#it is honestly a wonder he came out kind of responsible and reasonable considering all of his loved ones

[callsignpxnguin]

We Were Ghosts Before We Died

A dark Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader fanfiction Click here for the AO3 version TW: suicidal idealisation, gruesome physical deformities, depression, pills, potential stalking

ONE—TWO—THREE

“Morning! Hey, I just realised I never got your name,” you chirped happily as you approached Simon’s small table, beaming. He was in similar dark clothes as yesterday, and a large surgical mask covered the bottom half of his face so much that the scars you had previously identified were barely visible, but — you realised with no little amount of satisfaction — that he had clearly changed, which was a more than you expected after seeing the state he was in yesterday. Small wins.

Simon hesitated as he glanced up at you, who was looking down at him with big eyes and a pen and pad in your hand. You had been sweet to him the evening before, and for some reason he came back to the diner today at your request, but he didn’t trust you that much. “…Just call me Ghost.”

Jesus Christ. Ghost. He may not have deserved the name Simon, but he knew he didn’t deserve this one either. This made it sound like he was still in service, still fighting, still useful. None of those could describe him anymore. Especially with that goddamn leg of his. He wasn’t sure if you were watchful enough to have noticed that yet, though. It wasn’t like he tried to make it obvious.

And, still, it wasn’t like he had any other name to give you. Wasn’t like he could just tell you that he honestly deserved no name, to live as a shadow of a man — all he really was after the stuff he had done and could no longer do. The fact that he lamented that loss only solidified his evil.

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, oblivious to the tempest brewing in his mind. That was always brewing in his mind, wreaking havoc on his logic and rational thinking. “A callsign?”

He nodded tersely, gaze shifting back towards the ground. He did that a lot, you noticed — let his eyes wonder about in an almost nervous, ticking manner, except the rest of his face showed little other emotion and his thick eyebrows were constantly furrowed, so he just looked appeared to get pissed off at everything his eyes landed on.

You hummed in approval before quickly changing topic. It wasn’t hard to tell that he went quiet and resorted to nodding when he didn’t want to talk about something. You gave him your own name lightly, before adding, “So, what kind of pancakes do you want, then? Since you got here so early to get them,” you added with a playful wink.

Simon began, completely emotionless, “No—”

“Maple syrup, yeah, I got that from yesterday,” you interrupted, with a grin at the starkly bewildered look on his face — him blinking. “But any other preferences? Fruits? Whipped cream? One pancake? Five?”

Simon blinked at you. The question was so… mundane. Casual. It felt wrong, considering all he was used to, but also right. Boring, and plain, but comforting. “You got strawberries?”

“Absolutely. Want some blueberries too, to even it out?” God, you were so happy he was bothering to play along. You had half expected him to remain silent again.

“…Fuckin’ hell, sure,” he replied gruffly after a pause, not thinking anything of the sentiment and expecting you to continue prattling on about flavours.

But you coughed pointedly.

Again, Simon blinked at you. What was it now? Did his leg fall off his bloody torso, or something? But then he watched your eyes slide over to the mother with her young son on a table nearby, who was giving him the death glare, and it clicked.

“Establishment is publicly family friendly,” you explained under your breath, giving him a crooked smile. “Could have you kicked out for language like that.

“Oh.” Was the only thing he could manage in response, not having embarrassment flush his ears a light pink, but… something similar. He comforted himself with the fact that it was a pretty stupid rule. This was Manchester, for God’s sake, what were people excepting? For him to have a composure alike to that of the Her Majesty?

But maybe that was the point. For this place to be a semi-decent respite to the coarseness that would barrage into any young child on the streets of Manchester like shrapnel.

“It’s okay, you’re not the first person and you won't be the last. I’ll have your pancakes out soon,” you smiled, winking playfully before disappearing behind the counter.

Just like the day before, he watched you as you left. Some of your co-workers offered tired but relieved smiles at you as you went, to which you returned just as joyfully, and even some of the customers bid you a good morning by name. It seemed you were quite popular here. He didn’t find it surprising — you had been very friendly to him. Exuded the kind of warm persona that many people found appealing. It made sense.

Less than five minutes later, and you were back. It was honestly impressive — you must have made them in preparation of his arrival, because there was no way you had made and cooked all the batter so fast. Right?

The dish honestly looked delicious as you brought it over, beaming as widely as always — more appetising than anything he had eaten in just about the last decade. The pancakes were light and fluffy, a golden-brown that promised just the right amount of delicate crust, and were adorned with fresh fruits that glimmered with moisture and a crown of whipped cream. It looked… straight out of a commercial.

“It’s so… big,” was all Simon said, his gaze fixed on them. And whilst the mask prevented you from seeing the bottom of his face, you could read the surprise — and desire — in his eyes.

Didn’t figure he’d actually want them. You assumed he would take one bite and decide he was full, too overwhelmed by the sugar. But that look in his eyes said otherwise.

“Enjoy!” You told him, smiling shyly and pushing the plate — and the black coffee that you had been holding in your other hand — towards him.

Simon blinked. “I didn’t order the coffee.”

“I know you didn’t. On me. Pure black, like you ordered yesterday.”

“…Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome! Please enjoy!” You waved as you went to assist another customer, as the place was slowly filling up as the morning went on. Quick, but still friendly enough to hopefully linger on his mind. Besides, even if you wanted to stay and chat to him more like yesterday, you’d have people causing so much chaos due to your negligence that you’d have no choice but to cut the conversation short. Unfortunately, today was one of the days where no-one else’s shift started until a few hours later.

As you hummed to yourself as you approached a sweet elderly couple who were signalling for you, Simon’s gaze slid from the to the food in front of him, before taking his cutlery and cutting into the pancakes tentatively. Fine, they looked delectable, but… maybe they’re dry. Maybe they have no taste. Maybe—

Fucking hell. Maybe you were a master chef.

He wasn’t sure if there was some magical wizard in the back kitchen who was helping you out, but by the looks of things it was just you, which meant you were to thank for the heavenly goodness that melted on his tongue.

Simon Riley had eaten a variety of things in his life — rats and year-old crackers included. Usually, the things he had had to sustain himself on during missions were flat-out disgusting, which meant whenever he finally got to try nice cuisine, he short-circuited for a few moments out of pleasure and surprise. That was exactly what happened to him the moment he swallowed his first bite, because it was just… so good. He could find no conceivable words for the emotions he was experiencing.

The entire plate was wolfed down within minutes. Impressive, and frankly a little concerning, even for a big guy like himself. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like anyone else particularly cared about his eating habits, either.

Well, except for you. But out of the corner of your eye, the sight of him scarfing down the pancakes you had made just made you feel proud.

“How was it?” You asked eagerly, clearing up his plates and watching him expectantly despite already knowing the answer, if his plate with only the specks of crumbs wasn’t enough.

Simon folded his arms over his chest. “Really good.”

You weren’t sure how long you’d been smiling for, but it widened even further, if the feat was even possible. “Good to know! I haven’t made pancakes for a while, so I wasn’t sure.”

“You made them?” He echoed, glancing up at you from under his cap. The same one as yesterday. Maybe you did have that magical wizard after all.

You gave him an odd look. “Of course. It’s just me working right now. Stressful, but it pays okay.” A lie. It paid better than a standard shift, but was still piss-poor. Not enough to keep you comfortable. Not even barely.

Simon grunted in acknowledgment, going through his own thought process. So, no wizard. Just you. “Okay. Just wondering.”

“No worries! All done, then, or is there anything else I can get for you?” You watched his reaction carefully. He seemed… at ease. Relaxed, considering the circumstance and how you had seen him last night. His muscles flexed under his shirt, but they weren’t stiff and tense. His eyebrows cut hard lines down his face, but they didn’t particularly arch inwards. They just… were.

Simon considered your question. Yesterday he had taken you up on the offer of more coffee. Whether unconsciously or not, he had prolonged staying out. Prolonged the end. Today, whilst he didn’t feel particularly inclined to stay for much longer, he didn’t feel the burning need to retrieve that pile, either. And so, he shook his head gruffly and pushed his empty plates over to you with the back of one of his gloved hands. “M’okay.” His other hand went to his pocket, and, pulling out two 10-pound notes, slid them over to you too.

Your eyes widened as they skimmed over the money, your hands reaching to collect the dishes. “This… is too much.” It may have been an American diner, but it still operated in a British (or, rather, the rougher Mancunian) style. Tips were highly unusual. Not that you were going to complain too much, but you still had some sense of dignity.

“All I have with me,” he said after a moment.  He blinked, surprisingly long, pale lashes framing his gleaming hazel eyes. “It’s fine, just take it.”

“…Sure?”

He didn’t respond, just blinked at you again.

Fair enough. He had already given you his answer. You didn’t repeat the question as you took one note in your free hand, and and slid the other into your uniform pocket. “Thanks, Ghost.” The ends of your lips quirked up as the name left your mouth. He clearly wasn’t expecting it, either, because it took a moment for him to respond with yet another nod.

“Excuse me! Waitress!”

Your gaze shot to the customers calling you, before glancing back at Simon and smiling at him sheepishly. “Come again tomorrow, yeah? I’ll make something different.”

“Waitress!” The voice grew louder and shriller.

“Well— bye! Have a good day!” You chirped as you waved at him for the second time today and immediately darted off to assist whoever was calling for you, as he began the effort of heaving himself out of the booth, shooting a quick glare at his leg that he wasn’t sure if you’d noticed yet. You were always so joyful. He was never sure how to appropriately respond, given he didn’t really think about his own mannerisms all that often. It was a foreign feeling, and he thrived in the comfort of the expected.

That didn’t stop him from returning the next day, though. Or the next.

Or the next.

For some reason, over the next few days, him coming to the diner to get breakfast (which ranged from french toast to bacon and eggs) became a sort of routine, following your daily ‘Good morning!’ messages, to which he replied with a thumbs-up every time. It grounded him — gave him something to wake up, get dressed, and have a purpose for — and right now he just about found that preferable to his other option that remained in a pile in the corner of his flat.

The rest of the day never consisted of much more than a walk around the neighbourhood or lying on the couch, but it didn’t seem quite so dull anymore. Not when he had something to occupy his thoughts with, to think about, however mundane it seemed. Besides, it was an 80’s-style-American diner in a shit area of Manchester — there always had to something interesting happening there, because there never was anywhere else. And you always made an effort to chat with him, even when he didn’t offer more than a grunt in response.

That was something he had noticed about you. You knew when he was still interested in your conversation, more or less — impressive, considering how imposing of a figure he supposed he cut, acting so cold in the way he did. You’d talk happily, not deterred in the slightest, but then still realised when his gaze began to shift to other things that you had lost his attention and tactfully went away again. Even if he didn’t know how he felt in the moment, sometimes it was like you always did, and always acted accordingly. Always acted in a way tailored to him, accordingly, at that.

And so, he appeared at the diner’s doors at the same time every morning, and you always appeared to greet him at the same time every morning, never to be seen without a smile on your face, something to be counted upon. Someone to be there and start his day off fresh.

Until you weren’t.

It had been about a week and a bit into this newfound routine, and for some reason when he arrived, you weren’t there to let him in and make some bad joke about pancakes or whatever silly thing was on your mind that morning. It was the young man who had gotten on his nerves on the evening he had first met you, instead, and the change thoroughly confused him.

“Where is she?” He grunted with no other context, glaring down at the man. Because he knew that you worked the morning shift every day from your rambles, so it wasn’t like you just weren’t working today.

The man, ever unruffled, just shrugged. At least this time he kept his attention on Simon instead of switching it between him and something behind the counter.  “Sick, I think. What, you were planning on asking her out? Didn’t have the patience to show up here for a month straight and wanted to do it after a week instead?” The last few comments were snide, and as a jealous man himself, Simon knew the various expressions of jealously when he heard them. To be fair, though, it was pretty obvious anyway.

And so, he just remained silent as he so often liked to do. Except, this time it wasn’t out of avoidance. He simply refused to offer the man an answer, much to his obvious frustration when he just scoffed, muttering something like ‘bloody man, thinking he’s better than everyone’ as he turned away.

So, naturally, Simon just walked in and sat in his usual seat. Empty, as always, because it was in such a tight corner that you wouldn’t know it existed unless you specifically looked for it.

He sat down. Ordered a coffee from a pointedly different waiter (oh, so you didn’t deserve someone else to assist you on your shift, but he did?) and drunk it all over the course of an hour until only the dregs were left.

Though once it was empty, he didn’t leave.

What else was there for him to do but wait? It wasn’t like there was a time limit on sitting, anyway. Besides, the venomous glares that the waiter shot him whenever he walked nearby almost made the corners of his lips quirk upwards. Almost.

And so, he sat. And sat. And sat. Watched the comic-themed clock on the wall spin by at a surprising pace, the hours slipping by, and otherwise amused himself by people-watching, pointedly ignoring the frustrated glares William sent him whenever he passed the table. There was a single father taking his twin daughters out for their birthday lunch. An old lady and her grandson spending time together. Multiple groups of giddy teens and pre-teens eager to flaunt their newfound freedom by being generally noisy and boisterous.

A few days ago, it might have annoyed him. But now the general atmosphere of the diner was something he spent a lot of time around, he was able to mercifully tune it out and only give them a mildly condescending look.

They still shut up instantly, though. Acknowledging the large, lone man in the corner that no-one even knew was an available seat with an unblinking stare did that to some people.

Then, his mind shifted onto other things. More specifically, you. He wasn’t an idiot. You obviously had some financial problems — finding anyone who lived around here who didn’t would make him a surprised man — so to miss a shift would mean you’d have to be pretty sick. He didn’t want to picture it — you wrapped up in bed, shivering miserably, a bin beside you and a cold towel on your head. Maybe you couldn’t even bring yourself to set yourself up as well as that, and were just lying against your bathroom wall and trying to soothe your burning forehead with the coolness of the tiles.

The thought instantly made him uncomfortable, and suddenly he didn’t even want to stay in the diner just to spite the stupid waiter anymore. It was strange for him to try and imagine you, so joyful and energetic, so weak and vulnerable. Honestly, it was strange for him to bother imagining anyone else but himself after being in self-isolation for so long, so he wasn’t too bothered with the feeling.

He stood suddenly, scowling at his leg again when it thumped uselessly against the ground, and dragged himself out of the diner with a sudden frustration. What was the point of even being in this place if you weren’t there? Weren’t there to do what, he wasn’t sure — talk his ear off? Make him food? — but nevertheless, he was achieving nothing by being here. Suddenly, everything pissed him off — the loud customers, the plasticky sheen of the floor, the fluorescent lights — and he suddenly stormed out of the place with an expression that couldn’t frozen tigers in their tracks. Silence followed his dramatic departure, though it was quickly replaced by excitable chatter, because it wasn’t the weirdest thing anyone had seen that day despite the sun only having been up a couple hours.

The cold air bit the exposed half of his face like tiny icicles. March was supposed to be springtime, composed of the occasional frost but mainly focused on life and rebirth with the warmth it brung — but in Manchester there were only three seasons: grey, wet, and cold. Most days it was a mix of all three. He figured he had seen the pure sun about three times during the entire time he’d lived here.

He leant on the outside of the diner, observing his surroundings in a way he had never thought necessary before. The street that the diner sat on was a grim one — though what wasn’t, here? Every other shop was either boarded up or graffitied to the point of no return, whilst the remaining few were just empty and lifeless. The diner was the only thing that signalled civilisation down the entire road, and the bright colours and noise stood out like a sore thumb from the dystopian-esque rest of the area.

Simon almost sighed. Once, maybe, in his childhood, this place would’ve had more joy. But a declining economy and the far more favourable option of travel left areas like this with only scraps, leaving the people who chose to remain with no choice but to fend for themselves in any way they could.

Those horrid thumps rang out again as he slowly began to walk back to his flat. That noise could have been used as a mental torture method by Makarov’s men if he was still on the force, if they ever learnt the pain it caused him to hear it.     

But it could never happen. Because he was now off the force because of the exact thing that made that stupid noise, and Makarov only continued to torture the men he spent over half his life fighting with — and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He grunted in frustration as he continued his walk, a thick fog beginning to descend onto the streets. His eyesight was sharp, but it was still frustrating to have to strain it whenever the air got like this.

As he limped down the road, the fog growing denser and greyer with every minute, his eyes latched onto something in the distance. It wasn’t a lamppost — far too short, and it was laughable for him to even assume that there was even a single working lamppost on the street — but it was far smaller, and moving. It was also holding bags.

A person. A figure in the distance, making their way to wherever they were going at about the same slow pace that he was — surprising, given it rivalled that of a snail’s.

Simon squinted in the fog of the streets, trying to make out whom the person could be. He didn’t know why, but for some reason they seemed strangely familiar, despite the oddity of even being there considering the time and… general area. Simon didn’t think he’d ever seen a person doing something so mundane as walking down his street before, despite having owned the place for over 10 years. Sneaking or running away from something, yes, but never just casual walking.

Safe to say, it sparked his curiosity. And the figure was going in the direction of his flat anyway, so it wasn’t like he was being particularly creepy by following them.

It they’d never been followed before in this part of town, though, he was really just doing them a favour by giving them the experience before someone else with more malicious intentions could.

The figure continued to walk down the street, past the few other apartment blocks, before after a few minutes stopping directly at — his stack of flats.

So, they were either insane, a squatter, or thief. Interesting. Now to see how they figured they’d get in.

A hand emerged from the figure’s form as they pulled what looked like a set of keys out and unlocked the door to the hallway.

Okay, so they’re insane. Honestly, he would’ve preferred a thief. It would have been easier to fight one, both physically and morally.

We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

His gaze narrowed as the person let themselves in. He refused to believe that he actually had a neighbour, after all this time. The idea was ludicrous. He may have only lived there for a couple months, and only started leaving the place that week, but still, neighbours were supposed to make noise. Show signs of existence apart from being seen. Not… live in the silence that he had grown so accustomed to and complied with himself.

So, he followed them. As he neared, every heaved step bringing him a little closer as the person fiddled with their keys, he got a better view of them. Pretty small — which could apply to everyone from his view — and dressed in all black. Black hoodie, black leggings. Black shoes. They were also carrying groceries, which meant they would’ve had to have just taken the perilous route to the nearest Waitrose, which was three hours by bus each way.

The door creaked open, and they inched inside, Simon at their heels.

Now, Simon was a man of silence. He uttered few words, and excepted few in return. The quiet was where he thrived, where he was trained to thrive, where he felt comfortable in. What happened to his leg may have thrown him morbidly off-balance, but even that didn’t hinder his ability to remain soundless in most situations.

Which was why it was such a surprise to not just the person in front of him, but also himself, when his leg caught on a loose floorboard, with a scratchy, resounding, and loud noise.

Creak.

It all happened so fast. The figure whirled around at the sound sharply, their hood slipping off of their head — Simon reared back simultaneously — and then suddenly he was face-to-face with the blatantly terrified expression of—

You.

Taglist: @moonfriesbruv @snburntandsad @asweetheart @vampsauce91 @kylies-love-letter @banananananachips @terrifiedanimegirl

This is gonna get dark fast, I promise.

Please ask for the taglist, and feel free to share any thoughts below! Every comment makes me inexplicably happy :)

[helikesyou]

Daylight (Buck/Eddie +s7)

(based on the “you deserve to be kissed often, by someone who knows what they’re doing” prompt)

or, After Buck and Tommy break up, Buck suggests an experiment. Eddie thinks he's a rebound, and clown-to-clown communication ensues.

[read on ao3]

“So, you broke up because…?”

Eddie was trying to go easy on Buck, but he’d been wondering all night, and the four drinks they’d both had didn't seem to make Buck’s tongue any looser. Considering his best friend had shown up at his door with a six-pack, a weak smile, and said he was ready to talk about it, he hadn’t done a lot of talking about it.

Eddie had asked, Buck had shrugged it off and asked if Christopher was home, Eddie had said no, and Buck had planted himself on the couch.

He came, as Christopher would say, “dressed for a slumber party,” in old gray sweats and a worn black t-shirt. Eddie had changed out of his uniform, into black sweats and the gray tee he wore to bed, and settled in for a long night. Four drinks later, sinking increasingly deeper into the couch, Buck had yet to mention Tommy. He figured maybe Buck was waiting for him to ask about it. So he did.

Buck absently rolled the beer bottle between his palms, looking down at it. “I…I’m not sure what happened, to be honest. We got into this argument which I’m not even sure was about us in the first place, and––"

“What do you mean ‘not about us in the first place?’”

“Well, he’d been acting kind of strange since last week––distant, you know––and when I brought it up last night he said he wasn’t so sure about us anymore. I asked what he meant, and he said he’s felt like I’ve had one foot out the door since the beginning.” Once Buck started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I didn’t know what the hell that meant. And it started this whole thing. He was nice about it, calm, but it sounded like he had his mind already made up.”

“And you didn’t…I don’t know…fight for it?” Eddie knew he was treading dangerous ground, and he shrugged when Buck met his gaze. He rephrased. “What’d you say to him, Evan?”

Buck’s lips twitched. He used to hate it when people called him Evan, hearing in it an echo of his parents' disapproval, but the fondness in Eddie’s voice had changed that. Still, he didn't use it often; every time he did, it sparked something warm and embarrassingly soft behind Buck's ribcage. For a moment, Buck met Eddie’s gaze straight on, studying the shades of bronze and copper and gold his eyes became in the setting sun slanting in through the window. Then he sighed, looking down at his hands again.

“I didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I couldn’t argue too hard against it, because I have been distant lately. I––" Buck closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath before continuing, "I just keep remembering how exciting it was, how freeing, at the beginning. And I think I was so caught up in that that I didn't notice when we stopped...making sense together. I don’t know what changed, or when, but...something did.” Something bitter lodged in Buck’s chest at the admission. He knew it was him—something in him—that always seemed to ruin things before they started.

Eddie hummed, considering his response. It was one of Buck's favorite things about Eddie: how he carefully considered his words, turning them over in his head before he spoke. He watched as Eddie peeled back the sticker on his beer, then restuck it. “Could you––I’m not saying this is it, I’m just putting it out there––be second guessing the dating-a-guy part? Because it’s so new?” For some reason, Eddie felt exposed as Buck watched him; relief washed through him when Buck laughed softly. He hadn’t been sure how he would respond. 

"No, that part––that part always felt right. I think…maybe because of that, I wanted to think that we had more in common than we actually did. The physical part was…” He looked at Eddie, a rakish glint in his eye and a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure you don’t want details, but,” he blew out a breath, letting his head fall back against the couch and tilting his face towards Eddie, “man, it was incredible.”

There was something in Buck’s slightly dazed, flushed expression that made Eddie straighten and look away. He shifted, reaching over to pat Buck’s leg. “Yeah, you rarely had trouble with that.” Buck swatted at Eddie with the back of his hand in response, grinning as he leaned forward to set his empty bottle on the coffee table.

“Hey, judgy. ‘Intimacy is a significant part of a healthy relationship’, remember?”

“Don’t quote your therapist at me. And I was married, you idiot. Of course I know that.”

“I’m just saying…I like kissing.” Buck grinned at Eddie. “And I’m good at it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, drinking the last of his beer before grabbing the empty bottles from the counter. “Sure, Buck.”

He walked to the kitchen, so he didn’t see Buck’s eyes widen in indignation, but he smiled when he heard it in his voice. Buck had twisted around on the couch. “Whoa, whoa, wait up. You don’t believe me? I have years worth of evidence from women—and now even men—” Buck smacked the couch to emphasize his point, “to back that up.”

Eddie shook his head, smiling, and flipped the faucet on to rinse out the bottles. “Okay, man.” He set them in the sink to dry and snagged the dish towel, turning to face Buck. He leaned back against the oven, drying his hands and watching in amusement as Buck became more adamant. Sometimes Eddie felt like a kid on a playground, poking at Buck just to see what he'd do. 

"No, no, no, don’t ’okay, man’ me.” Eddie bit back a grin at Buck’s accusing tone.

“You know that you look like a stunned fish right now?” He dropped the dish towel on the counter and returned to the couch, tapping a finger underneath Buck’s chin to close his mouth. Buck turned to fully face him, pulling a leg up onto the cushion. His sweats were worn, slightly faded in the knees. A wave of fondness warmed Eddie’s chest; Buck never wore them outside the house.

“Nope. We’re not letting this one go—we’re settling it.” There was a glint in Buck’s eyes that often preceded some bad idea that Eddie would egg on—usually, the consequences were limited to a headache the next day.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Eddie closed his eyes briefly and let his head fall back against the couch, exasperated. “And how on Earth would we do that?”

Buck clapped his hands. “Easy. I’m going to show you.”

Eddie choked, suddenly glad he wasn’t drinking anything. He jerked up to face Buck on the couch.

“What?”

Buck’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “Yes. You’re straight, right?” Eddie sputtered, and Buck cut him off, barreling forward into his point. “No...secret feelings you’re holding for me?”

“Shut up, Buckley.” Eddie laughed, shoving at him. Despite himself, he knew his face was red; he could feel the heat as it climbed up his neck.

Buck sat forward, feeling like Buck 1.0 was taking the wheel and letting him, loosening up. “No, hear me out. If both of those things are true, you should be completely impartial. You have no ulterior motive to tell me I’m good…” Buck spread his hands. “If I’m not.”

Eddie smacked Buck’s hands back into his lap, ignoring the flare of heat under his skin. “I believe you’re a good kisser, you smug bastard. Your track record tells me that much. I just don’t believe you’re as good as you think you are.”

Buck knew that the drinks they’d had weren't helping his conviction, but there was a momentum in his blood that he couldn’t quiet. One that drowned out the voice in the back of his head saying bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. “Fine. Then, I kiss you. If you feel anything, anything at all, then it’s proof that I’m just as good as I think I am.”

Eddie pointed a finger at Buck, just for something to do with his hands. There was a nervous energy underneath his skin—an off-kilter feeling he experienced on calls sometimes. “I’m tempted to take you on.”

Buck’s grin only widened. Eddie laughed, then sobered slightly. He narrowed his eyes. “Why are we really doing this, Buck?”

Buck shrugged. “Because I like to win, and you like to win, and now I feel like I have something to prove.” Surprisingly, there was a defensive edge buried in his playful tone. Eddie felt it lodge between his ribs. He wasn’t sure when his heart had started racing.

Buck knew he was being ridiculous, and no part of him expected Eddie to agree, so he wasn’t sure why he was pushing so hard. Maybe it was remembering the rush of kissing Tommy for the first time. Maybe it was curiosity. How would it feel to kiss someone he’d known for years, someone he knew as well as he knew himself?

They were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and the part of Buck that propelled him into burning buildings wanted to rush headlong over it.

Still, his stomach dropped when Eddie said: “You know what? Fine.”

Buck drew back in surprise. “Wait––what?”

Now Eddie had that dangerous look in his eyes; the same one he had before they’d broken down the hotel room door at Chim's bachelor party. He seemed to be savoring Buck’s shock, gaze flicking across his face, the corners of his lips lifting. “Yeah. Let’s do it. But the bet goes both ways, and loser buys dinner.” Eddie sounded far more decisive than he felt. He bounced his knee, the only outward sign of the restless energy running through him.

Buck laughed, a slight rasp to it. “But I am attracted to men.” There was a shift in the way Buck was looking at Eddie now, a heavy-lidded, thinly veiled desire that made Eddie's mouth go dry. He'd never seen this side of Buck.

“But you’re not attracted to me, right?” Eddie fired back. “So the same rules can apply.”

There was a beat of charged silence. Buck swallowed hard; Eddie’s gaze flicked down to follow the movement, then back up. Buck fisted his hands. “Mmhm. Ground rules?”

Eddie shook his head slowly, his teeth snagging the edge of his bottom lip, and the sight dropped Buck, fast, into the familiar and exhilarating rush of anticipation. Warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach as he lowered his gaze, heavy, to Eddie’s mouth; studying the way his white teeth held back the delicate bow-shape of his bottom lip. He suddenly wanted to run his thumb over it. 

“You sure you want to do this?” Buck muttered, voice rough. Eddie’s lip slid from his teeth when he grinned.

“This is what you do every time, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Buck asked distractedly, gaze still fixed on Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie huffed out a soft laugh. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. There was a tingling in his hands.

“You do have a lot of practice at this, you dog.” Buck’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he slowly raised his hands to rest on Eddie’s shoulders, thumb drawing over Eddie’s collarbone. Buck's fingers were trembling; it made Eddie's bones ache. “This alright?” Buck’s voice was quiet, reverent. 

Eddie’s voice was caught in his throat, so he simply nodded. He’d leaned forward without realizing it, and allowed his head to fall the rest of the way until their foreheads touched. In response, Buck drew his hands up, around the sides of Eddie’s neck and into his hair, nails scraping gently at the base of his skull. A tremor ran through Eddie: down his spine and across his shoulders. Buck felt it under his hands, and smiled.

“You’re not playing fair,” Eddie said lowly, pushing his forehead briefly, teasingly, harder into Buck’s. “You know I can’t help that.”

Buck tilted his chin up until their lips were a breadth from touching. His voice was husky when he whispered: “I never play fair.”

Eddie’s chest expanded in a quick breath before he surged forward, grabbing a fistful of Buck’s shirt to drag him into the kiss. Buck gasped against his lips; Eddie’s mouth was hot and blissfully soft. For a moment, Buck’s mind short circuited. His hands slid from Eddie’s neck, falling limply into his lap while his brain caught up with his body. His friend—his best friend—was kissing him…

And it was going to ruin him.

He knew that as surely as he knew that things had shifted between them on a seismic scale.

And if that was true, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make it worth something.

So when Eddie released Buck’s shirt to slide his hands up his chest, when he grasped the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, Buck groaned and grabbed Eddie’s hips to pull him in closer. His thumbs slid along, then under, the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt, and Eddie drew in sharp breath as a bolt of desire shot down his spine.

Buck broke the kiss to nudge Eddie’s head to the side, and Eddie made a weak sound of protest until he felt Buck’s lips trailing across his jaw and down the column of his throat. Buck focused his attention on the spot underneath Eddie’s jaw that they’d joked about being his weakness with girls, and Eddie’s hand tightened in Buck’s hair.

“Fuck, Evan.” The words were a gasp––it made Buck crazy. Crazy enough to grab Eddie by the jaw and drag their mouths back together. Crazy enough to fan the flames of the irrepressible heat underneath his skin; to move impossibly closer, to––

Eddie suddenly, almost violently, yanked himself out of the kiss. Buck’s head spun; his weight carried him forward and he fell into the space on the couch that Eddie had vacated. Disorientingly fast, Eddie was up and out, hands pushing through his hair as he walked away. There was a stunned beat of silence; no sound in the room other than their labored breathing.

When Eddie spoke, his voice was strangled. “Buck. We can’t do this. I can’t––I can’t do this.”

Buck didn’t have time to gather a coherent sentence, his head still wrapped in the fog of Eddie’s mouth on his, before Eddie was gone, slamming his bedroom door behind him with enough force to rattle the picture frames on the wall.

Reality came crashing back in; Buck’s blood went cold.

“Eddie!––Eddie, wait––” Buck shook the clouds from his mind and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet, rushing over to pound on Eddie’s door as the sickening weight of consequence settled in.

Abruptly, the fight drained out of him; he let his head fall against the door with a soft thump. “Eddie, please,” Buck didn’t even try to mask the pleading in his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t––I don’t know what I was thinking. Come out and we can talk about it, or––or not talk about it.” He pressed a fist to the door hard enough for the ridges to dig into his skin. He waited, heart in his throat. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Silence. A beat of stillness from the other side of the door.

Then: “Go home, Buck. I don’t want––,” there was a brief silence, “I can’t have you here right now.”

Something in Buck’s chest cracked open at the finality in the words. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him.

Some sickened, reckless part of him wanted to beg. Wanted to knock the door down.

Wanted to do anything to reverse the ruin of the most significant relationship in his life.

Instead, he dragged in a deep breath. He rasped “Okay.”

He pushed himself away from Eddie’s door.

Buck grabbed his keys from the counter with shaking hands and stumbled blindly to the front door, the world a haze around him. He’d been drunk often enough to know these weren’t the effects of alcohol: this was the dizzying aftershock of adrenaline.

The call gone wrong. The catastrophe that could have been avoided.

The pressure on his chest wasn’t intoxication—it was grief.

Buck didn’t sleep that night. He tossed, turned, and texted Eddie—his messages became increasingly pathetic as his agitation compounded his sleeplessness. Eventually, he tossed his phone onto the chair across the room to keep himself from checking it every two minutes. Eddie wasn’t going to text him back. He dreaded going into work. 

The next morning, Buck and Eddie managed to avoid each other completely…for about five minutes.

Eddie’s stomach dropped when Buck walked into the locker room. Of course, of course, Chimney had just left, the rest of the 118 already in the kitchen for breakfast.

Buck seemed to have the same reaction, his eyes closing briefly as he paused in the doorway. He sighed, walking to his locker and pointedly not looking at Eddie. Eddie spun his combination in, missing the right number twice. Anger made his chest tight.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Buck shut his own locker and leaned a shoulder against it, turning to face Eddie. His arms were crossed protectively over his chest. “Eddie. We have to talk about this,” he said.

“Do we?” Eddie bit out, jaw tight. He clipped his belt, still not looking at Buck.

“I was there too,” Buck said with a weak smile, trying at levity. “There’s no way the kiss was that bad.”

It was meant to lighten the situation; in the past, it would have worked. Eddie would have scoffed, then smiled, and they would have moved past it.

Now, it just pissed him off.

Eddie slammed his locker door and turned to face him. His voice came out sharp. “Buck, I didn’t leave because the kiss was bad.” He looked directly at Buck for the first time. “I left because it was really, really good.”

Buck rocked back a little in shock, his lips parting slightly. He stilled, eyes wide. “Oh.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Eddie started to turn away, but Buck grabbed his arm.

“Wait. Why are you so mad, then?”

Eddie yanked his arm out of Buck’s grasp, voice rigid. “Why do you think, Evan? You just broke up with Tommy—”

Buck’s eyes widened in indignation, and he started to cut Eddie off when the call bell rang, startling them both.

Hen jogged past, looking at them curiously, and it pulled Eddie back down to earth. “Saved by the bell,” he said, and left Buck in the locker room, not looking back as he let the door slam shut behind him.

It was a day of constant calls.

Buck and Eddie were professionals—as they always did, they locked their personal issues away to focus on the people who needed their help. But little things slipped through—the two of them had always worked in an effortless tandem, moving around each other and communicating wordlessly what they needed.

Today, their flow was off.

When they moved through a crawlspace to rescue a trapped child, Buck dropped the flashlight that Eddie tried to hand him. When they wheeled out a heart attack victim, Buck had to repeat himself twice when he read Eddie the blood pressure reading.

The other members of the 118 noticed. Hen raised an eyebrow at Buck when he and Eddie bumped into each other climbing into the firetruck. Chimney and Bobby exchanged a confused look when Eddie called for Chimney to help him with a stuck window, though Buck was standing right there.

In a lull between emergencies, en route to the next call, Hen leaned over to Buck and muttered: “You two okay?” Buck just shook his head tightly, gaze fixed out the window. “Trouble in paradise, hm.” She said, sitting back and patting Buck’s leg reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out.”

Buck wasn’t so sure.

It was the end of the shift before they were alone again. It was the early hours of the morning, dark, and everyone was packing up to head home; only Bobby, Eddie, and Buck remained in the locker room. Despite Buck’s pleading look for Bobby to stay, Bobby grabbed his bag and left, with a pointed look at Buck that said “sort it out.”

Buck sighed, tossing his bag onto the bench and walking over to Eddie. He stepped in front of Eddie’s open locker, shutting it, and Eddie stepped back, rolling his eyes.

“Get out of my way, Buck.” Eddie sounded weary.

“I will. When you talk to me.” Buck knew there was a raw, desperate edge to his voice, but he couldn’t mask it. It softened Eddie slightly—he sighed.

“All this,” Eddie waved a hand between them, “after all these years…and now I’m… I don’t know…” He tried again, frustrated. “I didn’t even know I was into guys and then you come along and— ” he dragged a hand down his face, “And mess with my head.” Eddie rubbed his jaw, a bitter twist to his grin. “And for what, right? For you to forget about your breakup for five seconds?”

Realization crossed Buck’s face, closely tailed by a flash of anger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up.”

Buck’s face flushed. His voice was sharper than Eddie had ever heard it. He dropped his volume, though no one else was in the room. “You think I was just fucking around? That you’re some kind of rebound?”

Eddie was struck silent by the vehemence—the hurt—in Buck’s voice. He blinked. “What else am I supposed to think, Buck?”

Buck barked out a bitter laugh. “Jesus—give me more credit than that. You really think that poorly of me, that I would risk ruining our friendship for some meaningless kiss?”

“But…Tommy—”

“And why do you think he broke up with me?” Eddie stilled, brow furrowing at the drastic shift in conversation.

“What?”

Buck’s voice was low. “Why do you think he said that I had one foot out the door the whole time?” He tilted his head and gave Eddie a meaningful look, waiting. After a beat of silence, Eddie’s face cleared in realization, then disbelief.

“Oh.” He breathed.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Now Buck couldn’t meet his eyes.

Eddie felt as if the ground had shifted underneath him. “Why—why didn’t you—”

“Tell you? Because I didn’t want to fuck everything up. I didn’t want this,” he waved a hand between them, “to happen.”

Eddie’s heart pressed against his ribcage. He couldn’t seem to draw enough air into his lungs. “How long?” He managed.

Buck scoffed. “That I knew, and acknowledged it? Probably since you started hanging out with Tommy and I had to face this crazy jealousy—I guess not for him, in hindsight.” Buck took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Misplaced that energy, I guess.” He tugged nervously on a stray thread on the sleeve of his shirt—anything to keep from looking at Eddie. He couldn’t bear to see pity in his friend’s expression. “How long did I know, and not acknowledge it?” Buck was silent for a long moment. “Probably since my leg injury, when you came over to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself.” He let out a huff of laughter, looking down at his hands. “And you let me watch Chris, and I saw so much of you in that kid during the tsunami.” Eddie made a soft sound, but Buck still couldn’t look at him. His throat ached. “Both of you have made me a better man.”

“That’s…Buck...” Eddie’s voice was rough.

“Yeah.” Buck’s voice gained strength even as it strained with emotion. “So. Be angry if you need to be. I’m sorry if I messed everything up. But don’t you—don’t you dare claim that the kiss meant nothing to me. It meant—” Buck couldn’t catch his breath. He swallowed hard, and said, “you mean—you’re…Eddie, you’re everything.”

And almost before he could finish his sentence, Eddie was kissing him.

Buck made a soft sound of surprise as Eddie walked him back against the lockers, pressing him firmly against the cold metal, his mouth hot and insistent. Like before, it took a second for his body to catch up with his head—Buck’s hands twitched at his sides before coming up to grasp Eddie’s waist, fisting in the starched fabric of his uniform. Eddie’s hands cupped Buck’s jaw, fingers behind his ears. He pulled back, just a little, and Buck chased, recapturing his lips as Eddie smiled against his. Buck couldn’t help smiling as well, and it broke them off softly, though they still held to each other.

Buck’s gaze was soft, shining like sea glass. Eddie’s lips remained slightly parted.

“So,” Buck drew in a soft breath, “we’re good?”

Eddie let out a real laugh, a smile spreading across his face. He ran a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

“Oh, thank God.” Buck dropped his head to Eddie’s shoulder in relief and Eddie’s arms shifted to come up around him. He rubbed a hand between Buck’s shoulder blades, feeling him shaking. Eddie remembered another time, Buck holding him like this, when Buck broke down Eddie’s door to find a destroyed room and Eddie on the floor with a splintered baseball bat. He’d held him together, and waited for the waves to subside. He’d pressed Eddie’s hands, underneath his own, to his chest and told him to breathe with him. Eddie had, until the slow rise and fall of his friend’s chest settled his own. It was a kind of touch that he’d never had with anyone else, a collapsing into vulnerability that he’d never allowed himself, not even with Shannon.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into Buck’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere now.”

[aiura-stan]

0-6!

(If you’re wondering how I’m getting these done so fast, it’s because I’m doing these ahead of time. I'm running on a queue.) I used dictation and actual keyboard typing for this one, so it’s going to be long. (Side note, I love the ability to dictate things and using split screen mode! Highly useful features and I have no idea why it’s taken me this long to actually use them.) Also, I guess I should say that there will be spoilers in this and probably future posts too, because I’ve already read the manga. Okay! Onto the commentary.

I love that Saiki outright states he doesn't want to be the "guy you know what he's thinking.” Like, come on Saiki, admit it; you have a little bit in common with Kaidou. (I think he secretly kind of likes freaking people out. He definitely likes the fact that people are a little scared of him.)

He's always the odd one out; He's one of the loner kids. I don't think he really thinks it makes him look normal. I think that's just what he tells himself to feel better about the whole thing.

I think it's funny that he dislikes Kaidou for the same reasons that he thinks he's so different from everyone else. I mean, Kaidou is always trying to stand out, and Saiki does have a legitimate reason for not wanting to stand out. But even so. He’s just got it in his head that is so much better than Kaidou at the beginning of the series. Like, dude, you're no different from him. You're the same breed of weirdo in a different font. Lol. That font is “really intentionally manipulating others’ perception of you for personal reasons.” It’s just that Kaidou’s version is much flashier than yours. I like seeing it this early on in the comic; it's interesting to see how it all started. Also, Kaidou is a lot more polite than Nendou, apologizing for talking to Saiki out of nowhere. Amusing. He absolutely knows how to behave like a normal person, but chooses not to because his persona gives him confidence.

I also like that here in the beginning of the comic, we have an unnamed guy who is was basically parroting what Kuuusuke says further on in the comic, and it’s more clearly framed as delusional weirdo behavior.

Yes, duh, he came to you because you were alone, Saiki. Weirdo behavior attracts weirdos (weirdos attract weirdos.) That's just a basic social law for ya.

Also, I laughed out loud at “okay, I’m calling you Junpei.” good response, honestly. Saiki’s narrative commentary addressed to no one in particular is always really funny.

He also seems to be egging him on in the next panel with his sarcastic remarks (wow. Your punch was soooo fast I couldn’t see it at all), though it’s never clear in this manga whether the person being spoken about can actually hear anything he’s saying in all of its dry sarcasm. My headcanon follows the lines that Saiki uses hypnosis when he’s not actively addressing them (sending telepathic messages to them), so people just hear whatever they want to hear from him. Or something like that. I’m guessing that we, the readers, are supposed to assume that they can’t hear him unless Saiki is actively sending them telepathic messages/‘broadcasts’. "I fancy you" is a strangely British way of putting it. Which also means "I like-like you" if memory serves. Translators??? strange. anyways.

Ah… XD. I forgot that Kaidou saw him teleport in the manga. That’s perfect considering Kaidou’s name joke (shunkaidou = teleportation.) wahh, I wish this one came in the tankobon volumes so I could read them.

You know… since the third chapter of this volume was adapted into the anime, can volume 0 really be called non-canon? Maybe to the manga. Hmmmmmm.

Oh come on. Why didn’t they put this in the anime??? It would have been hilarious to have Kaidou imagining some kind of green monster-humanoid hybrid and then the screen transitions to Saiki’s expressionless face, with pink limiters and green glasses. There’s an element of color that manga sadly lacks. I get the point with the black arrows, Mr. Asou, but it just isn’t quite the same without actual color.

XD Asou’s attention to detail is good. We actually see the teacher wondering where the hell he’s going when he runs out of the room, and then following through showing that he won’t be running students down just to make sure they stay in class. It’s a small thing, but it definitely makes a difference, making the Saikiverse seem a bit more realistic.

Also, look, it’s this guy who appears a bajillion chapters later in that weird gag… What was his name again? Gah… refer back to this later, future me.

Yes, Kaidou becomes a completely different person outside of his riddiculous chunnibyou persona, which he only uses at school. I do like that Asou sensei writes him this way. It would be easier to have him be in character all the time, but he’s much more realistic like this. I love that Saiki remembers the stupid nickname he gave himself. It makes the contrast even more funny. Okay, I’ll stop analyzing Kaidou and explaining every joke for now.

XD XD XD

Things like this make me wonder if Saiki really doesn’t know that’s how his looks might be interpreted at a distance… even though he understood from the verbal description that he could be perceived as having “pink horns” and “green eyes.” And he spaces out in class just thinking about it. Thoroughly neurodivergent behavior.

I also love things like this, that imply but don’t outright show that Nendou just… openly teleports in front of Nendou because he can get away with it.

I also enjoy Saiki’s stubbornness in calling Kaidou ‘Junpei.’ Peak comedy.

I love that Kaidou would rather Saiki think he has multiple personalities instead of just being polite to people outside of school. And Saiki says he appreciates the effort… lol. I think he does actually appreciate it, in a way, sarcasm aside. Kaidou is committed to the bit.

“Whether that’s true or not, you need to get to a hospital.” Lollll. But also… makes me wonder if he really believes it, again. That along with the “Kaidou personality chart” further on in this comic. From Saiki’s other confrontations with people who clearly need help (including the one where he talks down a suicidal guy. And of course Terushashi’s brother.) It’s as if it never even occurred to saiki to have a sense of urgency about these kinds of things.

Mmmm! Once again I wish I had the Japanese version because I’m sure he is using polite speech here, for a minute.

Well, at least Kaidou acknowledges here that he’s in fact a chunni and therefore doing this on purpose. Which, again, makes me wonder why Saiki would ever believe even for a second that it isn’t an intentional thing. Or maybe it’s just supposed to be taken as sarcasm outright, but the panel where Saiki is confused about the Horns Saiki drawing really is throwing me off. Another thing I should look for raws of, to see if there’s anything to be gleaned from the OG text.

YES! You and saiki are pretty similar. In a way. Yes, he is worrying about his high school debut… in a way.

Saiki, it is entirely understandable that you think Kaidou is an egomaniac, but given his “other personality,” how did you not guess that he’s just lonely??? He literally had to explain his entire thought process for you to get it??? Yeah, emotional EQ in the single digits.

Earlier, I said Kaidou knew full well how to act like a normal person and just doesn’t do it, but he’s definitely awkward. I mean, of course it’s going to be awkward asking strangers if they’ve seen a guy with green eyes, sharp teeth and horns. (I am not quite sure why Kaidou is so committed to the bit myself.)

LMAO?!?

Saiki, that’s your own goddamned fault, lmao. Put your money where your mouth is and shut him down if you’re tired of annoying people “entering your life”… :)

That wraps up 0-6.

There’s a lot going on here, to be sure. In conclusion, I think Saiki works really well here as a character who is technically omniscient, in terms of perspective, but deeply limited in his ability to interpret information.

Alright, the end. Ja mata! 💫

[neonnightflower]

Today, after some time of sudden hyperfixation on Singed, I came up with a dark idea for Singed/OFC. Imagine that this is a headcanon on the topic "If you were in a slightly toxic relationship with Singed."

You are a young adult girl whom he accidentally found unconscious on the street of Zaun. Something about you made him turn around, pick you up and bring you to his place instead of passing by. When you woke up, it turned out that you had nowhere else to go. Then he cured you, kept you with him, and over time you began to help him with his research by running small errands.

You've grown closer over time. He even told you a little about his past and showed you his daughter. Also, the manifestations of your affection did not escape his gaze. It happened naturally and spontaneously: one day, sitting next to him, you just put your head on his shoulder. You asked if it was a surprise to him that you liked him. And he said no. Of course, he was trying to tell you that you should forget about your feelings for someone like him, and wondered why you chose him, old and covered with scars, rather than planning to find someone younger in the future. But he was lonely, and for some reason he also became attached to you, so he didn’t miss the chance. You started calling Singed by his real name, Corin.

You had an intimate relationship. Singed was either still capable of this, or he was taking some kind of drugs – after all, he is a chemist. However, he didn’t decide on this right away. After all, the long years without a partner had affected him. The first time you managed to convince him to sleep with you, he behaved in such a way that you felt like a sample for research on his table.

At first, he didn’t show you his face for a long time, constantly wearing his scarf, hiding his neck and lower part of his face, in front of you. But you convinced him to take it off. When he did this, you honestly told him that you didn't find his injuries beautiful or attractive. However, you didn't feel disgusted by him. You just didn't have a chance to kiss properly because he didn't have lips.

Gradually, he got a taste of intimate life, and you two began to try various practices. For example, for some reason, he liked it when you were rude to him and insulted him. However, one time his broken state after you overdid it brought you to tears yourself.

He didn't like it when you poked your nose too far into his past personal life. Once you touched on the topic of his ex-wife, Orianna's mother, who died a long time ago, and his daughter is all that he has left of her. Then he shut himself off from you for a while and responded quite harshly and coldly. You realized that you will never earn the love that his first woman received, and the path to some parts of his heart is firmly locked for you. He's hardened over time, so you won't have the same effect on him as if he were young, and you wouldn't be able to manipulate him even if you wanted to.

Of course, he told you to take birth control chemicals because he didn't want you to get pregnant. He told you that he’s too old and exhausted to become a father again and start a new young family. Orianna was enough for him as his child, and he was going to bring her back to life. Besides, he blamed himself for not being able to save her, and he couldn't bear the responsibility for the life of also your child with him. He also explained that he was worried about you, as you might be left alone with a child, die in childbirth, etc. He didn’t consider Zaun to be a safe place. Singed is just tired of life, too busy, has too many sins, and he doesn't need all this trouble with babies ever again in his life. Okay. The main thing about you for him is your company and the fact that you are nearby. That's enough for him, and it makes him happy.

But during one particularly difficult period, when you were experiencing complexes because of your position in his eyes, you decided that having children together would help you become a more significant and dearer person to him. Besides, you really wanted children. And you decided to deceive Singed saying that you take birth control pills, but stopped taking them in fact. So, you got pregnant.

After finding out about your pregnancy at a rather late stage, Singed performed a surgical abortion on you himself. And it was one of the worst things in your life. In the operating room, you saw him in a way you never expected. He was a completely different man, cold and stern, who laid out those awful instruments in front of you, prepared anesthesia injections and asked you to lie down on the operating bed. The one who was so close to you has turned into an emotionless doctor, wielding icy metal forceps and a curette inside you. At first, it seemed to you that you had resigned yourself, and you were obedient, so he was even somewhat gentle with you. But in the process, perhaps due to the effects of the anesthetic medication, your judgement became clouded and you started screaming and crying, ‘No, please don't do this! Don't touch my baby! Oh no, my baby...’. So Singed had to put you in a state of sleep. It became a traumatic experience for you and you never refused his medication again. As for Singed, he alone knows what was going on in his mind as the desperate voice of a failed mother who only wanted to save her child, which was also his own child at that, kept ringing in his head.

[vickyvicarious]

There were two lines in particular that stood out to me today, and made me wonder just how long the Captain has suspected the first mate of being the cause of all these disappearances. They are as follows:

Just as I was beginning to hope that the mate would come out calmer—for I heard him knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good for him—there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun—a raging madman, with his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. [...] I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them himself.

August 2

There are two main things going on here. First, the mate is a violent madman; secondly, the Captain knows that work will calm him down. This latter implies that the Captain has taken pains to manage the mate's temper in the past. And in doing so, it adds an extra facet of guilt to his assumption that the mate was the killer all along, because he knew at least a little bit, and he thought he'd been handling it. He thought he understood just how far the mate would go, and how to stop him, and it turns out now that he was blind all along. I imagine he feels responsible for failing to protect the rest of his crew. The familiarity implied by the Captain knowing how to manage the mate also suggests that even if he started suspecting him a while ago, he might not have wanted to admit to it, even to himself.

I decided to look back over the previous entries with the Captain's perspective of the mate in mind, and honestly... I can definitely see where his suspicions would have grown. There are also several little moments of him trying to 'manage' the mate, as well as some insight into the mate's own character and the reasons for his reactions. But it does involve a fair bit of quoting, so I'm sticking it under a cut for length.

Mate could not make out what was wrong; they only told him there was something, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.

14 July

This is the first mention of the mate. He is immediately linked with violence. From the Captain's perspective, he gets furious with the crew's superstitions and is very quick to resort to violence. The Captain expects things to escalate (possibly due to knowing the mate, possibly due to the crew reacting badly to one of them being hit) but is pleasantly surprised when they don't.

With later context, it seems apparent that the reason the mate is so furious is specifically because of the something that doesn't get named. Perhaps he thinks he knows what the worst 'something' is and that it can't be here; perhaps he just is angry that they won't elaborate. But the superstition is what makes him cross over from anger into outright violence, in what seems like an unplanned and heat-of-the-moment reaction.

Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but would not say more than there was something aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them; feared some trouble ahead.

16 July

It's the same thing here. The Captain is outright wary of the mate's reaction to the crew, and is paying close attention, likely with an intention to manage the situation when tensions build too much. But the mate is once again bothered most by the vague fear of something supernatural. Again I wonder if it's more about them considering it being here at all (he knows It can't follow him onto the water) or with them refusing to name their fear to him (maybe he knows of other things as well).

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry; said it was folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men; said he would engage to keep them out of trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while the rest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lanterns: we left no corner unsearched. As there were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said nothing.

17 July

The Captain's willingness to capitulate to the crew's fears angers the mate. Knowing this, we see the Captain give the mate a job to do to keep him occupied while everyone else gets involved in the search. From his POV, this seems to work to keep him calm/stop him from realizing his threat, and it allows the Captain to calm everyone else: a win-win. But I think the mate's objections reveal much more about himself than they do the crew. He is the one who would be demoralized, who is trying so hard not to yield to such foolish ideas. He's rejecting everything to do with the idea of a monster on board, because he knows/fears it too well to handle himself. If he lets himself acknowledge the possibility there's no way he could keep it together, so he lashes out instead. By being left in charge of the helm, he gets to avoid feeding his own fears, and meanwhile everyone else's reassured reaction probably reassures whatever part of himself knows the truth.

Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with sails—no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms.

22 July

This entry is dual-purpose. First, the mate has also been extremely busy, and this is a good distraction for him from his fear. Secondly, the crew being so busy means that they haven't been bringing up their suspicions, and so it's easier for him to ignore his own. While they have only forgotten their dread, he's described as cheerful. Possibly that's just in contrast to his prior anger, but it might also hint that he is outright happy at things seeming normal again/the ability to shove all suspicion down.

Men all in a panic of fear; sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the men will do some violence.

24 July

The Captain's worry for the crew is more likely to be mutiny due to their fear; he worries that the mate will lose control of his temper and try to beat them down in order to shut them up. What he's missing is that the mate's reaction is also related to fear. Giving in to a double watch is as much as saying there is something to be afraid of, which he desperately does not want to do.

Honorary mention for the lack of mention of the mate in the 28 July entry as well - once again, they've been working endlessly, and there isn't any mention of the mate. You might expect someone's temper to get shorter when they're sleep-deprived. But the mate is calmed by being busy and by not having to listen to the crew's fears.

Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign of cause.

29 July

This line applies to all three. The Captain allowing the mate to go armed may seem to be an odd way to manage his temper, but I think it comes down to giving him more of a job to do. Working calms him down. Having the ability and responsibility to do something will reassure him. And of course, as first mate it's simply his job to be one of the two men making these decisions and keeping their heads cool when everyone else is panicking. On the other hand, at least in retrospect, this moment must contribute to making him look suspicious later. He now has an excuse to be armed at all times and suddenly things start getting worse much faster, almost like he doesn't need to wait for an opportunity like before.

And finally, from the mate's POV, this moment marks him finally capitulating of his own accord to his fears. He's no longer able to ignore the situation, or grumpily follow the orders of others who are being foolish. No, now he is involved in the choice to stay armed, and by taking action himself he's started to open the door to his own fears.

Retired worn out; slept soundly; awaked by mate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. 

30 July

Except for the first man who went missing, it has often been unclear who discovers the missing people. But now we get the mate being the one to deliver the news. At least in hindsight, this can't help but make him seem more suspicious. Right after the Captain agrees that both of them should be armed and ready, the mate delivers news that two men have gone missing at once. If he is the one who did it, then surely this timing suggests that he found it easier to kill them. That's not to say it would have been impossibly for him to just pick up a weapon earlier, but in the Captain's frame of mind this timing probably makes him more suspicious.

We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he Roumanian.

1 August

After his discovery of the two missing crewmembers, the mate is miserable. Here the readers finally get the reveal of his nationality, suggesting that he's known of vampires all along. And he's miserable and afraid. Likely repeating to himself again and again that it's impossible, they can't cross running water, etc. Since the ship is drifting, he can't even throw himself into his work in the same way, and this forced inaction makes everything worse for him. Meanwhile the Captain sees the mate's condition and views it as his stronger nature turned inwardly to his detriment. This phrasing is a little confusing but I think could definitely contribute to seeing him as suspicious, in that his mental stability is suffering.

Woke up from few minutes' sleep by hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out.

2 August

Sure, there's no one else to do it. But it must feel suspicious that suddenly the mate is the one delivering all information. Once again, he's the one delivering news of another death he's been just too late to prevent. He's the only one who knows where they are in the fog, and the news he delivers isn't welcome. If the Captain has been harboring any suspicions at all, or even if he's just beginning to do so, all of this timing can be recontextualized to make the mate seem very suspicious.

Of course, we readers know that his story must be the truth. The mate has finally admitted what must be going on to himself, and yet he doesn't understand how, nor has he been able to do anything at all to prevent it. The futility and fear is driving him mad. Which brings us back to today...

I dared not leave it, so shouted for the mate. After a few seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has given way. [...] He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might hear: "It is here; I know it, now. On the watch last night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and gave It my knife; but the knife went through It, empty as the air." And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on: "But It is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm." [...] "Save me! save me!" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said: "You had better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all that is left!"

3 August

The Captain finally openly admits his suspicions. That, or perhaps he was denying them to himself all along, and only after seeing the mate's latest reaction did he think back over the earlier journey. He's got time to do so while stuck at the helm, after all. Even now he still hopes that the exertion will calm the mate down to a point where he can be reasoned with, until finally his return from the hold - and immediate suicide - put paid to that notion. And yet, the guilt must be even stronger because even lost in his violent delusion (as the Captain sees it), the mate never tries to hurt the Captain, and even tries to tell him how to 'save' himself. It suggests a kind of connection, maybe a friendship, that makes the Captain's conclusion about the mate's guilt all the sadder. Not only is it his responsibility as the captain to protect his crew, but as the only person who the mate doesn't want to hurt/possibly who really knew him he should have been able to see what was going on and stop it. None of that is reasonable really, he's absolutely been doing his best, but I think it could be how he might feel about it.

Meanwhile, we see that the mate tried to kill the vampire once already. In reading back over these entries, I think I've realized something. The mate has internally admitted the possibility of a vampire for several days now, though he hasn't spoken to anyone else. He saw it the last night, and was unable to stop it in time to save his crewmate, but finally was determined to act against it at all costs. It, still. He crept up from behind, he didn't get a good look. It's not until today that he finally 'knows the secret'. It's not until today that he understands "He is there." I think the final straw for the mate may have been his discovery, when unscrewing the boxes, that this isn't just any vampire. This is Count Dracula. It's Him. The vampire. And the mate screams, flees in fear, despairs, gives up on any plan of fighting at all - knowing that this is not a fight he could ever win. Instead he flings himself into the water. After all, in its depths a man can sleep -- as a man.

[robby-bobby-tommy]

So I've finished Transformers: Exodus and, for God's sake, I adore this book. It was really interesting and surprisingly thoughtful, cuz it brought up a lot of hard and heavy themes.

And now I really want to share one of my personal favorite moments of all book and discuss its themes.

But, before I begin I am obligated to warn you about spoilers. If you want to read TF:Exodus absolutely don't read my post. Ok? Good. So, once again, brace yourself for a scene analysis! Also, this is all my opinion, I might be wrong.

Now, the scene I talk about is battle between Sentinel Prime and Megatron. I'll let you read it before I continue on what I love about it.

Now, remember me praising this book for bringing up heavy themes? Yeah, this is an apogee of that statement. Like this one scene makes us question so much and makes us wonder who is right. Yet the best part is that it's no one IMO.

So, the first big question, that came to my mind reading this was who should I root for?

Now, from watching TFP and other Transformers media we all expect Decepticons be bad and every Autobot/bot who supports their cause to be automatically a good character. Yet TF:Exodus absolutely changes the narrative. Sentinel Prime isn't in any capacity a good person. He is the one who proposed and made to life the caste system, the one who made millions upon millions bots suffer just because they could transform into certain thing, the one who gave D-16 the reason to became Megatronus. (Let me clarify something. D-16, Megatronus and Megatron are all the same person, yet I'm inclined using this separation for clearance of speech. D-16 is a slave, Megatronus is a gladiator/revolutioner and Megatron is a tyrant/dictator. Though it isn't really true, since Megatron quickly changed his name, but I feel it'll be easier to comprehend what point of character ideology I'm talking about). Thousands of bots were living their long life in the mines, in the pits of polluted cities just because they were born with a specific transformation. He reaped what all this unfortunate, unnamed bots sow. Sentinel Prime is the person who is responsible for deaths and, even more terrible, lifes millions of bots had. Honestly, I don't remember why he decided that caste system was a good idea, but in grand scheme of things it doesn't matter. Let's be frank, SP had time to change the system, yet never did. Why? Because it directly benefited him. Why change something if it makes your life better at the cost of unnamed, distant slaves that you can ignore?

Yet I can't find myself rooting for Megatron. And this is a question, that was brought up by the book and for which I have no answer.

When the reasonable sacrifice becomes unstoppable massacre?

Now, revolution isn't something that usually ends up with no victims. As Megatronus states nothing was changing while him and Orion discussed the problem. The higher class wouldn't do anything if they were asked nicely, which we can clearly see in the books. So to make themselves heard, gladiators decided to do terrorist attacks, which is while understandable, yet directly contradicting to their own ideology (we'll get to it later). But, when is this enough? This question is indirectly asked by Sentinel Prime. Are the deaths of Bumper and Fastback were necessary? Now, I'm not sure that I, at least for now, possess any means on discussing this kind of question. And this is what I like! It isn't just yes or no, good or bad. We want to hate Sentinel Prime and be on Megatronus' side, but it isn't that easy. Because it's not Megatronus anymore. It isn't this idealistic bot, who only wants freedom for himself and his people. No, Megatronus is long gone. And now there's someone new. Megatron. Now, while I can't discuss necessity of deaths of other persons, since I consider myself unprepared for this kind of talks, I can point out the moment when I think revolution became Megatron's secondary mission.

No, I'm not talking about scene where Orion became Prime, though it is really important. I'm talking about the brief moment when he torn out Bumblebee's voice box.

Was it necessary? Probably yes, since Bee was an enemy's spy. Yet what makes it a very important scene is that in this particular moment, Megatron forgets about his own cause. His ideology was about freedom of speech and choice for people like him. So wouldn't it mean that Decepticons should respect a someone's choice becoming an Autobot? But it never happens. I'm not saying that Megatron should've let BB go with praises and a smooch on the forehead. But when the ideology founder doesn't play by his own rules, why would people following him should? And this is why I love this book and this moment. Guys, I'm not saying I've read much and maybe I just have very low standards, yet this is such a good scene! I never thought I'd say it, but the story about space aliens who fight each other, while smoking intergalactic crack is one of the most realistic stuff I've ever seen! Megatron's idea was brilliant yet the execution and envy destroyed everything good. Megatron was right at first, but when he stopped caring for his own people that's when it all went downhill. And this scene just keeps getting better. Call me slowpoke (cuz this is what I am), but writing this made me realize about what delusion OP talked about in TFP and about what SP was talking about in this moment. Megatron is no revolutionary anymore. He is a tyrant. He long forgot about his cause, the only thing he cares about now is getting back at Optimus. His delusions make him think he's doing the right thing for a good cause, yet he never fully understands that he becomes something he has sworn to destroy. Now he is ignoring his people, sending them to endlessly and pointlessly die on the battlefield or by his own hands just for disobeying his orders. Megatron couldn't care less about the caste system he had already wiped out of existence. The envy, the pain and the "betrayal" got to his head, twisting his mind and even driving him crazy. And people tend to find an excuse for their own wrongdoings, so they can feel better about themselves. Megatronus' idea became Megatron's excuse.

And this is so deep and so realistic. I love how Alex Irvine approached Megatronus' fall and Megatron's rise, our necessity for choosing the lesser evil out of two morally questionable ideologies. And giving us the opportunity to decide for ourselves.

I hope you now understand why I adore this scene so much😉

[todayisafridaynight]

No but that's kind of what I was talking about a couple days ago because like… I really do feel "jealousy" is such a small part even of how Mine feels about Kiryu, let alone of his motivations. So I Guess Instead Of The Tattoo Essay You Get This 💀💀💀

But like his chief concern is not that Daigo feels strongly about him, but that he feels SO strongly about him that his interference with the resort deal can and has endangered lives, including Daigo's own. Like, it's not only that purposefully putting his men in danger for a controversial figure like Kiryu would be bad for Daigo's reputation if it got out, but at least one person has died. Daigo was only ever going to send more men to their deaths, because Kiryu's worth it to him, and he got almost-kidnapped and shot over it.

And it's all for the sake of Kiryu Not Just Taking The L And Moving Somewhere Else With The Kids. That's what I think Mine is getting at with his comments on Kiryu's "hypocrisy": in cutting all ties to the yakuza abruptly to try and do something good with his life, he's also abandoned his responsibilities and is living in almost willful ignorance of the shitstorm his mistakes and his stubbornness lead to, right up until it lands on his doorstep.

In the Okinawa character story, Mine has a moment of genuinely understanding what Kiryu and Daigo are trying to do, and that Kiryu values Daigo's efforts even if he's not aware of the lengths he goes to. That's part of what changes his mind on Kiryu when he came to Okinawa with the intention of killing him.

But when Daigo's shot, he can't bring himself to think Daigo brought it upon himself by interfering, or to look at it neutrally, so even that understanding becomes twisted as he has no one to blame but Kiryu. Kiryu is, after all, the reason Daigo interfered in the first place.

And because he's the CEO of projection and he himself was so easily won over by Kiryu in Okinawa, he thinks that if Kiryu topples the remaining officers, his charisma could carry him to the Seventh Chairman's seat unopposed, permanently. Of course, he's not considering that Kiryu wouldn't even want to do that; kind of like Aoki thinking Arakawa is gunning for the chairman's seat, I guess.

So in his mind, the stakes are incredibly high. Because Kiryu's return would mean neither Daigo nor Mine (believing himself to be the only person capable of carrying out Daigo's will) could be chairman. To Mine, the Tojo Clan is and should remain "The Sixth Chairman's Tojo Clan," so for the chairmanship to go to the man who (in his view) landed Daigo in this coma would be unacceptable.

If he's going into his first proper meeting with Kiryu with that mindset, it's really no wonder that it takes very little for him to actively see Kiryu as his enemy and go to the lengths he does in the finale to provoke him into a decisive battle. Dude was spiraling.

And I think that's the heart of it, because if you really interrogate Mine's perspective, you could honestly make a pretty convincing argument that what we're looking at isn't even jealousy. It reads AS jealousy to the audience and to Kiryu because he sounds like he's mad about Daigo liking him period. But as I've said, it's not actually because Daigo likes Kiryu and not Mine/more than Mine, it's because he likes him despite how often and how badly it comes back to bite him. We just don't get that context until RGGO, and Kiryu never gets that context period.

Which is not quite to say he doesn't, at least subconsciously, want to be liked by Daigo as much as Daigo likes Kiryu. I think it's incredibly incredibly notable that Mine has this fascination towards the people Daigo holds in high regard, and he's initially just curious about what kind of man Kiryu must be for Daigo to like him so much.

You see this play out directly with Mine overhearing Daigo's old friend call him Daigo-san and then, when Daigo tells him not to call him chairman in public (kind of like Shinada on the plane lol), opting to call him Daigo-san too. He could've just gone with Dojima like most people would and Daigo'd be cool with it, but he chose to emulate Daigo's friend, because that's how he wants Daigo to see him.

Huge part of that character story is the way Mine agonizes about not being as close as the term "oath brother" would suggest (especially after being abandoned by Kanda whereas Daigo took a bullet for him). So I can see his curiosity being like, this is another guy Daigo likes, is there perhaps anything about him I could emulate for Daigo to like me more…? Answer's No, but still.

Understanding people is kind of a big deal to Mine, I think. That is, of course, why he joined the Tojo Clan: to understand what makes Daigo tick, and to understand what would make his men want to die for him. So when his attempts to understand Kiryu are frustrated, that seems to get under his skin like almost nothing else. Because I notice that's when he really loses it in the finale, when Kiryu starts talking to him like he understands him while he still doesn't understand Kiryu.

Kiryu is the biggest threat to Daigo in Mine's eyes and it vexes him that he'll never understand why that's even the case. It's completely irrational to him, and because he's never really had family, he'll never really get why this sort of thing is almost second nature between family members who are that close.

About that, On The Lowest Of Keys and to be 100% thorough, I guess it's also a possibility Mine may have misinterpreted their relationship as romantic. Because Daigo goes on and on about how the Tojo is family to him and how Mine's family to him, so for Kiryu to be more than family in a way he can't explain sounds insane.

If you don't specifically know that Daigo means Kiryu has been more of a parent to him than anyone that could be considered his "real" family (i.e. Sohei and Yayoi). And. You know. Daigo doesn't Explain That Part. Not that he has to, but when you're dealing with the CEO of projection...

At the very least, Mine uses horeru for what he thinks Daigo feels for Kiryu in 3, so I just have a feeling he didn't get the memo on, Well, Anything. Perhaps fair enough on his part because 3 came out before a lot of that was explicitly fleshed out but GIRLLL STOPPP

And despite the nuclear levels of secondhand embarrassment that comes with this scenario, it's also… kind of funny. I'll say it. It would be kind of funny. It's like in 0 where Majima thinks one of the girls is going on a date and gets super protective but it actually turns out to just be her dad (massive grain of salt on this I hardly remember 0 so it might not have happened), or even in 3 where Kiryu thinks Haruka's got a boyfriend. Like why is Mine actually kind of dumb it's so endearing

But yeah no that's like… the only real avenue I can see Mine appearing to be jealous, but even then it's tenuous. I can't really make any definitive statements about it, as we've seen. I think at most it's just like, when you think your crush's ex (In Your Mind) is no good for them but they keep defending them; maybe some of that resentment is rooted in your own feelings, but it's also not unfounded. You know. I think Mine's always been a character whose methods and conclusions are much more questionable than his motivations.

YMMV on nearly everything I've said, but I just feel like… leaning into the jealousy aspect is the easy way out. It's easy to understand. You can say that and be done with it without writing over a thousand words (SORRY </3) to back up your point. But I (obviously) think there's so much more complexity to it, and jealousy is almost a fraction of a fraction of it, to me. It may be more time-consuming to examine the rest, but it's worth it.

But also admittedly biased because 95% of what I've seen the fandom do with the premise of Mine being jealous just isn't that appealing to me. I'm sure some would say I'm woobifying him or something here lmao

im getting the most intense feeling of deja vu and i do not know why but anyways.

in the short and sweet of it, i do think the bulk of mines feelings towards kiryu can be explained via their first meeting. his grievances can be quickly summed up through him calling kiryu a 'hypocrite' in that he thinks he can take care of one family while abandoning another and acting as though he can go back and forth however much he wants (and this can be highlighted with how many times mine refers to other people- i.e. hamazaki and the orphans- as kiryu's 'victims')

like a part of it could be jealousy but as you said it's not the main feeling- it's a fraction of a bigger thing and mine's own personal issues

[torturedblue]

Happy 1 year anniversary to the Rise Movie! I can’t believe it’s only been one…

But in honor of this historic day, I present… Things I would love to see in Rise season 3+:

Part 1 | Part 2

Some of these are kinda the obvious stuff but most are new ideas I really want to see

Neon Leon being leader obviously. What I really want to see is everyone's adjustment to that tho. The movie still gives me whiplash skipping over that since the series finale ends with his being named leader and then Leo still not even technically being the leader in the movie. (I know it was supposed to go down differently without that last line even happening and the whole co-leaders stuff but my brain still doesn’t adjust every time I watch the movie)

The second episode of that dentist guy who wanted Raph's snaggletooth. Apparently there was gonna be a Raph-Leo episode about it? It seems strange it wasn't going to be an episode with all of them trying to help, but honestly it would've been pretty cute to see Leo trying to protect and take care of Raph instead of Raph usually doing that for them. Maybe even some more of Leo doing more of the planning or them collaborating

Dr. Rude and whatever other personalities he Mikey came up with for himself. watch the video and tell me Dr Rude didn't derive from Dr. Delicate Touch 😂

Shelldon 3.0. give Donnie his baby boy back and make him officially part of the family

Piel and Hueso together again, we got two whole episodes but since they only made up at the end of the last one it'd be cool to see a third adventure of them doing something heroic as bros who get along again. And honestly after Leo helped get Hueso’s name cleared and helped him restore his relationship with his brother I want to see how their relationship would progress

Cassandra (& now Casey ofc) being part of the Hamato clan. But seriously all the post-movie fics got me thinking about how we were also robbed of her entire reformation arc and having her on their side would've been so kickass. Especially since she and Draxum kind of bonded and were a good team together. And the relationship she formed with Splinter is so wholesome

Draxum possibly eventually moving in (and making up for dropping Leo off a roof.) He would have such a different relationship with each of the boys I just want to see how he would go about trying to gradually earn their favor once he completely committed to being part of the whole family unit. Only to come to Leo last and have the most difficult time trying to figure out how to make him trust him after the Roof Incident

Big Mama’s ending. Considering we now have two former villains turned good, I'm wondering if they were still going that same route with Big Mama. It very much seemed that way but atp doing it for a third character seems so redundant, not to mention there's still not much reason to trust her by the end of the show since she double crossed them again. I'm still surprised by the fact that splinter is so hung up on her after all the trauma fr. At this point what might be more interesting, realistic and believable would be splinter's journey in trying to trust her again but eventually coming to realize she'll never change, because not everyone does

I did get a response on the Twitter Q&A about it which was really exciting, so seeing this scenario below play out and then leaving it up in the air for whether she eventually chooses good or evil would be awesome to watch

Finding out the real prophecy of the destruction of yokai kind. Draxum said it must've actually been shredder but Shredder wasn't after the yokai so I wonder if it was something else. That could definitely be an opportunity for bishop if they take the 2003 route with him

Them using each other's weapons/powers. We got a very brief glimpse of this in 2012 but otherwise it’s not something you see in Ninja Turtles. With Rise tho it would be even more so exciting to see them handle weapons other than their own. Donnie being a pyromaniac with Mikey’s kusari fundos (RIP bc I don’t think his nun chuks have that ability anymore?), Mikey being all stick happy with Donnie’s staff and just smacking villains left and right, Raph figuring out how to make portals and how to utilize them physics of them in battle, Leo making a huge projection of himself or a dozen clones with raph’s sais. That would a party of chaos

Also Raph dabbing just on principle he is literally the only turtle who hasn't done it, even Splinter got one in, let the man succumb to the cringe

I’m sure we might've seen a lot of this eventually since it was apparently supposed to have 7 seasons, so here’s hoping it’s a possibility somewhere in the future 🤞🏽

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Clarity 12

"Have you ever decided what you want to do about your old boss," Obito called out over the irritatingly chipper sound of summer cicadas.

Aiko glared, not even trying to respond. That was too hard with a lungful of fire. She pushed the flames out, pursing her lips like her intention was to go in for a kiss. The small spray that she forced past her teeth came out in a thin, high-arching plume.

(and that heat hurt, if this was a C-class jutsu she didn't know how Obito's teeth hadn't splintered from the heat of higher level jutsu).

He dodged it easily, alighting on the pock-riddled ground with a butterfly's grace.

In comparison, she felt like an eighty year old smoker. She wheezed for a moment, tilting her head back to optimize oxygen consumption. "You tried to trick me into breathing in to speak," Aiko accused hoarsely through a hot, painfully dry mouth.

That would have hurt.

All she got in return was a surprisingly wicked grin, before he telegraphed the motions of a water jutsu. Her chest was still aching from the last chakra she'd filled it with, but she mimicked his motions anyway, letting him teach her another jutsu.

He'd become a much less gentle teacher since her eyes had changed. Admittedly, that appeared to be because he was sharing his formidable repertoire of elemental jutsu. Learning that way was paradoxically effortless but time and labor-intensive. Seeing him perform a jutsu was enough for her to mimic it and reproduce it, but she still had to practice everything he showed her when alone later to truly master it.

With a little too much glee, Obito had taught her the lesson that being able to perform a jutsu was unrelated to being able to control it by allowing her to copy an A-level earth ninjutsu, and then saving her only at the last moment when she nearly killed herself with it.

Maybe that hadn't been kind, but she wouldn't forget or complain again about it being dull to have to learn D- level ninjutsu before he'd teach her anything more impressive. At least she was past the really low level stuff now.

The water jutsu he demonstrated (in a mirror, really, her motions so closely followed his that it was nearly impossible to tell he was leading) turned out to form a slick of two-inch or so water that coated the ground.

'Meant to make it easier to track opponents I can't see?' Aiko theorized. He didn't spoon-feed jutsu to her. Figuring out their use was her job. 'The splash should allow me to find anyone who was too surprised to water walk in time. If I can sense through the water, or force someone to use chakra to stand on top, I can use that chakra expenditure to keep track of their movements.'

"I was serious, you know," he brought up when they finished. Aiko didn't look up, bent over as she was to dab at her face with the hem of her shirt. "I tracked down your civilian coworkers when I realized what had happened. I may have jumped to the conclusion that there was a reason you were down for the count and they were fine."

Aiko looked up sharply at his sheepish tone. "Judging by your phrasing, they weren't responsible."

"No," Obito admitted, breaking eye contact. "I don't know about the woman who employed you all, though. I thought you might like to know, for peace of mind if nothing else." He frowned audibly. "That doesn't mean that they don't still present a danger to you, mind. They saw you activate your bloodline. If you think there's a chance they might talk, we'll have to do something."

She sucked on her lower lip, considering it.

'I had fun with that job when it lasted, but it wouldn't really be worth it to go back to Ando-san and try again. Then again, it would be polite to talk to her instead of just wandering away forever. I wonder if she ever got her cart back?'

After a moment, he reluctantly added, "We could kill them. The decision is in your hands, but I don't see much point in taking care of them forever."

Aiko blinked, honestly taken aback. "No, I don't think that'll be necessary," she waved him off. "I don't think they knew what was going on, certainly not enough to sell information. Besides," she decided, "we could just…" her voice trailed off, as she tapped a finger meaningfully against her temple.

Obito snorted, rolling his eyes. "You mean me," he groused. "You'd probably fry their brains."

She shrugged, unbothered by his lack of faith in her abilities. He was right, after all. Who did she have to practice genjutsu on? No one, that's who. All she knew was stuff that worked by altering and distorting areas near her person. Hypnosis was entirely different.

"We may as well take care of that today," Aiko decided, giving a stretch. "You drop me off with Ando-san, I'll see if she's guilty and give my resignation if she's not, and you pick me up after an hour or so?" Her voice lilted in question.

"Of course," he indulged. "And I'll take your former co-workers home."

"Lovely." She leaned back so far that her back cracked three times, nearly collapsing in a puddle of sore muscles. "It would be kind of rude to just stop by, though," Aiko mused. She frowned slightly. Maybe she should bring a peace offering.

("I heard you were dead," Ando-san said tonelessly, staring at Aiko with an expression she couldn't quite sum up.

Aiko shrugged, not knowing how to feel about that. "That was for a limited time only. May I come in?"

The older woman's mouth moved silently for a moment. Apparently unable to verbalize anything, she stood back and held the door open.)

Team Kakashi had nearly returned to Konoha after the three men tracked away from the spot where Raidō had nearly been killed into a dryer forested area. Not because they were unsuccessful, per se.

"Located traces of both Aiko's scent and that of unknown Uchiha," Tsunade read silently from the scroll she'd been given by a dog in a blue cape. "Gone to reinvestigate clue from previous mission, suspect that woman known as Ando-san had been in contact with Aiko after all."

What? She furrowed her brow, not seeing the connection, until Kakashi's scribbles spelled out the logic- "Oh, I see." Tsunade blew air out of the side of her mouth.

Funny. It had taken Genma to point out something that one of them really should have seen before.

She hadn't released a photo of Aiko with the subtle call for their contacts to keep an eye out for her. It would have been too dangerous, considering the intention had to keep the information that she was missing quiet. The only internationally available photo of Aiko was the one in the bingo book.

'And that picture is old,' Tsunade confirmed for herself when she flipped open her copy to verify Genma's information. How lucky that he'd gone to look after she had attacked Raidō (and wasn't that a can of worms, shit). 'Far too old to be in use now, it should have been replaced. If anyone other than incompetent Iwa had put out the bounty, it would have been. This might even be her graduation picture.'

The girl in that photograph still had baby-fat cheeks, a choppy home haircut, and a truly obnoxious dimpled smile. She was much cuter than the pointy-elbowed teenager that Tsunade had first met years ago.

Kakashi had scribbled down the description the unpleasant civilian in Grass had given him for point of comparison. It did describe Aiko accurately: the Aiko of about age sixteen and up, when her face had thinned out and her big baby eyes seemed to fit her face better. The twins looked more alike now than they had before they'd lost their respective baby fat that disguised the fact that their bone structure wasn't that disparate.

If Ando-san had learned Aiko was missing, she wouldn't have known to describe her that way unless she had either seen Aiko recently or knew far too much about Konoha shinobi.

Assuming the first was true, Kakashi would get information out of her. If the second was true and Ando-san was a spy, she'd be coming back to Konoha in chains.

Tsunade actually smiled, leaning over to scratch the canine messenger behind his floppy ears with much more cheer than she ever treated Jiraiya's summons. The nindog allowed her touch, and after a moment dissolved into a gooey puddle of doggy love. His chin was laying on her knee and he was staring up at her adoringly through shining brown eyes when Sasuke pushed the door open and strode in, wearing a grumpy expression and mission clothes.

The look he gave the dog was truly withering.

"What's Kakashi done now?" Sasuke prodded, amusement tilting the corners of his eyes just slightly when the hound stiffened in offense.

'How petty does he have to be to taunt a dog?' Tsunade wondered. Out loud, she lazily replied, "He's found good news, actually. I'd tell you all about it, but I want your report first."

When Kakashi returned with Yamato and Genma three days later, she was relieved enough to nearly cry. Naruto had been trying her patience. Naruto practically bounced on his former teacher, mouth running a mile a minute. He peered over Kakashi's shoulder, deflating slightly when it became clear that his sister wasn't following.

Tsunade wasn't too cold to deny that she shared a little of Naruto's disappointment.

Gently, Kakashi pushed the blond away and patted his shoulder. He centered between his two teammates, slouched slightly in what wasn't quite his usual attitude.

"Any news?" she prompted.

Hatake glanced at Naruto for a moment, before directing his voice to her. "Genma was right," he admitted, a strange twist in his voice. Irony, perhaps. "Ando-san opened the door and greeted us with, 'I thought you said she was dead'," he mimicked, pitching his voice up slightly. "We'd missed her by about four hours. Apparently, Aiko came by with apology cookies for letting all Ando-san's goods rot and her wagon get stolen."

Naruto let out a surprised laugh, eyes glittering with relief. At least she sounded like she was doing reasonably well, if a bit confused. They'd been so close- next time, they'd work things out. They just needed to talk to her and she'd see.

Tsunade cradled her face in her palm, suddenly feeling a headache. "Should we be sending someone to wait around Ando-san's house?"

Kakashi shook his head regretfully. "The cookies were also an apology for quitting without notice."

And now for something completely different

"It is time to take our next jinchuuriki."

Five shadowy figures flickered in the dim light of a gaping cavern. Suigetsu, the only person who was physically present, rapped his fingers against the handle of his sword in boredom.

He heaved a beleaguered sigh and sneered. 'Dramatic old men.'

This whole thing reeked of theatricality. The heavy uniform cloak on his shoulders matched that of the projected participants. From their perspectives, his face was probably cast in as much shadow.

He'd never even seen his fellow Akatsuki, aside from the asshole that had recruited him. Not much for camaraderie and hugs, these guys. He told himself that was fine. There was no point in bonding with anyone other than a fellow swordsman of the Mist.

Their apparent leader's deep baritone rung out again, distorted through static by the projection jutsu he was using. "We will be hard-pressed to acquire all the jinchuuriki in time once the great nations are at odds. We must be ready to strike and seal the last bijuu in rapid succession. However, there is one jinchuuriki that can be obtained before the critical moment. My partner and I will do so. If all goes well, we will perform the jutsu tonight."

It was hard to believe that the prick had a partner. He didn't seem the type to play nice. Curious, Suigetsu let his eyes wander over the figure standing closest to the leader. They could be standing in the same location or miles apart for all he knew, but their apparition-like projections were perhaps only two feet apart.

Even if they'd been in person, the high collar would have obscured the vast majority of the person's face. As it was, the only physical characteristic Suigetsu could pin down was that the person was short in comparison to the leader. Very few men were that short.

That meant either a child or a small woman. His gut told him it was a woman, especially considering her proximity to the leader. His logic wasn't rock-solid: the leader could be a pedophile. But it seemed less likely.

If he was a pedophile, of course, Suigetsu'd have to kill the disgusting bastard. He would kill leader eventually regardless of what happened, of course, but still.

"Be ready."

With that, the jutsu cut out. Suigetsu irritably pulled his sword over his shoulder and used it to cut through a hanging wall of moss in the decrepit, damp shithole he had to wait around in all day. "Useless fuckface," he grumbled. "Better hurry that slow ass up."

Obito seemed to shrink a bit when the jutsu faded, leaving them staring at the front yard instead of a dark cave. "I think that went well," he said to himself in an undertone, apparently bemused at that.

'This is sort of exciting.'

Aiko finally felt free enough to bite down on the hard candy she'd been nursing while Obito monologued. Sharp chips of green apple flavor fell across her tongue and melted nearly instantly. She may or may not have let out a slightly gratuitous moan of long-delayed pleasure. Oh yeah, that's the stuff.

She could all but feel Obito consider giving her a wearisome look, and decide against it on grounds of pointlessness. When her mood was this good, she just couldn't be stopped.

This was going to be her first time using the ridiculously long jutsu, so he was going to have to excuse a bit of fidgeting and silliness. He'd cautioned her that it was an incredibly trying technique, but that made her feel more excited than anything.

Perhaps she should be worried, but at worst Aiko was feeling butterflies in her tummy. She grinned to herself while pulling off the distinctive outer uniform. She could do this: she could do anything. She didn't know where her talent for ninjutsu had been hiding before her eyes got all sassy on her, but the fact that it had come out was thrilling.

Perversely, she was sort of falling in love with her ugly eyes. They truly were awful to look at and they contributed to her fatigue, but they made her combat repertoire so much better that it was downright unfair. What element she was using didn't even seem to matter: breathing fire wasn't any harder than hiding in the earth.

Besides, the ugly eyes weren't a half-bad chakra exercise. The concentration required to change them was significantly less than it had been when she had first started. Obito was more irritated by that than she was: one than once, he'd implied that she shouldn't mess with them if she didn't have the automatic ability to turn them 'off' and 'on' in the way he did. Worrywart. Aiko chose to believe that she was the one who was better off, because deciding otherwise would be depressing.

"Ready to go?" Obito glanced back at her, apparently preoccupied with checking his equipment for the last time. "Chakra pills, hydration? We're not going to come back before we do the jutsu, and it can take the better part of a day."

'This is not the first time you have asked me that.'

Aiko blew air out through her lips in what was too forceful to be a sigh. "Yes, mom. I have a change of socks too. But you know we have to come back," she reminded wearily. "You don't want me wearing the cloak there, remember?"

Honestly. It was his plan; he could recall it for an hour or two.

He made a sound of vague comprehension, apparently only now realizing that she had shrugged it off and piled the hat on the table.

Their mission wasn't going to be that hard, frankly. She was still itching to get started. Hopefully, they would find their target quickly once Obito took them to the village. Most of the plan was up to him: he was going to hypnotize the jinchuuriki into fleeing the village, whether through stealth or violence didn't matter much. The point was that the blame wouldn't be on them when no one could find it. It'd just be another missing nin, albeit a demonic-powered one.

Sensible? Yes. That was the worst thing about that plan. But Aiko had to acknowledge that it suited their purposes a lot more than challenging the village of Waterfall to a glorious battle for control of their beast.

'Although I would totally kick ass, were that the plan. I can't believe he didn't want me to be a front line fighter. Ninjutsu and taijutsu are so much more enjoyable than throwing things.' Aiko flicked her eyes to purple, and then back to red. Purple-Red-Purple-Red-

"Stop that." Obito reached back and gently swatted at her head, ignoring the indignant sound that she made. "The chakra fluctuations are very distracting. You'll remember to suppress that?"

At that, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Of course she knew how to go unseen.

And that was exactly what she did, while Obito transported them directly in the village that had apparently been hidden behind a waterfall.

'Some people take the 'hidden village' thing much more seriously than others,' she mused philosophically, carefully leaning into Obito's side to avoid colliding with an adorably tiny child who was appropriately incapable of seeing through his Sharingan genjutsu. 'I don't think any of the others are really hidden. Spectacularly inconvenient and remote, yes, but not hidden per say.'

Props to Taki for committing to the name thing, then. For all the good it did them. As far as she could tell, Taki didn't have a single person capable of realizing that two invisible ninja were in their midst.

That was almost a pity, because she might have liked a fight. The vast majority of her new toys had only been used on Obito in spars.

Aiko swallowed that awful thought and wrapped her hand a little tighter around Obito's bicep, tugging in the direction she thought most promising. 'This isn't a game,' she berated herself. 'If we have to fight here, it won't be a fun spar to test out my abilities. It'd be a massacre. I don't want that, what the fuck am I even thinking?'

There was something frightening and insidious about just how easy it was to forget that other people were real and their pain mattered in the way that hers did.

She couldn't let herself think that way. Rationalizing fighting for her life and killing people who were in her way was a necessity of doing her job. Bringing that violence to civilians and people who weren't her enemies was unacceptable.

'I'm such a child sometimes. A brawl in the middle of Taki wouldn't be fun for these people. It'd be terrifying, even if I didn't kill anyone.'

Mood dampened, she didn't try to work up enthusiasm when they actually managed to locate the jinchuuriki via process of elimination. Taki was small, after all, and there were only so many things that shinobi did in their off-time. Since a jinchuuriki was likely a shunned loner, finding it on the training grounds wasn't surprising.

The thing itself wasn't exactly what Aiko had expected, though. The picture Obito had shared was of a tanned girl with eerie orange eyes and hair that reminded Aiko of her base level eyes. As with all shinobi mugshots, it was neither flattering nor expressive. The thin-lipped girl depicted looked ready to reach out and hurt the viewer.

In person, the jinchuuriki seemed almost disconcertingly normal: cute and perky, and as preoccupied with training as any other shinobi.

For all the good it did. It never stood a chance.

'There's something artistic about watching Obito use genjutsu.' Aiko sucked on her bottom lip and watched the chakra move with purple eyes, transfixed by the illusions he was pulling together. The first three layers slid smoothly around the jinchuuriki, distorting its reality and interfering with inhibitions and thought process. There was a worrisome moment as Obito spun a compulsion into the mix when thin, teal brows came together as if the bijuu was trying to shake it off.

She pursed her lips, impressed when her friend soothed whatever objections were roiling in the target. Obito might have been onto something with his claim that the Sharingan could control bijuu.

Point one to him, then.

From start to finish, the jinchuuriki only stood still for about seven seconds while Obito flipped its worldview and made it realize that a walk outside the village would be quite nice right about now. Smoothly, it bent to slip the large, red cylindrical device on its back and took off at an easy gait, round-cheeked face smooth and untroubled.

It looked disconcertingly adorable. Aiko pressed a hand against her tummy, irritated that the tactic she used against others was kind-of-sort-of working on her. She knew that a pretty face on a petite girl could be disarming. She should have immunity or something.

'Apparently, it doesn't think sneaking is the way to go,' Aiko noted, tilting her head in mild interest as they trailed their target across streets full of people that pushed to get away from the beast. 'And no one looks interested in stopping it. Is just walking out seriously going to work?'

That just seemed too easy. Weren't villages supposed to have tight control and regulations? Perhaps the jinchuuriki was so habitually agreeable that the sudden turnabout had them all stunned and unable to react appropriately. That kind of whispering and pointing couldn't be the normal state of affairs.

There was clearly no love lost between Taki's monster and the slightly chubby man posted at the gates. As the three came closer, Aiko had to classify the expression on his face as 'cruel disdain'.

'That really can't be an intelligent way to react to a powerful village weapon,' she thought doubtfully. 'Either you're frightened, or you're not. There's no circumstance in which taunting the demon makes any amount of sense whatsoever.'

People were surprisingly stupid sometimes about the simplest things. She did enjoy the slight break in his expression the moment he realized that 'Fuu' was still smiling and walking towards him en route to leave the village.

The confused scowl that turned to flat-out befuddlement when the jinchuuriki walked out the village without a word was a memory that Aiko would treasure.

At her side, she suspected that the shaking of Obito's chest meant that he was hiding laughter as well.

'I can't believe they're really going to let their most powerful weapon just walk away,' she marveled silently as they followed past the namesake waterfall and a mile into the countryside without a hint of pursuit. 'Are they really so weak?'

Obito elbowed her after a few minutes, which she took as her signal to go. She shook off Obito's cloaking genjutsu with a concentrated blink of her purple eyes and strode up to the jinchuuriki, trusting that whatever illusion he'd put the beast under would keep her relatively safe.

If it had fought, the plan had been to use chakra chains to subdue it. Since that hadn't happened, it hardly seemed necessary. It would probably be enough just to keep the other shinobi calm. The jinchuuriki smiled docilely at her, apparently accepting Aiko's appearance without a second thought.

(Jinchuuriki were not very bright, were they?)

Then again, Obito had expected that it wouldn't find her to be particularly fearsome. No matter what conditioning was pounded into someone's head, shinobi still found it much easier to be wary of a tall man in a lurid mask than a pretty teenager.

She interlocked her arm with the jinchuuriki's companionably, giving a cutesy smile of her own. Aiko was oddly surprised at just how soft and warm its skin was. She didn't know why she had expected anything different, but it just seemed off. A heartbeat later she was drawn from her contemplations by the sensation of Obito wrapping a firm hand around her shoulder—they were about to Kamui away. "Ready to go, Fuu?" Aiko asked warmly.

For whatever reason, the taller female form all but melted against her at the small kindness. She felt a prick of guilt—it was terribly sad that the creature had been treated so poorly that she was vulnerable to this.

"Aiko," it greeted in a much higher conversational pitch than Aiko's near contralto.

It was an effort not to let her smile falter.

'Obito, you told it my name? Very creepy.'

Effective, but still disconcerting. She could have lived without that. On the other hand, if the jinchuuriki thought they were friends, of course soothing it would be easier. The tactic was an intelligent one.

"Where are we going?" Fuu followed up, turning her head slightly.

Aiko let her gaze wander westward, to the isolated locale in the Wind Country's great empty deserts that had been selected for this operation. "Nowhere special." She nudged the taller kunoichi (and it was disconcerting, just how human it seemed up close). "I think my house for a bit," Aiko shared easily, keeping her tone light. "We're going to go see some of my friends later, but they won't be ready for a while."

That extraction had been much easier and timelier than their worst scenario estimates. Obito would probably flit ahead to take care of last minute arrangements like putting out protective seals and traps to keep them from being disturbed while they worked while the other Akatsuki filtered in.

That was when Obito pulled them through what she privately thought of as a void to a safehouse with that same sick, twisting motion and eerie blankness. Fuu seemed a little motion-sick, but not nearly as disturbed as Aiko had been on her first few trips via Kamui.

Without ever letting the jinchuuriki know he was there, Obito tapped his fingers against Aiko's arm in the Konoha code he'd taught her.

Hour or less. Use caution.

'Of course I'll be careful. It's cute, but it's still dangerous.'

She nodded slightly in confirmation, making the motion look natural. She wouldn't have been able to tell that he'd left if she couldn't see through his genjutsu with the purple eyes of funkiness.

Aiko glanced into the jinchuuriki's trusting orange eyes, wondering how she was supposed to entertain them both for an unspecified period of time. They hadn't spent much time thinking about the mundanities of this outcome. Aiko was torn. On one hand, it felt like she should be locking the other kunoichi up and feeding her gruel or something. On the other hand, watching Fuu lean her cylindrical burden against the wall and blink agreeably up at the ceiling almost made her feel like she had a girl friend over.

'There's no particular reason to be unkind,' Aiko decided, twisting the end of her long braid around her fingers. On the other hand, leading the jinchuuriki to the more private areas of the house like her room or the sitting area seemed too friendly. She compromised by indicating that the other should pull up a seat at the kitchen table. Aiko poured herself a glass of water- and after a moment's thought, did so for her (guest? Prisoner?) companion as well. Manners never hurt.

When she came back to the table, she leaned her elbows on the table and her chin into her palms, sizing up the placidly compliant girl-shaped demon obediently sipping at her beverage.

'I wonder what on earth Obito did to it with that genjutsu.' Aiko tilted her head slightly, trying to catch latent glimpses of intelligence flickering in hypnosis-dulled eyes. 'He convinced her that she knows me and trusts me, for sure. What would it take for something like that to trust a person? From what Obito said, I wouldn't have thought it was capable.'

"Fuu." Aiko let warmth color her tone. The jinchuuriki perked up, pathetically eager at the small hint of affection. "Do you remember how we met?"

"Of course I do. You stopped me from using my bijuu in Mizu, which meant that no one was mad at me for causing an incident." Fuu frowned slightly, and added with a bit of petulance, "I thought you were an awful showoff."

She felt a muscle under her eye twitch. An awful showoff? That seemed pointed.

'Obito, you jackass.'

"I later confirmed that my initial analysis was accurate, but you're not all bad," Fuu blithely continued.

'Why is it that Obito teases me even when constructing elaborate backstory?' Aiko wondered, feeling her pasted-on smile waver. 'Did he come up with this specifically to test if I would be nosy enough to figure out what he did?'

Well, he could suck on that. She wasn't going to let on she'd done what he expected. He'd just laugh at her.

"Actually, by my standards, you might be my best friend." Fuu gave a depreciating laugh, rubbing at the back of her neck in a gesture that looked much more genuine than her otherwise muffled body language. "That's pretty sad, isn't it? You haven't tried to kill me, anyway, and you were nice to me at the hotsprings. And then there was the whole thing with Grandmother Time," she continued, before descending into babble about an imagined adventure that made absolutely no sense – something about traveling with a Kumo nin on the lam from the leader of Ame?

She tuned out most of the fantastical nonsense; mind still arrested by the phrase 'you might be my best friend'.

Heat rose in Aiko's cheeks before she controlled herself. Her throat felt oddly right—and that was ridiculous, none of this was real. She shouldn't feel embarrassed or pleased by that bit of emotional frankness. Everything the jinchuuriki was talking about was artificially constructed.

So she shoved the wiggling sensation of bashful pride down and changed the subject to an inquiry about what it was like to be a jinchuuriki.

What she heard indicated that her deductions had been dead-on: there was no one there who could hope to physically keep Fuu under control. So they had resorted to bullying and attempts to cow her into servile obedience.

(If she ever went back to Taki, Aiko might not use as much restraint as she had today.)

'Why does it matter?' Aiko wondered uncomfortably, hooking her feet around the rungs of her chair and letting the conversation fade into silence. 'It seems a lot like a person, and it has a hell of an imagination if Obito was letting it fill in blanks instead of coming up with that all himself. But it's not. So why does the idea of Taki mistreating it bother me? It's not just the illogical nature of that decision, it's something morally motivated.'

Obito gave her a funny look when he came back and noticed that she and the jinchuuriki were sitting in amiable silence, but didn't venture to comment.

Aiko smiled weakly, tilting her face up in a moue of cuteness that hopefully communicated the phrase, 'I'm not getting attached to her.'

She blinked, a little disturbed at that thought. 'It,' she corrected hastily. 'What am I saying, it's not really a person.'

Even as she thought that, Aiko wondered if she was lying to herself. But she couldn't think of a reason that Obito would have lied to her about that. It didn't seem to serve any purpose. If she was willing to fight and kill people for him, why would he worry about this specific job? If Fuu really was a person, killing her wouldn't be any different from killing other people.

Obito must still have been veiled under genjutsu, because Fuu never reacted to his appearance. Light didn't reflect off of his mask when he tilted his head, which was a little creepy. Aiko shrugged it off and glanced down at his hand quickly signaling through a short message.

Immobilize target. We move out.

She blew air out the side of her mouth and turned back to Fuu as she stood and walked around the table, pushing down the odd feeling in her gut. Getting attached was unacceptable.

Trusting, Fuu glanced up. She didn't even move to stand.

Aiko told herself she didn't care at all, easily reaching an arm around Fuu's shoulder in a parody of a one-armed hug. The teal-haired girl leaned into it, and didn't even react when Aiko's left hand curled up through her hair to pulse chakra into the base of Fuu's skull.

She balanced the jinchuuriki easily enough to a hand on each of its shoulders so that it didn't fall out of the chair, wiggling her eyebrows at Obito.

'See,' she said silently. 'I don't care. No big deal.'

He snorted in amusement. "Here, let me take that so you can put on your uniform."

"I still don't see why I have to hide my face from our coworkers," Aiko groused without any real feeling, gratefully latching onto the change of subject. Reluctantly, she kept her face still as Obito easily took the jinchuuriki out of her grip.

It was probably lucky that the uniform covered almost all of her face and shadowed what was left, because letting Obito take her to the cave rubbed in the reminder that they were about to kill Fuu, even if it was inadvertent. The hideous oversized statue that Obito had summoned to crouch over them all seemed like some demon god, and Fuu the sacrifice when she was laid at its feet.

The contrast was odd. Fuu didn't look like the demon in that scenario. Fuu just looked like a little girl.

'It has to be done.' Aiko pinned her lip between her teeth and calmed her chakra. 'Obito told me that this part was hard, but it's necessary for his plan.'

Whatever the hell that was, anyway. Tsuki no Me made little sense to Aiko, but Obito was passionate about it and he was her friend.

Outwardly serene, she made her way to the high pillars that ringed the cavern. There were far more than they needed, as far as Aiko could tell. She didn't comment and instead left an empty space in between her chosen perch and Obito's.

'It stinks in here.' She swallowed, breathing shallowly through her nose. 'It stinks like mold and death. Has Obito used this location before?'

On some pre-arranged order, another Akatsuki –the one she didn't know- sauntered over to the low central point where Obito had dropped Fuu and pulled the massive sword off his back. Aiko grimaced at the almost sensual way he stroked the blade before he allowed it to drop on Fuu's belly.

'Ew. That man has problems.'

Problems like his supremely creepy sword, she realized a moment later as it convulsed through the white wrappings and latched onto Fuu with what appeared to be scales. That was just nasty. She stiffened but didn't let herself look away. It would be both immature and disrespectful to distance herself from what was being done today. It was real even if she ignored it.

'It also looks really uncomfortable.' Aiko bit the inside of her cheek, tasting iron-rich blood. Fuu was shuddering visibly, convulsing on the rocks, brutalizing her own body in an attempt to squirm away.

As far as she could tell, whatever he was doing involved draining Fuu's chakra. Aiko reluctantly admitted to herself that decision made a lot of sense. It was twice beneficial: it would allow that Akatsuki member to pour more juice into the jutsu, and it would decrease the amount of time they had to spend draining Fuu of demonic chakra by getting rid of her regular chakra.

The Akatsuki who could only be Zetsu (the only person present with giant plant fronds that prevented him from wearing a hat) arrived last and took point across from Aiko, on Obito's other side. As Fuu was left alone, Aiko gratefully turned her attention to the people she would be working with.

'Small group,' she noted interestedly. 'No wonder Obito was nervous. This'll take longer than he'd like with only five participants.'

Obito raised his arms first. In perfect concert, everyone mirrored his motion. Aiko licked her lips and concentrate, bringing the painfully long hand sequence she had memorized into the forefront of her mind and pushing away the impulse to look down at the small figure below.

Rat-Dog-Dog-Dog-Tiger-Dragon- {...]

The whimpers started below at almost the exact moment that the group hit and held the last handsign. In the sickest, strangest way, they were comforting: Fuu sounded like an animal in pain, and not a person. A jinchuuriki, not a human being.

It went on and on, dragging out the daylight hours into one long monotonous blur of slowly letting energy seep out. Aiko switched her eyes to red in an attempt to preserve as much chakra as possible. Even Fuu seemed to tire: her pale limbs thrashed less, and her voice quieted for minutes at a time when all she could do was gasp raggedly.

What must have been an hour or so of painfully careful boredom was enough for it to become clear that even with her partially occupied reserves, Aiko was the chakra tank of the group. The others were all relatively comparable with the exception of the lithe swordsman that had stolen from Fuu's chakra. Once his stolen energy was sapped, he drastically altered his output in an attempt to keep from being drained.

Aiko was both irritated by his inability to fairly contribute and sympathetic with his desire to avoid chakra exhaustion. That could kill.

There was a noticeable lurch in the upswell of chakra, and a horrible scraping as one eye began to move on the grotesque statue. She would have known that meant the end even if Fuu hadn't begun shrieking with a new vigor, slamming the back of her head on the rocks again and again in mad, stupid pain. In contrast to the darkening Fuu must have been experiencing, the cavern was growing lighter from the pure concentration of energy accumulating.

Fuu's body was actually being pulled off the ground by the sheer stubborn force of the energy being sapped out into the hideous statue.

It was clearly the end. The demon went out in one last hurrah of vivid white light and an inhuman croak torn from Fuu's abused throat.

She fell like a broken doll in the instant that the cavern darkened, supernatural presence gone. Then she was limp, blood spreading out from her head and dripping slowly down into the rocks she laid on.

Aiko sucked her lip in between her teeth, glancing down. She didn't need to check to know that there was no pulse and that the girl would be growing cold. She took a deep breath and buried any regret at having helped kill a lonely thing like Fuu. At least it was over.

"Good work, everyone," Obito rumbled, voice exceptionally low from being silent for so long.

Despite her determination to be professional, she cringed at that juxtaposition of positive reinforcement and her bleak mood.

'He did say that this was hard.'

She turned her face slightly to look at him, despite knowing that she wouldn't be able to see anything but the light hitting his eyes. She swallowed the urge to ask what was going to happen to Fuu's body. Judging by the group silence, Obito was the only person who should be speaking up in these meetings.

In the end, she didn't have to ask. Zetsu made his way down towards the body, slipping into out of the shadowy heights to the wash of soft light below.

Oh, good. She didn't want to have to ask. It would be a bit pathetic to make it so explicitly apparent that she'd gotten somewhat attached in a few hours. But really, Fuu had gotten a poor hand in life. She deserved a nice send-off. Fire would be alright, although really-

Oh god. What- what was he… Aiko gaped, feeling her stomach lurch at the sight of what appeared to be toothy protrusions extending from Zetsu's fronds and digging into Fuu, dragging her whole into the shadows hidden by Zetsu's cloak. Someone chuckled, but she just felt ill.

Inanely enough, the next coherent thought she managed was, 'I don't think I like my coworkers much.'

"That was well done," Obito repeated, letting go of her arm as the kitchen coalesced into visibility around them. The overhead light flickered three times before coming on when he lazily flipped the switch, washing them in clinical brightness. "I think we should-"

"Can it wait?" she interrupted, in a calm voice that did not sound like her own. "I need a shower. I feel disgusting." Aiko didn't wait for a response, shedding the hat and cloak as she left and tossing them on the counter.

Strictly speaking, she didn't need a shower. She hadn't done much in the way of physical expenditure, though the cave had been foul enough that she would have claimed that was the problem if he'd asked. She shed her uniform, kicked it under her bed, and went to stand under the hot water for a while to breathe in steam and think in peace.

'That seemed unnecessary. I don't really mind that we killed Fuu, but the body could have been treated with respect.' A moment later, she frowned. 'I… I didn't like the way that we killed her, though. That was cruel. Is Obito's plan worth doing this to six more jinchuuriki? I know that they've already been twisted, but maybe that doesn't justify what we're doing.'

She remembered the gist of his words at the time—that nine beings had to die in order to buy peace. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn't much bloodshed. Of course, she'd also never seen something killed like that. All Aiko's kills were fast and efficient. But it had taken Fuu the better part of a day to give up and die.

'I don't think she deserved that. Fuu didn't do anything wrong. We hurt her because of something out of her control—something done to her as an infant. I didn't think of what we would be doing in that sense.'

Akatsuki was a lot more cutthroat than she had supposed.

It was ridiculous, of course. But she couldn't help but remember the matter-of-fact way Zetsu had gone about what was obviously a habitual duty and wonder what would happen to her if she ceased to be useful.

No, that was crazy. Obito cared about her. He wouldn't let that happen to her.

Aiko thought she'd dismissed her paranoia, but she found herself making a note to look into a few things. Like excellent seals for keeping her room safe, and whether or not Konoha really had put out a bounty on her that would keep her from going home. Though she had no idea how to find that out, since her entry in the most recent bingo book had been so very out of date…

She'd have plenty of time to start poking around and attempting to fill in blanks, since Obito had been so much busier lately.

'I mean, I have to figure out something.' Aiko swallowed, carefully rubbing about twice as much conditioner as she needed into her long hair. 'I don't really want to do that to another jinchuuriki. At least, not until I understand why we're doing it.'

[writing-for-life]

First of all: I doubt it’s written better than yours, it’s just written by me. I would read yours a million times over, even if the message were exactly the same, because you’re far less rambly than me—I generally have a lot of what we call “Billy Connolly moments” over here (saying something, going off on a tangent for ages until everyone near forgets what you were initially talking about, to then finally arrive at the initial point again). You are always so to the point. I’m… not always 😂

With that out of the road: I so agree with what you wrote about tragedies affecting us viscerally, and that being the reason why they stick. If something makes you feel so deeply, how can you not think about it? How can you not think about consequences and wanting to do things differently? How can it not make you reflect?

And most of all: How can you not find meaning personal to you (I love that you stated that so clearly)?

The Sandman stayed with me all these years because it’s personal to me. Because it sort of matured with me (or rather: I with it)—on every reread, I find something new, and I also feel differently about certain things/events. The 16 year old who first read it loved it but didn’t understand so much (arguably, I was a fairly mature teenager, but honestly, you don’t get a lot of stuff until you experience deep loss for the first time, which is of course only tangentially related to age. So you focus on things that seem important back then, but far less now. But the thing is: They were important back then. And I related to them, like I now relate to different things). The woman in her 20s still read things very differently from the woman in her 40s I am today. My life gives it new meaning as I move through it, and I honestly think there are very few works of fiction that have literally lived with me like The Sandman did/does (and I read a lot).

I love what you write about Dream gathering names for himself, and I think about this often. He denies himself personhood yet craves it so deeply. But his sense of personhood is fragmented for a long time, and as you say, loaded with responsibility, but not stepping back and actually letting himself truly feel and understand it. You can’t separate the friend from the lover from the father from the… It’s all you. It affects you in your entirety.

I mean, he isn’t just the only Endless who accumulates names. He is also the only Endless who populates his realm with people/beings/dreams who sort of live/are sentient. He hates being alone, yet he won’t admit it. Humans are a social species, they need community (even if we sometimes deny we do). He always had that in him. He always was human in the metaphorical sense, somewhere deep down. And yes, how could he not if he holds the entire collective unconscious—he is us.

He is as multi-layered as us. As horrible, wonderful, cruel, kind. He is the mirror. And I think that’s why many of us react so viscerally to his flaws, be that with disgust or with a sense of, “But you didn’t need to die because you have learned, and that’s why we forgive you.” But we only forgive him because he owned his mistakes, and as you say: Considering who he was (as a PERSON), acting the way he acted at the end was the only logical consequence. Everything else would have been out of character.

I often think of Dream Hunters in this context, and the lessons he learned (he stays silent on it of course). If we read that story at any point before the main arc, we would read it very differently. But we don’t. It came after. And it makes the story very heavy. There’s something in it about “trying to escape your fate will come at a cost to others”, and it would be easy to see it as very pessimistic (“no matter which way you turn it, the outcome will always be the same”). But that’s not quite the truth, because while the outcome might look the same on the surface (“the monk is always dead in the end”), the reasons are very different, and one ending makes you sort of feel at peace while the other wouldn’t. And I always thought that each and every of the three main characters in Dream Hunters was Dream in a way (but that’s just my personal head-canon, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me if I just read the story completely out of context).

And here I am, going off on a tangent again 😂

To Be Human Means to Die (Even for Morpheus)

I know one of the biggest points of contention in the Sandman fandom (especially between show-only and graphic novel fans) is the end:

On the regular, we all hear the wish that the ending should have been more hopeful, that Morpheus dying is soul-crushing and devastating and sends the wrong message. And while I agree that it is incredibly sad upon first read (I actually cried my eyes out many moons ago when I first read World’s End, because that’s when I knew, without a doubt, what was going to happen), I would like to expand a bit on why I think we are actually getting the most hopeful message of them all…

It’s a Tragedy: Yes, but That’s Also Simplifying It

Let me briefly talk about tragedies first, because many people, myself included, often bring up the purpose of a tragedy first when we are talking about why realistically, there can be no other ending to The Sandman than the one we already have. That purpose is that we, as the audience/reader, are supposed to do better, and that we are supposed to learn from our hero’s fatal flaw(s).

And while all of this is true, it is also too simple.

Yes, Morpheus has fatal flaws, his inherent rigidity being the most prominent of them (on that rigidity, everything else hinges: his occasional cruelty, his sense of responsibility even if it destroys him, his inability to hold down relationships because he won’t communicate and compromise…).

But it would be too easy to say: “This is what we are supposed to learn from it, let’s not do that and instead be capable of change. Lesson learned, the end”.

For me, the most important personal truth of The Sandman goes far beyond that, and it is connected to the through-line:

Gods Can Die and Humans Can Be Immortal

When we first meet Morpheus, he is Endless in the truest sense of the word—although captured, it is very clear that he is not mortal, not human, and one step further: That he also doesn’t always understand what it means to be human. We get to know him as aloof, arrogant, proud, often devoid of empathy, and even cruel. And we all know that this changes throughout his arc. That the being who always asserted he is incapable of change finally has to admit, to himself and others, that he has changed, most poignantly in The Kindly Ones (e.g. when he tells Nuala that he lied to Ishtar when he denied he had changed).

And that change was initially a slow one--perhaps that is why he denied it for so long. But by the time we arrive at the end of Brief Lives, his change and, yes, his humanity, are already so clear to the reader that most of us probably went: “You really are slow on the uptake sometimes.”

Even Frank McConnell writes in his intro to The Kindly Ones: “And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.” And Nuala is right when she asks him: “You want them to punish you, don’t you? You want them to punish you for Orpheus’ death.” Guilt, regret, and a choice. And his reply is silence, and it’s deafening.

On Becoming Human

By the end of The Kindly Ones, Morpheus basically is human in (maybe even more than) the metaphorical sense: He feels like a human, and even his body (or at least his relationship to his body) has changed. The most important indication for the latter is when we put in contrast that the Corinthian stabbing him in Collectors doesn’t draw a single drop of blood, but the scorpion whip of the Fates in The Kindly Ones does, and that scar remains. We can of course argue about who can hurt him and who can’t, but in either case, we see a Morpheus now who is more flesh and blood than he has ever been, and he feels a sense of mortality not only mentally/emotionally, but also physically.

(I have to throw in here that the change they made in the show at this point greatly confused me, and I think it is significant, as are a lot of other changes that have been made. And I personally hope they only use them to hint at a more human side to him from the outset to make us relate more, but not as a change to the whole arc. I will admit that I would have preferred if he didn’t bleed at this point because to me, it would have had more impact when we finally do see him bleed at the end. And we got foreshadowing for the scar in the show, when the earthquakes crack one of the windows and he looks through it for the second time. Yeah, I’m really that obsessive when I rewatch it, it’s embarrassing).

To Be Human Means to Die

And before we all collectively go into our evolutionarily ingrained wish to pretend that’s not true (because most of us fear death):

It is our mortality that gives our lives meaning. Without an end, life has no meaning bar feeling empty responsibility (or endless hedonism that gets boring at some point). And after 10 billion years, maybe the burden of that responsibility simply becomes too heavy (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” he says to Death in #69. And that he is “very tired”). It can’t make up for what truly makes our lives worth living:

The Impermanence of it.

Destruction got it right when he said that the illusion of permanence basically depends on our vantage point. That we can pretend if we so wish, and that there is comfort to be found in that, but that things simply don’t last. And that the Endless are truly no exception to that rule (“…even our existences are brief and bounded. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe.”)

And yet, we look at Morpheus choosing death and think: ”But that’s it then, he can't go back on that, but he deserved happiness because he has changed, he deserved (insert preference/head-canon of choice) and will never get a chance to have it now.”

And I get it. Psychologically speaking, we often fight the idea of death tooth and nail. We fear our own, and we have to deal with the loss of loved ones. So the denial is real—it’s not one of the stages of grief for nothing. But staying in that stage of denial is stagnation—the very antithesis of change. Death and change are linked—in the Sandman, they are not truly presented as alternatives, even if we might think so. They are two sides to the same coin. Death says to her mortal form in The High Cost of Living that the fact that life ends is what gives it meaning. That’s why it always ends. And that message has already been given to us in The Wake: “(Death) gives you peace. She gives you meaning. And she bids her brother goodbye.”

It’s Not Just About Dying, It’s Also About Coping With Grief

It tells us something about our own mortality, but also about mourning our loved ones. That’s why The Sandman doesn’t end with Morpheus’ death/The Kindly Ones, but we get a whole story arc after he is gone/The Wake. Because mortality isn’t just about us. It is also about the ones we love, the ones we need to let go while keeping on living, but we also hold on to them in certain ways (“humans can be immortal” because we make them so). All the mourners are us, and in the case of grieving Morpheus, many of us are probably a bit like Matthew:

In the throes of grief, we don’t care that there might be someone else who might even be more kind and loving (poor Daniel)—we don’t want a “replacement”, we want back what we have lost. And we are not ready to move on, until we somehow are/do. And that path is painful and long, as everyone who ever lost a loved one will be able to attest to. The pain never truly goes away, but it changes, from something so raw and painful that it knocks the air out of your lungs, to something that shows up here and there unexpectedly, still painful, but a little less so. Until it only hurts around the edges of memories that make us smile, miss and love someone, all at once. That love is permanent, even if life is not. It doesn’t really die with us either, because we can pass it on.

And it is somewhat fitting that the idea of “to be human means to die”, and that death is what gives life meaning, also extends to storytelling:

Without an end, a story has no true meaning. Our lives are stories, and every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Morpheus’ story is meaningful because it has an end (I already wrote about this before in “Why the order of the last three issues of The Sandman matters” and have attached a long reblog chain)—not because it plods on endlessly (no pun intended). And that end is exactly what makes it last, what makes people feel, reflect, understand, learn, pass it on.

We, a whole fandom. continuously talk about how upset we are that he died, what we learned from it, what we would do differently (be that in our own lives or in a retelling of the story), and I’ll just leave it at that, because it drives the message home so much more than any further exploration could….

[frenchfrywrites]

Cam Boy Mammon

MINORS DNI

Warnings: reader uses he/him pronouns and is amab, cam boy mammon, you’re dense as hell, masturbation, toys (anal beads, squirting dildo), voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, edging, guilt

This fic is for the obey me male reader collab! Go check out the other submissions @obeyme-male💖

It’s a complete accident. Until this moment you were completely clueless, so it’s not like you went out looking for him. Honestly, you just happened to be browsing an amateur porn cam site, and all of sudden- Mammon.

It’s definitely him. He’s shirtless, though he's wearing pants, and he has contacts on- making his typically blue eyes a warm brown. Additionally, he’s donned in a white masquerade mask, for the purpose of hiding his identity.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first, and you suppose that’s the point, but you could always tell him apart from the rest. You’ve spent more than enough time taking in every bit of him- every angle, every perfection, every flaw. You know him like you know the back of your hand, like you know your favorite color, or food, or song, and on and on.

So, there’s that, and the fact that he’s in his bedroom. Not like you want to brag but you’ve been there so many times that you can make your way around it in the dark. (You try not to think about the fact that you were there only an hour ago, and were rushed out, evidently so he could do this.)

He is facing his camera away from any identifying features, but still the fact remains that you recognize both him and his room. On an amateur cam site.

You’re a bit dazed from the surrealness of it all.

Maybe you somehow passed out before you could jerk off, and this is some weird wet dream that came about from pathetically masturbating while thinking about Mammon one too many times before.

Dream or not you click on his stream. Of course you do, because he’s not even doing anything raunchy, so you reason that it’s okay now, that you’ll click away when he starts stuff, but for now you’re okay.

“-yeah my week’s been alright, how’s y’alls?” There's some soft background music playing, and he’s talking to his audience in a relaxed manner, like maybe this is a regular thing for him. Even though you just discovered him, by the looks of his camera and mic it seems like he’s been doing this for a while. He probably has a few regulars and everything. You wonder if anyone else has figured out who he is.

You watch his- now brown eyes, scan his screen, seemingly reading people's responses in the chat. Something must catch his attention because he sputters and coughs, backing away from the camera, covering his blushing face.

“Wha- I’m- you guys ’m not gonna talk ab- about my,” his voice lowers to a whisper, “my crush- again!” That gets you subconsciously leaning in, thoroughly intrigued.

It’s news to you that Mammon has a crush on anyone. Which kind of hurts because you thought you were close enough to share that kind of stuff with each other (also because you’re jealous of whoever captured Mammon’s heart, but you push that to the back of your brain). When you open the chat for context, perhaps a name if you’re lucky, all you find is that a majority of the viewers are telling him that his reaction was cute, and that he should talk more about the crush. It appears that he hasn’t said anything identifiable about whoever this person is.

A chime occurs and Mammon squeaks, “ah! Which one of ya paid for me to talk about him! Not fair!!” he whines, shifting around on his bed. “M’kay since y’all are so weirdly interested,” he pauses, tracing a shape mindlessly on his bedsheets, “things ‘re goin’ well. I’ve been ah, takin’ y’all’s advice n’ trying to be nicer to him… and I have a date with him next Saturday!” your eyes widen and you feel your heart stop. Who in the world could this guy be?!

Maybe you have it wrong. Maybe this isn’t even Mammon. That makes more sense considering Mammon is hanging out with you next Saturday. You just got ahead of yourself– maybe projecting (or wishing) it were him. This demon must just be a look-a-like.

A few minutes pass and then- with a larger than life sigh, you conclude that you can’t lie to yourself like this. You know, or at least are very very certain that this is Mammon. And that’s all the more reason to leave.

"Why don't you get off thinkin' about yer crush," Mammon is reading off what someone said in the chat- effectively snapping you out of your spiral. You stare in awe as Mammon begins to pull down his pants, "hm that ain't a bad idea, let's get this show on the road, yeah?" He smirks and you feel your dick twitch with interest.

Mammon takes off his pants slowly, revealing that underneath he’s wearing black lacy panties. The chat goes wild and he snickers at the things people are saying,

"Yeah these're new. I got them thanks to user DomDemon's generous donation last time," he explains, running his hands along his thighs, up to said panties.

You watch as he fondles himself a bit, remembering that you swore to yourself that you would click away once things started.

But you don’t.

You’re fully entranced and so horribly curious. It’s like watching a car crash- except far less morbid and far more horny.

So instead you get comfortable. Your guilty consensus will kick in later, you’re sure of it, but for now you’re just one of his many anonymous fans.

Mammon is pouting now, “aw I wanna get started,” he rubs the outline of his cock over his panties, “but I think I need some donations to motivate me.” A cacophony of chimes occur as his viewers respond accordingly, bringing a smile to Mammon’s face while he watches the grimm roll in.

His fingers play with the hem of his panties, “that’s more like it,” he grins wickedly as he slowly, teasingly pulls them off, his cock slapping against his groin.

You feel yourself salivating at the sight of him and your hand trails down to- no, you're not going to touch yourself, that's a step too far. So instead you grip your thighs, using all your strength to not give in.

Mammon’s dick is pretty. He’s not too big nor thick, but he’s got some piercings, and with a laugh you note that the carpets match the drapes, so to speak. Your laughter dies on your lips, and you catch yourself moaning softly when he pulls down his foreskin to reveal his head.

“What should we do tonight?”

The chat explodes while Mammon strokes himself off slowly. He makes soft hums as he reads the suggestions.

“M’kay, I like the idea of usin’ my beads first, then stuffin’ myself full with my squirtin’ dildo, how’s that sound?”

The chat devolves into various versions of “yes”, with some donations rolling in to show support of the idea- though there are some outliers who have the gall to reject the plan Mammon’s come up with.

“Cool, ‘m gonna go grab those things ‘n then I’ll be back,” he turns off his camera to rush about his room. You’re left with yourself for a moment. Your thoughts run a mile a minute going through the pros and cons of staying.

Then he’s back in front of the camera, grinning wildly as he holds up a string of simple black anal beads, and your brain turns into a horny mushy mess.

The toy in his hand starts small, but the last bead, which has a ring connected to it, is fairly large, maybe a bit smaller than a fist. Mammon also has a simple, though fairly large and thick, squirting dildo, and some lube set on his bed.

“These beads ‘re one of my favorite toys I own,” he tells his viewers, kissing the toy dramatically with a loud “mwah”. He then places them next to the dildo, and reaches for the lube. “Gotta stretch first,” Mammon mumbles, largely to himself though the mic picks it up. He gets into a position on his back, so he can touch himself easily, and so you can get a great view of him.

The straining of your cock against your pants is starting to get wildly uncomfortable. You reason that it’d be okay to take them off, only if you don’t touch yourself. So, while Mammon stretches himself open with three lubed up fingers, you try your best to take off your pants while not giving into the urge to stroke yourself in time to how he fingers himself.

A wave of paranoia makes you turn down the volume a bit as sweet moans begin to leave Mammon’s mouth. Your eyes are glued to the sight before you, he looks so pretty, and the desire to replace his fingers with yours is overwhelming.

The chat is encouraging him, yet gently reminding him that he should not cum from this. Mammon occasionally responds to a message or two- breathless and between moans, but largely he focuses on the task at hand.

“Whaddya think?” he removes his fingers and brings his other hand down to gape his hole for the audience, “am I stretched enough fer ya?” You catch yourself nodding, salivating at his words. Predictably the chat goes wild.

In turn, he giggles, grabbing the beads and lube again. He rambles a bit as he lathers them up, “ugh, I can’t wait to get these inside me, they feel s’good. Stretch me so nice.” He sighs softly, looking at the camera through his white lashes, “what’re you doin’? Are you fistin’ your cock fer me? Maybe yer humpin’ a pillow. Or do ya have a toy too?” he smirks, “ya got a fleshlight that yer pretendin’ is my hole? It’ll never feel as good as I do baby,” he teases.

You grit your teeth because you have nothing. You’re sitting here watching porn in your underwear, refusing to touch yourself so you don’t feel guilty about it later. It feels like some stupid punishment. And, worryingly, it’s starting to get harder to hold yourself to your made up terms and conditions.

Mammon has stopped talking and started moaning. You recenter your attention back to him to see that he’s begun pushing the beads in. He’s got a few in already, they slipped in easily due to how well he stretched himself. Though, they get more difficult to insert as the sizes increase. He pushes them slowly in, one by one, until he reaches the last, largest bead.

“Oh, this one- hah, it’s always the hardest fer me,” he explains. Your eyes are glued to his hole, watching it stretch to fit the bead inside. When it pops in Mammon whines, pre cum leaking from his cock. “Fuck, wow, they’re hah, all in,” he sounds a bit frenzied, his eyes wild as sweat drips down his bare chest.

The chat is flooded with praise for him, donations coming in left and right. Mammon beams, thanking the donors, breathing heavy. “Are ya proud of me?” he asks sweetly, sounding like he’s talking directly to you. You almost forget there’s an audience of others viewing the same sights as you (however what you can’t forget is the burning jealousy that comes with remembering that little fact).

Mammon reaches down to grip the ring connected to the bottom bead. He moves it around to shift the toy around within him. While he plays with the ring a bit his breath quickens and his eyes flutter closed. He looks blissed out, like he may cum soon. A second burst of pre cum leaks from his cock, further signaling he’s close.

A donation comes in, the chime causes Mammon to open his eyes, Mammon whines, “aw, fuck, c’mon,” he huffs, “‘m gonna cum if I, hah pull them out,” his words cause someone to make another donation, “yeah, I know, I won’t cum ‘til I get per- ooh, permission.” Mammon bites his lip, concentrating as he carefully tugs on the ring.

His hole is once again stretched as the beads come out one by one. He doesn’t cum, but you expect he got close with the way pre-cum pools onto his skin. He takes three times as long to take them out than it did for him to put them in. He twitches all over, panting, his brows furrowed as he concentrates on holding off his orgasm. You feel pre begin to stain your underwear.

“Mhmm,” he whines softly as the last bead leaves him. Now empty, his hole flutters around nothing. “Oh-okay next,” he sounds breathless as he gets to his knees, “I’m gonna ride the fuck outta this,” he holds up his dildo proudly, setting the beads elsewhere on the bed.

Mesmerized, you watch him lube it up, and realize how desperately you want his hands around your cock instead. You’re so hard it’s starting to hurt. So you hesitantly palm yourself over your underwear, immediately groaning at the feeling of relief wash over you. It’s like what those closeted guys always say: it’s not gay if you’re wearing socks… it’s not weird to touch yourself to your best friend and crush’s porn if you do it over your underwear, right? Plus, Mammon probably wouldn't want you to die of blue balls anyways.

Speaking of Mammon, he’s on his knees on the bed, hovering over the dildo. He rubs the tip against his hole, “how ‘bout a donation ‘fore I stuff myself full of this?” He sure knows how to work the crowd. Donations come in steady for a minute or two, and meanwhile Mammon teases himself, rocking against the toy. When they taper off he offers a wink then pops the tip in.

Mammon’s head falls back and a loud moan escapes him as he slowly sinks down onto the dildo, his slack jaw causing a bit of drool to escape from his mouth. He huffs and whimpers as he works himself down onto it inch by inch. You stroke yourself through your underwear, only slightly grimacing at the uncomfortable feel of fabric against your skin.

“Fuck, oh it’s filling me up suh-so much nnngh,” he whimpers, his grip tightening where his hands lay on his thighs.

After what feels like forever he reaches the base, jerking his hips up and down a bit to get adjusted to the intrusion. He strokes himself a bit with one hand, “mmm yeah that’s good,” he sounds a bit dazed, “are y’all feelin’ good too?”

You don’t look, too captured by the sight before you, but you know the chat is responding to him. Instead you slip yourself out of your underwear, uncaring of all the rules you’ve made up, too overcome with how horny you are. You stroke yourself in time with the slow pace Mammon’s started with.

“Ah, I’m not gonna last long,” Mammon warns. You feel similar, especially now that you’re touching your dick properly. His hands have returned to his thighs so he can slowly pull himself up and down the dildo, his cock bobbing slightly as he picks up the pace.

“I ah, think ‘m gonna cum suh- oh! Ungh, soon, close, close, close,” he babbles, chasing his orgasm. A chime makes his head snap up, “no, no please” he wails, “fuck, c’mon I’ve been a good boy, huh? Please,” his voice cracks as he continues at the pace he’s at, yet somehow successfully holds himself off. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, pre drooling like a faucet from his dick at how close he is, “please, ple- ah, please, please,” his begging drives you crazy, and you have to bite your lip to not get carried away and cum prematurely. Another round of donations come in and you gather- as you watch the events following, that they were giving him permission. Mammon reads the screen, then as he slides down the dildo he cums with a gasp. You grab the base of your dick so you can take in his orgasm in full.

Mammon's eyes roll back, his thighs tense, his hands flexing open and closed as his hips jerk up and down erratically. His cum shoots up to paint his brown stomach and chest white. You imagine his hole is clenching around the dildo, trying to keep the plastic cock deep within him.

He winds down slowly, staying seated on the toy as he regains his composure. A series of donations come in, but Mammon seems oblivious to them. He’s pouting now, “fuck, I forgot to use the squirtin’ part of the squirtin’ dildo,” he huffs out a laugh, “oopsies, guess I should do that again.” Your jaw drops as you watch him begin to, very shakily and slowly ride the toy again.

Mammon’s breathing is heavy and labored, whining every once in a while as he works himself up again. “Ah, kinda hurts,” he comments, “feels good though,” he insists, like his dick twitching as it starts to swell again isn’t proof enough.

You watch, amazed and impressed, as Mammon gets himself hard once again in such a short amount of time, and brings himself to the pace he’d established the first time around. Now he holds the pump firmly in his hand, while the other plays with his chest.

“Oh, can’t wait tuh- hah, to be filled with ungh your cum, shit, gonna- ah, have’ta fuck me full’ve yer cum, yeah,” Mammon rambles breathlessly, spewing all sorts of things as he brings himself closer to a second climax. You barely register all the things he’s saying, feeling yourself reach the edge that you’ve been teetering on for so long. He starts begging to cum again and there’s something about how he sounds like he’s talking directly to you that makes you cum. You know you’re going to feel wildly guilty when you’re done so you try to stay in the moment of your climax as long as possible.

You’re nearing the end of your orgasm when Mammon cums for a second time, squealing your name– your name? You’re forcibly brought into post nut clarity upon registering that yeah, Mammon most definitely said your name as he came. You feel all sorts of emotions, unable to process many of them, but mostly you feel wildly caught off guard.

His viewers seem as confused as you are while Mammon comes down from his high, panting and twitching. When he gets back to functioning he reads the chat and flushes, sputtering incomprehensibly,

“Fuck! Shit!! My bad y’all, shit, it’s ‘cause you guys got me talkin’ about him earlier” he whines, “I mean... y’all said to get off thinkin’ ‘bout him, it’s not my fault I followed directions like a good boy.” The tone of the chat shifts to that of teasing and calling him cute while Mammon flushes and squirms. You, on the other hand, feel like your skin has caught aflame.

You’re the one he has a crush on.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You have a crush on him, and he likes you, and you found out about it after watching him pump himself full of faux cum. You’ve found yourself in a very sticky situation. Both literally and figuratively.

You decide– watching Mammon go through aftercare steps, talking aimlessly to his viewers, that you’re going to go take a shower. And after that you’ll figure out how in the hell you’re going to tell him you’re madly in love with him and that you also stumbled upon his cam show. But first, that shower.

[mochamamii]

yandere!taeyong: no secrets.

▹ a/n : hello loves, I chose a really shitty title for this but whatever loll this is something I wrote in like a day, sometimes I write absolute filth for no reason, this is one of those times.

▹ triggers : yandere!au, detailed smut, unprotected sex + creampie, mirror sex, daddy kink but like not super heavy tho

▹ pairing : lee taeyong x chubbyfem!reader

▹ synopsis : keeping secrets from your yandere boyfriend probably isn’t the best idea...unlesss they’re lee taeyong (even then that’s risky bizness my friend.)

••

Taeyong sighed as he stared down at the text message on his phone, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turned white. He peered out the window of his car to glance across the street once more, staring at your apartment building.

He was parked across the street, his car parked far enough away that you wouldn’t be able to recognize his car from someone else’s.

Taeyong was immediately reminded of the lit cigarette he had in his other hand when the unflicked ash fell, slightly singeing the patch of skin on his leg where his ripped skinny jeans had left him exposed. He cursed under his breath, rolling the window down just enough to toss the still lit bud on the ground.

He was so distracted by you, more specifically, the blatant lie he had just caught you in that he completely forgot about his surroundings for a moment, causing him to let the cigarette burn almost entirely without ever flicking the ash.

You see, you and Taeyong have been dating for just a few months now.  You were in that weird limbo stage where you were transitioning from casual dating to exclusivity. At least for you that’s how it was.

Taeyong had already moved past that stage months ago. He was serious about you, he was just being courteous by allowing you time to feel the same. But he was steadily growing impatient with you and all your sudden antics.

Things were going perfectly fine in the beginning. You were perfect, every bit of innocence and naivety that Taeyong wanted. You checked off all the boxes for him. And he didn’t need you to tell him that you felt the same way. Which is why it was pissing him off that you seemed to suddenly start pulling away from him slowly.

You’d begun acting strange. Avoiding him lately, whereas before you always obediently jumped at the chance to spend time with him. You also had refused to be intimate with him for a few weeks now, which wouldn’t have been a problem on it’s own. Taeyong was patient when it came to things like that and he was willing to go slow.

But in this instance Taeyong felt he had a right to be upset. Even in the few short months you’d been dating, Taeyong had managed to turn you into a full on nympho. Molding you into his perfect little sex kitten, ready to do whatever he wanted and whenever. What changed?

All of these things, amongst others, have led Taeyong to conclude that you obviously must be seeing another man. What else could it be? Things were going so well and then you suddenly changed up without any explanation.

And most recently Taeyong had caught you red handed in a lie.

He texted you earlier in the day to ask if he could come and see you. You replied back saying you had been at work. An obvious lie because Taeyong had been parked outside your house since last night, watching your front door to see if he could catch anyone coming in or out. He felt bad for stalking you, especially since he vowed to himself that he would try to be less invasive this time around.

He really liked you and didn’t want to scare you off.

So he left, giving up after nearly four hours of watching your house and not seeing anything out of the ordinary. He had only come back this afternoon in hopes that he might catch you on your lunch break. You worked nearby and it wasn’t uncommon for you to come home during this time.

He got excited when he pulled up to see your car parked out front already, the need to see you face to face building inside him. He hadn’t seen you in nearly a week, you claimed you were swamped with work and that’s why you didn’t have much time to spend with him like you normally did. Taeyong could tell you were lying to him, he had to stop himself from marching up to your apartment right then and there confronting you about your lies.

But he wanted to be sure. He needed concrete proof that he was right about what had been going on with you.

So he texted you a second time, asking if you had decided to come home for lunch today. He had seen you upstairs in your bedroom window, moving around, he knew you were home. If you texted him back with a different response he could confirm you were lying to him.

Unsurprisingly enough, you replied back, saying you were still at work and would probably be working late tonight.

He scoffed as he reread your message. Rolling his eyes in annoyance as he peered up at your bedroom window, straining his eyes to try and see what you were doing exactly.

Taeyong stayed put in the car for a while, trying to decide what the best course of action would be. He wanted to just march up there to you but he didn’t know what he’d even say.

Quite frankly, Taeyong was a little embarrassed. He wished he didn’t feel so affected by you. If it were any other girl he’d have dropped them a long time ago, deciding they weren’t worth the trouble.

But this was you we were talking about...His precious baby girl, the girl who he was actively trying to change for. He had been pegged as the crazy, overbearing, sometimes even violent boyfriend by nearly all of his ex’s.

They weren’t wrong actually. Taeyong was all of those things. But he was trying to suppress that kind of behavior just for you. He wanted you to want him too, he didn’t want to feel like he was trapping you into a relationship with him. Things were so different with you.

As angry and as hurt Taeyong was because of you lying to him, he still couldn’t bring himself to actually be angry with you. He was upset about the situation, but not at you. Honestly, once he saw you in person he wasn’t sure if he’d want to raise his voice and yell at you, or bury his head between your thick thighs.

God...it had been so long since he was inside you.

Only a week actually, but even that was too long for Taeyong.

Not wanting to sit and wrestle with his thoughts any longer Taeyong climbed out of the car. He jogged up the front steps to your door, trying to measure his breathing as he did so. He almost raised his hand to knock until he remembered you always kept a spare under a nearby potted plant.

He had to check under a few before he picked up the right one.

With your spare key now in hand, Taeyong could slip through the front door quietly. Even though during his stakeouts he never saw anyone go in or out of the house he still wondered if there was a chance you were being unfaithful. If not that, what else could it be?

Whatever it was, he was going to confront you about it today. No longer would he be left in the dark like this.

He unlocked the door, slipping in as quiet as a mouse. He pushed the door closed behind him, gently as not to alert you, wherever you were in the house. He kicked his shoes off at the door, knowing he’d be much quieter with sock clad feet instead of the heavy boots he had on previously.

Taeyong’s ears perked up as he heard you drop something on the floor upstairs. Considering the part of the ceiling he heard the noise from he guessed you were in the bathroom upstairs. Taeyong’s feet carried him up the stairs to your bedroom, the door was left open ajar already.

Carefully, he peeked through the crack to ensure you weren’t in the bedroom, even through the tiny space in the doorway Taeyong could see your figure standing in the bathroom connected to your bedroom. He pushed the door open enough to slip inside.

Taeyong stood under the arch of the doorway to your bathroom, watching you with curious eyes, your back was facing him so you were still unaware of his presence behind you, he could see you were struggling to open something.

Taeyong was about to speak up and announce himself to you until he took quick note of how your frustration turned to panic as you furiously twisted and pulled at the cap of…a pill bottle?

Now Taeyong was really curious.

With one last heave you released a large puff of air as the cap twisted off the bottle, Taeyong quickly sprung into action, taking two long strides across the expanse of the bedroom to get to where you stood in the bathroom.

He was too late though and you had already swallowed one of whatever those pills were.

“Taeyong?” You jumped, startled as Taeyong snatched one of your wrists to spin you around to face him.

Your cheeks turned red as you tried to inconspicuously hide your other hand that still held the bottle of pills behind your back.

“Give it.” Is all Taeyong said, his grip on your wrist tightening.

You shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, whenever Taeyong spoke in that demanding tone of his you’d always instantly obey and comply with whatever it was he wanted, not wanting to piss him off further.

But this time…this time you just couldn’t. You were too embarrassed, your hand felt frozen in place behind your back.

Growling, Taeyong spun you around and pushed you against the bathroom counter, pinning your arm behind your back as he retrieved the bottle of pills for himself.

You nearly toppled over because of his quick movements catching you so off guard. His firm hold on your arm pinned behind your back, catapulted you into the bathroom counter, your breasts plopping against the cool marble countertop.

Taeyong squinted his eyes to read the tiny print on the bottle, “What are these?” He asked, unfamiliar with the name of the pills.

You glanced up at him in the mirror, his jaw clenching as he tried to decipher what the long complicated name printed on the bottle meant.

It was as if you’d forgotten how to speak. Everything had happened so quickly and your mind was still taking a minute to process it all.

You had spent months trying to keep this one secret hidden from Taeyong. You went to any lengths possible if it meant protecting your secret. Even lying to him when necessary, which had become pretty frequent as of late.

All of it was catching up with you now.

Today would probably mark the end of your relationship, you were sure of it, there’s no way Taeyong would even be able to stomach the sight of you once he knows the truth. He’d probably think you were pathetic, too pathetic to be his girlfriend.

And you just couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye as your tower of lies came crashing down around you.

Your head fell, hanging shamefully as you tried to ignore Taeyong’s burning gaze.

Taeyong was growing impatient with you, wanting answers and wanting them now. His fingers tangled themselves in your hair, gripping your roots not so gently as he pulled your head back to force you to stare straight ahead, so you were looking directly at him in the mirror.

Your back arched instinctively as you stretched your body out to follow his hand, wincing slightly in pain as you did so.

“Tae…what are you doing here?-

You were cut off by Taeyong slamming his hips into your backside, pinning your own hips firmly against the counter as he trapped you under his weight. His hand in your hair moved to wrap around your throat from behind.

“I’m growing impatient with you Y/N. Tell me now and stop avoiding the question.” Taeyong said

“Tell me.”

Your eyes were slightly red, a little teary as you nervously glanced up at him once before parting your lips to speak.

Your eyes searched his black ones for approval, it’s like you were silently asking him without saying it,

Will you still want me after this?

Taeyong only softened temporarily as he took note of your reluctance, he used his free hand to rub small circles on your back to soothe you.

“T-They’re…appetite suppressants.” You answered shamefully.

Taeyong’s grip on you loosened as he listened.

“Appetite Suppressants?” He echoed, glancing down at the bottle and back at you.

Taeyong felt foolish and annoyed. You had been so secretive and sneaky lately, he was sure it was because you had another man in your life, not diet pills?

Taeyong screwed the cap of the bottle off with ease, dumping the rest of the pills down the toilet.

You had to swallow an audible groan. You had paid good money for those pills. They weren’t cheap over the counter pills, you had gone to your doctor to have them prescribe something stronger for you. Watching the pills be carelessly flushed down the toilet made you wince internally.

“You don’t need these. Stop taking them.” Taeyong demanded as he placed the empty bottle down on the counter.

“Understand?” He asked you, displeased with your lack of response.

“But…Taeyong. I need those.” You breathed softly, slowly raising up from the sink to turn around and face him.

“I need them Taeyong. I can’t just give them up, not yet, not till I’m-

“Why not?” He questioned.

Fat, ugly tears started to roll down your cheeks as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I’m still not perfect enough for you yet.” You whispered softly.

It was hard to say it out loud but it was true. You constantly felt like a tub of lard next to Taeyong. You didn’t want to feel that way anymore. You wanted to walk beside him with pride. You couldn’t do that. Not yet at least. Not with your current body.

Taeyong really didn’t like that you were fighting him on this. You were so naturally submissive, always going out of your way to avoid conflict with people especially Taeyong, he could say almost anything and you would listen and obey to whatever he wanted or expected from you.

Mostly because it was just in your nature to be more on the submissive side, but also because you felt like you were incredibly lucky to have someone like Taeyong, who were you to be making demands?

Even when there were times that you disagreed on something and wanted to vocalize your opinion, Taeyong would whisper in your ear how much he loved you and how you just needed to let go and trust him.

Usually it worked too.

But Taeyong was in no mood to be that gentle with you, not that it would matter anyways. This is the one thing you know that you will always fight him on.

Your body.

Taeyong never entertained any conversations with you when it came to your weight and feeling insecure about your body. He waved them off as you being “silly” or something like that.

It wasn’t that Taeyong didn’t care. It’s just that he’s a yandere and has never known how to process any of his feelings in a relatively healthy way.

It’s easier for him to ignore the issue rather than confront it. He’s afraid he won’t know how to make you feel better. He doesn’t know how he can make you see the beauty that he sees.

“Don’t make me the reason that you’re desecrating your body this way.” Taeyong hissed, landing a harsh slap against your ass cheek for emphasis.

You yelped, already feeling the numb burning sensation spread across your afflicted skin.

Taeyong grabbed hold of your hair again, raising the top half of your body off the counter until your back was pressed flush up against his chest. He snaked one arm around your waist, locking you in place against him whilst the other remained tangled in your hair.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as you followed his hand to escape the painful friction at your roots.

You fell into place so naturally against Taeyong, your bodies molding together so perfectly.

Taeyong loved the way your body was so soft and squishy, he loved your thick full curves, your deliciously plump body is what had initially attracted him to you.

How could you possibly think that something already so perfect needed to be changed?

Taeyong pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, moving to nibble at your sensitive earlobe, “Darling. What’s it gonna take, hm?”

“What’s it gonna take to get you to stop obsessing over this?” Taeyong asked, his free hand beginning to roam your body.

“To stop…saying all these mean things about yourself?” Taeyong’s voice trailed as his hand slid down the length of your abdomen, his long slender fingers gliding across all of your rolls and stretch marks.

All you had on was an oversized t-shirt, Taeyong’s to be exact. One that he’d left over here before.

Seeing you in his clothes sent waves of electricity directly to the head of his cock, making him harden. He wanted you to wear his clothes all of the time, he wanted his smell to linger on your skin, letting everyone know you were his.

As much as he loved seeing you in his shirt he couldn’t wait to rip it off you.

Especially now with the way your hard nipples were poking through the thin cotton material, practically begging him to turn you around and assault them with his teeth and tongue.

He couldn’t wait.

He was going to do every dirty, lewd thing imaginable to you tonight. No part of your body would be left untouched once he was done.

He needed you to know that you’re beautiful. He had to show you just how in love with you and your body that he was. He didn’t know how to translate those feelings into words, just action.

Taeyong released his hold on your hair to be able to use both of his hands as he groped and fondled your body.

His hands moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his warm large hands through your shirt.

He kneaded them, moving to tug at your nipples through the fabric to make you mewl.

“Do you feel that baby?” Taeyong asked as he rolled his hips into your backside, his cock standing at full attention now, allowing you to easily feel his erection through his jeans.

“Do you see how badly I want you? Look at how hard I am and I’ve barely touched you.” Taeyong said , groaning as he rocked his hips against you once more. Loving the feeling of your round backside rubbing up against his cock. You were wet already and growing impatient with Taeyong’s teasing. Your clit throbbed painfully, desperately needing attention. You rutted your backside back against Taeyong, begging him to take you already.

Taeyong raised one of your legs up to rest on top of the counter, giving him perfect access to your pussy.

His shirt on you wasn’t long enough to cover the full expanse of your ass so as your leg raised up on the counter,  your glistening folds were revealed to him.

“Do you think you deserve to cum? After all you’ve done, all the sneaking around and the hiding? Do you really think I should give you any relief?” Taeyong teased as he used his fingers to slide up and down your slick slit, collecting your juices on his fingers.

“Please…” You begged with a pout, pushing back against him as you felt his fingers on you.

“Aht. Aht. No moving around or I’ll have to pin you against the counter like before.” He threatened as he stopped you from grinding your hips down against his fingers.

Feeling defeated you sighed, relaxing into his touch as you tried not to think about how badly you wanted to cum.

“Don’t look away from the mirror or I’ll stop.” Taeyong warned.

You nearly turned your head away momentarily to peek at what he was doing but decided against it at the last second.

Taeyong knelt down until he was level with your pussy. His warm breath fanned your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Taeyong’s soft wet tongue licked a single stripe along your slit, stopping at your clit to give it a single kiss before enclosing his soft lips around your bundle of nerves.

Your mouth dropped open as a moan fell past your lips.

Taeyong’s tongue worked quickly, alternating between lapping at your folds and sucking on your engorged clit.

You gripped the edge of the counter for support. You wanted to pull away from him when the pleasure became too intense but he smacked your ass whenever you moved so much as an inch away.

He released your clit from his mouth with an audible popping sound as he did so. Standing back up at his full height Taeyong took pleasure in seeing the way your eyes followed him in the mirror, eagerly waiting for his next move.

Taeyong unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans down just enough, his cock bouncing up and slapping his abdomen as he released it from the confines of his briefs. A bead of precum was leaking from his head. Taeyong teased you by rubbing the head of his cock against your folds.

“Do you want to come? Wanna come as I pound this perfect pussy of yours with my cock? I don’t think you deserve it. You’ve been a bad kitten lately haven’t you? Sneaking around, hiding things from me, saying awful things about yourself, and making me worry…” Taeyong said, resting his chin against your shoulder as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m sorry…” You whimpered, grinding your ass back against him.

“Are you really though?” Taeyong asked, his eyes narrowing at you.

“Yes. I’m so sorry.” You whined, growing desperate for release.

“Are you ever going to do something like this again, kitten?” He asked, slipping his hands under your shirt to roll your nipples in between his fingers.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Taeyong smirked, loving the sound of desperation in your voice.

“Do you promise? Tell daddy you promise to never do this again and he’ll give you what you want okay?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice before you were repeating over and over like a mantra, “I promise I’ll never do it again, daddy.” You fluttered your lashes at him in the mirror, hoping he’d sense your sincerity.

That was all Taeyong needed to see before backing up and sinking his cock deep into your pussy.

He groaned as your walls hungrily sucked him in, greedily accepting every inch of him.

You arched your back, raising your ass even higher in the air for him.

Taeyong was relentless in how he fucked you. His nails painfully dug into the flesh on your soft hips as he held onto them for support whilst he pounded you from behind.

“Do you hear how wet you are? This pussy is practically milking my cock.” Taeyong moaned, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror.

He was right. You were so wet, the obscene squelching noises your pussy was making around his cock bounced off the four walls of the bathroom.

“Taeyong…” You moaned.

He moved one hand off your hip to rest against your hand that was lying on the counter, he grabbed your hand to lace your fingers together.

“That’s right baby. Look at yourself, look at how well you’re taking my cock…such a good girl for me, my beautiful good girl.”

You could’ve come right then and there just because of how dirty the words coming from Taeyong’s mouth were.

You felt warm and happy as he praised you, calling you a good girl for taking him so well.

Taeyong continued drilling into you, never losing the rhythm he had set or the speed he was going at. He kept repeating in your ear over and over how pretty you looked and how beautiful you were.

Usually compliments like that went in one ear and out the other, you never liked to dwell on them for long because you just didn’t believe them.

But now…right here, right now. Watching yourself in the mirror as Taeyong fucked you, the faces you were making, and the way your body instinctively rolled and grinded back against him.

Even you couldn’t deny the beauty of the scene before you.

You could see him in the mirror, watching as his hands gripped and groped at your flesh, his desire and want for you evident on his face, evident in the manner at which he was thrusting deep inside you as if his life depended on it.

Thrusting with a desperation that matched yours, you needed this, to feel him inside of you, filling and stretching your walls with a subtle sweet pain.

“Taeyong, I’m gonna come.” You warned, feeling yourself clench around him.

The essence of your shared arousal started to drip down your thigh.

“Then come for me.” Taeyong answered, reaching his hand around your waist to rub your clit, propelling you further into your state of euphoria.

You rocked your hips back against him, chasing after your own orgasm.

You moved to throw your head back and rest it on his shoulder but Taeyong was quick to push your head forward, reminding you with a slap on your ass to not look away from the mirror.

“I want you to watch as you come on my cock.” Taeyong growled, determination clear in his voice as he unsheathed his cock completely from your warmth only to slam his hips back into yours.

You squealed as Taeyong angled his thrusts upward to hit your g-spot. Your eyes welled with tears, and your hand gripped the edge of the counter as you braced yourself.

It only took Taeyong a few more strokes before you were clenching around him uncontrollably, your pussy creaming on his cock. You collapsed on the counter, too tired to hold yourself up anymore. You winced a little as Taeyong continued to drill into you, the pleasure turning into a slight burn as he overstimulated you.

You wiggled your hips, trying to bring your hiked up leg down from the counter whilst also inching away from Taeyong’s thrusts.

“Stay still.” Taeyong grunted, pinching your outer thigh.

Taeyong abused your poor cunt until he was ready to fill you with his seed. He made sure he was stuffed deep inside of you when he painted your walls with his cum.

Once the two of you had caught a minute to catch your breath, Taeyong carefully pulled out of you, making a mess between your thighs as he did so. Your empty pussy was now clenching on air, inadvertently pushing Taeyong’s cum out of your hole causing it to run down your inner thighs.

Taeyong leaned down to kiss the back of your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you came down from your high.

Finally, Taeyong pushed himself off of you to allow you to rise up from the counter. He turned you around to face him so he could properly kiss you on the lips.

“Wait, where are you going?” Taeyong asked as you kissed him before untangling your limbs from his.

“To shower?” You answered, one hand already on the nozzle of the tap to turn the shower on.

You were a sweaty, sticky mess, in desperate need of a nice long shower.

Taeyong smirked, pulling you back into his chest, “We’re still not done here.”

Your face must’ve said it all because before you got the chance to whine about being tired Taeyong was already pressing you up against the wall.

“Spread your legs again. Nice and wide for me...Daddy’s going to make sure you get all clean again…”

[digital-corruption]

Refering to what happened while not actually defining what happened FTW! 😏👍 If you're reading this in the future, this fanfic is still episode 10 spoiler free!! ('Cause it isn't out yet 🤣)

Unrecognisable Part 6

Having gotten sick of the uncomfortable silence in the car, I decided it was time to break it, “So, if Jake was just a name you went by back then, what is your real name?”

He remained quiet, pretending to be focusing on the road, but I could tell he was thinking of a response. Finally, after a while, he spoke up, “That name is long gone.”

“Long gone? You’ve forgotten your birth name?” I teased.

“No, I had to burn it,” he said solemnly.

I felt like I had brought up a deceased loved one with the way he avoided talking about his real name. “But, ok, officially you may not be that person anymore, but that’s no reason you can’t use it anymore with your friends. You can literally call yourself anything, as you know.”

“Yes, and I choose not to use that name anymore,” he stone walled me.

“Ok, fine. What name do you go by now?” I tried to go at it from another direction.

“I don’t have a name at the moment,” he continued. “Last name I used was Tristan I think.”

“Was that for another con?” I frowned.

He tilted his head back and forth, “Yes.”

“How many names have you taken?” I questioned.

“Hmm, well, including Jake, maybe 12. It depends what you would consider taking. If I use a name for one night, does that count?”

“And you don’t actually identify with any of them?” I wondered out loud.

“No, I’ve had no reason to adopt a permanent name,” he explained.

“Why not?” I pushed.

He looked over at me, then back at the road, “It’s kind of pointless to have a name when you’re alone. Who is going to use it?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Hearing him say that was just too depressing. “Well I would like to call you something. What do I call you?”

“You can use Jake. I don’t mind,” he shrugged.

“I want to use a name that means something to you. I don’t want to use that name if it was just a throwaway name,” I despaired.

He sighed, “It wasn’t a throwaway name. It was my grandfather’s.”

“Oh, that’s a very personal name to be using for a con. Was Hannah really just a mark to you?” I questioned.

Jake was quiet again. Eventually he opened his mouth to speak, “Yes and no.”

“Are you really her half-brother?” I went on.

“Yes,” he responded quietly.

I took a moment to consider his answers. It was clear he wasn't lying, but why did he admit Hannah was a mark? “You first contacted Hannah as a mark to get information. Lilly said she told you some very personal details about where they grew up and went to school. Just like security questions. You were trying to break into her accounts?”

He didn't say anything, just shook his head slightly.

“No? Her father- your father's accounts?” I corrected.

“You have to understand, I was very angry back then. I wanted to screw over the man for leaving my mother with no support,” he explained. “But Hannah... it was too easy, messing with her as I did.”

“You felt bad?” I asked in disbelief. “The same way you felt bad about me?”

He paused for a bit, “I did what I had to do, given the unusual circumstances.”

“What you had to do?” I frowned. “You didn’t have to do anything!”

“And how would you have handled it? Huh? Go on. Tell me the right way to handle all of... that!” he said exasperated. “You came out of nowhere, remember? Your part in that chaos was absolutely unknown at the time! Initially l was planning on keeping you at arms length, but then the whole thing with the Man Without a Face started and I needed to know where you stood.”

“You thought I was trying to con you?” I laughed.

“You didn't make any sense!” he exclaimed. “I had to know if you were genuine or not.”

“But you didn't stop there,” I pointed out.

“Well, no, not when the others were making you doubt me. I needed you on my side,” he answered honestly, but I could tell there was more to it.

“Needed me to trust you or needed me to act as your agent so you weren't exposed?” I frowned.

Jake sighed, “MC, what does it matter?”

“Well considering this has been such an eye-opening experience, I am trying to get an understanding what really happened. Particularly the part when you disappeared,” I explained.

“Do we have to do this now? While I am driving?” he sighed. “It doesn't help our situation now. I need to focus on what I'm doing.”

I sighed, “Ok, but this conversation isn’t over, Jake.”

Jake exited the motorway and navigated through some very rundown sections of the city. Occasionally I'd catch him glancing over at me and he'd quickly look back at the road. I watched him, struggling to understand his behaviour. How could he be so soft at times and then block me out completely during others. I thought back on our old conversations and remembered how he would log out conveniently when he wanted to avoid a conversation. I supposed that never changed.

My train of thought was broken by Jake suddenly pulling into a disused parking lot and stopped the car in the open.

“Grab everything, we are going by foot from here,” he said stoically.

I nodded and grabbed the bags. Cautiously I took a good look around neighbourhood as I exited the sedan. I thought maybe Jake had planned to hole up in one of the vacancies, though it did seem strange to do so that close to the abandoned car. Instead, Jake headed off down the alley between buildings. I followed him through a maze of back streets, until we came out beside a service station. Being well into the night and considering it was the only thing still open in the area, the station was unbearably bright. Considering they tend to have a lot of CCTV, I was surprised to see Jake head into it, but I did notice he kept his head down to avoid being seen by the cameras. I waited for him by the street. After a brief minute, he stepped out and waved for me to come over as he walked along to the side where the unisex toilet was. He unlocked it with the service station key and motioned for me to go in.

“I'm good,” I commented.

“Please trust me,” he sighed. “It’s late, we're both tired, but there is something we must do before we can continue on.”

I eyed him out of confusion. What the hell was so important that it had to be done right now in a service station toilet? Shrugging, I went inside with Jake close behind. The sound of the door locking was alarming, to say the least.

“Ok, what is it?” I questioned.

He avoided eye contact with me as he put his backpack down and reached into it. “I want you to understand that what I am about to do brings me no pleasure, but it is for your own safety.”

“Jake, that is the least bit reassuring. What the hell are you doing?” I asked now out of great concern for my wellbeing.

Jake pulled out an electric razor from his bag. Even as he looked at me with regretful eyes, I didn’t want to acknowledge what he was implying.

“Please, kneel on the floor. You can use my bag to cushion your knees,” he gestured to the space in front of the mirror.

“Jake, no, come on. Let’s consider an alternative solution,” I pleaded.

“I am sorry, MC, but if you are to travel without being recognised, it all has to go,” he was sincerely apologetic.

He reached into his backpack again, pulled out black hair dye, and placed it beside the sink. Considering his hair was already black, I knew he meant it was for me. I lowered my head in despair. I knew logically he was right - I needed to disguise myself by all means necessary since my photo was the only one being distributed. Jake’s vague police sketch made it was easier for him to fly under the radar. It still was a very hard truth to swallow.

I pulled the bag full of Jake’s clothes off my shoulder and laid it down on the disgusting gas station bathroom floor. Trembling I knelt down on it in front of him.

“Let’s do this quickly before reality sinks in,” I pleaded.

Jake shifted behind me and looked at me through the reflection of the mirror. “Close your eyes. It'll be easier for you if you don’t watch.”

[loopy-froots]

Childhood Friends

Brahms Heelshire x afab!Reader

Author: @loopy-froots

Word Count: 3261 (WOW wtf…)

Slight request by @leahromanof : small age gap (Brahms is 26-28 and the reader is 20)

Summary: The Reader grew up very close to the Heelshire family, as their parents were business partners with them. However, after the fire incident, Brahms and the Reader took some space from each other. While the Reader knew Brahms was still alive, they didn’t know under the circumstances he was. When a sudden tragedy strikes their family, the Reader is left with no home. The Heelshire family offer their home with welcoming arms, but much has changed between all of them since they have last seen each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, swearing, slasher x reader, smut, virgin/unprotected sex (masc and fem), abusive parents (fem), insecurities (on both parts), slight age gap (6ish years?), a slight size kink (if you squint?), etc.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t too sure what to write for the age gap so I hope this is good enough!!! I also threw in a lot of personal needs I’ve been having, so I hope y’all don’t mind! Feel free to let me know your thoughts!!!

~~~

*2nd Person POV*

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were finally going to see your beloved childhood friend, Brahms Heelshire, again after close to ten years of separation. You wished this was not under these circumstances, as you never intended to cause your family such turmoil.

“Y/n! Come in, why don’t you?” Mr. Heelshire exclaims as he opens his front door. He must have seen you walk up their driveway. You can see Mrs. Heelshire inside, but she shares a concerning expression. Trying to brush it off, you step inside and am greeted by the warmth of the house. It was a terribly chilly winter day, and the walk there exhausted you.

“Come, dear! Let me get you a cup of tea to warm you up! You look rather frozen!” Mrs. Heelshire snaps out of her funk and laughs al0ng with her husband. Their jovial attitude makes you feel rather welcomed and loved.

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire… I… I’m terribly sorry that this all happened… especially so suddenly…” You look down with embarrassment.

“Nonsense! We’re always happy to have you, Y/n! Our home is yours!” Mr. Heelshire smiles at you, but you get a somewhat urgent vibe from him. You’re not sure how to feel about it, but you figure since they’re being ever so kind you were in no position to question.

“Now, dear… why don’t you tell us exactly what happened… Perhaps we may help with your parents’ situation?” Mrs. Heelshire gently suggests, but you shake your head in disagreement.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s possible… you see, I recently came out to my parents as non-binary… they’ve never been overly supportive of that kind of stuff, but I knew I couldn’t hide myself any longer…” You explain shamefully.

“Oh my… that is a rather difficult predicament, hm? However, we want you to know that we fully support you… in fact, our own Brahms considers himself genderfluid,” Mrs. Heelshire shares, which honestly makes you feel less alone.

“Really? I… I had no idea… Thank you, but speaking of which… where is Brahms…? Does he still live with you?” You wonder.

“Oh, um… yes… he does, but he’s grown to be rather… timid… so he doesn’t always come out when people are visiting…” Mr. Heelshire explains swiftly, and you try to understand. You don’t fully know what he’s been through, so who are you to judge his social anxieties?

“That’s alright. Well, I just hope he knows how excited I am to see him again…” You confess, causing a surprised reaction from the Heelshire couple.

“Really? Well, that’s certainly wonderful! I’m sure he'll become more open to meeting you after he gets used to you being in the house…” Mrs. Heelshire states with a gentle smile, and you nod your head in agreement.

With that, you are then taken on a tour of the house. You’re shown areas you can and cannot wander to, and you mentally note each location that’s off limits. You’d never want to make the Heelshires uncomfortable, despite how curious you were. They show you to your room, which you immediately recognize as Brahms’ childhood room.

“Oh wow! This looks exactly how I remembered it!” You giggle.

“I’m glad you’re fond of it still, as Brahms insisted you take his room for your own… comfort…” Mr. Heelshire shares, but something tells you he’s not entirely being honest. However, you ignore the feeling bubbling up in your stomach.

“Well, feel free to unpack your things dear. As we mentioned before, we are planning on going on a trip within the next few days. So it will be just you and Brahms for a while…” Mrs. Heelshire reminds you, and you shiver slightly for some reason.

“Oh, yes… Well, I hope the two of you enjoy it!” You politely respond.

~~~

“Goodbye, dear! And remember, follow the rules and you’ll get no trouble from our dear Brahms!” The Heelshires bid you farewell and leave in their cab. Closing the door, you sigh in relief.

“Alright, follow the rules… I can do that… it’s the least I can do since they were so kind as to let me stay for a while…” You motivate yourself.

“Y/n…” A sudden familiar, childlike voice echoes through the house. You looked around to see who it came from, but you saw no one. It had to be Brahms, right? Who else could it have been, but where was he?

“B-Brahms?” You sheepishly call out. You hear no answer and suddenly feel quite stupid. Maybe you just heard the shifting of the house or imagined someone was calling your name?

“Alright, focus… first things first, making some lunch… hopefully he’ll come down to eat with me…?” You hope. You could’ve sworn you heard another childish giggle somewhere, but you try to shake the skittish feeling building up. You quickly make whatever you feel like for lunch, desperate to finish so that you can call Brahms down to eat.

“Um, Brahms? I… lunch is done… if you want some?” You yell throughout the house, but you hear no answer. Finally feeling defeat, you turn back to the kitchen and notice that one of the plates of food has disappeared.

“How did he get to it without me noticing?” You ask out loud. Every instinct within you tells you that something was wrong, but you tried your best to give the man some time to adjust to the new living situation.

“Y/n…?” In the middle of eating, you hear a now more adult version of the voice you heard earlier. You drop your fork in surprise and frantically look around for the source. You then see a tall and scruffy looking man standing at the end of the dining room. He was holding the plate that is now empty, and you figure that must be Brahms. He was very odd looking, in all honesty. He wore a porcelain mask that resembles the type of little dollies you used to keep as a kid.

“Oh, um… h-hello, Brahms…?” You try to be friendly towards him, despite the creepy feeling you got from him already. However, him not answering causes the suspicion to form again.

“Um… did you enjoy the meal I made for you?” You try to spark a conversation, but Brahms nonverbally nods in response.

“That’s good! I’m… glad…” You smile awkwardly at him, but his masked face remains expressionless. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and Brahms notices the tense state you’re in. He begins to step closer to you, and sets his plate on the table. Sweating profusely, you wonder what he’s doing. He steps closer and closer to you until he’s directly in front of you. While you sit, he towers over you. You’d never admit it, but he’s very intimidating. However, you try your best to be polite.

“Is… everything alright, Brahms?” You ask innocently. He just stares at you, though, never saying a word. When you were about to get up and try to walk away, he grabs your arm and pulls you into him.

“B-Brahms…?!” You exclaim as he squeezes you in his broad arms. He’s rather warm, but trembling. Your heart relaxes when you realize he only wanted a hug.

“Y/n… nice to see you again…” He finally peeps out. Your cheeks heat up, but you lean into the embrace. The two of you just hold onto each other for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Good to see you, too! I was worried you were upset with me for coming back after such a long time…” You try to pull away and look him in the eyes, but his grip keeps you there.

“Mm, no… not upset… lonely…” He breathes into your ear, sending a chill down your back. He was… lonely? That makes you feel bad… really bad… how could you leave him like you did after the incident?! It wasn’t completely your fault, as you parents were the main reason you stayed away. They told you what a dangerous person Brahms was, and they forbid you from being influenced by him in any way.

Additionally, your parents never liked how fond the two of you seemed towards each other, despite the slight age difference you had. Brahms was only six years older, and to you it didn’t matter for terms of friendship. However, your parents saw the attraction Brahms had towards you right away. As children, it only developed into a little crush, but the older the two of you got the more obvious it became, to the adults at least. You seemed quite oblivious to his attempts to woo you, as you had just thought he was being friendly.

“I…I’m sorry, Brahms… I should’ve… I wish I’d have… I’m sorry…” Tear well in your eyes as you look down from his gaze. Your focus then shifts to the ever growing bulge in his pants that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s alright… happy you’re here now…” Brahms strokes your hair with his free hand, and he leans into you. You feel him stroke your neck with his nose, seemingly trying to get a reaction out of you. Completely frozen, you felt unsure of what to do. All of the sudden, your head’s ideas clicked and made you realize the years of yearning he’d been doing for you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still have feelings for the boy you grew up with. You always admired how protective he was of you. You never admitted your affection towards him, though, as you thought he might react negatively. To you, the age difference acted as a barrier, but to him, it seemed he didn’t mind in the slightest. All he’s ever known was his love for you, despite the age gap. However, is this still the same boy as before? You probably barely knew him anymore. Then why were you getting so flustered over this simple interaction?

“Brahms?” You look back into his eyes with a curious glint. What was he planning with you?

“Hm?” He nonchalantly answers.

“Are you…?” You start, but then feel too embarrassed to finish.

“Yes,” He agrees without needing you to explain. You feel him jerk his hips into your stomach softly, desperate to get some friction between the two of you. As intoxicating as he was being, you still felt unsure of your stance with him.

“I’m not sure I want to… I mean, this is so soon… don’t you think?” You try to reason mainly with yourself to try and stop this from happening. With that, Brahms stops and pulls away from you with a pout.

“No?” He questions with sweet eyes.

“I… yes…?” You try to stand your ground with yourself again, but it’s no use. Brahms’ heartfelt pleading turns you to putty in his hands.

“Please?” He begs. With that, you finally agree, and he’s onto you. Groping all up and down your sides, front, and back, he feels every inch of your body as if he’s desperate to find something in you.

“Brahms… wait…?” You stop him again, realizing you hadn’t seen his actual face yet. You politely ask him to remove his mask, but he visibly slumps.

“Why…? You… don’t want to see me…” Brahms insecurely explains, but you shake your head.

“I do! Please…?” You whine as he continues to feel up your back. Brahms hesitates slightly, then agrees. With that, he slowly removes the porcelain from himself. This leaves his bare, burnt, and uncertain face into your view. You’re unsure of what to say at first, as your feelings are conflicted. However, you quickly decide to go with what your heart felt.

“You’re so handsome, Brahms…” You confess with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t respond, though, almost as if he’s debating what to say as well.

“Mm!” You moan through a sudden kiss he placed on your lips, making Brahms smile to himself in the kiss. He loved the way you reacted to his touch. He quickly realized you were feeling the same towards him, and that gave him the confidence to continue. You rapidly grew a certain heat in your pelvic area, but the feeling was still unfamiliar to you. Only on the rare occasion did you allow yourself the pleasure, but you felt guilty for it every time.

“Slut… whore… useless daughter…” Your parents’ past words radiate in your head, and a panic washes over your body. Brahms senses your inner conflict again, and stops once more.

“Y/n…?” He gently asks to see if you’re alright. Tears well up in your eyes as the guilt of disappointing your parents consumes you.

“I’m sorry, I just… my mom and dad would be so upset… I just feel so… lost…” You admit, and Brahms wipes your cheeks with his calloused hands.

“Mm, screw them…” He chuckles darkly.

“But…” You try to argue, but he shushes you instead.

“They’ve never been good to you, Y/n…” Brahms shares, and it confuses you at first. They’ve always given you food, shelter, and anything else a child would need.

“But they… they mean well…” You try to reason it out, but he still disagrees.

“I’ve been watching, listening to how they treat you your whole life, Y/n… the way they scream at you, gaslight you, disappoint you… that’s not love… that’s abuse…” Brahms whispers with a broken heart for you. The pain of realization hits you, but you try to muffle your cries with your hands over your mouth.

“I’m so sorry… I know how hard it is… but I… I want to love you… really love you…” He kisses the top of your head sweetly. His words fill your heart with hope that you might not be miserable the rest of your life.

“Really…? I mean, I would love that… but I don’t want to force you into anything…” You self doubt yourself.

“Absolutely. I mean, hell… why do you think I was doing all of this?” Brahms wonders, and you suppose he’s right.

“Yeah, true… I’m sorry, I just feel bad… but thank you, I’d love to… y’know…?” You admit with a shy grin, which he immediately returns.

“Good,” He smirks and kisses you again. This time, the kiss was much more desperate for the sweet result. Brahms shows no mercy for you this time as he begins biting your lips. Your little gasps invoke a strong sense of pride within him. He was making you feel this way, and he alone would make you feel good.

“Hm,” His deep voice rumbles in his chest. Your eyes flutter open and shut, unsure of how to go about this situation. Squirming around awkwardly, you then feel Brahms grab your waist as he lifts you up and onto the table.

“Ah! Brahms...?!” You yelp in surprise.

“Take off your shirt, Y/n.” He demands, already sliding his hands underneath. You timidly follow his instructions, removing your shirt and bra from your body. Brahms looks down from your face and onto your breasts. He adored them, so he ran his hands over them as he gave each nipple a cheeky pinch.

“Oh, Brahms…” Your eyes close in bliss, but he snaps your attention back to his eyes.

“Look at me,” He suggests sternly.

“O-okay…” You do as he wishes and stare deep into his icy eyes. He’s tender and gentle, but he still makes you feel so small next to him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/n… I’ve always loved you…” Brahms brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, giving him a better view at your beauty.

“I have loved you for the longest time, too, Brahms… I just never knew how to tell you…” You try your best to express your feelings, but your past experience with doing so has never been easy for you. Each emotion you shared ended in an argument with your parents.

“I’m so glad… please…” Brahms pleads, leaning his forehead against yours. He didn’t have to finish for you to understand what he wanted.

“C’mere…” Your sudden burst of trust hits the two of you like a train. Brahms roughly attacks your neck with his lips and teeth, nipping at all your sensitive areas. Exploring each and every inch, he scopes out which areas you like best.

“Mm, Y/n…” He whimpers, rubbing his needy cock against your body. You had neglected it for far too long, and you wanted to give it some love too.

Lowering your hand down to his member, you stroke him through his pants. Pre-cum leaks from his tip and soaks through his underwear slightly. His moans fill your ears with sweet misery. The lack of being inside of you was killing him, but he wanted to take things slow for you.

“Ah, Y/n…! Please! I’ll be a good boy!” He begs you to allow him entrance, and you agree. Instantaneously, he pulls his clothes off and prepares his painfully hard cock to slide into you.

“Oh! You feel… so tight…!” He didn’t tell you, but this was his first time as well. The first feeling of being inside of someone, especially when that someone is you, was the best feeling he’s ever felt. He couldn’t help himself but pump in and out of you. He tried his best to go slow, but his selfish excitement got the better of him. However, you were far from upset by this.

“Ah! D-don’t… stop…!” You plead with him, and he obliges. Slapping his body into yours in a rhythmic motion causes you to quickly feel that coil in your stomach tighten around him.

“F-fuck…! You’re gonna make me…!” As quickly as it started, your love making ended. The two of you came together simultaneously, and everything felt perfect to you. However, Brahms felt a wave of guilt.

“I… I’m sorry… I wish I had lasted longer… and I shouldn’t have pressured you into this…” He goes on and on about all the things he could’ve done better, but you then stop him with a chaste peck on his lips.

“You were perfect. Thank you,” You lovingly look into his eyes. He searches for any sort of regret, but when he finds none he settles into your arms.

~~~

MY REQUESTS FOR DRAWING AND WRITING ARE STILL OPEN!! FEEL FREE TO SEND AN ASK/MESSAGE WITH YOUR IDEA!!

[mercy-burning]

Honeybee

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

MASTERLIST

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

———

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

Truly, it was pathetic.

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

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

At least, I thought I was.

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

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

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"N— I am not!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

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

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

"Well, good. You deserve it."

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

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

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

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

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

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

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

"Am I wrong?"

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

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

Later today... Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fair... But still..."

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

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

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

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

"Spencer, please..."

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

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

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

God, and those was only his hands...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now I didn't have to imagine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise not to sting me?"

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

"Deal."

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

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

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

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

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

His name was all I could manage.

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

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a strange thing..."

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

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

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

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

"I was highly amused."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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[fruggo]

the boys x tough f!reader (part 2)

requested by : @dranonymous

i love this idea and i hope you all enjoy part two! :D here’s part 1 with the original request.

warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dwight is really cute, danny is an asshole, jake is that cute “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope because i say so

𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

you are so cool. like ,,,,,so cool

dwight admires you so much. you just got here and yet you are breaking pyramid head’s ankles—dodging his trail of torment left and right, the killer just can’t touch you.

and how did you feel about everything? terrified, honestly, but nobody would ever be able to tell because you didn’t let it get to you. it was like you had already been here before, because the second you learned how to do something, you had it down no problem. fixing generators came naturally, and you could also run the killer for the whole trial if you had to. teammates could easily rely on you to do whatever needed to be done.

that was what made you and dwight such a powerful duo. from the moment you met, you knew you felt comfortable around this guy. he was sweet, maybe a little timid sometimes, but he knew how to step up and be a leader for everyone despite his fears.

you both knew what to do, and you fit together like a glove. your minds worked in very similar ways, which made communicating that much easier and efficient; the second a decision needed to be made, dwight was on top of it, encouraging the teammates and helping them get on their feet. you were already ahead of them, so dwight would just nod to you, knowing you could do your job well.

of course, there were times when dwight’s anxiety got the better of him, and you had to be the one encouraging him.

dwight hated the hag. despised her. he could not stand her jumpscares when a trap was triggered, he would swear he was about to have a heart attack. he couldn’t admit this at first, but you figured it out when feng min was hooked and dwight stuck to the generator, nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. he always went for the saves, so something was obviously wrong.

“dwight? why don’t you go save her?” you asked, eyeing him from your side of the generator.

he didn’t respond, looking over his shoulder again.

you decided to rescue min, but when you got back, you were going to chew dwight out until he gave you a straight answer.

you crawled up to the hook to avoid triggering a trap and gently lowered min to the ground. the two of you inched away carefully until you were far enough away to patch her wound.

“dwight, get off your ass and answer me,” you demanded (affectionately) once you were back at the generator, which was nearly finished. “what’s wrong?”

his eyes conveyed nervousness in every sense of the word; they darted all around, searching for any incoming danger. this was your first time seeing him like this, so you were confused. was he alright?

“it’s just…the hag,” he started, still fiddling with the wires. “her traps, i can’t…”

oh. was he anxious about the traps?

“i just can’t deal with them,” he finally said with difficulty. that was understandable; when they caught you off guard it definitely made you leap out of your skin.

“dwight, listen,” you said. “you’ve dealt with every other killer in this realm, haven’t you? you’ve bested the nurse, the huntress, micky myers, and even the spirit, who’s a bitch. i know hag’s traps are fucking terrifying, but you’re dwight! you are a leader, and you are good at being a leader. you can get out of here, i promise. and besides, with me here, you have nothing to worry about. i’ll kick that witch’s ass, got it?”

your very inspirational speech got him to smile. you were right, anyways—you could definitely kick the hag’s ass. what could go wrong?

nothing, actually. genuinely nothing went wrong. you took chase for the rest of the trial so that dwight didn’t have to worry about a thing, and everybody escaped with no problem. he didn’t understand how you were so good at evading capture—but perhaps you would tell him about your past eventually. you hadn’t yet decided.

back at the campfire, you and dwight comfortably sat side-by-side, patiently waiting until your next trials.

“thanks,” he said.

“for what?”

“for that very motivational speech you gave me,” he laughed.

you wiped imaginary dust off of your shoulder, giving him a confident smile. “i got your back. and man, that hag lady really is a bitch, huh? i can see why you hate her.”

that comment unintentionally caused one of dwight’s long, angry rants about his least favorite killer, and all you could do was watch him and listen with a soft grin on your lips. you’d never seen him angry before—it was adorable. made you wonder if you should just piss him off for fun sometimes.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

this guy has hella respect for you

you’re independent and easy to teach, and that’s everything he could ask for.

now and then, the other survivors basically gave newbies to jake to teach them everything about the realm—they considered him the expert on all things survival. you were one of those newbies he was forced to take care of.

jake normally hated teaching new survivors more than anything, because it was never his choice and they were all so difficult. but you were different. you were responsible, reliable, and smart, and it made his job so much easier. as time went on, he grew to be quite fond of you.

word eventually got out that the new girl had managed to charm jake out of his “hermit ways,” but he insisted that it was not true (he also disagreed about the “hermit ways” part). it was never spoken of between the two of you, but it definitely floated around in the air waiting to be addressed.

it really couldn’t be ignored any longer. anytime you were seen anywhere within 24 feet of each other, the other survivors would give you looks and wiggle their eyebrows or shoot you a thumbs up—all of which were unwanted. it created a weird tension between you and jake that wasn’t there before, and you really didn’t like it.

you missed when you were first starting out, and jake had just realized how competent you are. those days were fun—he respected you a lot; you could see it in his face when he looked at you. you always knew when he was pleased and when you did stuff right, because he would have the tiniest, most subtle grin on his face, but you could see it, and it made you feel accomplished.

you knew he still respected you, but you had basically jumped the learning curve of the realm and quickly adapted to every killer, every challenge, and every task. how you did it, nobody could ever know. but you were almost sad, because there was kind of no reason for you and jake to spend a lot of time together anymore. if you did, then everybody would freak out for the wrong reasons, and it would ruin your friendship.

so what if you had a few small feelings for him? no one gave a shit—you knew jake probably wouldn’t give a shit. to him, you were just another annoying survivor he was forced to teach. besides, you didn’t have time for that kind of thing.

man, were you wrong, though. he really, really wanted to be around you, but you already knew everything, so he didn’t know what to do to spend time with you. his way of initial bonding was sharing knowledge, but that had already been done, so…what now?

then came the one trial that changed everything.

it was normal at first. the killer, blight, was doing well, so you had to step up your game. one generator was completed and he had 4 hooks on three different people—you were the only one not hooked yet.

he was after you, and you were expertly dodging every rush and swing he threw your way. unfortunately, you accidentally ran to the generator that jake was working on, and things got a little complicated.

when the blight rushed at the wall, then at you, jake ran towards you while you ran towards him—you were both looking over your shoulders—and alas, bonk. you crashed into each other.

oh, no!! how terrible!! looks like jake fell on top of you :/ what an unfortunate situation to be in /s /s /s /s /s

wowwww near proximity ! you’d never been so close before and it was awkward but nice (?)

then you remembered there was a crazy drug addict or whatever over there and he was chasing you, and the moment was ruined. jake quickly rose and pulled you up with him, and you went in opposite directions, both nervous and wide-eyed now.

lol

after that, the trial went quite south. everybody was sacrificed. perhaps the loss could be partly attributed to you and jake avoiding each other like the plague. but who knows, right?

back at the campfire, you began feeling overwhelmed by all the weird stuff happening lately, so you excused yourself to the edge of the woods to have some quiet time to yourself. a few minutes later, jake came to check on you bc he is a fucking gentleman and yes i will die for the “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope. fuck you

it’s slightly awkward at first, but then you start talking like normal and things feel a lot better. a little bit of the tension eases away, but not completely. what the fuck do you do with feelings like this?????

you simply composed yourself as best you could. it would have to do.

now that you felt a little more normal (lie), you trekked back to the campfire to wait for your next trials side-by-side. there was no one you felt more comfortable with or more respected by than jake. he appreciated you for your competency, and that was one of the best things you could ask for.

and to your surprise, jake actually took your hand and laced your fingers with his own. and it felt nice. never in your existence would you have thought he would be okay with displaying public affection, but you smiled up at him and gave his hand a light squeeze.

maybe the entity gave him drugs.

or he just liked you that much. either one would make sense.

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny hated you. he really did.

you were so unbothered, so calm, so good at knowing what to do. it really pissed him off.

you got so much attention from the other survivors for your skill and that really pissed him off too. it’s not like you cared or wanted it or anything, but how dare they even touch you when you so clearly belonged to danny?

…who knows wtf that even means. so anyways-

when you realized how much time danny spent chasing you in trials when he should have been patrolling generators, you began to get suspicious. especially when he would take you to the hatch and then close it in your face, watching you die to the entity. he obviously had some kind of beef with you.

you were determined to find out what he had against you, so you began to tease him a bit in chases. your favorite and most frequent phrase was something like, "can't catch me? lil baby man? lil baby? lil baby man gonna cry?" you were really testing your luck with that one, and that's why you loved it.

once, you told him his fly was down, and he actually fell for it, making you nearly keel over in laughter. you got moried without even being hooked after that.

despite the horrors that frequented this place, you were never in a crisis about it. you simply learned what had to be done, and then you did it, much to the chagrin of danny. you had skipped the big "useless baby survivor" phase, and that one was his favorite :( he loved trials with new survivors because it was so easy and fun!

but alas, from the beginning, you were always on top of things, always slamming pallets onto his head or saving teammates with a flashlight.

oh, don't even get him started on your flashlight usage. you were the absolute worst to go against--every pallet stun, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. every time he picks up a survivor, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. you were a bitch with that item.

he finally began to get so fed up with your behavior that he decided you must be taught a lesson. somehow, countless mori and tunneling and camping incidents had not even managed to bother you. you literally did not care. but he had something different in mind this time.

the realm was haddonfield, of course. all of the killers despised this map, and for good reason--you ran danny around the entire neighborhood for three generators. did he have to chase you? no. but he needed to for himself.

he finally caught you in a dead zone, rejoicing to himself as you fell to the ground in defeat. "wow, that was a good chase," you mumbled under your breath, feeling accomplished. one of your best against danny, probably.

you were expecting him to pick you up, but instead he snatched the flashlight from your grasp and chucked it as far away as he could. and before you could protest, he pulled you up to stand again and yanked you towards himself, gripping your wrists so tightly you swore it left bruises.

"what's wrong...lil baby man?" you said with a pout, trying not to laugh. "is baby man angry?"

you were slightly scared if you were being honest, but you couldn't let him know that.

danny sighed. you really didn't know when to stop, did you?

"bitch," he spat, voice dangerously quiet. "cut that shit out."

"what shit?"

he squeezed your arms tighter, provoking an "okay, okay, i get it!" from you.

"do you?"

"sure. what's the worst you could possibly do to me anyways?" after those words left your mouth, you got a weird feeling that the killer was smiling behind his mask.

"listen, uhh, danny, is it?" you said, putting as much nonchalance into your voice as you could. "i just wanna know why you hate me so much. remember that time you closed the hatch in my face? the fuck was that for?"

he frowned at the use of his name but responded regardless, "you're a little bitch, and you deserved that."

you gasped dramatically, feigning offense. "ouch. that one hurt."

"i can make you hurt a lot more," he said darkly. you probably should have been scared, but you just really couldn't take him seriously.

so you laughed. it shouldn't have been funny, but it just was and now you couldn't stop. "you're just--you--i can't--" you wheezed, shaking from the laughter. "i'm sorry, it's really not funny."

danny didn't understand you. anybody else would have been sobbing if he so much as touched them, and here you were acting like it was a joke.

what could he do if you truly were not afraid of him?

perhaps it was time to let it go.

while his guard was down, suddenly you reached above his head and plucked his mask off, revealing his face and continuing your bouts of laughter at his shocked expression.

you threw the mask in the same direction as the flashlight, composing yourself and putting your hands on your hips. "you look pretty nice," you said, nodding.

wow. what the hell was danny supposed to do with you? perhaps the only completely unbothered, completely unserious survivor? he knew you were smart, and you knew what you were doing. he didn't even want to kill you anymore, you were just that fascinating.

that trial ended in you standing at the exit gate, your finger and your thumb in the shape of an L on your forehead. danny couldn’t care less at this point--he was done with your shit. but somehow he still liked you, and this definitely would not be the last time you saw him without his mask.