#i had like. one effect on me. the one with the weird cracks. i have no idea what it does. definitely was NOT ENOUGH to do that it didn't do

[hitlikehammers]

unforeseen complications 🩸 steve/kas!eddie

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover— “We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows it’s all completely fucking FINE and also they’re dumb in love forever)♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." —Euripides

Steve is groggy, his head’s a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift it—so he doesn’t, not just yet—but normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects aren’t as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where it’s all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.

And it’s not like it gets this intense that often; it’s in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes one’s they create for themselves, sure, but usually it’s some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. Like…at least eight times out of ten.

At least.

So it’s weird that he’s waking up before he’s due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.

He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy that’s not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. There’s…something on top of him.

Heavy.

Shaking.

There’s a sound, maybe, like…breathing but that’s shaky too and—

Oh.

Oh no, it’s not just shaky.

The weight on top of him’s fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.

Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.

And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, so—

“Eds,” Steve doesn’t even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he can’t work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; “what’s wrong, what happened, I—”

The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving at all.

“Lay back down,” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Steve’s skin; “save your strength, you’re still,” and yeah…muffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; “you’re…”

More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling.

And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover—

“We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

—is also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steve’s even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.

Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.

The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.

Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine for…close to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?

Steve’s kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection he’s come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddie’s too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking much—Steve wishes he’d known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.

Whatever. They’re here now.

Though it’d been a pretty free-and-clear couple of months—Eddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steve’s arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times they’d had to stretch too much time between regular feedings—because when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steve’s living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in best—trembling and stammering and…be-fanged.

And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutes—which he stands by being wholly fair and justified—and then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.

He’d pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.

And didn’t think—yet—about how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddie’s naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.

Nope. Not the time.

He was sick, though, that was clear, but Steve…he can’t explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that they’re friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than he’d been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steve’s heat every night, in Steve’s bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, and…

There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasn’t any of that.

It wasn’t even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:

Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Stevie, please—

And Steve wasn’t immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know better—literally and…intimately, y’know, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after he’d less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reason—but. Yeah.

He’d have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. He’d have—

What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. And…well.

The fangs make…wel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steve’s fingertip and not in a sexy way—and Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, he’d already stopped trying to deny that to himself—so he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddie’s cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it needed…more to work with and yeah, if Steve hadn’t made up his mind already that would’ve done the job, flat out)—and when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble away—

But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddie’s lips—knew it was maybe dirty pool but…he wasn’t stupid. If Eddie needed blood, he…he needed blood.

And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didn’t try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if he’d just—

Steve hadn’t been worried, but if there’d been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddie’s presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, it’s all he would need.

But seeing that Steve hadn’t even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddie’s frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddie’s, tasted his own blood as he whispered:

It’s for you, I want you to have it so that you’re okay, and his hand had braced on Eddie’s chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didn’t even dare to blink until Eddie’s tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.

And the rest is…history.

Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steve’s old hat at being the victim of the Upside Down’s bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.

Steve hadn’t been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.

And so that had been…that.

They’d told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steve’s fears in and of itself—they already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and that’s without the blood…thing.

So they keep that to themselves. It’s definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steve’s laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.

It’s not a big deal. Steve’s had so many migraines worse than this ever is.

Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.

That’s the worst pain Steve’s ever known, every goddamn time.

“You were cold,” Eddie’s voice shivers as he raps into Steve’s chest hair; “to me, you were cold to me.”

“You’d just fed, and you were hurting for it,” Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. “You’re still not evened-out,” he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but they…they can’t risk it.

Steve won’t fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.

He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddie’s temple, test the heat.

“Close though,” Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. He…he loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesn’t think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.

“Steve,” Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; “we can’t.”

Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.

Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.

“You weren’t moving,” Eddie finally whispers; “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear,” and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didn’t hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because he’d been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weak—it always sets him off kilter for a second or two.

Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.

They’ve both evened out. They’re both okay.

“I can’t risk you,” Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; “I can’t lose you.”

“So,” Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; “losing me by design instead is your solution,” he sucks his teeth, hums as if he’s actually consider such fucking nonsense:

“Yeah, cool, makes sense.”

He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.

“Stevie,” Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he might…need for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.

“We’ve been through this, Eds,” Steve breathes low; “I’m not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,” he knows Eddie won’t appreciate the levity but he can’t help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. “I’m much more interested in making sure you’re not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,” and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:

“To stay with me.”

And like clockwork, Eddie’s eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steve’s face in both his open palms:

“Always,” he hisses; “nothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.”

And Steve knows it. Knows he means it

“But Steve—”

And because Steve knows? He’s happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steve’s whole goddamn life—

Steve’s more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddie’s lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.

“I grew up not knowing what love was,” Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash red—only when he’s incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. “Except for knowing that what I got wasn’t it,” he shrugs; “or else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,” he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise and…

“Until the times it wasn’t,” Steve murmurs and, well.

At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.

“But I knew what I did have wasn’t right,” Steve’s quick to press on; “so even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasn’t,” he bites his lip and it’s not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.

Because Steve knows the ending. And how it’s not even an ending at all.

“I knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,” and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to just…look his fill of this impossible man he’s fallen for, that he’s more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.

“And once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?”

He waits for Eddie’s eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:

“Love is this,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips with real fucking meaning:

“Love is exactly this.”

“Nearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood and—” Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.

He’d just spoken on the truth.

“Not even close to fucking dying at all,” Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; “save maybe how much it killed me when I thought I’d lost you before we had a chance,” and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.

Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.

“So add that into the love-column,” Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a ‘YOU RULE’ board; “this is love because you’re breathing,” and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddie’s top lip; “you’re safe,” and then he kisses, nibble Eddie’s neck;“your heart beats when there’s enough blood for it to move around,” and Steve’s not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddie’s collarbones.

“You’re as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,” Steve breathes; “you’re here. With me.”

Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:

“You care enough—”

“Love.”

Eddie’s tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. It’s thrilling every time it comes out.

All the more, said around that one word.

“I love,” Eddie’s hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steve’s face again; “whether it’s enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love you—”

“Then you love,” Steve picks back up, pecks Eddie’s lips because he can; “enough to check that I’m okay, when we do this, and it’s just a little more of a challenge than normal.”

Eddie looks like he’s about to choke on something.

“Challenge?”

Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.

“I like a good challenge,” Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how blood—Steve’s blood—rushes to the surface; “fills the gap from all the sports-playing.”

Eddie’s mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:

“Normal?”

Steve doesn’t even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.

“Wild, ain’t it,” he asks, kinda fucking joyful; “who’d have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,” and he runs his hand over Eddie’s arm, shoulder to wrist; “this perfect, for everything he is, not what he’s gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,” and Steve’s voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful for…all of it.

For his Eddie.

“Who would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,” he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; “to do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,” and his voice goes low—they don’t know what’s been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;

“To keep as long as you decided to want.”

Basically, Steve isn’t too concerned about the whats. He’s more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.

Whatever it takes.

“Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; “and you deserve so much more than this.”

“Let me make the decision,” Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.

“And since I made that decision fucking months ago already, I’ll save you the suspense,” he turns Eddie’s chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.

“There is no more than this.”

And Eddie blinks; blinks.

And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.

“Fuck, I love you baby,” Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: “forever.”

It’s a true thing. It’s a promise.

It’s an acknowledgement of what they don’t yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.

For always.

“I know,” Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; “and I am always gonna know. I’m always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.”

And Eddie’s face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steve’s and smack them flat to Eddie’s heaving chest.

To Eddie’s pounding heart.

“Never forget here,” he vow sir; “it’s never a matter of not loving.”

And Eddie’s scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.

It almost means more, that he’s promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.

“I know,” Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.

“And I’m always gonna be right here.”

Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:

“Right here.”

And that?

And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.

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divider credit here

[confusionism]

“That was a long flight.” Not to mention another crazy project that had her working from coast-to-coast in under two weeks. “—And then I figured customs and immigration might’ve done you in.” Say what you will about Heathrow being a leader in airport facilities; it’s still filled with grumps that could put Aiden to shame. “—So I mean—” he really doesn’t know what else to say, but between the airy laughter she pulls out of him and the playful half-nod, half-shake of his head, “—yeah.” Understatement of the year.

But also, he’s definitely not complaining. Quite the opposite.

If Anna’s sudden appearance has him frozen in utter shock, then her words have the exact opposite effect, melting away every bit of bad that’s built up throughout the evening. The anxieties, the annoyance. Even the mild heartburn from eating the weird slop they’d named ‘dessert,’ despite setting it on fire. He takes to her presence like a plant does sunlight, reveling in warm comfort and blooming under the rays of her inspection. By the end of it all, one would think that he’d just broken the record for a lap around the pitch. The faint pink on his cheeks only adds to the effect.

“You’re always a ten to me.” He isn’t saying it just to say it. Anna possesses beauty in its most obvious forms, with a prize-winning natural smile and a relentless charm about her. It’s part of what makes her successful— how she seamlessly blends into every theme and still strikes the hearts of her audience, sets herself apart in a way that makes everyone, everything, the background. Then there are the other ways that she attracts him — the more important stuff — the details that the spotlight ends up leaving in the shadows. Beginning with her heart and ending with her endless devotion. Smitten. Aiden’s terribly, totally smitten.

He has to refocus before she notices that he’s staring.

“I, uh— I gotta say, I don’t think we’re gonna have much luck with the food. I’ve been scoping out the place—” like a true, tried and tested introvert, “—and I think the best you’ll find are the nuts in my pocket.” A beat passes. “Actual nuts. Cashews. Not— you know.” Not to crack a dirty joke in the middle of a very fancy, very high-budget occasion… But he knows her. Knows them. And speaking of, “—Oh!” he brings his hands up to shoulder-height, showing off the new silver gracing his cuffs. “Check it out. I got a couple compliments on ‘em.”

Leave it to Aiden to be more enthusiastic about small things when there were two chart-topping musicians on-stage a few hours ago. Priorities will be priorities, however, and he won’t be told otherwise. Caught up in his eagerness, he scoots closer and rests a hand on her hip, telling her, “Thank you for coming.” Because really, there’s no combination of words that could capture the depth with which he feels, just seeing her— much less being graced by her generosity and thoughtfulness all day.

What is it about Aiden that makes her hold her breathe, as if she's bracing for the rug to be pulled out from under her? It happens so quickly, verging on a split second, that no one would notice. Hell, Anna wouldn't, if not for the way her heart tightens in that second. Equal parts anticipation and anxiety, bubbling together into one. Excited to see him, paranoid that he wouldn't be happy to see her. She feels it when she arrives, after two weeks away.

Then, he's looking at her. Smiling. Open. With eyes she can get lost in, for days on end. The feeling dissipates, replaced with this overwhelming feeling of happiness. Because he's not a picture on her screen, or something in her imagination. Aiden is present, in the flesh, and dressed beautifully in a suit and tie.

"Surprised to see me?" She guesses, when they find a quieter corner. If there weren't hundreds of reporters and nosy gossips around, Anna would jump into his arms. The over-excited, child-like reaction she has after a long few weeks of separation. But Petra poured too many hours to getting his suit look just right, so she settles for a brief nuzzle against his neck when he pulls away.

"Remember that airplane I was on?" Anna teases, like she doesn't know what he means. "Wait, let me take a look at you first." Because that's half the reason she ran through heaven and Earth. "Wow." Just... "Wow." Anna repeats, inspecting the simply beauty of his suit and the pine scent attached to his aftershave. "You clean up real good, babe." An understatement, Anna has to pull her jaw up from the ground. A gentle squeeze to his arm, she finally nods.

"I got here as fast as I could. I wanted to be here, for you." Sure, the event is nice too, and celebrating people's successes means something. This, however, is a distant second reason. "I almost got away with it, too, if not for the shoes." Maybe she can pass it off as the latest trend? "But I'm here, dressed to the... Sevens?" Can't exactly call her a ten, when she's mismatched with rain still tangled in her hair. "I got your back. Small talk. Avoiding personal questions." Smirking, she adds coyly; "Flagging down the waiters with the actual good food." Anna suspects it's more deconstructure, avante-garde bullshit.

Another breathe. A sip of water from the bar. "It's really good to see you." Simple words, but they come from the heart. Aiden could be wearing his usual clothes, snuggled up on the couch, and Anna would say the same thing.

[theskymother]

GREELY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

he got put in an ice cube. it was so sad but also so funny he got out before i could get a screenshot of him

[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.’

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[irisintheafterglow]

bsf!shoto doesn't understand when being punctual went out of style.

when you swing open your front door the instant he was about to knock, you startle backward like you'd seen a ghost.

"oh, wow." your eyes are wide open and your mouth gapes before snapping shut. "you're, uh, here very early," you manage to say, turning back inside and kicking the door the rest of the way open with your foot. he follows behind you as you hurry back to your bathroom, your makeup halfway done and seven possible outfits laid on your bed. he follows you through the hallway, stopping only a moment to glance at a baby photo of you on the wall. he'd seen the photos hundreds of times, but he found it amusing that you made the same face of surprise when you were little.

"i am ten minutes before our agreed upon meeting time, is that distressing?"

"not distressing, just surprising. in my experience," you continue while patting glitter on the inside corner of your eyelid, "guys don't usually show up on time for dates."

"well, it's a good thing i'm not other guys, then," he smirks and you roll your eyes with a poorly hidden grin. "i also didn't need to waste time picking you flowers--"

"since most of the stuff makes me sneeze anyway," you finish for him, your cheeks warm under the dusting of powder blush. you had known shoto for nearly three quarters of your life, yet it still caught you off guard every time he said something that told you he'd been paying attention to you. "very thoughtful of you." your eyes meet his in the mirror, flicking to his broad shoulder leaning against the doorframe. "staring is rude."

"then you're a hypocrite," he immediately counters with no change in tone, the only indication of his smugness the slightest narrowing of his eyes. his expression turns thoughtful, fond almost. he smiles softly and the endearment makes your cheeks warm even more. "i like that color. the one on your eyes."

"mmm, i know it's your favorite," you reply coyly. shoto's eyes drag from your face down the rest of your body, something different flickering across his face. "something wrong?"

"no, you just...you look beautiful," he manages to say.

"i'm wearing pajamas and all might socks that have at least three holes. in each sock," you chuckle, turning to him over your shoulder. "i certainly don't feel beautiful."

"i can fix that."

"what?"

"what?" he blinks at you, dumbfounded, and you giggle at his slip-up. "who said that?"

"you're funny, sho." you try to ignore the way his eyes follow every movement of your hands as they swipe color over your lips and make last adjustments to your lashes. when you're done, he steps out of your way so you can take your numerous outfit choices to the bathroom, settling down next to your bed to help you decide like he'd done before. "this is a little different, you know," you say through the crack in bathroom door as you tug on your first arrangement. "before, you were helping me decide what to wear for school award ceremonies and stuff like that."

"i could still do that, if you want," he replies with complete sincerity. "i do still want to do that."

"it's a little weird to be dating your best friend, since i feel like you already know all the things that would make me a terrible person to date," you continue and he falls silent on the other side of the door, prompting you to peek out of the bathroom. "sho? is everything okay?"

"yes, everything is fine." there's the slightest dip in his perfect eyebrows that tell you otherwise.

"the 'no lying' rule carries over from friendship to dating, you know," you remind him casually and step out completely, turning in a circle for the full effect. "what do you think?"

"i think that's a bit...warm," he states bluntly. you blink at him and half expect him to laugh, but he doesn't. he's dead serious about you being too warm.

"i am a little warm, yes," you admit in your thick sweater and fleece stockings. "but, i'd also like to dress warmer than i need to because it's so much easier to cool off than it is to warm up."

"i can do both of those things for you," shoto declares. "why wouldn't i do both of those things for you?"

"i don't want you to hassle and need to use your quirk on date night." your voice trails off but he's having none of it.

"is this what you mean by 'things that make you a terrible person to date?' planning ahead so you're not a burden?" you shift your weight uncomfortably under his gaze and can't muster any other answer but shrugging.

"i just...i don't want you to need to change to accommodate me, now that we're together," you explain quietly. he stands and takes your hands in his, lacing your fingers together without a second thought. "if it's easier for me to be uncomfortable and you to be comfortable--"

"why is both of us being comfortable not a possibility?" he asks, tilting his head forward slightly. "why can you prioritize me but i cannot prioritize you?" you have no further argument but his point is hammered home. "do you love me as you wish to?"

"wholeheartedly."

"then let me love you as i wish to. wholeheartedly."

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[nyctoaerah]

★ TAKING CARE OF YOU!

CONTENT: Fluff, Crack, Domestic Life, Timeline was two years after the final battle, Sexual Themes, Sanemi’s vulgar mouth (lmao)

PAIRINGS: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

Sanemi hummed deeply as his calloused fingers tossed the pale yellow rice in the hot skillet.

You nuzzled your worn body against his back and inhaling the comforting scents of ginger and soy that rose from the pan. Wrapping your lone arm tightly around his waist, you pressed a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades and let out a contented sigh.

“You alright, love?”

Sanemi questioned upon hearing your weary exhale..

“A little bit tired...” Sluggishly, you tried squeezing him closer to convey your meaning, but your grip had slackened.

Concern rippled through Sanemi’s frame at your words. “Rest then,” he replied gruffly.

“But I wanna help,” you protested weakly, lifting your head with effort. Shifting to peer over his shoulder, you pulled your best pouting expression, though your exhaustion likely dulled the effect.

Sanemi huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes at your attempt.

“I’ve got this covered. You need to recover your strength,” he insisted, free hand rising to card through your disheveled hair in a rare gentle gesture, he frowned slightly as he saw that your usual radiance was muted, lovely eyes dull with exhaustion.

His eyes swept to your leaning form with a inspecting gaze that lingered on the space where your other arm had been.

“You can’t just expect me to let you cook and clean the house on your own when you only have one hand,” Sanemi muttered gruffly, turning back to the yakimeshi.

“Rest. You need it.” His voice was gentle as he tenderly ran his fingers through your hair, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

You furrowed your brows, a mix of exhaustion and defiance in your eyes as you stared at him. Your protest was on the tip of your tongue, but as Sanemi shot you a firm look, the words died down in your throat.

“Now.” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a defeated sigh, you begrudgingly pulled away from him, elbowing him lightly in the side as you did so. Sanemi let out a grunt of irritation, his eyes rolling in response to your brattiness.

“Just go rest, for me, darling...”

“Say please first.”

Sanemi shot you an exasperated glare, the lines on his forehead deepening in irritation.

“Just go and rest, for fuck’s sake, woman,” he grumbled, shaking his head in frustration and fondness.

“Nuh-uh. Say pretty please f’me, Nemi~” 

You couldn't help but taunt him further, a sly smile curling at the corners of your mouth.

“Say pretty please or you have no balls” you quipped, knowing exactly how to push his buttons.

He deadpanned at you.

“My darling [Name], my love, my soul, you let me fuck you senseless most of the time and you have the audacity to say that?” Sanemi’s voice was laced with disbelief, his narrowed eyes locking onto yours.

“what even is the connect of you having no balls to that...”

You muttered, weirded out at his bluntness as your smug facade crumbled under his scrutiny, a sudden rush of uncertainty creeping into your mind.

Before you could come up with a retort, frustration bubbled up within you, culminating in a defiant gesture as you raised your middle finger and stuck your tongue out petulantly.

“Rest now.” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. You opened your mouth to shoot back a snarky remark, but his next words stopped you in your tracks.

“Or maybe I'll just fuck that attitude right out of you, and make you beg for rest,” he declared bluntly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes despite his bold words.

“You disgusting freak.”

A frown marred your features. You knew all too well that he wasn't one to make empty threats, his actions always speaking louder than words.

“Yeah, yeah, i am a disgusting freak. Now go.” He shooed you away.

“Fine,” you grumbled under your breath, not really in the mood for it, and casting a final eye-roll his way before reluctantly making your way back to your shared room.

“Hmph.” Sanemi scoffed.

As you left, Sanemi’s gaze lingered on you for a while before he went back to cooking again.

It has been two years since the demon slayer corps was disbanded.

And you and Sanemi now found solace in each other, joined as one in marriage — Just like the two of you had always dreamt off in the past — getting married together and making a family.

It was a bit tough for you two, since the both of you are technically amputees because of the final battle, but you two managed to make it work.

Though Sanemi had lost several fingers in the battle, your wounds ran far deeper — your left eye was gone, as was your left hand — it got sliced when you were fighting with the uppermoon one on the infinity fortress

It was tough being like this, but with you, he was happy.

After finishing cooking and preparing the fragrant yakimeshi, Sanemi hurried to your shared room and carefully placed the steaming tray of food on the polished wooden table, the aroma wafting through the air.

As he expected, you were not peacefully resting but reclining on the bed with a pout on your face — still seemingly bitter about him previously telling you to let him do all the work.

“Hey... Food is ready,” Sanemi announced, observing your reaction as you turned towards him, a hint of irritation in your expression.

“Are you forgetting something?” you questioned, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

What did you mean by that..?

Oh.

Oh..

Sanemi rolled his eyes before gracefully picking up the tray and lowering himself to his knees, presenting the delicious meal to you in a humble gesture.

“Here you go, your majesty. Your feast awaits,” he declared playfully, a smile tugging at his lips as you couldn’t help but giggle at the theatrical display. “Good, you may rise now,” you commanded in a regal tone, attempting to sound majestic, which only made him chuckle at how stupid you sound.

You curled your fingers around the smooth porcelain bowl, feeling its cold edges press into your skin as you lifted it from the tray.

Sanemi took the tray and placed it back on the table, as he kneeled before you once again.

“Can you eat it alone?” 

he asked, purple eyes searching your face.

“Of course I can,” you replied, feeling a small twist of irritation.

“I’m not paralyzed.”

“Just because I’m missing one hand doesn’t make me helpless.”

“I know that,” he grumbled, voice low. Reaching out, he cupped your thigh in one hand, calloused fingers brushing your skin in idle circles.

“But let me care for you, just this once,” He continued.

“Let your husband take care of you, just for once, hm?”

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

18+ mdni. Smut and jealous reader deciding to cause a little chaos.

Popular bitchy reader grows annoyed over Eddie's attention being directed at the new girl in Hellfire.

🎀✨

You were used to Eddie's attention being only on you, the both of you driving each other crazy and continuously trading barbs and witty banter.

Robin was deadly serious when she told Steve the latest gossip about you two, that she was sure that your arguing was some weird form of foreplay. Both of you for sure got off on it.

Now though? now you were bored, upset and very pouty. The latter which Eddie secretly loved and it was all because of her, the new girl at Hellfire.

Her name was Kimberly and she was your mortal enemy, or as mortal enemy as one could get in senior year at High School.

At least for this week.

Eddie had of course noticed how pissed you were at him hanging and paying attention to someone other than you. He knew you were jealous and he was waiting for you to admit it.

Meanwhile if you heard Eddie laugh at Kimberly's joke one more time you were going to lose it.

So instead of whining and crying about Eddie being so focused on someone else you decided to distract yourself.

Distraction came in the form of Jason, much to Eddie's fury which made your flirting with Eddie's enemy all the more sweeter. Eddie's rants against the dark side escalated by the day and he takes particular care in calling out Jason, and the "balls he throws into laundry baskets being bigger than Jason's own balls"

It's thrilling watching him be so jealous, serves him right for trying to make you pissed and envious over whatshername.

Eddie finally cracks on Friday and walks over to you all dark eyes and clenched jaw, tense and seething.

"What the fuck are you doing with Carver?" He demands and you take your time answering him.

"Oh, I think it's called flirting" you reply and if it's possible his eyes narrow even more, you peer up at him and act confused.

"Why do you care so much, when you have Katie at your beck and call" the anger leaves his features and he smirks.

Shit you gave away too much. "It's Kimberly, she's new to Hellfire sweetheart. I was just showing her the ropes. Not my fault you're a jealous brat"

You glare at him, gather the things from your locker, take time to apply some lipgloss and watch Eddie grow irritated once again.

"Jason's so much nicer to me than you, I don't know why I even like you so much Edward" you reply to him and he huffs in frustration.

"Are you happy now my attention is back on you princess?, incase you haven't noticed, you're all I think about" He seethes, furious he's confessed his real feelings for you.

Elated you grab your bag and his gaze follows you as you walk out of the school and make your way towards his van, for some privacy.

"Oh I've been so awful Eddie, maybe you'll need to teach me a lesson?" you add in a pout for maximum effect and his control snaps, and he pulls you too him, kisses you until the both of you break away panting from the intensity.

"You are the only person I want. Is that what you want to hear?" Eddie demands but his gaze is a tiny bit softer. Thrilled you kiss him again and tug him inside the van.

...

You're so lost in finally being with Eddie, both of you fucking each other until you're both babbling, incoherent messes, that you don't here the knock on Eddie's window.

His van door opens, there's a shriek and you peer up, Kimberly blushes as she takes in the image of you sitting astride Eddie, tits bouncing up and down, both you and Eddie's faces full of bliss.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't..." she trails off mortified. You roll your eyes at her babbles and squeeze around Eddie tightly, causing him to moan.

"Eddie's a little busy right now, in fact he's going to be busy with me a lot from now on, so cut the cutesy uwu girl act and back off, kay?" You add sweetly and Kimberly nods rapidly and rushes off.

Eddie is gazing at you torn between amusement and exasperation. "Princess" he chides and you shrug and begin to rock your hips in a way that makes Eddie's eyes glaze over and soft swears leave his mouth.

"Now, where were we?"

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where finding how you fit is a little like a puzzle-the 100,000 piece kind, not the 100 piece kind. or The twenty-seventh installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel series

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ!Pack, Pack!Prequel, Skz!Pack Prequel, ABO, A/B/O, Omegaverse, Series, OT8, Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Fluff, Angst, Skz imagines, Skz scenarios, FemReader

Genre: Light Angst, Fluff

A/N: I'm back! Sorry guys, I know it's been SOOOOO Long and yall have probably forgotten/given up on me, but I had to take a little sabbatical to keep my head above water in real life. But I've been here! Stalking and reading and checking comments and reblogs and messages. I love yall! <3 Thanks for being so patient with me!

Title: Call Me Anything at All, Just Don't Call Me Yours

“Dude, your fucking beta is killing me here.” 

You glance up as Jisung joins the cafeteria table, plopping down between Changbinn and Hyunjin, clearly frustrated about something, his voice a plaintive whine.

Changbin’s brow creases in slight confusion. “My beta? What, you mean Seungmin?” 

“Who else would I be fucking talking about?” Jisung grumbles, shooting a glare in the alpha’s direction, as he rips open the packet that contains his silverware with a little more force than necessary. 

“You, technically.” Felix points out helpfully from further down the table, giving Jisung a slightly teasing grin. 

“Yeah, ha ha, I’m killing myself, real funny, Lix.” Jisung mocks back, though his tone softens a little as he addresses the omega, because that’s just the effect Felix has on everyone. 

Jisung turns back to Changbin, slapping his palms down on the table. “But seriously, he’s weird as shit. Hot and cold all the time, man. I don’t ever know where I stand with him-not really-kind of like with Minho-hyung.” 

Beside you, Minho snorts softly. “Please, you’re always on thin fucking ice with me, Han Jisung. You know that.” 

Jisung shoots Minho an annoyed look, but continues badgering Changbin. “You gotta tell me the secret to crack the code, hyung. One second, I think we’re friends, the next, the guy barely has two words to say to me.” 

Changbin gives a slight shrug. “That’s just how Seungmin is.” 

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, trust me, Sungie, Seungmin is a tough nut to crack. We’ve been friends for a long time-study partners for longer-and there’s still days I think he’d rather murder me than be sat across the table from me. He’s hard to read, he keeps his feelings close to his chest.” 

“He’s also a slow mover.” Changbin points out. “Really takes his time to think things through, all the pros and cons, before he acts.” 

Minho snorts again, not looking up from his food. “Maybe he’s deciding the cons list is longer than the pros when it comes to being packmates with you, Jisung.” 

“Plus, he’s not all that affectionate. Skinship is kind of a struggle for him.” You remark thoughtfully, an observation you’ve had the longer you’ve gotten to be around Seungmin as a packmate, and not just a library buddy. 

He really only lets Changbin touch him openly. Maybe it’s a side effect of the whole moonmate thing. 

Biology. 

Jisung takes a swig of his soda and considers for a moment, furrowing his brow. “Well, have you guys been-” He clears his throat, motioning slightly with his hands in a flapping motion toward Changbin. “-you know, intimate?” 

You clear your throat at that, interjecting, trying to save Changbin the embarrassment of answering that question. “Intimacy can be a lot of things, Jisungie, you know, like when you and I and Seungmin showered together, or when Chan scents us, or trusting someone enough to talk to them about difficult subjects-” Hyunjin leans around the beta and stares directly at Changbin now. “No, he’s asking if you’ve fucked.” 

Down the table, Chan chokes on his food, and Jeongin openly covers a cackle with a well timed cough. 

Next to you, Minho mutters beneath his breath, “Jesus Christ.” 

Changbin clears his throat hard, and you note the tips of his ears going a bright red. “Well, yeah.” He gives a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal, but the way his muscles stiffen tells you he’d rather be anywhere but here right now, talking about this.

“You don’t have to talk about this, Bin-” Chan starts softly, shooting Jisung a warning look that practically screams head alpha.

Changbin waves him off, and Chan’s hackles visibly relax a little.

“He likes you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Changbin assures Jisung, throwing an arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair with a large hand. “All of you. He’s just a little more cautious when it comes to showing it. With me, there’s the weird biological pull of moonmates or whatever, but with the rest of you, you just gotta be patient. But he likes you. He’s told me.” 

Jisung sighs, relaxing slightly at the alpha’s touch. “Fine. As long as there’s hope that one day we can fuck in your studio, I can live with that.” 

Changbin removes his arm so quickly from around the beta’s shoulders that it’s like he’s been burned. “Please don’t do that.” 

Jisung shoots him a wink. “No promises.” 

“Apparently he’s into degradation in bed if that makes you feel any better.” Hyunjin remarks offhandedly, picking at his salad with his fork. “You probably couldn’t handle that anyway.” 

Changbin chokes a little, glaring over Jisung’s head at the luna. “Hyun, you promised me when I told you that in confidence-” Changbin’s voice drops to a hiss. “-that you wouldn’t talk about it!” 

Hyunjin gives a slight shrug, glancing around at everyone’s stunned reactions. “What? There’s no secrets in the pack right?” 

Jisung’s jaw is on the floor. 

“He what?” 

“Oh my god.” Chan groans from down the table, fingers already kneading between his brows, staving off an oncoming headache. “This is not appropriate lunchroom conversation-” 

“Okay, okay.” You wave your hands. “You’re gonna give Chan an aneurysm. Let’s table the kink talk for a more private time and location, okay?” 

“Hah.” Jeongin snorts softly. “Table.” 

Minho elbows him hard. 

******

You’re watching Jisung practice something on his skateboard in front of the dorms-a kickflip maybe? You can’t remember what he called it-chin in hand, open textbook unread in your lap. 

“Shit.” Jisung swears as the skateboard clatters away from him once more, and he sighs, tucking it under his arm and coming to sit down beside you on the cold concrete of the steps. 

He bumps his shoulder into yours. “Why the long face?” 

You glance sidelong at him, wrinkling your nose slightly. “I don’t have a long face. I’m just thinking.” 

He arches a brow. “Okay, so what are you thinking so deeply about then?” 

You sigh, running a few fingers over the page of the textbook in your lap, considering for a brief moment. “I was thinking about Seungmin.” 

“Ah.” Jisung nods, tilting his head slightly. “What, about the fact that he’s into being called shit in bed? Because I for one did not see that coming.” 

“No!” You say a little too quickly, cheeks heating even despite the cool nip of the air. “No.” You repeat, a little more levelly this time. “Just-about how I relate, to what you said. I never really know how he feels about things.” 

Jisung leans back on his hands beside you, staring out at the campus for a moment. Finally, he says, “Yeah, he’s kind of a weird dude, huh? I mean, I know he’s into Changbin, but I don’t really know if he’s that into the whole idea of the pack.”

You glance sidelong at the beta sat beside you, and you note the way he bites his bottom lip, fingers drumming along the skateboard held in his lap. 

“I was kind of excited to have another beta around.” Jisung admits a little softly with a sigh, glancing down at the chipped orange paint that adorns his nails currently, courtesy of Hyunjin. “I dunno, until I moved to university, I never really spent a lot of time around others like me. And it’s nice, the dorms and the friends, but there’s something about having a potential packmate who just gets it that’s comforting, you know?” 

You nod, reaching out to put one of your gloved hands over his. “Yeah, I do. I know you’ve been through a lot, with the whole beta thing, and I was hopeful Seungmin could help you through some of the stuff you’re still dealing with.” 

Jisung gives you a slight smile, but it’s tight and doesn’t quite reach his large dark eyes. “I don’t even know if the guy likes me, noona, or if he just puts up with my company because of Changbin.” 

You sigh, glancing down at where your gloved fingers rest over Jisung’s chapped, red ones. “Well, at least he didn’t straight up tell you that he didn’t feel like that about you. That’s something.” 

Jisung snorts. “That’s because I didn’t ask like you did.” 

You swallow. “Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.” You huff out, glancing over at him and it’s your turn to give him the hint of a smile that doesn’t quite feel completely real or genuine. “I mean, I told him I loved him, and he didn’t say it back. So maybe his feelings really haven’t changed.” 

Jisung gives a slight shrug, and then knocks his shoulder into yours once more. The smell of detergent is strong in your nose, as if his beta is subconsciously trying to put out pheromones to soothe your obviously agitated alpha. 

“Hey. You said it yourself-the guy’s an enigma. We just gotta give him the time and space to figure it all out on his own.” 

You sigh, long and hard. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

Jisung leans his head on your shoulder, and you bury your nose into the soft knitted fabric of his beanie, breathing him in for a lingering moment. 

He squeezes your fingers. “If it’s any consolation, I said it back, remember? And it’s still true.” 

You give a little laugh at that, kissing the top of his head. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” 

You squeeze his fingers back in return, and then nudge the round, reddened apple of his cheek with your shoulder with a slight hint of a smile. 

“Now c’mon, that kickflip of yours isn’t gonna learn itself.” 

******

“I dunno, maybe I’m pushing too hard. Putting expectations on everyone that are unrealistic.” 

Yeosang glances over at you, breaths coming in harsh little pants in the cold morning air, his hands on his hips as he walks a few loose circles around where you stretch. 

“Betas are tricky. When Mingi joined the pack, I swear to god, the hyungs almost drove themselves crazy trying to figure out what he was thinking.” 

He drops down beside you on the sidewalk, leaning over to stretch out one long arm along the line of his leg, before he switches to the other side effortlessly. 

He’s barely panting from our run, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the early morning rays of weak sunlight. 

You blow out a breath, leaning your head back slightly to stare at the sky. “Jisung is losing his mind. He had this whole grand vision of what having another beta in the pack would mean, and Seungmin’s just-” You hesitate, considering for a moment, before you sigh again. “-not that.” 

Yeosang’s gaze flicks over to me, and he makes a little sound of understanding under his breath. “Mm. Yeah, when we all study together, I can tell the kid’s a little harder to read than most. Even for a beta.” He shifts, coming to his feet again as he rolls his ankles a little, then his arms and his neck, glancing down at me. “But he seems nice. And he seems to be into Changbin, so that’s a plus.” 

“That’s the thing though-” You admit, standing up too now, rolling your shoulders for a moment, before you tuck your earbuds back into your pocket. “-he likes Changbin, but does he like the rest of us?” 

Yeosang moves to stand in front of you , reaching up to push some loose strands of hair back from your jaw with a long finger, chilled from the morning air. He gives you a slight smile. “Wolves aren’t solitary creatures, babe. You know that. And with how smart Seungmin is-and how obsessed with biology-he knows that too. Just give him some time to warm up. It’s probably overwhelming, especially for a seemingly solitary guy like him.” 

You groan. “Fuck, you’re right, but do you have to be?” 

Yeosang chuckles at that, moving to bump his shoulder into yours as you turn to follow the sidewalk back toward campus and the bus stop. 

“Yes. It’s one of my many talents.” 

You arch a brow at him. “Being right?” 

Yeosang grins. “Never being wrong.” 

You roll your eyes and elbow him in the side. “They’re the same thing, idiot.” 

He laughs in response. “Trust me, they’re really not.” You walk in silence for a few moments, shoes scuffing the concrete, hands tucked into the pockets of your jackets, and then Yeosang asks, “Have you tried talking to him about all of this?” 

You scoff a little, shaking your head. “No, because what the hell am I supposed to say?” You move to walk in front of him, taking backward steps as you face him, pitching your voice into something akin to a fake version of your own. “‘Hey, Seungmin, weird question, but like, are you into us? Also, just wondering, but have your feelings changed about me? Oh, and Jisung would really like to fuck you, but he’s nervous you don’t even really like him, and by the way, Changbin totally told everyone you like to be degraded in bed.’” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen at that last part, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Wait, really?” 

You wave him off. “Yeah, well, technically Changbin told Hyunjin, who told everyone else, but that’s beside the point.” 

Yeosang whistles beneath his breath as we continue to walk. “Shit. Okay. Didn’t see that one coming, but good for him.” 

His tone is laced with slight surprise still, but mostly just open admiration and appreciation. 

You pull your phone from your pocket and glance at the time, groaning slightly. “Fuck. I have to go. I’m late for a lab and then I have a study session at the lib.” 

Yeosang arches a brow at that, a slight smirk coming to his full lips. “Oh, with you know who?” 

You stare him down, expression and voice deadpan. “No, I am not meeting Voldemort, The Dark Lord, for a study session, Sang. That’s just stupid.” 

Yeosang rolls his dark eyes, reaching out to shove you, but you dodge the halfhearted attack easily. 

“I’m talking about a certain beta.” 

“I know that.” You retort back, rolling your own eyes now. “Besides, even if Voldemort went here, he’d never be in the sciences department. Probably like arts and humanities or something.” 

“Or dance.” Yeosang points out thoughtfully. 

His suddenly wide eyed gaze meets your own, his mouth in a small ‘o.’

“Minho.” You both say together. 

Yeosang grins as you both laugh, reaching the bus stop. He bumps his shoulder into yours once more affectionately, as you separate to take different buses. 

“Good luck with your study session, babe.” He points a stern finger in your direction. “Talk to him.” 

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll consider it. Say hi to Voldie for me when you pick up Hwa, will you?” 

Yeosang’s grin widens as he gives you a little salute. “Will do.” 

*****

“You’re staring again.” Seungmin comments without looking up from the page he’s working on, his pencil scratching rhythmically in the quiet of the library. 

You clear your throat, dropping your eyes back to your own textbook. “What? No, I’m not-” 

Seungmin sighs, shutting his notebook, and pushes his glasses up on top of his head as he angles to face you, expression unreadable. 

“All right. Out with it.” 

You’re taken off guard, glancing up at him in a slight panic, like a deer caught in headlights, eyes going wide as your mouth opens and closes a few times before you finally manage to choke out, “Out with what? I’m good. Fine even.” 

Seungmin snorts at that. “You haven’t stopped rereading that same page for the last half an hour. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been studying me more than anything else.” 

“Plus your scent is all wacked out.” He says with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Even my limited faculties can tell that much.” 

You sigh, glancing down at the open book in your lap before you close it and set it aside, tapping your pen along the table for a brief moment as you consider how to word what you want to say. 

Finally, you get out softly, “Jisung is worried.” 

Seungmin’s brow ticks up a bit at that. “About me?” 

You give a slight shrug, not really looking at him, gaze on the pen flicking between your fingers. “I guess? He’s just worried because he doesn’t really know how you feel-” You glance at him then, and then away again. “-none of us do.” 

The eyebrow goes up another notch. “How I feel? About what?” 

You sigh, a slight sound of frustration now. “About everything? About him, about us, about the pack, about-” I throw a hand out. “-all of it.” 

You tap the pen down a little harder than necessary to punctuate the end of your sentence. “In case you haven’t noticed-” You point out in a mutter beneath your breath. “-you’re not the easiest guy to get a read on.” 

There is brief silence for a moment, and then Seungmin admits quietly, “Yeah, I know.” 

You flick your gaze up to his then, and see a hint of vulnerability in the depths of his dark eyes before he reaches up and scrubs across his face with the palm of his hand. 

“Look, (Y/N)-” He says on a sigh, and you tense up, preparing yourself for what he’s about to say next. Judging by the slight hint of burnt bitterness that now mars his orangey citrus scent, it’s probably not going to be what you want to hear.

Great, can’t wait to break the news to Jisung that the only other beta in the pack doesn’t even wanna be here. 

Seungmin smooths his palms on the table in front of him, staring at the pages of notes scrawled in his messy handwriting. “I know there are expectations. I knew that coming in. I know Jisung has expectations especially, and from what he’s told me about his past and how his parents wanted an alpha for a son, and all the struggles he went through as a beta to try and fit in, I don’t blame him. But I-” 

Seungmin gives a little shake of his head, and his gaze meets yours once more, lips pulled into the hint of a thin line. “I never went through anything like that. I was a beta, born into a family happy to be betas, and I never even thought twice about it. Never felt like I was somehow lacking, or less than, because it was all just biology. Nothing more. So I don’t really know how to-” He hesitates, seeming to struggle with his thoughts for a moment. 

“-relate.” You finish for him softly, and he gives a slight jerk of a nod. 

“Yeah.” He agrees. “But I’ve found I’ve had that problem all my life, not just with Jisung, not just with this, with everything.” He gives a tiny shake of his head, and a humorless sardonic smile curves his lips in the slightest way. “I don’t know how to relate to people. I never have. Maybe I’m missing some integral part of my own biology, because I know better than anyone that wolves are not loners, they’re pack oriented, but I’ve always always preferred to be alone. A lone wolf, I guess you’d say.” 

You study him for a moment and then you say softly, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Seungmin.” He heaves a sigh and leans back, staring up at the ceiling above us. “I guess not, but I guess, what I’m trying to say is-” He glances at you, expression going flat. “-I don’t know how to let you all in to understand me, if I don’t even understand myself.” 

Before you can second guess yourself, you reach out and cover one of his hands on the table with your own. “Hey.” When he looks at you, you give him the hint of a smile. “We’re all figuring this shit out, just the way you are.” 

He blows out a breath through his nose, almost like a sardonic sort of laugh. “Yeah? Well, you guys seem to have shit pretty figured out from my viewpoint.” 

You shake your head. “We don’t, trust me.” Your lips curve slightly as you stare at him, holding his gaze. “We’re a mess, we’re just pretty good at hiding it. Well, most of the time.” 

Seungmin stares at you for a long, silent moment. 

“I want to be what Jisung needs.” He finally admits, so softly it’s almost just a breath. “I want to be what Changbin wants. I want to be-” He blows another harsh breath out through his nose and drops your gaze. “-pack, but I’m just not sure where to begin. This is all new territory for me, and while I’m all about new discoveries in the scientific fields, my personal life is another matter entirely.” 

You give a little laugh at that, and note that he hasn’t pulled his hand back from your touch yet. 

That’s a good sign. 

“You don’t have to have it all figured out today. Just one step at a time.” You encourage softly, leaning down so you can meet his ducked gaze. “You can do that, right?” 

Seungmin sighs, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good.” You sit back and blow out a breath, glancing down at your study materials spread out before you. “Now I don’t know about you, but I can’t study anymore tonight or I might go blind.” 

Seungmin nods, surprisingly, and begins to pack up his materials. 

After another brief moment of silence, he asks suddenly, “What about you?” 

You shove another handful of pens and papers into your backpack without looking up. “What about me?” 

Seungmin makes a noise that clearly signifies he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you can feel his annoyed stare burning holes in the side of your head. 

“You know, don’t you wanna know how I feel about you? Now that I’ve had some time?” 

You freeze, swallowing, and then force yourself to resume your previous activities of packing up and getting ready to leave. 

“I mean, not really. I figure you’ll tell me that when you’re ready.” 

Lies. 

You wanna know so bad it’s driving yourself and your wolf crazy. 

You busy yourself with lining up your highlighters back in their designated case, just so your antsy fingers have something to do. 

“You know-” Seungmin states suddenly, voice even, tone neutral. “For a long time, I thought I was asexual.” Your eyes jerk up in surprise to meet his own, lips parting slightly. 

“You don’t have to-” 

He waves you off, pulling his glasses off his head and carefully folding them to stow in their case as he talks. 

“No, it’s fine. I want to.” He glances to you then, a slight smile curving his lips. “I’m supposed to be pushing myself right? Opening up so you can get to know me better?” 

You swallow and give a slight nod. 

“You know, the whole lone wolf thing from before? I didn’t really ever feel the need to be involved with anyone like that. Didn’t think I needed it, felt complete without it. And then-” He sighs, and a slight flicker of annoyance crosses his pretty features. “I met Changbin.” 

“Changbin.” You breathe in slight agreement, and your lips twitch upward a little at the other alpha’s name. “Yeah, he tends to have that effect on people.” 

“Mm.” Seungmin nods in slight agreement. “So then, I thought, well, maybe it’s just biology, but maybe I don’t really want to be alone, not quite like that. But then I think-” He considers you for a long moment. “-I met you, and we became friends, and I liked your company, but then you asked me if I could ever like you like I liked Changbin.” You cringe slightly at that. “Oh god, can we just pretend that conversation never happened?” 

“No.” Seungmin responds back immediately. He arches a brow. “It made me think you know. About myself. About what I wanted. It was good for me.” 

“Glad to help.” You mumble back, your cheeks flushed slightly in an irritated sort of hot feeling blush. 

“I considered that maybe, after you asked me that, that I was just into guys.” Seungmin admits in a softer sort of voice, but still matter of factly. 

“Oh, so it’s my gender, got it.” You retort back, avoiding his gaze. 

“No.” He shakes his head at that. “I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really care about gender, not in the long run of things. I think I’m more into people themselves, their personalities, and how they handle mine.” “Great, so it’s just my personality then.” You blurt out, throwing out your hands now. 

“No.” Seungmin repeats a little bit more firmly, sharper. “You’re not listening to me.” 

You give a little sharp laugh at that. “It’s really fucking hard to listen to you when we’ve been studying shit that turns my brain to mush for the last four hours.” 

Seungmin’s hand covers your own, and you freeze, gaze flicking to him, mouth slightly agape, words instantly dying off. 

“I-” He says firmly, taking in a sort of shaky breath, his fingers still resting a little bit awkwardly on top of your own. “-like you. You, (Y/N). I like the way you make me feel accepted, I like that you listen to my ramblings about scientific findings, I like that you don’t push me to go further than I’m comfortable, and I like that we started as friends first, and you’ve given me time and patience to explore where this could potentially go. At my own pace.” 

You stare at him for another beat and then, “I’m sorry. If what I said in the shower made you uncomfortable.” 

His lips curve slightly at that, his nose wrinkling with the hint of a smile. “It didn’t. In fact, it kind of surprised me that I liked hearing it. Just-” He blows out a breath. “-give me some time to figure out my shit okay?” 

You nod, curling your fingers around his own. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

Seungmin nods, and removing his hand from yours, begins to move to pack away the rest of his things. “Now c’mon, I promised Jisung we’d be in time to watch a movie with him.” 

You grin, standing up and slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “It’s gonna be one of those cheesy action flicks he loves, you know that right?” 

Seungmin sighs, but his voice is filled with affectionate amusement. “Yeah, I know.” He glances at you with a lift of his brow. “But anything for our boy, right?” 

You grin back at him, knocking your arm into his as you walk. “Anything for our boy.” 

As you walk down the stairs that lead out of the library, shoulder to shoulder, he slides his hand into yours. 

[rufflebuttercup]

drunk words are sober thoughts | spencer reid

summary: spencer’s been, uncharacteristically, ignoring you all day, and you’re determined to find out why. it can't be anything bad, right?

a/n: if i had a nickel for every time my reader got drunk and confessed their feelings for spencer, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

enjoy the fic, and have a fantastic day! <3 requests are open!

note(s): gn!reader & no pronouns used, mention of alcohol, reader gets quite drunk, drunk confessions and kisses

word count: 3,422

Heavy sheets of rain pelted down onto your head as you weaved with purpose through the busy streets. Occasionally, a car would drive through the roadside puddles, creating a cosmic-sized splash that effectively soaked you to the bone. You hadn’t brought a coat. You didn’t think you were going to need one. The sun had still been shining when you’d left your apartment in Quantico. 

After a long, strenuous day at work, you had planned to go home, collapse onto your couch, and work your way through a tub of cookie dough ice cream that you knew was being neglected in the back of your freezer. Instead, you’d hopped onto a train and you’d taken the hour-long journey to Washington DC. 

Spencer had been completely ignoring you, and Spencer was never the type to completely ignore you. Or anyone, for that matter. Spencer was the type to get sassy and downright passive aggressive whenever he was mad at someone - you’d witnessed that first-hand early on in your friendship, and it had practically scarred you for life. This was different, though, and the silence seemed to be much more painful. You’d tried to speak to him multiple times throughout the day, but he’d managed to evade you, and he’d barely even made eye contact with you for more than a millisecond. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, but your overthinking, people-pleasing tendencies were starting to rear their ugly head. 

Another car splashed through the puddles at such a breakneck speed that you ended up getting completely soaked. You immediately began to grumble, and your shoes made a squeaky sound as you continued trudging down the street, “Spencer, I am going to kill you.”

Eventually, you found yourself outside of Spencer’s apartment. You crossed your eyes as you watched a water droplet drip from the tip of your nose. You were cold, and damp, and you were very much aware that you were leaving puddles on the carpet. You shuffled in place in the hopes that you didn’t soak one particular spot too much. You knocked on the door, and then you waited, and then you waited some more. You were beginning to wonder if he was even home at all.

Eventually, there was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door, and then you heard a lock being slid out of place. The door cracked open, and Spencer’s head popped out. His eyes widened slightly as he saw you, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you shook your head free of water droplets, making yourself look like a wet dog, “Can I come in?”

Spencer hesitated, and his eyes flickered up and down your figure. For a moment, you were convinced that he was about to slam the door in your face, “Yeah. Come in,” he spoke after a pause, and he shuffled aside, “You must be freezing.”

You nodded at him in gratitude, and you slid past him, “Yeah,” you laughed a little, your teeth chattering. Spencer’s apartment was warm and cozy with the heating system on full blast, a stark contrast to the miserable conditions outside, “You could say that.”

“Hang on. Let me just…” Spencer scampered into a room on the other side of his apartment that you assumed was his bedroom. You could hear him clattering around before he returned a moment later with one of his thread-worn sweaters, “Here.”

You took the sweater from him, and you slipped it over your head. It was big on you. Far too big, actually. But it was warm. That was all you cared about, “Thanks, Spence.”

A silence fell over the two of you. An uncomfortable one. Spencer’s eyes darted around the apartment, making sure to focus on anything except for you, “So…”

You immediately cut him off, “I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?”

“What?” Spencer started a little at your question, “Of course, you haven’t. Why would you…”

A sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and you fiddled with the hem of the sweater, “You know you can always tell me if I’ve done something wrong,” you began to ramble. It was a trademark you had whenever you were slightly nervous, “I don’t mind. I won’t get mad, or offended, or…”

“Hey. Stop,” it was Spencer’s turn to cut you off, “Why would you think you’ve done anything wrong?”

You sighed, and you ran a hand through your wet hair, “Spence, you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

ꨄ︎

You triumphantly clutched the two movie tickets in your balled up fist, “I did it!”

Derek’s eyes followed the little scraps of paper as you waved them up and down, “Great. What did you do?”

“I got the tickets! I waited all morning for these!” you excitedly shoved them into Derek’s face, almost punching him straight in the nose, “Look!”

“Yeah, I know what movie tickets are,” he swatted your arm away, “What are they for?”

“Mother!” your voice almost came out as an excited squeal, and it was only after Derek raised an eyebrow at you that you realized how strange your words sounded without context, “It’s a South Korean movie. They’re doing a screening of it later this week at a film festival in New York, and they haven’t translated it yet, so it’s still entirely in the original language.”

“I didn’t know you knew Korean.”

“I don’t. At least, not entirely,” you shrugged, “I’m not exactly conversational, but I can understand bits and pieces. I was talking to Spencer about it the other day, and we both decided we’d go together, and…” you paused, eyes narrowing when you saw the smirk Derek was hiding behind his coffee cup, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What?”

Derek took a deliberately slow sip of his coffee, “It’s not my place.”

“That’s quite literally never stopped you before,” you rolled your eyes, “What’s wrong? Do you think it’s a bad idea? I mean, I thought he’d enjoy it.”

Derek hummed in amused agreement, “There’s something he’d enjoy a lot more.”

“Derek. Just…” you were about to respond, but you were interrupted by the chiming of the elevator. Your eyes lit up as Spencer stepped out, “Oh! Spence!” you had to jog to catch up with his quick pace, “Look. I managed to get us those tickets. We can go together!”

“I don’t think I can.”

Spencer’s answer made you falter, and the smile that had been plastered onto your face dropped, “But, I thought you were looking forward to seeing it. I am. It’s not until next week, so…”

“No. It’s fine. You go and see it, though. You’ll enjoy it a lot more on your own, I’m sure.”

You came to a standstill at that, and your mouth hung open as Spencer took a seat at his desk and proceeded to busy himself in a case file that he already had waiting, “What was that?”

Derek sidled up to you, “What was what?”

“That,” you waved your hand in Spencer’s direction, “He brushed me off? I didn’t even do anything.”

“Oh, you definitely did,” Derek took another one of those suspicious sips of his coffee, “Quite a lot, actually.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Derek,” you warned him, “You sip that coffee like that one more time and it’s going straight out of the window.”

“Hey! This was expensive.”

ꨄ︎

Spencer’s neck began to turn a shade of pink, and the blush seemed to spread all the way up to the tips of his ears, “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Don’t deny it Spencer. Please. That makes it worse,” you said, “All day, you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve barely managed to speak two words to you without you escaping into the next room.”

Spencer shuffled a little on the spot, avoiding your eyes, “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you did,” with a sigh, you dramatically flopped onto his couch, “I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather you get all passive aggressive with me like you usually do when you’re mad at someone. At least then I’d know that I’d done something wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’ve obviously done something,” you shot back at him, “You never ignore anyone. Least of all, me. It’s like you suddenly hate me.”

“Hate you? I could never…” Spencer trailed off, and he sat down on the couch beside you. There was an undeniable gap between the two of you that you hated, “You really don’t know what you did, do you?”

“If I did, do you think I’d be here?”

Spencer sighed, “The other night, when we all went out after work,” he started, his tone almost hesitant, “What do you remember?” 

“We went to O'Keeffe's, and Prentiss got us involved in that drinking game that I’m sure she was making up on the spot, and…” you froze, “Oh. Oh no,” you groaned, “Please don’t tell me I did my Backstreet Boys karaoke set.”

The corners of Spencer’s lips twitched into a smirk at that, “It was quite good, actually,” he bit back a laugh, “Some interesting choreography, too.”

You groaned again, and you sank into the couch cushions as you buried your face in your hands, “This is the worst day of my life.”

“That’s it? You don’t remember anything else?”

“No,” you shook your head, peeking at him through your fingers, “What else did I do? Drop some NSYNC into the mix, or something?” your brow furrowed at Spencer’s hesitation, “Spence…”

“You kissed me.”

“What?!”

ꨄ︎

Spencer and Derek were standing out on the busy street, occasionally glancing at the door to O'Keeffe's. The music from inside was still blaring, even though it was 2.am. Most of the team had gone home for the night, leaving only the select few stragglers behind. 

The door to the bar slammed open, and Spencer and Derek immediately looked in the general direction. Derek snorted out a laugh, and Spencer chuckled, “Do you think they’re going to be alright?”

Meanwhile, at the door, you and Penelope were stumbling out onto the street. You had your arms thrown around each other, and it was clear that the two of you were struggling to stay standing. You were both the lightweights of the team, “I love you so much, Pen.”

“I love you, too, my sweet angel,” Penelope let go of you momentarily so she could grab your shoulders and shake you, “You are one of my bestest friends in the whole entire world.”

It was at that moment - the moment where Penelope’s voice got a little too high-pitched and squeaky - that Derek stepped in, “Alright. Let’s pack it up,” he slid in between the two of you, “I think we best get you two home,” it wasn’t a question.

“And you,” Penelope whirled on Derek, prodding him in the chest with her index finger, “You are just the most magnificent person I’ve ever seen,” she cupped his cheeks, squishing them together, “Look at you. You… You magnificent Green god of a man.”

“Mr. Magnificent,” you followed up with a giggle, puffing out your chest and putting on your best impression of Derek, “Look out. Here comes Mr. Magnificent. Watch your doors.”

“Okay. Alright. As much as I’m loving this conversation we’re having,” he took hold of Penelope’s shoulders and firmly began steering her down the street, “You need to go home.”

“Speak soon, my love,” you blew a kiss in the general direction that Derek and Penelope had gone off in, and then you turned to Spencer, “Let’s go!” you dramatically pointed in the vague direction of your apartment and strode off.

“Woah! Hey!” Spencer ran to catch up with you, “You’re not going home on your own.”

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes, and you grabbed Spencer’s wrist, “You’re coming with me, you silly genius.”

Spencer let out a yelp as you dragged him down the street. He had to apologize profusely to a couple that you almost rammed into, “Slow down,” he called out, “Do you even know where you’re going?”

You paused at that, and you pursed your lips as you tried to string together a coherent thought, “This way!” you bounded off, though Spencer quickly caught your arm.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“No, I’m not,” you tried to march off once more, but you stopped a few steps away and swiveled on your heel, “Oh.”

Spencer shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips, “Told you. You’re…”

“We’re going the wrong way!”

“We?!”

For a long moment, you and Spencer wandered through the streets in near silence. The only sound came from you as you hummed a completely out of tune song to yourself. You didn’t live far from O'Keeffe's, and you usually could’ve walked the distance in two minutes. It took you close to ten considering how often you decided to stop and take notice of every little thing that caught your eye. 

At one point, Spencer had to grab your hand and drag you down the street. You didn’t mind that, though. Your skin tingled as he squeezed your hand, and it made you giggle. You always were the type to get too giggly and hyper when you’d had too much to drink.

“Oh, come on,” Spencer stood in front of the elevator in your apartment building, grumbling in frustration at the ‘out of order’ sign that was plastered on the doors, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s broken.”

“I know it’s broken.”

You collapsed onto the stairs with a soft thud. Your eyes were starting to droop from tiredness, “It’s always broken.”

Spencer sighed and turned to you, another one of those amused smiles lighting up his face as he saw you staring at the ceiling - even though you were staring at absolutely nothing, “Are you even capable of using the stairs right now?”

“I will be if you carry me.”

“I’m not carrying you,” Spencer gently tugged your arm, “Come on. What floor is your apartment on?”

“Tenth.”

“Oh, for…” he quickly cut himself off, and he pulled you to your feet as he began guiding you up the stairs almost one step at a time, “Alright. Come on, then. Let’s get you home.”

“I don’t want to,” you whined, tugging on his hand, “No. No. I have a secret.”

If you weren’t being so cute, then Spencer would’ve been exasperated by this point. You clearly needed your bed, and he so desperately wanted his, “What is it?”

“It’s a secret,” you giggled, and you beckoned him closer, “Come here. Let me whisper it.”

“Fine,” Spencer rolled his eyes affectionately, and he took a step closer, “Can you tell me now?”

“No,” you grabbed his jacket, tugging him so close that his face was right against yours, “There. Close enough,” you giggled once more, and you leaned in so close that your lips were almost on his ear, “I want to kiss you.”

Spencer’s reaction was as if someone had burned him with a hot iron. He took a step back, and his expression was one of pure, unadulterated shock, “You… You want to…” it wasn’t often that you saw Spencer at a loss for words, “You want to kiss me?!”

You hummed in response, and you clapped your hands excitedly, “Yeah! Can I kiss you?” you asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet, “Because I really want to kiss you.”

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed as if he were a fish out of water. It made you laugh harder than you already were, “I… I…” Spencer fumbled over his words for a few more seconds, but then he seemed to collect himself. He straightened up, and despite the blush painting his cheeks, his shocked expression morphed into one of delight, “Yeah. Okay. You can kiss me.”

The next noise out of your mouth was a squeal, “Yay!” you barely gave him a chance to prepare himself before you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his. You felt fireworks exploding in your mind, but you weren’t entirely sure if they were because of the kiss or the alcohol. Either way, it was quite possibly one of the best moments of your life.

After a few seconds, the kiss broke. Spencer pulled away first, but he seemed reluctant to do so, “I… That was…”

“That was amazing!” you finished his sentence for him, “I want to do it again. Can we do it again? Pretty please?”

Your plea got a genuine laugh out of Spencer. He was half-tempted to kiss you again, but he shook his head, “No. We’re waiting until you’re sober before we do that again,” he took your arm and began helping you up the stairs, “Come on. You need sleep. You’re going to have the worst hangover in the world tomorrow.”

“No fair. I hate hangovers,” you whined. You were interrupted when you tripped on the stairs and almost face planted right into the carpet. It was pure luck Spencer caught you before you did, “Ow. Who put that there?”

ꨄ︎

“Oh my God,” all you could really do was stare at Spencer with your mouth wide open. It was a wonder your face wasn’t burning, “Spence, I…” everything made so much sense - the strange glances, the teasing comments, all of it - “I am so sorry. I…”

“No. No. Don’t be sorry,” Spencer quickly reassured you, and he placed a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to try and ease the nerves that were creeping through your tone. He closed the distance between you, too, which you appreciated. At least he didn’t hate you, “You don’t have to apologise. I… I didn’t mind.”

You thought you’d finally managed to get over the first wave of shock, but then it all hit you once again, “You didn’t?”

From the moment you’d first walked into the BAU on your very first day, you’d fancied Spencer more than you’d ever fancied anyone ever before. You couldn’t explain it. Then, as your working relationship turned into an actual outside-of-work friendship, you decided it was easier to keep quiet about your feelings for him than risk ruining the good relationship that the two of you already had. 

“But… But I was drunk, and…”

Spencer quirked an eyebrow up at that, “Are you saying you didn’t mean it?”

“No. Of course, I meant it,” you corrected him, immediately faltering when you saw that smug smirk on his face, “Shut up,” it was hard to act annoyed when the goofiest grin imaginable was taking over your face, “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me.”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, well. You were pretty insistent. It’s hard to say no to you,” he rubbed his shoulder, wincing a little, “I’m pretty sure you almost broke my shoulder after you shoved me against the door and demanded I kiss you again.”

At that, you sunk as far as you could into the couch cushions as if you were willing to disappear into them, “I hate you,” you attempted to weakly swat at him.”

“Your drunk self says otherwise,” Spencer laughed, deflecting your swat and catching your hand instead, “To be honest, if you hadn’t lost every single one of your inhibitions that night, I’m pretty sure we’d still be calling this a friendship.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, “Oh? Is that not what this is?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer countered, “Do you usually go around kissing your best friends?”

“Personally, no. But I don’t judge, so…” you trailed off, and your eyes flitted to Spencer’s lips for a brief second, “So, if I clearly didn’t mind, and you didn’t mind, then does that mean I get to kiss you again? Sober, this time, obviously.”

"Yeah. I suppose that’s exactly what this means,” Spencer scooted a little closer, and now the gap between the two of you was non-existent, “It’s good to know that you’ll actually remember this one.”

You giggled at that comment. You sounded as if you were on cloud nine, and you definitely felt it, too, “Yeah. Me too. I can’t believe I don’t even remember our first kiss,” Spencer was about to kiss you, but you placed a hand on his chest to stop him, “You’re definitely not mad at me, though, right?”

Spencer chuckled, and he shook his head, “You’re impossible. Of course, I’m not mad.”

“Good. Just checking,” you took your hand off his chest, instead choosing to place it on his hip, “You can kiss me now.”

[melliemell]

Pairing: Jouno x reader

Contents: NSFW, hate sex, penetration (reader receiving), forced intimacy due to circumstance/convenience's sake, horny people stuck in a cell leads to exactly what you think it'd lead to, Approx 3k. words

“Wooh, I believe in you, buddy,” you said, voice hollow. You were lying on the ground, legs stretched against the wall as you tapped your toes together. “You’re so strong and capable, Jouno. What a brain, what determination.”

A scoff followed by, “I have better things to do than rot away pathetically. How’s that going for you?” Jouno did not move from his kneeling position, ear pressed firmly to the ground as he concentrated. 

“Marvelously, actually.” You looked over at Jouno’s hunched back. You could see the bloodied rips of fabric perfectly from that angle. Being stabbed that many times must’ve hurt like hell. “I think I’ve reached a serenity point. Nirvana and all that.”

The panic had subdued from earlier at least. The small room you were both confined in was just as suffocating, yes, but your body felt light. It was nothing compared to the shock of being thrust into consciousness suddenly, the sensation of your muscles twitch and move as you commanded them still oddly weird. The vampiric influence had lifted somehow, leaving freedom in its wake.

Something had happened. 

But your memories felt like distant dreams. Your body barely registered as your own, even as you watched your fingers flex and stretch before your eyes.

“Your delusions are not amusing me at the moment,” Jouno said. You could tell his exasperation was building, tapping against the floor and walls as he moved about. It was probably a first his senses weren’t quite as sharp as they used to be.

“You’re not much different. I doubt you could hear anything; there’s no one down here besides us,” you said, rolling over to lie on your side.

“It’s not down here I’m concerned with. Something’s happening at the airport.”

“I figured that much. Lucky us.”

“Your smart remarks aren’t as clever as you think. Your precious Agency could very well be in danger as well.”

That piqued your interest. Jouno despised all of you, and here he was–not throwing slander at your face about them. Peculiar. 

It was all of no use though. Not until you got your abilities under control, the effect of Bram’s vampirism dulling them enough to barely register they even existed. The room was locked shut, you tried enough times the both of you but the metal did not even budge.

What was left was to wait. And hope, maybe. 

“You giving up now?” you asked after what felt like hours of Jouno moving around you, pushing at places you doubted would suddenly make a hidden door appear. His shoulders were tense, hands crossed tight as he oozed restlessness in buckets. 

Jouno did not turn to you, but he raised his head to the ceiling with a sigh. “Your voice is annoying me, please stop breathing.” 

You tapped the ground beside you. “I’m good, thank you. Want a seat?”

“As if.”

Your palm moved against the rough stone. You observed it intently. “I’ll consider breaking us out…” You pushed firmly, feeling energy surge through your fingertips before a small crack formed into the surface. “If you ask me nicely.”

In your full strength, you could cause a whole tremor to pass through the building. Shatter an entire wall. But now–this was the best you could do.

Jouno turned to you, smiling gently. “Oh my, I would love for you to do that. It’s not below me to ask for help, you know. But I don’t see the point of it when you’re clearly a shameless liar. Or delusional. Take your pick.”

You frowned. “Give me enough time and I might. Your ability’s still trash at working too, isn’t it? ”

His smile pulled into a firm line. He raised his hand up, the tips of his fingers glowing into a soft blue light. Jouno’s frown deepened. “So it feels. Damn it.”

It looked rather pretty in your opinion. But you doubted he’d appreciate that comment.

You fell into silence again. Nothing to be done about anything for now. Jouno looked more concerned about this than you’d have guessed. Fists clenched until he finally sagged against the wall opposite you. His hand remained aflame, small particles constantly dispersing about. 

You almost felt bad for him. Knowing the betrayal he endured and seeing now his inability to right the wrongs. 

It was rather noble of him; to carry all that weight on his shoulders. By choice. Not that it would do him any good, but you couldn’t deny the warm feeling that spread in your chest, heart beating faster at the thought. Men like him were a rarity. If only you didn’t hate each other as much.

Jouno’s brows furrowed. He raised his head at you but only for a moment. He shook it dismissively, turning his face to the side.

You thought he’d be more talkative, to be honest. He certainly enjoyed playing an ass but the more time passed, the less sure you were of that. Despair was one way to put the feeling that oozed from this room.

You rose up languidly, blinking your annoyance away as you strode up the few feet distance between you. Jouno pulled back, raising his head as you hovered over his sitting form.

“What do you want?” he asked.

You dropped dramatically before him, hand resting against your cheek. “Your panic’s sipping into my peace bubble. Stop that.”

Jouno did not look impressed. “Contact security then. I’m sure they’ll be glad to escort one of us to a different accommodation.”

You snorted.“See? If I joke, you joke. Then the mood brightens and all’s good.”

“Aren’t you a charmer? Nothing is good.”

You dropped to sit beside him. “I… I know, okay? I don’t know what the fuck is going on and–” you huddled into yourself, eyes closing, “–I still feel weird and my memory’s fucked and my ability’s useless. I’m trying to keep it together, okay? That’s how I manage it, so don’t be an ass about it.”

Jouno sighed. “Rather pathetic way of handling it.”

“Hey, fuck off!”

“I would if I could.”

And he bumped you into the side with an elbow. You drew back from the pain but when you looked at Jouno, he was smiling. Not the ugly insincere smile, but a small, honest one. At least it looked like it.

Man, this was bad.

You breathed in deep, small droplets of tears forming in your eyes. “Fuck,” you breathed.

“Yeah. I can relate to that,” Jouno said.

“Something’s happening up there. They might be dying and we’re just– here. Doing nothing.”

“What a good way of phrasing it. And you were so calm about it earlier. Your Agency sure could rely on you splendidly as I see.”

Annoyance, sudden and spreading rapidly build up in your chest.“Don’t say that. I’m not–”

“Not what? Cowering away in here? Or should I wait for your full response?” Jouno was mocking you, his patience waning just as quickly as yours.

You turned to face him, palm plastered firmly over his head. “Take that back,” you said, voice like steel.

“Of course you’d want me to do that,” Jouno continued, eating up the whole interaction. His hand flickered, the particles just as bright, if not even more. “I was only sharing the truth.”

“Take–” you leaned in, face flush against his as your eyes blazed, “–that back,” you said, hand flexing firmly into the stone. 

Just as Jouno’s mouth opened, a quick response already on his lips, you heard the sound of cracking. You both froze in place. Small bits of ruble fell on Jouno’s shoulder, your hand digging into the stone so forcefully it had smashed a dent right in it. You watched in wonder the small spider-webbed cracks trailing up and down and everywhere. 

You didn’t notice when you activated your ability. Your chest felt tight and overly alive with emotions.

“Anger me again,” you said before you could process it.

Jouno’s hand had trailed up, feeling the cracks behind him. “That’s an inconvenient way. What are you, feral?”

You ignored him, mind spinning. You’ve never had this before. But abilities were heavily influenced by states; Atsushi was a perfect example of that. Too many emotions and you lose control.

Become dangerous.

You looked at Jouno, eyes blazing with the possibility. 

If you ever needed a more perfect man for the job…

“I hate men like you; it’s like you’re drowning in your self-righteousness to the point of not seeing the truth before you,” you said, serving the plate perfectly before him. “Talks of law from you is like decomposing garbage. It stinks disgustingly.”

Jouno remained silent for a moment, brows furrowed. Then a smile broke on his face, teeth sharp as he said, “Should I praise you? It’s impressive how people like you twist everything to ignore how pathetic they are.”

As if. “If anything you’re the one in need of a reality check. Accusing the Agency when we were clearly framed.”

Jouno pushed forward, getting in your face. “So you’d like to ignore the obvious criminals among you?”

“I would like–” you shoved Jouno back, one palm pushing his chest into the wall, the other cracking up the wall beside his head even further “–the so-called best soldiers in the world focused more on protecting it. What of some petty crimes?”

“Nobody’s above the law,” Jouno said, voice laden with pride that only irked you further. Like he believed himself an uphelder of that statement. 

What a joke.

“Then prove it. As if you could. How could I know you won’t hesitate to strike at your own? How?” you prodded, searching his face for clues.

“I won’t,” Jouno whispered, grabbing onto the hand beside his head, clutching your wrist. 

“You talk a lot. All words.”

“I would love it if you’d be sweet enough to break us out of here. Then I’ll show you.” And he gripped harder, drawing a hiss from your lips.

“You enjoy tormenting people, don’t you?”

“How could I not? It’s a lovely sound.”

“Disgusting.”

You wanted to punch him. Really, you did. Not like it would lead to anything. How he reached his position was beyond you. 

“You know how I’m this good at weeding out the scum of this world? Scum like you, to be precise,” Jouno said, his fake smile turned to you. 

“How?” you bit back, mouth twisting.

“You’re so easy to predict, that’s how. Even if you hide behind your self-righteousness– you still act one and the same. I’m merely being observant.”

A thought formed in your mind. Somehow the idea of catching Jouno off guard clutched you so strongly you had to see where it led. The pressure in your chest did not subside one bit, your emotions swirling still. 

Jouno’s smile widened as your answer did not come as quickly. He was good at reading you, alright, even your heartbeat giving away everything. But if you acted fast enough… 

You felt crazed, eyes wide with something as you reached for Jouno’s head, pulling roughly at his hair until you crashed your lips against his. You swallowed the momentary shock you could feel from him as his body seized up, freezing entirely against yours.

You pulled back just as quickly, enjoying the dumbfounded expression written all over Jouno’s face.

“Oh, sorry. Weren’t you expecting that?” you mocked, revelling further in the frown that pulled at Jouno’s lips.

“No.”

He pulled you quickly against him, no warning given. Your eyes widened as his hands grabbed at your face, lips already parted as Jouno kissed you this time. 

It was all a blur from that moment on. You were pushed by pure emotions, blinking away your hesitation as you grabbed onto him. Your lips parted, inviting him in. He was all sharp edges and snide remarks, but the way Jouno kissed was filled with passion. A hunger you didn’t expect from his as he cupped your face closer, stealing your breath by the second.

Jouno bit at your lower lip, not giving you enough time to protest as he dived back in, tongue sweeping over the bruised flesh. His hands held onto you, firm around your waist as he pushed his weight against you.

Your hand remained on the wall, but not for long if this went on. 

“Not a chance, you ass,” you whispered against his ear, before shoving him right back into the wall. You swallowed the hiss that left Jouno’s lips, and you felt the sparks of power travel through your other hand, denting the cracks behind him even further. 

You smiled viciously. This might be an even better plan than earlier. After all, it worked. Might as well push a little further…

Your pulled at your shirt. You worked on your trousers as you said without looking up, “Come on.”

Jouno’s fingers drummed onyour waist. He cocked his head. “Not a conventional idea, but I’m quite adaptable,” he said before fumbling with his own belt.

Jouno seemed composed… if it wasn’t for the slowness with which he was moving. Almost hesitation as you stood up, discarding your trousers in a few quick moves. You kept your panties for modesty’s sake. Not that it stopped you from straddling Jouno’s thighs as he finally pulled at his clothes down, pretty cock strucking out and already hard.

You could feel the wetness between your thighs, but it was nothing compared to the ever growing pulsing. It’s not often you got turned on this fast, but the sight of him before you definitely furthered the process.

Jouno was stroking himself slowly, fingers deft around his shaft as he breathed hard. The red of his hair matched prettily the growing flush of his cheeks. His lips were parted, but no words were spilling as you both took in the situation you were in. 

Jouno looked very kissable at this moment, ready and waiting for your touch. 

Gosh, you wanted to kiss him til he bruised. 

So you did just that, grabbing Jouno by the shirt as you sought his warmth again. He was not far back to respond, one hand grasping at your nape, twisting your face as he wanted while his tongue moved against yours. His other moved faster over his cock, drawing small moans of pleasure from his throat. 

And here you thought he was one of the quiet ones. 

Even better, knowing now the possibilities.

Your hand went down his chest, tugging playfully at his buttons, a sneaky finger trailing in between the open spaces to graze at bare skin. Every move you made fuelled more hunger from Jouno, the kisses building in passion. 

You weren’t kidding anyone, you were about to fuck this man’s brains out, no reservations whatsoever. Keeping half a thought to your original plan was becoming even more strenuous. Pulling your panties to the side didn’t help either, nor did Jouno’s groan as you guided his tip to your entrance, smearing your wetness atop of him.

You pulled your palm to the wall, breathing deep. Jouno’s hands were already at your hips, the anticipation clear in the way he gripped at your flesh. You kissed him again, wanting to savour every moment of Jouno feeling your walls stretching for him, his pretty cock sinking deeper into your pussy as you lowered your body down.  

“Oh, this is bad,” Jouno whispered against your lips, hips already thrusting in you deep. 

“How bad?” You smiled into the kiss.

“I’m not lasting long if you feel this good already, damn you.” 

And he moved, his pace faster and faster as you tried to keep your breathing. You didn’t doubt his words one bit, your arousal easy to match to his. The obscenity of it drove you closer to your peak, not caring in the slightest how pathetic it’d look if neither of you lasted long. With the way Jouno was taking charge, firm hands keeping you in place as he thrust into you fervently–you could only clutch around him, feeling your pussy flutter with every brush of his hairs against your clit. 

It was… it was a lot. 

“Faster,” you breathed against Jouno’s ear, keeping him flush against you with one hand as the other pushed into the hard surface behind him. You couldn’t see it, but you heard the sway of stone under your ability, the sound of it growing louder with every crack. 

“Demanding,” Jouno said, but it was no complaint; he did deliver, keeping the pace you wanted all the way till your thighs started spasming, your orgasm hitting you in waves of pleasure that had you doubling down, face buried in Jouno’s neck as you tried to stifle your sounds. 

There was no need–the bellowing echo of stones falling was enough to have you shoot up, Jouno pushing you back quickly as your eyes widened at the sight of the wall crumbling away behind you. 

You could only laugh, looking at the ceiling as you lay there on the floor, Jouno atop you now. And still inside. He didn’t spare you a moment, raising your leg up for a better angle before he was fucking into you again, seeking your lips fervently. You pulled him to you, hands buried in his hair. It didn’t take long before he lost it, his high nearing by the second when–

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m–” he pulled out suddenly, his spend spilling over your belly in hot streaks as he stroked himself through it. 

Jouno was panting, eyebrows drawn as he tried to gather himself. You did not let go of him through it all, keeping his in place against you. 

You needed to get up and get up now, but the shock of what you just did was still flowing through both of your veins. A moment is all you needed.

Just… yeah. You’ll be back to saving the world, you promised yourself. Just a moment.

[osachiyo]

✦ "open your legs for me, baby. I wanna see you." + n. chuuya ✦

✧ pairing ૪ chuuya nakahara x fem!reader

✧ content warnings ૪ nsfw content (mdni), brat!reader, sex toys (vibrator), tit slapping, like one spank, petnames, degradation, humiliation, office sex etc

✧ word.count ૪ 1.2k+

⇆﹒event details & m.list

"name-san, are you okay?" tachihara asked, brows furrowed in worry as you squirmed in your seat, looking distressed. "h-huh? oh− I'm.. fine," you somehow squeaked out, the vibrations between your legs unbelievably distracting. you shouldn't have acted out like that to chuuya, who was now having a whole lot of fun tormenting you in front of your co-workers. tachihara shared a concerned look with gin, "if you say so.." you nodded, trying your best to not look weird. unfortunately for you, though, you had to give an important report to your boss, mori. today. how in the fuck could you forget?

"t-that's all, boss," you stuttered, earning a raised brow from the doctor. "alright, you may leave now," he sighed, brows slightly furrowed and you hoped he didn't know what was going on− praying to god that he didn't notice the slick running down your thighs, forming wet splotches on your tights. walking out of his office, you finally felt like you could breathe− thighs trembling as the vibrations increased, was he trying to get you killed? you were about to take a step before someone grabbed you by your wrist, chuuya. yelping and letting yourself be dragged by him, you could see the cocky smirk on his handsome face− you wanted to slap it off his face so bad. he took you to his office before slamming the door shut, locking it with a click, "so? how're you holding off, baby?" he teased, snickering at the little pout sitting on your pretty lips, " 's not funny, chuuya!" you stomped your foot, making him smirk and hook a thumb under your chin, rubbing it gently, "oh yeah? was I too mean, sweet girl?" he mocked, tone dropping an octave to let you know he was still pissed off about your stunt last night. what were you thinking edging him for that long? "now...." he hummed, shoving all of the paperwork off his desk before pushing you towards it, the corners of the table digging into your behind, "why don't you show me how much of a mess you've made, doll?" he rasped, gloved hands massaging your soft hips. "open your legs f'me, baby. wanna see you," he groaned, large hands pushing your knees apart to gaze at the damp spot on your mesh black tights. he could practically smell your arousal and it had him salivating like a dog− you gasped as rough hands ripped a hole through your tights, cute lacy panties peaking through and he snapped.

he didn't even bother taking your clothes off− just ripping your tights further before pushing your panties to the side, rubbing your clit up and down, two gloved fingers slipping inside of you to reach for the vibrator, smirking when his fingers brush against it before pulling it out and chucking it to the side. chuuya shoved his fingers back into you, and you could feel your hips bucking, thighs about to close when his unoccupied hand cracks against your thigh, effectively keeping your legs open for him. he pulled his fingers out of your cunt once he deemed you're wet enough, sticking the soaked digits in his mouth and lapping your arousal up, groaning at the taste. "such a sweet fuckin' pussy, yeah? could just eat you the fuck up," chuuya growled, flipping you over so that your stomach pressed against the table now, perky ass facing him and he licked his lips. "you don't deserve it though, do you? fuckin' brat," he spat, fingers digging into your cheeks to spread them apart, slotting his bulge in between. you whined, feeling his hot breath against the shell of your ear, rough hands now gripping your hips as he slowly grinded into your ass. "nuh uh, wouldn't be such a mm!− brat if you paid more attention to me−!" you got cut off by a loud 'smack!' ringing through the office, a cry escaping your lips at the harsh sting on your ass. "shut up." he scoffed, ripping apart your panties and unzipping his slacks. a shaky breath left his parted lips as he rubbed the tip of his flushed cock on your slit, slapping it against your clit a few times before sinking into your gooey hole. your breaths grew laboured, perfectly manicured nails digging into the polished gabon ebony of his desk, leaving small indents on it. "yeaahh, good girl−" his forehead rested on your shoulder, "such a good fuckin' girl when you stop yappin' like a bitch, huh?" you could basically hear the cocky smirk in his strained voice, a gasp leaving his throat as you purposely clamped around him. his hand wrapped around your throat, putting enough pressure to leave you dizzy as he growls into your ear, "behave, brat." a smirk tugged on your shiny lips, taking pride in rendering a port mafia executive into a growling and grunting mess. it made you feel powerful, in a way.

but that smirk didn't last for long, as he reached for the vibrator again, an evil laugh leaving him at the wide-eyed look on your pretty face. "oh don't give me that look, baby. promise this'll feel sooo fucking good, okay?" he grinned, turning the vibrator on before reaching down and holding it down to your clit, hissing out a curse when you clench around him even more, back bent to a perfect arch and god did you look sexy. his hips finally started thursting, balls clapping against the plush of your ass as you tried your best to not fall on the desk− though it was getting harder by the moment.

your tits bounced every time he thrusted into you, the obscene sound of skin against skin filling the room, making you hope no one passes by chuuya's office right now− fuck, that would be embarrassing. the vibrations suddenly went up, abruptly cutting off your train of thoughts, while his hand that was previously on your throat moves to your bouncing tits instead, ripping the buttons before squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. he loved the way your tits basically spilled out of his hands, a whine escaping your throat when he slapped them around while chuckling cruelly. "what happened to that smartass mouth of yer's, huh?" each word was punctuated with a brutal slam of his narrow hips, fat cock hitting all the right spots inside your walls. the hand cupping your tit slapped it punishingly, tears starting to form on your glazed over eyes.

"dumb fuckin' slut just needed some good cock to fill her up? that right, baby? y-yeeaah−" he whined, thrusts growing erratic as he presses the vibrator on your clit harder, snapping the scorching hot rope of pleasure inside your tummy and you gushed− squirting all over his hand, cock and desk, mouth forming an 'o' shape as all thoughts but chuuya left your mind− the unbelievable pleasure dumbing you down to a shaking, moaning mess.

chuuya whined shamelessly, throwing the vibrator somewhere before slamming you down on the desk, his hand pressing down on the dip of your back to create a perfect arch for him and that was his last straw before pulling out− stroking himself desperately to search for his release. he came with a grunt a few moments after, spurting his seed all over your ass− some even landing on your pussylips, coating them with a milky sheen.

the only thing going through your head right now was− you needed to do this again.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

TAGS »»————> @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @lxverss @lynxxyyy @nanamibeloved

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.��

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Headmaster Dumbledore is sure that the ghosts of Hogwarts were hiding something. He’d be the first to admit that he’s nosy when it came to things like these, but he simply doesn’t have the time. Whatever that lingered these halls, he’s sure does not mean Hogwarts any harm. The ghosts would not protect it if it did.

Albus Dumbledore Hummer around a lemon drop as his quill scratched over endless parchment paper.

His wand glowed green for a brief second, an acknowledgement, and settled down into its current owner’s hold.

——

Danny Phantom hadn’t thought the castle he found during the summer months in this universe would be… so full of life. Not when there were ghosts, floating around like the castle were their own home.

Magic.

They were ghosts made of magic.

His core struggled, at first, to survive. Then, it took the magic and thrived.

He floated, invisible amongst the glittering candles beneath the imitated night sky, and watched students file in.

Quite different, from his own entrance.

He had floated into the tower, having felt a hint of resistance that he knew now were the castle wards. The ghosts, what he thought were ghosts before he realized ectoplasmic ghosts existed, stopped dead. Hah.

The shades dancing and whirling and conversing froze as he entered the tower. Life and death, and the beings that walked the line, stopped at the arrival of the One Who is the Line. The boy king wreathed in black and green glanced around.

“Hello. I’m Phantom.”

“The High King,” a ghost whispered. “Our king.”

“He’s an American?” Another one asked, scandalized. Danny, surrounded by those who he recognized as his, cracked the first smile he’s had in a while.

“Who cares? He’s…” The knight sunk to his knees, bowing with his ghostly sword in front of him.

The ghosts bowed. Danny floated in further. “Can you tell me where I am?”

“Of course.”

——

Now… he’s watching the children get Sorted. Weird, for a hat to decide your classmates, but whatever.

Harry Potter’s name is called, and the whispers broke out. He doesn’t know why, but Danny couldn’t ask the ghosts. They barely know the current headmaster, as the dead generally care only for their own times.

Danny decides to visit the lake octopus. Lake squid? Something like that. The mer people beneath the waters liked him, the last time he went. The Sorting is put out of Danny’s mind. He’s dead now, too. The only thing he cares about now is to explore the vast halls of Hogwarts and the occasional visit to the kitchen to steal some food for his living body.

(Thank the Ancients he found a house elf who knew what seasoning was.)

(Sometimes, Danny flew to where his home would have been and gets comfort food at the nearest town. He missed it, but he can’t go back.)

The ghosts know by now to call for Phantom should they need something (“I’m American,” he joked at the ghost. “We’re not big on kings. You can just call me Phantom.”)

——

The third year he’s there, Danny feels the effects of Clockwork’s power. When he investigates, it’s the red headed girl he once saw leaving the library, paper clutched in her hand.

She helped save one of his subjects, so he owes her. Plus, if she’s using Clockwork’s powers, this Hermione has potential.

And… she’s using it to study.

She reminds him of Jazz.

——

A wave of ice crackled and froze the fleeing rat and the feral wolf man.

“What?!” Harry screeched to a stop, eyes wide at the ghost child in front of him.

Danny turned, and landed gently on the ground. Snape snarled at him in suspicion. Danny allowed himself to become living again, black hair and blue eyes and tan skin replacing the white, green, black thing his dead form had.

“Who’re you?” The red-headed boy, Ron?, asked him through gritted teeth.

Danny smiled at them, dimples appearing. “A friend.”

Before the trio and co. could say anything, Danny whips his head around, palm coming up.

“Stop.” He orders. The creeping sense of cold and dread shuttered to a stop. “Go over there,” he said, and the dementors, hovering at the edge of his periphery obeyed. Danny turned back to the mildly terrified and flummoxed group.

“Let’s go. You’re all going to catch a cold, if you don’t move it. Especially you, scrawny and greasy.” He pointed at the godfather and Snape.

——

“Hey, Danny?”

“What, Harry?”

“Why’d you help us? I mean, you said you didn’t want to involve yourself in stuff like that.”

Danny hummed, wisped tail curling up against him as he soaked in the sun’s rays. “Because you reminded me of myself. And in the end, you died.”

“You literally brought me back,” Harry deadpanned, remembering the place between life and death, and how the angry Danny was when he stormed onto that train platform. The King had taken him by the scruff of his shirt collar like a particularly incensed mother cat, and dragged him off away from a puzzled Dumbledore.

“You were being stupid. You’re too young to die.”

“Like you?”

Danny snorted. “Nah. I didn’t have a choice.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Femboy slasher Yandere and Darling is giving me brain rot SO BADLY RN. Okay so what if yandere is a playboy, luring in his victims using his oh so perfectly hot body. One day, he goes out late at night to a bar and finds Darling hooking up with some guy. He plans on killing the both of them, but loses them in the crowd. When he finds them again, Darling is gutting the fool who thought that they would ever touch scum like him, and yandere can't help but plan their wedding.

(This could kinda go with what I had in mind so I hope you don't mind me merging the two- Mentions of Murder/Death)

Femboy Slasher Yan + Femboy Murder-Streamer Slasher Darling-

"Looking for some fun?~ Two cuties seeking third partner to celebrate their anniversary with. Location and pictures provided after a few questions. See you soon ;)"

" "You're making this way too easy, love. People might get suspicious."

"Whaaat? No way - ugh, this blows. I wish we could go to our usual spot, but there's too much attention around that area after that last guy you picked...."

"He was being too sweet with you - he had to die...."

"All he did was give me a free drink - on my birthday!"

Yan's Darling is so weird. Instead of movies of grabbing a bite to eat, Darling has a different idea of what the perfect date night is. They're lucky they're so damn cute in red-

Derailing from your ask a little, Yan actually never murdered anyone before he met darling. Robbed them blind and maybe left a few in the hospital, but he never killed anyone far as he knew or cared. He used his looks to lure people in and take everything from them once they were under his spell. One day, he catches word of another cute face frequenting bars and other places Yan chose as his place of business. He couldn't have that. Eventually, Yan locates Darling on the same night Darling is luring some drunk guy behind some dumpsters. Yan heads over, hoping to catch some blackmail he could used to get Darling off his turf, but what he saw behind those dumpsters was not what he was especially to see."

"Hey gang~ Oops, looks like someone's finally feeling the effects of the medicine I put in his drink. We'll have to cut this stream a little short tonight."

Yan watches as the person behind the dumpsters slits the man's throat - blood mixing with white foam bubbling from his lips. The person looks almost identical to the boy Yan had seen early, but now he's wearing some weird make. It doesn't take long for darling to notice Yan. Instead of rushing him, Darling reaches into the man's pocket and pulls out his wallet - throwing it at the other male.

"That's what you wanted, right? I've seen you around here before, but I thought you'd be good bait to lead the police off my scent when this guy here was found... Wanna be friends?"

Yan should run. He should scream - yell for help, but the way Darling is so carefree and nonchalant about their crimes..... It's the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

Darling tells Yan all about their life. Killing people has always been more of a hobby to them, but somehow they found a community of freaks who'd pay hundreds to see a cute boy like them crack someone's skull open. Better than being stuck as at crappy cashier job in their book. Their first manager would have been their first victim had he not passed away in an accident the same week Darling planned to butcher him.

Darling and Yan quickly come to the agreement that if Yan lures people away, Darling will do the deed. Yan develops more of a crush on darling seeing how much pleasure and glee comes from killing for rhem. Yan is approached by someone who's cautious of their new friend and warns Yan about them. Yan kills their acquaintance in a fit of rage after they express their plans on telling the police about Darling. Yan realizes he hasn't been entirely in it for the money and has developed feelings for Darlings. Feelings he'll protect in any way necessary. Darling is so proud of him. They give him their favorite knife as part of his promotion to becoming their partner. The two become a team who passionately kiss in between disemboweling the poor fool who was stupid enough to answer their online ad.