biting,blowjob, marking, multiple orgasms ,multiple rounds, over stimulation,  dirty talk, fighting during sex, degradation (heavly). Hiding, slapping, spitng, and a spite fuck. Goodness..Enjoy!

Kokushibou pushed the archer against the wall as both were fighting.

For almost 7 hours.

(M/n) or the archer was happily living on his land and was fine but. The dam fake Samurai had other plans to upset that. Like attacking him. Gods they hated each other..

To the point it was not comical.. no no.

Sexual almost.

Two strong men grunting and groaning, one with blood all over him..for being the one with more hits. Sweat on their bodies and one with his hair arrayed. Kokushibou was losing it.

Internally and externally.

Internally he could not understand why he was feeling slightly aroused in battle, especially with this fucker. The archer demon named Yasumebu (M/n). A demon he hates because he reminds him of his late twin.

Someone who is superior and most likely would be superior to him.

He felt his cock trying to poke in his hakama pants. His kimono was sticking to the sides on his body as he was forced on to the ground. Yasumebe was about to prepare an arrow until..

Kokushibou moved his leg to reveal he was aroused but no on purpose or on invitation. But (m/n) was the only other demon around who could have done this to him. To him it was weird. He froze the arrow and squinted at the Samurai.

He but his foot on Kokushibou's growing hard on and moved it without any sign of being gently. 

Kokushibou groaned and hissed at him. About half of his eyes, the three on the left pinched shut. It was not out of pain but only pleasure. This made Yasumebe..disgusted to say the least.

But also he wanted to kill the upper rank for what he had done...but torture is always a better cause.

"Look at you..you pervert. Getting aroused with me in a fight you picked..how promiscuous..really are that much of a bastard you need a dick in you to make you feel whole?"

He moved his foot more vigorously, it made the upper rank squeak but not moan. No! He will never get any sign of pleasure from him. "I-I am not, aany an c-can get aroused. Never for oor from you-"

"Oh cut the bullshit you bastard. You attack me in my home and demand I die so you an be the best? Or is it jealousy? Jealous of me to the point you want me to fuck you? Make you a proud man with my cock stuffed into all your slutty holes?"

Kokushibou's six eyes widen. He dropped his sword from the feeling. What feeling is this? He asked himself. Demons cannot blush or anything but he could feel his ears burn and his cock ache and throb.

He hated him to the point it turned him on? Is that possible? No.

He hated Yoriichi but they were brothers and that is just wrong...but this dam archer..

Before he realized his mistake of thinking to deep, he got an arrow into his wrist and an arrow shot his sword far away from him.

"Well took you too long to answer the question so it is a yes, isn't it? Gods, I hate you but I always give whores like you a chance. By now you'd probably be satisfied sucking a cock and dying. The great upper rank one? Such a fucking slut.."

The arrow glued his wrist together so he could not move em, he could make another sword but he had to concentrate to do that.  He needed his full energy to do it but his energy was focused on..him..the archer and how he needed t̶o̶ ̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ him.

The archer pulled Kokushibou by his hair next to a stool, he was gracious or caring about it.  He hated him and as did he.

But goodness did he remember how they fought. How strong he looked and how much strength it goes into an arrow. Not that he thought the sport was worth this time, oh never. But him...it made his condition worse. His cock was probably leaking streams of precum.

"Must you fight, I am helping you. Trust me I do not want a whore like you anyways, a good one can shut up and take it..you..most likely are a brat or bitch about it.."

Kokushibou hearing this moved his combined wrist up to scratch the shit out of his arms like a fucking cat.

"Goodness if you want to mark me already! Dam, such a needy bastard...beat how many times you sucked your masters cock all these years...most likely didn't make you choke or gag for the hell of it..but now worries like defeat and death.."

He brought his up to his face. Both were around the same height, so it worked. But Kokushibou was now on a bedding and he was looking up at him. So he felt smaller. He hated it. But it aroused him.

Hate what pleasures you. But between you and I..is not the first he gotten aroused at the thought..

"I make sure to be the one to make it your first.. now if you bite he I cut you cock off too. Got it?"

Hell to Yasumebe it was an excuse to just make him feel a better or worse pain.

"Tsk, as ever I would do as you ask yo-"

He got fucking bitched slapped in the face. "Now I'm going to say this again. You were the one who got to be a perv right? You can suck your masters cock for all of eternity then you can suck a real mans one and not a cowards. Something you need to do. Bite me and you can burn in the sun with my cum all over and inside you. Now be a good brat and suck."

He stood above him with a tight grip on his head and hair. (M/n)'s own cock was out and the marvel it was had the upper rank's mouth salivating.

He just stared at it, like it was something new to him. "What you never seen another mans dick before? Always ready to ride and suck one for you life, so be the slutty brat you are and do what you know best. Go one you need help is my cock to big for your mouth? The one you use to pledge and talk shit? "

In his head he muttered, probably eat it too.

Kokushibou opened his mouth to rebuttal..dumb move. A thick and long length was shoved down deep into his throat. Making his gag on spit and the length. H opened his lower eyes to see not even all of it was in his mouth. The hell?

(M/n) hissed and moved his hips back and forth, he was fucking his face. "Good little slut, do what you know best bastard. Then maybe I can fuck your other hole, maybe even be nice and let you cum.:

Kokushibou groaned on his cock and moved tied wrist to get a grip and move on his own accord, but no avail. His own cock was in need of help. His mind was erasing with how much pleasure would come if he would get fucked like a whore.

Which he is.

His tongue lapped at the lip and it moved in and out his throat. He was pumping his cock with his hands at the same momentum. So feverish and so tempting, it make slick warm between his thighs. His ass flexed at the homewreacking feeling.

His large cock pushing in and out of his made him close two sets of his eyes and let where his true ones stay open. (M/n) hissed and pushed his head all the way to the hilt of his cock and made his stay there. Groaning as Kokushibou's mouth filled with an ocean of cum he swallowed.

The taste wasn't as bad as he imagined. His cock spurted some ropes of cum but he knew with how his luck was playing it would not be the first time tonight. He was allowed to breathe and swallow the rest. 

(M/n) looked down at him, his eyes were glossy and he was gasping for air.."Goodness you really are that bad.."

Kokushibou didn't care about his pride or his will, or even the envy. He felt hatred and pleasure. He needed to feel more, it was so addicting. It was like a slow burn he loved. The fire in the pit of his stomach burned for more. To be full , imagining that amount of cum stuffing his tight entrance or making his abdomen bulge..

To be breeded like a mating whore for him..

(M/n) pushed the Samurai to the side of the bedding and for him to be on his front. Ass up, he pulled the rest of his clothing off him. He would often scratch him or put marks he knew he could heal over..if he was concentrated enough.

His plump ass had goosebumps as his breath glazed across it. No kissing rather biting. He bite down on his ass. "For such a plump ass, you and kiss a lot of it aye? Sluts like you can be so troublesome but in the end.."

H sat up and got close to Kokushibou's ear. He moved his already messy and disheveled hair. His lapped his ear lobe and bite down to make it bleed.

"All of you are just bratty whores who need to be taught their place..." Two fingers were pushed into his slicked up entrance and they clung onto (M/n)'s fingers like glue. Kokushibou moaned out curses as he slumped down. He turned his head to the side to he the rest of his.

It felt too dam good. His fingers were so close to his prostate and so close to making his mind wipe to pure ecstasy and pleasure, even if he wasn't at it already. He moaned out without a care in the world. Asking no begging for more. It made (m/n) want to torture him more..

They did hate each other, but to one it was just funny.

"M-more, please fuck me more gods..please..fu-fu~ck.." he cursed as he spread his legs wider to make his fingers go deeper to touch or even at least brush his prostate.

His eyes were closed except the true ones, the only one he could keep open. Upper rank one was glossy and also looked like a bunch of whores eyes. He bucked his hips when his own forgotten and needy cock was slowly getting pumped.

"Wait- WAI- no ahh~" As soon as he pumped his length and pushed deeper into his hole, feeling for his prostate. He came again onto the bedding. He gasped loudly and slumped over. Kokushibou's cock twitched but was still erect.

"Well, what was it you were saying bastard? Or were you too busy cumming like a little whore to even finish? Hmm well it guess my cock can satisfy your perverted self, disgusting."

He spat on his gasping hole and moved his fingers out. The amount of slick or cum on his fingers made him laugh at the pathetic state of the upper rank. "Wow, such a slut for all this? Wonder how easy it is to break your ass and see you go silly."

He yanked almost his hips back up to his waist, Kokushibou swallowed thickly at what was about to happen. (M/n) stroke himself and placed the tip of his cock on Kokushibou's gaping whole.

"One more thing pervert.."

He leaned forward to upper rank one, Kokushibou felt his chilling breath on his ear. All his eyes widen as his cock slowly pushed into him. 

He whispered:

"I win slut.."

He slammed his cock into him, pushing harshly onto his prostate and making the upper rank yelp and moan loudly. He almost screamed, (M/n) gave him no time to adjust. Rather he fucked him ruthlessly. He used his hair and yanked it, making him look at the ceiling and also to feel himself hit deeper and deeper.

Kokusibou was babbling about more and more. Or how he hated him. Just either 'fuck me' or 'i hate you'. The archer demon did not care. He was a slutty pervert who got what he wanted. A good cock with a good fuck.

"Such a tight- little slutty whole..gods, im going to loosen it up for you and make sure no one couuld fuck you like I- ah~could..you'd like that Kokushibou? To be a slut and ask others to fill you with their cocks like I do?"

He thrusted faster and harder, Kokushibo's prostate was abused and he felt himself cum again and again. Due to his unlimited stamina and would be fine. But he was feeling drained, he felt so fucking stupid. He was getting fucked stupid even more.

(M/n) hissed when Kokushibou tightened around him, he groaned and growled as he shot thick ropes of cum into his ass. Filling him over his opacity and making his abdomen stretch to accommodate to the amount. 

All his eyes, closed with tear stains. Kokushibo's head was let go and he fell straight into the bedding. (M/n) looked at him and didn't bat an eye to spit on his face. His lower half was with filled with cum or covered in it. He cleaned himself and took his arrow out of his wrist and gathered the rest.

He looked one more time at the upper rank. The most feared of them all, looking like a slut in heat. He pulled the hair that would have been a neat pony tail but now is just out and disheveled. He made him look him in his eye.

"See now upper rank? Such a pathetic fighter and warrior, you did do one thing. Your were a decent fuck, not the best but decent." he patted his head and walked out the destroyed house.

Soon it was lit on fire. To destroy what ever was left.

Kokushibou luckily got away and out of the suns fury. But he did hate the archer demon with all he had, and envy him so much. But fuck... he sighed as he stroked his cock from the memory.

"He was right.."

His licked away the cum from his ass as he pulled away his fingers and from his hand. His cock throbbed at the dull feeling. The lackluster feeling inside him only his enemy gave him.

"I am such a whore for yasumebe.."

[lexosaurus]

Birthmark

Phic Phight oneshot for @datawyrms: Danny Phantom's jumpsuit is hiding a secret he'd rather not reveal to anyone.

---

“Shit,” Valerie cursed, deactivating her hoverboard and gently placing the figure on the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Bright green liquid soaked the ghost’s body, dripping off his waist and painting the grass in a steady stream. It was ectoplasm, something inhuman and twisted, and yet when Valerie looked down, all she saw was how closely it resembled blood. 

She raised a shaking hand and attempted to brush away some of the green on her suit. But she looked more green than red at this point and all she could think of was how much ectoplasm was outside the ghost’s body. 

It was too much.

They’d been ambushed after a ghost fight, the Guys in White having caught them in one of their special nets. Valerie had tried to yell out that she wasn’t a ghost, she was human, but it was no use. They zapped the net, and her vision was shrouded in darkness.

The next thing she knew, she was in a van, trapped with her biggest rival in Amity Park. Phantom was awake, but he didn’t know how long they’d been in the van for. Hours passed before the van stopped at last. But at that point, they had a plan.

As soon as an operative opened the back, Valerie was on him. She knocked him out, stole his gun, and bolted.

Apparently, Phantom wasn’t so useless without his powers either. By some miracle, he managed to find a way to remove his inhibitor collar and take flight.

But that was when all hell broke loose. Right as he’d paused to free Valerie from her inhibitors, someone landed a shot on him.

And he fell.

Valerie didn’t have time to think. She just grabbed his body, activated her hoverboard, and flew, not sure where she was going but unwilling to stop until she was sure she’d lost the agents. 

“Fuck.” She threw off her helmet and looked down at Phantom’s unconscious form. There was a hole in the stomach of his suit, and ectoplasm bubbled and sparkled in the harsh sun.

He was going to die, Valerie realized. What happened when a ghost died? Could they even die? 

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

She shoved a hand in her belt for her emergency supplies, but her glove was too slippery, and her hand trembled too much. She couldn’t do this. She ripped off her glove and tried again, trying to ignore the way the ectoplasm trickled between her fingers.

She had a bit of gauze, a tube of instant clot powder, a few butterfly clips, and a few large bandages. It wasn’t much, but it would have to work.

Because the alternative…

She set the supplies down and turned back to the unconscious ghost. His glow was almost nonexistent, and for the first time she could see his face clearly. All the grooves of skin, his pores, the individual hairs on his eyelashes and eyebrows. He had freckles. That tiny, human detail Valerie would have thought impossible for a ghost. 

Even the more humanoid ghosts always had some slight haze to them, something that just made them more like a realistic doll than a person. But not Phantom. If it weren’t for the white hair and ectoplasm, she would have thought him to be just a regular teenager.

“Stay with me.” 

She needed to take his jumpsuit off. Could she even do that? Was it attached to him? Would taking it off just hurt him more?

For a moment, Valerie knelt there frozen, unsure of what to do. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of burnt battery acid and lime, and she could only stare as the Phantom’s face slowly grew paler and paler.

She pinched herself. “Snap out of it.” She’d dealt with worse, this was just a ghost. A ghost that she didn’t even like. A ghost that she’d spent the last two years chasing out of Amity Park.

She could do this.

Grabbing her swiss army knife out of her belt, she began carefully slicing through the fabric. Her damp hands were immediately filled with green goo, and for a moment she panicked, thinking that her fears were correct and that the jumpsuit acted like a second skin for Phantom.

But then she saw a black t-shirt peeking out underneath the jumpsuit, and she realized with a shaky breath of relief that the suit simply melted if it wasn’t attached to the host.

Of course, that made sense. She’d seen Plasmius rip off his cape before and it had dissolved in thin air. How could she have forgotten?

She made quick work with removing the jumpsuit, and had started on the undershirt as well when Phantom groaned.

She froze, unable to move the slightest muscle, as she watched Phantom’s drunk green eyes slowly flutter to life. 

“Don’...” he slurred.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “You’re hurt, I’m sorry.”

She tried to resume cutting his shirt, but he lazily swatted her hand away. “Don’...”

“Phantom, stop. I need to get this off you.”

“Stop...”

“I gotta do this,” she said, tearing his t-shirt. “It’s just a shirt.”

“S’ugly,” he mumbled, his eyes rolling back. His head lolled to the side, and he was out again.

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be—” 

Her voice cut off, and she sucked in a breath. Tattooed on Phantom’s skin were glowing lightning figures that branched from his shoulder, snaking around his chest and stomach as if they were alive.

Valerie had never seen anything like it before, and she could have dismissed them as just ectoplasmic tattoos. But from Phantom’s reaction, she had a sneaking suspicion that these were something much more serious. Much more personal.

Something that she didn’t have time to think about right now. Something that was getting covered by ectoplasm, something that was losing its bleak glow as the aura around Phantom faded to nothing.

Time was up. She needed to act now.

Ripping off the packaging, Valerie got to work.

---

The sky was clear, glittering with thousands of stars. It was one of those rare nights where the milky way was visible, arcing the sky with its brilliance. 

Valerie had never been one to care about nature. Growing up rich in the city, her focus was always materialistic. She just wanted to fit in with the other girls, so she’d been more than willing to follow along with their hobbies and model her life after their trends.

Nature? Space? Stars? She never gave them a second thought.

Until her life was turned upside down, that was. Suddenly, Valerie went from hardly spending time outside to now soaring through the sky every night, weather be damned. It didn’t take long for her to appreciate the beauty of a clear, warm, night sky.

She landed on top of a building and collapsed her hoverboard. It had been quiet thus far, with only a few ambient blob ghosts roaming around a warehouse. Although at the beginning of her ghost hunting career, Valerie had spent each night painstakingly capturing every ghost in sight, she’d grown since then. She wasn’t so angry, so vengeful now.

And aside from being completely harmless, even Valerie had to admit there was something almost cute about the tiny bulbs of ecto energy.

Her suit dinged, signaling a ghost nearby, and Valerie groaned. There really was no rest for the weary, it seemed.

She raised her radar watch to her eyes to see a familiar ecto signature reading pop up in the corner.

One that was heading towards her.

Shit.

She hadn’t seen Phantom since that day. He’d been avoiding her. And maybe a few months ago she wanted him to avoid her, but now...

That day had changed her.

It was terrifying the way the government had so easily lumped her in with the ghosts just because they detected ectoplasmic readings from her suit. She woke up not knowing where she was, where she was going, if she’d ever see her father again.

Part of Valerie had insisted that once they saw her without her helmet, they’d call her dad and drive her back. It would have all been a big misunderstanding.

But a different part of her, one deep down inside, knew she was just lying to herself.

The government operated the way she did when she first started ghost hunting. All black and white, no room for grey. Ghost were evil and all ectoplasm needed to be destroyed. Period.

After she patched Phantom up in that grassy field, she flew and flew until she stumbled across a nearby town. She hid Phantom in a warehouse and sat with him for hours, forcing herself to stay away and stand guard in case the GiW found them. 

He didn’t wake up until the next morning, taking one look between Valerie and his exposed torso before panic struck his features and he simply disappeared. Before Valerie could gather her wits to hunt his ungrateful ass down and kill him again, he reappeared, suit intact, and began leading their way back to Amity on instinct alone.

Phantom refused to look her in the eye for the entire trip home. And when they finally got to Valerie’s apartment, left her with a “get some sleep” before disappearing once again.

Her watch buzzed lightly against her skin, signaling that he was close. Valerie leaned back, waiting. Seeing if he’d actually come to her, or if he’d bail and pull the vanishing act he was so famous for.

But then he appeared. Right in front of her. His glow was vibrant against the night sky, covering his body in a shimmery aura. His acidic green eyes glistened in the dark.

He really looked no worse for wear after his injury. That kind of hit would have landed Valerie in the hospital. And yet, Phantom was back the next day, full of bright smiles and puns for the people of Amity.

She wondered how often this kind of thing happened to him. Just how many times had he been nearly slaughtered only to pop back into the public eye pretending like nothing happened?

He gave her an awkward wave. “Hey, Red.” 

“Phantom.” She greeted cooly.

Just because lately she’d been seeing Phantom as someone who didn’t have an inherently evil Obsession didn’t mean that she liked him. At best, he was cocky, arrogant. At worst, he’d dumped her back at her apartment and left her by herself after the complete shit show that was their kidnapping.

So yeah, maybe she was a little bitter. Sue her.

“Uh, do you mind if I…” He gestured to the roof.

She pretended to mull his proposition over, watching as his ghostly tail flickered in anxiety.

He was ready to bolt, and she didn’t blame him. They’d never really talked before.

“Do what you want. I don’t feel like fighting tonight,” she finally conceded.

Relief spread across Phantom’s features, and Valerie was once again reminded of how human he was. She once thought that ghosts couldn’t feel any emotions. While it was doubtless that the way they experienced emotions was different than how humans did, there was just no way that Phantom was able to nail all those tiny details so accurately. Even if he was one of the more powerful ghosts out there, it would have been near impossible to mimic the full range of human emotion so quickly and precisely.

He settled down next to her, his tail morphing into legs positioned criss-crossed against the concrete. He turned to her, rubbing the back of his neck.

Valerie said nothing, just allowing the blanket of awkwardness to settle over the pair. If he wanted to say something, he could say it. Valerie wasn’t going to hand-hold him through a conversation.

When the tension was reaching the point of unbearable, Phantom finally broke the silence. “It’s a nice night.”

“Sure is.”

“I haven’t—uh, seen any ghosts. Tonight, I mean. Like outside. Or inside, too. Uh...it’s a quiet night. Ghost free. Well, except for me, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

He ran a gloved hand through his white hair. “Not that I’m really complaining. It’s kinda nice to have a break for a change.”

Valerie grunted in agreement, even though she was sure Phantom was lying through his teeth. Ghosts lived for their Obsessions, and Phantom was no different. She knew that deep down, he reveled in ghost hunting even more than any human ever could.

The duo was lapsed back into another tense silence, one that Valerie didn’t try to break. She didn’t understand what his goal was with the petty chatter. Did he think they were suddenly friends now? After he discarded her back at her apartment like she was a used rag and disappeared without a hint of remorse?

After she carried him hundreds of miles away from the Guys in White compound, bandaged his wounds, and then stayed up all night just to make sure he was safe?

She could have left him there. She could have been home before her father had woken up the next morning in a panic because his daughter was nowhere to be found. She could have avoided the phone call to the police, the missing child report, the whole mess that had followed.

And he couldn’t have even been bothered to say thank you afterward. Just dumped her and left.

So if he thought she was going to help him out now, he had another thing coming.

“How have...um, how have you been? Since…”

“Fine.” She said. “My dad’s been better.”

He winced. “Yeah…”

“Not that you care.”

He jolted up, turning around to face her. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about, spook.”

“I thought we were over the whole ‘spook’ thing,” he said, his face twisting in annoyance.

“And I thought you were over being an inconsiderate jerk. But I guess I was wrong.”

“Listen, Val—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Okay, Red. Listen, I’m sorry. Okay? I got freaked out that you—you saw…” He let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry you got caught up in my problems, I’m sorry they thought you were a ghost, and I just...yeah.”

Valerie sat there for a moment, glaring out at the night’s sky. “It was a big mess, you know.”

“I know.”

“The police were involved and everything.”

“I heard.”

“And you know the worst part? I couldn’t even tell them the truth.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I got kidnapped by my own government and I couldn’t even tell my dad. I had to lie and say I got lost while out on a nature hike. How stupid is that? I nearly got killed by the freaking government and I haven’t been able to say a damn thing to anyone.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet.

“Yeah, well…” Valerie swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know. Hazard of the job, I guess. Still would have been nice if you hadn’t just left on me. After everything.”

Phantom lowered his head, allowing the white strands of hair to cover his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was a dick move.”

“It was.”

“I just wanna know why.”

He looked up, startled. “Why? Why you were captured, or—”

“Why the silent treatment? Was it because I saw those glowing lightning tattoos under your jumpsuit?”

He flinched back as if he’d been struck, his body lifting to hover over the cement. He stared at her open mouthed, as if he didn’t think she’d even dare to mention it.

But Valerie couldn’t find it in her to be joyous at his hurt expression. “Seriously? You were mad about that? Like I care about what you put on your body.”

“No, no.” Despite looking like he wanted to take flight, he managed to lower himself back onto the roof. “No, they’re...it’s complicated.” 

“Oh, wonderful,” she said sardonically. “So let me get this straight, ghost boy. I save your ass from the government, pull an all-nighter guarding your lifeless body in a warehouse, and the best you can give me is an it’s complicated? Thanks a lot. It really makes me feel better.”

“No, it’s…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyebrows were pinched and he looked almost sick. When he finally spoke, his voice was small. “They’re not tattoos.”

“Oh? What, an unlucky birthmark?”

He didn’t respond.

Valerie turned to him, realization hitting her with full force. Unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, she said, “Really? That’s it?”

He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His eyes were distant, far away. Lost in some other world.

He’d been electrocuted. Struck to death by lightning, or something similar. And now it was branded on him, as some twisted reminder of the ugly creature that extended its spindly claws and ripped his humanity from his body.

“Damn.” Valerie blew out a breath. “Of all the ways to go, huh?”

“I—Yeah…”

She couldn’t help herself. “Do all ghosts have one?”

“No.”

Valerie didn’t know if that made it better or worse. Questions swirled through her brain, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t know much about ghost culture, but she was fairly certain that there was a taboo against asking ghosts about their deaths.

So she stayed silent, pretending to focus back on the stars but stealing glances to the teenage ghost beside her. His brows had furrowed, as if he were having an internal war. Whatever it was, Valerie didn’t pry. Even if her curiosity burned brighter with each passing moment.

Finally, he sighed, dropping his forehead into his knees. “It’s fine,” he said, though his voice sounded anything but. “You can ask.”

She hesitated for a brief moment before relenting. “Why do you have a mark?”

“They’re called Lichtenberg figures,” he explained. “They just happen. If the shock is bad enough. But they, uh, are supposed to fade in a few days. You know, if you’re...human.”

“But yours didn’t.”

“No, mine didn’t.” He raised his head, opening his mouth slightly, before slamming it shut.

This was unmarked territory she was stepping into. Hell, she doubted even the Fentons had ever talked to a ghost about their death before.

“Do you remember it?” she tried.

“Yeah.” 

That surprised her. She’d read some of the Fenton’s papers, and even they were uncertain of how much a ghost remembered about their death. 

The question must have shown on her face because Phantom added, “Not everyone does. I think...I think it has to do on their power level. And, uh, how old they are. I think some of the more ancient ghosts just kinda...forget. But I don’t know much. We don’t really talk about it.”

“Oh.”

Phantom nodded, staring down at his gloves. He sighed, and then started pulling one of them off.

Valerie froze, her eyes locking onto the movement. She’d never seen Phantom remove them before, and frankly she wasn’t even sure if they could be removed.

The glove left his skin and dissolved into ectoplasm, splashing onto the concrete roof. And there, left on his otherworldly skin, were the cobwebs of the lightning scar that covered his torso. It was brighter, glowing with more precision than Valerie remembered from before. 

He pushed his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing more of the Lichtenberg figure. It traveled up his wrist, spiraling throughout his arm before it disappeared into his suit. The branches were thin, glowing with the same ectoplasmic energy that ran through the ghost’s core.

Valerie didn’t know what to say. Here Phantom was, her biggest rival in Amity Park, revealing his creation, the moment that turned him into what he was today.

“It was an accident.” He finally spoke. “I was being stupid, I don’t know. My friends and I were fooling around with this...this machinery, I guess, that we knew we weren’t supposed to be near. I grabbed a malfunctioning piece of equipment—I didn’t realize it was plugged in—and that...was it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Phantom pushed his sleeve back down. He closed his eyes, willing the glove to  materialize back onto his hand. He looked at her and offered a feeble smirk. “Teenagers, am I right?”

Valerie forced a polite smile in return, hoping it didn’t look too pained. 

He cleared his throat. “But, you know,” he said, allowing some of that familiar cocky energy back into his voice. “It’s in the past now. I’m over it.”

Valerie doubted that much. After all, he was still a ghost.

“I mean, I get to do really cool things now. Like helping people. Protecting the town. You can’t exactly do that as a human.” He froze, his eyes flickering to her. “I mean, aside from you. You’re great at it!”

Valerie flipped him off. “Whatever, ghost boy.”

“No, I’m serious! You’re really good as a ghost hunter.”

“I know I’m good! I don’t need your flattery to give me self-esteem.” Her voice sobered. “But really, Phantom. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He frowned, and looked up at the sky. The brilliance of the stars reflected on his form, giving his body an almost ethereal presence. 

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

---

Thanks for reading!

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Baji A.K.A. The Worst (Best) Matchmaker Ever

Summary: Baji dares you to call Mikey a ‘piss boy.’ You’re an idiot, so of course you say you’ll do it. Things don’t go as planned...or do they?

Pairing: Sano Manjirou | Mikey x Male Reader

Warning(s): mentions of omorashi (pissing), but there’s no actual pissing involved

You’re gonna die. Oh, dear God, our holy Lord and savior, you’re gonna fucking die.

Baji may be an idiot, but you’re an even bigger idiot for letting him convince you to call Mikey a piss boy.

It’s a pretty damn good trade-off, you foolishly reasoned when you accepted his offer: $10 and a spin on his motorcycle, which is basically hitting the jackpot for a broke, motorcycle-less middle schooler like yourself.

Now, what you failed to take into consideration, is that you’d literally be risking your life. Had you taken a step back and used your brain for a second or two, you would’ve realized that calling Mikey, of all people, a ‘piss boy’ isn’t worth the measly $10 Baji is currently waving in the air from across the room.

You open your mouth to chicken out. Baji pulls out another $10.

“You wanna waste your allowance? Fuckin’ fine,” you grumble under your breath, making damn well sure your icy glare is received and, yeah, the irritating smirk that widens across Baji’s face when you continue on your path to your demise means your message is read, crystal clear. He just doesn’t give a shit.

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and practically march towards where Mikey is casually munching on fresh taiyaki, legs crisscrossed as he sits atop an old crate.

Oh, man. What would’ve been worse: interrupting one of Mikey’s naps or interrupting him mid-snack?

(Un)Luckily, you get to experience one of them today!

When your footsteps lead you to where you don’t want to be, you stop to stand directly in front of your target, who doesn’t immediately look up in your presence. Simply keeps munch, munch, munching.

It gives you a chance to hesitate, a chance to rethink your reckless decision, a chance to back out and save yourself from a one-sided ass beating.

Alas, the chance to make that split-second decision vanishes when deep, dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, the owner’s expression reading that he’s not exactly bothered to see you there, rather, simply curious to know what you want.

It’s the perfect moment to get this bet over and done with, so, along with your prayers, you just go outright and say it.

“‘Sup, Piss Boy.”

Mikey stops chewing, and you already feel your heart about to burst out of your chest.

The room comes to a dead silence, making it all the more nerve-wracking when, following a dreadful minute of absolutely nothing, Toman’s leader speaks.

“What.”

It’s the only word he says, voice low, emotionless, and instead of it being a question, it’s a demand, a challenge even, to dare you to reaffirm what couldn’t have possibly come out of your mouth.

You remind yourself to breathe, while mentally preparing yourself to get decked in the face, ‘cause it’s way too late to backpedal now. One of your feet is already in the grave; it wouldn’t hurt to speed things up and launch your entire body in there.

“Nothing. I just- I wanted to know how my, uh...my little piss boy is...doing?”

Well, you lived a good life.

Mikey stares at you, unblinking.

One second passes. Two.

Then-

“Are you into that?”

“I- Huh?”

“Baji said you’re into some weird stuff, but that’s pretty fucking dirty, (Y/n). Even dirtier than Ken-chin’s tastes.”

(”Don’t fucking drag me into this shit.”)

Seeing the horrified confusion on your face, Mikey’s head tilts ever so slightly to the side.

“You want me to take a leak on you, right?” he asks, and that’s when your soul says its farewell, leaving behind a red-faced corpse on the verge of combusting. Bringing a hand to his chin, he adds, “Or, did you want to piss on me?”

You thought getting beat up by Mikey would be bad?

No, no, no.

You’d gladly take that over this humiliation.

“Hey, Baji! What did the couple in your porn mag do? Did they take turns or what?”

And Baji, the piece of shit, can’t hold it in anymore and breaks out in the most obnoxious laughter, the kind that’s loud, unrestrained, and has him doubling over, gasping for air.

“Oh, fuck, this is gold!” He’s wheezing at this point, triggering a few of the others to start laughing as well, including Mitsuya, who, to his credit, at least tries to stifle his laughter. “Ask (Y/n) what he prefers! Ask!”

At the other boy’s persistence, Mikey raises an eyebrow at you, giving you his full attention as though genuinely curious to know what your pissing preferences are. It causes the flush coloring your face to turn 10 shades darker and 10 degrees hotter.

You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that your friends now think you have a piss kink, or the fact that Mikey is open to exploring said kink with you.

“So, what’ll it be?”

“I...” What do you even say in this situation?

“Do you want me to pee on you?” Mikey asks again in a much softer voice, hoping it’ll reassure you into giving him a direct answer. He doesn’t want to scare you, no. Knowing how nervous you get around him, he’s been doing his best to show only the good sides of himself to you.

That must be why he takes your hand in his, giving it a little squeeze to encourage you to speak up. What he doesn’t know, is that as opposed to being comforted by the kind action, it makes you feel mortified, especially at the insinuation of you wanting him to release his bodily fluids on you.

So mortified, actually, that the first thing that comes out of your mouth is an unintentionally shy, “Please, don’t pee on me...”

You realize your mistake the second those words are said.

Ahh! No! That’s not what you were supposed to say!

Why didn’t you say you don’t want anything to do with piss in general?!

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Your head is spinning, thoughts going haywire after misspeaking , but what really sends you over the edge is the, admittedly, cute little smile you catch on Mikey’s face. Now, not only is your head in disarray, so is your heart.

“Alright. Since it’s you, I’ll let you do it.”

Nope. That’s it for you. Time to clock out of consciousness.

Thump!

“Oh. He passed out.”

Abrupt as it is, your passing out is of no concern whatsoever to Mikey. Nah, he finds it endearing as hell and crouches down to admire your ‘sleeping’ face.

“He must’ve been super happy,” he fondly muses, completely ignoring Draken’s advice to make sure you’re still breathing in favor of stroking your head and pinching your cheeks. 

(”He might die, dumbass. I’m tellin’ ya.”

“He won’t. (Y/n)’s strong.”)

On the other side of the room, Baji has zero fuel left in him to bark out another laugh at Mikey and his gullibility when it comes to wooing the person he fancies, though he does have the energy to wipe away the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Best $20 I’ve ever spent,” he blissfully remarks to Chifuyu.

“Baji-san, this isn’t how you play matchmaker.”

“Dude, this is exactly how you play matchmaker.”

To prove his point, the long-haired teen points back to where Mikey is sitting beside you on the ground, carrying out a normal conversation with Draken, like there isn’t an unconscious person right beside them.

“Ken-chin, where should I take (Y/n) for our first date?”

“Huh? Date? I thought he was just gonna piss on you?”

“That means he likes me, Ken-chin,” Mikey explains, sounding, for all it’s worth, similar to a parent teaching their child a new life lesson. “And if the person I like likes me enough to want to piss on me, then, obviously, I should take him on a date.”

It makes no fucking sense, but if Mikey wants to believe that your love language is spilling less than desirable bodily fluids on each other, then so be it.

Because for him, anything goes as long as it’s you.

Not only are you $20 richer, you also scored yourself a date with someone that would let you take a piss on them and vice versa.

Aren’t you a lucky guy?

[multific]

Patrick Bateman Killing Your Ex - Headcanons

Summary: Your ex was an asshole, to put it simply. You broke up with him because he controlled your whole life. 

Warnings: Swearing, murder, blood

When you started dating Patrick, two things you were sure of, he had the body of a Greek God and that he was hiding something

You just weren’t sure what it was

You noticed how his smile never quite reached his eyes, yet he was always smiling

How his laughter sounded like it was practiced in front of a mirror and no matter how sweet his words were, the sparkle never reached his eyes

But of course, even with these red flags, you just couldn’t leave him

After all, your ex was worse

Your ex had done almost everything you can think of to make your life a living hell

He cut you off from your friends

Hurt you both physically and mentally

The police had to take him away after the neighbors called them because they heard your cries

You were happy when he was sentenced to prison

Then you met Patrick

Patrick was obsessed with you, you could tell that much

Your ex always looked at what you were doing, disapproving, making mean comments

Patrick never did that

But for some reason Patrick radiated a different energy

His cold eyes scared you, but he never did anything to actually scare or hurt you

You had no reason not to trust him

You soon moved into his place

Starting a new life with the man you loved

Patrick never once said that he loved you, not once

But he showed it through actions

Whenever he brought your favourite food

Whenever he let you cuddle to him in bed although he didn’t like cuddling at all

The way he held you radiated possessiveness and genuine care

After a year of living with Pat, the worst thing happened

The man you thought to be in prison was standing right in front of you at work

You were terrified

The worst part? He pretended like nothing happened, like he never hurt you 

The way he spoke in a calm manner, like he was your best friend

You were shaking that day when Patrick found you

During lunch, the two of you were supposed to meet up and have a lovely lunch but you were terrified

Patrick new about your ex so he was rather surprised when you told him that he was back

Patrick’s blood boiled

Seeing you so sad and the fact that the man who dared to touch what’s his was here made it even worse

Patrick knew he needed to get rid of him

And Patrick didn’t need to wait long

The opportunity rose by itself

Somehow your ex found out that you were living with him

So, that day as Patrick went home and he saw the man on front of his door, he flipped

“Are you the guy who is currently fucking my bitch?” asked your ex

Patrick’s head filled with plans, and anger

But, instead of killing him right then and there, he invited the man in

And as he sat on the couch, Patrick grabbed his raincoat and axe

Slipping the man’s head open with many hits

When he was finished, he felt the blood on his skin but he didn’t care

He tossed the jacket away and sat down, lighting a cigar

As he was smoking his well-deserved cigar, he heard the front door open

“I’m home.” he heard your voice call, and as you saw the body in the living room you made a shocked noise

“Now, you can be assured, he is not going to hurt you anymore, Sweetheart. I did what no cop could do, I protected you.” Patrick said

And suddenly it all made sense

Patrick’s behavior

His occasional flip-outs

His yelling

His smile that never reached his eye

Why you never saw the the twinkle in them

Patrick was crazy

But he was your crazy

You dropped your bag as you looked from the corpse up to your boyfriend who was smoking his cigar, using your ex’s bashed head as an ashtray

“You did this for me?” you asked

As you looked at Patrick, smoking his cigar, you noticed he looked like cats do when they bring their prey home to their owner

He looked proud and so unbothered

“This motherfucker, called you his bitch. I couldn’t let that slide now could I? He needed to realize who you belong to.”

As he said that you moved closer to him, and sat on his lap

With the sleeve of your jacket you cleaned his face from the blood and placed a kiss on his lips

“Thank you.” you said as he pulled you closer

Maybe, you were just as crazy as him

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[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[sugamamacustard]

Let me help you

Pairing:  Alpha! Toru Oikawa x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Hajime Iwaizumi x Omega! Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, Hurt/comfort.

Request: Because I like a bit of hurt/comfort, and I love the idea of an omega depression, I'm curious on how alpha third years on Aoba Johsai (so like Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Mattsun) would do in response to their omega being in an omega depression.

Summary: Because of unseen circumstances, you drop, and you drop hard. How does your alpha help you/redeem himself?

Author’s Note:  Oikawa’s got really long, so I didn’t include Mattsun or Makki. If you wanna request a part 2 I’ll get on it right away!

Requests: Open!

Toru Oikawa

➵ Truth be told, it was kind of his fault. 

➵Right after you both bonded, he immediately seemed to drop any redeeming qualities he had while courting you.

➵He skipped out on dates, stayed later and later at practice, gave the mile to his fangirls.

➵And while you could get over that, the worse thing you realized was when you went to cheer him on at one of his games. 

➵His bond mark was covered with a scent gland bandage and when Iwaizumi noticed it (He knew of your bonding), he sent a worried glance your way.

➵He could practically see the heartbreak from his place on the court. 

➵What was worse was that you didn’t make a scene. 

➵You stood, turned and left. That was it. 

➵ Oikawa was busy doing his pre-game whatever to notice, making the situation even worse.  

➵Iwaizumi wanted to follow you but the whistle of the ref called him back. 

➵ You didn’t want Iwaizumi to follow you anyway. 

➵You felt numb. So, so numb. 

➵Like anything you previously felt-- any longing, or wishing for your alpha-- reduced to a numb buzz that kept your body moving. 

➵You felt like you were on Autopilot. 

➵Toru made it fairly obvious that he wanted your bond mark on display, so why weren’t the same standards held to him? It wasn’t against the rules of volleyball-- several alphas had theirs out on proud display with their omega cheering in the stands. 

➵Was it you?

➵God, you felt so empty. Like your will to live was dripping away. 

➵You felt your omega lay down, whining as they tried to figure out what was wrong. Where did you go wrong? 

➵You barely felt the soft fleece of your blankets as you settled into your nest for who knows how long. 

___

 Toru was lost. You were in the stands during warm-up last game, but was gone by half-time. Okay, fine. Maybe you had to pee. But then you didn’t show up at all after that.  While at the time it took a back burner-- because we all know how Oikawa plays-- it was now front and center. His alpha was on edge and snapped on him twice already, sending sharp throbs of pain to his temples. It had been three days since Toru had seen you, his mate, so Toru could tell that was a big reason for his frustration. But Toru didn’t know why you had been gone for three days. 

If you were sick, why didn’t you text him? Were you injured? Toru didn’t know.  His neck burnt with anticipation at the thought of you in any peril. 

Where were you?

 Shoving his way past a few fangirls, Toru made his way into the gym, racking his brain for any sort of hint. Vacation maybe and you just forgot to tell him?

 “Iwa-chan! I need your-” Toru paused, huffing when Iwaizumi roughly shoved past him. His alpha was on guard immediately, making Toru growl loudly.   “What’s you issue, Iwa? Blue-balled or something?” 

The laugh that left Iwaizumi made even him, the head alpha, shiver. “My issue? What’s yours?! You absolutely destroyed your relationship last game and ask me for help?! What the hell is wrong with you, Oikawa?!”  

Oikawa swallowed. There was no nickname. No sense of friendship in his words. They were straight malice, laced with acidic venom meant to hurt him. 

When Oikawa didn’t immediately answer, Iwaizumi continued. “You make them wear their bond mark for all the world to see, but cover yours up? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?! How in the hell you got someone like them to glance your way for more than a second is beyond me, let alone bond you; but when you do, you fucking destroy them. You’re a failure of an alpha, Toru Oikawa.” 

Truth be told, Oikawa thought that him covering up his bond mark would save you from trouble. The less people who knew about him being mated the less people to harass you. But he was your alpha. He was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen anyway.  Fuck, Iwa was right. He was a failure. This became evident as more and more things came hurdling back at him.  He didn’t even grab his duffel before he was, quite literally, sprinting out of the gym. He didn’t care who he pushed over. He didn’t care who he snapped at. He didn’t care. He only care about one person and one person alone. 

___

You whined as hunger continued gnawing at your gut. You wanted to eat, really, but you just didn’t have the energy. You didn’t have the will. 

You still felt so numb and didn’t know where to go from here. At this point, it was clear you were in the midst of an Omega Depression, and to be fair-- that scared you. You wanted to spend the evening in your nest, restart and reboot, before talking to your alpha about it the next day. You truly didn’t mean to drop. 

But here you were. The aspect of ...starvation scared you. The aspect of no closure for yourself scared you. Death scared you. But you couldn’t fight yourself to fix it. Couldn’t bring yourself to even lift your head or stay awake for more than an hour. 

The door to your room slammed open, but you didn’t look up. It was probably your guardian coming in to try and get you to eat again. But you wouldn’t. 

Your heart dropped when the smell of burnt plastic invaded your sense. 

“No- no, no, no, no no- Please god no-” Oikawa felt his heart shatter at the sight of you. You looked like you had both feet dangling in the grave, hanging on by a loose root you grabbed onto in a last ditch effort. 

He continued repeating no while running his hands through his hair, already crying before he even set foot in your room.  When he did dare step closer, that was all it took before he was running to you, pulling you in close despite your whines of protest.  His grip on you was bruising, but he couldn’t risk letting you slip. Not again. 

“Please- please don’t leave me.” He sobbed into your shoulder, your own eyes stinging (Dehydration keeping tears from falling).  “I- I can fix this- I can fix us. Fuck- Please Y/N. Please omega, let me help you. Let me make this right!”

Though you didn’t say anything, the grip on his jacket told him all he needed to know. And though it would be a long road to recovery, you and him would conquer it. 

➵ Completely contrary to Oikawa, your drop wasn’t anyone’s fault.

➵Maybe the school systems, if there was blame to be put. 

➵So much had gone on in such a short period. 

➵You and your alpha, along with his team, had been bombarded with practice and paperwork in preparation for the upcoming tournament. 

➵But just because volleyball picked, doesn’t mean school drops off.

➵ You had essay after essay due, Unit exams which would soon fall into Final exams.

➵You and Hajime had barely even seen each other all week.

➵You both still sent each other good morning and good night texts, and if you see each other in the hallway you’ll give each other a quick peck. 

➵Honestly, it was obvious everyone was on edge. 

➵Teachers didn’t care though, they just kept piling on more, and more, and more work.

➵ And volleyball just kept getting closer and closer.

➵You stumbled into the gym with a chirp, trying to sort through the multitude of papers in your arms. 

➵Your back was aching and your arms were strained, but you couldn’t drop them. That would be a disaster. 

➵ The coach sent you a raised brow, offering a hand to help. You waved him off, sitting on the bench with a grunt.

➵Everyone was already sweaty and panting, practice in full swing. 

➵God, everyone looked so tired already. 

➵You could feel the waves of exhaustion.

➵ As they were just in deep in your bones as they were in theirs. 

___

“Did you finish filling out the registry forms?”

You looked up to the coach, nodding slowly before riffling through your papers and pulling out the ones you were looking for. You handed them to the beta, quickly going back to your notes once more. 

You noted the stumbled steps and slowed reflexes, but simply made it a point to emphasize rest with the boys. Maybe a day with no practice would do them more good then practice. 

Hajime was doing well, as usual, somehow keeping his head and energy high. You know he hasn’t gotten much rest either, and you felt for your alpha. Honestly, you just wanted one day with just you and your alpha, where you both could sleep the day away and come back good as new. 

That just sounded glorious. 

“You wouldn’t mind filling out the ref sheets either, would you?” The beta smirked, already handing you the sheets. He knew you had a tough time saying no to people older and/or bigger than you; and had you doing several things that most mangers would never touch.

It was tiring.

You reluctantly took the sheets, already starting on them. The notes you were working on were yanking from under you, the coach reading over them. 

He scoffed at your note of possibly skipping a practice. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Take a break?! These boys are on the brink of a skillful breakthrough, and you want to stop them?!” 

You closed in on yourself at the yells, trying to focus on the ref sheets. He continued yelling and berating you for the notes you made. You could feel the teams stares on you, but you also knew they wanted you to learn to stand up for yourself. They had been giving you a few minutes to try and collect yourself and if nothing happened they would step in. 

It only took seconds for you to finally break down, sobbing into your hands as the coach’s yelling reached a breaking point. The team took very time to act then and there. 

Oikawa and Kyoutani were snapping and growling, pushing him back and away from you while Hajime slid onto his knees in front of you, pulling you to his chest and kissing your bond mark. He rocked you side to side, purring and letting you cry. 

You sobbed and sobbed while the coach tried backtracking, but it was too late. The pack was on defense. One of them was in danger and they were going to make sure they all were safe. 

___

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, your in Hajime’s arms, which are wrapped tight around your waist. 

Oikawa was on the other side of you, head on Hajime’s thigh, Makki and Mattsun were cuddling together a little to the left of you. Kyoutani was closest to you (He had a soft spot for you, almost like you were another older sister to him). You ran a hand through his hair for a moment before taking a deep breath in and out. The rest of the team was scattered in the puppy pile around you, and the gym was dark. 

In fact, everything was dark. There were chairs propped up by the door, just in case you supposed, and there were jackets littered everywhere. Your heart fluttered at the thought. 

Hajime’s arms subconsciously tightened around you, luring you back into sleep.

You, your alpha, and your pack.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Knight in Shining Red Armor | Dante + Child!Reader (DMC 4)

A/N: Hey so this is a rewrite of one of my first (and only) DMC fic from like...2016. This takes place post-DMC 4

You can read the og one on my DeviantArt! But if you're here for the new one then I hope ya'll enjoy!

Summary: Child!Reader was taken under Dante's wing after being saved from a demon invasion, but even years later he hesitates to tell them what he truly is, fearing they'll resent him for his demonic heritage.

............

"Hey, um..Dante?"

"What's up, kiddo?" The red-clad devil hunter asked, though he wasn't completely paying attention to you. Rather he was sitting at his desk, feet kicked up as he was flipping through a magazine.

Meanwhile you were roaming around the shop, stopping only to gaze at the massive curved sword with glowing gems hanging on the wall behind him. He mentioned claiming many weapons--"Devil Arms" as they were called--from defeated demons, but you were curious about their names.

"Just wondering..what's that sword behind you called?"

"The Sparda. It sealed the barrier between the Underworld and human world. Nero went through hell and back, quite literally, to return it to me, so don't even think about touching......it?"

Dante put the magazine down as he turned to see you holding the Sparda in your small hands. You smiled triumphantly, but stumbled a bit before the blade accidentally slammed into the wooden floor, making you wince.

"Oops."

Yet your little act amused him, as he chuckled and shook his head. "You're a little too young to go devil-hunting, I'm afraid. But maybe one day you will."

"And maybe you can help pay off Dante's debt, too." Trish lightly joked as she entered the room, taking the giant sword from you and putting it back on the wall.

Her words were responded by a groan from the male, who went back to reading.

"Whatcha reading?"

Dante slowly lowered the magazine to see you sitting on his desk, but he just snapped it shut and tossed it into the trash, out of your line of sight. "Nothing that eyes like yours gotta see."

"Okay....ooooooh, what's this briefcase?" Hopping off the desk, you ran over to Pandora and crouched down to poke the skull emblem.

"Pandora. That baby can turn into six hundred and sixty six different weapons, but...right now we only have access to seven." Now he was feeling like an exhausted teacher on a museum trip, trying to explain each exhibit to his hyper first graders--the exhibits being his Devil Arms.

Yet as you ran around asking him about more of them, he couldn't help but see his childhood-self reflected in you. Just full of energy and never-ending curiosity and optimism.

Yeah..he definitely saw the resemblance.

Eventually you decided to leave him be and dash off to your room.

And only then did Dante drop his smile, sighing as he put both feet back on the ground. He ran a hand through his hair before dragging it down the side of his face tiredly.

"You know..you'll have to tell them eventually." Trish reminded.

"How, though? That kid's afraid of all demons..hybrids or not. I'm pretty sure saying "oh by the way the guy who rescued you is actually half-demon" is gonna send 'em running, and...I can't risk that." He shook his head, gazing at the jukebox in the corner.

"But I think [y/n]'s old enough to comprehend the concept of not all demons being evil," Lady chimed in after overhearing the conversation. "Just give it to them straight and I'm sure they'll understand."

As much as Dante wanted to argue, he saw that she had a valid point. But he still worried...

How would you react?

It's been a few years since he saved you from a Mega Scarecrow, though it turned out that more demons invaded your neighborhood, slaughtering everyone you knew and loved. And as he took you back to the shop to patch you up, he could see the terror in your eyes, any traces of innocence long gone.

No child should have gone through such a tragedy.

A tragedy that he was all-too familiar with.

After the defeat of the Savior, things have been looking up. You've regained your happiness as you lived in Devil May Cry and learned of Dante's tales of devil hunting, though the memories of that horrible night never truly left you alone.

Along with that, just seeing a demon is enough to make you run and hide, and you were terrified when you first met Nero and saw his demonic arm.

From that incident alone, Dante became extremely reluctant to tell you of his own demonic heritage.

He just didn't know if he's only hurting you more by keeping it hidden..

...............

Later that night, you were plagued by yet another nightmare. Different demons, same neighborhood...same deaths of your loved ones.

But in this one Dante got hurt, too. And you tried so hard to be brave for him, even shouting in the demon's face...but in the end you failed as it snatched you away, dragging you into the darkness of the Underworld before he could reach you.

Although you calmed down since awakening, you wanted to be sure he was alright.

So with what little moonlight shone in the shop's darkness, you located the worn sofa where Dante laid. He was engrossed in some TV program, though after sensing your presence his eyes flickered to you.

No words had to be exchanged in order for him to see what was wrong, as he sat up and patted the spot beside him. You smiled in relief and climbed onto the sofa, snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. "Th-Thanks, Dante."

"No prob. So uh..another nightmare, I guess?"

"Yeah, but..they hurt you, too and...I-I tried staying brave. I shouted at them to leave you alone and..they didn't listen. But...I think one of them looked scared of me."

"Wow." He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Gotta say I'm impressed."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Y'know demons are used to seeing kids scream and cry, not take a stand against them. Plus that's pretty epic of you to defend me, so thanks." With a smile, he ruffled your hair.

"You're welcome," you giggled a bit. "But..I really just wanna be as brave as you. I mean...Nero says you laugh at giant demons and tease them all the time. How do you do that without being scared?"

"Well..it comes with the business. Getting them riled up just makes the fight more fun. At least for me. You might think I'm crazy but if ya decide to hunt demons one day...you'll see what I mean."

"But until then, could I watch you fight one? Like a big bad one?"

"......."

"Dante?"

"..kid, there's a reason I never took you on any missions." Dante sighed, swallowing back the growing lump in his throat as he carefully planned his next words. "And how I always...bounce back from getting smacked by a demon tail. No human would be able to withstand that without some broken bones."

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "Then..how can you if you're human?"

"....because I'm not fully human."

As much as he wanted to shut up, he decided to tell you the truth once and for all, not sugarcoating anything:

He explained how his parents were a demon and human--a forbidden romance which resulted in himself and Virgil being born. His bloodline allowed them to blend in with humans, exercise their demonic abilities in battle, and even tap into their true demon forms.

All the while you listened silently, with not much emotion on your face. So it was hard for him to tell what you were probably thinking in this moment.

It scared him.

"...and that's it." He sighed, closing his eyes and looking away from you. "So go ahead and hate me if you want. I won't blame you for-"

"Can you show me?"

Dante blinked stupidly as he swung his head back towards you, wondering if he heard you right.

"I...wish you told me before, but I don't wanna be scared of demons anymore." You smiled a tiny bit as you elaborated. "Especially not one who helped me. So...can I see your other form?"

"...a-alright. Just...if you get scared I can turn back instantly, so don't freak."

"I won't."

He had doubts you'll keep your word, but he got up and activated his Devil Trigger form. As he opened his eyes, you gasped upon seeing how much they were glowing--being orange rather than blue. Red electric sparks danced around his metallic body as he observed you close, anticipating your reaction. He expected you to scream or cry.

Yet..there was only curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

"Scared yet?" He asked in his distorted voice, crouching down in front of you.

Not even the way he spoke startled you, as you just shook your head. "I was wrong all along..not all demons are bad."

"Not even this one?"

"Nope. You look awesome..like a knight in shiny red armor."

"...wow..I um...." For once, the talkative devil hunter was at loss for words. But when you learned forward to hug him around the neck, he was completely shocked.

Earlier in the day he thought of countless worse-case scenarios, and yet...the best-case was happening right now.

You were accepting him, hugging him even.

He couldn't believe it.

Dante smiled as he wrapped his arms around you, making sure his armor spikes didn't hurt you. "Thanks, kid. It really means a lot that you're not terrified anymore........[y/n]?" He was concerned about your lack of response, before realizing you were dozing off.

'Damn..I might make a pretty good dad, after all..' He mused, standing up and making the trek back to your bedroom. Then he set you down and tucked you in, relief and warmth in his heart.

He had a feeling that your nightmares won't be so bad anymore. Now he felt like he could truly protect you.

Why?

Because he was gonna be your knight in shining red armor.

.

.

.

.

.

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.

.

.

"Jeez, man. Quit clanking around shit and---AH!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!!"

"Shhhh! Chill out, Nero. You'll wake 'em." Dante was quick to shift back to his human form once he was outside your room, glaring at his nephew. "Why are you so freaked out? This ain't the first time you've seen my devil form."

"But still..why in the middle of the night?! Thought we had company."

"...just go back to bed, kid."

"Don't call me kid!"