#i had my headphones in and she MADE MY OTHER COWORKER GET MY ATTENTION

[theradicalace]

OAHDJFBGHSJFG ONE OF MY COWORKERS JUST TRIED TO GET ME TO SHOW HER MY ART I'M GOING TO HAVE A STROKE...

[muntitled]

Req - Something about Shotaro? Oh my god anything, your writing is just so????;!!;?$3

Maybe some smut on the toxic-ish side about how he appeals to be a loving boyfriend to your friends but behind closed doors he’s a lot more intimidating/manipulative, but you’re still just so weak for him (maybe even more so because of it???) and just can’t control yourself around him. Idk, I’m literally clueless but I just know I need that immaculate brain of yours combined with Taro!!!

Much love, and Happy New Year!!!

A/n: I'm not gonna lie... This took a good chunk of my sanity trying to write, I can only hope that you like it. Also happy new yearrr

𝗣𝗶𝗰𝘁����𝗿𝗲 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁

Osaki Shotaro x Fem!Reader

Summary: Shotaro is your golden retriever boyfriend... until he isn't

Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Best friend!Sohee, Possessiveness, Slight Dark fic, Toxic!Relationship, Manipulation, Smut (+18) Dom!Shotaro, Fingering, Grinding, Choking, Teasing

Your shoulders are as rigid as two metal cinder blocks, keeping your head from rolling off onto the floor. Barbed wires twist with anxiety in the pit of your stomach because you know, despite the sunshine disposition, despite the smile, despite the glassy doe eyes, Shotaro is pissed, and he definitely wants you to know about it.

“I swear on my unborn child,” Sohee, your best friend (your best guy friend) exclaims over a mouthful of ramen, “Yours is the only man I'd ever let cook for me. The rest of the male population can choke.”

While Shotaro basks in Sohee's praises with a modest sunshine smile, you sigh under the pressure of your boyfriend's grip on your thigh as you swiftly say, “You're quite literally a member of said male population-”

Sohee lowers his chopsticks before assuming a vaguely threatening stance with his cheeks round and stuffed. “Begrudgingly,” he says, “Not by choice.” You do not laugh but you try to.

Sohee bounces up and down in his seat, seemingly oblivious to your nervousness and Shotaro's skillfully hidden vexation.

“This is why I needed you two to end up together.” Says Sohee, swinging his head towards you. “My Golden Retriever best friend,” he swings his head towards Shotaro, “And my Golden Retriever coworker-”

“It's getting late, Sohee-” Shotaro's voice is calm and his head is still tilted as he says, “Should I call your uber?” You gulp silently as Shotaro's hand rubs up and down your thigh in a dizzying motion.

“Not very Golden Retriever of you,” Sohee grumbles before slurping down the last of his soup, “But that's okay because you're perfect in everything else-”

“Are you trying to steal my boyfriend, Sohee?” You hope cracking a joke might alleviate some of the one sided tension only you seem to be aware of.

Despite the smile, Shotaro is having a very difficult time remaining patient, especially because he had plans. Before Sohee had hijacked your attention, Shotaro would venture to say that he was actually somewhat happy at the start of the evening… before he found himself sharing your time with your over exuberant best friend.

There was a lively, almost vibrant pep in his step when he got off work, despite the tiredness in his muscles. As Shotaro made his way down the corridor towards your apartment door, his head was bowed with his eyes glued on his phone.

Your whimpers resounded in the clarity of his headphones. He watched you cum around his fingers, absolutely transfixed- so transfixed he almost doesn't recognize movement in his periphery right when he reaches your front door.

Far too swiftly, Shotaro plastered a smile on his face as he paused the video, dropped his phone into his pocket and lowered his headphones before bowing to your elderly next door neighbour.

He muttered a polite “안녕하세요,” in greeting, and the tiny old woman responded just as amicably.

She, as well as every other person in your life is absolutely floored by his politeness.

“What a nice young man,” she said, as she continued her way down the corridor, leaving Shotaro chuckling to himself because the thoughts he was having were certainly kilometres off on what a nice young man should be thinking.

He could not help that he had been thinking about you the whole day. Not even just sexually. (Although he did miss your body terribly. Shotaro was absolutely obsessed with the way it worked: You were always so unmistakably pliant for him. Like clay). Even simply being this close to your space made his heart overblown with satisfaction. Your house had always been somewhat of a safety enclosure for him. His own little piece of peace away from the outside world.

As he inserted the password and turned the knob, Shotaro imagined how you'd be waiting for him after work by the door like you usually did. Swimming in his oversized shirt as you stood with your arms opened wide.

None of those things happened.

Shotaro trudged into your house, sweaty and physically defeated from another day of exerting himself with rigorous routine. The thought of melting into your arms had been the only thing keeping him vaguely upright, when all he wanted to do was collapse on a pile on the floor.

As he proceeded to kick his sneakers off at the door, Shotaro’s brain nearly short circuitrd at the sight of you standing before him… fully dressed.

Not for any reason beside the fact that he had hoped to find you dressed comfortably enough to touch each other while you both cuddled lazily on the couch.

He was not being unreasonable in his expectations.

“Are we supposed to be going somewhere?” Shotaro asked quizzically with his doe eyes widened in cute curiosity. He eyed your halter neck and maxi skirt with much discontent.

“Oh good! You're home! I actually have something to-” Before the words could escape your mouth, he immediately enclosed you in a hug that you drowned in.

“Missed you so much,” he murmured before splaying various sloppy kisses on the side of your face, “Couldn't stop thinking about you the whole day… your face-” A kiss, “Your mouth-” another kiss, “your boobs-”

“Taro, I have to tell you som-”

“God, I hate people!” he exclaimed above you with his arms falling to your hips.

“I shouldn't have to remind you that I count as people.” You jest in vague nervousness.

“When I say I hate people, never ever, do I mean you,” he whispered above you before patting your head down as if you were, less his human girlfriend and more something that went about its life on four legs.

“Do I count as people?”

Your shoulders stiffened and Shotaro's arms grew rigid as his head snapped up to look at your best friend- his co-worker.

Sohee makes his introduction behind you in the same outfit Shotaro saw him in at dance practice and he waved lightly.

Shotaro's shoulders sag infinitesimally but that smile on his face is all too permanent.

Sohee spinned around before mumbling, “Also I'd appreciate it if you two didn't hump each other out in the open for my viewing pleasure.”

Instead of actually feeling compelled to eat you now sit idly at the dinner table, picking and prodding at the ramen Shotaro has prepared for you all.

Your boyfriend's irritation is subtle and you could definitely miss it in the brightness of his overall countenance.

“I mean, it's not that I don't wanna be in a relationship- it's just that, seeing you two has inspired me… I guess you could say?” If it weren't for Shotaro's hand on your thigh you might have actually listened to the countless praises he dotes on Shotaro.

Praises about how good of a man he is. How perfect he is. How absolutely wonderful he must be for being able to put up with you.

All through the dinner, Sohee talks and talks, and you sit with your fingers curled around the end of the table, trying to stop yourself from not reacting to your boyfriend’s minstritations.

It is only when the dinner ends, and Shotaro escorts Sohee to the door, that you finally feel the first real signs of anxiety begin to solidify in your gut.

You're trying your best to load the plates into the dishwasher with a steady hand when you feel a daunting presence behind you. Evading eye contact, you swiftly and succinctly say, “I'm sorry. He had no where else to go-”

“He has a house. Try again.”

You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut at the coldness in his voice.

“He's my best friend, Shotaro,” you say with finality before straightening your spine and turning to face him. You’re both pressed on opposite ends of the kitchen. Both with your arms folded.

“I don't really like your friends.” He says.

“I don't think my friends should be your problem, is what I'm saying.” You clarify. “And anyway, I thought you’d like the fact that Sohee’s my friend.”

Shotaro Scoffs as he says, “I'd like it more if he didn't try to inject himself into our relationship, babe.” Shotaro's voice is incredibly calm, but his words are aimed like an arrow doused in poison, as he closes the distance between you two. Your attention is fixed on him as he lifts his hand to trace small lines on your exposed collar, and you nearly fight the urge to make your eyes flutter shut.

“Not to sound like a tired fucking cliche but, I'm just thinking about what's best for you-” That snaps you out of it.

“What's best for me or what's best for you?!" You exclaim before slapping his hand away.

If only you knew how badly that particular passive-aggressive action affected him. Shotaro crowds you against the counter as he pushes his front up against yours until he's quite literally peering down at you. You refuse to crane your neck back and look up at him.

He was being ridiculous.

“I'm not choosing between you or my friends, Taro-”

“You're so pretty, you know that?” His completey-out-of-left-field comment, especially layered with that sweet-as-honey voice of his, shoots straight to your core, and you grab the counter behind you for support. “And smart too,” he says, before trailing his hand down your arm, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Shotaro’s touch is not only sensual, but its molten fucking lava and it nearly has you melting into a puddle on the floor.

“So I trust you to make your own decisions.” He says, nodding with cute finality before lifting your face up by your chin.

“Taro…” Your heart resorts to frenzy, and your head flies backward when Shotaro drifts his fingers past the seams of your maxi skirt. His are fingers- quite literally making their descent down your underwear while you remain too dumb to do anything but say: “I-I knew Sohee before I knew you.”

He only pushes up against you further, letting his hand grip the side of your neck. “You really think now is a good time to throw that in my face?” He asked with a tilt of his head and his hand now sliding over your cunt.

“You're not wet,” he whispers, “Why aren't you wet?” Before you're ever able able to answer, Shotaro drops to his knees before picking up the ends of your billowing skirt and disappearing underneath the fabric. A torrid gasp escapes your throat when his warm breath skates over your cunt and you're once again throwing your head back in absolute ecstasy.

He pokes his head up from underneath your skirt, cute smile on display while his fingers massage your aching clit. “You're always so wet for me, baby," he says with a childish frown, "What's the matter, huh?” He tilts his head again. “Is it your friend?”

He asks casually, as if his middle finger was not easing its way past your entrance … as if he his fingers were not already drenched in your arousal in less than a minute. “Fuck, Shotaro-”

“Is it because of him?” He continues to ask, now fully moving his fingers in and out of yoy while he remained on his knees- gaze never once wavering. “I'm sorry, bunny,” He says with faux concern, “I didn't know Sohee meant so much to you!”

“F-Fuck Taro-”

At the sound of his name, Shotaro's other hand grips your thigh, only opening your legs wider to split you all the way open against his fingers rough minstriations. He alternates between his middle and index. Sometimes splitting you open with both, until you were thoroughly bucking forward, to the pace that he had set and you were chasing your own orgasm furiously.

“You look like you're gonna cum for me, baby!” He exclaims with big bright eyes and a wide open smile. Equal parts adorable and completely fucking manic.

“Ask me to cum,” he whispers, still looking up at you like you were the best toy he could've ever hope to get. “I control your body. I control every part of you.” He says, “So ask me-”

“Please, Taro!- P-Please can I come?” Your hands have long ago found purchase in his blonde locks and you squeeze your eyes shut, bucking into him at a frenzied pace.

“Look at how pretty you are when you're following orders!” He exclaims as if you truly were a child. “So pretty,” he’s absolutely mesmerising, “My pretty girl gets to cum all over my fingers-”

You've already jumped off the cliff, letting your hips stutter as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Shotaro's eyes appear almost pained by the sight in front of him. How easily you break for him. Whenever he wanted. You truly were in control of his entire being.

“G-God-” Your failed attempt at talking brings a wave of warmth over Shotaro's countenance, and he finds himself pleasantly satisfied once again. He lifts himself up to his full height.

“what a gorgeous girl,” he whispers before pushing his forehead against yours, “My gorgeous girl,” he murmurs before sliding his fingers - the fingers that were once inside you- past your trembling lips.

[carminecherry]

THE LAST TRAIN | mikey sano

this is part two of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART TWO LENGTH: 7.5k words

⇝ PART TWO WARNINGS: Alcohol, suggestive content (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. a friend from university invites you to his house party. as the drinks flow, you slip into a pleasant buzz. that is until a particular masked man makes his appearance, unveiling himself.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: some world building and character introductions. I upload to AO3 first and i'm slowly but surely cross posting here. iiif you can't wait and want more, check out my AO3. more chapters coming soon! keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

You glanced over at your illuminated phone screen, soapy dinner dishes in hand and a podcast playing over your headphones. The name flashing on your screen made the corners of your mouth turn up. You and Yuuki had been chatting a little more here and there. The tone of your conversations confirmed your sense that this was purely friendship with no nuance or hidden intention. Not overthinking the messages anymore allowed you to relax. You rinsed the bubbles from your hands and wiped them on your work pants.

Unlocking your phone, the message read, 

“Party tomorrow night starting @9:00. Bring something to share.” 

You liked his message, sliding over to your calendar app to put in the details. You typed up a quick message to Emma, 

“Hey, are you going to Yuuki’s party?” 

As you were typing, a bubble with 3 dots appeared from Emma’s side. You hit send right as you received a message from Emma saying, 

“Yuuki’s tomorrow night?” 

You cracked a smile, happy the two of you were on the same page. You liked each other’s messages in confirmation.

Tomorrow was Friday, the welcome end to a very long week. The bookstore and cafe were enough to make ends meet but business was slow. Moreover, you were trying your damnedest to get a job as an interior designer. The competition in the city was fierce and your sanity and sleep were suffering. One more rejection letter might tip you over the edge.

As long as the bills are paid on time you could push through. You slid out of your work clothes, discarding the garments into the washing machine. Pulling on a light summer night set, it took the remainder of your energy to perform your skincare routine and brush your teeth. You practically fell into bed, the promise of a party conjuring imaginative scenarios in your mind as you drifted off to sleep.

***

Work had been uneventful. This was arguably worse as it meant you had been counting down the minutes until you could clock out. You had spent hours listlessly tapping on the counter with your nails. It had been a solo shift which meant you didn’t have anyone to keep you company.

You had a bad habit of getting lost in your imagination, your attention swallowed up in the pages of whatever book caught your attention.  A few uncomfortable conversations with your coworker Shinji about “ignoring customers” had left you feeling uneasy about reading on the clock. Luckily you were working the book-side of the shop today which meant you could leave work after counting the drawer and locking up. 

The minutes ticked down and the shop remained empty. You practically cartwheeled over to the door to flip the sign to “closed.” With trained fingers you count down the drawer; perfectly even. You shouted a farewell to the barista as she mopped the cafe floor. Pausing, she waved goodbye and you were on your way out. She’s a new hire and you had wanted to chat with her during the shift but had stayed dutifully at your counter. 

You had made it home in record time to change and freshen up your makeup. Last time you had felt underdressed, so you decided you wanted to show up and show out tonight. Yuuki’s a fashion guy so why the hell not. You check your outfit and makeup one last time and then you’re hustling out of the door. 

You stopped at the convenience store outside of the station and bought your “something to share”. Or, in this case, things to share. Hopefully a bottle of Jack and a 2L of Diet Coke would suit everyone’s taste. You cradle the bottles in your arms and make the train ride to Yuuki’s apartment in the city. You do your best to ignore the eyes on you, at least you’re giving them something to look at.

It only takes 20 minutes before you’re being buzzed into Yuuki’s building and riding the smooth elevator up 15 floors. There’s no mystery about which room is his. A pulsing beat is already vibrating the walls and sleek black door situated at the end of the hall. You wondered if there would be any noise complaints from the neighbors before banishing the thought from your mind. Tonight is about letting loose and relieving stress, not being the fun police. Tonight, it’s not your problem. 

You move to adjust the bottles to one arm, freeing up a hand to knock on the door. Before your knuckles make contact it swings open, startling you. A large figure is backing out, calling back to the guests already inside. At full height, your head reaches just between his shoulders. Broad shoulders that were rapidly on a collision course with your face. 

“So, two more 6 packs, some more bags of ice, and- Oh!” He dodges you at the last minute as you sidestep straight into the wall; a failed attempt to move out of his way. “Hey, sorry about that.” He steps back to give you more room. He’s even taller when he faces you. Long, silky, black hair thrown up in a messy updo. His eyes are sharp and a unique rusty-brown color that are highlighted by his thick, dark lashes. The man knew how to dress too.

He moves again to hold the door for you as you try to play off your wall collision. Before you can enter, another man casually strolls through the open door, “If you think too hard you might hurt yourself, B. I’ve got the list; you just need to carry everything.” The dark-haired man, “B”, makes a face at the figure who stands a couple inches shorter than him. 

His hair is bleached in chunks and styled with a slight wave. It’s one of those trendy, choppy haircuts that only a small percent of the population can pull off successfully. It makes him look like a vogue model. Which he could be. This man is pretty. His features are softer than the other’s. He has plump lips, round cheeks, but his eyes were the most captivating. They were large and an interesting shade of yellow-hazel. A perfect beauty mark under his left eye. Despite his cherubic features there was a deviousness to those eyes. Another hint that he may not be as angelic as he appears is the massive neck tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt.

“You’re paying though, Kazu, and I expect a tip.” B sneered. His canines have a sharp snaggle to them that is unique and… Attractive. “I always tip the help.” Kazu responded nonchalantly before he turned those eyes to you, looking you up and down obviously. “Get out of the way so she can go in.” B says, pulling his companion from the doorway. 

“Sorry about him, I guess you can’t buy manners.” B quips to you, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Kazu. You make your best attempt at a natural smile and manage, “It’s all good, thanks.” You duck into the party, a little out of your element after seeing such good-looking men.

You hear, “Who is she ?” in a not-quite whisper between the pair as they walk from the closing door. The intended meaning of the comment is not clear and acts as a big motivator to get a tall glass of literally anything ASAP. 

The apartment is cast in low mood lights set to smoothly fade to the beat of the music. There was a haziness to the air. Did he have a smoke machine or something? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were at a high-end club and not a college buddy’s house party.

You make your way into the spacious living room that is already thrumming with bodies. You set your “somethings” on the table and pull out your phone to send a quick message to Emma about her ETA, social anxiety already sinking its claws into you. Before you can hit send, two hands clap down on your shoulders.

“BOO!” Emma exclaims as you whip around to face her, startled for the second time that evening. She laughs, “She’s so cute when she’s scared.” Tossing the comment over her shoulder to the man standing behind her. Draken, the biker from the other day, her boyfriend. His features are hard to read but you notice a slight tick upwards at the corner of his mouth. 

In a flurry, Emma is on you, pulling you into a big hug and spinning you around. “It’s so good to see you again! Thank god you’re here, it was turning into a total sausage fest.” She pouts, pushing you to arms length. “It’s good to see you too.” You smile. She looks you up and down, surveying your outfit before giving you two thumbs up and mouthing, ‘you look great! Wow!’.  You return the compliment with  dramatic hand movements to indicate she , in fact, is the one who looks great.  

You lean conspiratorially towards her, a glint in your eye, “Speaking of sausage fest, I just saw two absolute SMOKESHOWS when I came in!” You say in an excited whisper. The gossipy tone that can only be achieved between women. Draken chokes a bit on his drink and turns away from the two of you. His reaction draws your attention before Emma’s twinkling laugh brings it back to her. 

Grabbing you by the arm and swaying with you she laughs out, “Don’t let them hear you say that~ Their heads will get too big. I guess it’d be fine if it’s Baji, but Kazu is already insufferable.” Your eyes go wide, “Wait! Do you know them?! Uhg of course you do” You bring your hand to your head. “When will it be my turn?” you whine with faux drama. “God is so unfair in the gifts he gives to his children.” Emma gives your arm a few playful slaps leaning into you while stifling a laugh, the action drawing the gaze of a few of the other party-goers. 

Draken further turns his back to the two of you and you notice a slight bounce in his shoulders. “You have to stop. It’s too early and I’m too sober.” Emma manages. “Come on, let’s get a drink.” With that, she guides you to the refreshments table and sets to pouring two drinks.

Living in the city, you have gotten used to seeing more beautiful people than in the suburbs. But as you scanned the room, Yuuki’s apartment looked more like a runway show than a “bring something to share” house party. You thank yourself for taking the extra time to get dressed up. The extra eyes on you during your train ride had been worth it. Fears of being overdressed swiftly quelled. Emma gave a quick speech about friendship. A plastic tap of your cup as a ‘cheers’ and you're bringing the drink to your lips. 

You have to hold back a fully-body shiver as what smells like a fruity drink tastes like straight strawberry vodka. You swallow hard, the drink making your throat and chest feel warm. You turn to look at Emma who is sipping her drink like juice. You brave a few more sips before looking into your cup. You already feel like you’re getting buzzed and you gauged the remainder would spell your death. You actually want to remember tonight. 

You attempt to discreetly set your cup on the table and move to pour your own drink.  But Emma quickly notices and boos quietly at your mixology, You make your way back to the pair, a more reasonably portioned Jack and Coke in hand. 

“Not a fan of Strawberry Absolut?” Draken offers as you rejoin them. Surprised to hear the stoic man engage you first, you reply in a voice slightly too loud, “Not a fan of not remembering things.” Responding with a nod the man picks up your abandoned cup, pouring it into his. He takes a big sip and in your mind you say a silent prayer for him. Given his size, he’d probably be okay. 

Emma jumps in with a pout, “Well I LOVE strawberry Absolut. What even is that?” She asks tapping the rim of her cup to yours. “It’s a Jack and Coke.” To which she scoffs, “That’s like an old man drink.” “At least it’s a drink and not one big shot.” you quip back to which she takes an exaggeratedly big swig of her drink. The three of you chat there for a while. Your cup empties as time fades in and out like the party lights casting the walls with shadows and silhouettes. After bottoming out, you refill your drink. 

On your way back to the pair you survey the room again, the crowd growing in the time since you’d arrived. Emma’s attention moves with yours. “Say, do you know anyone else here?” you ask. Her eyes scanned the crowd, “Hmmm, most of these people are posers hoping to rub shoulders with actual cool people.” Emma’s candid take almost had you spitting your drink out of your nose. You have difficulty imagining these model-level gorgeous men and women, most of which are dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes, as posers. 

They carried themselves with an air of confidence that made them utterly unapproachable to you. You laugh a little, appreciating her brutal honesty. Her eyes turn to you as she continues, “I really just know the boys that Mikey and Draken hang out with and Yuuki, of course. Most of these other people aren’t worth the time.” Speaking of, “Oh, is he here tonight? Mikey?” Your curiosity gets the better of you.

For the last few days your mind had wandered back to the dark figure on his bike. The way his masked gaze had put you in a near flight or fight response. Truthfully, you were also curious what was under the helmet. If he’s related to Emma, he was sure to also be a solid 10. AND he has the biker thing going for him. The image of him in that leather jacket that had been tight in all the right places appeared in your mind; an image that you’d spend a lot of time with over the last week. As if in response to the memory, the familiar feeling of eyes locking onto you sweeps over you; as strong as the first time. The hairs on the back of your neck raise.

“He gave some half-assed reply when I told him about it earlier.” Emma shrugged, pouring herself yet another drink. “He knows it’s happening so he might show up.” You knew it though. He was here. As if on cue, you turn to face the now open apartment door. Three figures filled its frame. The taller figure, Baji, carried three heavy looking bags and was shoving the smaller figure, Kazu, who was noticeably carrying nothing. Kazu seemed to spit back an insult, his furrowed brow indicated they were bickering. The 3rd figure was slightly shorter than Baji but had a presence that made him seem larger. There was no mystery, that was Mikey.

It was your first time seeing him without his helmet on. You must say, your imagination had not done him justice. He had bleached hair like honey. His bangs are up and out of his face while the rest of his hair curved in gentle waves, ending just below his jawline. The light from the hallway trickled into the hazy apartment, casting his locks in a gilded glow. It almost looked like a halo. 

His eyes were different though. He was too far to see any real detail, but they were dark. Dark in a way that gave stark contrast to those of the pretty blonde sipping her drink next to you. What is gentle on her face is defined and sharp on his. He had a hollowness to his cheeks that made his cheekbones stand out strikingly in the low light. 

You’ve seen many beautiful people in your life, more after moving to the city. Fuck, half of them you see in this room tonight. But there was something special about him. He stood in front of the pair, his eyes locked with yours as he stepped through the threshold. 

Yuuki appeared as if conjured from thin air and brought Mikey in for a firm handshake in greeting. You were pulled back to reality by Emma whispering over your shoulder, “Speak of the devil.” Draken leaned down to whisper something to the blonde before moving past the two of you to greet his friend. 

You turn to Emma, eyes wide. You mouth dramatically, ‘That’s your brother?!’ She rolls her eyes and rests her head on your shoulder, “For better or worse, that’s my big brother. I’m kind of surprised he came.” You adjust to offer the softer part of your shoulder to her, turning your gaze back to the group that just entered. You jump slightly as you lock eyes with Mikey once more, your heart flutters and you quickly break eye contact, cheeks warming at being caught. 

She pulls back at the movement. Her honey eyes scanning you with an intensity, you note, she and her brother share. A devious glint appears in her eyes, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. She turns from you with intent and pours a tall cup of, you lean slightly to see. Yup, straight Absolut Strawberry vodka over ice. She tops her cup off as well before she turns back to you with a mischievous look, handing you the cup.

“Emma, please, you’re going to kill me. I feel my organs shutting down.” you whine. “Go give it to Mikey. Like me, he has excellent taste. I’ve gotta go to the bathroom real quick.” The sarcastic comment you were loading about her “excellent taste” disappears as you turn quickly, panic flashing across your skin. “I’ll go with you, girls’ code.” You offer. “Nah, just go, I’ll be right back.” 

She turns you by the shoulders and gives you a nudge of encouragement and thumbs up before disappearing in the crowd of bodies. Traitor. You walk towards the group of tall men. This is your worst nightmare. You distract yourself, the smell of strawberry bringing your gaze to the cup in your hand. A smile plays at your lips. If you ignored the fact it was straight vodka, the contrast of a scary biker sipping on a sweet, strawberry drink tickled the part of your brain that managed absurdist humor. 

The distance was closed too quickly. You were lost in your imagination and hadn’t game-planned anything in way of an introduction. You look up to meet the gaze of Mikey. You stood there, frozen. The conversation of the group fizzling out around you. You feel eyes on you and your face begins to heat. You extend a cup to him. Realizing it’s the wrong cup you quickly withdraw and extend the other, splashing a bit of liquid out with the too-quick motion. Anxiety is clawing at your chest.

He looks from you to the cup and back to you. You realize how odd it must be to be offered a drink with no way of introduction. You attempt, “Emma…” You clear your throat. “This is from Emma...” You’re drowning. At this point you can feel you’re beet red. Yuuki steps in, placing a hand on your shoulder and with a laugh he supplies, “This is my friend, Y/N. We went to university together. She just moved back to the city.” Bless him. Baji jumps in first, volunteering, “I’m Baji, it’s nice to meet you.” He seems polite, sweet despite his appearance; towering stature, sharp features and all. 

“Kazutora, but cute girls like you can call me Kazu.” he says, leaning in to invade your bubble slightly. What a flirt. “Don’t be a dick, K.” Baji says, putting out an arm to push Kazutora back to a standing position. Sensing tension forming between the two, you offer, “It’s nice to meet you two.” “It seems you already know Draken.” Yuuki continues. Draken tilts his cup in acknowledgement. “Mikey.” the final figure states, taking the drink from your hand to finalize the introduction. 

Yuuki clocks the beverage immediately and offers, “How about we get you something nicer. I’ve been saving some Patron for the night you finally made it to one of my little parties.” He gestures dismissively to the sea of bodies behind him. Little party? You survey the room to confirm he was in fact talking about this full blown rager. How humble of him you think, sipping your drink. “This will do.” Mikey says with a definite tone, signaling the end of discussion. He takes a sip from the cup like it’s water and not straight liquor. These siblings are built differently. 

Speaking of, Emma appears behind Mikey and jumps on his back in a sneak attack hug. “Heeeeyyyy Miiiiikeeeeyyyy~” She drawls. His face softens in a flash and you see the resemblance more clearly. Now that you’re closer you can get a better look. His lips have sharp corners with a fullness like his sister’s. His eyes are different though, his are more angled and a slightly deeper shade like whiskey or amber. They share the same thick lashes though. He catches you staring again and you flick your gaze to the left, only to see Draken who eyes you in a knowing way. You avert your gaze to the safety of your cup. 

Mikey swings his sister around to set her down in front of him. “Hey, Em. Good to see you’re having fun.” She nods enthusiastically. Finding Draken without looking, she leans back into his tall figure. He drapes his arms over her before saying, “Y/N works at that old cafe we used to kick it at.” This causes a stir in the group.

“Oh no way! How nostalgic.” Baji says. “Huh, I thought they closed that place after what happened.” Kazutora said in a puzzled tone. “Seems like they rebuilt and renovated. They even added a bookstore.” Draken offered. This seemed to satisfy the former who shrugged, “Hopefully it’s less of a dump in that case.” This comment earned him a slap to the chest from Baji. Kazutora turned his eyes to you, “No offense.” You wave a hand in a ‘none taken’ motion. “It was rustic ” Baji said, lacing the word venomously. You get the impression this was an argument they’ve had before. “More like rusty I felt like I needed a tetanus shot every time we went.” Kazutora bit back. 

There was a lot to unpack. This was the first time you heard any history about the cafe. Admittedly, you chose to work there purely on vibes and the fact the hourly rate was above average. Your nosy side wanted to know more. “What happened there?” You ask innocently. All eyes turned to Mikey conspicuously. Maybe the question wasn’t as innocuous as you thought. 

Mikey shrugged, “There was an incident. The place was nearly torn to the ground afterwards. I’m glad to hear they could rebuild and salvage.” It was a non-answer with no real points to ask follow-up questions without giving away your nosiness. The delivery was also not one that left anything up for discussion. You simply nod, shoving the prodding questions down.

Emma piped in, eyes closed, “We should go back~ For old times sake~” Her words were blending together. Her drink must be hitting her harder than she anticipated. Mikey gave Draken a look which was returned with a nod. Wordlessly, Draken took the drink dangling from Emma’s hand which earned him some soft booing before Emma resigned herself to snuggling into his arms. You chimed in with, “If you come when I’m working I’ll sneak you guys some cafe goodies.” 

“How long do you plan to work there?” Yuuki asked, pulling you out of a daydream of the attractive group lounging in the cafe. A harmless enough question, but you felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness. You had momentarily forgotten where you were; this chic apartment packed with beautiful, rich people. Your gaze dropped to the floor as you replied, “Oh, you know. Until I can get a foot in the door at a company.” You realize you’re being vague, but you didn't want to risk betraying how lost you really felt. 

“You’ve got a show coming up, right?” You masterfully change the topic, shifting the spotlight to Yuuki. “Yeah, I’m working on the Autumn collection now.” Yuuki says, rubbing the back of his neck, telling the group more of the details as they engage him. Happy to have succeeded in avoiding that uncomfortable line of questioning, you look around, taking everyone in. Baji and Kazutora dip out of the conversation and seem to be bickering about something new on their phones, too quietly for you to pick up. 

Yuuki draws your attention again with a sweet smile. He says, “You should come.” You blink, nodding a ‘yes’, not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to. “Typical, Yuuki. Only inviting cute girls.” Kazutora teases, rejoining the conversation. You peer past him to see Baji pacing near the door, his phone pressed to his ear. 

Yuuki claps back at the accusation, “I’d invite you, but no doubt you’d end up acting like a damn dog.” “I’ll be good.” Kazutora whines playfully. “Ask Mitsuya then.” Yuuki dismisses, smirking at Kazu. Kazutora pouts. In that moment Emma lurches from Draken’s arms and throws up directly into the pot of a neatly pruned house plant. In a heartbeat, Draken is next to her, holding her hair back, eyebrows knitted in concern. Nearby party guests turn to see what’s happening. 

“Damn, Em, party foul.” Kazutora whoops sarcastically. Mikey gives him an icy glare that shuts Kazutora right up. Baji appears behind Mikey and whispers something in his ear. Mikey turns to respond and points between Kazutora and Baji, clearly giving some instruction before the pair are making a swift exit. Baji throws over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Kazutora simply winks at you as the door shuts behind them.

You wave absently at the closed door before you hear a weak, “Y/N~.” You turn quickly and kneel on the other side of the pretty blonde, still hunched over the expensive-looking pot. You rub small circles into her back. Feeling like you’ve sobered up slightly. She turns to you and cutely says, “Oops.” You can smell the strawberry liquor on her breath. You let out a small laugh and look at Draken. 

“Alright babe, I think it’s time for us to get home.” He says in a voice as soft as velvet. “Nooooo~” She protests. “I wanna stay with Y/N~ The night is yooooung~” He scoops her up. She nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck, mumbling something incoherent. He whispers in a soothing voice, “I know, baby. I know” before standing.

He turns to Mikey and they share a look. He offers to Yuuki, “Sorry about your plant. I’ll take care of it.” Yuuki brushes it off, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen my fair share of party fouls and this doesn’t even make the list.” “I can attest to that.” You add, hoping to ease any guilt Emma may be feeling. 

Her bobbing head and lazy smile give you the sense that she doesn’t have a care in the world. Draken stoops slightly to whisper something to Mikey who simply nods. With that, Draken carries a very sweet, very drunk Emma from the apartment. Before the door closes, Emma peeks her head over Draken’s shoulder and waves a goodbye to you. 

Everything had happened so fast, your senses dulled by the alcohol. It’s then that you realize your group of seven had dwindled to three. You turn just in time to see Mikey slide something into Yuuki’s pocket. You look at your friend with curious eyes. Yuuki’s laugh is strained but he takes no action to challenge the man before him. You see movement in the distance and notice a guest flagging Yuuki down. Your heart jumps into your throat as Yuuki too notices the man. 

 Yuuki welcomes the distraction. And with a, “thanks for coming, enjoy the party you two” is making his way across the room. You stand there, feeling abandoned. You chance a glance at the tall blonde standing next to you. He notices. Your mind goes blank. He holds you captive under his gaze. As if reading your mind and finding it empty, Mikey finally breaks the silence with, “Let’s sit down.” You blink, coming back to yourself. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any-” But Mikey is already on the move. 

The crowd of people naturally parts for him. He caught the eye of some guests but stares were quickly withdrawn. You trailed after him, grateful that you didn't have to elbow your way through the crowd. An edge of claustrophobia made a bid for attention in your fuzzy brain as the mass of bodies closed behind you. 

Absorbing the two of you and cutting off your way back to the door. Mikey stops abruptly, causing you to bump into his back. His back is muscular, like walking straight into a wall. You maneuver your cup to avoid a spill. He doesn’t seem to register the collision. His head turns to scan the room, locking onto something in the distance. And he’s off again, forcing you to quicken your pace to catch up.  

The crowd parts to reveal an elegant lounge sofa. The pair sitting nearest to you were deep in their flirtations. The woman is in a revealing cobalt satin dress, a dramatic slit trailing up her leg to end at her hip. Her long, chocolate hair falling in a curtain around her and her partner’s face. She’s sitting in the lap of a well-groomed man. He’s wearing a dark patterned suit and a black button-down shirt, though most of the buttons are already undone. 

The man’s hand rested high up on the woman’s leg, kneading small circles into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. One of her hands was stroking a pattern into the silky material barely covering his chest, the other running through his short, dyed blue hair. He has an interesting design shaved into the side of his head that her fingers trace absently. It started at the temple and twisted behind an ear punctuated by several piercings. Their faces barely inches apart, conversation clearly hot and heavy. 

The PDA makes your face feel warm and you look away. Getting the feeling you were invading their privacy. Though, this didn’t seem to bother Mikey who stood, unmoving, over the couple. Perhaps noticing the shift in energy, the man’s gaze is ripped from the woman on his lap. Immediately the man is on his feet, moving to hold the woman close to his side. She seems confused, but what objections may have been spoken die when she sees the blonde man before her. 

“Mikey! I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s good to see you m-man.” The man spoke quickly, stumbling over the end of his statement as his eyes swept over you. Mikey sized the two of them up. You couldn’t help but notice how the woman adjusts herself under his gaze, angling to give a better view of her chest to the blonde. 

Her boldness surprises you, given she has the arm of the handsome man whose bones she was about to jump still wrapped around her waist. You weren’t the only one to notice, as the grip around her waist tightened. Her mouth twitched mischievously, as if a goal had secretly been accomplished. 

“Hakkai.” the blonde responded with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Turning his sole focus to the man. You too looked at him, his eyes a pretty shade of blue. He has thick lower lashes that are heavy and give him a permanently sleepy look. You wondered if he had dyed his hair to perfectly match his irises on purpose. You see now that he has a large scar over the right side of his mouth that twists slightly as he talks. The scar took nothing away from his handsomeness. If anything it made his appearance unique, hotter.

The man, Hakkai, smiled sheepishly. “Here, have a seat.” Offering him the spot he had just occupied. “We’re actually going to head out.” He says leaning into the woman at his side suggestively. At this, the woman stops undressing Mikey with her eyes and returns her attention to the blue-haired man, giving him a sultry laugh. Mikey’s face is unreadable. 

The couple walk around Mikey who doesn’t move for them. The woman brushes against him and in a voice dripping with honey says, “Bye bye, Mikey.” He doesn’t acknowledge the advance. Instead, turning to Hakkai, “Monday.” He says, emotionless. The other man freezes, “Monday.” He confirms, not meeting Mikey’s eyes. With this, Mikey nods and waves them off. The pair disappear in the crowd. Mikey sinks into the plush sofa, brushing off the parts of his body the woman had touched. Seeing you still standing, he pats the spot next to him. You sit, eager to split from the crowd, head spinning with questions. 

You run your hands over the lush velvet to calm yourself, taking in the room from your seated position. The modern lighting fixtures, not currently in use, hang high on the lofted ceiling. The dark furniture devoured what little illumination was being cast from the party lights. The silver accents twinkled prettily. 

You scanned the bodies in the crowd, form fitting suits and dresses with the occasional designer logo popping out of the mass. Your gaze drifted to your left, meeting a pair of amber eyes now alarmingly close to your face. You hadn’t realized you were swaying, leaning into the warmth of the body next to you. You snap back to reality, the proximity causing you to abruptly lean back. Some of the brown liquid spilling from your cup . “You’re pretty clumsy, huh.” He commented. “Yeah, and you have a staring problem.” You quipped back. The silence that followed signaled the lighthearted nature of your jab hadn’t landed.

You busied yourself, drying off your lap. By some miracle you managed not to get any liquid on the sofa that surely cost a month or two of your rent. “So… Bookstore.” “So… Bikes.” The dry statements hung in the air. You offer, “So, I don’t know anything about bikes. Do you like, maintain it yourself?” “Yeah, something like that…” He replies. The silence that follows makes you squirm. 

You feel like the undulating mass of people is about to swallow you whole. Reaching your limit, you rise, “...Well, it was nice to meet you... I hope Emma feels better. I’d better leave if I’m going to catch the last train.” You lie. You hadn’t checked the time for awhile. If you were more sober, this fact would have worried you. 

“I like bikes.” Mikey says. “…That’s nice.” you reply, shifting your weight between your feet. “Working on something, building it from nothing with your hands. It’s nice to have control that way. When something breaks, I know I can fix it. If I mess it up, I know it’s my fault.” He says thoughtfully. You return to your seat, Mikey’s crumb of vulnerability being snatched up. 

“So, how long have you been into them, bikes?” He pauses, responding, “I guess since middle school.” It takes a moment for you to key into the math, “And what got you into them?” “My brother did.” A hollowness to his voice. “Oh, that’s cute.” The word was one that rarely described him. “Cute?” He repeats. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, I guess I’m like picturing you playing with motorcycle figures or something.” “Not figures. I started riding when I was in middle school.” He says flatly. Maybe he did have a sense of humor. “So, what, were you like a 12 year old biker?” You tease. “Yes.” His tone is unchanging. “Stop playing. That’s, like, super illegal.” “Yeah, I guess it was.” He says under his breath a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So what, were you in a little biker gang or something?” “Not little.” He said, sipping his drink. Was he being serious? The conversation petered out. 

“Well, I for one, know nothing about bikes.” You say, hoping to fan the flames a little longer. “Wanna learn?” The question caught you off guard. He hadn’t said it in a teasing way. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah that actually sounds really cool!” You say, excitement unmasked. To your surprise, he rises from the sofa. You look around before you mirror the action, catching up to the blonde before he’s absorbed into the crowd.

You trailed behind him like before. The beat of the music hummed pleasantly on your skin, the sensation mingling with the warmth of the liquor from your drink. You made your way to the door and let him hold it open for you as the two of you exited. 

***

Yuuki’s eyes trailed after the two figures who had surreptitiously made their exit. A silver pair matches his. The handsome man next to him hums, “How indecent, Mikey. Making us all watch your foreplay.” He teases, bringing his cup to his lips. “Is that what that was?” Yuuki asks sarcastically. The awkward interaction of his friend and the blonde not conjuring the same image as the icy-white haired man.

“If you knew him.” The man says with a smile, leaning into the body of the man next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Either way, it’ll be interesting to see how it plays out.” Yuuki leans into the man’s touch. “Indeed.” He says with a soft smile. “Back to the festivities, darling, your adoring fans await.” The white haired man says, giving Yuuki a peck on the cheek. The romantic gesture goes unnoticed by the inebriated crowd.  “They can wait a little longer, Mitsuya.” Yuuki says in a low tone, bringing a hand up to toy with the silver earring hanging from the ear of his partner, stealing a proper kiss as the party continues around them.

***

 You stood next to the tall blonde, waiting for the elevator. The cup in your hand is nearing its end, the dangers of senselessly sipping. The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to welcome you to the mirrored space. Entering, you steady yourself on the hand rail. Using the reflective surface, you check your makeup and fix some smudged eyeliner. Mikey hits the button for the ground floor. With a ‘ding’ the two of you are descending.

You turn your attention to the blonde in front of you, doing your best to be discreet, taking in the view of his back. The fabric of his shirt is thin and taut over his muscled shoulders. There is a pretty shimmer the way it catches the low light of the elevator. You see the taper of his waist and how the dress pants accentuate his long legs among other things.

 “And I’m the one with the staring problem.” You tear your gaze from his back to see him clearly watching you in the reflective surfaces of the mirrored walls. You’ve been caught yet again, red blooming across your cheeks. He snickers.

Before you can defend yourself with a snarky comeback, the doors open with another ‘ding’ on the ground floor. He strides with intention out of the sliding doors and rounds the corner. Again, you have to quicken your pace to keep up. As you turn, you see him circling the bike from the other day. It's midnight black and glossy. The shine is the only thing that gives away its presence on the unlit street. 

He sets his cup down on the barrier between the sidewalk and shrubbery. Y ou stand there, admiring the vehicle before he beckons you over. He points to the bike, “This is a motorcycle , AKA, a bike ” You blink. Is he messing with you? “This is the seat . You sit on it.” He holds up the sleek helmet and taps on the top. Drawing out the words he says, “ Hel-met .” Your jaw dropped, a wide smile spread across your face. He was messing with you.

You decide to play along, bringing your unoccupied hand to your ear, leaning towards him, “What? Hel … Sorry, one more time?” His face is stoic but you see his eyes light up. “Helmet. It protects your head. Like this.” He wrestles the safety wear over your head before you can move away. You try to fight off the headwear in vain, protesting, “No~ my hair! My makeup!” He bites back a laugh, one side of his mouth being pulled up before it’s covered by a hand. Huffing, you pull the helmet off, cradling it in your arm. You pout. “And did you really just mansplain a helmet?”

“You might want to keep it on,” he says, fighting his crooked smile. “Even if you had left earlier, the trains stopped running about an hour ago.”  He seats himself on the vehicle. “Hop on, I’ll drop you off at home.” Warning bells cut through your tipsy brain fog. You heard your parent’s voices lecturing you about the dangers of motorcycles, and strangers for that matter. As if sensing your hesitation he adds, “Emma will kill me if she finds out I left you stranded at the party. I’m sure she’ll feel bad enough already that she had to leave early. That and the hangover she’s about to have tomorrow.” 

Remembering Emma eased your nerves slightly. Nonetheless, your grip tightened, making the cheap plastic cup in your hand pop slightly from the pressure. That reminded you, “You’ve been drinking tonight, do you really think you should be driving.” With this, he rises from the bike, walking over to his discarded cup. He gives it a hefty slosh around before presenting the contents to you. It was nearly full. “As much as I love strawberry, I don’t really like drinking at parties.” “Real party person, huh.” You shoot back, your last real hang-up flying out the window. 

“Gotta stay sharp.” He says pouring his drink into the bushes. He moves to take your cup to do the same. Before he can, you finish it in one shot, needing the liquid courage. He raises his hands, backing off as you look around for a place to discard your cup. 

Damn, you’re eternally mystified by how clean the city can be despite there being no trash cans. Seeing this, he swipes the cup from your hand, stacking it in his own before crushing them with a satisfying crunch. He discards them in the bushes, earning a disgruntled noise from you. “Someone will clean it up.” He dismisses moving back to take his position on the bike, the engine turning over. “No one would have to clean it up if you threw it away properly.” “Just keeping your hands clean, darling. Leave the dirty work to me.” He says, a tone of sarcasm peeking through. 

You huff, pulling on the helmet to cover the blush spreading across your cheeks. You climb on to the back of the bike, unsure how to situate yourself. After a moment of you adjusting, trying not to sit too close to the blonde, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you flush to his back. It’s warm. The thin fabric is like a second skin.

“Hold on or you’ll fall off” he says seriously. Thank god you were behind him, in the safety of the helmet. You could feel your ears turning red. “R-Right.” You feel yourself getting cold feet. “Hey, you know, I never said goodbye to Yuuki.” You ramble. “I mean, you can go up if you want, but I have a feeling he’s busy playing the gracious host.” Mikey responds. “Yeah… Yeah, I guess I can just text him.” You say mostly to yourself. 

“Hey, we can just call a taxi if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t mind waiting with you.” You visualize the cost of a taxi at this time of night and that’s much scarier than riding on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle. “No. No. It’s okay.” You say, wrapping your other arm around him, signaling you were ready. 

“Where should I drop you off?” “Near the 7/11 next to the station, the one with that awful statue.” You say, steadying your voice. You feel him rev the engine before you hear it. The thrum sends fireworks of adrenaline shooting through you. You tighten your grip on the figure in front of you. “Nervous?” he teases, chuckling. The vibration mixes with the engine. “N-No.” You sputter. “You’re a bad liar.” He replies. Without another word, the two of you peel off into the night.

[down-the-rabbit-hole-charlie]

Ravaged

Warning : Explicit. Suggestive. Minors keep out.

It wasn’t like you wanted to work late at the library on New Year’s Eve. Your coworker had asked you to cover for him, and you had had no choice but to spend your Sunday night in the library. But, good thing was ? Nobody was around to judge you when you put your headphones on and played your music while reading the book that—you had decided earlier on—would be the cure to your boredom. You were so deep into your reading that you failed to hear the telltale doorbell ringing to announce a new person entering the library.

However, the person’s shadow soon cast over you and you immediately looked up in surprise.

"Oh sorry. I didn’t hear you come i—" You stopped talking instantly when the stranger slowly turned towards you and you realised that the man was the infamously known killer…Michael Myers.

He had a bloody knife in his hand and you stared at each other for a few seconds before you got out of your momentary stupor.

You merely had a few seconds of contemplation as to your next move.

Alright.

He had not stabbed you to death yet. He seemed rather calm for now. And if you were to make any sudden or unwanted movement, it would surely be the end of you. So, you coughed before offering him a polite smile. "W-What can I do for you, sir ?"

He didn’t reply.

You stayed silent for a few seconds before walking around your desk to face him.

"Hum…Would you like a tour ?"

He tilted his head quizzically and you took it as a yes before walking ahead towards the different aisles—telling him about the different types of stories available.

"Here we got history. There we have non-fiction. Science fiction. Fairytales…"

As you were introducing him to the different book sections, you failed to notice him stopping in front of the fairytale aisle. He then seemed to look at the multiple books in display before he slowly raised his hand to grab one and leaf through it with a curious gleam in his eyes. Once you noticed it, you smiled as you stood next to him to look at what book caught his eye.

"Oh. Alice in Wonderland, huh ?" Your smile widened. "Nice choice. It’s actually my favourite."

He didn’t say anything, but he did let out a small grunt in response before suddenly thrusting the book against your chest. You frowned in incomprehension before Michael pointed towards a sign which read:

Voice lecture available.

Your eyes widened and you were a little taken aback as you understood what he wanted. The man surely didn’t know how to read, so he wanted someone to read to him. You were about to tell him this was usually for children, but decided against it. You gestured towards one of the soft cushions in the room and he reluctantly complied to your silent request. It was actually quite funny to see the great Michael Myers sit on a cushion, his body all hunched and his size comically gigantic in comparison with the one of his seat.

You sat in front of him and opened the book before you started reading to him.

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'"

You looked up at him—wondering if he was still listening. And you found his eyes staring straight at you. He was listening attentively. You were even surprised by how still he was. He looked like a statue…but statues didn’t grunt. And he did grunt in order to make you understand that he wanted you to keep reading. You complied.

"So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her."

He was hung to every word you spoke—his eyes fixed on your lips as you spoke. There was also this childlike wonder in his eyes, but you didn’t forget the knife.

You kept reading.

"There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge."

As you kept on reading, you were more and more invested in the story and seemed to forget Michael’s presence altogether. You knew the story and it was fun to put some acting into the voice and gestures. You knew Michael Myers wouldn’t laugh. But, he still appreciated it somehow. He seemed so focused and the knife next to him seemed to have been forgotten as he started relaxing.

Suddenly, there was a ringing and you realised that it was time to close up.

You looked at him.

He didn’t seem in any hurry to move…

"I’m sorry but I have to go. I’ll come back shortly."

He nodded understandingly and you went to close the door. When you came back, your eyes widened as you saw the book he was holding. He was…looking at the book you had been reading before he came in. You quickly attempted to grab the book—out of shame.

Wrong move.

Michael thought you were trying to attack him and slapped you so hard that you went flying against a bookshelf. You winced in pain as the back of your head hurt and you weren’t sure if you ought to get up again. You weren’t given a choice.

Michael grabbed you by the throat and raised you up in the air—blood dripping down your forehead.

"No ! P-Please ! Stop !"

But Michael wasn’t stopping. He grunted again and tightened his grip on your throat.

"Please…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…to frighten you. I just didn’t want you to look at the book…It isn’t...the type I would recommend you."

The book wasn’t innocent and it had been a rather instinctive manoeuvre to get the book out of his hands. You had even forgotten he couldn’t read.

Finally, he calmed down and released you.

You fell to the ground and gasped for air as he forced your head up, shoving the book in your face. You immediately understood what he wanted and shook you head.

"Wait…This is not the public kind of material. You won’t like it."

He didn’t take no for an answer and soon enough, you were reading from the pages of the book you didn’t want anyone to know about.

"She moaned and gasped as her lover kissed her neck and his hand took hold of her delicate form…" You started before continuing—your head hanging low in shame. It was embarrassing and the more you read, the more Michael seemed to stare at you. It was unnerving. At the end, you were so mortified that you just slammed the book shut and dared to shout.

"Alright. No more. If you wanna kill me, just do it. But enough with the humiliation." You declared and closed the book in a hurry.

He grunted.

He didn’t seem pleased by your decision.

He grabbed you by the waist and slammed you against a wall. His knife was back in his hand and he pressed it against your throat. You thought the nightmare would finally be over…but Michael decided otherwise.

He almost ripped off your shirt and started squeezing and pinching your breast while you were trapped into place. He had a firm grip on your neck and it was almost painful as he started rutting against you like an animal.

He groaned and grabbed your hand to press it against his manhood. When you tried to remove it, he squeezed your throat a little tighter and his eyes focused on the wall behind you. He wasn’t even looking at you. It wasn’t about you. It was about fulfilling a need.

He made quick haste of getting rid of the rest of your clothes and didn’t bother removing his. He just unzipped himself and didn’t bother checking if you were ready.

When he entered you, he growled in annoyance as he had trouble fitting his size into you. It was like trying to fit a tree trunk into a pencil sharpener…You tried to tell him, but he didn’t listen. Michael was patient and if he had to spend all night making you take him inch by inch ? Then he would…

But then, you started screaming and his eyes widened as the sweet sound of pain. He dug his thumbs into the skin of your hips painfully. So soft and loud. He could already imagine how sore your throat would be if he was to use your windpipe as a cockwarmer…The same you had used to read him all those lovely words.

He let out a quiet moan at the thought before taking you off his cock to plunge into you again—but with purpose. He wanted to hear your voice. Your lovely soft voice turned to moans and pants…Yes. Quite like that…He started panting himself as sweat ran down his face. The mask was making it difficult for him to see you, but he didn’t need to.

"P-Please…" He thought you were going to ask him to stop again, but other words got past your lips. "…Don’t…Stop."

His eyes widened as he suddenly stopped to look down at you. It was the first time he was actually looking straight at you and what he saw made him delve into you like a mad man. The sight of your pleading eyes, red cheeks and pouting lower lip was enough to make him reach within him for the fire of hell himself and make you band over a table to reach deeper into you than you thought humanly possible.

You hung onto him for dear life as the monster man kept pounding into you and pressing his whole weight against you. Good thing you had meat on your body, because it was easier to grab and make his recurrent movements faster. He took handfuls of your thighs and let out guttural groans as he kept moving back and forth desperately. He was acting like a savage beast and his hands groped and grabbed every inch of you as he tried to find the best way to reach completion as fast as possible.

But at the same time, your voice made him want you to ride him for him to witness every possible noise you could ever make. He wanted to hear them…make you his lullaby.

He forced you to look at him as he took you and instead of kissing you—he pressed his thumb against your lips. He then almost pried your jaw open as he thrusted his thumb inside your mouth—making sure you kept moaning and whining for him. He also loved to feel the softness of your tongue underneath his thumb. Each sound sent a vibration and his thumb could feel every single one of them—creating a rhythm with the movement of his hip thrust. It was almost…beautiful. You were beautiful.

Suddenly, you came with a scream that could wake up angels and he grunted as he felt you. And how beautiful it was…He kept going and grabbed your cheeks to lift you up and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to hang on for dear life.

His knife fell to the floor as he started pounding into you. His face was covered and in your haze, you decided you wanted to see more.

You removed his mask.

His eyes widened at the realisation and he was quick to turn his head away. He wanted to pull away, but you forced him into place as you started moving against him. Michael—driven by pleasure and desire—roared and moved again. He bit your shoulder and made sure you couldn’t see his face when he came deep inside you and stayed there until he was truly and unequivocally done.

He then pulled away and his eyes momentarily met yours. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. You were both breathing heavily and once you could stand…you picked up your underwear and started walking away. But, the giant didn’t let you. He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you back to him to kiss you fiercely.

You were shocked. But then, you felt his tongue meet yours and it was as if he was trying to devour every sound you could make. He wanted it all…and you would give him all.

Before you could even begin to comprehend what was going on, Michael had thrown you to the floor and knelt behind you.

You glanced back and your eyes widened at the way he was looking at you. Then you noticed his member being straight in your line of vision. Before you could as much as let out a peep, he had grabbed your thighs to impale you.

Your nails dug into the soft carpet underneath you as you let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Michael smiled.

…Sing. Sing for me, little Alice…

[thesamoanqueen]

Nothing left

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: smut, jealousy, errors.

A/N: As we said here, leave your hands at home.

She loved their room. Maybe she would take a picture to put on her phone, frame and look at in moments of despair, because she didn't want to get out of there.

With a deep breath, she took off her heels abandoning them under a chair, while already she slipped off her earrings and the whole package. Behind her, it took Roman longer just to close the door, but Y/N had already taken over the bathroom to fix her hair and change. It had been one of the busiest mornings of her life and it was absurd considering that for years she had followed the pace of two rosters during the PLEs and the weekly routine. She hadn't had to run around endless hallways that day, the headphones hadn't stuck to her ears, there hadn't been any change of plans, no one to call in hurry, staff and technicians had been helpful, even offering Y/N her favorite frozen mango lemonade smoothie. They were so nice, but she liked the hotel room better. She needed a break.

- Have you changed your mind? Is it not a good opportunity? - she heard Roman ask from the room, finishing unbuttoning her dress to replace it with something more cozy.

They were not talking about a four am program, he watched it too when at home.

- It's a great opportunity Ro, for the company and above all for you - she obviously noticed, receiving a strange look, when she came out of the bathroom - it will give you visibility, it will increase your stats, it will help establish you on a wider audience and that’s the long-term goal for the future, even if you will boycott it with your list.

Standing next to the table, Roman cracked a smile taking the blow as she lay back on the bed, laptop already open on her legs, in what in a few minutes had become her personal sprint to shut the rest of the world out for at least a couple of hours.

- Is that why you are not happy to go to the studio? For my list?

Oh no, she was happy about that. Everyone out there seemed unable to get him to talk about anything other than his titles. At least they had found a compromise to please the company while still supporting him as more than the face of WWE.

- You can make all the lists and smiles you want, to whoever you want, don't worry. Do your things - she reassured him, opening the report to be sent to the executives for the following day's appointment.

Biting the corner of her lip, fingers racing across the keyboard, she finished in record time with a couple of randomly thrown standard phrases too, but she couldn't concentrate quite as well on emails, Roman staring thoughtfully at her without moving from one inch.

- What's up? - she asked, however, avoiding taking her eyes off the screen.

- You're not jealous – he threw out of blue and Y/N took a break to look at him this time.

Of course she wasn't. She wasn't that kind of woman. She didn't make a scene, she didn't get angry, she had learned to distinguish who deserved her attention and her precious time, she had survived a year of nothing with her head high and had been repaid with a perfect relationship, she knew what value she had for him and what value she had herself. She didn't low down to those levels, they even joked, she had compiled a list of the most obscene and hilarious comments about him found on the web.

- What should I be jealous of? - she asked.

Because she was really curious to know what made him suspect that her desire to go back to the hotel, get the boring work done quickly to have some time to relax and maybe be ready for a night out in a city that offered a million opportunities to celebrate those small successes, without having to worry about shots, uncomfortable or trivial questions, suits and skintight dresses, people who treated her as if they had been homies and greeted him with hugs that not even their coworkers dared, was for jealousy.

His phone, lying on the table next to the welcome note, rang when Roman had just shook his head and Y/N knew that it would be the end if her eyes hadn't locked there for a second too long. And she also knew that he had noticed it, but they would have not talk about that nonsense. Because it was stupid, meaningless and she wasn't jealous.

She went back to work on her laptop, ignoring him as he reached out to pick it up and Y/N opened the email, ending up ignoring even the latest updated communications from the program for the following day and scrolling through it. Roman glanced at her again, quickly, but Y/N forced herself to stay focused until he left the phone to go to the bathroom too. She took a deep breath as soon as she was sure he was out of range and she mentally forced herself to regain control.

It had only been a moment, perhaps because of this new set-up, all those changes, she really had nothing to stop and think about. Even if that hug had been a bit too much and… no, she had to stop thinking about it!

When Roman came out with his inseparable tracksuit to lie down next to her, Y/N was still with her laptop, gaze focused on some shots sent as pre-show tests.

- I would never do it, you know – he reminded her after a few seconds of silence, making her stomach do a flip.

Yes, she knew it… she trusted Roman more than anyone and she never doubted him for a second. She hadn't even doubted that morning actually, she was just… annoyed, but not for him. The truth was that Y/N had only wanted to go back to the hotel because it was simpler and because she didn't feel right fighting with a woman like her, although perhaps she could have since it were her hands that had been on him longer than necessary. But practically nothing had happened and Roman had went back to Paul's side as soon as possible.

- I know, I'm not the jealous one here – she reminded to both him and herself, while he was playing with his watch.

She had also had a moment, yes, but him… oh, he was a league on his own! Y/N had stopped counting before they even decided to put a name to their relationship, the times it happened. It was pathological.

- I value what belongs to me. I don't take you for granted - he returted seriously, no doubt in his voice and Y/N found herself staring at the screen, her stomach freezing this time.

Roman was a man, not a boy. He knew how to take care, respect and support her, he treated her as the only thing that really mattered and what would have been a flaw on anyone else, on him looked terribly sexy. And she always fell for it, without exception. Especially after spending the morning, trying to fight off the mood at having seen too many hands on her man.

- You're unbearable when you do that – she snorted, closing the laptop to leave it on the bedside table and climb on Roman without hesitation.

With a smug grin, Roman helped her into position, eyes searching for her, as she reserved the same fate as her laptop for his watch, fighting then with the zipper of his hoodie.

- Don't you want to know what time is our reservation? – he chuckled hoarsely, hinting at the message received minutes before and helping her anyway when she quickly stripped him of his shirt as well, her hands sliding down his chest to stop on his shoulders.

- I already know, I chose it - she murmured against his mouth, biting his grin.

Jealousy was for those who lacked confidence, not for them. She wasn't jealous. In that relationship, born out of nowhere and raised between dates at unthinkable times, meetings in lockerooms and buses, calls and messages from everywhere, mental and physical breakdowns, nights spent sleeping and mornings of sex followed by doubts, she shared more than the path with Roman. She had discovered that she was as possessive as he was, because she valued, them. What they were building together was everything to her and she wasn't willing to lose it or let someone ruin it.

She felt Roman hold her, hands sliding up her hips, keeping her pressed against him, as they deepened their sloppy kiss and Y/N ran her fingers over his chest. The rapid beat of his heart slammed under her fingertips, warmth surrounding and encouraging her to move, grinding against his pants which she had merely undone. He was solid beneath her, ready to let her control even though his tongue had already won their fight. Knowing that he belonged to her, to have power over him, to be the only one to have his attention and to be able to have him like no one else out there thought was an injection of confidence that excited and pushed her to reclaim what belonged to her and her only.

His big hands had worked their way through her soft clothes, stroking her hips, touching her skin, ass, eyes glued to hers as she slowly traced every inch of his torso after pulling away from the kiss. With the taste of him still in her mouth, she reached down to kiss one pec and then the other, working her way up to his neck, his beard pinching her cheeks as she licked the jugular then bit his ear, feeling him pull her up to place her on his boner now awake. She rocked on top of him, feeling him hard against her center, his hands moving up under her shirt lifting her breasts and hers going down instead, moving his pants down. Slowly biting the skin of his neck, Y/N took it in her hand, squeezing his meat just enough to feel Roman stiffen, his breath catching in his throat, her tongue stopping under his ear, merely tasting his skin, sensing the blood pressure without marking him.

- I don't need to do it… - she whispered, nail scratching his already wet tip -...not this time either... -she added, rubbing up and down until she drew a hot breath from him - ... right? - she asked, placing an innocent kiss on his full lips before leaning down and taking something else into her mouth.

A low, rough growl filled the room as she ran her tongue over his vein, feeling the flesh throb, the taste of it overpowering as she slid it against her palate until it touched her throat, in that one smooth motion she'd been busy to learn. She liked the feel of it pulsing against her tongue, his hand gripping her hair and indulging in the slow movement of her head, before curling into a needy caress as he struggled to fight the instinctive thrusts. Y/N loved seeing him close his eyes, his breathing getting heavy every time her lips licked the tip, sucking out all the air in his lungs to make him pulse.

-Ain't going anywhere babygirl – Roman panted, licking his lips, biting the lower one when she slid her fingers over the sensitive skin to scratch and free him – do what you want-

She let it slam against his bare stomach, a trail of spit and precum dripping onto his skin, those dark curls driving her crazy. Getting up on her knees, Y/N locked her eyes on him and threw away the extra clothes, remaining only with the shirt that soon ended up covering him too, when she slipped it into her soft hot folds. Her body greeted him with an almost sigh of relief which he returned low and dangerous, their bodies warming and melting like every time they did it.

She had fucked every kind of man in her life. But with Roman it wasn't even sex, with him it had always been more than that. Everything in him seemed made to slip inside her and mix, it was a loss of consciousness, something shared back, something unique that made her feel at peace, in her place. Her place was with him and his with her.

Nails digging into his torso, she slowly, unhurriedly rocked her hips, his now-rigid erection spreading her deeply, never letting go as her butt lifted.

- Mmh… keep it slow, like that… yes, thats it – he approved hoarsely and Y/N reversed the movement, guiding him inside her in that weak gasp which was setting both of them on fire.

Her caramel skin itched, thighs taut and soon her shirt became a torture, one Roman took care to make worse by sliding his hands down her side, catching a dark nipple between his fingers to turn it over and make her moan with a cry. Y/N ducked a little, her center filled with his flesh, as she flattened against him resting where someone else's hands had been that morning. Her mind clouded by the arousal brought back the memory, clear and her hips instinctively moved, without increasing the pace, only deepening the thrusts until Roman slammed against her sweet spongy spot.

They could make jokes, imagine, try even, but no one would have what she had. No one would feel him tightening his grip on her hips, throb from the grips of her body, know what it was like to burn, as the sweat trickled down her back, between her shoulder blades and up to the curve of her round ass from his thrusts or the kisses he left on her skin. No one would see the bleary, hungry gaze he gave her as her eyes lowered to seek him, the heat building more and more at the bottom of her belly.

- You're so good for me… so good inside me… ahn!

- Take it… le-mme hear those pretty sounds yes

His hand slid under her shirt again, this time without searching for her breast, his thumb digging into her wet folds, where their bodies joined to rotate slowly around the button of nerves she had rubbed against him until that moment. The contact sent a sharp shiver on her body, and Y/N dropped her head back, moans becoming almost cries as her back arched, giving Roman more room. Everything in her was burning, relentlessly, slowly, consuming her down to her toes, making her melt on him in a mess of moods and sweat. With an effort from his abs, Roman sat up, a big strong arm sliding behind her, pulling her close to him, his finger moving slowly and forcefully between her folds. The desire to kiss him made her almost cling to his neck, getting up again a little on her knees, helping him in that last run that had filled the whole room with their smell and the sound of their bodies clashing. One thrust, another, like a carousel she never wanted to get off, until the heat became too much and Y/N felt it explode suddenly, making her squeeze around Roman's stiff shaft, letting his name rush desperately from her lips to be swallowed up by the kisses he never spared.

There was nothing left in her mind, except that feeling of peace and satisfaction that only being with him could give her, that drained and recharged her as soon as his arms tightened around her, when her body welcomed his limitless lunges and his seed, which filled her like a mark that no one else had granted and that no one else but her deserved.

She rested her cheek in his hair, his face buried in the crook of her neck in an embrace that was everything to her. New York and its frantic pace couldn't take that away from her. Nobody could do it.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @angelreigns444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @ichdrachenfrau @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @wrestlezaynia @reignmyworld @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @namjoonspinkytoenail @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @raeluvshammett @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @thewarlordsworld @jeonmahi1864 @jxtina-86 @harmshake @harlem11680 @joanoai @southerngirl41 @blkbutterfly816

[crystalninjaphoenix]

A Change of Perspective

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 11

After the chaos of last chapter with the dummies, this one doesn’t have that much action. It’s a little shorter than my usual stuff, but that still means its about 5000 words long XD Today, we get to see things from a new point of view: Spitfire Cat’s point of view, in fact. This is more of a world building/character development chapter than anything busy, but it’s still pretty fun ^-^ Enjoy!

===============

It was absurd that he still had to go to work, even though he had superpowers. Usually, he was fine with it. The job was okay, after all, and it’s what helped keep him afloat. But on days like these, waking up after a long, stressful night, he really wanted to destroy his alarm clock. He half-considered calling into work and lying about being sick. But in the end, he got out of bed and got ready for the day.

As always, he stopped by the coffee shop on the corner of the street where his apartment was. The barista recognized him, though he didn’t recognize her, and was friendly while she made his order. He just felt awkward. He was no good with people, and it really showed in moments like this. Still, he managed to thank her, and walked the rest of the way to the train station, where he was just in time for the 9:30 train.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at work. He went in through the side entrance and found himself in an empty hallway. Good. The tea he ordered had grown cold on the train ride and he needed to heat it up. He gave a quick glance down the hallway, then pressed himself against the wall and held the cup in both hands. A small red ring of energy encircled the cup, warming the liquid inside for a few moments before he dispelled it. Couldn’t go for too long or else the paper cup would catch fire.

The energy ring disappeared just in time. A man with a dark, bushy beard walked down the hall and saw him standing by the wall. “Hey, Ned!” the man called.

“Hi, Steve,” he said, looking up and waving. That wasn’t his real name, of course. But he’d gone by that alias for years now, and he was well used to responding to it.

“We’re almost live for ten o’clock,” Steve said. “You’re cutting it kind of close, aren’t you?”

He blinked. “I’m early. And I always get here at this time.”

Steve chuckled. “Ah, you’re the same as ever, aren’t you? That was a joke, Ned. Anyway, I’ll be on for today. Good luck.” He reached out and patted his shoulder—causing him to instinctively tense—then headed the other way.

Even though he was pretty early, it took a while to set up all the equipment, so he hurried to clock in and head down the hall to the broadcast room. He passed a few other coworkers on the way, most of whom were too busy to say anything, then reached the door. Quickly, he pulled out the keys in his jacket pocket and unlocked it. Then headed inside into the cool, empty room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You would think they’d be able to hire more than one person per shift for this job. But he liked that they didn’t. It gave him a lot of free time once he finished with the work for the day. He could just hang out in the broadcast room.

Not right now, though. Right now, they were going live. He sat down, pulled on his headphones, and queued the Channel 5 intro to play as he took a sip of his tea.

The ten o’clock news was the most stressful part of the job. He remembered panicking on his first day, switching wildly between camera feeds and pulling up the prepared graphics thirty seconds too late. But that was a long time ago. He still felt the pressure, of course. But with his practice and focus, he could get through the whole thirty minutes without any major mistakes.

As usual, Dave and Debbie, the channel’s anchors, presented story after story, facts accompanied by little comedic comments put in to keep people’s attention. He didn’t care about most of the stories, but there would always be one or two that really caught his eye—

“And speaking of politicians, the mayor of Daindover has spoken about our local super’s upcoming promotion to official League Hero,” Debbie said.

He almost splashed tea over his face in an effort to put down the cup as fast as possible.

“That’s right, Debbie,” Dave said. “In a recent press conference, Mayor Danvers has expressed pride in Windstorm’s acceptance to the League, which started three months ago.”

He spared some time to roll his eyes before queueing up the appropriate video clip of said press conference. So that’s what this was all about. Carol—the news director—only ever left notes about what to do, not why to do it. Honestly, it was something he really hated about her, but it wasn’t fair to hate her entirely because she was genuinely nice outside of it.

In the video clip, the mayor was standing at a podium and talking about the League. “We’re happy that our city has been chosen to receive an official partnership with the League of Heroes. I’ve also been told by a League representative that Windstorm has been doing great work for the League already, and that his promotion to full Hero will be coming soon. To which I say, what an honor. If Windstorm is out there, I would like to invite him down to city hall for the highest recognition we can provide.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered, making sure to move the headset’s attached microphone away from his mouth before leaning to the side and making exaggerated gagging noises. Everyone loved the LoH. Everyone worshiped the LoH. The way some people talked about them, you’d think that literal gods themselves had descended on Earth to save humanity from destruction. Though, he supposed, that wasn’t far off from how the League presented themselves.

And as for Windstorm...well. His feelings on him had shifted considerably in the past couple weeks. For two years, he only thought of Windstorm as a careless wannabe who sucked up to the League like everyone else. Then Windstorm actually joined them, and his opinion of the hero had soured considerably. He thought that he was only doing it for fame and fortune—not caring about saving people, only about looking good and showing off his powers. Either that, or he was just that much of a fucking tool.

But...Windstorm had saved him a couple times now. And asked for nothing in return. Sure, they were working together to find the Puppeteer—damn it, now that hero had him using the name, too—but that was something they both wanted. And honestly? He seemed so nervous about it. Like the League would kick him out for associating with a criminal. Like he didn’t know what the League would really think.

Windstorm was still annoying. He was still too much of a goody-two-shoes. And he could be really stupid at times. But he actually cared about helping people. Abou being heroic, not just being a Hero. It was a shame he was so dumb. Hopefully that was just ignorance, and not a character trait. Maybe Windstorm would snap out of this before he got in too deep with the League.

The rest of the broadcast passed without anything notable. He rolled the credits and then ended the live feed at ten thirty. In the anchor room, Dave had already left, while Debbie had taken some tissues out of her purse and was wiping off her makeup. Two of the camera men were messing around and filming each other. Probably college interns, by the looks of them. He stretched back in his chair and closed his eyes.

God damn, he was tired. He must have passed out immediately when he got home. That thing with the crash test dummies had really worn him out. Even so, he didn’t go straight back to his apartment...

===============

This was one of the few neighborhoods where he could walk through the streets in his supersuit without worrying about the reactions. Among certain people, the collection of small, old brick houses on the north side of town had a reputation. Even a nickname: the Villain’s Haven. Most people who lived here knew not to bother anyone suspicious. From what he understood, the police had tried to weed out criminal activity in the area for at least a decade, but that was tough when nobody said anything, and everybody backed up someone’s alibi. A strange unspoken agreement ruled the area: “Don’t bother us, and we won’t bother you.”

The house was 66 Quinzel Street, but the second six had spun down into a nine, and nobody wanted to fix it. He knocked on the door hard enough to rattle its hinges. There was no immediate answer, so he banged on the wood again. “Kanchana?! Are you there?!” Still no answer. He considered breaking the lock, but knocked again, even harder. “Kanchana?! It’s...me! Are you there?!”

A muffled voice shouted something from inside. He couldn’t quite make out the words. But if she was shouting, did she need help?! He held out his hand to the side and conjured a bar of orange energy, which he sharpened into a blade and prepared to cut around the locked handle—

The door opened. A woman with long black hair, wearing an orange T-shirt and striped pajama pants, looked up at him with an annoyed expression. “Don’t break down my door, cat man,” she said. “I was getting ready for an early night. Is this important?”

He stared at her. His eyes flicked over to her wrists. One, two—nothing. There were no strings there. He let out a sigh of relief. “So you’re okay.”

“Yes, of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” Kanchana’s eyes scanned him. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a softer voice.

“I thought...there was...” He shook his head. “I-I thought this villain got to you.”

Kanchana laughed. “Always possible, but they better know the consequences.” Her voice returned to that softer tone. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“I...” He patted himself down, doing a quick self-assessment. “Some bruising, but I think that’s it.”

“Hm.” Kanchana nodded slowly. “Well, come inside and tell me what happened. Are you hungry?”

“I-I guess. I had dinner, but I just spent a lot of calories.”

“Alright. I’ll make you something. Come on.”

He stepped inside Kanchana’s house, letting her close the door behind him. “It’s kind of hard to know where to start,” he said, following her to the dining room and kitchen. “But, to be simple. I got an email from you. It...told me about a rumor. That was related to something I was looking into. I went to the place mentioned in the email and...got ambushed. Th-there was a villain there, he said that I didn’t check if you sent the email yourself. And that was worrying, because this motherfucker—” He growled as anger swelled in his chest “—has mind control. So I had to check on you.”

“I see.” Kanchana was busy getting things out of her fridge and cupboards. “Sit down, cat man. This’ll take a while.”

He sat down at the dining table. Now that everything was over, and he knew that everyone was safe, he felt the exhaustion starting to come. He stared across the dining room, out the window into the small backyard, and let his thoughts drift away...

Then, suddenly, Kanchana was setting a plate and glass down in front of him. “Here,” she said, sitting down in the chair next to him—though that turned out to be more diagonal with this square table.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, picking up the provided fork. The plate was full of rice, meat, and veggies. A lot of them, too, practically a whole meal. But, suddenly, he was starving. He ate quickly at first, but made a conscious effort to slow down after the first couple bites.

“You’re fine with apple juice, right?” Kanchana asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She nodded, and leaned forward onto the table. “How are you, Marvin?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Fine, I guess. No one’s around, right?”

“No one’s going to hear me use your name.” Most people would have rolled their eyes or yelled at him for his feelings about his name. Not Kanchana. She didn’t know his situation, but she was smart enough to guess he had good reasons for keeping it secret. After all, she was the one who set up the fake paperwork for his alias. “They won’t do much with just a first name, either. Can’t even ask me for your full one, considering I don’t know it.”

“Yeah.” He took a few more bites of food. There was some citrusy taste in there—lime, maybe.

“Well, anyway. I should tell you something.” Kanchana sighed. “My old email got hacked.”

Marvin froze. He looked over at her. “Hacked?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“I did. I sent you an email from my new address.” Kanchana glanced upwards. “I left my phone upstairs, I can show you the sent history if you want.”

“No, that’s fine, I believe you.” Marvin shook his head. “I didn’t...I don’t know if I didn’t get the email, or if I did, and I deleted it because I didn’t recognize the name. I’d do that.”

“You would.” Kanchana grinned.

“Why would someone hack your email?”

“To send fake messages to my people,” Kanchana sighed. “I don’t really check the sent history, so I didn’t even know this was happening until I got a call from Otto Blackwood. From prison. He wanted to know why I sent him an email about a possible job that turned out to be a trap.”

“Wait...” Marvin sat up straight. “A trap?”

“Yep. Otto said he got ambushed by a man in black. This guy must’ve been a super, because he put these weird strings on his wrists—”

“And made him commit some crime for no reason?” Marvin finished.

Kanchana blinked. “Yes. Exactly.”

“That’s the villain I saw tonight,” Marvin said. “He got to me, too. Did you hear about that arson case at the old Smithwick building?”

“That was you?!” Kanchana almost got out of her chair in surprise.

“It was. I got the strings off, but this villain is still out there. I’m trying to take care of him.” No need for her to know Marvin was working with Windstorm to do so. “What sort of things did he send with your email?”

“Mostly job offerings,” Kanchana said. “He mimicked my usual format almost perfectly. And you know that henchwork has been at a low since Pathos was arrested, so everyone accepted the jobs immediately. They were told to go to different places for a meeting with the client, where they all got ambushed by this man in black.”

Marvin rubbed his eyes. “So that’s what happened with that last crime wave.”

“Yeah.” Kanchana nodded. “I wish I could go to court for all the people who bought into the fake emails and ended up arrested. This should count as a Clause 17, and they should be released regardless of past activities. But. You know. I can’t risk them finding out about HAUC. If I start standing up for all these former henches, that might seem suspicious.”

“I’m sure they all understand,” Marvin reassured her.

Kanchana sighed. He knew it was killing her to see so many people hurting for something they really couldn’t control. Especially people she knew—which was everyone who received those emails. That was because of Kanchana’s power: the ability to remember anyone she’d ever interacted with. It wasn’t very showy, especially compared to other super-enhanced memories that could recall everything. But it was useful for running a large organization like HAUC. People opened up to Kanchana, because they knew she would remember them and their troubles. And she was nothing if not willing to help.

“How are things going with the order, anyway?” Marvin asked, trying for some small talk.

“Other than the hacked email, you mean? Fine. Like I said, henchwork has been low in the past year. But I think we’re starting to recover. There’s not much to find in Daindover, so a lot of people have been forced to branch out into other cities. But there’s been a rising need for tech-based work—a lot of villains have websites nowadays—so people can hench from home with a computer provided by the client. And shipping goods like that has also opened up a new market for people who can keep quiet and smuggle things.”

Marvin snorted. “Villains have websites?”

“Well, they’re not often villains like you,” Kanchana admitted. “They ride the line between villainy and regular crime, and I don’t think many are supers. But like I said, there’s not a lot of work in the area. People are getting desperate.” She paused. “Marvin. Let’s go back to the fake emails. There’s something bothering me.”

Marvin straightened up. “What?”

“Twenty-two people accepted the fake jobs. Sixteen have been arrested, but the last six haven’t. There hasn’t been sign of them committing crimes on the news, either. And when I couldn’t contact them, I went to their places for a visit, but they weren’t there. Most of their stuff was still in place, and the landlords all said these people broke lease willingly, but they wouldn’t do that. You said this villain has mind powers, right? They must be under his control. But I don’t know what happened to them, they just...disappeared.” Kanchana took a deep breath. “Can you keep an eye out for them? Listen for any news?”

“I can do that.” Marvin nodded. “No problem.”

Kanchana smiled, relieved. “Thank you. I’ve tried to look around myself, but I have so much more to do...”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. I’m already trying to track down this new villain, anyway, this is related.” Marvin paused, then hurried to add, “Not that I wouldn’t do it if that wasn’t the case, I didn’t mean—”

Kanchana laughed. “I know, Marvin.”

“Oh. I have a question, actually.” Marvin tapped his fingers on the table in a quick pattern. “Did you get Gwen to look at the hacked email? Maybe she’d be able to figure out who did it?”

“You know her powers don’t work like that. She needs hardware, email is just software.” Kanchana let out a breath. “Besides, I don’t want to bother her with this. You know?”

“I know. I just thought it was worth asking.” Marvin held back a yawn. “Can’t believe I forgot about the hardware-software thing.”

“You look terrible,” Kanchana said.

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I mean you’re clearly tired.” She pushed his plate a little closer to him. “Finish your food, then go home and go to sleep. You need it.”

===============

And he still needed sleep. Unfortunately, he had obligations.

As usual, his shift following the ten o’clock live broadcast consisted of him editing prerecorded shows, interrupted three times. Twice to make sure the 12:00 and 3:00 programs went smoothly, once at 1:00 for his lunch break. It sounded like a lot of work. But in reality, the equipment had several programs to speed things up and/or automated a lot of it. So Marvin spent the last hour of his shift napping under the broadcast desk, until his phone alarm woke him up at 4:45, telling him to get things ready for the next technician who’d be coming in at five. He cleaned things up and made sure the equipment was working, then clocked out fifteen minutes later.

While waiting at the train station, Marvin mentally reviewed the work day. Nothing exciting had happened. Well, some new hire had made fun of him wearing gloves, but she’d shut up when he gave her his most threatening glare. So that wasn’t important. What was important were the news stories he overheard, both from his coworkers and from the programs he was editing. Today, none of them really stood out. The crime wave was officially declared over, and there were no super-related activities besides stuff about Windstorm being in the League. And, most importantly, there were no mysterious break-ins that might have been a sign of the Specter.

The only thing remotely interesting was the news about SepTech’s new toys: the Semi-Automatic Machines. The first wave had been approved for use by the League of Heroes last month, and apparently that was going so well that SepTech was going to release them to the public on October 10th. Though Marvin highly doubted that most of the public would ever actually see one of the Machines. The price tag on the things were enormous. Understandably so, given the technology. The current director of SepTech loved robotics, and had spent years working on the Machines. Some critics were complaining they were just glorified drones, but SepTech was boasting about how they could do so many things on their own, without much user input.

Marvin didn’t trust those Semi-Automatic Machines. He didn’t like the sound of some of their features, and he didn’t like how the Leaguewas talking about eventually giving one to all of their Heroes.

He was so distracted by stewing in his sour feelings about the League and SepTech’s Machines that he didn’t notice he’d got on the wrong train until its next stop, when he looked out the window to an unexpected station. “Shit!” he hissed, pushing through other standing riders in order to get off the train. He made it out just before the doors closed.

Where was he now? Marvin hurried over to the nearest train map, helpfully posted on a sign nearby. Puppen Street? He vaguely recognized the name. Wasn’t this the sort of...artsy part of the city? He’d been here a couple times, though not many. Whatever. He scanned the map some more, forming a plan. He had to wait thirty minutes for a train to take him back to his first station, where he could get on his original line, the one he’d meant to get on before. “Damn it,” he muttered. Of course, of all the wrong trains to get on, it had to be the line that took a whole half hour between arrivals.

Now, he could either wait around at the station, or he could go on a short walk to kill time. He was originally inclined towards the first option, but then again, he’d rarely been in this part of the city. It seemed less busy than other places, with fewer noisy cars and crowds. Something about the atmosphere was just...more inviting. Marvin stood in place for a good minute arguing with himself before he realized that he was wasting time if he wanted to go on that walk. That final thought spurred him on, and he stepped off the station platform and onto the sidewalk. He would just look around a little.

His plan was to walk in a straight line, but as it turned out, Puppen Street ended up curving and turning weirdly. Ten minutes of half-walking, half-slightly-panicked-running later, he found himself on an entirely different street, regretting his decision to leave the train station at all.

At least it was a nice street. It looked...what was the word? Vintage. The road was lined with shops and small restaurants, their design all a few decades old. The buildings themselves were only two or three stories tall. It was cute. Marvin made a note of this new street’s name—Zeit Way—to come back to on one of his days off. But for right now, he just wanted to get home. He had no idea how he got here, and wasn’t sure that just turning around would be enough for his terrible sense of direction. Maybe he could ask around?

Marvin walked along the street, peering into store windows, looking for a place that had only a few people inside who he could talk to. But everytime he looked in, any people inside looked busy. He didn’t want to interrupt anyone...

Completely unprompted, he heard Windstorm’s voice in his head. Wow, you’re scared of people? Really? I didn’t take you for the type, Spitfire. You don’t have any problem shouting at me all the time.

He half-laughed to himself. That was true. But it was easier to be a villain than to make small talk with strangers. It was easy to wear a mask and let his anger take control. It was easy to snap at Windstorm for being an annoying League bootlicker. This was a different situation entirely.

Whatever. He’d get it over with. Marvin pushed open the door to the nearest shop. A bell chimed overhead as he went inside. This was some sort of...woodworking place? It was full of knickknacks and handmade furniture. There were even wooden clocks on the walls, all ticking in unison. Luckily, the building was empty, except for two men standing by a counter at the back of the shop. Marvin hesitated, then walked over to them.

The two men looked a lot like each other, almost eerily so. They had the same brown hair and the same bright blue eyes. The only differences were their clothes—that, and one was wearing glasses, while the other had a mustache. Actually...it was weird, but these two almost looked like Marvin himself.

He stopped walking some ways away from them. But still within earshot. The one with the glasses was talking, his words traced by some European accent: “—just want to know if everything is alright. You keep talking about how you haven’t been sleeping well.”

The one with the mustache raised his hands, and—oh! He was using BSL. I’m fine, really. It’s just some difficulties. They happen every so often.

“Jamie, you cannot stop me from worrying.” The glasses one hesitated. “This is not about—nothing has changed with...with—”

The mustached one (Jamie?) shook his head and signed quickly. No, it’s not about that, I promise. Everything is going fine on that front. As fine as it can, at least. It’s just an odd spell of some kind. I’m really fine, H-glasses, don’t worry. What was that...oh, it must have been a name sign. Interesting.

“Well, just let me know if you ever need any help,” Glasses said. “Really. Money is no object.”

Thank you. Really. But it’s all fine, Mustache insisted.

Glasses sighed. He turned to look at Marvin. “Sorry, Jackie, I—” He stopped. “Oh. I-I am sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine.”

“No, uh, it’s fine,” Marvin said. That name...it was probably a coincidence. There had to be multiple Jackies in the city. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mustache one signed something, looking at his companion. Is this another patient of yours coming to thank you, H-glasses?

“A...patient? No, I don’t know him,” Marvin said.

Surprise crossed Mustache’s face, quickly followed by delight. You speak BSL?

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded, not elaborating.

Great! Well, are you new in town?

“Uh...no, I’ve actually lived here for a few years.” Marvin laughed. “I know it’s embarrassing. But my sense of direction is horrible and I’ve never been in this area before. I’m just looking for the train platform on Puppen Street.”

“That is fairly close by, yes?” Glasses asked, directing the question to Mustache. “Sorry, I do not know the streets so well.”

Pretty close. It’s about ten to fifteen minutes away by walking, Mustache said. Hang on, I’ll write down directions, signing would just take longer. He walked around the counter, pulling open a drawer on the other side and taking out a pen and sheet of paper.

“Thanks,” Marvin said.

No problem, Mustache said, and started to write.

“Excuse me if this is a strange question,” Glasses said. “But do you happen to know Jackie Skye?”

“Maybe,” Marvin said. “What do they look like?”

Glasses laughed. “A bit like you, actually. That is why I mistook you for him earlier, and why I’m asking now. You clearly aren’t related, judging by your reaction.”

“No, I don’t have...any family that lives over here,” Marvin said. “What about you? Are we related?”

“I highly doubt it. Oh! By the way, I am Henrik, this is my cousin Jameson, he owns the shop.” Henrik gestured to Jameson, who paused in his writing to wave, then held out his hand for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” Marvin didn’t take his hand. In fact, he folded his arms.

Henrik put his hand down. “And you?”

“Huh? Oh, my name. I’m Ned. Uh...nice shop you have here.”

Thank you, Jameson said, finishing with his writing. Some of the items for sale were made by my family, some are by local artists. Here are your directions. I included a little map as well. He held out the sheet of paper.

Marvin took it, scanning the pen. “Thanks. Your handwriting is nice.”

Well I try. Jameson grinned. You’re probably in a hurry right now, looking for the platform and all, but feel free to stop by some other time.

“I might,” Marvin said vaguely. He reached into his jacket pocket and checked the time. The train would be coming in fifteen minutes! “Oh shit, I have to go.” He turned around, briefly waving back at the two men. “Thanks again!”

“Goodbye!” Henrik called, and Jameson waved.

Luckily, Jameson’s directions turned out to be very easy to understand. He arrived at the station with a few minutes to spare, then boarded the train when it arrived, getting off at the next stop and transferring to the line he was originally supposed to take.

It would be a bit of a wait before his station came up. And during that wait, Marvin kept thinking about those two. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way that he’d run into friends of Windstorm through getting lost on the train. But something about it kept bothering him. That last name, Skye... Though he knew Windstorm’s first name was Jackie, because of that slipup with his roommate, he didn’t know his family name. Maybe it could be Skye. Something about that name was nagging at him.

He couldn’t look into it right now. He had a lot of things to do when he got home. Keeping an eye out for rumors about the Specter or the Puppeteer took a lot of energy. It was practically research, and he’d always hated research papers in school. And he’d promised to help Kanchana look for those missing people. Not to mention he hadn’t eaten anything in about five hours. And he was still tired from last night. He needed a snack and a nap before doing anything else.

But he filed the information away for a later date. Who knows? It might end up being useful.

[nightowlwriting]

summary: you are used to people hating what you can do. sometimes even you hate what you can do - and how isolated it makes you. steve rogers is one of the people that you expected to understand the weight that you carry on your shoulders, but he doesn’t. not until he has to see it firsthand.

word count: 18.6k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, telepathic!reader, insecure!reader, lonely!reader

warnings: mean!steve (in the beginning), brief descriptions and allusions to violence against women, brief descriptions and allusions to sexual violence, brief allusions to sex trafficking, brief mentions of nazi violence and terroristic threats

note: this literally took me months to write and idk why. i’m not even sure it’s GOOD. i like it and that’s all that matters (except i, like other artist’s thrive upon reblogs)

title credit: against me!

fic aes: here

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

When Clint Barton appears in your office wearing his official A-Team uniform, you know what’s coming next. Wanda and Tony had both texted you that morning and let you know that they might need you for an interrogation, but you hadn’t held your breath. Sometimes they sent you those texts once a week and not once had they made good on your promise to help if they needed it. The coworkers that pay attention to the comings and goings of people in the office are staring as Clint Barton stalks over to your desk, tapping one knuckle against the hardwood you inherited from a retiree - possibly the nicest desk in your row of cubicles. You watch his mouth move more than you hear him speak. “Need you on three.”

Three? One of your nosier coworkers, Lisa thinks rather loudly during a pause in the song you’re listening to, That’s the interview level. Wonder what’s going on there that they need someone from Data. There is, of course, a deeper thought below that one where she believes that you’re either sleeping with someone in the Big Team or doing something underhanded and about to get reamed within an inch of your life. Neither of those things are true, but you don’t care enough to correct her as you click off your computer and stand to follow Clint. There really isn’t a way to correct her, either, without painting a big, red target on your back for what you can do. You’re sure that if they’ve sent one of the Avengers to collect you that the situation is dire - and you don’t think that because you’ve wormed around in his head, either.

That’s just the nature of people needing you.

Besides, when you’re working you have the most mind-numbing metal playing through your headphones at all times. It makes it easier to focus on your work instead of the thoughts around you. You wouldn’t be able to hear Clint if he was holding onto your shoulders and screaming into your mouth. That’s the way you like it - the way you need to keep it so you can actually make a living as a data entry grunt for the Stark Association. (Although most of the work that you do is for the new Avengers - handling all of the absolute bullshit paperwork that comes from the times that they’re out and saving the world.) He seems to understand you the most out of anyone you’ve met besides Wanda and Tony - not that you see the A-Team much, but you’ve caught him several different times rolling his eyes and stepping away from the group or just reaching up and turning off his hearing aids. If anyone is going to not feel weird about not saying anything to you as you walk through the hallways, it’s Clint.

He leaves you at the elevator, not bothering to take you to floor three. Clint cuts you a look as the doors close that essentially says you know where to go, right? If you hadn’t been putting your entire body and mind into keeping yourself out of his head, you might have even heard it. As it is, you can’t keep your music playing and do your job, so as the elevator descends you unplug yourself from the music and tuck your phone back into your back pocket. As you pass floors, voices come in and out of focus. It makes you slightly dizzy at the rate at which you gain access to strangers’ heads and are then yanked out of them. Even after your entire life like this, you’ve never gotten used to it.

-I think my brother is cheating on his-

-And then Rhonda from HR said-

-Did you see the guy they hauled in-

-So much fucking paperwork-

You practically throw yourself off of the elevator when it stops on the third floor. It’s much quieter there but that’s only because you’re too far away from the interrogation room that everyone is gathered in. Clint didn’t tell you what room to go to, but you know when you’re close. You can feel Wanda prodding at the air, waiting for you and reaching out to you - plus, there seems to be a rather large crowd waiting for your arrival.

Before you even open the door you know that Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Wanda are waiting behind it. You stop short when you also see James Barnes and Natasha Romanoff. You hadn’t heard them. “Crowded room.” You deadpan before stepping into the hug Wanda is offering you. It’s hard, then, to keep your cool façade on because physical touch amplifies your connections and she doesn’t have a lot of the limits that you do - just like she has limits that you don’t have. You’re hit with a wave of everything before you kiss the side of her forehead and take three large side steps away from her. Everyone but Tony and Wanda cut you suspicious looks but you’re used to it. It’s been like that since before Tony flipped open your file and saw what you can do.

“Can’t crack this one?” You gesture to the man behind the one-way glass - his body language shows that he’s proud and open, not all worried about what’s happening or where he is. There’s an easy grin on his face, teeth all white and straightened by money, and his blond hair is tied back in a high bun.

“Not even Cap can get it out of him,” Tony leans against the glass casually, like he isn’t resorting to activating the last clause in your employment contract. Steve Rogers bristles at the nickname. His thoughts wash over you briefly, despite the fact that you were trying to keep out of everyone’s head.

-Pointless to bring in some stranger from data entry. Probably doesn’t even know the first thing about running an interrogation-

You shake your head, blinking long and slow to try and push him out. Wanda watches with furrowed brows as your hands subtly begin to shake at your sides. Coolly, you shift your weight and tuck them into the pockets of your slacks so nobody else picks up on it. So that she can’t call you out on it. “What’s he in for?” You say as you open your eyes. Barely two seconds have passed. The frown has fallen from your face.

-Can’t even look at anyone in the room besides Tony or Wanda. I’ll give this two minutes before it crumbles and we have to pick up the damn mess-

You sigh and press your lips together in a tight, tense smile. Sam and Bucky share a look at your sudden change in facial expression but you’re more focused on the information that Natasha begins reading off of a folder in front of her.

Well, reading is a strong word.

She’s staring straight at you while reciting everything, like she’s trying to gauge your reaction. You’re pretty talented at not having any reaction, despite being self-trained. The man behind the glass is Tanner Smith, a known Nazi sympathizer, and extremist. When his coworkers reported strange behavior to his boss - being late, excessive sweating, talking about a big event and the change that would soon be coming - his boss reported his suspicions to the higher-ups. Strange, considering how calm and collected he is now. How had he been so careless about the plans only to stare the barrel of an Avengers colored gun down like a pro?

Still, after a brief investigation and dive into his electronics by the boys in blue, he ended up in the Avengers compound. There’d been chatter online between Tanner and a group of extremists. Natasha only briefed you on that a little bit, telling you that one bomb had already been planted somewhere and another was in the works. Nobody knows where the first one had been put, except maybe Tanner and he isn’t talking. But he will talk, you know this. Maybe that’s why when you catch a stray man, I really hope Tony knows what he’s doing bringing in an analyst to interrogate from Sam, and then we shouldn’t be bringing in insignificant rookies to do our jobs from Steve that you grind your teeth a little bit.

“Don’t worry,” You take a deliberate breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, just like you taught yourself, “We’ll have the location before the end of the hour. I may just be an insignificant little analyst but I know what I’m doing.”

Sam doesn’t seem to catch what you’ve said but Steve, who had been standing with his arms crossed while he looked away and toward the floor, snaps to attention with his mouth slightly open, eyebrows furrowed. The only reaction you give is a twitch of your upper lip, the urge to peel it back and expose your teeth angrily sitting heavy in the hollow of your throat. You know he’s Captain America, but come on, man! You keep the compound running just as much as he does! (If not more. Who else would reply to the invoices sent your way for the damage he does when he throws a desk out the window or something?)

Natasha moves to hand you Tanner’s file but you wave her off before she can get too close. You’re getting nothing from her right now and you want to keep it that way. There aren’t many people that are hard for you to read, and you think that if she’s still blank after being this close to you for a little bit - well, you might just have to become friends with her. That goes for Bucky, too. He’s standing even closer than Natasha is, a little over six feet away from you, and you’ve got nothing. He watches you refuse the file and his eyebrows hike to his hairline, mimicking Steve and Sam who stand on either side of him.

How arrogant.

Huh, really confident.

The latter thought from Sam helps keep you from bristling at Steve’s assessment of you. You wonder what his issue is with you not needing the file when Natasha didn’t need it either, but you understand he’s probably strung tight about finding that bomb and bringing a stranger in to do his job. (And you’d taken a thought he’d had in the privacy of his own head and thrown it back in his face to be petty.)

As you shed your jacket you think about how he was only in his late twenties when he went into the ice. Perhaps he’s over one hundred years old in the eyes of the law, but mentally he’s not even halfway through his life or the development of his self-identity.

As you breeze into the interrogation room, you wonder how much of his self-identity revolves around what they did to him in that lab so many decades ago.

That doesn’t really matter though, because now you have to focus everything you have on getting into Tanner’s head and peeling away whatever weird protections he has that make his thoughts so… Mundane. He’s currently watching you amble about the room, hands clasped behind your back, and all he’s thinking about is his fucking grocery list. You know that he’s doing something to mask his thoughts because there’s not even an undertone to those thoughts - something everyone has. They have the thoughts they think to themselves and then the reason behind them.

Conscious and subconscious.

Tanner Smith is only having conscious thoughts and that is suspicious. You purse your lips and drop down into the chair across from him, putting the mirror the Avengers are standing behind to your left. You watch Tanner, still scanning his thoughts, for several minutes of poignant silence until he finally cracks.

“So, who are you? Their secret, special weapon?”

You tilt your head slightly, a ghost of a smirk passing over your face. His thoughts flicker and you hone in the strange reaction. “Something like that, Tanner.” You catch a glimpse, a flash of color and dirty blonde curls on a little girl who’s running away, sun flares lighting up the world around her. Warmth fills your chest as laughter echoes somewhere behind your mind, like the call-and-response of a cave, and then it’s gone, sucked away by whatever Tanner was taught to disperse his thoughts.

Surely the A-Team had Wanda try to break past his defenses, but she can’t do what you can do. Nobody can.

“What? I’m too strong so the Avengers had to run to their boss?” He sneers, clearly shaken up by your non-reaction to everything he’s done - clearly, everybody else who’s tried to get the information out of him had some sort of reaction. You’re not mirroring him, sitting purposefully neutral to oppose his faux-openness. Nothing about your interrogation technique is by the book, and it’s upsetting him. You catch another glimpse of the little girl in his thoughts, this time snagging a name from the ether. Like bad TV reception, another voice worms into your head.

We’re getting nowhere. I told Tony this was a waste of time. I should go in there and put an end to this right now.

“Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself.” You sigh, slapping your palms against your thighs half-heartedly. “Also, Captain Rogers?” You let his name hang in the air for a second, but never break eye contact with Tanner, “I would appreciate it if you took three large steps back. Or, perhaps, if you could stand at the very back of the room.” It’s only when you wait three seconds and clear your throat that his thoughts recede and your mind clears.

“Oh, so you’re crazy.” Tanner grins, leaning forward, “They thought locking me in here with a freak would make me talk and, when it didn’t, they moved on to the nut.”

You outright laugh before standing from your chair. “I hope you’re not referring to my good friend, Wanda. Compared to me, she’s normal.” You round the table once but then stop in front of the mirror, watching Tanner’s reflection over your own reflection’s shoulder. There’s something to be said about your psychological training - that is, you have none. But you do have an open funnel into the human psyche that allows you certain knowledge about how to manipulate it. This - standing at the mirror and making indirect eye contact with Tanner? It’s all about distance and showing him how insignificant he is to you.

That and you want to show Steve Hasn’t Had A Good Thought About You Rogers what he’s really fucking with.

“How’s your little sister?” You finally ask, clasping your hands behind your back again. You watch the color drain from Tanner’s face, his mind opening up as his sympathetic nervous system goes into overdrive to activate his acute stress response. He has four options now that you’ve put him in panic mode: fight, flight, fawn, freeze. “What’s her name again? Tanya? Trish? No, Tilly. Tilly and Tanner - that’s cute. Your Mom’s name is Tricia, right? She likes a theme, I suppose.”

He doesn’t respond. It seems he’s chosen to freeze.

“None of that was in your file, of course, because Smith isn’t your real last name. The social security number you’re living under isn’t your original social security number.” You blink once, pulling on that loose thread until Tanner’s mind completely opens to yours. From the corner of your eye, you watch as a milky sheen begins to cover your iris and obscure the color. Tanner whimpers as his iris begins to dissolve, falling away until he matches your white, colorless eyes. You feel more than hear the thoughts on the other side of the glass turn to panic, but it’s easy to shut them out when you’re so focused on the link you now have with your suspect.

When you speak again, your voice is overlaid with his despite his mouth not moving. “Oh, you care about your family.” He flinches but can’t say anything. Won’t say anything. “I see it, right there.” Your head tilts as you begin to dig through his head, prying at seals and locks he’s put on memories - both painful and happy. “Oh, she’s only nine. So precious, so young. So naïve to the ways of the world. To what her older brother does for a living. To what he believes, and what he’s willing to do to support those beliefs.”

“Stop it,” Tanner says, your voice underneath his. You hum more than laugh, but the energy is the same and it makes him shiver.

“And lucky, too,” You continue. He’s not even fighting anymore, not that he could if he wanted to. Now that you’re inside of his head, there’s nothing anyone can do short of knocking you out. “Tricia is smart. Went to Harvard. Has Tilly living all cozy in the Hills and going to a nice, private school. Far away from you and your friends. How are the holidays? Do you go visit them? Or does your Mom ask you to stay away?”

Milk white tears break your waterline and run down your cheeks, eyes unblinking as you keep Tanner in your hold. “Please,” His dual-tone voice whimpers, “Leave them out of this.”

You click your tongue, a hint of a smile ghosting over your lips and the crinkles next to your eyes. “I don’t think I will. See, I know where they live. I know where they sleep. I know how you get in contact with them. I know everything about them now. You’ve given that to me.” He physically jerks but can’t get away from you - you’re everywhere in his mind. He’s falling further and further into you just like you’re falling into his mind. Soon, the two of you will fall into one person. You’ll have to get the information quickly so that doesn’t happen. “You’ll give me where you planted that bomb, too.”

“No,” Tanner resists. You feel the tug on your own mind, his psyche - whether consciously or subconsciously - trying to sew up the hollow you carved out for yourself. Your eyebrows furrow, but barely. “No, I won’t. It needs to happen. They need to see that we’re serious.” He slams one fist down on the table in front of him and fights against you even harder.

You sigh, shoulders barely moving with the breath. The world begins to fall away piece by piece as the white in your eyes slowly begins to shift; swirling darker and darker until your once white eyes are filled to the brim with gray and then, a second later, black. It leaks down your cheeks as you speak directly into his brain, mouth never moving. “If you do not tell me, I will take it from you.”

The room around you crumbles until you’re standing in a black abyss, still looking at Tanner in the reflection of a mirror that’s not there. He reels back in a chair that’s not there either, clutching at the sides of his head as you dig around in his memories.

Childhood, his first kiss, the indoctrination into his extremist beliefs. Somewhere around last week, you slow down, peeling layer from layer until you find what you’re looking for. With the exact location and the time it’s set to explode, you sever the connection and you’re back in the interrogation room. The inky proof of what you’ve done is tacky on your face and Tanner is facedown on the table, shoulders heaving as he sobs and claws at the side of his head, incoherently mumbling about the things you showed him in his head that he doesn’t even remember. Memories that are his, but aren’t, because they’re yours. But, no, that’s not right - right? They’re his, taken from some place in his brain that only your mind can access.

The door is heavier than you remember when you leave the interrogation room and it echoes when it slams shut behind you. Everyone, bar Wanda and Tony who have both seen you do this once before, is staring at you as if you’re going to snap on them too. Blissfully, your mind has shut everything out in order to try and recoup from what you’ve done. It won’t last long. Wanda hands you a wet wipe and smiles sadly, knowing, or maybe feeling, how much you hated doing that to someone.

To climb inside their skull and take the precious privacy of memories is the loss of your humanity. To take that sacred space from someone is the unholiest sacrament you’ve ever taken. Despite the gnawing hole in your chest, you’d do it over again if it means saving lives - even if it ruins one or two in the process. You’ve had many years to come to terms with what you can do if you put your mind to it.

Though, you suppose, that doesn’t make it any easier.

Nobody speaks as you clean your face and neck. Sam does, however, gesture to the chest of your shirt where your shirt is stained. You ignore the look on his face and turn to Tony. “It’s in Central Park,” You’re almost surprised when your voice is just yours, not overtone or undertone to pollute it, “No specific target, not really. Just to create fear. The group will take credit. They probably set Tanner up to take the fall because, for all intents and purposes, he’s a single man with no living family. It’s buried four paces from the tree with an x carved into it, set to go off in three days at exactly noon. I can write down the coordinates for you.” Tony grins and makes to clap you on the back, but you step away and rub at the bridge of your nose. “Don’t touch me.”

He holds his hands up, still smiling even though everyone else in the room recoiled when you snapped. “Sorry, Cullen. Good job in there. Although, will the special effects cost me more?” Underneath all of his jokes, you catch the worry in his mind as yours begins to open back up. It always works like this - the emotions are always the first to come back because they’re the building blocks of thought. Before mankind had speech, they had feelings.

And before they had feelings, they had instincts.

Several people in the room are fighting down their instincts to tear into you because you’re a threat. Blanketing that instinct is agitation and some terror at your unknown. Sam can barely contain his instinct to learn, mind humming with bright curiosity and a healthy dose of fear. Wanda and Tony are both fighting the urge to bundle you up, followed by the love and affection that they normally have when they think of you.

Your jaw snaps together with an audible click as Tanner comes back into focus, the shadow of his mind nearly drowning you. It arches over the room, the celestial body that is the human mind reaching out for the connection that you severed when you pulled away from him. It nearly takes you, too. It’s only when you’re nearly unconscious, body swaying and knees slowly buckling and eyes rolling to the back of your head, that Wanda realizes what’s happening and catches you with strong arms around your waist. Her bare arms slide against yours and you latch onto her mind; it’s bright and strong and wraps around yours to protect it. It takes only a second to get your bearings, but a second is enough for the sharks in the water to catch the scent of blood and strike. It’s Steve’s fists shaking that let you know he’s about to speak, but his thoughts that let you know he’s about to say something horrible. They’re muddled, running about three hundred miles a minute, but you get the gist of what he’s thinking past the fog of Wanda’s skin against yours.

“So nobody thought to inform the team that there’s a bio-weapon on the compound’s campus?”

“Steve!” Sam exclaims, looking more shocked than he actually feels. The term had floated through his prefrontal cortex once or twice since your eyes had flooded white. “Chill out, man.”

“No, I will not chill out,” Steve sneers, “Didn’t anyone think that was important?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony interrupts, moving to stand between you and the Captain, “Weren’t you the one who yelled at me for calling someone a weapon of mass destruction?” You groan deep in the back of your throat when Wanda’s emotions flash through you like lightning and she immediately lets you go, moving to sit next to Natasha on the metal table that lines the wall opposite of you. The distance helps, but there are a lot of strong personalities in one room and you’re a little more open and sensitive than usual.

Your stomach churns and you think about pulling your phone out to put on some music, but that might make Steve actually snap. Bucky knocks him on the shoulder with the back of one hand, “Cool off, pal. You hardly get to take the high ground here when you essentially started another world war for me.”

“That’s different.” Steve grits out.

“What’s your name, kid?” Bucky ignores him, leaning around Tony to talk directly to you. He repeats your name after you give it, grinning, “Does this mean you’re pokin’ around in all our heads now?”

“Probably,” Natasha supplies before you can answer, swinging her legs. “You saw what happened in there. I’m surprised we’re not leaking CSF out of our ears.”

“It’s not like that, I can’t do stuff like that,” You protest weakly, leaning against the wall, “Besides, you and Barnes are like steel freakin’ traps. I don’t have shit on you ever.”

“What about me?” Sam tries to take a step forward, eager and bright in the darkness that surrounds the outskirts of your vision with the tension in the room, but Steve stops him with a heavy hand. “I bet you don’t have anythin’ on me either.” He boasts from behind his friend’s grip.

“You’re an open book,” You shake your head, trying to bite back your small smile, “Always have been. I can catch your thoughts practically before you have them.” Tony finally relaxes as you push off of the wall, putting a hand on your shoulder and carefully avoiding touching his skin to yours. “Tony and Wanda, too, but that’s only because I know them so well.”

“If you can’t fry us from the inside out, what can you do?” Steve narrows his eyes at you and it’s almost like he’s aiming his thoughts at you, trying to test how you’ll react. Your name, wondering about your file, wondering about your life from birth until now, some scenarios that involve grievous bodily harm to you should anything happen.

You don’t need to be a telepath to get the memo: Steve Rogers does not like you.

“Mind stuff,” Tony supplies when you’ve been silent for too long, focused on how much one man can possibly hate a person he’s just met. “Y’know, the Edward and Jasper Cullen combo. Without the confederacy and racism, of course.”

“Mind reading,” Wanda fills in when only Sam and Natasha get the reference, “And, with intense focus and strain, peeling away the layers of the human brain that protect from people like us. I’m not as good, of course, because mine’s not exactly natural, but what you saw was the extreme end of the spectrum.”

You nod, leaning further and further into Tony’s grasp. She’s right when she says it’s the extreme side of the spectrum - you’ve only reached that far into someone once before and then, when you were nearly a decade younger than now and not as half as confident that you really were hearing thoughts and not just voices, it left you bed-bound and comatose for eight months. Even now, with another ten years and endless experience under your belt, the only thing keeping you from woozily toppling over is Tony’s hand on your shoulder. “Mostly it’s just thoughts and their constructs. Instincts. Emotions. Every mind is different and every person thinks differently. I just have tools to put the puzzle together and figure out what it means.”

“What about Steve?” Natasha cocks her head, taking a sharp left in the conversation. “He’s going to have a stick up his ass about this until you tell us if he has a steel trap of a mind, too.” And, shit, they’re all looking at you. You hate being looked at, being watched, being feared. If you were normal, if you couldn’t read someone’s thoughts or pry them open like an overripe fruit, nobody would pay any mind to you.

Tony shakes you to bring you back to earth and his hand barely glimpses over your bare bicep. You get coffee and good morning kisses and burning around the metal in your chest before you step away from him too. You curl in on yourself, tucking your shoulders up and crossing your arms over your chest so nobody will be tempted to fucking touch you anymore. Your stomach is rolling as the dark edges around your vision threaten to take you again. You just want to leave, run away, make your way into the forest like you used to dream about as a child.

Sucking your teeth, you look away from everyone and try to figure out how to explain what Steve’s mind is like. “He’s like a fucking beacon,” Is what you finally settle on, “It’s like he’s projecting every thought he’s ever had, or standing next to my ear and shouting down a megaphone.” When you glance back everyone has bristled, which is to be expected. They deal with a lot of confidential information - Steve reads every mission report from the agents. He reads the team’s, too. “I don’t try to listen, but man you’re loud. But go stand in an elevator with someone while they read their grocery list for three hours and see how much you actually pay attention to what they’re saying, though. I don’t retain anything if we’re ever close enough for me to latch on.”

“Stop reading my thoughts.” He says, hands balled into fists at his sides, “Get out of my head.”

“I would get out of everyone’s head if I could,” You spit back, looking at him just as angrily as he’s looking at you, “I get that even being alive with these abilities is nothing but a huge invasion of privacy to you, but have some empathy. Do you think I like havin’ everyone in my head twenty-four-seven? The shit I deal with that I can't explain to anyone? If I could stop doing this, I would - even if it fucking killed me.” The silence that falls is nearly suffocating and it does nothing to help you pull away from the black hole suction of Tanner’s mind. You rub the bridge of your nose again, fingers moving to smooth over your forehead, and squeeze your temples. The pressure in the room is driving you to the edge, and if you don’t get away soon you’ll either crack everyone in the room open like walnuts or fully mind-meld with Tanner and lose the essence of who you are.

“Oh,” Steve volleys back, head rolling back dramatically, “Right, have empathy for you.”

“You don’t even know me,” It doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room as you begin to shuffle back toward the door. Your head feels like it’s going to explode if you don’t get away from so many open and prying minds. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” Steve says coldly. His chin tilts up, a small but sharp smile on his face. It doesn’t startle you because you can practically taste his thoughts at the back of your throat. He’s throwing them at you now, wanting you to see what’s coming before he says it. That doesn’t mean everyone else in the room isn’t surprised at how strangely he’s acting - and you know the next thing he says isn’t only going to hurt you but hurt Wanda as well. “I know enough to know that anyone who can do what you do is a monster.”

The paper taped to the front of your door is bright yellow and horrifying. You know what it says the second you lay eyes on it because Tony and Wanda have been floating the idea of making you a member of the A-Team for days after they peeled you off of Steve Rogers in the interrogation room. And, well… So, yeah, maybe you got a good punch in and, yeah, maybe you were suspended for a week without pay but who wouldn’t have done that? Who wouldn’t have felt the wash of excruciating pain from one of their best friends and sought retribution for a shitty thing said? You’d do it again if you were being honest. Since you threw that punch Steve Rogers hasn’t said one bad thing about you or what you can do - at least, not when Wanda can hear.

It’s something, you guess.

The paper on your door is exactly what you think it is: a fucking eviction notice signed by Tony Stark himself. He cites nonpayment and noise complaints despite the fact that he is not your landlord nor have you had any complaints or missed payments. The smiley face after his signature is enough for you to know that he already has an apartment for you ready and waiting in the Avengers wing. You unlock the door with your key and find all of your things gone.

Sighing you toss the key into what used to be your hallway and turn around. You just want to go to bed, really, because work sucked today and has been sucking since word got out that you’re a mind reader who attacked Captain America. (Gee, wonder how that got around.) By the time you make it across the compound to where Wanda and Tony are lounging unnaturally in the common room grinning at each other when they catch sight of you… Your back aches and your nerves are fried.

“So, I will be killing you, Stark. It will be a cruel and unusual death. I’ll probably violate the Geneva Convention for fun.” You drop your bag near the couch, kick his feet off the coffee table, and then land another kick to his shin. He yelps. “You can’t just move my shit out of my apartment without asking and put me in the same wing as Ye Olde National Hero That Wishes I Was Dead.” Wanda pulls you into the seat next to her, draping her arm around your shoulders. Thankfully, you’re both wearing long shirts but you still pull your sleeves down over your hands just in case.

“But we’ll be so much closer to each other. We can have movie nights.” She pouts at you because she knows it’ll work, and it does. “You’re not even in the same hallway as Steve.” You feel the weight of his name on her mind because their relationship still hasn’t healed despite how ardently he’d apologized after Tony enlisted Sam to push you from the interrogation room. You’d heard his voice echo down the hallway, paired with Natasha and Tony lighting into him over his attempt to make it right.

“Hey now,” Someone says from behind you, “You shouldn’t lie about that.” Sam comes into view, grinning at the way you tilt your head over the edge of the couch to see him. “Hey, what’s up, Vulcan? Get your little love note from Tony?” Sam had warmed up to you rather quickly after he saw how easily you extracted information from that little Hydra-wannabe-freak and how easily you would throw yourself at people who could crush you to protect the honor of your friends. He moves around the couch to perch in one of the large, cushy chairs. You wrinkle your nose and shake your head as he laughs.

“You can call it a love note when he finds a bucket of pig’s blood above his Iron Man suit before your next mission,” You reply coolly, “But yes, I did. I assume all of my furniture is already set up? Clothes unpacked? Privacy rifled through because you have no boundaries?” You cut a dark look toward your friend - and now, technically, boss.

“Of course it is, and of course I do.” Tony says, reclining like he hadn’t been massaging his sore shin for the last few minutes, “And Wanda isn’t lying, per se, Feathers. She just doesn’t know I had to make changes to the housing arrangement.”

Wanda makes an affronted noise. “You said that the room between Natasha and I was free and that would be the best place. Because of the mind-stuff.” You look between them, and hone in on Tony - but he catches on to what you’re doing and snaps his mind shut. Christ, you wish that Wanda hadn’t taught him how to do that so effectively. He used to be so easy to read.

“What did you do, Tony?” You sit up, moving away from Wanda as something like fear swells in your stomach. It’s probably the look on your face, but he looks almost ashamed and shifts uncomfortably. “Sam?” It becomes clear that Tony isn’t going to answer, so you look to another ally for any sort of answer. The smile slips from his face and he shakes his head.

“You’re between Buck’n Steve. I’m across the way, though.” He shrugs and you scoff, looking back at Tony.

“That’s what we’re doin’ now?” You snarl, pushing off of the couch just to pull away from Tony as he does the same. He says your name, ready to explain why he’s done what he’s done, “No, no! You know what he said to me - what he thinks of me. This may be a joke to you, but that man has single-handedly ruined every friendship I have outside of this team, Tony. Do you get that?” You swear you’re not going to cry, but your throat is burning in the sort of hollow way that indicates that you’re absolutely going to cry. “This is such bullshit.”

Instead of crying, you turn and run. Everyone watches the familiar mask slip over you, the way that you turn on your heel and head for the back garden of the compound. There aren’t a lot of people who know of or go to the back garden and that’s why you like it there. It’s small, overgrown, and when you sit or lay in the middle you can’t be seen unless someone is nearly standing on top of you. Once upon a time you’d tasked yourself to take care of it until that left you feeling vulnerable and just a little too seen without the tendrils of vine that tend to get out of control and hide your body. You crawl under one of the bushes and find the hollow you’d made for yourself, settling in on your side so you’re fully hidden.

This is the quiet that you like. There’s nobody around, so no need to put your headphones in. Just you, your breathing, and the rustling of leaves and flowers. It’s the only real quiet that you get - that you’ll get for the foreseeable future. The Avengers are notorious around your office for almost being like a pack. When there’s one, there’s always another lurking around somewhere. You suppose that comes from whatever trauma bonds they’ve formed living and almost dying together for so many years, but you’ve lived most of your life in a self-imposed solitary confinement of sorts. (Until Tony found you, that is.) The quiet helps you sort through your thoughts, and as you let the sunshine filter through the foliage above you and warm your skin you try to think of what you’re going to do. You can’t spend the rest of your life with headphones in your ears, volume turned up to eleven just so you can keep some semblance of dignity and self esteem.

But you can’t quit, either.

It’s a conundrum, because leaving means that you won’t help people. What’s the point of being able to read minds if you can’t help people with it? You can keep yourself safe, keep the team safe, keep civilians safe. You can pull information without ever making contact with a target, you’re perfect for undercover ops, perfect as a plant to support undercover ops. Your powers make you useful, and you’ve always known that.

The clear air and warm sun presents you with a solution: if Steve Rogers is the only one that hates you for what you can do, you have to make yourself integral to the team. You have to prove that you belong, that you’re simultaneously not a threat but also one of the biggest threats. it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of you, but it does. Of course it does. You’re not immune to hearing the stories of the nation's number one hero throughout your childhood. You’d found a fucked up little comradery in his story: someone who thought he was useless but wanted more, someone who had done everything in his power to make himself important and strong, someone who’d faced more than anyone could ever imagine but still kept going, someone who did good despite everything they saw.

And, just perhaps, you harbor a crush on the man after seeing him in real life your first week at the data analyst job. So what? Who didn’t have a crush on the six foot four American hero? You’re pretty sure even Tony has a little bit of a soft spot for the Good Captain’s strong jawline and broad shoulders.

You sigh, a little sleepy as the sun warms you. The thoughts of what you’re going to do fade away as you drift to sleep, relaxing into the grass and other leaves that surround you. It’s nice to be able to relax fully, not worried about what you’re going to overhear as you let your mind wander. As sleep begins to take you further and further into their grasp your mind opens up - like hiking through the mountains and then coming to a split: the humdrum of your everyday life and struggles are the mountains, careening into the open air and sleep is opening up your eyes to the sky between them. You relish in that, the moments between sleep and wake when you’re most relaxed.

You’re always half-conscious of where you’re at when you’re asleep, never fully resting, so when someone enters the garden on the other side you catch onto their mind right away. It’s always harder to figure out who’s mind you’re invading when you’re like this - light and half gone - so it doesn’t dawn on you that you’re hearing Steve until it’s too late to get up and leave. Slowly you wake up, trying to pull yourself out of his head, but it’s hard to do that when he’s thinking about you. Your name crops up again and again - he’s worrying about what to do with you, but in an abstract way that’s hard to decipher what he means. Clearly Steve has thought about this before so he’s not exactly spelling things out for himself, so it’s hard for you to understand what he means when he thinks things like I wonder how Tony would take it and I’m getting ahead of myself, here. He’s frustrated, that much is clear, and he’s sitting on the other side of the decrepit, overgrown, unused fountain. Too close for you to pull out your phone and start some music in your headphones, definitely too close for you to get up and escape. You’re stuck.

It feels like more of an invasion of privacy than normal, which makes your stomach churn. A lot of your life is spent trying to be the least invasive you can be for the comfort of others and, while the rest of the team doesn’t care that you do what you do, he’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t like you or your telepathy. So now, curled up in your safe place with Steve twelve or thirteen feet away, you can’t even enjoy the day before you have to spend the night on the other side of his wall. Your thoughts are so loud, so upsetting, that Steve’s fall to the wayside.

At least there’s that.

By the time he gets up and leaves you’ve made the decision that the garden can’t be your spot any longer. If there’s a chance that Steve will show up in the back garden while you’re there you’ll just have to find another place to go for quiet. It’s just another sacrifice you’ll have to make because of the way you were born. It’s another sacrifice that nobody knows you’re making.

When you finally extract yourself from your hiding spot the sun is dipping toward the horizon and your joints are stiff. You’ve calmed down from the initial shock of being stuck on the other side of Steve’s wall and come to terms with it. Plus, Bucky will be on the other side of you and he’s blissfully silent. You’ll struggle with having Sam across the hall, but if you spent eight hours a day with headphones in when you were just a data entry grunt, you can probably handle eight hours a night with headphones strapped to your skull like you're going through medical tests.

The common room is empty when you walk through, but it’s not like you need help finding your room. All you have to do is follow the sound of Sam and Bucky’s laughter, followed by a groan from Steve. Once you’re in the right hallway it’s easy to find your room - Tony has left another little note on your door and you rip it off without even reading it and try to make as little noise as possible. Sam’s thoughts don’t change, but Steve’s takes such a sharp turn toward you that you freeze in place. You know it’s a moot point because he can hear your heartbeat and he’s thinking about how he can hear your heartbeat. True to Tony’s word, your furniture is in the same spots that it was in your old room - down to the socks you left behind your couch three days ago. This helps you throw yourself blindly toward your bed, snagging your headphones on the way so that you can drown Steve and Sam out - and hopefully get some sleep.

As the music kicks up and you have something more than thoughts to focus on, the tears well in your eyes and crest down your cheeks. There’s no telling how long you’ll have to stay on the Avengers before you can fade into the background - there’s no telling how long you’ll be able to stay on the Avengers, really. How long can you sacrifice yourself just to save other people? How many months before you lose who you are in an interrogation room to try and bring justice about? How long before you can’t stand to be around Steve and his thoughts that still stray to you?

The first time Steve thinks a complimentary thought toward you is during a group training exercise in preparation for a mission that’s coming up. You’re off to the side with Peter - who thinks way too fast for you to pick up anything more than a word here or there, thankfully - when you catch a thought from another observing agent. It’s a big deal to be offered an observational spot when the Avengers are training, so the fact that your subconscious filter for nefarious thoughts picks up on anything from the other agents is surprising. The thought makes your stomach twist and you squint your eyes toward the man that they're coming from.

They’re lewd - that’s not really surprising because people have the right to think lewd thoughts and if you weren’t you nobody would know they were having them - but this man’s thoughts are leaning more toward dangerous than horny. Natasha’s face swims in his head, his inner voice thick with lust. His thoughts come in waves as he watches Natasha spar with Bucky, but none of them are on how lethal the fight would be if it were anyone besides Nat and Bucky on the mat together.

I bet she’d taste good.

I wonder if she’d scream.

I bet if I found her alone I could -

Your head begins to spin and you clamp a hand over your mouth and partially collapse into Peter’s side. The man’s thoughts turn darker and darker and you’re stuck, forced to listen to them. He doesn’t even know and that might be the worst part. Peter calls your name slowly, shaking your shoulders when you don’t respond.

“I’m fine,” You finally say, despite the way that you’re shaking and the fact that you didn’t even hear what he said - not really. The man’s thoughts take up most of your bandwidth because he’s so eager, and so loud, that you can’t even reach for the team’s minds to cover them up. “It’s fine.” Blood swims behind your eyes, but it’s not real. The man wishes it were real.

“Do you need me to go get Tony? Or - or Wanda, maybe?”

“I’m fine, Peter.” You shake your head and push yourself back up to support yourself. It might be because you’re focusing on the man in your quest to not focus on him, but you’ve missed the fact that Bucky and Nat are done sparring. You also realize that his thoughts are the only ones you’re catching, even with Peter sitting on the mat next to you. You’re not peeling back at his mind’s defenses like you’d done to Tanner but his mind is in such clear focus because of the danger his thoughts present that you might as well have been opening him up layer by disgusting layer.

When he gets up and makes toward Natasha on the edge of the mat, you move without thinking. Peter calls your name again, drawing more attention than you’d care for, but the man doesn’t look away from his target. When you reach him it’s like your vision tunnels. The only thing you can think about are the disgusting images in his head, the way he’s planning on asking Natasha out so that he can get her alone, the things he wants to do to her. Without thinking about the consequences to what you’re about to do you shove at the man as soon as you’re able to. He stumbles sideways but catches himself before he eats shit.

“Hey, what the fuck?” The man, Rick someone thinks, is almost two feet taller than you. He’s built like a super-soldier without the serum but that doesn’t deter you. “What was that for?”

“I know what you’re planning,” You stare him down, snarling, “I know what you want, and it’s not goin’ to happen.”

To Rick’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. He does, however, think: What is this freak going on about? “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He glances over his shoulder at his friends, gesturing at you and snickering. You laugh darkly, lips peeling back over your teeth, and shove at his shoulders again.

“Fine, you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about? Spar me and you can go on and ask the Black Widow out.” He pales and your grin widens. “Oh, do you know what I’m talkin’ about now, Rick?” It's easy to slip into a person that you're not, just like you had in the interrogation room.

He scoffs and crosses his arms, mind sizing you up in all of the ways he thinks he could hurt you. “I’m not going to fight you. I’d break you like a twig.” Rick squints his eyes like he’s said something important but his thoughts are still half on Natasha - who’s watching you with curious eyes. Most of the team is, actually, and Peter is whispering harshly to Tony.

“So do it,” You challenge, jerking your chin up with a feral grin on your face, “If you break me like a twig you can ask her whatever you fucking want,” You keep your voice low so that your threat can’t be heard, “But you won’t win. I’ll stomp your ass into the ground and make you wish that you'd never been born.” That must be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because Rick heaves one of his meaty fists back and goes for a sucker punch. You’re one step ahead of him, because you’re you, and you take one step back to avoid it. He tries again, but you duck out of the way and slide around him to sweep his leg out from underneath his body. Rick stumbles but you don’t give him any time to recover before you’re on him, wrapping your arm around his neck from behind and using his own weight to drop him on his chest to the mat. It takes all of twenty seconds.

He struggles to unlatch you from his neck, but can’t get a good grip because as soon as he manages to get his fingers around your arm, you pull tighter around his neck. His thoughts are scrambled as he tries to figure out how to get you off of him and turn the tides of the pitiful fight he’s put up, but you’ve already decided that Rick will either tap or you’ll keep pressure on his throat until he passes out. Part of you - the dark and vengeful part that gets stuck in other people's heads and sees the most disgusting, evil parts of humanity - wants to keep his throat pressed against the crook of your elbow until he goes limp and cold. That part of you wants to neutralize the threat he presents, but there's a rational part of you that knows a thought is not a crime. There would be no justification to kill him - that doesn't mean you can't teach him a lesson, though.

Rick begins frantically tapping when his vision begins to tunnel, and you can practically taste his fear. His skin pressed to yours heightens everything about his thoughts, blurring your own until they're nonexistent and you can't hear anything but the floundering, heart-stopping fear that blooms in his chest when you don't let up. You want to kill him, want to erase his fucked up thoughts from the earth forever but you can't. When Rick goes limp in your arms you drop him, taking several small steps away from where his body is splayed face down on the training mat. You’re heaving in breath like you’re drowning, feeling phantom blood dropping down your arms, off of your fingers. It’s not real but it’s real, it’s Natasha’s, it’s swimming in your brain and pooling in your mouth and making your body shiver as it cools on your skin.

The blood is not real, but it feels like it is.

Tony is the first to reach you, but Wanda isn't far behind him. Your chest is heaving and your head is spinning but they help ground you as you collapse in on yourself, whispering the things you'd heard to just get them out of your head. Tony, to his credit, holds you tightly against his chest as you sag and confess to sins that aren't yours but you've had to take on because of the things you can do. His skin pressed to yours is a balm, but he's shaking, too. His thoughts are turning dark in the same ways that yours had and, well, so are Wanda's. It's overwhelming.

The bright side of having two people who know you so well is that they know when they have to pass you off to someone else or risk sending you hurtling over the edge. Tony's chest rumbles with his voice as he does his best to remove your arms from around his waist, "Cap, need you to take over here. I've got something to deal with." Somewhere in your haze, you realize that Steve has taken you into his arms, but stiffly. He’s practiced and sure in avoiding your skin and it almost makes you weep. Coming off of your adrenaline is rough - and you want nothing more than to feel someone’s skin on yours. You need the balm of someone who’s not afraid to touch you, someone to tell you that you are not a weapon, you are not dangerous, you deserve to be held.

Steve doesn’t say any of those things. He takes you back to the common room just to get you out of sight of the observing agents, but the walk there is a blur of aching muscles and the beginnings of a headache. When he drops you on the couch you begin to spiral, panic welling in your chest at the thought of what’s about to happen to you. You’d attacked someone unprovoked for what they were thinking. Thoughts are not crimes - but he was going to act on them, you rationalize. He was on the move. Still. Still. Still.

Steve has dumped you on the couch and left the room, there’s no doubt in your mind that your tenure as an Avenger is coming to an end once Tony gets a hold of you. You curl around yourself as the throbbing in your head begins to recede and other thoughts begin to filter in from people in the area. Steve must be close because his are the loudest. He must be in the kitchen and, as much as he hates the fact that you can read his mind, you focus on what he’s thinking. His thoughts are a bright spot in the dark cloud that’s grown over you in the moments since Rick’s thoughts started coming in clearer.

Maybe some water. Looks like a panic attack - what did Buck say helped?

He doesn’t sound like he’s angry and that makes you calm down a little bit. At least he’s trying to take care of you, although it sounds like he’s fumbling around the shared kitchen like he’s fumbling over whatever Bucky’s told him about how to calm down panic attacks. You haven’t moved except to curl into the fetal position so when Steve comes back with a wet and cool washcloth for your face he practically has to peel your arms away from your head. The moment his fingers wrap around your wrist his thoughts are injected into your head like he’s speaking them out loud.

-Good form. Surprisingly quick. Must be the mind reading thing, can see the attacks coming before the opponent moves.-

He presses the washcloth to your forehead and you shudder, leaning into the gentle touch. It’s strange and you’re surprised that he didn’t just leave you on the couch to suffer until someone else found you - but you won’t mention anything about that. Steve Rogers is being nice to you and, better yet, he’s thinking positive things about you. It’s like Rick actually did snap you like a twig and this is a fever dream. Or a death rattle.

-Quick fight. That agent didn’t even stand a chance. Bet I wouldn’t either if we sparred. Glad we didn’t get to that. I’m not sure that I could do that thing that Wanda’s been trying to teach me-

His thoughts screech to a halt even though he doesn’t move his hands from your head. Clearly Steve has realized that he’s been feeding you his thoughts like an IV; you can feel the embarrassment welling up in the back of his head as he tries, and fails, to occupy his mind with anything but the replay of your short but impressive takedown of Rick. Finally, you pull away from his hands and sigh. “Sorry,” You move the washcloth over your eyes so that you don’t have to look at him as he kneels in front of you, “Know you don’t like me pokin’ ‘round in your head.”

To his credit, he only hesitates for a few seconds. “Do you always react like this? Almost pass out when you’re in someone’s head like that?”

“Didn’t go searchin’,” You practically groan, “Didn’t have to. Always tried to find the bad thoughts to keep an eye on people havin’ ‘em. Rick was loud.” You jump when Steve’s hand curves back over your shoulder and that’s when you realize that you’re shaking like a leaf and starting to cry. “His were bad. Had to do somethin’ before he acted on ‘em. He was goin’ to, otherwise, I would have just dealt with it like I have before.” It doesn’t make sense as to why Steve’s thoughts haven’t turned sour, but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“See a lot of this stuff?”

“People don’t believe in mind-readers,” You shake your head and immediately regret it when your stomach rolls and you groan lowly, “And, and thoughts aren’t always intentional. Some are intrusive. Hard to tell the difference when you’re not the one havin’ em.” You have to be imagining the turn his thoughts take - clearly, Rick actually got one good hit in because Steve’s being nice, sweet even, to you. It’s strange, but you’re not going to complain. The skin-to-skin contact is so nice you’re almost afraid that you’ll start sobbing when Steve pulls away again, the sound of him standing making your lip wobble and your body shudder.

“Hold on a second,” He says like he’s the one reading your mind, “I’ll go get a bowl of ice water and another washcloth so that you always have a cool one.”

Steve goes back to normal after that day. Tony had come and informed you that several cadets had reported Rick for inappropriate behavior but nobody had any proof until you beat his ass. He was proud of you, but worried about how you reacted. He’d never seen that before, and neither had Wanda. Scared Peter half to death, too, but you assured them it was normal. Told them to imagine someone describing what you’d heard out loud and then imagine not getting sick to their stomach or losing their cool. Then everything goes back to semi-normal.

Natasha finally lets you in, and that’s about the only thing that really changes. The both of you become fast friends and you know it’s real because you can’t read her thoughts. She doesn’t have to be afraid to be around you when she’s in a bad mood or just having a bad day, making the bond that you form much stronger. It seems with her acceptance of you, the rest of the team follows suit. Sure, Tony and Wanda had already been your friends - family, really - and Sam had been interested in being your friend but after they saw Natasha suggesting books for you to read it was like they all decided you’re one of them. A real, bona fide Avenger.

If only your parents could see you now.

Even Steve stops giving you the stink-eye when you join them for movie night, typically squashed between Nat and Bucky or curled into Wanda’s side with a blanket barrier between the both of you. It’s like the day he’d nursed you through the migraine until Tony and Wanda came to the common room had flown a white flag between the both of you.

You still don’t go back to your garden, though. And you miss it, especially on days like today when you’re stressed out about your first real undercover mission. If you fuck it up, and you won’t - can’t, you’re sure that the progress you’ve made in making yourself integral to the team will be gone. (And so will the first real friends you’ve made in a long, long time but that thought makes you crank your music and hide out in your room so you don’t even bother with that.)

The mission isn’t even really a mission - you’re going into a country club to figure out who the mark is; the intel that Tony was given only says that there’s someone there funneling girls from middle-eastern countries to America illegally for… Well, for nothing good.

So you’re going to go in, hang out at the country club and hopefully pick through the target’s mind and figure out who they were. After that, they’d send in Wanda, or maybe Nat if they thought she wouldn’t be recognized, and take down whatever smuggling ring was set up inside of the club. You sigh and try to get over the nerves of going in alone. Nobody there if you get overwhelmed, no way to muffle the thoughts from all sides, the weight of the world on your shoulders and nobody there to help you carry it. Although, hasn’t that been your life before the Avengers?

At least, you thought you were going in alone. The day of the mission finds you dressed to the nines, location transmitter tucked into a fake crown on one of your molars and comm disguised as a hearing aid tucked over your ear. Clint had warned you that they programmed the comm to squall if your head got too close to someone else’s - something that the older models of hearing aid it was made to look like did. When you finally made your appearance at the car that Tony rented out for you, complete with Peter undercover as a young driver, Steve was there. He was dressed to the nines in a black suit - it made his already large frame loom larger and his broad shoulders seem never-ending. Sweet Lord Jesus Christ Above.

“I can do this on my own,” You say as you approach, frowning at Tony. You know he’s the one that put Steve up to accompany you and the man confirms it in his thoughts. “I know I spent years being an insignificant analyst, but I’m good at what I do.”

“I know that,” Tony cuts a look toward Steve at your jab, and Steve has the decency to look and feel a little guilty, “But if we send you with an Avenger, you’re more likely to have to see and talk to a lot of people. It makes everything easier.”

“So why not go with you?” You cross your arms and try to pry Tony’s defenses from his mind so that you can find any ulterior motives that you know he has, “It makes more sense for Tony Stark to be at a country club.”

“I told you,” Steve leans against the car like he doesn’t have a care in the world, “Doesn’t make sense to have me there.”

“Come on,” Tony claps you on the shoulder and shakes you a little bit, “Live a little. Cap gets all embarrassed when people swoon over him. It’ll be fun.”

-It’ll be real fun when I put the shield through your suit during training. Could’a gotten anyone else for this mission, but had to pick me because he knows-

Steve’s mind doesn’t snap shut like Tony’s, but he does push you out of it rather quickly before he can finish the thought. You ignore him, for his sake and your own, and scowl at Tony, “Fine. You’re technically right that I’ll get to come in contact with more people, but it makes my job damn hard when they’re focused on an Avenger and not their next pickup.”

With you on board, the mission starts quickly. Peter is nervous driving you to the club, but that much is to be expected from someone so young and won’t cause any concern at the valet. He’s to stay in the car, headphones in, and pretending to study while you and Steve are inside.

Steve hasn’t had a thought since he pushed you out of his head. He hasn’t locked his mind down like any of the others are slowly learning to do - he’s just not thinking. There are waves of feelings, and instincts, but no concrete thoughts. It makes you feel shitty, but then you wonder if he’s doing it for his own peace of mind or for your benefit. Either way, you should probably tell him to knock it off because one of the perks of being able to read your partner’s mind on a mission is having a one-way link to set up plans without having to say them out loud. You won’t bring it up, though, because your relationship with Steve has finally stopped being enemies forced to share a wall and has become people who can stand to be in a room together sometimes. It’s not much in the scheme of things and still hurts your feelings - because you still have that ridiculous crush on the man, but it’s nice.

The country club is huge. The ceilings are easily thirteen feet high and dotted with grand, hanging chandeliers. The walls have arches, expensive paintings, and large stained-glass windows. It’s more lush and expensive than anything you’ve seen in your life and the spark of jealousy has you gritting your teeth. You hate rich people, have a distinct disdain for the way they hoard money while there are so many people who could use just a fraction of what they have - but yet, you find yourself wishing you lived in the lap of luxury.

With your arm taken in Steve’s, you suppose you do live in the lap of luxury. Being an Avenger doesn’t pay the best, and you’re acutely aware of just how many people on the team are exactly the thing that you find yourself hating. Tony has more generational money than he knows what to do with - even without counting how much money he’s made on his own. Steve has enough backpay to pay off the college debts of the state of Ohio. Bucky was given a settlement when it was revealed that, despite Steve and the other Commandos rallying for the Army to retrieve his body, there was no search made for him which allowed Hydra to do what they did.

You blink, take a deep breath, and push those thoughts from your focus. Steve looks down at you. People are starting to notice him, now, but that’s not a hard thing to do. Out of seventy people in the room, about one-third have their thoughts turned to Captain America and the person on his arm. “Are you okay?” It takes you a second to realize he’s spoken out loud and shifted to block your view of the room. He’s frowning.

You smile as politely as you can, trying to calm him. “Peachy. It’s just a lot. Where would you like to start?”

“The bar?” Steve leads you further into the room and more thoughts turn his way, “We could start with a drink, and then mingle?” You hum and slip your hand down to press just the tips of your fingers against his bare wrist. He stiffens but manages to keep his cool, despite cutting you an unreadable look.

“Easier to communicate,” You have a wisp of a smile as you meet curious eyes, trying to focus on the thoughts that swim between your ears.

-Why’s he here?-

-Who’s with him? Why would an Avenger bring a date to-

-Holy fuck, it’s Captain America-

Can you hear me over everyone else? Steve isn’t looking at you, but his voice cuts through the noise. It’s high and clear, a distinct dichotomy to his speaking voice. Before you answer, your mind wanders to whether or not that’s how he sounded pre-serum. You lean against the bar with him, pretending to be perusing the menu while you tap your finger once against his wrist, sliding a line, and then tapping three more times. He orders matching glasses of wine for both of you and doesn’t respond.

The bartender is looking closer at you than at Steve, and you wonder if you’re as nervous as you seem. His thoughts aren’t untoward, not really, just wondering if you’ll like the dry white that Steve’s ordered. (You don’t, and won’t. Not like you’ll be drinking any - unlike the super-soldier on your arm you’ll get tipsy, your mind will get fogged, and the mission will be compromised.)

It’s not until Steve passes you the glass, smiling at you like he has a secret or wants to tell one, that you focus back on the mission. Good, he thinks, I suppose it will be easier this way.

You take a micro-sip of the wine and try not to scrunch your nose at the taste. “The wine is really good. Thank you for ordering, Captain.” He huffs under his breath, a twinge of annoyance tickling the back of your senses. So he doesn’t like being called Captain, which is interesting. You resolve to keep that in mind as you survey the room, looking for anyone who’s more nervous than anyone else. Thoughts come and go as you shift your focus.

-Yes!-

The thought is so sharp and out of place among the throng of people trying to get up the courage to speak to Steve that you physically flinch, hiding it by pressing your face into the bicep of the man who, in theory, hates you. You take a deep breath and shake your head when Steve opens his mouth to speak. It takes a lot of focus to be able to hone in on someone with just their thoughts, but you manage to do it by taking your skin off of Steve’s and putting his suit sleeve between your hands and his wrist again. The thoughts come loud and clear then, and your eyes trace the room for the head they could be coming from.

Everyone’s distracted by Star-Spangled Asshole over there with his stupid little date, nobody will notice if I sneak off… Fuck, the God damn door’s locked.

You take Steve’s wine and set it down on an unoccupied table next to your own glass, and lead him to the small dance floor that’s shown up as the afternoon progresses. He takes position without a peep. Clearly, he knows you’re on to something or listening to someone. He’s good enough of a dancer to lead you in a way that makes it seem like you’re the clumsy one - his dancing gives you just enough time to catch sight of the only person frowning at the emergency exit.

“You’re a lovely dancer, Captain,” You finally glance up at him, and then let your eyes slide back to the doors, “Where’d you learn?” His answer goes over your head as you use the small talk as an excuse to keep your mind on your newest, and only, lead. You hope that Steve won’t be offended that you’re making small talk but not listening to his answers, but really, what’s another thing about you for him to hate?

If I’m not at that meeting in fifteen, Frank is going to kill me. If I don’t get the pictures of the girls from Frank, Chris will kill me and then I’ll be double dead. How am I supposed to get paid if I’m double dead?

In your surprise that the man is thinking away his whole plan, you accidentally stamp on Steve’s toes. Of course, you’d mentioned it to Steve before - nobody believes in mind readers. But still, not a lot of people think as frantically about what they’re doing as That Guy is. Two names are better than one name, but one name with the last name attached would have been the best. Still, they have to be connected in some way to the country club, and maybe Tony can figure it out.

“Oh!” You smile up at Steve a second after he jerks back from your clumsy feet, “Sorry, I was just thinking about the party last week.” You reach up under the pretense of fiddling with your hearing aid, and click the connect button on the comm. Steve’s eyes catch the motion and he begins the dance again, as if you hadn’t nearly stumbled over yourself and toppled over. Several thoughts turn your way and they’re… Less than flattering. You sigh and soften your smile, until it could almost be called fond. “Did you see how antsy Frank was to get to that meeting? And all Chris wanted to do was look at pictures.”

To anyone else, it was idle small talk, but to Peter, in the car, it was clear that you were giving information. You had all the confidence in the world that he’d be on the phone to Tony faster than you could blink. Hell, he was probably already on the phone with Tony and relaying the information as Steve’s eyebrows rose as the clicking of laptop keys began to softly play from your comm.

Get it together Derek. Oh, shit it’s raining now. Oh, that sucks.

“And Derek,” You continued, laughing a bit under your breath as if he was an old friend, “Such a klutz. Can’t tell a push from a pull door.” Steve spins you and catches sight of the man panicking at the emergency exit. A frown pulls on his lips for a moment, before he’s back to acting the night away with you, looking down at you in a way that anyone else would see as sentimental. But you understand how Steve feels about you, what you can do, and know that he is an incredibly good actor. An unreasonably good actor, since nobody else at the club is looking into his eyes.

There’s a pulse where your hands are connected, skin slipping against skin, and it startles you. Steve’s thoughts come through louder and clearer than ever before - he’s thinking with purpose. He’s thinking so you’ll hear him. He’s thinking at you. Good work. Three names is even better than we were hoping for.

You read a little too much into that, a frown tugging briefly on your face before you remember that you’re being watched. It melts into a smile easily and Steve watches the way it changes with an unreadable expression. It’s nice, dancing with him. Just a little too nice, and it makes the saliva in your mouth sour. It would be one thing if you only had a crush on the man, but he despises you. Or, he did. Maybe now, holding on to you and dancing like he might like you, he only… Dislikes you. Tolerates you. Realizes that you’re just a person saddled with an impossible ability and you’re drowning under the weight of it.

You wonder if he ever looks at you and sees himself.

The thought dies as he tracks Derek over your shoulder, putting a little fond smile on his face - although you know its fake - and ducking down to breathe the man’s movements into your comm. It’s closer, intimate, and you press your lips into a thin line to repress your shudder at the way Steve presses close to you. “I should get back home,” You finally say, “My babysitter said that she has an exam tomorrow. It’s no fair to her for me to overstay my welcome.” It won’t make sense and will definitely look untoward, because the two of you have only been in the club for forty-five minutes. If that. But you can’t handle being so close to Steve, even if he’s done whatever he’s learned he can do with his thoughts and shut you out of them despite your hands in his.

Steve catches both of your hands in his, smiling down at you. “Allow me to walk you out.” And your brain half short circuits because for a brief moment he lets you in. Your mind lights up with his thoughts and they’re scrambled, frantic, anxious. Your name is there, your face, your lips, your favorite color, the scent you put on specifically to blend in with the rich and famous. Steve’s mind is awash with you and it’s so much, too much, that it makes you dizzy. He seems to catch on the moment you turn to look at him, swaying on your feet with question in your eyes. His hands leave yours and find a home deep in the pockets of his slacks. You watch ruefully as his face hardens, imperceptible to anyone around the two of you.

“Of course,” You finally say, voice slow and quiet. You hate watching people close off from you once they realize their private thoughts aren’t private. It sits heavy in the back of your mind, though, that he was thinking of you. Not the mission, not your powers, not how awfully close he had to be to someone he seemed to hate. Just thinking of you in a way that nobody else had, not in a long time. Not if they knew what you can do. Nobody has ever loved you before - nobody can love you - and you’re not about to start convincing yourself that Steve will be the first.

Abruptly, as if the two of you hadn’t spent the better part of three minutes staring at each other and saying nothing, you turn toward the door. He follows you outside where it’s raining while you ask Peter to bring the car around.

“I’ll be right there,” The teenager confirms, “Also, that Derek guy is getting into a Jeep Wrangler and leaving. Should we tail him?” You jump when a heavy hand curls around your elbow, but you tell yourself it’s because Tony’s voice is crackling to life on the comm and not because Steve is pressing close again.

“I have agents already prepped for that. Just get Thing One and Thing Two out of there before someone realizes we’re onto them.” Peter hums and you hear the car kick to life in the background.

Steve, you realize, doesn’t have a comm in. You turn to relay what Tony said to you just to find Steve already nodding along as if he’d heard. He might have, you think. He can hear your heartbeat through the plaster and drywall back at the compound. Still, he’s looking at you as if he’s waiting for you to relay it, and when you don’t speak - he frowns.

“About what you heard,” He clears his throat and looks away. You’re used to that, really. Tony used to do it after he realized you picked up everything and Sam still does it sometimes. When people figure out that you’re a walking privacy violation they get embarrassed and when that happens they can’t even look at you.

Another thing that your powers have taken away from you.

With a wry smile, one that Steve doesn’t see because his eyes are closed and he’s flushing, you console him. “It’s fine. I understand this is the last thing you want to be doing.” You hesitate on his name and choke his title back, trying to keep the peace between the both of you. His eyes flash to yours, but only for a second, “I told you the first day that we met that if I could change this part of myself, I would. Good work I’ve done be damned.” The smile on your face then is as sad as it is sweet, and Steve looks lost. “It’s not fun to be alienated in a way that nobody else can understand.”

God, and if you were to look back on it, you never would have said that. But you do, and it’s out in the world and in Steve’s head - which is still blessedly silent. Maybe that’s why you miss Derek’s thoughts growing louder and louder, getting closer to where you’re standing faster than Peter’s are; you’re too focused on Steve and his thoughts and how the moment today stands in dichotomy to the moment on the interrogation floor.

Maybe you’re just too focused on him in general.

Derek’s thoughts hit you like a freight train just a second before you hear the squall of struggling tires on the pavement. Knew they were following me, knew it, knew it! You watch from Derek’s eyes as he guns it straight for where you’re standing with Steve - and then you’re back in your own body and finally reacting. You turn to Steve and grab his lapels, shoving him out from underneath the fancy awning. He stumbles out into the rain before his feet get tangled against each other and he tumbles to the ground, shouting your name.

Going for the date, take the Captain down by hurting the person he’s with. He’ll be so guilty, won’t be able to think, won’t be able to get me.

You surge backward into the brick wall at the last moment, Derek’s thoughts filling with rage once he realizes that he’s missed you. Fuck! Fuck, no! Frank is going to kill me. Well, maybe not if I kill both of them. The car takes a dangerous u-turn and revs as Derek stares you down, sweating behind the wheel. “Peter!” You call into your comm, “What’s the holdup?” Steve springs to his feet, brow furrowed and battle ready.

“I’m almost there!” Peter’s voice cracks and you hear the humming of the engine in the background as he presses his pedal to the metal.

“You should hurry!” You dart into the rain when Derek aims the Jeep Wrangler toward you again. Crashing into Steve’s side you urge him away, the both of you already soaked to the bone. “You have to get out of here. He’s aiming for me because he knows you’ll get off of his tail to help if I’m hurt.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Steve’s thoughts are loud, angry, and you wonder what it will be like to be on a combat mission with him. “Move!” His arms wrap around your body and he swings the both of you into the bushes on the other side of the driveway, stumbling to his feet and tugging you out of the other side of the foliage.

If he thinks I won’t run over those bushes, he’s wrong. I’m going to make that meeting, and I’ll make it without an Avenger on my fucking tail!

“You’re playing into his hand!” You have to yell over the rain and the screaming of Derek’s tires, “Get back to the car with Peter, I can handle myself.” Steve’s jaw sets and he takes a glance behind you, body tensed to move again but you’re also watching the world from Derek’s eyes and the way that he’s definitely going to hit the tree that stands among the bushes of the road verge. You stand your ground when Steve surges toward you to take you off of your feet once more, holding him in place as you shrink into him and close your eyes.

“We have to move - !” His voice raises to a shout and breaks on the last word but you grit your teeth and hold him still. If Steve really wants to move, he will. You know he can overpower you and you hope that he doesn’t. Derek is half-blind with fear and rage and he’s aiming directly for you, not paying attention to anything in the way. Your hands clench in the back of Steve’s jacket as you hold him to you, trying to convey that he’s safe as long as he stays where he’s at.

The crash from the front corner of the Wrangler hitting the large and sturdy tree makes your ears ring. You feel more than hear Steve gasping, his arms tightening around you as he takes a step back in shock. The world spins around you when you close your eyes and look through Derek’s eyes again, and his thoughts are as scrambled as the Jeep Wrangler is. It crashes in an arc around where you stand with Steve in the rain, not even coming close to hitting you. Your knees buckle when parts of the bumper come off, striking the back of your calves and Steve keeps you upright even as the pain streaks through you and your knees give out.

Peter is there half a second later, and then a second after that Tony is in your comm, telling you to scram because the agents are only a minute out. Steve shoves you back toward the road verge and you take the path that was cleared out by the Jeep. Peter is there in the sleek car, face pale and shocked behind the wheel. Steve darts around you to throw open the passenger door, thoughts intent on throwing your body in and hoping he can make it into the back seat before Derek gets his wits about him. You grit your teeth and throw your body against his, snagging the pistol you’d felt in his waistband out as he stumbles again.

“What the fuck?” He shouts.

Derek is getting out of the ruined car, hysterical and terrified. His thoughts spin around you as you put your body in front of Steve’s - between his body and the gun that Derek is wielding. It’s like that motherfucker is my head, have to stop that. Have to get to the meeting, have to get the photos, have to get the girls It’ll be my head! Mine! If I don’t get this done, can’t do that. Can’t have that. You aim Steve’s gun for Derek’s center mass, but you don’t shoot. Not yet. His thoughts haven’t turned and you haven’t felt that jolt that comes when someone prepares to shoot in the back of his mind. Steve is in your head, too, wondering why you’re not shooting and why you’re in front of him, and how to regain control of the situation so that he can suffocate the fear building in the front of his consciousness. He thinks about bodily picking you up but Peter’s frantic voice is distracting him.

You hold your ground, gritting your teeth so that you don’t peel Derek like an overripe pear. His eyes are focused on the gun you’re wielding and the distinct lack of trigger discipline. He’s wondering if you’re the better shot and you wink at him.

Rogers isn’t the one in my head.

The realization puts him on the backfoot. “You can’t beat me!” You call into the storm, hoping he’ll hear, “I’ll know you’re going to shoot before you will!” Derek’s gun begins to shake and Steve’s breath halts in his chest. “Do you want to take that chance, Derek? Want to see who has the faster trigger finger?” An unmarked car pulls fast into the parking lot and sirens begin to wail in the distance. The commotion finally caught the attention of the club and someone inside must have called an emergency number. The hesitation is written all over Derek’s face, especially when he glances over his shoulders to see agents in Kevlar rapidly approaching. “Surrender yourself.”

Steve’s hands tighten on your shoulders, but after a moment Derek puts the gun down.

The moment you’re out of medical, you’ve shed your dress clothes and changed into something comfortable. There’s no need for a debrief because it was supposed to be just a recon mission and Derek had cracked like an egg the second he was put into the backseat of Peter’s car with you - so you’re free for the night.

It takes you just a second to make sure Steve is in the gym before you escape with your phone and headphones - both upgraded as an apology from Tony - to the Garden. True to your personal promise, you hadn’t been back since the day you’d been trapped in the bushes by Steve being there. But you need to go back - you need silence. You need just a few moments of fucking freedom from thoughts in your head that aren’t yours, and you need to be able to get it without explaining to someone why you need them to leave the weird, abandoned garden so that you can get it.

You leave your music loud enough to numb your mind through the compound, smiling at people who wave at you or say something you’re in no mood to figure out. When you clear the back doors you’re free, cutting your music and taking in the soft sounds of nature. The garden isn’t empty when you arrive, and it makes you stop short when you find Natasha perched casually on the fountain. There’s stress in your back seeing her there, but you can’t read her mind so it’s fine. It has to be fine.

She hears you coming and turns to you with a small smile on her face. She sighs your name, head tilting to the side. “So you’ve finally decided to come back.” It makes your steps falter, but you still wade through the overgrowth to sit next to her, leaning your back against the grand statue in the middle of the fountain that nobody takes care of.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you knew about the Garden, and yet I am.”

“Who do you think told Steve about it?” You sigh, unsurprised that out of everyone Natasha would have picked up on the fact that you don’t come here for his sake. “It’s nice that you’ve decided to come back.”

“Steve is in the gym.”

Natasha leans into your side, one hand gripping yours tenderly - in a way that only a few lucky people are allowed to see her. “How is he doing, by the way? Keeping you out of his head?”

“What do you mean?”

She cuts you a look that has you flushing, “Please. Either he’s really struggling or you’re playing coy. He’s been practicing with Wanda since you moved into his wing.” That makes you frown because, God, that just makes you feel worse. Your entire life is lived around making people comfortable with what you can do and you’re searching for a solution to the problem when Natasha shakes you lightly. “He’s doing it for you, not for himself.”

“Sure,” You snort, “It’s for my comfort.”

“Seeing you after Rick did a number on him.” She hums, leaning her head on your shoulder. You sag into the human contact and the blessed blankness of Natasha’s mind. “He was worried. It finally got his head out of his ass about how embarrassed he was.” There’s a lilt to her voice that you don’t really understand.

“Nothing new for someone who spends an extended period of time around me,” You mumble, feeling yourself get sleepy against her body heat, “People who can do what I do don’t get friends, or days off, or relationships. Doesn’t matter what I think of what he thinks of me because those are personal thoughts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Natasha’s hand comes up to pet the side of your face, making you sigh. It’s so nice to be touched by another human without getting their thoughts injected into your mind, “What I mean is that, for a while, Steve was taking our reports to Data instead of emailing them. He was coming back flushed, and talking about how there was someone there who kept their head down and worked hard, never looked his way, and didn’t react to the fact that Captain America was handing them a report. Sometimes he’d come out of the elevator like that, too.”

“Hm?” You’re not following her. At least, you don’t want to be.

“I’ve known him for a long time. When you walked into Interrogation he was caught off guard to see you there. Tony had told us he was bringing in his Special Weapon. Never expected you to show up.”

“I wish he’d stop calling me that.” You grumble. Natasha pinches you and you squirm away.

“Let me finish,” She narrows her eyes at you, but there’s mirth behind her eyes. You sigh and curl back into her, wondering if this is better than the hour you were planning on spending alone or not. “When Steve realized you could read minds, I’m sure every thought he’d had around you came to the front. Poor guy looked like he was going to shit himself.”

“They didn’t, at least not how you’re insinuating.” You sighed, remembering what he’d actually thought and then biting the bullet to tell Natasha even though they were his private thoughts, “He thought I was dangerous. Came up with some really creative ways to kill me, though.” She laughs, jostling you. “Seriously, he should teach some of those as self defense.”

“The thoughts came later, then. Call his reaction an instinct, but he’s been beating himself up for it since. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, so keep your mouth shut. He came to me, terrified that you’d heard every single thought he’d had about that person.”

“I would never tell them,” You frown, shrugging your shoulders, “I may be a confidentiality risk on wheels, but I’m not a jerk.” She sighs like you’ve mortally offended her and you feel her head shake against yours. “The things in their heads stay in mine - most of the time. I thought I’d managed to convince you all of that already.”

“I have to spell it out for the both of you, huh? The emotional labor of a best friend never ceases.” Her hand drops from yours and she pats your thigh before extracting herself and stretching in front of you. “He wasn’t worried about you hearing those thoughts because he thought you’d tell - Steve is worried about you hearing those thoughts because it would be him telling.”

“I don’t understand.” You say, hoping to backpedal the conversation to something other than the convoluted idea that Steve Rogers could feel the same warmth in his chest looking at you that you feel when you look at him.

Natasha cuts you a look that says you definitely understand me you stubborn little motherfucker; then, she smiles over her shoulder at you and then she’s gone, disappearing around the corner before you can process what she’s said without saying. That’s one thing that you’re still not used to about her: the fact that you can’t read her mind means that you have to try and parse her meaning from her words and body language like you’re… Not you. It makes you feel incredibly uncomfortable but also incredibly normal. A true, blue catch-22. Your stomach swirls with unease until you curl up on your side in the fountain, the concrete hiding you from view and making you focus on the unobstructed sky overhead.

Absentmindedly you hum a Mazzy Star song, something that you like to listen to when you’re not using music to numb your extra sense so that you can live like a regular person. You wonder if anyone has shown Steve and Bucky things like Mazzy Star, or if people are still trying to shill them what they think the two men out of time will like instead of expanding their world view. Maybe they don’t want to remember the before.

You don’t want to remember the before.

Before Tony, before the Avengers, before you figured out that you can’t be peeling people apart at the seams just for shits and giggles. Before you found yourself tipping face first into a personality and memories that weren’t yours - things you still see in your nightmares.

Before you almost died.

You were a different person back in the before. More open, easier to talk to, trying to make and keep friends. You tried to have things for yourself but in the moment you opened up the man who was trying to kill you, say the things that he’d seen and done and said and thought, the moment your brain started whirring like an overheating laptop and then went dark to protect itself… You knew when you woke up eight months later your life would be nothing but lonely, watching from the outside like the only sentient person in a movie. You sacrifice, you push people together if their thoughts match and there’s a mutual interest, you have four different degrees just for fun because you don’t need to study.

When you hear someone approaching the garden you get up and dust yourself off, ready to give them the space that they need.

It’s almost surprising to see Steve wading through the unkempt foliage, but it’s not. The surprising part is that he doesn’t seem angry to see you. He almost seems relieved that you’re there.

You step out of the fountain, white-knuckling your phone. “Sorry,” You smile wryly, “Didn’t know you were comin’ out here today. I’ll, uh, head out.” The only way out is past him and you try to hustle before he says something that you’re not expecting - he’s doing whatever Wanda taught him to keep you out of his head and you’re happy. Really, you are. It just puts you on the backfoot and sends anxiety twisting around your spine like a ribbon.

Steve reaches out and grabs your elbow, still careful not to touch your skin with his. “Do you do this a lot?”

While you’re trying to process what he’s asking, you blink slowly at him and his painfully earnest, blue eyes. Steve almost looks like he’s in pain, and his voice sounded like he was struggling not to let it break over his words. “Uh,” You finally manage, voice nearly lost to the light wind and the shake that’s permeating your whole body, “Not lately, no. Just had some rough stuff, y’know, floating around in my head. Figured some fresh air would do me good.”

“No,” He shakes his head and then takes another step toward you. Instinctually you match his step forward with a step backward, his voice somewhere in the back of your head calling you a monster. Nat’s voice is there, too, telling you something you’re unwilling to believe but her voice is so much quester than Steve’s. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I’m following, then,” You clear your throat and have to look away from his face because it’s almost unbearable. You’re used to people looking at you a certain way - even Tony and Wanda look at you in That Way sometimes - but the way that Steve is looking at you… He’s bearing his soul more than any moment in time when you’ve been in his head. It’s unsettling in a new way, making heat and goose flesh crawl up your back and crest over your neck. “Look, I’ll head back to my room so you can enjoy the Garden.”

Steve takes another step toward you but you’re so shocked that he’s so close, looming over you. It reminds you of the way that he danced with you, the way that he looked at you even though he was acting.

You blink slowly, meeting his eyes, and remember the way that he thought about you in that moment before you both left the country club. Your throat tightens when you start to piece everything together and something inside of you, a big something that’s been there since you woke up from your eight month coma, tells you that it’s not right. Can’t be true. Steve sighs and his eyes flutter shut. “Do you…” He chokes on his words, like he’s not sure what he wants to ask you, “Do you sacrifice a lot for other people?”

“Don’t we all?” Your answer is knee-jerk because you do not want to go there. Not with anyone, but most certainly not with Steve.

He doesn’t open his eyes but his fingers tighten on your arm, his other hand moving to ghost over your shoulder. It’s almost unnerving to see Steve so unsure of himself. “That’s not what I meant.” His voice comes out small and strangled. Instinctually you reach up and clasp his bicep, dipping your head to try and see his face as his head turns toward the ground. It doesn’t take more than a second to convince yourself that you’re imagining the flush that’s crawling up his cheeks, making the soft freckles stand out against the ruddiness of whatever he’s feeling.

“Steve…” You’re lost for words and he sighs through his nose. It’s startling when his eyes snap open and he pulls you toward him. Your arms are stuck out at awkward angles in the hug, but you let him hold you close because… Well, again, you have a crush on the Good Captain - but also because you can feel him shaking.

“How much do you sacrifice for other people? How much do you give up for them that they don’t even know - that they don’t understand?” You struggle to hear him over your own blood rushing in your ears because you can feel his voice rumbling from his chest to yours. He’s clutching you like you’re his lifeline, like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing that can keep him above water. Maybe it’s what he’s asking or maybe it’s how he’s so warm in the dying light of the day, but you finally secure your arms around his waist.

“It’s not a sacrifice,” You finally whisper into the front of his shoulder, where you’ve planted your face so that he can’t pull his head back and see how you’re on the edge of breaking, “It’s just what I do.”

Steve shudders. “I didn’t know - I’m so sorry.” If you didn’t know better - and you don’t, because he’s doing a beautiful job of keeping you out of his head despite how clearly emotional he is and how the two of you are pressed together from head to toe. “The things I’ve said, I’ve thought…” His voice breaks.

“You’re not your thoughts, Steve,” You try to reassure, “I understand that.”

“I called you a monster,” His head shakes once and then it drops against your shoulder, “I called you a monster because I’m a coward and I was afraid. Afraid that you’d heard, that you knew about how I felt. How I feel.”

“Steve, it’s fine.” It’s really not, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s not fine.” It seems he knows that.

Eyes fluttering shut against your own will, you inhale his cologne. He must have showered after the gym and the familiar scene of At The Barber’s makes you relax against him. “People have said worse. What,” You stutter, unsure you want to know the answer to what you’re going to ask, “What brought this on? You don’t have to feel guilty for my sake.”

Steve pulls back and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face - he doesn’t stop holding you though. You’ll take it. You’ll take it with you into lonely nights and being alone and your cold bed. In those moments you’ll remember how he feels against you and how his eyes feel on you and what it feels like to dance with him. “Nat told me that you stopped coming out here because of me.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“Did you?” He tries to catch your eyes but you won’t meet them. Can’t see the pity that’s in them - or the guilt that’s there. He says your name, mangled by the emotion in his throat, “Please, please look at me.”

“Yes,” You admit when he manages to catch your eyes, “I did. I can go anywhere to think without being spied on. You can’t.”

Steve says your name again and presses his face even closer to yours. “I’m so sorry. For everything - for calling you a monster and thinking those horrible things and taking this away from you. I’m sorry you’ve sacrificed anything for me.” The honesty in his voice takes your breath away.

“I’d sacrifice everything for you, Steve.”

He blinks, shocked, but you’ve never been more sure of anything. Even though the beginning of your relationship with him was rocky, the months spent living and working alongside of him has solidified that not only do you look up to him and what he’s sacrificed, but your crush has a foundation that’s unshakable. Steve flounders for a second, searching your eyes but then he surges forward.

The kiss is something that you’ve imagined in the place between wake and sleep - but the real thing is so much better. Steve kisses like he’s apologizing and sacrificing and begging at the same time. His hands cup your face when you sigh, hands clutching in the back of his t-shirt to draw his body closer to yours. You can feel your body heating up underneath the thrumming of shock, feel yourself reacting to the way Steve whimpers against your mouth and follows your lips when you gasp for air. God, he kisses like he’s making up for lost time and like he’s desperate to tell you something that he can’t express with his words.

Steve, in short, kisses like a God.

You’re still struggling to catch your breath when he presses another chaste kiss against your lips - and then against your cheekbone and next to your eyes and then another on your forehead. “Steve…”

“I’m yours,” He confesses in a soft voice with his mouth pressed against your temple, “I realized that while we were dancing today. Holding you like that, seeing how incredible you are and how much I must have hurt you… I’m yours, if you’ll forgive me. Always have been, I think.” You shake against him, unsure and unstable.

“Steve…”

“You can say no,” He whispers into your skin, “You can say no and nothing will happen. I’ll keep my distance, I’ll be respectful.”

“I’ve never…” This time you pull back to look at him and the way his eyes are swimming makes you dizzy - in a good way. “Nobody ever wants me after they have me. It’s - it’s okay, but you can’t… It’s not going to be like you think. It never… I never work out. You have to know that. I can’t be friends with anyone who can’t block me out… How can you want…” How can you want me?

Steve’s eyebrows pull together and he shakes his head slightly. “We’ve been practicing, me and Wanda. I can keep you out and, and… I don’t care.” He says firmly. “I don’t care if you can see into my thoughts. I… I did, I cared a lot. I have to admit that, but that’s because - I’ve thought a lot about you before. I used to go to Data just to be able to see you,” His cheeks flush with color again but his eyes never leave yours, “I was tryin’ to get the courage to ask you out properly when you walked into that interrogation room and…” Steve sighs, eyes falling shut only briefly before they open to find yours again. His eyebrows are still pulled tight, wrinkling his forehead and making him look contrite. “I don’t know what I was thinkin’, saying those things. Thinking them.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide your thoughts from your partners,” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him away while you’re still wrapped in his arms, but he’s not budging.

“I know,” He breathes, “But I don’t care. I don’t care because it’s you. You’re good and you’re self-sacrificing and you’re… God, I don’t even know how to describe you.” Steve kisses you again, stealing your breath, “If you’ll have me, I’m yours. I swear it.”

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to digest your thoughts while he gazes at you like he did while you were dancing. “Steve…” He closes his eyes like he’s expecting a fatal blow and trying to come to terms with it but you can’t do that to him - won’t do that to him. “If you’ll… If you’ll have me I’m yours,” You parrot his words back to him, “If you can stand to be with me when I can do what I can do, you have me. You’ve had me, Steve. You have.”

He kisses you again and you don’t even flinch when the first of his tears drop against your cheeks.

[korasonata]

I think this is just what my blog is now. Model streams have taken over. Sorry, not sorry. Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo paper model streams part 5! (Featuring a heavily sleep deprived Joe)

—

Cleo (talking to her cat): Ok. You have had attention. Are you— are you going to go? *pausing* This is the sort of thing I ask Joe. Umm… *laughing*

Joe: Constantly!

Cleo: *laughing* You’ve had your attention, can you go now?

Joe: Can you just not be here. *both laughing*

—

Cleo: Yeah, I have to start gluing things to other things. Badly. And, uh, realizing where I’ve messed up. Which is EVERYWHERE!

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo (totally not fine): Its fine. It’s fine. I’m fin— how are you Joe?

—

Joe: It makes about as much sense as anything else I do? So…

Cleo: I mean yeah. I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it cause I’m not rude. But, you know.

*both laughing*

Joe: Now you’re just lying to me!

Cleo: *laughing* WOW!! Joe!! My heart is just hurting! Now.

Joe: Mhm.

Cleo: You can tell can’t you, I’m deeply— intensely wounded by that statement that you just made.

—

Joe: I was gonna say, we’re gonna have to call whatever the British version of an ambulance is.

Cleo: Um, I think— and I could be wrong here, the British equivalent of an ambulance is…an ambulance.

Joe: oh, ok that’s really good to know. Cause like, not that I’m planning on getting injured while I’m over there, but like—

Cleo: I mean, if you carry on talking that way you might.

Joe: I mean if I meet you, then there’s a chance that somethings gonna get shoved in my eye or something.

Cleo: Somethings gonna get taken off.

—

Joe: I mean, they say it’s the shotty carpenter that blames his poor tools, but I mean look at this.

—

Cleo (about her bisexual tags on twitch): Hold on, hold on, I need to explain what “visibility” means to bisexuals. Bisexuals are often— um, hidden in the community. They are often, um, not treated as either part of the gay community and the straight community doesn’t really appreciate them either. So, having visibility for bisexuals is very important. As it is for any other place. Also having those tags on your stream show that you are a safe place for those people to go. So, you know, actually labeling those things is important because it shows people that they are not alone. And not being alone? Really important. (To Joe) Sorry, am getting frustrated.

Joe: As somebody who’s been alone for the last year and a half with this stupid isolation, uh, yeah.

Cleo: Yeah! Being alone and not feeling alone is really important.

Joe: If you need to be explained at this point in the pandemic why feeling alone is not good, like I don’t know what to say.

—

Cleo (reading chat): What’s my favourite minecraft mob? Do people have favourite minecraft mobs?

Joe (very tired): Just say whichever mod’s here. Who’s got a sword *scrolling through Cleo’s chat* umm… yeah it’s AnnaBomBanana. Is everyone’s favourite minecraft mod.

Cleo: …moB.

Joe: …MOB! OH!

Cleo: *continuous laughing*

—

Joe: This is gonna go off of the rails further and further. There’s no— there’s no rails anymore! It’s just, somebody has scrawled “here there be dragons” on the ground.

Cleo: I mean, isn’t that pretty much how you live your life anyway?

Joe (high pitched squealing): It kind of is. *laughing continues*

Cleo: You know. Here there be dragons— Sometimes it’s not dragons. Sometimes you might be lucky.

—

Joe: So, like, one thing you can do is after this project you can build tiny dollhouses. And create like a bedroom for each of your tools. And so the knife can just be in the knife room. In the dollhouse. And it can have a knife day.

SILENCE

Cleo: Umm…I’m gonna pretend like what you said made sense.

—

Cleo: I could have said something really nasty then, but I’m not going to. See? I’m growing as a person Joe.

—

Joe: You know what? Hold on, we’re gonna— we’re gonna— at the point where NJ is concerned about my caffeine intake, I’m gonna go get a red bull and I’m gonna take my headphones off before anybody can tell me otherwise, byeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Be right back!!!! *leaves*

Cleo (calling after him): Well done Joe! I believe in you! *narrating* She did not in fact believe in Joe, and was very concerned.

—

Cleo: I know when there’s a bad idea. It’s when Joe has made it. Joe has suggested it, that’s— that’s when you know it’s bad.

—

Joe: I know that there are ways to have computers automatically send invites, but that’s a good way, like, I know there’s a saying like, to error is human, but to screw up like a hundred thousand things all at once—

Cleo: That’s the Joe Hills Difference.

—

Cleo: Ugh, I feel like poop today.

Joe (genuine): I’m sorry.

Cleo (tiredly): No, that’s ok…(groggy) I’ll torment you…later…it’ll make me feel better…

Joe (equally as tired): Yay!

—

Joe (about Cleo and Xisuma): But Cleo, you’re the responsible adult in this scenario, so yeah you probably should have some answers.

Cleo: X is almost as old as I am.

SILENCE

Joe: …it’s a maturity gap?

Cleo: *laughing* Is that why I’m here with you?

Joe: …no.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: I say very confidently.

—

Joe (teacher voice): Quantum mechanics is a fundamental theory in physics that provides a description of the physical properties of nature at the scale of atoms and subatomic particles—

Cleo: *flipping him off*

Joe (blissfully unaware): Now classical physics! The collection of theories that existed before the advent of quantum mechanics—

Cleo: *trying to ignore him*

Joe (carrying on): Quantum mechanics differs from classical physics in that energy, momentum, angular momentum, and other quantities of a bound system are restricted to discreet values—

Cleo: *fingers drumming impatiently*

Joe (still going): Now! Quantum mechanics arose gradually from theories to explain observations which could not be reconciled with classical physics—

Cleo: *physically going through all 5 stages of grief*

Joe: (insert continuously long string of rambling science here)

Cleo: *mutes Joe*

—

Cleo (responding to her partner in chat): You have the movie poster for Dora the Explorer? Cam, I’m suddenly questioning our relationship now.

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Yeah, I knew I was gonna get blamed for that eventually.

—

Cleo (frustrated): I’m gonna kill someone. And since the person who made and designed this castle isn’t here…(trailing off) Hi Joe.

Joe (accepted his fate): Hello.

—

Joe: Have you ever officiated a wedding?

Cleo: No I haven’t. Why, do you want me to?

—

Joe: Oh! Oh! I found my cross stitch the other day!

Cleo: Oh cool!

Joe: *rummaging in the background* Yeah, so, I don’t know if you’ve seen this before—

Cleo (excitedly): ShowMeShowMeShowMeShowMe!!!

—

Joe (reading chat): Am I excited for Minecraft Live? Umm…

SILENCE

Joe: You know, so much of life is minecraft, but you know, maybe this is just a step too far. You know? Um, I think Mojang asked if they could and never stopped to ask if they should. Um, you know, I think their decision in particular to clone dinosaurs at the event as part of their Jurrassic Park, uh, map thing that they put out— which, also, it’s not even like the Jurrassic Park movies are really for kids, but here’s— here’s Minecraft with Jurrassic Park in it, and also we’re gonna clone a bunch of dinosaurs for this livestream, it’s like *groaning*. I dunno. I’m dubious. I think it’s gonna backfire. Ya know, there’s like 4 cautionary films about why you don’t clone dinosaurs. And they’re just jumping in feet first. So…but, you know, I’d like to be wrong about this. Maybe it’ll go great.

Cleo: …are you having a moment Joe?

—

Cleo (reading chat): “when the arts and crafts streams become Cleo with a scream mask” I am not X. I am not X, I promise you I’m not X. I just don’t have a face.

Joe: Heh

Cleo: And if I was— hang on I’ll be back in a second.

Joe: …wait, did you just realize that you do have a scream mask?

Cleo: No, I have a better mask. *leaves*

SILENCE

Joe: *watching Cleo’s stream intensely*

—

Cleo: Are we seriously doing guillotine jokes right now? I’m not saying I disapprove, but

Joe: yeah, we say “Giatine”

Cleo: That’s ok, you can be wrong.

Joe: …It’s a french word.

Cleo: And? You’re allowed to be wrong.

Joe: …*deep sigh*

—

Joe: It’s funny too. Because people will tell me that I don’t seem like a very— like, mostly my coworkers. Like, would tell me that I didn’t seem like a particularly emotional person.

Cleo: *bursts out laughing*

—

Joe: Yeah, I feel like I didn’t make a lot of…visible progress today…but…it’s fine…

Cleo: I made progress for both of us Joe.

Joe (tiredly): Thank you Cleo… (resting head against the ring light)

SILENCE

Cleo (tenderly): …You’re welcome.

[kywaslost]

Comforting Student Reader ft. Aizawa and Present Mic

Warnings: crying, bad times, death, mourning

Requests are open!!

Although no one knows it, he always keeps an eye on his students. He can almost always tell when someone is upset.

He noticed how your actions changed. You were always quiet and reserved, daydreaming from time to time. You would always turn your work in, getting mostly A’s with a few B’s. So when you started failing the class with F’s and D’s, Aizawa knew something was wrong. He also noticed how everyday you would space out even more than you did before. He noticed the way you acted, slow and solum. He saw how sleep deprived you were. You had missing assignments and late work, unfinished tests and work.

Aizawa confronted you one day after class.

“L/N, stay after class please.” You nodded, taking in a shaky sigh. This day cannot get any worse, you thought. The bell rang and you packed up, walking slowly to Mr. Aizawa. 

“Yes, sir?” you asked quietly, giving a fake smile. He sat on his desk, looking over you. Your uniform looked as if you had just thrown it on. Aizawa brought his eyes up to yours. He could see how dull the had become.

“L/N, what is going on?” Aizawa asked. You gave him a confused look.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, although you knew exactly what he meant. Aizawa gave you a soft look.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he started.

You looked around nervously, avoiding his gaze. “I, I… I don’t know what you mean.” Aizawa stared at you for a moment, analyzing your body composition.

“Your grades have dropped drastically, you’ve started falling asleep in class,” he listed off. You looked away, ashamed. “Y/N,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised by both his hand and the use of your first name. “What’s going on?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “Can you close the door?” you asked quietly. Aizawa’s face softened.

“Of course.” He closed the door and came back to you. He pulled two chairs to face each other and he sat down in one. When he saw that you hadn’t moved he motioned for you to sit and you did as asked. The two of you sat in silence for a while before you bury your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, silent tears falling down your face.

“It’s ok,” Aizawa said softly. “Take your time.” 

Silence.

You lifted your head and Aizawa’s heart broke slightly. Although he would never admit it, Aizawa would die for his students and seeing them cry made him feel bad. He saw the tear tracks on your face and leaned forward.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. You looked at him. “You know you can trust me, right?” You nodded, sitting up.

“Yeah,” you answered and wiped the tears from your face. Once you compose yourself you decided to speak. “I’ve just been having a really hard time lately. I’m sorry,” you apologized again, tearing up.

“It’s alright,” Aizawa assured. “Can you tell me why?” You nodded.

“It’s just…” you took a deep breath, “My dad… he, he’s a pro hero and a villain hurt him pretty bad. He’s, he’s my only family left and the doctors said that they’ve done all they could. 

Aizawa’s eyes softened as he stood, pulling you up with him. He pulled you into a hug, holding you tight. This caused you to burst into tears. Aizawa pulled you closer as you sobbed, clutching his shirt in fists. He used on hand to hold your head against him and his other to rub up and down your back in hopes to help calm you down.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Aizawa soothed, resting his chin on your head. He stayed with you until you had calmed down. When you finally pulled away you discovered how tired you really were. Aizawa saw it as well; the way you swayed slightly on your feet, the way your head bobbed down and how it took a lot of energy for you to keep your eyes open.

“Are you tired?” he asked with a small smile. You shook your head.

“No,” you slurred, rubbing your eyes and fixing your posture. Picking up your bag, you got ready to leave. “I need to get to my next class. I’m already late.” As you started to walk towards the door Aizawa caught your shoulder. You turned to face him and saw the look in his eyes. 

“Yes you are, I can tell,” he said, stopping you. “I can tell you haven’t been sleeping for several days.” He smiled, “you’re beginning to look like me.” You smiled slightly as well. “Come with me.” You followed him to a room connected to the classroom, his office. You looked around to see a cot against one of the walls.

“Rest here,” Aizawa instructed. You cocked your head.

“What about class?” you asked.

“Who do you have?”

“Mr. Hizashi,” you answered, yawning.

“Alright,” Aizawa smiled. “I will let him know that you are with me. Now, rest. You really need it.” He ruffled your hair as you nodded. He turned to leave the room before you stopped him.

“Mr. Aizawa?” you spoke. He turned towards you and smiled softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling slightly as well. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “But, hey, don’t tell anyone about this. I can’t go around with people thinking I’m soft.” You giggled.

“Ok.” You laid down on the cot, suddenly feeling extremely tired. Aizawa watched you fall asleep and smiled, knowing that you’d be ok in the long run.

Since Hizashi has such an outgoing personality, he always tries to make sure his class is awake and happy. He tries to make school exciting for his students and fellow coworkers. He always enjoyed how you smiled and laughed at his jokes. He even enjoyed when you would sing along quietly to the ear-blasting music he played sometimes during class.

What happened that day was hard on the both of you. On your way to school a villian decided to attack in your area. Because you live on the outside of the city, the big heros were not around. You watched helplessly as the villian with a fire quirk snatched your brother, taking him. You screamed running forward. Pro heroes fought against the villain as you ran forward to fight back.

“L/N!” Present Mic yelled but that did nothing to stop you. “Stop!”

You continued moving forward as Hizashi grabbed you by the waist and pulled back.

“No!” you sobbed, suddenly aware of what was going on. Hizashi’s grip tightened as he pulled you away from the scene.

“Shh,” he shushed, trying to calm you down. He dragged you into an alleyway. You continued to scream and cry, fighting against Present Mic.

“(Brother’s name)!” you shrieked. You tried to use your water quirk to escape but red eyes stopped you.

“Y/N,” Aizawa called, running up to the two of you. He kneeled down in front of you. “You need to calm down. You’ll hurt Mic if you keep it up. Calm down, ok?”

Something in his voice calmed you and you quit struggling. He smiled softly and patted your head, blinking. He stood and ran off. “Stay with her Hizashi. We’ll be ok.”

You fell limp and both you and Hizashi fell to the ground. You grabbed his arms and sobbed harder with each scream you heard.

“Shh,” Mic soothed again. He pulled a pair of headphones from his bag and plugged them into his phone. Pulling up Youtube Music, he typed in (favorite artist) and placed the headphones over your head. Hizashi picked a playlist, rocking the two of you back and forth. After several songs you finally calmed down, breathing heavily.

“You are alright,” Present Mic whispered, very unlike him. “Would you like to go home?” He realized you couldn’t hear him.

“How is she?” Aizawa asked, running back over to the two. He saw Hizashi’s headphones around your head.

“Much calmer,” Present Mic answered. “But I don’t think taking her home would be the best option.” Aizawa nodded.

“She certainly is not in the right state of mind to go to class.”

“I can keep her in my classroom,” Hizashi offered. Aizawa nodded. “That way she isn’t alone or have to go to class.” He picked you up and you didn’t bat an eye. You lay limp and silent the whole way to UA. When the three of you arrived to Mic’s class, Aizawa and Hizashi noticed that your eyes were closed.

“F/N?” Aizawa said, tapping your foot. Your eyes snapped open and you shot forward. Hizashi nearly dropped you as you landed on your feet.

“Wow, it’s alright hot shot,” Hizashi said as he placed his hand on your back. You pulled the headphones down to hang around your neck, looking up to your two teachers.

“You’re going to stay with Present Mic today, alright?” Aizawa explained.

“What about class?” you whispered.

“Y/N,” Hizashi started, catching your attention. “We just think it’ll be better if you stay with me.” You thought about it for a moment before nodding. Aizawa left for his class. Your puffy red eyes met Mic’s and he smiled softly.

“You can sit over there,” he said, motioning to a desk in the front row. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. “Just relax, ok?” You took his phone and nodded, heading to the desk and laying your head down.

Hizashi kept an eye on you for the rest of the day. He even stayed quiet during his classes just in case you had fallen asleep. When someone tried to bother you, he’d get defensive and tell them to leave you be. He even brought you lunch, figuring you wouldn’t eat unless he sat down with you and ate. He kept a good eye on you for several months and talked with you to make sure you were ok. Let’s just say that you appreciate what your teacher has done for you.

[the-bau-quinjet]

The Perks of Cold Weather

Hello! This is just a whole lot of fluff because I need some positive vibes this week. Feel free to send some requests my way if you’d like! They can be as specific or as vague as you want and I’ll do my best. None of my ideas are currently working for me.

Summary: Reader and Spencer have some fun in the snow in a small town in Alaska.

Words: 2996

Warnings: none I think

When you first started at the BAU, you were quick to realize the group was more like a family than coworkers. It was clear in the little things they did for each other on case, like the way JJ and Spencer would comfort each other on particularly difficult cases to the slight bickering that would inevitably start up between Derek and Emily about anything that didn’t really matter.

 You were quick to find your place in the little family as well. Well, not find it so much as fall into it, but you didn’t mind. You were only 28 years old, meaning you were the youngest member of the BAU. Being the youngest meant a lot of teasing from the “older sibling” personalities of everyone except Rossi and Hotch. Their personalities were much more parent-esque. With how much they’d tease you, you were always quick to jump on the chance to tease them for a change. The perfect opportunity arose when a case came up in Alaska.

Penelope walked through the bullpen, calling you all into the roundtable room right before you left for the day. “Hello my wonderful crime fighters. I wish I had better news, but this case is a real whammy. Three women have been found stabbed to death in a small town in Alaska.”

 The collective groans of just about everyone in the room were quiet, but obvious.

 “I know, I know. Another freezing cold case. I wish I could send you to LA all the time, but alas bad guys aren’t deterred by freezing temperatures.” She went on to explain the details of the case before Hotch dismissed everyone with his typical “Wheels up in 30.”

 The team dispersed to collect their go bags- and winter items for the cold weather they would surely be facing in Alaska- before meeting on the jet. When you got there, everyone else was already boarded, and you couldn’t help but feel the low energy of everyone on the plane.

 “Don’t tell me the lot of you are afraid of a little snow?” You can’t stop the smirk from appearing on your face as you sit down across from Spencer and adjacent to Emily, Derek, and JJ.

 “Big words from someone who hasn’t been on a case in Alaska yet.” Derek’s reply comes without hesitation. The grin on your face only grows when you realize that everyone really is feeling low because of the impending winter wonderland.

 “Don’t tell me you’re excited for the cold weather?” JJ shivers just asking the question.

 “Of course I am! I’ve always loved the cold. There’s something so magical about watching snow fall. It feels like Christmas!” The four of them stare at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You are seriously telling me none of you like the snow?” You scan all of their faces in disbelief, eyes landing on Spencer last.

 “Don’t look at me. I’m from Nevada, it’s basically the desert. Winter in Las Vegas is comparable to fall in DC. The last time it snowed with any significance was in 2003 and that was only an inch.” Spencer nearly starts rambling about weather patterns across the US, but cuts himself off.

 “You all are seriously killing my good mood with your bad vibes. I will change at least one of your minds by the end of this case” You say in a huff while putting your headphones on. You try to catch up on some sleep before you all reconvene to discuss the case.

 After the briefing and right before landing, everyone starts bundling up in layers upon layers of sweatshirts, jackets, coats, gloves, scarves, and hats. You pull a sweater on over your long sleeve and zip up your FBI jacket, adding a cute beanie more for aesthetics than warmth. You’ve never been one to get overly cold, so you skip a few layers everyone else put on.

 The rest of the team marches off the jet as if they would rather be anywhere else, but you don’t let it deter you. You exit the jet with a smile on your face, taking a deep breath of the cool Alaskan air.

 “You really are enjoying yourself?” Spencer asks with a small smile. You meet his eye, the look on his face giving you butterflies, before responding.

 “Of course I am. It smells like winter!” The two of you share a laugh as you get in the SUV headed to the police precinct to actually get to work.

 --

 The case only lasted two days. You were glad to have solved it so quickly, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t going to miss the snow. After the case files are all packed away and Hotch goes off to coordinate the jet, you head outside to absorb every last ounce of winter possible.

 “I thought I might find you out here.” Spencer sits next to you on the bench as you stare at the flakes falling from the sky.

 “What can I say, I just really love the cold.” You reply without turning your head. “Maybe it’s weird, but I would pick cold over hot any day.”

 “I don’t think it’s weird at all! I think it’s kind of cute actually.” That gets your attention and you turn to see he’s looking at his hands in his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. “I like how happy you are when you look at the snow.”

 Of course, that makes you smile again. “Thank you, Spence.” You can feel your cheeks heating up, but you’re quickly distracted by the sound of Derek calling the two of you back into the station.

 “Hey lovebirds, Hotch needs us.” You roll your eyes at Derek before standing up, offering your hand to Spencer to help him up. He takes your hand, squeezing it slightly as he rises from the bench. He only drops your hand when he goes to hold the door open for you, leading you back inside. The team gathers in the conference room, Hotch walking in with a grim expression.

 “I’ll cut to the chase. We won’t be able to fly home until this evening. The snow from last night on top of the storm that’s about to pass through is too much to clear right now.” Everyone, including you, sighs before nodding in understanding. As much as you would love to stay longer, you know it sucks that everyone can’t go home to their families. “This case is wrapped up, so feel free to just explore the town or relax in the hotel. We should be able to take off at 9:00 pm, so I expect to see all of you on the jet by 8:45.” Those words were music to your ears. As everyone begins to pack up to head out, you turn to Spencer.

 “I can’t believe this. It’s like a snow day! I’ve always loved snow days! We would always go outside, have a snowball fight, build a snowman, and try to build an igloo but end up giving up when it collapsed for the third time.” He chuckles at your enthusiasm, but nods along as you both walk out of the precinct toward the hotel just down the street. “Then we’d go in for lunch, make hot chocolate and cookies, and watch all our favorite movies.”

 “Is that what you want to do today?” Spencer asks as you both walk into the hotel lobby.

 “I mean, in a perfect world, yeah. That is exactly what I would want to do today.” You smile wistfully as you think back to your childhood snow days with your siblings.

 “Well then, let’s see how perfect we can make the world, just for today.” Spencer’s smiling as he says it, taking in the confusion and shock on your face.

 “You mean… You want to build a snowman? With me?” Your heart is beating so forcefully, you wouldn’t be surprised if it flew right out of your chest.

 “Yeah, and all the other things too.” Spencer’s words are soft and unsure, contrasting the confidence of his previous statement.

 “But you don’t like the cold weather…” You simply can’t fathom why he would volunteer to do these cold weather activities when just two days ago he was talking about how little snow he experienced when he was younger.

 “But you do, and we’re stuck here anyway. So, why not?” Hearing that he would spend his day off playing in the snow simply because you want to does things to you that you chose to ignore for the time being.

 “O- okay… yeah, let’s do it! ” The two of you smile at each other for a few seconds before you each bring your things to you respective rooms with a plan to meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes.

 When you get to your room you pull out the warmest clothes you brought to Alaska. Although it would suffice for walking down the street, it’s not exactly made for playing in the snow. After getting dressed you meet Spencer in the lobby. He is dressed in warmer clothes than you, but still not snow proof.

 “I don’t know if this is a good idea…” Your excitement to start this day with Spencer has dwindled since imaging the cold, wet clothes you’d end up in. “The key to a good snow day is waterproof clothes and we definitely don’t have any. How am I going to make you like snow if you’re freezing and wet at the end of the day?” You would expect the resident genius to agree with you, but instead of a grim expression and a nod in agreement, Spencer’s smile grows.

 “Don’t worry about it. Just come with me.” He leads you outside of the hotel with his hand on the small of your back all the way down to the town store. “What needs to be waterproof? We can find snow pants, jackets, gloves, and boots right here.” He looks so pleased with himself as he leads you around the store to collect all the items you’ll need. He even picks out a sled for the two of you.

 After checking out, he leads you back outside where you pull the waterproof gear on over your warm layers, tossing the tags into a nearby trash can. Before you can say anything, he is again leading you through the town with his hand on the small of your back. He stops when he reaches the park, turning to you once again.

 “Where do you want to build the snowman?” You mirror the grin on his face as you run across the park to a flatter area.

 You begin compressing the snow in your hands to form the ball that would eventually become the bottom layer of your snowman. Spencer copies your actions, forming a lopsided ball for the middle. You leave Spencer to work on the head while you search around the nearby trees for sticks to use as arms and rocks to use for the eyes and buttons.

 After finding the perfect set of sticks, you return to see Spencer adding a carrot nose right in the middle of the head.

 “I didn’t even see you buy carrots!” He laughs at your childlike enthusiasm, moving aside so you can add the sticks to the middle. You also add the rocks you gathered for the eyes and buttons. Spencer surprises you again by pulling out a hat and scarf to add the finish touches.

 After forcing him to take a selfie with you and the snowman, you walk across the park to find a good sledding hill. You find the perfect hill, and offer to go down first since it’s going to take some effort to form the path. Spencer watches you scooching your way through the snow, forcing the sled down the hill, laughing hysterically. You haven’t been able to enjoy snow like this for years.

 Spencer was hesitant to sled down the hill together, but one pout from you and he climbed on right away. The sled picked up pace is you barreled out of control, flipping and rolling down the hill.

 You took the opportunity of a distracted Spencer to form a snow ball, waiting until he was only a few feet away to throw it at him. Of course, as soon as it hits him it’s game on. The two of you are running through the park, hiding behind trees, and dodging each other’s snowballs. Spencer, being uncoordinated, mostly missed you. That is, until the very end of the snowball fight when he hits you right in the face, the surprise causing you to fall to the ground.

 “Y/N! Are you okay! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He’s cut off by your laughter.

 “Relax Spence, its fine! It was powdery snow. It’s not like you hit me with a chunk of ice.” You smile at him as he helps you to a standing position. You’re so focused on standing up without slipping on the compressed snow beneath your feet, you don’t realize how close the two of you have become.  When you look up to meet his eyes, your noses are nearly touching.

 Without much thought for the consequences, you lean a few inches forward, ever so slightly brushing your lips against his.

 Spencer is so stunned, it takes him much longer than he’d care to admit to reciprocate your affection. So long in fact, that you’ve pulled away and are frantically trying to think of something to say to save your friendship when he pulls you back in.

 The two of you don’t pull away again until the need for air overpowers your need for each other. You stay close though, foreheads pressed together.

 “Let me take you on a date. A real one where we go into knowing it’s a date.” Spencer says it all in one breath.

 “Oh, Spence. This whole day has been a perfect date, even if we didn’t say it at first. But I would love to go on another with you.”

 The two of you are all smiles as you walk back toward the café near your hotel. You’ve been outside so long it’s nearly dark- granted it gets dark around 4:00 this time of year in Alaska. Upon entering the café, Spencer is quick to order two hot chocolates and cookies to go.

 “I know it’s not the same as baking them ourselves, but we don’t have access to an oven in the hotel.” He says, squeezing your hand before leading you out of the café.

 You would blindly follow Spencer anywhere, but that doesn’t stop you from asking him about it. “Where are we going now? I thought we were going to eat…”

 “Back to the hotel. We have one more thing to check off the list for your perfect snow day.” Of course he would remember your list from earlier in the day. “So tell me, what’s your favorite snow day movie?”

 “That’s actually a tough question. It changes depending on the mood.” You are genuinely trying to think of the perfect movie to end the perfect day as you walk back into the hotel.

 “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go up to your room and pick out a movie that fits ‘the mood’, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes?” You simply nod in response, too lost in thought to contemplate where he could be going.

 15 minutes later you have finally picked out a movie to watch when Spencer enters your room, carrying a takeout bag.

 “I finally found a movie!” You smile at him as you show him your computer screen. Anastasia is queued on your Disney+.

 “Perfect. We can now officially start our date.” He smiles, pulling the food out of the bag, he hands you a cup of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Your heart warms at the sight of it. You know Spencer has an eidetic memory, but you still get butterflies at the idea of him remembering your favorite cold weather food.

 The two of you sit against the headboard, setting the computer between you to play the movie. After you’ve finished eating you shuffle around on the bed, moving the laptop so you could cuddle with Spencer.

 “I’ve got another reason for you to like the cold weather.” You state matter-of-factly, eyes still trained on the movie.

 “Yeah? What is it?” Spencer’s eyes are trained on your face.

 “It’s better for cuddling.” A small grin appears on your face at the sound of Spencer’s airy laugh. He pulls you closer, both of you completely content.

 --

 As much as you love the cold and snow, dragging yourself out of Spencer’s arms and into the cold air to get to the jet on time was not an exciting task. In fact, it put you in a slightly sour mood, something Morgan was all too quick to pick up on.

 “What’s the matter L/N? The cold weather got you down?” He laughs at your annoyed expression.

 “Not a chance, Morgan. I quite enjoyed our little snow day actually.” You smile at Spencer as you pull your blanket from your go bag and sit on the couch.

 “You actually played in the snow? It was only 22 degrees today!” You can’t help but shake your head. 22 degrees is cold, but nothing compared to how bad it can get in Alaska.

 “We did indeed. I think I managed to turn Spencer on to the cold weather too.” Spencer sits down next to you encouraging you to share your blanket.

 “How’d you manage that? I’ve been to on enough cases with Pretty Boy here to know he prefers the warmer ones.”

 “It’s actually rather simple.” Spencer replies, shifting his arm around you on the back of the couch. You smile as you close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Colder climates make for better cuddles.”

tag list:

@mac99martin​ 

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

��Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

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

tell me what you thought here!

[iceeckos12]

and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶͕̖͔̅��̧̨̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

[arcadia-city-stories-if]

So a little while back, I got hit by a car while walking. Tonight, at work, I was getting my stuff and as I headed to it got run into by a coworker. Wasn't even someone in a car, just another person walking. It freaked me out bad enough I literally was crying the entire ride home and then I realized I'd left my jacket at work as a result. Luckily I can get my jacket tomorrow when I go in but the whole thing is just frustrating to me because on the one hand I know nothing really happened then but on the other hand I got hit by a freaking car so maybe it is logical I'd be freaked out getting run into on foot too and I just cyidjtzjfsjtzu.

Sorry, to the ask part of this. How would ROs react to MC in a similar situation? Where they're freaked but being freaked has them frustrated with themselves?

You know, I've been thinking a lot about this since you sent it because I can really relate to this one lol. I got hit by a car when I was a kid, spent a month in hospital, dealt with it all without any real emotional trauma, then when I was 17 I had headphones in when I was getting off the bus and stepped out behind it only to have a car have to anchor on the brakes and stop like a metre away from hitting me lol. At the time I had like a weird relieved laugh but the second I got home I BURST into tears and had my very first panic attack lol.

So I totally get where your head was at in this one and for some reason it made this kinda tricky to answer??

But, anyway, here's my best shot lol

Murphy -

Ignores whatever else is going on as he puts a hand on your shoulder, drawing your attention to him as he takes very slow purposeful breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, encourages you to follow his lead until you've calmed down enough that it's not overwhelming. Would suggest going for a drive to clear your head afterwards.

Shae -

Sits you down somewhere private, makes you a soothing drink, and waits with you while the worst of it passes, would hold your hand if you'd let them. Waits for you to get past the emotional peak of your stress, then would encourage you to talk about it, what it felt like, why you think it felt that way, what you were afraid of. Encourages you to get it all off your chest while it's fresh, instead of suppressing it and internalising any negative coping habits.

Callie -

Just wants to hug you and tell you it's ok. Is at a loss beyond that because she deals with her emotions in a very external and instinctive way, so your reaction makes sense to her because if that's how you feel then of course that's how you'd act. Not the best at helping you feel better but is incredibly understanding of your frustrations.

Toni -

Honestly? Would react almost exactly the way they did in this prompt unless you didn't want physical comfort, then they'd just sit with you quietly, wait for you to work through it how you need to, let you know you're not alone in this, that they're here.

Claude/Claudia -

Would ask you what you need from them and would do whatever they could to give you it. Vampires don't have a tendency for intense emotional outbursts, immortality kind of puts everything onto the slow burn setting, including emotions. So, while they're not an expert in these situations, they know they have resources and the ability to provide you with whatever you need. You only need to ask for it.

[solarwonux]

Minghao x f!reader drabble

w.c: 2.8k

warnings: angst, slight mention of not eating, minghao be an asshole sometimes

note: I’ve had this one collecting dust in the docs so I decided to upload it today, it was meant to be part of a bigger fic but I decided to not continue though who knows it might be referenced later on in a different fic. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts.xx

Also I’m changing my schedule around a little. So instead of me posting Mon, Weds, Fri, I will be posting Mon, Thurs, Fri. You can find more info on Navi

drabble game || masterlist

There were sides of Minghao  that unfortunately weren’t reserved for you, except for one. The one you hated the most and the one you wished you could stray as far away from. The side that received you with a frown and a bitter cold glare. The side that spoke to you in short sentences, a sour tone that would weave its way through his voice like vines whenever he spoke to you. It sent shivers down your spine and not the good kind. It was the side that you couldn’t break through to get to the side that was reserved for the people he loved and cared about most in the world. And you weren’t one of those people.

Maybe this was the way the universe decided to punish you. A punishment you wholeheartedly thought you didn’t deserve because you were tied at your feet with no way out. When you had been matched with Minghao  by the System it was either you marry or die. And of course, selfishly you choose to live. You knew he resented you for it, but in the year and a half that you two were officially married, you had secretly seen the warmth that oozed out of his pores. You saw the wide smile that would light up the room whenever darkness poured in. His laugh sounded like a sweet melody that you would never get tired of listening and just his presence made you feel like home.

Minghao was a gift, the purest form of art, a being so powerful you swore he would restore the peace in the world. He could resent you, hate you all he wanted, look at you with an overwhelming amount of venom in his eyes. And you’d let him, you could never let yourself regret your final decision because he deserved to live.

Sighing deeply, you pushed yourself off the elevator walls watching as the hallway to your apartment came into view. This was the part you hated most about your day. It wasn’t the part where you woke up alone, it wasn’t the part where you had to go to work and it wasn’t the hour and a half walk home. It was the short walk from the elevator to your apartment. It never failed to stretch out miles as your heart caught itself in your throat because behind that closed door you weren’t sure what you’d encounter.

Sometimes it would be a quiet Minghao , sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with his headphones on. His studio set up scattered all over, a notebook and his unlocked phone next to him. Sometimes it was him quietly sitting at the coffee table eating take out, sometimes it was him on his phone arguing with his mother as he shot piercing glares at you, probably wishing you weren’t alive. And other times it was a dark and cold apartment, nothing out of place. The silence creeping underneath the floorboards, reigning, occupying its throne in between the walls as it desperately tried to push the two of you out.

For some reason that was the apartment you always found yourself hoping for whenever you stopped in front of your door. Your hand gripping the doorknob tightly every night that it had started getting loose.

This was a routine by now. You’d put the key in the key lock, turn it until you heard it unlock. Then you’d close your eyes, slowly count ten Mississippi’s, proceed to give yourself a pep talk and then finally biting the bullet and opening the door. Anxiety rushed through you quickly when you saw what was waiting for you behind the door, Minghao  on the couch typing quickly on his phone, while the TV beamed with life in front of him. Lighting up the dark living room with undertones of blue.

“I’m home.” You spoke, a shake in your voice making you wish you were stronger. The door clicked behind you, signaling there would be no way out until tomorrow morning so you might as well bite your tongue and deal with anything you’d encounter tonight.

“Welcome, I ordered food but wasn’t sure if you wanted any.” He shrugged, locking his phone and setting it by his side. He crossed his arms in front of him and turned his attention to the TV.

“It’s fine I’m not hungry anyway.” You took off your shoes by Minghao’s worn out ones. The hunger swirled inside of you, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you’d find something to eat once he was asleep in the guest bedroom that by now had become his room. “Mhm, you are eating right?” He said a hint of concern in the back of his throat, but that could’ve been your mind playing games on you. Though the question had caught you off guard and you weren’t sure how to answer without lying because in truth for a while now your appetite had severely gone down.

“I am, had a big lunch with one of my coworkers.” Minghao  nodded at your answer, finally turning to face you, furrowing his eyebrows. You tried to ignore his gaze, relax your body as much as you could and placed your bag down on one of the highchairs in front of the kitchen island. “My family’s coming over tomorrow, my mom wants to cook dinner…you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” He blurted out the last part, hollowing out the part of your heart that was reserved for him. You loved Minghao ’s family as much as you loved him, but unlike him they had been very welcoming of you. Embraced you with open arms and you found comfort knowing that at least a part of him loved you.

“I’ll be there.” You whispered, shrugging off your coat and placing it on the back of the chair. “I have a day off tomorrow so I can clean up around here before they come over…I mean if that’s fine with you and all, I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

“Do whatever you want.” He spat out leaning back on the couch. His tone returning to the one you were used to hearing and you knew you had overstayed your welcome in the living room. “Right, I’m going to bed then.” You nodded walking past him and straight to your room, closing the door behind you quickly and resting your back against it. You breathed out a sad sigh of relief feeling the tears build up behind your eyelids, the hunger gnawing its way through your stomach ripping it to shreds. As well as your need for some sort of comfort, as you came to your first realization of the night. Just like it washed over you every single night and for once you wished you didn’t feel so alone, when the person that was supposed to love you stood on the other side not caring.

Oddly there was a side of you that loved Minghao  and maybe it was the side that kept holding onto the hope you first felt when you were given the news. Or maybe it was the image of him that you created in your head from all the fragments of light he let out whenever he thought you weren’t looking. But you loved him, that was something you were confident in because you saw him for who he was, flaws and all when the two of you weren’t alone.

“Fuck.” You pushed yourself off your door throwing yourself on your unmade made and grabbing the turtle stuffed animal you slept with every night. It brought you a small sense of comfort and any comfort you could get you would grab and indulge in it blissfully. It was small and useless in the long run.

You buried your head into the head of the stuffed animal, finally letting the dam loose and the sobs came in full throttle. Thankfully the TV in the living room was loud enough to muffle your sounds. It wouldn’t matter if he could hear you anyway because you knew he wouldn’t be running into your room like a knight in shining armor and save you from yourself. He just didn’t care and that was the second realization you would have every night. Each time you did, it sent a jab through your body, cracking the little wall that kept the small sliver of light you held onto dearly. Each night though you felt it flicker slowly losing its innocent glow. Sometimes you’d wonder when the light would finally die out, when the numbness would finally overtake your body and you could go on with life without feeling like you were worthless. Without feeling anything.

“Can I come in?” You sat up on your bed at lightning speed. Minghao ’s soft voice sounding from the other side of your door. A knock following in between syllables. Your breathing sped up and you brought your hands up to your cheeks slapping your tears away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him seeing you in this state. “U-Um yeah.” You spoke moving to rest against the headboard of your bed, grabbing your laptop on your bedside table and opening it to make it seem like you were doing something other than crying.

“I brought you chicken as I couldn’t finish it all.” He walked in, a styrofoam container in his left hand. His aura took over the air in your room and you felt as if you were suffocating. You watched as he slowly took in your room and your face heating up as you remembered the untidy state of your room. His eyes lingering on the wall of polaroid’s behind your even messier desk.

The girl in those pictures, the one whose smile reached her eyes and laughed still lingered in the small cracks on the walls of your room was someone that was unknown to you now. On days when you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed you looked at her as a sign of motivation. Telling yourself that that person was still within you and that she would come back you just had to fight through whatever you were going through. At the end of the day she always came back.

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” You closed your laptop and set it aside, the forgotten google tab opened waiting to be used. “I can have it for lunch tomorrow though.” You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. To avoid his curious gaze, you looked out the window, the moonlight shining down at the skyline. You wondered if they were at peace unlike you.

“Why do you cry every night?” Minghao  blurted out. He had placed the container on your desk and sat down on the foot of your bed. His back turned to you. The question had caught you off guard as you searched through the files in your brain in order to come up with an excuse. Yet, you came out unsuccessful and decided to just finally confess to him. You had nothing left to lose. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you?” You choked out biting your lip to keep the sob that threatened to spill locked away in the back of your throat.

“You can’t love…you barely know me.” He turned to face you and for the first time in a long time you couldn’t read the emotion that was playing against his features.

“Maybe I don’t love the person I’m faced with everyday, but I do love the person I see whenever you let your guard down around your friends and family.”

“But aren’t you tired of all of this? He raised an eyebrow, lifting his palm up and signaling all around the room as if the extra gesture would help prove his point.

“Exhausted.” You breathed out your shoulders falling as you felt yourself fall apart little by little in front of him. “Then why not hate me?” Minghao  brought his legs up to your bed and crossed them underneath him. This was the longest the two of you had spoken or been in each other’s presence and although it was suffocating there was a small ring of light that lingered between the two of you.

“Because as much as I want to sometimes, I can’t bring myself to hate someone that’s hurting inside as well.”

The deafening silence that the two of you had grown accustomed to entangling itself in the warmth that was lingering above the two of you now. Somehow bringing the two of you a sense of comfort in the midst of this confusing situation you found yourselves in. Although you could feel like you could breathe again, the question that still kept you up at night stayed put in the back of your throat waiting to finally be let out into the world. For months you had pushed it back, deciding you already knew the answer to it. But as you sat in front of Minghao , his soft eyes dancing between your puffy ones you weren’t sure anymore. So, you put your preconceived notions aside as well as your pride and opened your mouth, letting the question run out to freedom. Your heart raced as you anticipated his answer.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, truthfully I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

“Then why can’t you love me back?” You whispered, shutting your eyes. Your hold on your legs getting tighter.

“Because I can’t bring myself to do so no matter how hard I want to sometimes, especially when I listen to you cry every night. I wish…I want to set everything aside and hold you. I want to make you feel less alone…but I can’t.” Minghao  let out a frustrated sign running his hands through his hair and tugging at his roots in desperation. The sight made your heart wrench. You wanted to reach over and hug him, give him the comfort you craved.

“W-Why?”

“I feel guilty.” He nodded resting his forearms against his knees, finally breaking his eye contact with you. Searching your room rapidly for another point of focus and finally settling on the humidifier on your bedside table. “I feel guilty because before I met you, I had chosen to live, not knowing that I would be the reason why your light would start to fade as the days went by.”

Without a second thought you let go of your legs, maneuvering yourself around your bed and wrapped your arms around him tightly. Finally breaking the barrier that silently lingered between the two of you.

You buried your face into his neck letting your tears run freely for the second time that night. Though this time instead of feeling the loneliness you had felt earlier, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

Minghao  felt himself hesitate for a moment feeling overwhelmed as he felt your touch for the first time, not knowing he missed it. A thought he couldn’t explain because how was he missing something he had never had the pleasure of feeling. But he pushed it aside and hugged you back, letting the tears he had kept in for far too long out in the open. He wasn’t happy but he felt like he could be happy if this was what it felt like to finally have you in his arms. He held you tightly, gripping onto you and burying his nose in your hair taking in your scent, one he decided right then and there he would never grow tired of. The two of you basking in each other’s arms, your hearts racing against one another and it overwhelmed the two of you greatly.

“I know we have a lot of things to get through but I’m willing to start over if you are.” You whispered, removing your arms from his body and sitting back on your knees. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, letting out a small laugh and shook your head in disbelief before holding your hand out for him to shake.

Minghao  smiled widely, chuckling before taking your hand in his. The feeling was enough to send shivers up his spine. The good kind.

For the first time that night he had a realization. A secret that he would carry out to his grave, unless you prodded it out of him and with how things were going, he was sure that you would succeed at it too. But for now, he would keep it to himself and enjoy the way your touch felt against his skin and the way your smile was enough to have his heart beating out of time.

“I’m Minghao, your husband.”

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 10: The Perfect Gift”

Part 10 is here! Not gonna lie, this chapter is short and not my best work but a necessary bridge to get to the climax of our story! Fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger. Enjoy! ❤️ 

It was the Tuesday after the dramatic Carisi lunch. You typically had Mondays off from the gallery and after fucking Rafael senseless in front of the fireplace, it didn’t take much convincing on your part to get him to play hooky. The majority of your day was spent in bed— making love, browsing through Netflix, and eating Chinese takeout. It was a much needed escape from your chaotic lives and you still had a few more hours before reality set in. 

The brilliant warm rays of the early morning sun peeked through your curtains. You languorously stretched your limbs, reveling in the sensation of your bare legs against the soft cotton sheets. With a long, drawn out yawn, you reached over to the nightstand for your cup of coffee and aimlessly flipped through a copy of the New Yorker. However your attention was otherwise preoccupied with a freshly showered Rafael walking around your bedroom with a towel hanging low around his hips. You nearly spilled your hot drink into your lap while counting the water droplets on Rafael’s bare chest, watching one droplet slide down his stomach towards his happy trail.

He let the towel drop to the floor and began to get dressed for work, arching his brow when he caught you perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with your jaw hanging wide open. 

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Are you sure I can’t make you breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer but I should try to get to the office early,” he said, holding up two ties for you to choose from.

You picked the silk violet tie. The purple hue brought out your boyfriend’s brilliant green eyes. “Ok, but promise me that you’ll eat something other than the stale pretzels at the precinct.”

“I promise.” Rafael gave you a quick peck on the lips and wrapped his tie around his neck when he realized that he was missing a key element to his wardrobe. “Where’s my shirt? I swore it was right here a min—” His search for the missing shirt came to a screeching halt when he noticed you were wearing it.

“Sorry babe.” A nervous giggle escaped your lips. “Who knew Armani made such comfortable clothes and besides I love how it smells.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How it smells?”

“Uh huh.” Your cheeks turned bright pink and you nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It smells like you.”

An warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Rafael’s veins at your confession. He cupped your face and tenderly kissed you before pulling away. “If you love the shirt so much, then it’s yours.”

“Really?” You glanced down at his undershirt and the tie draped around his neck. “But what are you gonna wear?”

“I have a spare shirt in my office that I keep in case of emergency coffee stains.”

You beamed brightly and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Best boyfriend ever,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue as his hands inched further down your back towards your ass. You moaned in response, feeling him squeeze your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he said between kisses. “I have to go.”

 “No. Five more minutes. Please,” you whined, pressing your body against his.

Rafael groaned, all the blood from his brain rushing towards his cock. You were playing a dangerous game. “If we keep this up in five more minutes I’m going to be between your legs, fucking you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

You nuzzled against his neck as your hand began to palm his growing erection. “Well they do say that testosterone is higher in the morning. Care to put that theory to the test?” 

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

With a sigh of defeat, you stopped. “Alright, can’t blame a girl for trying.” You planted one last chaste kiss on the tip of his nose and gently pushed him towards the door. “Go on. Get outta here.”

 “I’ll see you later tonight.” He grabbed his jacket and left the bedroom only to return 30 seconds later. “I forgot something.”

“What did you—” Rafael cut you off with a passionate kiss causing you both to fall back on the bed.  Your heart fluttered. You were so lost in the moment that you forgot how to breathe. You could taste him on your tongue. All too soon the kiss ended and you were left dazed with thoroughly soaked panties.

“I love you,” he purred and playfully nipped on your lower lip before leaving with a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

“Love you too,” you mumbled and held up the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply. 

*****

A few hours later you were sitting in the small studio at the back of the gallery, dotting leaves onto a canvas. You skipped to the next song on your playlist and stepped back to analyze your work. The painting was of a large, vibrant tree in the center of a grey, bleak city. The tree was designed to look like Rafael. Its leaves matched the color of his eyes. Of course it wasn’t typical for trees to have seafoam green leaves but that was the beauty of art. You even tried to sketch his face in the trunk, its bark resembling his crooked smile and strong aquiline nose. 

Underneath the tree stood the shadowy figure of a woman meant to be you. The tree’s branches were outstretched, gently caressing you, comforting you. In the palms of your hands, you cradled your heart, offering it to the tree as the only possession you had to give. In your opinion, it was the perfect depiction of your relationship. Rafael was your protector. With him, you felt loved, safe, hopeful for the future. He symbolized a new chapter in your life.

Your “Rafael-inspired” piece was meant to be a surprise, since the elusive search for the perfect art for his home was still ongoing. Lucky for him, inspiration struck one rainy Saturday several weeks ago. Well, lazy for you. Rafael was busy typing away on his laptop. Snuggling against him with the rain pattering against the window, a flood of emotions washed over you. The next day you woke up before dawn, grabbed your brushes and paint and snuck over to the studio.

From above the sound of your music playing through your headphones, you heard the door open and turned your head to see your coworker, Phoebe, walk in.

“Bonjour, ma petite aubergine!” she said in a tone that was way too chipper for 8:30 in the morning. 

You snorted a laugh and turned off your music. “Good morning, my little eggplant?” you repeated the phrase.

“I love eggplant,” she replied with a shrug and went to stand behind you, surveying your work. “Hmmm… I like it.”

You made a face. “You sure? It’s not too cheesy?”

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. “A little, but that’s ok. It's the good kind of cheesy.”

A sigh below past your lips. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she tried to reassure you. “And anyways, love makes people cheesy.” You blushed and went back to your painting while she milled around the room looking at your other pieces. “Ya’ know, there’s a new artist night at this gallery my friend works for. You should reach out to them. See if they’ll let you show your art. There are enough pieces here to choose from.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off. “And before you say anything, I don’t wanna hear any excuses.” She gently took you by the shoulders and made you stand to face her. “You are incredibly talented and you should share that talent with the world while making a few bucks in the process.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you conceded, glancing back at your unfinished canvas.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I am? I mean, of course I am! Damn, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you consider doing a show. That Rafael guy must be a good influence on you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best.” You smiled, thinking back to earlier that morning. 

“Speaking of which,”—she grabbed a spare chair and sat down, getting comfortable—“how did the whole ‘meet the parents’ scenario play out?”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Ugh, why did you have to remind me?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like we’re gonna need coffee.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m gonna get a cappuccino from the cafe around the corner. Can I get you something?”

“An Americano and a cinnamon roll.”

“Be back in a flash. I wanna hear all about it. Family drama sustains me, especially when it’s not mine,” she teased before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and began to tidy up. While you stood at the sink, cleaning your brushes, watching the colors swirl and dissolve down the drain, you wondered if Rafael would like his surprise. You hoped he would. It took you hours to get just the right shade of green. 

This gift was a big deal. Apart from your parents, you had never created a piece for anyone else. Your art was private. It was personal. Giving it away was like giving away a part of you. But you and Rafael were beyond that. This past weekend only confirmed what you had known from the moment he stepped into the gallery— that you were his, completely.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of reverie. “That was fast, Phoebe,” you said over the running water. “I guess the cute barista wasn’t working today cause normally you spend a solid twenty minutes flirting before actually ordering your drink. I’m almost finished here. Give me a sec and then I can tell you about the worst Sunday lunch in the history of the Carisi family and that includes the time my Aunt Anita stabbed my Uncle Tony with a fork. ”

“Awww c’mon, babe. It wasn’t that bad,” said a voice that you recognized all too well. 

Stunned, your hands froze, the brushes clanging against the sink. “This can’t be happening. Please, God don’t let it be him,” you thought, slowly turning around only to find your ex-fiancé standing right in the middle of your studio. 

“Theo,” you stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question and took a step towards you with a sinister smile that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

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[allshewants]

Loving you

This scenario was inspired on Jackson Wang’s song and MV, LMLY.

Word counting: 2.5k 

For more checkout: allshewant’s masterlist

Today was no easy. It wasn’t because of the work or because your family or even because your lack in have a social life. It was because of his face. His face when he saw her with someone else. The face that the guy you liked did when he saw the girl he likes with someone. It was a mixture of sadness and disappointment and you couldn’t tell how much seeing that made you suffer.  

You and Jackson have been working together for months now. You two were waiters at a Chinese restaurant downtown. You had a good relationship as coworkers, you had your own inside jokers and the way you two worked so well together always got attention of the costumers and the bosses. But despite it you never saw each other for non-job reasons. You didn't know why you and Jackson were like that, at first it didn't bother you, but after some time it started got you a little angry and you had no idea why. Until some days later when you saw the way he looked to a new costumer that entered the restaurant. Her hair was on point, her smile was bright and her clothes seemed fancy, actually all about her seemed to be fancy.

When you saw his eyes on her and the expression that lighted up his face was like someone had hit your heart painfully. You didn't know why you just couldn't stop that feeling every time she arrived and he ran to get her orders full of chatting and smiles. 

After some time you realize what was going on: you liked him and you were jealous of that woman. You didn't know when you started to feel that way for him, you just knew that you counted the hours to go to work and saved a lot of funny posts to send to him and every time you got a new joke you kept it until you could meet him again, so you could tell him and make him laugh that funny laugh he had and that always made you laugh even more.

But then you suspected that he had a crush on that costumer that oddly started to go to the restaurant very often. You didn't know at what point their relationship were, but everyday you watched him running to her table and always paying attention in what she was doing. Sometimes you even got him daydreaming looking to the table she always took when she is there, when it happened you always tried to say something funny to him, so you could have his attention and smile all for you.

So yesterday started normal as always for you. Everything were alright at the restaurant and you and Jackson were chatting a lot, making jokes and laughing of each other. Until that woman entered the restaurant with someone. No, not just someone, she was with another woman even more fancy then her, as if it was possible. The two took their table and as always Jackson went right away to take their orders. Since that at that time isn’t a lot to do at the restaurant you just observed them. 

They were talking and the woman Jackson liked seemed to be introducing the other one to Jackson, she smiled at her and took her hand. You couldn’t see Jackson’s face from that angle but you saw his shoulders suddenly went down. And when he turned to go to the kitchen you saw the disappointment, the frustration and the sadness in his face. Now you knew his feelings for her were unilateral, she didn’t know he liked her. 

After that was like all the happiness and animation that Jackson always had was drained from him. He didn’t even went to their table anymore you had to do that. You tried to cheer him up with some jokes that you knew he always laughed but it wasn’t working. At the end of the day you spend the rest of your shift cleaning everything in silence and it was so awkward for you, you two never were like that, even in your first day working together you were all chatting.  

When you looked at his face the frustration and sadness were still there, but now he seemed to be angry too. You wish you could know what was going on in his mind, don’t know this and seeing him like that, as if he was in another place, got you angry too. But there wasn’t anything you could do. 

After you finished everything you went to the little office to take your things while you said goodbye to everyone. The last one you did it was Jackson, but he didn’t even looked at you. Feeling worse you took you headphones, but before you could put it you heard Jackson calling you. Turning you looked at him very surprised. 

Running his hand through his hair he tried to smile and asked you “y/n are you busy now?”

Even more surprised now you tried to act as everything was normal and your heart wasn’t racing like it was. “Actually I’m not, why?”

“I know its late...”, he talked as if he wasn’t sure of what he was doing, “but do you want to go somewhere else now?”

You never thought your heart could race like that. Not just your heart but all your body seemed to be reacting to his words. Trying to calm down yourself and seem normal, you answered, “okay, like where?”

If he seemed unsure before now he seemed very surprised. Taking your side and walking in your pace he answered, “I don’t know. I think there still some places open at this time right?“, he tried a smile.

Even his lips were smiling you could see that his eyes were still sad. “I think so”, you smiled back.

Some minutes later you two saw a bar that were still open. It was a very simple bar with the basic. And wasn’t full so you two entered.

And now even you two were already at a table and you were already in your third glass of your drink, all this situation still seemed very unreal. You never thought that someday you would do something like that with Jackson. He was in his fifth glass and started to seem a little affected. You got sure about it when he started to talk. 

“You know that woman that goes everyday to the restaurant right?”, he asked and he didn’t need to say more you knew exactly who he was talking about, “We were classmates at high school”, he said smiling sadly and continued, “she had a boyfriend at that time so I never got the chance to say that I liked her. So when I saw her entering our restaurant some months ago I thought I was having a second chance with her”, he smiled even more sad then before.

You didn’t know about this so you felt a little bad for the thoughts you had about the situation. 

“But today she went to the restaurant with her fiancée!”, as he said this last words he asked for another drink. 

So that was what happened. Now you could understand the whole situation, must be very frustrating think that you finally had your chance and then just find out that your someone already had someone. You felt real sorry for him since until yesterday you were kind of in the same situation he was now. 

“You know Jackson,” you started looking serious to him trying to get his attention, “I know its hard when you like someone that don’t feel the same for you, but it’s not the end of the world. Sometimes it happens, that’s life.”

As he took a deep sip of his drink he answered you, “I know, but what frustrates me is the fact that I never had the courage to confess. I didn’t have when I was younger and I didn’t have now. If I had talked to her since the beginning I still would be sad about it if it went wrong, but at least I would had tried something and not just waited my moment”, he finished the talk and took the rest of his drink and were already asking to the waiter for another one. 

His worlds hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Your chest started to feel heavy, you spent the last months feeling sad and full of self pity for your unilateral feelings, but you never really tried to do something about it, you were too afraid to do something. But now you started to ask yourself: afraid of what? You were already in the no situation? What else did you got to lose?

You felt your eyes wet as you had this thoughts. Looking back at Jackson you noticed that he had another new drink in his hand, putting your thoughts away you started to worry about his state. 

One hour later you were on the middle of street caring both your backpacks and trying to take Jackson to his home. For your luck you were able to unlock his phone with one of his fingers so you could find his address. It was a five minutes walk, but with Jackson drunk as he was you would probably take more time.

You two took actually 15 minutes to finally get to Jackson’s home. In your way you had to stop one time for him to throw out some alcohol and one time for him to admire the stars and philosophize about life and its meaning. This second part were actually very funny you entered in crazy brainstorm. When you arrived to his apartment, for your luck Jackson was able to put his door password, you didn’t know what you would do if he was unable to do that. 

Putting your things on the floor you turned on the lights, his apartment was very simple but still cozy. Before he could go straight to his bed, you managed to convince him to take a shower and change his clothes. At sometime he started to talk no sense and you couldn’t stop yourself from laugh at him. While he was in the bathroom you searched for his towel and some clothes and put it at the door. 

Some minutes later he was in his bad smiling at you and taking your hand, “thank you y/n. Good night.”

You were got out of guard with that. You had no idea how much of that was drunk side or his sober side talking, but that phrase and that smile he made for you opened its way deeper in your heart. You never thought you could like him even more until now. 

Taking your phone you you cursed when you saw that already passed 3a.m., looking to his apartment you considered your options: there was no way you were going to home alone at this time, you could stay there for the rest of the night and explain yourself to Jackson you you wake up. It was an easy decision to make actually. 

With that you went back to his room and took a pair of clothes. You took a shower trying to relax your body. Today you were exhausted not just because of your work, but because all of the thoughts were running in your mind. You knew what you should do, but still you didn’t know if you got the courage. Trying to take your thoughts away with the water you spent sometime in the bathroom. 

Finally with Jackson’s sweatpants and shirt you laid in his couch feeling your body finally relaxing. You were too exhausted to make one clear thought but the last thought you remembered you had were Jackson’s smile before he fell asleep. 

The next morning you woke up still very lazy. Still adjusting your eyes to the lights of the day you heard some noises on the back. Getting up you saw the most beautiful view and suddenly felt very wake. You wish you could see that every morning for the rest of your life. 

Jackson was at the kitchen, no shirt on, only with his sweatpants. His hair was messy and he was making some coffee. Turning to your direction you saw his sleepy face while he smiled at you a embarrassed smile that made you feel even more awake. 

“Good morning y/n”

You took some seconds until you answered, “Good morning Jackson”, you smiled back suddenly remembering that your your hair must be very messy and your face with sleep marks. But you quickly started to explain yourself while you tried to fix your hair, “Sorry for ended up staying at your house without asking you, it was...”

“Don’t worry. I would probably woke up at that bar if it wasn’t for you”, he smiled again and you thought your heart would explode, “do you want some coffee? It’s the least I can do for you after last night.

“Sure”, you answered quickly while you were still able to talk. 

You two drank your coffee in silence at the table at the kitchen. It wasn’t that kind of awkward silence, actually it was a comfortable one. While you were drinking your mind went back to the last night and you started to wonder if that wasn’t your time to take your chance and finally tell Jackson how you felt about him. This thought made your whole body react and you started to feel anxious. 

After both of you finished your coffee Jackson got up and took your cups to the kitchen sink. Taking it as a sign for you to go, you got up and went to take your things. Noticing what you were doing Jackson wet to the door. 

Facing him you finally made your decision. 

“About last night...”, he started but you interrupted him.

“Last night was funny”, you could see he wasn’t expecting you to say that, “let’s do it again another time”, you smiled. 

“Sure”, he answered still surprised, “but let’s go to a new place next time, I think I still too embarrassed to go back there so soon”, he added open the door for you.

Going outside you turned to face him. 

“Jackson...”, you suddenly said and he looked at you waiting. 

“I thought a lot about you said last night. And I think I shouldn’t hold my feelings anymore”, at that point his face was blank, but you couldn’t take it back now, “I like you. I’ve been liking you for sometime now.”, he seemed very shocked with your worlds and got even more nervous for not knowing what it could mean, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know and... If you don’t like me back I wish our relationship at work continues the same. I don’t want the friendship that we are building to end.”

His face were still shocked. Some seconds passed, he kept the same expression and you started to think that it was a mistake. It was the very first time you did something like that, so you never thought about what comes next.