#ooc: no worries! i should also apologize here for the late replies

[phantom-x]

Oh, sorry. Just guessed you were since I haven't seen you around before.

*I lean on the counter for some support.*

Never heard of a power like that before. But, I guess, everyone is different! That's what I like about this place. My powers? Uhm...

*I partially shrug.* I can rupture things while singing. And my hands go through things... sometimes. It's all a work in progress.

*rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets, frantic.*

The hell do they keep the ibuprofen??

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Absolutely - Spencer Reid

A/N: I have absolutely NO idea where this came from and I know nobody asked for it but here it is xD number two of the story winners :) depending on how this story goes I might reopen the Criminal Minds fandom :D and I also want to thank @mycobrakai1972​ so much for your help, love :) 

Warnings: Spencer being an asshole (so he may be a bit OOC and it’s just in the beginning, but he apologizes :D) the reader stutters when she’s nervous and I think that’s it but always please let me know if I missed anything!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds :D gif isn’t mine :)  

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Absolutely 

This is the story of a girl Who cried a river and drowned the whole world And while she looks so sad in photographs I absolutely love her... when she smiles

It had all started as a shitty day.

"Good morning, Spencer" you smiled when he walked inside the break room.

"Morning" he replied, grumpily, making his way over to the coffee maker.

"Are you okay?" you asked, worried. It wasn't like Spencer to come in late. And you knew that if he was late, most likely he hadn't had breakfast. And you knew that if he hadn't had breakfast, it meant he had a headache.

"Yeah, I just have a headache" he confirmed your suspicion, pouring his coffee with sugar.

"Um... maybe you should eat something instead?" you suggested, knowing by experience that coffee would only make the headache worse and wondering if this was something that he should know, being a genius and all, or he simply didn't care. "I brought some banana muffins if you'd like one" you offered, grabbing the plate of muffins.

"I'm not hungry, thanks" he muttered, ignoring the grumble on his stomach. He loved your banana muffins.

"Oh, okay" you said, making Spencer feel slightly bad when your smile dropped. He had never declined one from you. "I also have some aspirin on my desk if you need-"

"I'm fine" he smiled firmly at you.

"Um, wait" you said before he could leave. You felt a little bad when you heard him sigh frustrated, but you still tried to smile at him. "Sorry, um... would you mind getting my mug down for me? Please?" you asked, pointing at the top shelf where he saw your mug. Spencer didn't say anything, but he placed his mug on the counter before he reached for yours and handed it to you.

"Why do you always put it on the top shelf?" he asked annoyed, not really waiting for a response as he left the room before you could even tell him it wasn't you who put it there or before you could even thank him.

You sighed, making yourself some coffee before you walked over to your desk, next to Spencer. He silently watched you offer the banana muffins to Derek, in front of you, and the rest of the team quickly came to get one. He heard his stomach grumble again. He didn't know why he had turned you down. He just wasn't in a good mood and really didn't want you to see him that way. He brushed it off, thinking maybe he could get one from you later, once his headache was over. Which was obviously getting worse with his coffee. But he knew it would pass.

Except it didn't. It had to be one of those long, horrible days filled with nothing else than boring paperwork. Morgan came over every ten minutes to go over something on his paperwork when Spencer fully knew it was because he wanted him to do it for him. He was too tired and fatigued to argue with him, so he would just correct what was needed and hand it back to him.

"Thanks, kid" Derek smiled, walking away from him. He had noticed you looking at him from time to time, but you quickly looked away when you were caught. "Hey, pretty girl" Spencer saw Derek walk over to you. "Is it okay if I take the last muffin?" he asked, pointing at the plate that only had one muffin left.

Spencer felt his leg shaking. He wanted to walk over there and said he didn't get a muffin earlier (skipping the part of you offering them to him before anyone else) and grab that last muffin. But he didn't. He saw you looking at him and he quickly went back to his work.

"Um... sure" he heard you say shyly as you looked back at Derek. "I don't think anyone else wants it" you replied.

"Thanks, doll. You're the best!" Morgan said, grabbing it, and walking away to the break room.

By lunchtime, everyone had picked up on Spencer's foul mood and had been avoiding him like the plague. It was unusual for the young genius to be so grumpy. But you imagined that him being late and disrupting his entire routine, not having had anything to eat, having a headache, and having to fix Morgan's mistakes, he was bound to explode at some point. Which is why everyone seemed to be tip-toeing around him.

When Penelope asked if you wanted to come to lunch with her and Morgan, you declined, saying that you were behind on your paperwork, which was a lie. You were almost done, and you wanted to help Reid with his since, you noticed he was actually behind, which was another odd thing to happen. But you could tell he wasn't being able to concentrate since he would press his hand to his forehead every few minutes, which meant his headache was getting worse. Once the bullpen was empty, you carefully approached Spencer and placed your hand on his shoulder, making him jump on his chair.

"Sorry, sorry, I... didn't mean to scare you" you apologized. "I just... wanted to know if you... um-"

"Yes?" he asked annoyed.

It was like you were delaying him on purpose. But in your head, this was your chance to get him to go to lunch with you. And maybe he could eat something, relax and you can give him the surprise you had brought for him.

"Would you want to go to have lunch with me? I n-noticed you haven't eaten anything a-and-"

"I can't. I need to finish this" he simply said, feeling even worse because of how deflated you became.

"Oh, well, I'm a-almost done with mine. I can help you i-if you'd like and just grab some sandwiches from-"

"That's okay. I can handle it" he told you.

"Oh, I d-didn't mean that-"

"Seriously, you should just go to lunch" he said, looking at you in a way he hadn't before. You felt a small pain in your heart and you decided to drop it.

"Um... o-okay" you said nervously. You walked over to your desk and opened your first drawer to take out a package of cookies. You at least had to try to get some food in him. "Hey, Spence, did you know that Fig Newtons are named after a town in Massachusetts and not after the scientist?" you asked with a small smile, walking back to him. Your smile instantly fell when he glared at you. He actually glared at you.

"Yes, I knew that" he lied. That was probably one of the very few things he didn't know. And he actually found it really interesting.

"Oh" you chuckled sadly. Of course, he knew. He's a fucking genius. "I just... thought it was an interesting fact" you muttered, placing the cookies on his desk. "Take a break and eat something, okay?"

You were gone before he could say anything else. Leaving him alone with the package of cookies in his hand.

The day was almost over. This was going to be your best opportunity. You opened your bottom drawer and saw the neatly wrapped book you had gotten for Spencer. He had barely acknowledged you for the rest of your shift. And now, that everyone else was gone, it was your last chance.

You saw Spencer coming back from the breakroom with his probably fifth cup of coffee and you noticed he didn't even wave goodbye to Emily and JJ who were just leaving. You took a deep breath and tried to convince yourself that this was still a good idea. You grabbed the gift, stood up, and slowly made your way towards his desk.

"Hey, uh, Spence-?" You startled him, making him jump a little and his coffee got on his shirt and some of the papers that he was working on. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry, I-"

"What? What could you possibly need now?" he snapped, not even looking at you as he grabbed some napkins to clean himself and his desk up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh no, of course you didn't. This is just classic of you. I mean, things just sort of happen around you and it's never your fault" he said, upset.

"S-Spencer, I get that you're upset, b-but I was just t-trying to-"

"Do you? Do you really get it because it doesn't seem that way! You have tried to annoy me all day!" he said, making your heart break into a million pieces. Spencer had never talked to you like this, or anyone else for that matter. His voice was full of anger. "Everyone else seemed to notice that I just wasn't in the mood to talk, but not you. Of course, you would still be here, trying to get my attention on something! You were really too much today! I just wanted to be left alone but you refused to just give me some peace! You can't just take a hint when you're being a lot, can you?"

The second the words left Spencer's mouth he felt like complete shit. He had no right to talk to you like that. Especially when you had tried all day to be nothing but nice to him. And when he turned around to face you and was ready to apologize, his heart shattered into a million pieces when he saw the wrapped present in your hands. You remembered. He was certain that everyone had forgotten. But not you. And he had just yelled at you. The look in your eyes was so broken, if anyone else had spoken to you that way, he would instantly want them dead. But it had been him. He had caused you that pain. Spencer could swear he saw the second the light in your eyes stopped. The light that was always there when you looked at him and now it was shut down. And it was all his fault.

"I j-just... uh-" you stuttered, something that Spencer hadn't seen you do in a very long time. "I w-was g-going to ask if you uh- n-nevermind" you said, quickly looking away from him and begging that the tears wouldn't fall from your eyes. "I'm s-sorry" you said, making him feel sick to his stomach. You were sorry. He snapped at you, and you were saying sorry. "Happy birthday, R-Reid" Reid. Not Spencer. Reid. You quickly placed the gift on his desk and left as fast as you could not noticing Spencer sighing and hitting his desk out of frustration. He was an idiot.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The next day, Spencer was the first one to come in. His leg kept bouncing up and down as he eyed your empty desk, waiting for you to arrive. However, he was interrupted when Penelope burst into the bullpen, heading out straight for Spencer's desk and making a fuzz about forgetting his birthday. She apologized endlessly and insisted that the whole team had to go out that night to make it up to him even if Spencer kept on insisting it wasn't a big deal.

He missed your entrance because everyone was surrounding his desk but he noticed when Penelope turned around to walk over to you.

"Hey, my favorite sugar plum" she smiled at you. "We're taking Spencer out to dinner because of his birthday" she explained. "Are you in?"

Spencer felt his heart racing, waiting for your answer. He desperately wanted you to come. Some part of him still hoped that you could forgive him for his previous behavior even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

"Oh" you smiled wearily and quickly looked in Spencer's direction. "I'm uh- I'm s-sorry, I can't t-today" you lied.

"Why not?" Penelope demanded. "This might be your chance to finally ask him out" she whispered so only you would hear.

"Yeah... I decided n-not to do that, Pen" you said, sadly. "I really d-don't think he's interested."

"Wait, did something happen?"

"No" you quickly said. "N-nothing happened I just... think it's best if I m-move on, you know? I'm gonna go get some coffee" you said, walking away before she could press into the matter any further.

Penelope turned to look at Spencer, who quickly pretended he wasn't just looking at that entire interaction and stood up to follow you.

"H-hey."

Spencer's voice startled you as you stood on the counter trying to reach for your mug. Because you jumped a little, you miscalculated where you placed your foot, making you stumble, miss the counter, fall to the ground, and hit your head.

"Shit!" you muttered under your breath.

"Oh my- shit!" he said, walking closer to you and kneeling down to help you. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

"I'm f-fine" you said, bringing your hand up to your forehead.

"Why were you on the counter?" Spencer asked confused.

"D-Derek keeps putting my m-mug on the top shelf" you explained, making Spencer feel bad for thinking that it was you who placed it there so he would have to help reach for it.

"How do you know it's him?"

"I just heard him laugh about it with uh- Emily" you said as he helped you up.

"Well, that's mean, why don't you ask him to-?"

"It's fine, S-uh-Reid" you corrected yourself, missing the pain in Spencer's eyes when you didn't call him by his first name. "He only does it so-" you stopped midsentence. You know Derek did that so you would have to ask Spencer for help. They were all in on it. Even Hotch. You were sure. "N-nevermind" you finished.

"Um-" he said awkwardly before he easily reached out for your mug and offered it to you. "Here."

"Thank you" you said, quietly. You then moved over to make your coffee, hoping that Spencer would leave, but of course, he didn't.

"Um- listen, I wanted to apologize to you" he said, making you look back at him.

"You don't have to apologize, R-Reid" you told him.

"Yes, I do" he insisted. "I'm sorry I snapped at you" he said.

"Look, you were stressed, I g-get it. It happens. Honestly, don't worry about it. It's fine-" you said, trying to walk out of the break room, but he blocked your way.

"No, it's not fine" he told you. "While I appreciate you understanding that I was stressed, I still had no right to talk to you that way" he said, quietly. "Or said what I did-"

"It's o-okay" you insisted. And then, you said something that broke Spencer's heart even worse than it already was. "It's not like you're the f-first person to say it. I get it. I can be a lot" you told him.

Spencer was an excellent profiler. Everyone knew that. So, of course, he saw the way you were trying to brush it off as a casual comment. But your eyes were your biggest tell. And he knew that he had struck your weak spot.

"Hey, kids" you were grateful to hear Rossi coming in. "We got a new case. Conference room. Now" he instructed. Spencer sighed and looked at you before he walked out of the break room. "You okay, kid?" David asked, looking at you.

"Yeah" you nodded with a small smile. "Thank y-you."

"Don't mention it" he winked at you as you both made your way out and to the conference room.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The first thing Spencer noticed about the change in your behavior was your stutter. When you started in the BAU, this was the first thing he noticed about you. When you were so nervous to even speak out loud. He also noticed how it lessened once you started feeling more comfortable with the team.

And now, it was back. Not only that but because it was back, you became remarkably more silent. Because he knew this was something you didn't particularly like about yourself. He realized he hadn't paid as much attention to you as he should have. Because he had never really asked you about it, assuming you didn't like talking about the subject.

Also, now that you were not sitting next to him, as you usually did, it was the first time he noticed the way you took notes in your notebook. He saw that you took notes with different colors depending on which one on the team had made the observation. He wasn't sure if each color meant something to each person but he did see that his notes were purple and he wondered if it was a coincidence or if you knew that this was his favorite color.

On the flight, he noticed how quiet you were and that you did not talk unless you were spoken to. Mostly when Hotch would ask about your opinion on something, but other than that, you would only scribble away in your notebook. It killed him. He realized how much your input and your thoughts meant to him. You often participated a lot more even if it was just adding to someone else's comment. But now, it was as if you were almost afraid to speak again. And he knew it was his fault. And he also knew that he wasn't the only one who noticed.

The thing that surprised him the most was when you arrived to interrogate the family of the unsub's latest victim. While Emily and David went to the crime scene, Hotch assigned JJ and Derek to talk to the husband, Spencer and you were assigned to her son. When the kid's father informed you that he was deaf, you smiled kindly at him to let him know that you knew ASL. Spencer looked at you, surprised. He had no idea that you knew sign language. He turned to look at Hotch, who only nodded, meaning he probably knew and that's why he had assigned you to talk to the kid, and he followed you.

He watched you interact with the small scared boy who was about eight years old. Spencer saw his anxious face as the two of you entered the room and walked closer to him.

You knelt down to his level and placed your hand on the table, making him look up at you and you smiled kindly at him.

"Hello" you signed to him before spelling your name while also saying the words so Spencer would understand you. Spencer could tell you somehow felt more relaxed for some reason. "This is Dr. Reid" she introduced him. Spencer saw the boy look quickly at him and then back at you signaling quickly. You chuckled lightly. "No, he's a different kind of doctor" you informed him. "What's your name?" Spencer saw the young boy nervously sign his name and you smiled sweetly at him. "Luke?" you signed back. "Like Luke Skywalker?" you said, making a bright smile appear on the small boy who nodded happily. "You know, he was my favorite character in Star Wars. Dr. Reid made me watch them all" you signed to him.

"I did not" Spencer complained.

"Luke, do you mind if Dr. Reid and I ask you a few questions?" you signaled, ignoring Spencer's comment. Luke then signaled something to you that made you laugh, and it made Spencer realize how much he had missed your laugh. And he couldn't remember the last time you laughed with him.

"What?" he asked, curiously.

"He likes that your socks are different" you informed him, making Spencer smile at Luke.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Realistically this had been one of the shortest cases the team had in a very long time. Thankfully, you were able to catch the unsub on time, and in a couple of days, you were on the jet back home.

But for Spencer, this had felt like the longest case in his career. For some reason, it hadn't dawned on him, until now, how big was your part in his life. He had easily grown accustomed to you being there. Sitting next to him, talking to him about the latest movie you watched or the book he had recommended for you to read. Asking him to teach you to play chess. You were always there for him. He was only now acknowledging how much you actually meant to him. And he had screwed everything up.

"You haven't talked to her yet?" Spencer was snapped out of his thoughts by David, who sat next to him and he looked at him briefly before his eyes traveled back to you.

You were sitting by yourself in the back of the jet, with your headphones on. Aside from him and David, you were the only one that was awake. Even Hotch was at least resting his eyes, which rarely happened.

"She uh-" he cleared his throat. "She doesn't want to talk to me" he said sadly. "And I don't blame her" he told David.

"Well, that's where you apologize, genius" David informed him.

"You don't think I've tried?"

"That day in the break room? That was it?"

"Well, I just..." he sighed. "I don't even know what to tell her anymore. It's like she's a completely different person now" he said.

"So... this whole genius thing, does it not work when it comes to women?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're just realizing this. Now?"

"Realizing what?"

"That you're in love with her" David pointed out.

"What? I'm not- huh-" he chuckled. "I'm not in love with her... am I?"

"You tell me, kid. You're the one that has not been able to stop thinking about her and is desperately trying to get her to forgive you for... whatever it is you said to her" he explained.

"Yes, because it's the right thing to do. I upset her" Spencer said, trying to be logical.

"Yes, but you already apologized once. If it were me, or Hotch, or, Emily, would you still feel the need to apologize to us?"

"I've never said anything that hurtful to either of you. Or to anyone really" he insisted. "And the worst part is that she was just trying to be nice to me. She was the only one that remembered my birthday and all day she had tried to make me feel better" he explained.

"Well, that's what people do for the people they love" David told him.

"W-what?"

"You didn't know that either? You know, I'm starting to doubt if this whole genius is actually true" he laughed, making Spencer glare at him a little.

"She doesn't love me" he insisted. "We're just friends!"

"Uh-huh, so that's the only reason why she's always reading the books you recommend or watching the movies or the shows you like, so she has something to talk to you about" he started. "Or learning new fun facts to tell you about. And did you know that she's actually a really good baker? But for some reason, she only brings banana muffins into the bullpen. Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe the first time she brought them in, you casually mentioned that they were your favorite" he explained.

And suddenly, everything made sense to Spencer.

"Why didn't I realize this before?"

"My guess? You took it for granted" Rossi shrugged.

"Well, what do I do now? I just started noticing things that I didn't before. I didn't even know she knew sign language and she..." he looked at you with his eyes filled with sorrow.

"She started stuttering again" David pointed out, making Spencer look down at his lap, sadly. "Do you know why she stutters? Or why she knows ASL?"

"No" Spencer admitted.

"Well, you can maybe start by... asking her" David suggested.

"But isn't that intruding on her personal life?"

"Or... maybe... she would feel like you're finally taking an interest in her" he told him. "You know, as she has been with you all this time" he instructed, grabbing his book and going back to the page he had marked.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Hold the elevator!"

After landing, the team still went to the office to finish the case's paperwork. This time, Spencer was the first one to finish, while you were the last one. But he waited until you grabbed your things and made your way out. You held the door of the elevator, cursing a little at yourself for not letting it just close as Spencer walked inside.

"Hi" he said, with a small, awkward wave and you smiled at him. But it wasn't the same smile you always had whenever you saw him and it broke his heart.

"Hi" you said, quietly.

"Did you get to finish all your paperwork?" he asked and you simply nodded. "At least we have to morrow off" he smiled. "Do you have any plans?"

"Um... I don't know" you replied silently, looking down at your hands. Spencer felt a small pain in his heart. You were shutting him out.

"Could you please... look at me?" he said softly, waiting for you to do so but you kept your eyes on your legs. "Look, I am extremely sorry for what I said to you" he stated.

"It's f-fine-"

"No, it's not fine" he insisted before he pressed down the 'Stop' button and the elevator jumped a little before it completely came to a halt.

"S-Spencer, what are you doing?" you asked. He had no idea, but he was back to Spencer so he was not backing up now. "Don't you hate confined spaces?"

"Yes, I'm not particularly fond of them since I got stuck in one with Derek and-"

"Spencer!"

"Sorry, not the point! I need to talk to you, okay? I know you said it was fine but, what I said to you is it's not fine! Firstly, because I was an enormous jerk to you when you were only trying to make me feel better" he continued. "But mostly, because what I said wasn't true. It wasn't true at all! I know what being called something like that feels like. I know you've noticed how everyone reacts when I start rambling about my facts and you always listen to them and even ask me some questions about it even if you are not interested in them. And not just that day but, you've actually been doing this since I met you. And it is so stupid of me to not realize this until now, and I am so sorry and I am an idiot. I know I don't deserve it, but I really hope that you can forgive me. You can take as much time as you need. And I would love to get to know you better because you are honestly one of the most interesting people that I know. I didn't even know you knew ASL and if it wasn't for that and you being able to talk to that little kid, we might have not even been able to solve this case as quickly as we did. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for snapping at you and being an asshole to you. I'm sorry for not paying the attention that you deserve, I'm sorry for taking you for granted, and if you let me, and forgive me, which again, I know I don't deserve, I would really like to make it up to you" he rambled incredibly fast before he pressed the button again and the elevator started moving once more, arriving at your destination. "W-well, I guess that's it" he said, awkwardly as he exited the elevator. "I could walk you to your car if you'd like- or-" he sighed. "N-nevermind" he said, before he turned around and was about to walk away.

"Do you need a ride?" you asked, walking out of the elevator after Spencer and he stopped, looking back at you. "Um- I know that y-you didn't drive today a-and it's on m-my way-"

"I'd love one" Spencer blurted out. You nodded firmly, smiling and walking over to your car with him. The ride was silent. It was too silent for Spencer's liking, but you were slowly talking to him again and he was not going to ruin it by pushing you to talk more than you wanted to. He would take what he could get.

"M-my brother is deaf" you said, suddenly, making Spencer stop and look back at you. "My l-little brother" you continued. "That's why I know sign language" you explained, noticing the hopeful gaze in Spencer's eyes as he looked intently at you. "I learned since I was a kid. M-my dad and my two older brothers were... n-not very nice people" you told him. "After my m-mom passed away, I only talked to m-my little brother" you smiled sadly. "Eventually I s-stopped talking altogether. For years. When I started t-talking again, it came back with a stutter" you told Spencer. "It still comes out when I'm n-nervous" you said.

"I still think it is really impressive that you know ASL" Spencer told you, making a small smile appear on your face. "I'm sure your brother appreciated it too" he said.

"He does" you nodded. "He's actually coming in a f-few weeks to visit" you continued.

"That's great" Spencer said, feeling optimistic that you were opening up to him. "Maybe you can teach me ASL. I have always wanted to learn" he told you.

"Wow" you gasped, dramatically. "Something Dr. Spencer Reid doesn't know that I get to teach him?" you mocked, laughing a little, which was music to Spencer's ears as you parked in front of his home.

"Hey, um... I really don't want to push my luck here but... since we're off tomorrow if... you don't have any plans m-maybe you'd like to go to eat or something?" he asked, nervously. "I mean, if you're not busy. And if you want to, I understand if you prefer to-"

"Um... well" you said, feeling yourself smile at how sweet he looked nervous. "I'm... not doing anything right now. And I'm actually really hungry" you said, looking at him.

"Oh... OH!" Spencer smiled back at you, making you chuckle a little. "Um... would you like to go somewhere? Or we can order something and w-watch a movie" he suggested.

"Takeout and a movie sound nice" you said, turning the car off, and the two of you walked over to Spencer's apartment.

"So, um-" Spencer started, as you noticed he got closer to you and your hands suddenly linked and neither of you bothered to remove it. "Are Fig Newtons really named after a town in Massachusetts and not after the scientist?"

"I think so" you smiled. "I saw it on an episode of the Big Bang Theory."

The End

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N: ahhh xD I hope you liked it! :D again, depending on how this goes I might reopen tje Criminal Minds fandom to write more for it :) so, let me know what you think!

[theloveinc]

bakugo x reader - you have a fussy baby

(warnings: ooc, you have a baby and are called mama. no mention of pregnancy. written in bed)

-

There’s a part of Bakugo that always gets a little bit nervous when you call. A growing fear, one that’s not always the most reasonable, as he’s long since learned to stop guessing what it is he’ll have to answer to.

Usually, his worry is assuaged immediately by the chirp of your sweet voice, more often than not calling to ask about groceries, or the timing of his arrival home, or even just to say, “hey, sweetie. How are you?”

But as of late, with the stress of multiple new realities on his hands, the playing catchup of his returning back to work, it’s been—

“Katsuki,” your voice trembles on the receiver, the fuss of your hands practically audible too, “thank god. I’m so sorry, but—“

You whimper, there’s a wail, and his gut clenches, veins turning cold as ice with adrenaline like any and every other time he prepares, quicker than you know, to catch a villain.

“Fuck, babe?” his voice is raspy with the crack of worry, his eyes flitting about as if the crime is in front of him, the offender just across the line of the dark, moon-lit horizon. “Are you okay? Are you safe—“

You interrupt.

“I just can’t get him to sleep. I-I’ve tried everything,” there’s a hiccup from somewhere close by, the baby on your shoulder most likely, “but he’s not going down. I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s clean, he’s changed, he ate almost everything I had—“

“Hey,” he says sternly, dad-like, in a way you’ve almost never heard from him, and you halt. Bakugo looks around the empty streets he’s walking, the evening sky of a warm spring having now receded into chill. “I’ll be there quick, okay?”

And just as soon, he calls Kirishima to let him know he’s deviating from the patrol route.

-

Your son relaxes in his arms almost as soon as you set him down. Still in uniform, a sheen of sweat and dirt coating his body, he must smell like something comforting to the little babe as he stops crying just as fast, smacking his little lips into the sweaty shirt he now lays on.

You part from them, letting Bakugo take charge, the anxious tears stopped but still streaked down your cheeks, illuminated where you finally allow yourself to sit on the handsome blue armchair by the crib.

“Fussy shit,” Bakugo complains quietly, tearing one little snort of a giggle out of you as you gaze upon the two of them and wipe your nose, and at the same time, he gazes down at the baby with your eyes. “Wanted to make your mama cry, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, sinking down into soft plush, “I’m so sorry I panicked, made you come all this way for nothing.”

“Stop apologizing, baby. ‘S not nothing,” he replies. “You needed help, and that’s what I’m here for. I’m”—he almost says fuckin’ Dynamight, pausing to look at you when he changes his mind—“dad. I’m dad.”

You smile weakly, and he approaches, dipping down on one knee to let you give your finally sleeping baby one last goodnight kiss, your fingers gently curling his blonde bangs away from his forehead.

“Just needed your daddy, I guess. Right, little boy?”

Bakugo can’t help but smirk, pulling back carefully to gently put the baby in his crib. He whines as he goes down, stretching his little limbs out now that the swaddle has been discarded… and though he notices the way your fingers tighten into themselves in worry as you watch, he settles back into sleep almost immediately, barely a pause in between to confirm it.

In the new silence, you finally whisper. “You gotta go back? To work?”

“I’ll get Denki over here in an hour,” Bakugo nods, also whispering; the sound that comes out unfamiliarly quiet, but not all that unpleasant as he steps and turns back to you, one hand reaching out to smooth down the hairs on your neck. “He’ll let you rest. You got it til then, or should I wait with you?”

You wave him off, still seeming tired but already calm enough to turn on the night light and pick up the book you started way back when, maybe even before becoming a mom. “I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for help again though, mama,” he leans down to give you your goodnight kiss before he finally has to go, reminding you of all the trust he has for you, too. “We’re all here to help.”

[tokkiiecloud]

hii ! i saw the post about whb characters comforting you after sh, i loved it sm especially belphegors part !! and idk if you take requests, so if not then dw u can ignore this lol ! but i just wanted to know if you have more headcanons about how belphegor would be with / comfort his partner if they suffer from sh? thanks !! ^^

I’m sorry for late reply I was cooking lunch! But yes I do take requests :3 anyways here it is

TW/CW : S/H ; OOC(?)

Gn!reader x Belphegor

Belphegor :

As the sloth king, Belphegor doesn’t care about a lot of stuff except sleeping

But not when it comes to you.

The moment he discovered you struggle with SH was…worrying for him

Belphegor doesn’t know how to show his feelings properly so for he tries his best to show you he cares and he’s here for you

Well he uses cuddles to comfort you after you hurt yourself, does his best to bandage you

He sucks at encouraging people, but if it is you he’ll do his best, that’s what it is.

Hell, he’ll even ask Beleth or anyone else to monitor you when he’s not around

Knowing you get anxious and start panicking super easily even more than Leviathan

But that doesn’t stop him from loving you.

He knows how hard it is to stop an addiction or something that helps you feel comfortable

“Old habits die hard” as they say.

But one thing pisses him off every time, is how you don’t tell him when you SH, you hide yourself and avoid him.

That pisses him off more than him repeating himself, just tell him!

If you’re anxious he’ll love you less, because of that well your stupid.

He loves you unconditionally.

A/N : Hehe! I did my best to make it sound as accurate as possible! Hopefully you enjoyed it. Also I apologize if it feels like I romanticized SH it isn’t my intention at all, I just want everyone to feel comfortable and be appreciated whatever struggle they might go through and I’ll say it again.

If you struggle with SH, please go see a professional therapist/ counselor to help you, and know that I believe in you to stop this horrible addiction! In media SH is seen as something crazy that only psychopaths go through and they should be excluded. I want people to feel seen and know that you will always be close to the path of recovery, I love and appreciate all of you for your efforts in stopping this addiction <3

[fakesimp]

Hello c: I'm here for the 1k event prompt!! So here's my request ><

( also sorry for my bad english (⁠´⁠；⁠ω⁠；⁠｀⁠) )

Kyo or Mysta ( or maybe both?, it's your choice (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) ) with • "Huh? Me? Jealous? You're just imagining it"

then for the nsfw prompt is • It went from a kiss to a whole make out session and • "Come on you can do better than that".

Idk if it would be possible to be a full smut but it's fine either way (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!!

Jealousy, With Kyo Kaneko, Mysta Rias

Warning !

Fluff ; Slight Nsfw ; Mentions of Cursing in Mysta's ; Established Relationship

A/n !

Haiwo ! It's okay anon ! I understand you don't worry fufu~ also Sankyu for requesting ! Also apologies in advance if they're ooc ಥ⁠��⁠ಥ

1k Followers Event Prompts !

"Huh? Me? Jealous? You're just imagining it"

It went from a kiss to a whole make out session [ Nsfw prompt ]

"Come on you can do better than that" [ Nsfw prompt ]

➶◜◝➴

Mysta Rias

Okay, what happened before till now you're worn out on the bed, after a heated session with Mysta?

You stared at His exposed back, that's covered with marks, from who? You.

You sheepishly looked away as you slowly hid yourself under the blanket of your shared bed, Mysta looked back at you and raise a brow, "What?" He asked as he then start walking to you. "Nothing, I, just.. didn't know I put, so much.. on, ..your back" you didn't tell him the exact thing but he knew what you meant, Mysta, at first just owlishly stared at you before breaking into laughter.

"God, that, that's so fucking hilarious-" he said as he wheezed, he took a deep breath and pat your head. "I mean, aha, it is equal." You blinked. You averted your eyes, what he said is true, he did left a good amount of marks on your body too.

. . .

5 hours ago

You were hanging out with Mysta's friends ! They were all so nice, started from Vox, Luca, Ike and Shu. They have a quite unique friendship, you were happy to see Mysta have such good friends. You're all were talking and joking around, for hours. That is until you see Mysta being, uncharacteristically quiet. At first you asked him what's wrong, but he said he's okay. Just thinking, he said. You raise a brow at him, but you took the reason.

But then the next few minutes, you don't see him anywhere. The boys who also noticed he's not around, got worried, so they decided to help you find him, and you found him in your shared bedroom. You told the boys you found him, a friend of his, Ike, told the boys that it's getting late, they should be heading back to the hotel. The rest agreed and decided to leave after bidding goodbye to you and Mysta.

You soon joined him on the bed, "Mysta..?" You called out to him as you gently pat his arm. Earning a hum from him, "What's wrong?" You asked him, but you didn't receive anything, instead just him suddenly pulling you to the bed and hugged you. Making you shocked at the sudden movement from him, you blinked and wrapped your arms around him. You pondered, trying to figure out the reason why he acted this way.

And almost all of them leads to one thing.

"Mysta, are you Jealous?" You asked out of the blue, making him stiffen a bit, "Huh? Me?" He sounded in denial, "Mhm?" You nod your head, "Jealous? You're just imagining it, there's no way I'm jealous, why would I be?" He said the more he talked the more he sounded in denial.

You chuckled at his reply, making him look at you, pouting, "What? You thought I'm actually jealous? Really?" He then slowly leaning his face closer to you, "Mys-" his lips collides with yours. He pulled away for a moment, and then he leaned in for a kiss again. But this time his hands are roaming around you, making you gasp. Also giving him an opportunity to slide his tongue in.

You don't know how long both of you have been making out, but lord he really did kiss you breathless.

He pulled away and gently brush his thumb against your cheek, he then gently pull you onto his lap, you're straddling him. Mysta below you, breathing slightly ragged as he gently rub his thumb along your hips.

You can feel him down there, you stutter out a sigh as you slowly start grinding against him. Making him slightly growl, his grip on your hips tighten a bit as you continue grinding. He then let out a breathy laugh, "Hah.. haha.. come on babe.. you can do better than that"

And the next thing you knew, you're under him and him thrusting into you, sending your mind to oblivion.

He's deep inside you, making you couldn't think of anything else but him, also couldn't miss the pain of him marking you up.

"Mine."

. . .

You look up at Mysta who's playing with his phone next to you, "So you are jealous" you said out of the blue, making him blinking at his phone for a few times before turning to you. Then looked away, "...Okay, maybe I am a little bit jealous.." he finally admitted, making you chuckle and wrapped your arms around his waist.

"You're so cute Mysta, I only love you okay"

"Ughhhhh, ... ...

...I love you too.."

Kyo Kaneko

Kyo was laying down on his stomach next to you, you saw your marks on his shoulder and his back, you averted your eyes for a moment before slowly reaching out your hand to his back, gently rubbing your hand against his back.

Earning a hum from the blue haired male, he turn his head to you, "Hm?.." his eyes slowly opened as he look at you. "Does it still hurt?" You asked him, making him let out a low chuckle at the question, "No, not anymore at least" he said as he reach out his hand towards your head. Gently running his hand through your hair, "Thank you for asking tho.."

. . .

3 hours ago

You were talking with a friend of Kyo's, the name? Ren Zotto. Why are you talking with him? It's because Kyo blocked his social media and asked for your help to make your lover unblock him.

When you heard about how he got blocked, you laughed. Laughing into tears, and Ren laughing too while fake sobbing. "Please you gotta help me" he said, you nod your head as if he could see you, "Okay okay, God, that was so funny.." you wheezed making ren whine then laughed sarcastically. "Okay, do tell me if he already unblocked you"

You then hung up the call, and when you turned around, you saw a flash of blue hair disappeared into the corner. You blinked and immediately walked out from your room to the living room. To see Kyo, crossing his arms as he watched the tv, "You don't have to tell me to unblock, I will unblock him later" you just owlishly stared at him before raising a brow at him.

"Okay, that means you've been eavesdropping my conversation with Ren." You said as you approached him and sat down next to him, he didn't even look at you, just staring at the tv, arms still crossed. You tilt your head a bit as you stare at him, "Kyoo..?" You called him out, only earning a hum from him.

You pout at him and frowned a bit, before a smirk slowly creep up to your face, "Kyooo~...?" He glances at you, oh he knows that face. The face you made when you've figured out something's wrong about him, "are you jealooouus..?" You asked him, he took a deep breath,

"Huh? Me? Jealous? You're just imagining it, ain't no way I am jealous, why should i be jealous over Ren-" Your smirk widen and you laughed at him, "I didn't even mention names!" And then he internally facepalming himself. You see him slowly dropping his arms, he looked away slightly embarrassed.

You continue on laughing, and the next thing you knew you're pulled towards him and his lips are collided with yours, earning a soft moan from you.

He pulled away and gently pull you to his lap, "Shouldn't have pulled that hard, sorry" he whispered an apology as he then gently wrapped his arms around your waist. Hugging you, a bit tight.

You chuckled softly and softly brush his hair with your fingers, "Kyo look at me" you said, and he did. As soon as he looked up at you, you kissed him.

But then, slowly the kiss turned into a whole make out, you're not complaining about it. Kyo leaned away, your breathing slightly ragged, "Come on Kyo.. You can do better than that-"

And then there you are, getting fucked by him, not in a fast pace, but also not in a slow pace, him thrusting deep into you as he litter your body with kisses and love marks

"I'll admit, maybe I am a little bit jealous"

. . .

You snuggled close to him, as you can feel his fingers running through your hair, "Love you"

"Love you too" he said as he kisses the crown of your head.

©fakesimp . 2023

A/n !

I am lowkey, contemplating on should I make a full nsfw or not on this, Maybe I should've try to write a full Nsfw fic more in the future--

Since most of the time, it's more to Slight Nsfw.

( 6/10 )

[redvoid-40]

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel. 

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once. 

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.” 

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink. 

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction. 

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman. 

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest. 

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm. 

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 02

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Vague mentions of PTSD, spoilers for the Foyet storyline/mentioned character death. Little angsty, maybe a little OOC since Reid and Hotch don’t actually have a boss/subordinate work relationship in this story and I’m adapting that whole-heartedly. But other than that, it’s just grown men acting like dorks and Reid attempting to give parenting advice. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 4535

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link 

--

Chapter 02

--

May 2010

-

Hotch does, indeed, take Dr. Reid up on his offer.

They work on a few more cases together, over the course of six to eight weeks, and each time Dr. Reid proves to be an invaluable asset. His knowledge is unsurpassed, extensive, and astounds Hotch every time he opens a correspondence email from the esteemed professor. 

Have you ever thought about being an FBI agent? He teases one night, when they’d been sending theories back and forth in emails that had become less and less formal. Dr. Reid still sent dissertation-length assessments of the cases when they landed in his niche (which was often), but their replies had turned to a messaging template instead of the business-like format Hotch is used to writing all day every day. Quick, rapid-fire messages replacing the professional grade layout that felt so impersonal, with titles and headers and enough filler to give him chronic headaches.

This was much better. Informal as it was.

I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t pass the physical exams, but thanks for the compliment. Another life, maybe. Dr. Reid answers, and Hotch finds himself smiling and huffing a laugh behind closed lips, the kind that stays caught up in his chest. He’s not sure how much older the professor is, for all he knew he could be bordering on retirement, but it was an amusing thought nonetheless.

 I would get them waved, or curve the scores. I have that kind of pull around here. Never would he speak with his agents or anyone at the Quantico office like this, and it had taken weeks and dozens of emails to get to this point. But the freedom of it was nice, enchanting, like a little taste of his life outside of the office. Just confined to the response box of his email. Despite what everyone (ie: Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia) said about him, he did have a sense of humor. He just also had a sense of propriety, and he was their boss. He wasn’t going to make light with them in the place where they catch murderers.

Don’t tempt me. I have tenure. But Virginia gets so cold, I’d freeze to death half the year. 

Didn’t you attend MIT? What did you do during winter?

Froze to death. Pay attention.

Hotch outright laughs, and then snaps his mouth shut and looks out the open blinds of his office. Everyone has gone home, for the most part, but he doesn’t need JJ or someone else hearing him and coming to check on him. He hasn’t been getting much work done since Dr. Reid started replying to his emails that evening, and the little half smirk on his face is something he doesn’t think he can school as he rereads their conversation over and over. 

Apologies. Next I’m sure you’ll tell me how you had to walk to class uphill both ways in the snow.

No, I took the bus. And Froze. To. Death. I live in sweaters, and I’m from Las Vegas, I’m not meant for the cold. 

Las Vegas? Really?

Born and raised. My mother still lives there. 

Hotch’s eyebrows raise at that, apparently he’s not so old that his mother is still around. His own parents are gone, have been for years, but that’s under different circumstances and really not a situation he likes to reflect on.

Must be nice, only being a few hours from home. Do you go back often?

As little as possible. I should really visit my mother more, but that’s hard for reasons I won’t get into. I do write her, though. A letter every day, although not much happens around here for her to get invested in.

As in a real letter? Not an email, or a phone call?

She doesn’t do well with phone calls, or computers. Letters are more personal, anyway, and she likes being able to have the paper in her hands in my own handwriting. It’s the least I can do, not going home unless I absolutely have to. 

This is the most the man has ever spoken about himself, in a personal manner instead of an academic one, and Hotch isn’t quite sure how to take the evolution. It feels like a shift in their dynamic, an opening that could lead to a deeper level of friendship and -- it’s been a while since he’s had that. Allowed himself to have that. After Foyet, and even before when Haley started pushing for divorce and Hotch responded by isolating himself as much as he could to keep his work unaffected, he’d had trust issues. Hotch is man enough to admit that. 

But speaking with an old professor on the other side of the country might just be the stepping stone he needs. Who knows, maybe they’d even get the chance to meet one day.

I just grimaced at my own triteness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a maudlin review of my life story.

No, that’s okay. I don’t talk much about myself, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. Work and home are kept very separate for me. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, I know, but it works as best as it can.

In your line of work, I can only imagine. You do what you have to. 

Hotch pauses in their conversation, looks at the clock and the stack of paperwork he still hasn’t finished -- too busy lost in his talk with Dr. Reid -- and feels an itching in the back of his mind he wants so desperately to scratch at. To give into. Lists of things he knows he should talk about, but doesn’t trust anyone enough to do so. Hotch really isn’t sure he can even trust Dr. Reid with them.

At least, not yet.

Thank you. And thank you for entertaining me, as well. 

Anytime.

--

It’s not a month later that Hotch is sitting at his desk, after hours, once again. Head in his hands and his phone still warm, overworked from the hour-long phone call he’d just endured with his ex-sister-in-law, Jessica. 

Jack was being bullied in school. She’d had to attend the parent-teacher conference about it instead of him, because he’d been on a case in Florida for over two weeks. Which really just highlighted to Jack’s teacher what his home life is like and she expressed her worry. Adamantly. Jessica was in agreement, and she once again wanted to have the conversation on if Hotch returning to work at the BAU had been the right choice after Haley was killed. He’d taken his sabbatical for 30 days, passed his psych evals -- which didn’t mean much, he helped write the qualification questions -- and Jack was doing well with his therapist and in school.

Or so he’d thought. Until today. 

That ‘conversation’ turned into an argument, because Hotch gets defensive when someone questions his choices in regards to his family, and as much as he knows that she is right -- he feels awful about how it devolved. Jessica has gone above and beyond in taking care of Jack, to allow Hotch to return to work, and she is the last person that deserves the brunt of his frustration. He only has himself to blame, and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who might have answers for him, if there even was a correct answer for his situation. 

The Foyet case is classified. His assigned therapist is so easily played he hasn’t returned to her in months. 

Hotch just wants someone who won’t see through him, even when he pushes back.

He wants to talk to someone who he doesn’t want to push back against.

Who he trusts.

Dr. Reid, I need help with something no one seems to have an answer for, but it’s of a personal matter and not a professional one. Would you mind lending me your services?

Hotch sends the email before he can take it back. It’s late in Virginia, but Dr. Reid is four hours behind him in California and there’s a high chance he might still be in his office. He seems to keep longer hours, for an old professor. 

He won’t admit it to himself, but he feels a tightness in his chest as he awaits an answer. All the paperwork from the Florida case is completed, there’s nothing keeping him there at the office any longer. But it’s too late to go pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and he doesn’t think he would be welcome to come sleep on her couch like he often does on nights like this. When he wants to be there when Jack wakes up, and tonight he longs to do just that. But he isn’t sure he can even look Jessica in the eye right now.

So he sits there, and watches his computer screen, and feels himself distance from the ache in his bones. Knowing if Dr. Reid doesn’t answer him, he would have to spend however long it would take to compartmentalize his apprehension, once again, and go home to his empty house and not think about how he is failing in raising his son. In being a good father. 

The soft ping of his inbox is his single solace in the storm of his thoughts.

Agent Hotchner, You know I’m always happy to help, in any way -- personal or professional -- if I can. What is it you need an answer to?

That tightness releases, but it also gives way to the worry building up in his chest. An overwhelming, crushing amount of it that he didn’t realize was climbing higher and higher the longer he’d been left alone with his thoughts. Drowning in trepidation. Everything he doesn’t want to have pressing on his mind when they are hunting down serial killers, working with criminals that would see it as a weakness and exploit it without batting an eye. 

But this time, Hotch knows this is becoming something he shouldn’t try to hide away. 

Child psychology. Trauma, in particular, and the effects on children after the fact. 

It’s enough to describe what he needs answered, without telling too much of what happened. It’s still hard for Hotch to think about what happened, to fully realize what they had gone through. What had happened to Haley, what had happened to him. What Jack will have to grow up knowing nearly happened to him. What he almost witnessed.

(626)-595-0387 I have unlimited texting, and tend to stay up very late at night. Also, I have a feeling that you might want to keep this off government regulated emails. I’m not a practicing psychiatrist, mind you, but anything I can do to help you I will be more than happy to offer. 

Hotch is stunned. Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. He’s near speechless, staring at the phone number with a Pasadena area code, and hesitates in moving their correspondence off of the email platform. A drastic change in dynamic and expectations, but… it would be nice, to be able to message the professor whenever he wanted. The ease of access an alluring thought. 

Another soft ping in his inbox has him looking up from where he’d been glancing at his cell phone in contemplation.

Also, it goes without saying, but everything we talk about in our conversations would still be confidential. I have no one to tell them to, anyway. 

Hotch huffs out a sound that could have been a laugh, and he’s surprised he even can manage that. But he’s barely thinking about it before he’s picking up his cell phone and typing in the number Dr. Reid had given him. []6/3, 22:46[] This is Agent Hotchner.

He sends it, pauses in thought, then keeps typing.

[]6/3, 22:47[] You can call me Hotch, since this is outside work. Agent Hotchner just reminds me I’m abusing bureau resources for personal gain.

The whole interaction is causing this clawing, hot feeling in his chest that might be nervousness in risking the change in their work relationship, or residual guilt from the fight with Jessica about Jack, or just… the fear that Dr. Reid will tell him he is fucking this up and he should never have returned to the FBI at all. Because there are days, like today, where Hotch really starts to think that might be the case.

[]6/3, 22:49[] I figured as much. No one else actually messages me after 6pm except you and some of my more zealous students. 

[]6/3, 22:51[] And although I don’t think you’re abusing anything; in that same vein, you can call me Spencer. This is just two friends having a chat, nothing more. 

Hotch appreciates the gesture, finds himself almost smiling about it -- but then he remembers what he has to relay to ask what he wants to ask the other man. And he isn’t sure where to begin. 

So he just -- begins at the start. The case where Foyet fooled his whole team, posing as a victim, and managing to get away. Slipped through their fingers. Gotten away with murder and insider FBI information and more than he should have ever been able to access. Dr. Reid -- Spencer, please -- doesn’t say anything as he relates all of this, and Hotch commends his patience. Because from the start, this isn’t about child psychology at all. But it is certainly about trauma, and that becomes apparent when Hotch throws caution to the wind and describes what happened to him in his own apartment. Paraphrasing and dropping out intimate details, but explaining what happened is still brutal even stripped to its bare minimum. When Foyet had broken in, and blitzed him, and tortured him as he stabbed him nine times in the chest. Precise, practiced, indicative of letting him live with the knowledge of what that monster masquerading as a man could do. 

The details begin to bleed through the more he types. The more he remembers.

How he’d had to put his ex-wife and son into protective custody. How it hadn’t been enough. His late night obsessions all for naught. And finally, a brief -- or as brief as it can possibly be, for as brutal an event as it was -- summary of what happened when Foyet had found his family. How he had killed Haley, how they had stopped Foyet and Jack had been spared witnessing anything. Even the fight inside Hotch’s own house. He doesn’t… well, Hotch doesn’t plan on describing that and keeps it at bay. He barely remembers it. Blurs of fists and broken furniture and rooms he has memorized from years of memories flying by as they tore through his home like a hurricane. 

But he gives enough of a picture. Enough that, though he doesn’t say as much, Spencer probably knows Foyet didn’t make it out alive. Can guess it was by Hotch’s own hands. 

Which leads them to now -- to the part Hotch needed help with more than anything. His past and his trauma Hotch has a lot of practice dealing with, knows how to handle it alone. As he always has. But the part he doesn’t know how to handle?

He is raising his son on his own. His ex-sister-in-law, Jessica, has been a godsend and is helping with Jack so Hotch can be at work. His lifeblood. His identity. Everything he’s ever worked for. He almost left; Strauss had offered him an early retirement package that was too good to pass up, but he had in the end. Because being an FBI agent, catching the monsters that plague their world, that is what he does. And that’s what Jack knows him to do. 

It helps Jack, Hotch found, to know that his dad is out there catching men like the one that took away his mom. He probably would have taken the loss a lot worse, if Aaron had left the bureau. 

But he’s messing up. Hotch feels that in his bones. He’s gone so much, Jessica is taking on the role of parent instead of Aunt more and more, and Hotch does not want to turn into that father that shows up once in a blue moon and pretends he never left. He’s worried that what Jack’s teacher, and Jessica, had said is true and Jack’s home life isn’t going to be healthy for him. It’s going to make him suffer.

That what Jack has gone through, Hotch doesn’t know how to address correctly. 

It’s near a half hour later that he’s gotten the entire story out, and Hotch realizes that even though text is probably going to be easier to have a conversation like this… he probably could have written it in an email and saved them both some time. He apologizes at the error, because it’s late and his head isn’t quite screwed on straight whenever it comes to matters with his son, and he just… he’s at a loss. Doesn’t know what the right course of action is, or if there even is one outside of a professional’s opinion. 

Then Hotch waits for a reply.

It feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes. 

[]6/3, 23:22[] Hotch, the fact you are so worried about your son and how your actions have affected him through all of this, is all I really need to know about you being a good father. The consideration you are showing him is not something every parent can do, in the face of what happened to you and your family. You do not need to worry about that. You love your son, and that is the most important factor right now.

[]6/3, 23:25[] Secondly, I’m so sorry that this happened to you at all. You and your son sound like you have such a strong bond, and I know that’s what must have helped you through such a difficult time. It’s apparent that you love him very, very much. 

[]6/3, 23:29[] I don’t have a lot of friends that ask me the hard questions like this. Not that I don’t want them to, I just understand why, because I can recite statistics all day and give you textbook answers easily. Which I know you were hoping would give you a black and white response to your question. But in this there isn’t one, sadly. I know you are worried and I feel like you don’t need to be. And I don’t know how to express that in a way that won’t make you detest me. 

[]6/3, 23:32[] Your son just lost his mom, and you just lost your ex-wife, and there’s not going to be a straightforward path to healing. Everything you say you have done for him? It’s perfect, it’s exactly what you should be doing, and don’t stop. That’s all you can do and all you should focus on, in truth. Listen to what he tells you and watch for what he doesn’t, and hug him, because you are a great dad -- and this is coming from someone who did not have such an example. 

[]6/3, 23:33[] And I am very sorry about Haley, Hotch. I truly am. 

Hotch doesn’t even answer him for a good few minutes. It is a lot to process, to read through, and he does read through it more than once. But every single time he reads that final text, his eyes sting hotly and he has to blink back emotions he thought he had waded through plenty on his 30 days of leave. Apparently, not enough.

It’s so much, and yet he wants more. It’s not enough in the sense that he wishes Dr. Reid -- Spencer -- would keep talking to him. Keep telling him he’s doing a good job. That he hasn’t failed his son. 

That for once, he’s handling something right.

With a breath that feels like it shudders through his chest a little more roughly than it should, Hotch slowly types out a response that doesn’t even begin to feel anything close to adequate.

[]6/3, 23:41[] Thank you, Spencer. I could never detest you, in the slightest. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not screwing this up, but 

He pauses, not sure if he even believes what he’s about to type. 

At the last second, he switches tactics entirely. Feels a flood gate open. Just one, solitary floodgate in the vast Hoover Dam size wall he keeps up from the moment he shrugs into his suit jacket at home until he sheds it all away at the end of the night. In the confines of his home, with six physical locks on the door and two different digital security systems. With a weapon carefully concealed and childproofed in every room. With steel reinforced windows and no exit save for the front and back doors. A fire hazard, but a good precaution against anyone who would try to break in -- like Foyet had. 

[]6/3, 23:41[] ...I find it so hard to believe them. In some ways it’s hard to believe you, too, but that’s not personal. Your words have resonated more than anyone else’s, if that’s any consolation. Even more than the therapist they assigned after everything. 

[]6/3, 23:45[] My sister-in-law flat out told me I was failing my son, being away like I am, and his teacher believes his home environment isn’t healthy. He’s being bullied in school. I don’t know what to do.

Hotch types it all out and sends it. 

The reply is instantaneous.

[]6/3, 23:46[] Yes, you do. You know exactly what to do. 

And then there isn’t any further elaboration.

At first, Hotch is confused. He feels himself being pulled from that precipice of self-loathing and despair. Tugged by a string. The confusion forces him to look at Spencer’s response, nine words long, and decipher what they mean. 

Trusting his first instinct, once more.

[]6/3, 23:49[] I have to talk to Jack. 

[]6/3, 23:54[] You have heard all of this from everyone other than your son. He may be young, but he is going to know the answer better than his teacher or his aunt. Talk to him, before you start nailing yourself to a cross. You may find the answer to the situation a much easier fix than you are anticipating.

Hotch considers this, thinking about his son. Six-years-old now, first grade, smart as a tack, curious and kind. But so strong, a foundation that even he found himself clinging to sometimes, in the face of the storm of everything that had happened to them. Which is not healthy, and Hotch learned to not do that to him. To instead find solidarity in their relationship, withstanding the storm together. As they always have. 

[]6/3, 23:57[] He’s not one to let a bully have his way. He knows that’s not right. Maybe he has another strategy.

[]6/4, 00:01[] He’s young enough that trying to befriend his abuser would be a good tactic to counter the situation, does that seem like something he would do?

[]6/4, 00:02[] That sounds exactly like Jack. Hotch replies, with a smile finally easing on to his face -- and it feels lighter now. Easier to hold.

[]6/4, 00:04[] He sounds like a sweet kid.

[]6/4, 00:05[] He is. I’m very proud of him.

[]6/4, 00:07[] You really are a great dad, Hotch. I’m not just saying it to say it. 

That crushing, overwhelming feeling has ebbed to nearly nothing -- and with a sudden rush of vertigo it is replaced with gratitude for the old professor lending him his evening hours. It flashes warm and sudden and Hotch isn’t used to that, either. 

[]6/4, 00:08[] I would never expect you to, but thank you.

Even he feels lame for thanking the man for saying such a thing.

[]6/4, 00:10[] You don’t need to thank me, I barely did anything.

[]6/4, 00:11[] But if you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’d be more than happy to do so. 

[]6/4, 00:13[] I promise I can be good at that. The listening part. Day or night, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll always be around.

Hotch pauses at the offer, and then types slow and hesitant.

[]6/4, 00:16[] What if I just want to check in on a friend?

[]6/4, 00:16[] I am also around for that. 

The answer is sudden, without hesitation, and Hotch feels a smile start to ease the muscles in his face. Soften the edges once more.

[]6/4, 00:18[] I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to after a long day. It’s been a while since I’ve had a…

He pauses again, not quite sure if he remembers how to do this without pressing in too fast. Committing to too much, not sure what he is able to give of himself. But he’s already shared more with Dr. Reid in two months than he has with David in the past two years. 

Hotch makes a decision, for himself, for the first time in a long time.

[]6/4, 00:18[] ...It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend outside of the bureau. 

[]6/4, 00:19[] Do I still count if I’m a consultant?

[]6/4, 00:19[] You absolutely count. 

His own message makes him smile, and there’s a beat between messages where he hopes he made the older man smile as well. 

[]6/4, 00:22[] I’m never short on topics of conversation, I warn you. So unless you want a lecture on quantum physics -- how do you feel about chess?

[]6/4, 00:24[] I’m getting the feeling you’ll wipe the floor with me.

[]6/4, 00:25[] Oh, without a doubt. But the desktop app also has a chat feature.

[]6/4, 00:26[] Look at you, all modern and with the times.

[]6/4, 00:28[] My home phone may be a rotary, but even I can’t scoff at the vast reach of online chess. 

[]6/4, 00:28[] So what say you?

Hotch pauses, one final time, and considers the night; the conversation, Spencer’s advice, the way talking about what had happened helped ease the weight of it more than he’d ever anticipated. Then he thinks of the source, of what started it all, and how -- once again -- Dr. Reid was right about a number of things. But one thing in particular. 

[]6/4, 00:32[] I’m going to take your advice and go to my son. But tomorrow night, after he’s in bed, I have many hours to myself.

[]6/4, 00:35[] By no coincidence whatsoever, my evenings are always free. Care to show off those FBI honed deduction skills? My best chess opponents have ironically been FBI agents.

[]6/4, 00:36[] Oh, I’m terrible. Trust me.

[]6/4, 00:37[] I promise I don’t care. Your company is worth however many short games we can endure. 

Hotch smiles, despite himself, and this time doesn’t try to hold it back.

[]6/4, 00:39[] Then, it’s a date.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[bigfootwrites]

{escort fic}

This idea has been in my head for a while. People on the server seem to like it. I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is ooc or not but nobody has mentioned that it is so I’m gonna roll with it. It’s just a concept idea but if people are interested I’m happy to turn it into a full fic so please do let me know. Can also be read on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface  @improlificinsarcasm  @baronessblixen @foxscully @gillywitch @arboreta @agirlcallednarelle @starbuckthirteen @clarke-oswald

- - - 

He should go out and meet somebody. Get to know them, fall in love with them, build a relationship with them. Yet, relationships took time, he had been down this road multiple times and each one had ended just as badly as badly as the other, this recent relationship taking it to the next level.

He was divorced from somebody he once worshipped and the custody of their child on the line.

He wasn’t going to make a habit out of this. His hand and porn usually did the job but it didn’t always fill the void, fill that sense of loneliness that has been there since he was twelve. Sometimes he just wanted physical human companionship, sometimes he just wanted that too much.

Yet still even after swiping a leaflet that fell out of a magazine at the Lone Gunmen’s for an escort agency it took him a week to build up the courage to call them.

He chooses something called “A Girlfriend Experience”, picks someone somewhere within his age-range and tries not to feel guilty about the whole thing.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was running late.

Tardiness never felt like an option with her yet Emily had refused to go to bed even after Dana told her she had to go to work. It had ended with Dana a few minutes behind and Emily asleep in her bed.

But it was time to push that life aside for now, to enter this restaurant as Danielle and Danielle doesn’t have a child named Emily or a pile of textbooks to study through.

The restaurant her client had chosen was nice enough; one of those business-y type places that not many wealthy people touched but it was still classy enough to be considered decent to use.

It was rare that she would be fed- food wasn’t often part of the price, after all, it was an extra expense. Besides, most of the men she had encountered just wanted a suck and a fuck and maybe the odd therapy session. Maybe around three of her requests were for this Girlfriend Experience and it wasn’t like she was rolling in requests that much anyway.

Dana had realised quickly the types of women men went for: blonde, tall, boobs. Short redheads who just about fitted into a B-cup never made the cut that often.

Yet, for whatever reason, she had be chosen. From the emails sent this man seemed nice enough of course from the stories she would hear that wasn’t something concrete to go off. People could carefully choose the words they typed, could portray themselves in a certain way online. The same could be said for in person interactions too but people were more likely to slip up during those.

For now, Dana is tucked away, she dons Danielle and approaches able 25 where her companion for the night waits for her.

When she gets there, it’s a gentle tap on the arm, a smile, and a simple “Hi, Mulder.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder’s heart stops in his chest as he stares at her, struck with the thought of how breath-taking she is.

He wouldn’t say little redheads was his ‘type’ but as he was going through the countless lists of girls he hadn’t wanted somebody his type, he wanted no reminder of Diana and so he had chosen her; Danielle, 5’3, 26 years old and the complete opposite to Diana.

He hadn’t seen her face before, for whatever reason she had kept it off the page, Mulder hadn’t been expecting much in terms of looks because of it yet he can’t keep his eyes off her.

He realises she’s said his name and almost comically stumbles his way to standing up, bashing a leg against the table making the cutlery jump and a brief amount of pain to ripple length ways across his right tigh.

“Danielle,” he says wincing through the pain. Her professional name knowing full well it wasn’t her real name. He might be new to this escort world but 1-800 numbers and taught him enough about fake names, maybe he should have considered using one.

She looks to be smiling at his clumsiness, fighting it back, trying to hide it.

A shaky start Mulder thinks, as he pulls out her chair yet she’s sitting down before he gets a chance to show how much of a gentleman he is.

He’s looking through the drinks menu when he realises she’s staring at him, drinking him in. It makes him feel self-conscious.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danielle seems to have realised what she was doing, she quickly looks away from him.

“You’re just…different to who I usually meet with,” she says.

Mulder smiles wryly and cocks his head.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks unsure himself.

“That’s good,” she tells him. “Usually I get the…older men and they definitely don’t go out of their way to buy me food.” She lifts her head up and smiles waiting for his reply.

He has none other than how strange he must seem to her right now, how sad. He also tries not to feel jealous at the thought of her with other men. It’s a thought that comes out of nowhere, a thought he has no right in occupying.

“So do you come here often?” she’s asking.

The answer to was that no. It was a drive away from his apartment, away from any potential sightings of colleagues or people he sees on a daily basis.

“Never,” he says realising this could be chaotic.

But she’s laughing and it’s one of the nicest sounds his eyes have ever heard.

“I hope you didn’t come here just to try and impress me.”

“Try?” he counters. “So I take it you’re not so easily impressed?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been told as much.”

Mulder leans in, surprised at how comfortable he feels around her, how at ease he is.

“Well tell me,” he says. “Are you impressed?”

She looks around the establishment, pretending to think.

“Hmm…I think you could have done better.”

“Okay,” Mulder says leaning back and giving the room a once around himself. He would say he’s done pretty well but she’s laughing again, giggling actually, and the restaurant doesn’t matter.

They order food, not that he’s particularly hungry anymore, but for some reason he doesn’t want this to end. Spending $300 a night to talk seems better than spending $300 on an apology.

“So,” Mulder begins. “What do you do aside from…this.”

He wonders about the answer he will receive. She’s lied about her name, will she lie about this or will to follow the truth as much as she can, altering things here and there. He wonders how much of her true name is in her fake name.

“Well…through the day I study mostly,” she says and this perks his interest.

“What do you study?”

“Uh…” He sees she’s searching for an answer and it breaks his heart to know that he isn’t getting the truth though he had expected her to be a bit more prepared for these questions.

“Chemistry,” she finally says. “I wanted to be a scientist.” She says it almost shyly, tucking her head in and refusing to look at him. He amends his previous thought, perhaps there is a truth after all.

“Wanted?” Mulder asks. “Is that still not possible?”

“Well…I guess so. I’m just worried about somebody hiding out about…this.” She purses her lips and shrugs.

Mulder wonder if he’ll get to ask why she does this but then wonders if that’ll be rude to ask anyway even if did get the chance.

“Well, let me pose you a question,” he says just as their food arrives. “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

He watches as she processes his question, her eyebrows knitting together as she attempts to formulate an answer and Mulder is curious as to what that answer is.

“Logically, I would have to say no,” she says slowly. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed the spacecraft’s capabilities.”

Mulder finds himself impressed with her, the certainty in her answer, he wonders if he’s getting a glimpse of a real person beneath the professionalism, other character.

“Okay, conventional wisdom,” he says, he expected it. “But when convention and science fail us, should we not start looking to the fantastic as answers?”

He thinks he’s caught her, she takes a while to answer, thinking it over through mouthfuls of salads. Mulder is too preoccupied with her mind to worry about the food that goes cold beneath him.

She swallows her food, sitting back in her seat and Mulder waits for the mental foreplay.

“That’s only if convention and science actually fail us.”

He thinks he’s in love.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There’s an easiness Dana feels around Mulder. He’s nothing like her previous clients who see nothing beyond her sexual capabilities. Mulder seems to be interested in her mind, in her and she worries she might have revealed too much of herself to him but it’s rare she finds somebody to match her intellect, her classmates can’t keep up with her, her professors shut her down in order to give other members of the class a chance. She feels intellectually frustrated at times.

“Why do you ask all this?” she inquires.

Mulder shrugs. “Oh, it’s just a hobby.”

“Talking about extraterrestrials is a hobby?”

He looks away and mumbles something she doesn’t quite catch.

“What was what?” she asks.

“I look for them.”

It’s endearing, how different he is from anyone else she’s ever met.

“Do you think you’ll ever find them?” It’s not to jest or to make fun of him.

“I’d like to,” Mulder says with an essence of hopefulness in his voice.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He makes the decision that he won’t fuck her.

He’ll pay $300 as a fee to access her amazing mind if he must.

They go away from the talk of aliens, something for which Mulder was glad. He has his own secrets locked away and if they continued on the subject anymore, he was worried they would tumble out of his mouth and he’d reveal how spooky he really was. They talk of other stuff, he throws conspiracy theories at her that he barely believes in himself just to hear her debunk them with finesse. She was the one who was right and he was wrong and Mulder is completely okay with that.

He stops when he reaches her hotel, this is the end of one of the best nights of his life. He’ll go home, think of her, perhaps rub one off to the thought of her, and that will be that. He’ll bin that leaflet and they’ll never talk again.

But she’s stopping when she realises he isn’t beside her anymore and turns with a puzzled look on her face.

“Tonight was great, Danielle,” he tells her. “I really enjoyed it.”

Her face almost seems to fall when she realises what he’s doing but she picks herself back up again, nodding.

“Well,” she says walking back towards him. “If we’re not doing that anymore at least let me give you this.”

Her lips touch his and fireworks go off behind him. Mulder feels as though he’s experiencing his first kiss all over again, new and exciting, and a fear that he’s doing something he’s not meant to do.

It doesn’t take long before he’s kissing her back, his tongue trying to gain access to her mouth and to her own tongue. She grants him permission, thank god, and he almost melts inside her mouth.

They fall against a wall, his head collides with the brick but he doesn’t care, there is nothing else on his mind other than the want to pick her up. He’s bent at an awkward angle because even in heels her forehead just about reaches his chin. He’s unsure what to do with his hands, on her hips, on her waist. She seems to become annoyed at his indecisiveness and takes his hands in her own, placing them against her ass all the while not breaking the kiss.

He grows impossibly hard as his senses go into overdrive. He wants her so bad when he said he wouldn’t.

“Danielle…” he moans coming up for air.

“Dana,” he hears her say and at first he’s confused wondering what she’s talking about. “Call me Dana.”

The penny drops. Her name!

“Dana.”

She’s back on him, kissing him harder this time and Mulder was kidding himself before; he’s going to make love to her.

[blisslilywrites]

𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠.

➵︎ You’re a fairy who accidentally wound up in this world, but with the help of a human you met, you’re hoping you’ll be able to find a way back

Pairing: Tsukkishima x Fairy!Reader Word Count: 1.6k [one-shot] Genre: fluff(?), fantasy Warnings: none

A/N: yepp this is pretty late but ive been busy lately plus i wasn’t rlly happy with how this turned out but figured might as well just post it -lily 

The ground glowed blue. Fallen leaves and loose pieces of grass started swirling around you. 

This is not good.

You saw a flash of white and suddenly fell through the ground. 

The world became dark. 

You screamed and flailed, flapping your wings out of instinct. It proved futile and you soon realized your surroundings were devoid of air. You were just… falling. 

As soon as you realized this, everything became light again and you saw the grassy ground approaching fast. You hit the ground with a thud a second later and knocked yourself out. 

When you woke up, you groaned and slowly got up. Turning around, you took in your surroundings. A few bushes sprouted here and there, grass that extended in all directions, and a smooth gray pathway that cut through the vibrant green. 

That’s odd. There aren’t any pathways like this in the fairy kingdom. 

You shrugged. Ah well who knows what projects the higher-ups are cooking up. This might just be another one of them.

You didn’t actually think it was some project the senior fairies were working on. It was just a way of trying to reassure yourself, and it wasn’t exactly working. The moment you woke up, you knew you weren’t in the Fairy Kingdom anymore

The scenery here wasn’t that different from the ones at home but there was still something that felt off about it. Maybe it was the pathway, or maybe it was the way the wind that blew in your face smelled a bit old. It didn’t seem to have the same freshness as the wind from back home. You tried your best to brush it off and come up with a plan.

Deciding the best thing would be to follow the path, you spread your wings, picked a direction, and let the path guide you.

After what must’ve been hours of flying, both wings were exhausted and you resorted to using your legs. The sky had become a palette of reds and oranges. 

It’s dusk. That means the night folk should be coming out soon.

You shuddered remembering the last time you had a run-in with one of the night folk. Not wanting something like that to happen again, you picked up the pace.

A while later, you spotted two lights in the distance. It was coming closer and closer at an alarming pace. You froze on the spot and couldn’t move until you heard a loud, blaring sound and instinctively dived out of the way. 

The lights zipped past and you could see they belonged to a shiny moving box of sorts. It wasn’t a creature you were familiar with and the fear that was inside since you fell through the portal started to grow. 

You hurriedly got up and continued walking. The further you went, the colder it became. You huddled your thin wings around your arms and continued forward, not wanting to stop until you found something, anything, that could serve as shelter. 

The pathway sloped downwards and you could make out faint lights coming from the valley below. Hurrying forward, you spotted what looked like a town and immediately uncurled your wings and flew down to it. 

Upon closer inspection, this town was nothing like the towns of the fairy kingdom. Lights came from strange places and gave off a white tang. There wasn’t any grass here, save for a few patches here and there. Instead, the ground was all smooth. There weren’t many trees either and you wondered what these creatures used for their homes. Did they live in the huge blocks that covered the area? 

You were curious to know what creatures lived here, and even more so, if they were welcoming.

-----

Practice had just ended and Tsukkishima was all ready to go home. Yamaguchi had stayed home sick so it was just him walking home today. He put on his headphones and strode out of school and onto the sidewalk leading home. 

He was well past the school when he noticed a few street lights flickering. This area of town always gave him the chills. At this time of night, no one was out and the streets were ominously empty. It was also very quiet, which didn’t exactly bother Tsukkishima but always struck him as a bit off for some reason. 

He was about to turn a corner when he bumped into someone. Looking down, he saw something, or rather someone, fumbling to get up. The force of walking into Tsukkishima had knocked them down so he begrudgingly gave them a hand. Begrudgingly because he was Tsukkishima, because he didn’t know this person, and because they were dressed head to toe in what looked like huge leaves and flower petals. 

The oddly-dressed person ignored Tsukkishima’s hand and jumped up on their own. It was then he saw the insect-like wings protruding from their back. 

Thinking this person was probably just another dedicated cosplayer, he muttered an apology and continued making his way back home.

-----

You stared at the creature you had just bumped into. This one was unlike the shiny moving box in that it had features similar to fairies. 

It had a nose, two eyes framed by something unfamiliar to you, a band that extended across its head and covered the sides of it, two arms and two legs clothed in interesting-looking garments. It didn’t have wings but was carrying a sack of sorts over its shoulder. The creature was quite tall, taller than you by much, so you had to look up towards it. 

Before you could say anything, he muttered something lost to you and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” you called out, going after it.

The creature didn’t turn around so you kept calling. It finally did and looked at you with what seemed to be extreme perplexity.

“What do you want?”

You paused, not quite understanding what this creature was saying but sensing it was somewhat annoyed. 

Ohhh we don’t speak the same language. You smacked your head, ashamed of not realizing it sooner.

In one fluent motion, you took some golden-colored dust from a pouch by your side and sprinkled it on your lips, murmuring an incantation while doing so. 

“Can you understand me now?”

The creature looked unimpressed and merely looked at you before repeating, “What do you want?”

“Umm..well you see, I’m lost. Could you tell me where we are..?”

The creature looked even more unimpressed and in a sarcastic tone he answered, “Japan.”

“J-Japan..?” 

You’ve never heard of this Japan place before and you were starting to worry more.

“What? Don’t know what Japan is?”

You nodded sheepishly regretting not paying much attention in world studies class.

Now the creature just seemed to look shocked.

“Where are you from then?” it asked.

“The Fairy Kingdom,” you replied almost instantly. 

It narrowed its eyes and scowled, “Where are you really from?”

“I told you, the Fairy Kingdom.”

-----

Tsukkishima had no idea why he was still talking to this person. They were clearly unhinged. He told them they were in Japan like the smartass he was but they seemed to have never even heard of it. 

The Fairy Kingdom? Wings? Clothes made out of plants?? Yeah, they definitely needed help. 

He was about to walk away, again, when they flew in front of him. They flew, with their insect wings that were apparently not a prop. He blinked once, twice. 

“Could you--”

“You’re an actual fairy?” he interrupted.

“Uh yeah.”

“And you’re from the..Fairy Kingdom?” 

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying,” the fairy pouted and flapped their wings in a huff.

Tsukkishima found that action a little cute but kept it to himself. He was still processing all this.

You stopped pouting and fluttered to the ground. 

“Umm, so it seems I may have gotten myself a little lost and ended up here.” Looking up at him, you asked in your most pleading voice, “Could you maybe help me find my way back… please?”

He hesitated. He’s heard stories of deceiving fairies and how people said to not get into deals with them. Or maybe that was another fictional creature… Either way he wasn’t about to risk anything without the prospect of getting anything in return.

“What do I get? In return for helping you?”

“The satisfaction of doing a good thing?”

He shook his head, “Not good enough.”

“Ummmmm… I’ll owe you?”

“Hmm interesting offer,” he said with a smirk. “We can discuss that in detail later. For now, let’s go. It’s getting late.”

“Wait so are you going to help me?”

“Possibly.”

You cracked open a wide smile and jumped up in the air, flying alongside him as he walked down the path. 

“Thank you… What was your name? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“You can call me Tsukkishima.”

“Tsukkishima..that’s kinda long. I think I’ll just call you Tsukki,” you said with a grin. “By the way, my name’s Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

He cringed internally wondering what he had just gotten himself into. 

It’ll all be fine though. There’s no way this could be real. This was just some dream or hallucination brought on by his exhaustion from practice. Yes, that was it. He’ll gladly humor this fairy. It was just a dream anyway.

The next morning when he woke up, the first thing he saw was your face, wide-eyed curiously peering down on him.  

He let out a yelp and quickly reached for his glasses. 

Taking a deep breath, he calmed down and realized two things: he was late for school, and you were still here which meant… it wasn’t a dream after all.

A/N: qksnkd okk not my best fic,,, it feels incomplete somehow? idk maybe if i get some inspiration in the future i’ll consider writing more parts. also hoped tsukki wasn’t too ooc;-;

[petalsheart]

Awkward Confrontations | Bakugou Katsuki soulmate au

Warnings: Maybe a few swear words? Otherwise nothing!

Word Count: 1,751

A/N: This is my first fanfic! So feel free to leave anything constructive either in my ask box or even replies! Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. Also, sorry if Bakugou is a little ooc, I tried my best. Oh, and I wasn’t sure how to end this, I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed. Anyways, enjoy reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were five years old when it appeared. It was a Wednesday afternoon and you were playing in the backyard when you got a sharp pain on your right wrist. Crying, you run to your mom and ask her what’s happening. Your mom looks up from what she was doing on the porch immediately comforting you with a hug.

“M-mommy why does my arm hurt,” you say through tears.

Your mom thinks for a minute, trying to figure out how to explain a soulmate easily enough for a five-year-old to understand. 

“Well baby, the world made somebody very special to you,” she picked you up and put you in her lap, “And one day you will find them when they say the very special words on your wrist.” 

Looking at your wrist, you notice the new words on there. The pain had gone away and you were finally able to calm down. Not being able to read very well, you ask your mom.

“Mommy, what does it say?” you ask, looking up to your mom.

Your mom looked down at your wrist. She read aloud,

“Who do you think you’re talking to, extra.” Your mom held back a giggle.

“Mommy, why is my soulmate so mean!” you whine still looking at her. 

Your mom laughs a little. “I’m not sure baby, why don’t you ask them when you meet them.” You were satisfied with your answer and got off your mom’s lap to go play.

Walking through the gates of U.A high school was refreshing and overwhelming at the same time. Refreshing because you had worked so hard to get here, overwhelming because you knew you were gonna meet so many great upcoming heroes, and you were a new student halfway through the semester. Walking into class 1-A, you seat yourself in the far back next to a boy with green hair. A girl with short brown hair makes her way over to you. 

“Hello! My name is Uraraka Ochako! What’s your name?” you look at her with a little shock before you answer. “My name is (y/l/n) (y/n)! It’s nice to meet you! What is your quirk?” you ask, genuinely curious. She tells you her quirk is zero gravity and that she can make things float. She asks you the same question. You tell her what your quirk is and the green-haired boy next to you looks at you with interest and starts asking you a lot of questions. 

“Wow, your quirk is so cool! How does it work? What are it's setbacks? Does it have setbacks?” he fires at you. Ochako turns to him, “Deku, don’t ask her so many questions at once.” With a blush on his face, he introduces himself.

“H-hi, sorry! My name is Midoriya Izuku, but you can call me Deku!” 

“It’s nice to meet you Deku!” you respond with just as much enthusiasm as you did Ochako.

As you three talk, eventually more people start to join in. Happy with being accepted so fast, you think about how great of friends you all are gonna be. However, you noticed one person not interacting with the lot of you. But before you can ask, your homeroom teacher walks in. He introduces himself as Eraserhead, but to call him Mr.Aizawa. As he calls roll, you learn the anti-social boy’s name is Bakugo Katsuki.

The school day goes by fast, and before you even know it you’re on your way to your dorm. The school required that students live on campus, and you moved your stuff in a few days before. Weird enough you didn’t run into any of your classmates in that time, but you didn’t care that much. Your mind was focused on the explosive boy in your class, Bakugou. His quirk was proven to be very strong during class today. He also had an even stronger temper. He seemed to explode on poor Midoriya all of the time. 

You didn’t know why a boy so mean wouldn’t leave your mind. He was captivating to you and you weren’t sure why. You were laying on your bed lost in thought when you heard a knock on your door. You get up to answer the door. It was Momo.

“Hey, (y/l/n) dinner is ready! Thought I would come to tell you!” 

She’s so sweet you thought as you responded.

“Okay! Thank you for telling me, Yaomomo!” You smile at her as she leaves. With that, you put your slippers on and head to the dining room. You get down there and are greeted by your friends. Before you get some food, you head to the bathroom to wash up. You’re in a daze, thinking of Bakugou of course, when you run into somebody. Looking up, you notice it's Bakugou, but he just keeps walking with a tch leaving his mouth. 

“Dude! You could’ve said sorry!” He stops walking and turns to you. With a pronounced look of anger on your face, you are ready to take any mean thing he says to you.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, extra!” He all but shouts at you. Before you are able to even respond, his words register to you. 

No way he is not my soulmate, you thought as you stared. That would explain the reason I couldn’t get him out of my head, you rationalize before you hear a “tch”. 

“Are you gonna answer, dumbass, or can you not speak?” He has his eyebrows scrunched and you could easily tell he was annoyed. You were confused, why didn’t he seem excited or even freaked out. Was he not your soulmate? 

Lost in thought, you didn’t respond. Bakugou, deciding he was too tired to deal with you, walked away to eat. Truth is, you had impressed him during class earlier. He recognized how strong your quirk was. He knew the words you spoke were on his wrist. He didn’t care about all that soulmate shit, so why was his heart racing. At least she wasn’t a weakling, he thought. A part of him, a very small part, felt bad just leaving you standing there. But he was tired and you weren’t responding so what was the point.

Later that night, you were having trouble falling asleep. Why didn’t he say anything? Was there something wrong with you? Maybe he really isn’t my soulmate, you thought sadly. Deciding all this thinking was making you thirsty, you head down to the kitchen for a drink.

Katsuki never had trouble with overthinking. He knew he was strong and he knew he was capable. He was focused on becoming the Number One Hero, he didn’t wanna think about soulmates, he didn’t care! So why couldn’t he get you out of his mind? Deciding he wasn’t gonna be going to sleep right now, he goes to the kitchen for water. 

You’re looking through the fridge for a water bottle. It seems like there was only one left. You take it out of the fridge. As you turn to walk back to your room, you run into a squishy wall. Opening your eyes, you realize it was a person. And just your luck, it was the person you couldn’t get out of your head. 

Bakugou silently curses to himself. Of course, you were awake. As he looks down at you, you look back up at him. You both just stare at each other for a few seconds, before you slowly feel your face get hot. Backing away you apologize.

“I’m sorry Bakugou! I didn’t see you there, haha!” you awkwardly tuck your hair behind your ear. “Tch, maybe you should start to watch where you’re going.” You look up to see him looking away with a slight blush on his cheeks. You smile a little.

“Aww, is Bakugou worried I’ll hurt myself?” He looks at you startled. You were a bit shocked yourself. How were you able to tease him when you just met.

“Shut up, I wasn’t worried, I just don’t want your dumbass to run into me again.” He rolls his eyes. As things grow silent, you decide you wanted to confront him about the whole soulmate thing. 

“Um, Bakugou, can I ask you something.” He just nods his head. He was really calm compared to earlier, maybe it was because he was tired. 

“How do you feel about, um, well, soulmates?” You're a little nervous to be rejected. You know you didn’t know him well but you hoped that you would be able to, eventually. He’s silent for a second. You start to get even more nervous.

“Uhh, you know what? Just forget I said anything, haha!” You nervously let out, and start to walk past him back to your room. Tears threatening to spill as you feel like you just embarrassed yourself in front of your potential crush. You’re walking away when you are stopped abruptly. You look down to see a hand around your right wrist. Bakugou had stopped you.

“I don’t care about them,” he tells you. As you’re about to walk away feeling even worse, he continues. “But, you aren’t terrible.” you feel yourself start to smile.

“What does that mean?” you say, turning around. Bakugou looks embarrassed. He turns his head as he answers. “I could’ve had a worse soulmate, it could’ve been shitty Deku,” he responds. Is this his way of asking you out? You smile even wider. 

“Are you asking me out, Bakugou?” you tease lightly. He turns even redder.

“Don’t make me regret it, shitty woman,” he says with little to no edge in his voice. He lets go of your wrist. You turn around and give him a tight hug. 

“What the hell are you doing!?” He whisper screams. 

“I’m sorry, Bakugou! I just couldn’t help it.” You look up at him and he’s looking away, still red.

“So, this means you’re my boyfriend?” You ask with a bright smile. He looks at you, at the sight of your smile, he grows redder (how that’s possible, you don’t know). 

“Tch, whatever,” he says, and that answers your question. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

“Well, boyfriend,” you say to tease him some more, “It is getting pretty late, and we should head to bed.” he nods in agreement. “Goodnight, Bakugou,” you smile at him and turn to walk away. As he’s watching you walk away, he has a small smile on his face.

tags: @softkatsuki 

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

I'm Gonna Burn My House Down

Okay, why have I been writing so much freaking ANGST lately?! I'm more of a comedy writer! At least, I THOUGHT so...Am I projecting my innermost feelings? Is THIS how I'm subconsciously dealing with my grandfather's death a week or two ago?! Will I stop asking questions?!?!...Yeah, I'll stop.

Coming up next on "Mint REALLY has to get ECHO out of her head, even though it's an awesome song," we have, surprise surprise, more angst. I feel like apologizing so hard to Cole for this. But even so, I just couldn't help myself...I'm a sucker for mind control, peeps, I have no other excuse.

-

Important note: In this AU, the sacred flute does not cure hypnosis. It does stun/temporarily awaken anyone affected by it, but they're still partially controlled and can be put back under at any time. No one knows this, however, and so everyone THINKS Cole has been freed.

Oh, how wrong they are...

Also, the monastary hasn't burnt down yet.

Key word, being YET.

Sort of OOC warning, because Cole...isn't really himself in this. Even when he is.

-

Ding

Cole sat up with a start. What-

Ding

"Oh," he realized, sighing in relief. "Just the clock."

Ding

Taking a deep breath, he laid back down on the bed, still slightly shaken up.

Ding

Today had been...stressful, to say the least. Being hypnotized into fighting your friends, even if you yourself didn't remember it, could leave a mark on anyone.

Ding

Cole closed his eyes, trying to relax.

Di-

And then abruptly, the chiming of the clock cut off, causing Cole to once again shoot upright.

 "What the--is something wrong with the clock?" he muttered to himself. Stumbling out of bed--why was his head still aching, it'd felt so much better earlier, and now it hurt again--the ninja headed over to the wall mounted clock.

Which read 6:13. Which he was pretty sure wasn't correct.

...Wait, this shouldn't have been going off...it...doesn't read an hour...And it looks broken...Something's wrong.

Cole felt a strange chill. This was...really starting to get creepy...and why had his thoughts been derailed so suddenly? He...what was he thinking about?

He couldn't remember.

Something's WRONG

Again, his thoughts were muted.

Ding

Another chime rang out, but it didn't seem to come from the clock.

Had ANY noise come from the clock?

Slowly, Cole walked out into the hall.

Water. He needed water. He needed to wake himself UP.

Starting to feel paranoid, he went up to the sink, splashing water on his face.

Why did he feel like someone was watching him?

Glancing behind himself, he found no one. Still, the feeling remained.

Something's WRONG Something's WRONG Something's WRONG WRONG WRONG

Shaking his head, Cole sighed, turning back to the mirror.

Then he did a double take.

Red.

Red.

RED RED RED RED RED

His eyes were RED.

Startled, he backed into the wall, now feeling terrified.

His eyes should not be red.

Cole could barely breathe. He was panicking. He had no clue what was going on. What was going on WHAT WAS GOING ON-

Hello Cole

Eyes wide with fear, the teen whirled around, trying to find the source of the voice.

 "W-who's there?!" he demanded, trying to keep calm and failing. "Show yourself!"

Ssssilly boy. There was a chuckle. You won't find me here...

"What--what does that mean? What do you want?!"

Another chuckle. Nothing much. At leassst, not much for me to get. I have help.

"What help?!"

Why, YOU, of course.

"Wait, ME?! Wha-" And then it clicked.

Oh no oh no oh no this COULDN'T be happening-

I'm still hypnotized. Aren't I. No. No no no-

I sssee you've figured it out. Ssssmart boy...

"No. No! No, no, no, get out of my head!"

I'm afraid I can't do that, the voice replied with faux sympathy. But don't worry, I'll take good care of you.

"Stop! Stop it!"

How about you ssssstop instead, hm? Jusssst ssssstop fighting. Ssssstop resisting.

"No, no, I won't-"

He wouldn't what?

Everything started to feel foggy. What was he doing? What...why was he even fighting?

That'ssss it, the voice hissed. Jussssst give in. Let me control you.

"I...I..." He felt so sleepy. Barely able to stand, he fell backwards, leaning against the wall "I..."

Jusssst obey.

"I...I...obey," Cole whispered, now fully entranced. Once again deep under the hypnotic spell.

-

Just get the staff and get out. Then await further instruction.

Step one, complete, he thought, feeling the weight of the ornate golden serpent on his back as he slipped down the hall, obscured by the shadows. Quickly ducking out the door, he entered the monastery courtyard, currently devoid of anything but the dragon statue in the center.

Get out. Just get out, and you'll be scot free.

With slight difficulty, the hypnotized teen climbed up the wall, balancing precariously at the top. Bracing himself, he hopped down, the shock of the landing lessened by his trance.

Good job, he heard the voice--his master--tell him in his mind. There'ssss jusssst one lasssst thing I need from you before you bring back the sssstaff.

"What is it?" he asked softly, his voice slurring slightly.

I would like you to give the ninja a little, would you ssssay, 'parting gift'?

Cole understood the meaning. "Yes, master."

He'd already brought a lantern with him while escaping. Perfect.

With a shattering of glass, he broke it against the monastery's wooden gate, which, after a moment, burst up into flames.

Feeling twisted satisfaction (what was he doing), he turned away (he had to help them) and ran down the staircase (what was he DOING), away from the inferno springing up (no he had to turn back he couldn't be doing this).

It wasn't his problem what happened to the ninja (they were his friends, what had he done).

He was just following orders.

[the-darklings]

—𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒍𝒚, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚;

pairing: detective loki x reader

word count: 1.4k+

summary: It would be endearing if it didn’t make him feel so uncomfortable.

notes: we’re here for sunshine!reader and mr stoic cuteness only. 

‘black coffee’ drabbles: | 01 | ...

gif credit: [x]

“Would you like another—”

“No.”

Shit. He’s being an asshole. He knows he is. 

But it’s hard to keep a steady tone when he can feel lingering anger scratching just under his skin. The way you jump slightly at hearing the sharpness of his refusal makes him feel almost guilty though. 

“Sorry,” he mutters shortly, tightly, and watches from the corner of his eye how you squint at him thoughtfully, nonplussed. “I don’t need another coffee right now. Thanks.”

You balance a coffee mug in your hand, steady, experienced, “Hard case?”

And just like two weeks ago, he gives you the exact same reply as then, “No,” he says, and find it difficult to hold back his frustration. “I would simply appreciate it if people gave me room to do my fucking job.”

You sigh quietly, and the sound makes him look up at you. Knowing this damn town, you likely already know what he’s referring to. This new case is about as fun as pulling out teeth with some pliers. But that thought brings back memories of another life, another nightmare long since forgotten. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself when his nightmares drag him from rest almost every night. 

“I’m sorry Mr Doughton is being difficult,” your hesitant voice breaks the silence, and there is genuine frustration to be found in the pinch of your mouth and the scrunching of your nose. “Sometimes people just like being a big problem, I guess. It’s not really fair on you though. You’re just trying to help. I’m really sorry.”

“You apologise too much,” he tells you firmly after a moment but only because it’s true. He’s noticed that you apologise far more often around the diner than you should. Especially when things are often the customers’ fault than your own, but you still choose to shoulder the blame. “It’s not like this is something you can change, nor is it your fault.”

You sway slightly from side to side—embarrassed at being called out most likely—and chuckle weakly. 

“Oh, um, habit,” you confess softly, smiling slightly, and it still startles him how genuine your smiles always are. Warm. He can almost feel the tension between his shoulder blades ease a touch the longer he looks at it. “Sure I can’t get you anything else? You’ve been sitting here for hours.”

Yes, he has. Because he likes it here at Joey’s Diner more than anywhere else in town. He’s unsure why, exactly. The atmosphere is welcoming. The food, and especially the coffee, are all great but... 

“I’m fine.”

Something flickers across your expression then—it’s so brief he almost misses it, but for a moment he can swear you look sad, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that knowing stare before you blink and it’s gone. Your smile this time is less cheerful, but you nod your head and turn to go anyway. 

“Hey,” he calls out suddenly, not quite sure why, and feel at an even bigger loss when you pause and glance back at him, expectant. “Thanks for—thanks for this,” he explains, gesturing vaguely towards the remains of his first order.  

This time your smile is wider, closer to the bright beam he’s used to seeing, “Any time, detective.”

. . .

He loses track of time.

It’s easy in his line of work, and even easier when people involved in the case are being difficult, so he has to look for ways around certain obstacles.

“Hey, sorry to bother you but,” your familiar voice breaks through his concentration and he blinks rapidly, looking towards you. You stand in front of his booth awkwardly, cradling something carefully in your hands. “I can come back if you like—I just—”

“What is it?” he asks calmly, deciding to end your suffering now rather than prolong it. Besides, he’s curious what has you so nervous you suddenly have a hard time maintaining eye contact with him. 

Exhaling sharply, you shake your head briefly and shuffle a few steps closer, placing the object in your hands on the table. 

It’s a muffin. Bigger than the ones he’s used to seeing in supermarkets or cafes. It sits in front of him large and fluffy, openly inviting him to sink his teeth into it. He may not like sweets but this does look delicious. 

His gaze moves slowly upwards and meets yours steadily. 

“I—I baked it,” you explain hurriedly, and the worry in your voice is so clear it’s almost embarrassing. You would make a terrible liar, he can tell. In his line of work, people like you are a small miracle because your honest always trips you up. “More on the savoury side since I used—I used spice. You don’t have to try it but I thought—you haven’t had dinner and I still had one left and I figured it would be nice if you tried it since I know you don’t like sweets...sorry...”

You stop yourself after noticing the amused, patient look he’s directing your way, and a slight smile tugs his mouth upwards. The first one of the day, if he recalls correctly. He lets it fade slowly, and nods his head towards the empty seat on the other side of the booth. 

You hesitate, fiddling with your fingers, and glance around the otherwise empty diner. It’s late, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday night. Somehow the fact that it’s just him left doesn’t surprise him much. 

After another moment of hesitation, you carefully slide into the seat opposite and your wide-eyed stare would be funny if it wasn’t for the fact that you look like you’re about to be sick. 

“So this is your special, huh?” he says conversationally, hoping that small talk will ease your nerves a bit. “For when you have your own place? It looks nice.”

Your laugh sounds a touch closer to hysteria than usual, and your knuckles are straining under your skin as you peer at him nervously. “I’m sorry if you hate it,” you say softly, like an apology. For some strange reason, those words grate on him more than he would care to admit. “I’m still learning and—well not everything comes out good but you have to experiment, right?”

Your tone implies that you’re not looking for his verbal opinion so he simply nods his head once, blinking a few times, and takes the muffin into his hand. It’s still somewhat warm and he subtly inhales.

He gets the spice right away but it seems like a pleasant mix from what he can tell so far. He sincerely hopes it will not be spicy to a point he may have to spit it out right in front of you. That would probably not go down too well. 

You look like you’re holding your breath as he takes the first bite. He chews slowly, trying not to rush the experience while also mentally bracing himself for the worst. 

Thankfully, his doubts are unfounded. The heady taste washes over his senses and he pauses, chewing even slower, letting the taste register properly. Much like you, it’s warm—he can taste that spice alright—but it’s soothing kind of warmth. A pleasant mix between savoury and sweet he hasn’t tasted before. 

“It’s...good.”

You stare. 

And then stare some more. 

“Really?”

His eyebrow arches and he takes another bite as if to prove his point. 

Your answering smile is so wide, so happy, it puts the sun to shame in its sheer intensity alone.

It would be endearing if it didn’t make him feel so uncomfortable. 

He’s not used to people being so open with him, so carefree. If it’s not his demeanour, then it’s the tattoos, and if it’s not the tattoos, then it’s the fact that he’s a detective. Something inevitably always causes people to put their guard up around him. He’s so used to searching deeper, to decoding people—and trying to break those walls down—that seeing someone sitting right in front of him like an open book is...surreal. Damn uncomfortable too.

You laugh, breathless, still grinning widely at him, “That—I’m so happy you like it. If you like I can make you some more? I know you don’t like the ones the diner sells but I’m sure I can bring mine in for you at least once a week. I mean—I’ll definitely try... if you like?” 

He swallows the bite he’s chewing, hums, his eyes snagging onto that beaming smile once again and he grunts half-heartedly, shrugging his shoulders. After a moment, he glances down at the table, blinking a few times as he stares at a random scribble in his notepad without really taking it in. 

“Sure, why not? I appreciate it.”

. . .

an: so I still feel terrible so I’m sorry if this is equally as terrible (and OOC). Wrote this in like an hour and with minimal editing, so feel free to yell any mistakes @ me. I just miss these two lots, and writing for fun in general lol :’))         

[typicalmidnight]

right in front of you

a/n: apparently this fic got deleted so here i am like a year later posting it again. and yeah this was my first fic, so here’s some shitty writing and something that i meant to put into a series that i never did.

pairing: peter parker x reader summary: Peter Parker has always been your best friend, but he can't see that you like him as more than just a friend. You're getting upset because he can't see that his true love is right in front of him. Based on the song Right In Front Of You by MattyB. characters: reader, Peter Parker, MJ, Ned Leeds, Liz Allen includes: angst, not really any fluff sorry, hurt!reader, my terrible writing, possible ooc peter, mj, and ned, idk im new sorry! word count: 1, 215 a/n: AHHHHH THIS IS MY FIRST FIC!!! i feel like my first fic shouldn't be a multiple parter but oh well. this sorta feels like it shouldn't just be in one so ya. i'm not sure if i wrote the characters correctly, i'm new at writing and also new to the fandom. i really only have other fics to go off of so idk how good this is. also HUGE THANKS to @celestial-parker and @so-many-freaking-ships for their tips about writing. they are both super awesome writers so check them out! other writers who are better than me you should check out: @celestial-parker @so-many-freaking-ships @galaxy-parker @marvelousheroes @delicately-written

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Y/N! What's up?" Peter exclaimed, seeing you in the hallway a Midtown.

Peter. Peter Parker. He had been your best friend, for as long as you could remember. Ever since he had moved into the apartment beside you, you two had been fast friends. He told you everything, and you told him everything. You knew about him being Spiderman, how Flash bullied him, Uncle Ben, and how much he loved Liz.

The last thing was the hardest. He was head over heels for Liz Allen, oblivious to how much you liked him. It was extremely obvious to everyone, including your other best friends, Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones. Obvious to everyone except for Peter Parker himself.

"Hey, Peter. I'm super tired, I was up super late last night studying for that biology exam we have. I'm kind of worried about it, I don't think I'm going to do that well." you replied.

"Don't worry, you got this. You're smart." Peter said, smirking.

You smiled back. "Thanks, but I still think I'm gonna fail."

Peter rolled his eyes in response. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. You followed his gaze and glared. Of course, he was staring at Liz. You did have to admit, she looked really pretty that day. She looked pretty every day and you could see why Peter liked her. And while you never wanted to actually be her, you always wondered what life would be like if you were more like Liz. Maybe Peter would like you back. Maybe it would be you he stared at and obsessed over. Maybe life would be perfect.

A sharp voice snapped you and Peter out of your dazes.

"Hey. Hey! Losers? Whatcha staring at?" MJ questioned.

"Oh hey MJ. Hey Ned. Just... um..." Peter stuttered.

"Liz?" Ned asked, a grin on his face.

"Uh... ya," Peter admitted.

Ned glanced at you, and you shook your head slightly, warning him not to say anything. The four of you stood there for a moment before MJ broke the awkward silence.

"Y/N, we should get to homeroom," she announced. "See you guys later?"

The two of you walked off, and you turned around and made eye contact with Ned. You sent him a look that you hoped he would understand to mean 'don't you dare say anything to Peter'. He winked back, and you groaned. Ned was infamous for being one of the worst secret keepers in the school. Looking back at Michelle, you saw that she was smirking, watching you.

"Oh shut up." you groaned.

"I didn't say anything," she replied, still smirking.

"Well, I know what you're thinking."

"Oh really? And what's that?"

"You're mentally teasing me for having the biggest crush on Peter Parker."

"Actually, I'm... No that's true. I am mentally teasing you. But I'm also thinking that you should either tell him or move on. You can't waste your life on him."

"You think I'm not good enough for him, don't you." you sighed.

"Of course not!" your best friend replied. "He obviously likes you back, you just don't see it. I'm just saying that if neither of you does something about it, you're both going to be miserable."

"He doesn't like me MJ."

"Ya right," she scoffed. "You two are both just blind idiots who don't have a clue."

"Thanks," you replied sarcastically. "You're nice."

"And that's why you love me!" she joked.

You rolled your eyes at her, turning into the classroom. The rest of the morning, you couldn't stop thinking about what Michelle had said. Did Peter really like you? And was MJ right? If you didn't tell him, would you just live your life chasing someone, and never knowing? You just wished things were the way they used to be. When you were younger, and everything was much simpler.

'I’ve been thinking back on the first time You walked up and said, “Wanna play around?” We were both just kids We ain’t ever been in a relationship'

By the time lunch rolled around, you were still immersed in your thoughts about Peter. As you walked into the cafeteria, heading for your regular lunch table with Peter, MJ, and Ned, you spotted Liz, looking perfect, as usual. She was taking selfies with her friends, and as you sat down, the first thing you noticed was Peter staring at her. He paid no attention to you, still captivated by Liz's beauty.

"Hey Y/N! How was your morning?" he asked.

"Oh, it was fine. You know, just a regular day," you replied, glancing at Peter to see if he had moved.

"Hey Peter," you said. "You there?"

"Huh? Oh, hey Y/N, I didn't notice you there." Peter apologized. "I was just... wrapped up in my thoughts."

"Uh huh, I noticed. So how was your morning?" you asked.

"Good I guess," Peter shrugged, turning back to watching Liz. "Isn't she just perfect? I wish she liked me back."

You groaned. Peter couldn't see that you were right there, and you liked him. You decided that you needed some time to clear your head and just get away from Peter. You decided to try and flirt with him one more time, hoping that he would respond.

"Maybe she does. You don't know. You're a great guy Peter. I don't see why she wouldn't like you. There are other people who do." you replied, trying to make it as obvious as possible that you liked him, without explicitly saying it.

"Thanks, Y/N. Maybe she does like me. I guess I AM extremely likeable." he joked.

You sighed. Even when you were practically waving a sign in front of Peter's face with the words 'I LIKE YOU' on it, he took no notice and was still focused on Liz.

"You know what, I'm actually going to head to the library. I have to return a book, so, I'm just gonna go... do that..." you said, fed up with Peter at this point.

Peter seemed like he could care less, but MJ and Ned had a look on their faces that was a mixture of confusion, exasperation, and pity. As you exited the cafeteria, you thought about MJ's words again. 'You should either tell him or move on. You can't waste your life on him.'

'She's right.' you thought. 'If Peter can't see that I like him because he's too obsessed with Liz to notice, then he doesn't deserve me anyway.'

'I ain’t gonna wait much longer If you can’t see that I’m right in front you When I’m standing right in front of you'

Again, you let your mind wander, and it landed back on when you were kids. You couldn't help but think 'what if?' 'What if I told Peter how I felt earlier? What if Peter didn't like Liz? What if Peter liked me? What if I had just been open to Peter how I felt from the start, instead of hiding away my feelings? What if?' If only you could just go back to when you were younger, and change everything...

'And we laugh and we cry And we dream we could fly And we play like we’re tough And one day we grew up and oh If it were yesterday I never should have let you walk away'

[nxctiphany]

HOW I RUN MY BLOG.

SPEED:    It really depends. Sometimes I’m incredibly fast and others I’m very slow. I’ve been faster lately, but that’s only because I’m ‘on-loan’ to a different department at my job currently which gives me more time to write at work (oops) and because I’ve been struggling to work up the motivation to sew over the past few months. Typically, I’m not as speedy as I have been. I tend to queue things (and I run my bigger multi exclusively on a queue, I’m working on getting this blog mainly queue-based as well) so I don’t get overwhelmed or so I don’t reply to things too quickly. 

REPLIES:   I try my best to always respond to what’s given and add something to move the thread along/to give someone something to reply to. Sometimes I worry I don’t give enough for people to respond to and then I end up just adding more. I write a lot. It does make me nervous at times (pretty much always), but I swore I would stop apologizing for the length of my replies (because honestly, if you’re following me you can clearly see how much I write on average and should be prepared for it), so I won’t. I just get excited/into what I’m doing and that’s why I end up writing a lot. Writing a lot is just me having fun/enjoying myself because I just don’t shut up haha. I don’t expect anyone to match my length. I’m really and truly not bothered if you don’t. I’m not trying to compete or anything, I’m just having fun in my little corner. 

STARTERS:    I do starter calls every so often! I’ve written a few open starters here and there, as well. I try to like starter/inbox calls when I see them on the dash unless I have a decent number of drafts at the time I see them. I do get nervous specifying muses, but I’m trying to get better at it. I’m also okay with writing starters as well. It really doesn’t bother me if someone comes to plot with me and then asks me to make the starter if it makes sense in the context of the plot. You did me the favor of reaching out, so I don’t mind making the starter. I go get a bit bummed  when I write starters for people that go unanswered (because I am a slow writer even if I reply quickly - some days it can take me hours to write a single starter so it’s sad when it goes to waste). I won’t be offended if I write you a starter that doesn’t work and you want me to change something. 

INBOX:    I love doing memes or random asks! I feel like they make for interesting interactions! I love it when people turn meme replies into threads (so never be afraid to)! I know ask formatting works again, but I like answering asks in posts since I feel like it makes it easier for people to respond to them and turn them into threads that way. So, yeah, never be afraid to send in memes or asks! If a meme is still on my blog, you’re free to send it in any point in time. I try to send memes to those I’m interacting with as well! I’d really like to get better about sending them to people I don’t actively write with, but my anxiety is really bad I won’t lie. 

SELECTIVITY:   I don’t really know? If someone seems nice, I’ll follow them? I don’t care if I know the muse or fandom, but if you seem nice and I like your writing, I’ll probably follow you? To be honest, I’m a very, very nervous person so I do struggle to follow people first. I might see someone interacting with a mutual several times before I work up the nerve to follow them. I’m very sorry, my anxiety has always been bad, but it’s gotten worse these past few months. Sometimes I’m able to go on random follow sprees others I just stare longingly at blogs I want to follow haha (heck, this often applies to mutuals with more than one blog where I’m afraid I’ll annoy you if I follow you on your other blogs and that is dumb, I know, and I’m sorry). 

WISHLIST: I have one here, but it’s old and need to be updated. I also really enjoy the Otome game style thing I have going on with a few of you that’s described here. I’m almost always open to AUs or plotting or just writing a partner’s wishlist item out with them. Odds are if there’s something you want to write, I’m willing to give it a shot! 

HONEST NOTE:     I’ve stressed this so much already, but I am a very nervous person and I have a very bad anxiety. Some days it’s worse than others, but I try my best! It can take me a long time to get truly comfortable around someone OOC (but I do prefer to speak to my partners ooc as we’re writing because it makes a bit less nervous). I know I can come off as really stiff and formal and I try not to, I’m just nervous and I don’t want to be a bother but I’d like to think I’m a pretty friendly person! I also have ADHD so I’m sometimes afraid I can be a bit much for people at times and other times I need a break (I cannot for the life of me talk ooc and write replies at the same time I am so sorry). I tend to use exclamation points a lot ooc (because I’m afraid I don’t someone will think I’m upset or something) until I’m comfy enough to just cease using punctuation ooc unless needed haha (also why I almost always use haha at fist instead of things like lol because I’m nervous, I’ll use chatspeak ooc when I’m comfy, as well). I’m always so very grateful for the people who are willing to write with me or reach out to me and everyone on my dash. I love seeing all of you around and reading about your muses even if we don’t interact. All of you are fantastic, and I hope you know you’re great!    

TAGGED BY: No one! I stole it :3!  

[cowboy-canoodler]

A High Note of Love

Arthur X Female! Reader 

(maybe a part 1 if it goes well who knows?)

(I had a hard time finding lyrics to songs for 1888 ish so i used one from 1892 don’t hate me, you also have an English accent because they’re cool and i have one)

Summary: You’re a Singer in a Saloon in Saint Denis (of which Arthur Morgan will now frequent), you sing to crowds and captivate them Arthur Morgan included. He was drawn to you in a way he’d never known.

 (It’s been a while since I’ve written anything so I really hope the characters aren’t OOC ;A;) (it also goes between yours and Arthurs thought and perspectives so bear with me)

Master list: http://cowboy-canoodler.tumblr.com/post/183094165570/a-high-note-of-love-master-list

The evening was late and Arthur was covered in dust and mud from a days worth of labour and riding, he hitched his horse outside of the Saloon in Saint Denis and walked in, a faint smell of smoke and whiskey filled the air and Arthurs lungs as he took a deep breath through his nose, releasing it a few seconds later. A few patrons looked his way and murmured to themselves as he walked past, hand hovering before his guns always ready to shoot.

“Y’alright there?” The bartender looked Arthurs way as he cleaned a glass, “can i get yer a drink?” Arthur nodded, “Whiskey” not before long Arthur had a Whiskey in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth, these were the times he could relax, if only for a short moment before another commotion.

“Come on when is she getting out here?” one of the Patrons shouted at the barman before being hushed by his friend, “I’m sure it wont be long now” he retorted. Arthur raised a brow “Who?”

“Miss (YF/N) (Y/LN), shes a regular singer here, quite popular with our Male patrons, voice of an angel and personality of a tiger, very fierce. I believe it makes Miss (Y/LN) even more popular. ‘Course I can’t complain when she makes my bar busy” Arthur nodded along staring down at his half drunk whiskey, It had been a while since he’d listened to any singing other than Javiers this could be a nice change for once. The bar was now bustling with Men waiting for the singer to make her appearance, men drinking in a tight space with nothing to keep them interested was a bad decision, fights would definitely break out if she wasn’t here soon.

You pinned a loose strand of your hair up and dabbed on some loose powder, the sounds of the men at the bar making your heart skip a beat. You had done this for years now and yet you still get nervous before going up on stage, it hadn’t been easy getting here. 

You had been born in Cornwall in England and decided to run to America when your mother insisted on you marrying men you didn’t love. Your parents had never understood your love of music and dancing, the way hips moved along with feet, the delicate notes of the music that you had listened to, this meant nothing to your parents you were a pig raised to slaughter and any personality you had was a ��quirk” that they would cover with an excuse, you weren’t more than a piece of meat to them, only there for their gain of an advantageous marriage.

“Miss (Y/LN), the men are gettin’ awful rowdy” The barmans voice cut through your daydreams snapping you back to reality. “Yes of course! My apologies, tell them I’ll be out right away” you replied your daydreams shattered. A world where you could be who you wanted to be without having to change for someone, that’s what you had worked for and you had worked hard. Your time to show it had come once again.

“Miss (Y/LN) will be out shortly, alright?”The barman shouted to the rowdy men, Arthur gave a slight chuckle, he’d never seen a Woman give men this much of a reason to create a scene, he’d never understand how a woman could give men a reason to create a scene. Not until he saw her. She walked out of the back pulling the curtain to one side with a smile on her face, a warm smile, the kind of smile that draws you in and lets you succumb. 

Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey and turned to face the stage that you had walked over to giving some men a smile and a wink, she was feisty alright, then her voice rang out and calmed the whooping crowds, “I’m very touched to have such an audience for tonight, I bid you all welcome-” Shes English, Arthur thought, a rare breed in America and even rarer shes a singer ”- and I hope the music touches you as it touches me.” The piano started playing, her eyes closed, her hips swaying along with the notes. Arthur felt himself drawn in, unable to take his eyes off of her, she certainly was beautiful, her skin flawless, lips pursed into a smile as she enjoyed every single note the piano played.

The men were rowdy when you left your dressing room, shouts and howls as you walked along them smiling and winking, playing the part, the men swooned, tried to grab your hands, winked back. All but one, a gruff man facing the bar, he finished his drink and turned to face the stage arms leaning behind him keeping him steady, one leg resting on the floor and other on the wall of the bar, his expression was nonchalant and he intrigued you more so than any other man you had come across in your 20 or so years. you raised your hands to calm the crowd and spoke aloud, “I’m very touched to have such an audience for tonight-” you opened your arms in welcome, this had become second nature to you now, “I bid you all welcome, and I hope the music touches you as it touches me.”

The piano started the first notes from The Honeysuckle and The Bee, this was when you felt alive, all of your worries and nerves left you as soon as you heard the music. The men were quiet all that remained was you and the music.

“On a summer afternoon Where the honeysuckle bloom When all nature seemed at rest ‘Neath a little rustic bow'r ‘Mid the perfume of the flow'r A maiden sat with one she loved the best As they sang the songs of love From the arbour just above Came a bee, which lit upon the vine As it sipped the honey dew They both vowed they would be true Then he whispered to her words she thought divine-”

This was second nature, the lyrics leaving your mouth in perfect pitch, the men  enthralled by your voice as you looked over the crowd, once again your eyes fell to the gruff fellow by the bar he was watching you, Intently, and you loved it. One song after another, love songs, ballads of betrayal, you made sure to lock eyes with the stranger more often than you should have, you wanted him to know you were interested in him, he gave a different air, Dangerous, mysterious. a plethora of words to describe the feeling you got when you stared him down.

Was she looking at him? Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off of her while she sang, the barman was right she did have the voice of an Angel, the beauty to match one too. Songs of love and fighting, he’d heard them before but somehow these were different, Arthur could feel the emotion she was pouring into the songs he felt the words in his soul, if he had one. The singer finished her last song and gave the audience a warm smile,

“Thank you everyone for taking the time to listen to me sing, I hope to see you all again” her soft voice ringing through the crowd before a hearty applause, Arthur found himself compelled to join in, his hands giving a slow clap as she returned to the back of the bar to her room. She walked with grace and poise and Arthur suddenly became very aware of how common he was, he had no right thinking these things. This woman was probably an heiress to a large estate, educated, and obviously talented, he was just an outlaw, ragged, dirty, a bad man. 

Murmurs of congratulation and appreciation from the audience, “she outdid herself tonight-” “a woman deserving of a good man-” “I’d be a good man for her”.

A good man. Something Arthur was not.

Your heart beat faster than ever before, this had been your best performance yet. This is why you did it, this is why you sang. The rush of adrenaline after performing was unlike any other, but more so was the gaze of that stranger. You had made sure to get a good look at him when you walked back to your dressing room and he was one of the handsomest men you’d ever seen, His beard, his brawn, the dirt. It drove you crazy. You had to see him.

Right. Now.

The bar patrons had dispersed and only a select few remained, Arthur among them. He was on his fourth whiskey, the songs remained in his head, her smile remained, and he swore she had looked him directly in the eye when she passed to her room. No. She wouldn’t acknowledge someone like him. a soft voice pulled Arthur from his delusions.

“Excuse me?” Arthur turned and there she was, smiling and holding her hand up for his attention.

“Excuse me?” You raised your hand to the stranger pulling him from his thoughts, he turned to meet your gaze and you were struck. It felt like an arrow pierced your heart from cupid himself, those eyes. Those eyes. Blue like the sky and soft, like gazing into the eyes of a doe. “You were in my audience were you not?” you asked, a brow slightly raised, smirk playing on your lips.

“Uh, yeah I was. You were really something, I ain’t never heard nothing like it” By all the gods that had ever existed or not his voice was soft as silk and deep as the abyss, a breath hitched in your throat as you heard his compliment a soft bush raised to your cheek.

“Thank you so much!” you blurted out, stemming your rushing heart, “I noticed you looking, i had to come and thank you for listening. Personally” you signalled the barkeep to get you a drink, “Would you like a drink Misterrr?”

“Oh, Morgan, Arthur Morgan and sure”

“Mister Morgan” you turned to the barkeep, “Add any drinks Mister Morgan has onto my tab” the barkeep nodded and poured your drinks.

“Thank you, you can call me Arthur if you want Miss (Y/LN)” Arthur took his drink and handed you yours.

 “Then I shall Arthur” His name rolled off your tongue, a slight purr to your voice as you swirled the whiskey around the glass. You looked at Arthur and Arthur stared at his drink, a silence between you two.

“Say” He said after a few moments, “where’d you learn to sing like that?”

“A curious question Arthur” You looked down to your drink and took a small sip, “better answered in my room, If you’ll accompany me”

He was surprised to say the least, “Uh sure, yeah” the rest of his drink was gone in one and you turned to the curtain to your room, moving towards the doorway swaying your hips a slight more than usual.

Arthur followed, like a lost dog, he looked uncomfortable but yet he still obeyed. Your room wasn’t luxurious but it was home while you were here, some pictures adorned your mirror, a petticoat on the floor, make up on your table, the sweet smell of lilies from a bouquet of flowers in the corner, small bed in the centre of the back wall. Not luxurious, but it was enough. 

“Please make yourself at home Arthur,” you gestured vaguely about the room and took a seat by the table, Arthur joined you sitting opposite. “Thanks” Arthur huffed out as he sat in full force, he looked like he hadn’t relaxed in weeks.

“To answer your question, I didn’t learn to sing, I’ve just always enjoyed music. something my parents vehemently disapproved of” you removed your shoes and loosened a few pins from your hair letting it fall, “Ahh” a soft escape from your lips as you massaged your scalp gently.

“You sure talk fancy, you know that? Vehemently” He almost spat the last word, gazing at you massaging your hair almost hypnotised.

“Comes with the accent I’m sure” you gave a slight chuckle, “but alas I was raised in a rich family in England”

“You make that sound like a bad thing?” 

“Only a good thing if you’re willing to marry into money” your voiced dropped, “which I was not” a slight change in atmosphere as you swigged your whiskey in one go.

“Why not? I never quite understood how y’all can just say no to that kinda stuff” Arthur talked with his hands, an adorable quirk.

“It is a selfish prospect I suppose, not wanting to spend the rest of your life screaming on the inside” your words were heavy in the air, “I just couldn’t do it. I felt like cattle, I was only useful when my parents deemed it” your words were like poison, spat out and striking.

“I guess i can understand that, I once fell for a high class girl” You raised your brow, leaning closer to him, resting your head on your hand. “I suppose she felt the same, I refused to change for her and now I’m alone” Arthur chuckled slightly to remove the tension in the air “Oh! uh sorry, I didn’t mean to lay my story on you” Arthur waved his hands in defense.

“Not at all Arthur, you’re welcome to lay anything on me. Anything” You looked him in the eye and he looked away, a blush on his cheeks. “My apologies, I shouldn’t be this forward but I cant help myself” you got up and walked to his side of the table, sitting gently near Arthur, “you caught my eye the moment I saw you” Your hand grazed Arthurs cheek and he looked up in surprise.

“Me?” Arthur questioned, looking you over.

“You’re mysterious, and rather good looking. If I may be so bold” you crossed your legs, leaned on your arm behind you and puffed your chest out a little.”I feel like I know you already, Mister. Morgan” you furrowed your brow, “Morgan? oh! of course” your eyes lit up, “you’re a wanted man Mister Morgan”

Arthurs eyes widened, shit.

“Don’t worry” you gave him a reassuring look, “I won’t turn you in, I only know as I have to keep up with the lawmen, I’m also wanted, although it’s by my family not the state” you joked, maybe this would ease him off, Arthur looked like he was about to jump from his seat, you rested your hand on his shoulder. “I hope we can get to know each other better, Arthur.”  The last note was low, purring, seductive, it told Arthur exactly what you were thinking.

“I do believe I would like that Miss (Y/N)” His accent was thick, gravelly. God you could have taken him right there. He looked you in the eye, staring you down. Fuck. Arthur coughed nervously after realising what was going on, “I actually came here to take a bath and rest”

“Oh! Well feel free to use my tab for that Arthur” you stood up and went back around the table sitting in your original chair, “I insist” you gave him a warm smile, completely changing the atmosphere. “I shall be here when you finish, if you wish to take up my offer”

“Thank you very much Miss (Y/LN)” He dipped his head in thanks, “I'll take up your offer of the bath, and while I’m there I’ll think about your. Other offer.” Arthur stood up and walked over to your doorway, pulling the curtain to the side.

“I’ll see you later Mister Morgan” You gave him a wink as he pulled the curtain back. You were certain he’d return, and you both were going to be satisfied by the end of the night.

[mr-legoman]

Live On

Fanfiction and Ao3

Summary: Hajime visits Hiyoko after the results of the second class trial. The two share a moment together.  

Spoiler for DR 2 Class Trial 2. Also, Characters may be a tad bit OOC.

Hajime knocked on the ultimate Traditional Dancer's door and got no response. He waited for a bit then he knocked again, this time a bit louder. Still no response. Hajime attempted to peak through the cabin's window, not to see anything inappropriate but to see if the cabin's occupant was even here. The light was on, but that was the only sign of life in the cabin. Hajime paused and put his ear to the door. Straining, he thought he heard the faint sound of crying.

Briefly, he considered turning around and waiting for tomorrow to deliver his gift. It was getting late, the monokuma announcement would sound in a few minutes and he was so tired already. He also didn't want to deal with Hiyoko either. He could still remember the insults and accusations during the class trial. If it weren't for Chiaki's insistence he probably wouldn't even be here with his gift.

At the thought of the gift, Hajime glanced at it, to make sure for the twelfth time that the photo was safe. It was, of course, but Hajime needed to be reassured every few minutes regardless. The photo was of Mahiru, the one she wanted him to take. That had been on the day he promised her they'd escape. Hajime stared into the photo memories and thoughts welling up inside him. The day he had taken the photo, then the day when Mahiru had given the photo back, for safe keeping she said. "Keep this safe for me alright," then with a quick peck on the cheek, she'd turned and left. That had been the last moment he had with her before she'd been murdered.

Why didn't I realize before it was too late? Hajime internally criticized himself. Why didn't I stop her? Why-

The door opening in front of him shocked him out of his thoughts and from Hiyoko's expression him being there shocked her as well. The two stared at one another in an awkward silence until Hajime recovered his voice. "Oh, Hiyoko, its good to see you," Hajime started. "I needed to talk to you about your project?" Hiyoko wiped her face with her sleeve and glared at Hajime, well attempted to glare at him. The expression had no real effort put into it Hajime noticed.

"Why didn't you knock?" Hiyoko asked voice sounding exhausted. "Like a normal person instead of standing like a creep." With an effort, Hajime chose to ignore the insult. "I was knocking on your door actually." He mimed knocking and forced a smile to his face. Hajime then noticed the girl's expression. Her eyes were red, and her face had none of her usual angry or mischievous expressions on it. Instead, Hiyoko looked extremely tired. Perhaps he should have waited for tomorrow. Hajime thought to himself. "Are you okay?" Hajime asked as he fully studied the girl. She gave Hajime a level look and studied him back, she also ignored his question entirely. "Why are you here?" She demanded. Hajime still kept the forced smile on his face and held out his photo. Hiyoko just looked at it then back at him.

"For the mural," Hajime explained. "I thought you might want some pictures to add to it." At that Hiyoko's expression softened and she examined the photo closer. She nodded at the photos and actually managed a shaky smile. "Thank you, Hajime," Hiyoko said voice soft. "This means a lot to me." Hajime simply nodded. Now came the hardest part, Hajime thought as with shaky hands he handed the photo over to Hiyoko who took it with surprising delicacy.

When the photo was in her hand Hiyoko stared at it then clutched it to her as if giving the photo a hug. Seeing that actually did put a small but genuine smile on Hajime's face. While she was distracted with the photos Hajime turned to leave but only managed to turn around and step away when he felt Hiyoko grab him.

"Hajime," Hiyoko began. "Are… are you sure? This photo seems important to you." Hajime turned then looked from Hiyoko to the photo and again memory swirled. "Keep this safe for me alright" A kiss on the cheek and Mahiru gone forever. Hajime could feel it coming, tears and regret and an overwhelming sadness but he forced it down. "Keep them," Hajime's voice was shaky and weak even to him. "It's what she would have wanted." Which was untrue, Hajime didn't know what she would have wanted. He had only known her for a few weeks. He didn't even know what he felt towards her. Did he really love her? Was it just guilt? Hajime with a great deal of effort shoved his emotions and thoughts aside.

"Keep them," he said again voice sounding hollow. He turned and left then almost at a run, toward his cabin. He was nearly there when again, Hiyoko's voice stopped him. "Hajime! Wait Hajime!" Hajime only half turned this time, while Hiyoko ran up to him. "Hajime," she paused looking in every direction but at him. "I may have said something to you that you didn't deserve. And I'm sorry." She was looking at her feet now and she had begun to mumble. "I… I just-" She paused searching for the right words, but none came. After a moment she let out a large sigh. "I'm just sorry okay."

Hajime stood there for a long moment not quite sure what to do. He knew what she was apologizing for. During the trial, she had blamed and accused him of Mahiru's death. A part of him wanted to reject that "Sorry" and say something biting back to make her hurt just as much if not more so than he did. Another part to him didn't, no couldn't accept that sorry. Still, a small part of him did want to accept that sorry. To forgive her and to try and move on. A mini-war was fought as Hajime struggled to reply. Hajime opened his mouth fully expecting to say something hurtful to her, but instead, Hajime found himself asking. "Do you need any help with your shrine project?" That had clearly not been the answer Hiyoko was expecting either.

She stared at him, then just gave a nod. "If you really want to help sla- Hajime. You can." Hajime turned and looked back at his cabin. So close, he could just run in and leave Hiyoko here. Why had he offered to help in the first place? Hajime looked at Hiyoko again and saw in her the same expression of empty tiredness that was probably on his own face. "I'll help," Hajime heard himself say. "What do I need to do?"

An hour, after the nightly announcement Hajime, slumped in a chair exhaustion creeping up on him. He was in the hotel's restaurant helping Hiyoko set up her memorial for Mahiru. Letting out a sizable yawn, he looked at his handiwork. The alter/shrine? Hajime didn't quite know what to call it. It was set up to the side of the room as to not take up too much space. It was made up of bone candles and skulls, most of which Hajime had to carry from the market down the street. With the skulls and bone candles everywhere, Hajime thought that he'd be more creeped out by the display, but he wasn't. Not completely anyway. Perhaps it was because he had helped work on it and he felt some pride coming from his work. Or Hajime guessed it had to do with the photos. In front of the skulls and candles, Hiyoko had set up a stand displaying the photos Mahiru had taken of events and of different people on the island. Hiyoko had not yet added his photo to the display which Hajime was thankful for. Seeing Mahiru's handiwork every day would be bad enough, that photos as well would tear him up inside.

Hajime stood up, in part to keep himself from falling asleep but also to keep his mind from straying. He checked the restaurant finally realizing that Hiyoko hadn't returned from her last trip to the store. He checked the 1st floor of the hotel and finding Hiyoko not there he went off to find her.

He first stopped by her cabin, seeing no lights on, he then headed for the store. The night air was cool as Hajime walked towards the Rocketpunch Market. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he walked, his exhaustion slowly overcoming every part of him. Hajime managed to reach the Rocketpunch market without falling asleep and hurriedly ducked inside.

"Hiyoko," Hajime called as he walked in. "Are you in here." Silence greeted him and worry slowly crept in on him. He shook it off, no use getting jumpy yet. Hajime began to do a quick search of the small store and found Hiyoko with relative ease. She was sitting in the corner of the room and was clutching at something. "Hiyoko," Hajime called approaching cautiously.

She looked up at him in surprise but relaxed when she saw it was him. "Hajime, don't sneak up on me like that." Hajime shrugged and didn't point out that he didn't sneak up on her. "Let's go," he said covering his mouth from a yawn. "It's late." "But Mahiru's memorial," Hiyoko protested.

"I've been working on it," Hajime explained. "And we can finish tomorrow." Hiyoko was about to complain but a yawn cut her off. "You're right," she acknowledged. She stood up shakily then looked at the photo she was holding. The one he had given her Hajime realized.

"She truly was an amazing girl wasn't she," Hajime said after a moment of silence. Hiyoko gave a simple nod as she continued to stare at the photo. Then the tears slowly came. She attempted to hold them back, but it was a losing battle. Hiyoko grabbed at Hajime's shirt, her tears half-blinding her. She opened her mouth to speak but her words were cut off as another racking sob went through her. She buried her face in his shirt.

Hajime reacted slowly at first too stunned to even react. He never had to comfort someone like this. He had never felt these emotions before. Or at least he couldn't remember if he had or not, memory loss and all. She was still sobbing into his shirt he patted her on the shoulder and gave some words of encouragement. It didn't work and he knew it wouldn't have worked. It didn't help him, why would it work for her? Hajime questioned, but that was to avoid thinking about the real question. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Hajime bent down and gave the girl an awkward hug.

"I'm sorry, " he whispered. Hiyoko cried harder. "I wish I could do something." "I...its not fair, " Hiyoko muttered through sobs. Hajime nodded. It truly wasn't. The killings, the class trials. None of this.

"I miss her," Hiyoko admitted. "I … miss." Hiyoko statement was cut off as another sob came out. Hajime nodded. "I do too," he admitted.

Then thoughts of Mahiru and memories of her came swirling up again along with tears. He tried to block them, to shove them away but they continued to come. Their brief time together, their first awkward date, and so much more. Hajime allowed himself to cry and for a moment to think of Mahiru.

Hajime felt Hiyoko wrap her own arms around him. It seemed it was her turn to comfort him. He hugged her back and cried a bit harder this time. They were like that for a long moment both holding each other and crying. Eventually, Hajime ran out of tears to shed and was reduced to a sniffle. It seemed Hiyoko had likewise stopped crying as she pulled away from him. Hajime blinked to clear his eyes then looked at Hiyoko who looked like Hajime felt. "We should really get to bed," Hajime noted. A yawn escaped from the Ultimate's mouth and she nodded sluggishly.

Rubbing her eyes, with one hand she grabbed one of Hajime's hands. Yawning himself, Hajime started to walk with his fellow islander toward the hotel site. The walk was uneventful, the two didn't talk with one another. They simply enjoyed the silence and each other's company. In hardly anytime at all, they reached the hotel site and Hiyoko let go of his hand. She did a quick survey to make sure no one was around then. "Thank you, " she said. Then she rushed toward her cabin and disappeared inside. Nodding to himself, He walked toward his own cabin. His thoughts were a jumble and he didn't have the energy to clear them. He made it to his cabin and once inside locked the door and made sure no one had entered. It was just like he left it. Everything in its proper place. He had barely taken a step before he heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called. " A killer," Hiyoko's voice answered. "Now let me in." Hajime had a mini-debate with himself about opening the door, his conscience won, and he opened it. There stood Hiyoko looking dead tired, clutching her pillow. Although she attempted to glare at him Hajime noticed it was only half-hearted. "I'm sleeping here tonight." The girl explained although it sounded more like a question than a declaration. Hajime just nodded moving so she could enter. She did so and looked around the room. Hajime could tell there was an insult waiting but it never came. "I just need a place to stay for the night." She explained. "I just..." She trailed off and Hajime just nodded. "You can have-" Hajime stopped when he saw the girl climb into his bed. He sighed. "I'll take the couch." Hiyoko made herself comfortable on the bed and looked at Hajime. "Thanks," she blurted. Then softer. "Thank you, Hajime, for everything."

"Your welcome, just get some sleep." Hajime could feel his own tiredness creeping up on him, more like chasing him. He went to lie down on the couch but Hiyoko's words stopped him. "Hajime, could you be near me." Hajime looked at Hiyoko then at the bed. It might be enough room for the two of them. Hajime thought but do I really want to share a bed with her. Hajime was going to voice the objections but Hiyoko beat him to speaking. "Not with me you idiot pedo, " she snapped. Then she looked away. "Just near me." She whispered. Hajime sighed at least she seemed to be becoming her old self again which Hajime figured was good. Not saying anything to her insult, he simply pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Happy?" He asked tiredly. Hiyoko gave the briefest nod. "I think so," Hajime sat in the uncomfortable chair waiting for his guest to fall asleep. He watched her as she tossed and turned trying to fall asleep. He tried to calm her he placed his hand on hers. "It's okay, I'm here." She grabbed onto Hajime's arm like it was a life preserver, and relaxed a bit although not quite asleep yet. As time ticked on, neither of the two had fallen asleep. And the silence was starting to get heavy. "Did you love her?" Hiyoko asked randomly. Hajime started, not quite expecting that. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. His own feelings were a jumble still, he knew he had felt something for her. Something deep. But the feeling was too foreign and lose to put into words. "I think I did, " Hajime replied tears slowly forming again. I... I" he trailed off. He let the silence return not finishing his own thoughts and Hiyoko didn't press the subject.

When Hajime figured Hiyoko had fallen asleep, he attempted to get up but was stopped by Hiyoko clutching at his arm tighter. "Don't go, " the young girl whispered. Hajime noticed a shudder go through the girl. "I won't" Hajime promised. She seemed to relax and a moment later she was asleep. Hajime once again thought about freeing his arm but decided against it. He tried and failed to relax in the uncomfortable chair. It was a struggle trying to find the right spot. The chair had likely been crafted as a torture device by Monokuma because it was the most uncomfortable thing Hajime had ever sat in. Eventually, as dawn slowly approached, Hajime's exhaustion won and despite how uncomfortable he was he fell into an oddly pleasant sleep.

A/N: I apologize if the characters seemed to OOC. Thank you for reading and have a great day.