#puts my hands on my knees and wheezes like i'm winded

[oldxenomorph]

friends, folks, gamers. submitted my last final.

and so, i have completed my first quarter as a phd student. 😎

[nekoramen]

content;

kuroo tetsuro. semi-angst, comedy, semi-fluff. best friends au, unrequited love / yearning (kuroo's pov), post-college au. mentions of bokuto x reader. 2,110 words.

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol + drinking, swearing

might be ooc; i like goofy men and kuroo is goofy

please watch 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' if you haven't already!!

it's assumed that kuroo, reader, and bokuto are all friends

"kuroo. give. it."

kuroo smirks, holding your remote just out of reach with those long, gangly limbs of his. he pushes and play-slaps at you as you try (weakly) to take it back. "dude, we have literally watched 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' for the last ten movie nights in a row now. how are you not tired of it yet."

you roll your eyes. "first of all, it's only been nine times. second," you eye him, "you are not depriving me of my man matthew mcconaughey. not tonight."

this. is. war. to be fair, he started it and you were just taking the necessary measures.

you lunge at him and your fingers find his sides. you dig and tickle him without remorse. he gasps between laughs as he tries to escape you, writhing and retreating until he was cornered and pressed against the couch arm.

"stop, stop, please! okay, okay," he wheezes and goes limp against the arm in defeat. you relent with a cackle. in the few seconds you take to pluck the remote from him though, there's a few things he lingers on:

you, hovering above him with your knees planted on either side of him, body almost pressed against his. you're warm.

that wide, dorky grin of yours. the absurd frenzy in your eyes when you get competitive and a little childish.

the brush of your hand over his. it's tingly.

the flips in his stomach and the tightening of his chest when you've pulled away.

kuroo swats at the thoughts. they keep creeping up from your persistence to watch this god-forsaken movie combined with his love for antics but nope. nope. nope. stop it. head empty please.

he doesn't think further on it anyways (as least not too hard) because 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' is playing (yet again) and to be honest, it's so fucking good. not that he'd ever make you privy to that thought; partially because he doesn't want to admit that he actually likes it after the countless times you'd badgered him to watch it while he refused and hated on it for no good reason. (he gave in on your birthday. no regrets.)

mostly, though, it's because he quite likes the routine. he steals the remote, you fight for it, you... fuck. stop. don't think about it.

"tetsu," you whisper.

"hm?" he snaps his head towards you, eager to escape his brain. you're silent, brows furrowed and poor lip gnawed at ruthlessly. he slowly leans towards you, stone-faced.

a blink, two, and he drawls out in his raspiest voice, "why… so... serious?"

you splutter out a laugh and he grins. it's wonderful, your laugh. it’s wind-chimes on a clear spring day, the crash of a cool summer sea on his skin, sunrays filtering through a cloudy sky. his gaze lingers on you, but you soon turn away back to the screen.

"____. i know your husband is very handsome, but are you okay?" he gently pokes your shoulder. "you seem down. don't wanna talk about it with your bestie?"

you cringe but he pulls another chuckle from you. your bestie, dependable as ever, can always put a smile on your face, you'll give him that. even if he's annoying 99.999999% of the time.

you beckon to your cat charlie from his post and he trots over, his grand fluffiness and all promptly plopping into your lap. you pet him a few, gentle purrs as your reward.

finally, you face kuroo again. "i'm gonna do it," you squeak out.

kuroo hums. "do what?"

"it. that." you nod towards the screen. kuroo blinks back at you.

"i'm... gonna ask him out. bokuto."

you blink at kuroo. he blinks back. matthew (ben) gets up from his stadium seat yet again for a soda.

"you're gonna ask him out... like you said you would the last ten times?"

"charlie." you point to kuroo. "attack."

"meow."

you just had to get the 0.00000001% saint of a cat.

"i really will this time though," you sigh. even you can’t convince yourself of it.

"it's okay to be nervous. you're great and i'm sure he'd be so freaking happy to go out with you." he smiles at you. "you can do this. you got this." he knows you won't do it, but he knows proper bestie behavior.

you stare ahead but he can see you biting back a grin.

"okay," you finally mutter and turn to him, shoulders untensed. "thanks, tetsu. i think i really can do it."

"of course." you both concentrate back on the movie for some time until he leans back over. "i know this is your favorite comfort movie, but did you choose it specifically to try and manifest andie?”

you tense.

"you gonna channel her? all her charm and confidence? oh god… the craziness...? yours isn't fake though. poor bokuto doesn’t know what’s coming," he teases.

you punch his arm but you can’t hide your sheepish smile. "stop perceiving me."

+++++

it's another three fridays until you and kuroo have another movie night. such is the life of a new college grad, working overtime and grabbing drinks with coworkers until your respective projects finally die down a bit and you can both find some time.

"kirin secured!" kuroo calls out as he bustles into your apartment. it’s been too long since he’s been here. since he’s seen you. "i don't know how you like this stuff. beer is fucking disgusting. soju is where it's at."

"first of all, don't yuck my yum. second, fried chicken is literally the best but i still got you your favorite beef skewers without complaining when, frankly, you're wrong and it should be fried chicken tonight."

"you're literally complaining."

you stick your tongue out at him.

kuroo sets out the food on the coffee table in front of the tv as you lay out pillows and blankets for some royally cozy floor seating. once the both of you sink into the sea of softness, you hand him the remote.

his brows surpass his hairline. "you don't wanna choose?" he asks.

you shake your head, grinning wide. "you've put up with me for so many movie nights in a row, i can let you have this one time."

"wow. how generous of you." he snickers. maybe he can finally blow off the dust that had been collecting on his to-watch list.

"so, what’s got you celebrating? did you get a good performance review?" he asks as he endlessly scrolls through the list on his phone.

"mmm..."

he looks up. you still don that big, dorky smile. "what? what is it?"

unable to take it anymore, you abruptly grab his shoulders. "i did it."

he responds with a blank stare.

"oh my god." you roll your eyes. "i did it! i fucking did it, kuroo!" you shake him violently. "i did it!"

"you have to realize i can't read your mind," he says, his head nearly snapping off.

"i asked bokuto out on a date!"

he clasps his hands over yours. you stop shaking him. "...really?" he says slowly, quietly.

"yes!" you exclaim. "and get this—he said yes! like, immediately! he seemed so excited about it too! god, i, i can't even believe i did it, well to be honest i had a couple drinks that day with my team but i called him and he came and i just did it and he said he was literally thinking about asking me out too but he kept chickening out and he was so sweet and helped make plans while he drove me home and he made sure i got inside before leaving and—"

"that's... that's great." he pats your hands.

but all too sudden for his heart, especially after your spiel, he’s tugged into into a crushing hug.

“thank you, tetsu,” you murmur. you pull back a bit and somehow you’re not the least fazed by the closeness of your faces. “i couldn’t have done this without you. for real. your words helped me find the courage, you know?”

kuroo’s heart dissolves in the pit of his stomach, but he still manages a smile. “of course. and i meant every word.”

he turns back to his list, letting his smile fade but you add, “god, i’m so excited for tomorrow.”

he eyes you. “tomorrow… is your date tomorrow?”

you’re practically vibrating in your seat and you happily pull off a cube of meat from your skewer. “yep!” you say between chews.

kuroo forces the corners of his mouth to curve upward again. just a little bit longer. “that’s great!” he cheers and sets down his phone. he picks up the remote and quickly clicks through a well-known path before pressing play.

“how to lose a guy in 10 days?” you say incredulously, wide-eyed and head tilted.

he nods. “yep.” you’re still staring in his peripheral. “i just need it,” he relents with a sigh.

“you… need it?”

he looks pointedly at you for a few seconds before slowly turning back to the screen. “matthew mcconaughey.”

+++++

curse bestie behavior.

he shouldn’t be here. not when you’re getting ready for your date, not when you’re grinning ear to ear thinking about said date, not when he’s nauseated thinking about you grinning ear to ear thinking about said date. no.

your singing floats softly from your bedroom to kuroo in the living room. he sighs, gazing out your window to the neighborhood while cradling charlie. it’s a beautiful sunny day. disgusting.

he holds charlie up facing him. “i can do it. i can do it. right? you believe in me, don’t you, charlie?”

“meow.”

“thank you. i appreciate it.”

there’s a creak of a door behind him, and he turns. you’re stunning. he glances at the floor because he’s sure his heart has leapt out of his chest but no, somehow it’s still stuttering in there. you look so magnificent. and most noticeably, happy.

“good?” you ask, fidgeting with your fingers.

“of course! you look great,” he replies with a tight smile.

“thanks," you reply, beaming and far too giddy to note how quickly the corners of kuroo's mouth droop.

he watches you pace around, gathering your things and alternating between checking your appearance in your camera and your text messages.

"____."

"hm?"

he opens his mouth but you fill his sight with that poor gnawed lip, worry creasing your brows, and your tremor from all the capped anxiety and excitement.

he closes his mouth and walks over to you, passing you charlie and placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

"don't worry," he says, confident and assured. "you'll be fine. he'll have such a good time with you and i'm sure you will too." he gives your shoulders a light squeeze. "i'm sure of it."

you breathe out a heavy sigh. leaning forward, you lightly tap your forehead on his shoulder. "honestly i think i'm gonna throw up, but that helped a lot. thanks, kuroo. seriously."

you pet charlie, visibly more relaxed from kuroo's words, and he's able to give you his first sincere smile today. he wants to savor this, you and him, you being any bit happier because of him. he soaks up the sight of you for another beat before opening his mouth again.

but a ping of your phone jolts you. you thrust charlie back into kuroo's arms, grabbing your things and quickly glancing at your phone before rushing to the door.

"wish me luck!" you exclaim with a frantic wave of your hand before you disappear from sight.

kuroo deflates and looks down at charlie. round green orbs blink back.

"you're right," kuroo nods. "i'm gonna do it."

he bolts for the door and steps out, eyes locking onto your figure, a bounce in your every step.

"____!"

you halt and glance back. you're beaming from ear to ear, maybe the biggest smile he's ever seen on you. it's blinding. several feet behind you, he sees bokuto leaning against the passenger door of his car. he's grinning as per usual, and seeing kuroo, he gives an enthusiastic wave.

"what's up?" you call back.

kuroo stares at you for a moment, lip between his teeth and chest rising and falling several beats too quickly.

finally, he simply raises charlie above his head, simba-style.

"charlie says 'have fun,'" he musters weakly, accompanied by a small wiggle of your furry companion.

you giggle and wave back at the pair before bouncing over to bokuto.

kuroo hurries back inside, closing the door and leaning back against it. he sinks his face into charlie's unending fluff, releasing a huge sigh.

"fuck," he says, muffled.

"meow."

fuck indeed.

[alpineshift]

Oooh

eye trauma fic

?!? Please tell me more. Is this angsty because I’m totally here for that! And if it’s not then I’m still totally hete for it, always love your writing. 🩵

Plus: status on the Reporter AU? 😬

Gonna start signing off with this now 🧀

the eye fic 👁👄👁 it is kind of angsty! in yet another magical realism (I'm very predictable), underworld-ish setting, both Jack and Nico are on the run and they're both missing an eye. so I will say, if you're not into that kind of thing/find it icky, give this one a pass! but other than that...I don't want to reveal too much, just bc it's hard to describe without giving too much away LOL

and reporter au!! I'm sweating. I wrote a little more. but not a lot 🥲 I will happily share the little addition I have tho!! for my cheese pal!! 😊🧀

eye trauma fic

"Let go of him," the smaller man snarls from the floor, in spite of the guard's beefy arm mashing his face into the grimy stone ground. He writhes like a man possessed until the guard lifts him and slams him hard again, and the wind is knocked out of him. He wheezes for breaths while his companion sits stiffly and awkwardly on his knees, arms wrenched behind him in a tight hold.

The captain swaggers forward and rips his hood off in relish. For a delicate moment, everyone in the tavern seems to inhale and hold their breaths, waiting for something terrible to happen next.

But nothing does. The men stare down at the figure on his knees. The man on his knees stares right back.

"Captain?" one of the guards asks, uncertainly. The Wanted poster hangs limply in his hand. The sketch on it shows a young man, with close-cropped hair and a straight nose, dark eyes looking up in a striking gaze.

The man on his knees has long, scraggly hair, and a full beard. His nose looks a little more crooked. But more importantly, his left eye is covered by a thick leather patch, and the eye on the right looking up at the guards is a sharp, stunning lake-blue.

reporter au

“It’s nice talking to you, Jack,” Nico says, and he reaches out and catches Jack by the elbow. Jack’s brain immediately whites out. “During games, after them, and outside of them. You’re a genuinely interesting guy, so don’t talk about yourself like that, alright? I wouldn’t be here if you pissed me off.”

“Oh,” Jack says, a little faintly. “That’s. That’s nice. You’re smooth as shit, Nico.”

Nico flashes an amused smile at him. “Well, I do talk a lot for a living,” he says. His gaze darts over Jack’s form, and then he suddenly puts the car in park and just. Gets out of his car. Walks all the way around. And carefully eases Jack’s passenger door open.

He offers his hand and Jack takes it, blankly, allowing Nico to help him out of the car.

“Can you get upstairs okay?” Nico asks. They’re standing pretty close to each other. Jack can feel the warmth radiating off Nico’s front, even through their jackets.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

+ (also) +

Fuck it, Jack thinks, and throws all sense of reservations right out the window. Under the hot, perfect pressure of the shower spray, he takes himself in hand and lets his brain careen into everything he’s suppressed for the night.

Seeing the flush on Nico’s face as he laughs at the team’s jokes. The way his hair falls around his face, soft and sleek. The flutter of his lashes, the attractive curve of his mouth, the flutter of his lashes.

The feeling of his palm, hot and sturdy, pressed against Jack’s lower back. The scent of his cologne, deep and unobtrusive. The feeling of his breath against Jack’s ear when he asked him if he wanted to go. And the final nail in the coffin, the absolute K.O.—getting out of his car and helping Jack out of his seat. Who the fuck does all that.

Jack thunks his head against the tile, speeds up the strokes on his cock, and groans softly into the spray of the water.

[braveclementine]

January 13, 2015; 5:15 P.M.

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

I was on my knees, my arms locked behind me. Emma had been killed and I knew it was only a matter of time that they killed Itty and I.

I knew Ila hadn't killed herself, because she had been in the cell next to me. I barely slept in this room- it was to cold to sleep. I had heard muffled shouts and the sounds of struggling. I knew she really had been hung, under pretenses of suicide, but I knew it was false.

It was all false, just like the other facility. They were still trying to kill us.

I wondered if they'd leave me the last one alive just so that they could say the main character had survived. I had overheard some of them talking about the movie almost being finished and put together.

I wondered if there would be any theaters that would play it.

I wondered if I'd be alive to see it.

But now, Itty and I were forced on our knees in the shower room. Our bodies positioned perfectly over the drains.

"Kill her first." The doctor- Rum- ordered, passing one of the guns to the guard. He put the gun to Itty's head.

"STOP!" I shouted. I already had one of my best friends die. I didn't need Itty to be killed too. "STOP! ITTY!"

One of the guards kicked me in the stomach and the wind was knocked out of me as I curled into myself, wheezing.

Suddenly, the door burst open behind me. I collapsed to the floor as I heard gunshots. I heard a grunt of pain, but the doctors fell around me.

"Y/N."

I rolled over onto my back to see Sebastian leaning over me. There was a handgun in his right hand, his left hand holding a bloody spot on his side.

"Sebastian! Are you alright?" I asked, sitting up, looking around quickly. Itty was fine, getting to her feet shakily, hugging her arms around her body.

"Yes, but we need to go." Sebastian said firmly. "Your parents are outside along with the FBI, Mr. Trump, Downey, and Evans."

I nodded, feeling relieved. "C'mon Itty."

Itty and I headed out of the room, following Sebastian who didn't lower his gun until we were outside.

"Y/N!" My mom shrieked, pulling me into a tight hug. Over her shoulder I could see Itty's parents running down the slope, breaking through the FBI ring to envelope Itty into a tight, tear-filled hug.

"Hi mom." I whispered weakly.

I hugged my dad next and then took a good look at my surroundings.

Sebastian was being attended to by a handful of medics while Christina Bobb- Mr. Trump's lawyer- stood watch over everything they did.

Downey and Trump were working together, talking to several FBI agents as they rounded up what looked like the guards of the ward.

I just hoped the FBI weren't as corrupt as the police force.

Chris Evans looked completely out of place. I assumed he was simply there for Sebastian.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked, looking at my parents.

"We are now that you're with us." My dad said, hugging me again.

I had only seen my dad cry twice. Once when someone he'd been close to at Church had passed away. And a second time when his brother had passed away.

Oh and I guess a third time when he'd come and seen me in the hospital.

The FBI started to push people into their large black vans, while another half started to infiltrate the rest of the building. They came out with several more people, including Doctor Rum who- though shot and in critical condition- was still alive.

I squeezed my parents hands and carefully made my way over to where Sebastian was sitting alone.

"Are you alright?" I asked softly.

"Yes, don't worry about me." Sebastian said, picking up my hand and kissing the back of it. "What about you? Did they hurt you? Physically? Mentally? Did any of the male doctors break your personal bubble?"

"Just some bruises." I whispered. "But no, none of them tried to rape me or even touch me. I'm okay Sebastian."

"Good." He whispered. "I mean, I know you're not really okay, but I'm glad you're safe."

I smiled, sitting down next to him. "So I see Downey and Trump are becoming great friends."

"Well they have a common goal." Sebastian laughed. "But their huge egos clash with each other."

I giggled, resting my head on Sebastian's shoulder. "So, meet any interesting girls during therapy?'

"Well, my therapist seems a little crazy. Her name is Virginia. You might like her actually. But nope. The only woman I have my eyes set on is you." Sebastian said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to pull me closer.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" I asked curiously. "I thought Hollywood stars were adverse to weapons. You know, ban the second amendment and all of that."

"Well, usually." Sebastian said. "And I was one of those people. Kind've stupid now, look what good use it came in. I think I'm going to keep it too. Make sure I can protect you for as long as you stay with me. But yeah, I kind've practiced in a shooting range in Arizona."

"Well a man with a gun is a very sexy thing." I teased, kissing his cheek. "Thank you for protecting me."

"I'll always be here for you." Sebastian murmured. "I promise."

We were quiet for a moment and then Sebastian asked, "Will your dad shoot me if I ask for his permission to marry you?"

"Um, maybe." I laughed.

"Oh well, I'll just make sure to put on some bullet proof vests then." Sebastian said.

"Don't you want to get to know me first?" I teased.

Sebastian stared at me with those blue eyes that I found irresistible. "I know everything I need to know to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And everything else that I don't know yet, I can learn over the years of us being married."

"Hmm." I teased. "So even if I'm a Republican?"

"Even then." Sebastian smirked, leaning in and I closed my eyes as we kissed.

"Alright love birds." Downey's care free voice interrupted us. "Break it up. I don't need to see that."

I rolled my eyes as I pulled back from Sebastian.

Downey pointed at me, "Are you sure you want this old man anyways? Evans is free too you know."

"Chris is a year older than me." Sebastian rolled his eyes. "If I'm old, he's ancient."

I giggled. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Oh well." Downey sighed. "Welcome to the Marvel family."

"Not yet." Sebastian said in a fake serious voice. "First I gotta make sure not to get shot by her father."

"Oh true." Downey said thoughtfully. "I'd shoot anyone who asked for my daughters' hand in marriage."

I smiled. "What are you guys going to do?"

"Well, Donald over here is thinking about running for Presidency. He wants me to run as Vice President. Maybe I can add politician to my resume." Downey said with a grin.

"Really?" Sebastian asked, sounding surprised.

"Nope. Well, not about joining. I have a movie contract that'll prevent me from running with him." Downey said with a shrug. "Oh well, maybe the second term."

My parents came over then. They seemed much calmer now. My father was even smiling as Evans and Trump spoke to them.

My father glared at Sebastian though, when his eyes landed on him. I just smiled, lacing my fingers through Sebastian's.

"So." My dad said, moving between the two of us, threatening to sit on our arms still we snatched our hands back to our bodies. He looked between the two of us, crossing his arms over his chest. "Was there something you two would like to tell me?"

"Well, I was going to wait. . ." Sebastian muttered. "But I would like your permission to marry your daughter."

"I'm sure you would like that." Dad said.

I smiled a little. I knew dad liked him much more than he was letting on.

Sebastian looked nervous and said, "Er- may I marry your daughter?"

"When you sound less uncertain." my father deadpanned.

"Should I demand it?" Sebastian pretended to whisper over to me.

I giggled. "Dad, lighten up."

Dad did lighten up, pulling me into a hug, kissing the top of my head, "Are you sure this is what you want?" My dad asked me quietly. "He is substantially older than you. At least ten years. That's a mighty gap, especially when you guys get older with health problems."

"Yes dad, I'm sure." I whispered.

"You have my permission." My father said to Sebastian. "But if you hurt her once you'll be spitting bullets out of your asshole."

"Yes sir." Sebastian said, looking alarmed.

My dad kissed the top of my head once more before leaving the two of us alone so that he could go back over to my mother, pulling her into a side hug.

"He didn't shoot me." Sebastian said happily.

I giggled. "What a relief."

I quieted down a little and asked, "Is Emma. . ."

"Sorry doll." Sebastian said quietly. "Trump and Bobb really did almost get her out. They were supposed to get her the same day she died."

I nodded. "Thank you for trying at least. I'll make sure to thank Mr. Trump later."

It was another couple of hours before we could actually leave. My parents were going to take me back home and Sebastian was to return to California with Downey.

"I'm gonna be back next week." Sebastian said, pulling me into a hug. "With a proper ring and all of that. I love you."

I smiled. "I love you too."

"C'mon Pumpkin." My dad said, and I pulled away from Sebastian slowly to join my parents side. My parents had me sit between them in the car so that they could ruffle my hair affectionately or hold my hand. My mother burst into happy tears again.

I was finally on my way home.

⬅️➡️

[direwombat]

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton on this wip wednesday 💕

tagging @adelaidedrubman, @detectivelokis, @strangefable, @strafethesesinners, @fourlittleseedlings, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @kittiofdoom, @baldurrs, @poetikat, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood, @purplehairsecretlair, @inafieldofdaisies, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @roofgeese, @passinoutpieces, @gaeadene, and anyone else wanting to share something they've made! No pressure as always and if we're moots and I didn't tag you 1) I'm so sorry and 2) please consider yourself tagged as well lemme see what you're working on

Anyway, been knee deep in plotting kneeling at the crossroads recently so i haven't really written much, but here's a recycled bit from fragile creatures chapter 8 (pay no mind that ch 6 still isnt finished and neither is ch 7) that i posted last week (but not as a wip wednesday) ♻️♻️♻️

Slowly, Jacob lifts his hands and turns around to face his attacker. She stands only a few yards away, her rifle trained on him. “Tell me, Deputy,” he drawls, not bothering to hide the way his eyes rake over her form, and enjoying just how good she looks wearing his jacket. Her posture is tense, as if bracing for the shot she hasn’t even fired yet. But her finger is on the guard, not the trigger. She isn’t going to shoot him, “Was it luck or skill that you found me?”

The Deputy’s face twitches, her nose scrunching in a way that might have been cute on anyone else. She keeps her rifle pointed at his chest. “What’s it matter,” she sneers. “You’re the one in my crosshairs.”

“It matters,” he starts, taking a single step towards her. Testing. Taunting. Her feet remain planted where they are, but she flinches and curls back, ever so slightly. Barely perceptible, but just enough to get a smile to stretch across his lips. “Because luck runs out.” 

He takes another step forward, this time more confidently. And just as he thought, she takes one step back to maintain her distance. 

Unfortunately for her, the log she’s in front of doesn’t move with her. Her calf makes contact with it and her eyes go wide. But at that point, it’s too late. Her upper body keeps moving backwards. Then down. She falls back, and just before gravity finishes the job, Jacob surges forward, snatching the gun from her hands. 

She lands gracelessly on her back amidst the pine and fallen leaves. The wind is pushed from her lungs in an audible “oof” that’s followed by a creaking wheeze. 

And just to pour a little more salt in the wound, Jacob points the barrel of her own gun in her face. “Skill doesn’t.”

If she had put an ounce of effort into applying the murderous look reddening her face, he’d be dead a thousand times over. His smile widens.

Lowering the weapon, he extends his arm, holding out his right hand for her. 

The Deputy stares at it for a long moment, her jaw clenching and lips twitching. “What the Hell are you playing at?” she asks suspiciously. 

“I was enjoying a nice hunt,” he says. “You were the one who came in wanting to play games.”

She rolls her eyes. “Can’t imagine what that’s like,” she deadpans. 

“There ain’t nothing nice about how you hunt, sweetheart,” Jacob snorts. He curls his fingers beckoningly. “C’mon. Get up.”

The Deputy makes a low sound in her throat, something akin to a growl, but it isn’t directed at him. Her hand thrusts out to grasp his, and for just a moment he braces himself in case she tries to get clever and drag him down to her. 

But she doesn’t. 

Her hand wraps around his own, gripping it far more firmly than he had anticipated. He helps haul her to her feet, and she looks pissed off about it the entire time. 

She takes a moment to brush herself off, pointedly not looking at him while she does. “I suppose it’d be too much to ask for my gun back,” she says, glaring up at him. 

He looks thoughtfully at the rifle, making a show of considering a decision he’s already made. With a shrug, he holds her weapon out. “I’ve already got one,” he says, adjusting the shoulder strap of his MBP .50. Then, more seriously, he adds, “You really need to clean that thing.”

“You’re a dick,” she mutters, snatching her gun from his hands. 

[darkseraphscorner]

Neph stood in the arena of the underground, the cheers of crowd echoing in her ear as she grins, lapping it up, this was what she wanted, the thrill of the fight, the crowed adoration, she felt alive.

"Hey tin can, want a real fight?" A voice called out, the crowds cheer dying down as Neph spun.

"Who... Dares.... To..." She trails off as she sees who challenged her. "Aunt Vi?"

Vi leap into the arena, missing her trade mark atlas gauntlets, she cracked her bound hands and smirked. "I may live top side, but rumour comes my way of someone making noise in my old stomping ground." She raises her hands into fists. "Let's go."

Neph looked around, spying Jinx on the side line, shrugging as the crowed started to cheer Vi's name.

Woodkid "To ashes and Blood."

"Wel, Aunt, gonna be easy with out those fancy gloves of yours." Neph says, taking up her pose.

A ref runs into the arena, raising his hand as he bellows. "Fight!"

Neph stepped forward to punch, only for Vi to dance under her blow and slam her fist into the golems gut, knocking the wind out of her. "The fuck?" She wheezed, staggering back.

Vi rose and smirked. "Kid, I was punching well above my grade before I got my gloves." She laughs and leaps in again, her fists like hammer blows, Neph on the back foot as her aunt pumbled the snot out of her. "Don't know what Jinx put in your head kid, but you don't want this life."

Neph gritted her teeth, weaving to one side and grabbing Vi's outstretched arm. "No aunt, I'm exactly where I want to be." She spits blood as her free hand blurs, cracking into Vi's face.

Vi's head rocks back... Before swinging back in a hammer blow headbutt, blood flowing freely as Neph's glasses crunch under the strike, falling uselessly away.

Squinting, Neph snarled and steps in close, metal fists firing like pistons as she tries to put Vi on the back foot, but the enforcer just rolled with the blows. "Maybe you are, maybe I'm sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong, but got to look after family." She says.

Neph snorts, blood flowing freely from her nose. "Touched, first time I seen you in years and you try to parent me? I'm old enough to pick my own path."

Vi and Neph danced around the arena, blow after blow hammering into each fighter, but Vi's experience was winning out as the minutes pass.

Dropping to one knee, Neph pants, her body aches... She can't lose.

Vi slowly walks up, rolling her shoulders. "No hard feelings kid." Her right fist lashes out, cracking Neph in the side of her head, the golems eyes rolling into her skull as she collapses.

Kneeling down, Vi drags Neph to her feet, rating her on her shoulder. "Not bad kid, cracked some ribs... But I just been doing this longer than you."

[z-ancunin]

Keep My Distance (John Wick x Reader)❤️🧡

| John Wick x fem!reader | Warnings: angst, language, blood, injury, SMUT- oral receiving, rough, breeding kink | It had been a year since you'd seen John. After finding out what he did for a living, he dissapeared from your life. But fate seems to have other plans. |

"It's for your safety Y/n. This kind of life isn't suited for people like you. I'm sorry. This is where we go our separate ways."

Those were the last words John had said to you before completely disappearing from your life. Almost like he had never existed.

You were shattered.

No one had ever made your heart so happy, and he wasn't there anymore. Not being able to have him only made you crave him more. His touch. His taste. His smell. His voice. God, it gave you shivers whenever he called your name. You missed him more than anything in your life. Your pillow had lost the scent of his hair, so it was no longer a replacement for your lost lover. Not that it was an adequate replacement, nothing could fill the hole he left.

You stayed in bed most of the day, only rising to eat or use the bathroom. You took time off from the hospital where you worked. Thankfully you had some paid vacation time, so you used it. You were a mess. Despite sleeping for most of the days, your eyes were still tired. Permanently red and puffy from the night that John ripped your heart out. Sometimes you would cry so hard it became difficult to breathe. Silently sobbing on your knees, unable to make a sound. It was awful.

A year went by, and even still you found some days harder than others. You hadn't forgotten about John, rather pushed him to the very back of your brain so you wouldn't think about him. Piece by piece you put yourself back together. You were starting to feel human again. Your co-workers noticed that your smile had come back again, although no one knew what had caused it to leave in the first place. Hell, you even got a promotion! A pay raise too. Things were finally looking up for you. You were almost back to where you had started.

Until the past decided to put your strength to the test.

You were curled up on your couch reading a book when you heard a frantic knock at your door. You shut your book and slowly stood up. More knocking quickly followed. Who could be at your door so late? It was nearly 11:00pm. You pulled your blanket over your shoulders and walked to the front door. You shakily reached your hand out to unlock it when the knocking started again.

"Okay, okay jeez!" you yelled as you flung the door open.

The sight knocked the wind out of your lungs. There was John. Slightly hunched over and bleeding from his side.

"Y/n...help." John wheezed as he collapsed at your doorstep.

"John!" you cried as you caught him from reaching the floor. "What the hell happened?" you helped him back on his feet and guided him to your couch. You ran back to the door and looked out into the night. There was no one else out there, at least that you could see. You turned your attention back to John and sucked in a breath.

You had been doing so good. Almost over him. But it wouldn't have been that easy, no. Life always threw you the worst curveballs, and it seemed like this was one of them. And now John was here in your living room, bleeding on your couch.

Bleeding.

Fuck.

You sprung into action and grabbed the first aid kit from your bathroom. You ran back to John's side and opened up the box.

"What happened?" you asked.

"Bullet wound." John grunted.

Oh. That's right. Part of his job that he had to protect you from. But if that was the case, then why was he here?

"Take off your jacket and shirt. I need to see the injury." you started pulling gauze and a bullet puller out of your kit.

John complied and stripped himself so his bare chest was visible to you. God, his abs looked even better than when you had last seen them.

Fucking focus, Y/n, you mentally scolded yourself. He's still bleeding.

"This is gonna hurt." you warned.

John shifted to give you a better angle. "Just do it."

You moved the puller into the flesh of his side and began extracting the bullet. Focus now, scream later. You wanted to give John a piece of your mind after coming back here, but you were wise enough to know that his situation must be pretty dire if he'd come all this way to you.

"I'm sorry for coming back." John said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Seems like you had nowhere else to go." you said plainly. "There." you carefully removed the tool with the bullet inside. Taking an antiseptic wipe, you cleaned the edges of the hole, making John wince slightly. After wiping it down, you grabbed thick layers of gauze and instructed John to hold them over the wound. You took some wrap to hold the pads in place. Once you were finished, you stood and silently went to wash your hands in the kitchen sink.

John stood up and made his way over to you. "Y/n, I-"

"Don't." you snapped, your voice sharp as a knife. "You abandoned me, left me alone in the cold with no warning. You don't talk to me for over me for a year, and then one night you suddenly decide to come back and ask for my help? You've got some fuckin' nerve John Wick."

"Listen, I'm sorry. I told you, it was for your own safety. I'm an assassin. Trained to kill. That kind of life doesn't have room for someone like you." John stepped towards you.

"Someone like me?" you sneered. "What am I? Weak?"

"No, you're not weak. Your my weakness. Someone that other assassins and mob bosses would happily go for to teach me a lesson. They burned down my fucking house Y/n. If you had still been with me, you would've been dead too." John closed the gap between you two and grabbed your arms. "I won't put you at risk like that. Not now, not ever."

"You could protect me, I know you're more than capable."

John rolled his eyes, but you cut him off before he could say anything.

"Or you could teach me to protect myself. I'm not as soft as you think I am. I could be a badass." you searched his eyes for any emotions.

"Y/n, I don't want to lose you because of my work. I can't." John whispered. "That day I said goodbye to you was the worst day of my life. It tore me apart. I haven't been the same without you. I came by your house a few times. I wanted to knock on your door and beg you for forgiveness. I knew coming here would possibly put you at risk, but I really didn’t have anywhere else to go. And…no matter how hard I try, it seems I can’t keep my distance from you.”

Your heartbeat increased at his admission. Even after a year, those feelings were still there. "I’ve been a mess without you." you whimpered. “Every day was the same. I hardly ever left. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or even take care of myself. I tried calling you, but I never got through. It was like you never existed. I've...missed you a lot."

John didn't speak. Instead he lowered his head and pulled you in for a kiss. He moved his hands to the back of your head and held them there.

You stood up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your whole body was burning with desire. Your underwear was already wet just from kissing him.

"Y/n," John panted.

You kissed him again. "Shut up and kiss me."

John's hands moved their way down, over the curve of your breasts and down to your hips. In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the kitchen counter and moved in between your legs.

You wrapped yourself around him, making sure to avoid the wound on his side. Your hands combed through his long, dark hair. God, you missed this. The passion between you too was intense.

John began moving his clothed erection against your core, making you whimper. John took this opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth and explore.

"John," you gasped when you felt his fingers pinch your nipple. "Oh god, John."

"Да любовь?" (Yes, love?)

"I need you, I need you now." you panted.

John broke the kisses and knelt down in between your legs. The nightgown you were wearing was short enough that all he had to do was move your underwear aside and-

"Oh fuck!" you cried out as John began sucking on your clit. You wrapped your legs around his head. One hand braced yourself on the counter, the other tangled itself in John's hair again.

John continued eating you out ravenously. In truth, he missed you too. A lot. He added two fingers into your throbbing pussy while continuing to suck on your precious pearl.

"John, fuck!" you threw your head back. "Need you inside." you pleaded.

With one last lick, John rose to his feet. "Как хочешь, детка." (As you wish, baby.) John unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the side. He pushed his erection out from under his pants and boxers. The tip was red and already sticky with precum. He grabbed your hips and lifted you up off the counter and down onto his cock.

“Fuck!” you both cried out.

You’d forgotten how big he was. The sudden entrance hurt only for a second before you felt overwhelming pleasure. You kissed John roughly and tugged on his hair. “P-please move.” you begged.

John squeezed your ass and walked you over to the couch. He slid out of you and set you down on the floor, making you groan at the loss. But within a second he had turned you around, bent you over the couch, and buried himself balls deep inside your wet pussy.

“Christ!” you screamed out. At this angle, you were at the mercy of John, and it turned you on to no end.

John set a punishing rhythm, practically rocking the couch back and forth. Every time he snapped his hips into you, his balls would smack into your clit. He grabbed onto your hips so he could lift you up slightly and oh-

“Right there! John I need it right there!” you moaned.

Even after a year he still knew how to make you see stars. Normally, you and John wouldn’t fuck like this. It was a little rough, but still tender. This was completely different. It was needy, wild, and animalistic. But you didn’t mind. You’d never felt this good before. The way John was manhandling you, using you how he needed to- It was hot as hell.

“Y/n,” John’s hips stuttered. “I’m close, oh fuck I’m so close. W-where? Where любовь?” (Where baby?)

“Inside! Cum inside me please!” you whined. “Need you to fill me up John, fill me until I can’t hold anymore in me!” you clenched around his cock, making John growl.

“Моя грязная девушка нуждается во мне, чтобы заполнить ее? Хочет, чтобы я ее разводил и ребенка ей в живот посадил?” (Does my dirty girl need me to fill her up? Does she want me to breed her and put a baby in her belly?)

“Y-yes!” you moaned. “I need it John!”

As impossible as it seemed, John began thrusting into you at an even faster pace. Your whines, his load groans, and the slapping of skin filled the room. “Gonna cum Y/n, oh god!” John dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass and pumped his way through his orgasm.

The feeling of his semen coating your walls was enough to make you cum as well. Your pussy spasmed and clenched down on John, milking him for every last drop. Once John had emptied himself, he stilled, basking in the feeling of you wrapped around him. You were both sweaty and panting. When John pulled himself out of you, a little bit of cum leaked from your pussy. He pushed it back in with two fingers, causing you to moan. You scooted off the back of the couch and retrieved your underwear from the floor.

“Y/n,” John said softly, causing you to look up. “I never should have left you. Please understand that my intentions weren’t to hurt you, but to keep you safe. I need you back in my life...if you’ll have me.”

Your heart softened at his words. Of course you wanted him back in your life. You knew now how dangerous his work was, and why he tried to keep you out of harm’s way. “I need you back too John. But I need to trust you again. I need to know that you won’t leave. I can’t…” your throat began to swell up. “I can’t lose you like that again. It was torture. Please don’t leave anymore.” tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Oh любовь (baby), I’m so sorry.” John pulled you into his arms and rubbed your back. “I promise I’m not leaving. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.” he kissed the top of your head.

You hugged him even tighter, not caring about the bullet wound in his side. The road ahead would be a little rocky. There would be good days and bad days. But neither of you minded. You were both willing to put in the work to strengthen your relationship again. And you finally felt peace. You felt safe once more. You had John back, and you never wanted to let go.

[12timetraveler]

Snowdrift

For the Secret Winter Exchange, hosted by @rdrevents I got to write for @cainbutnotabel who requested a little Hosea/reader. I'm so sorry it's so late, life really put a halt on everything for a moment. I hope you enjoy it.

Reader is gender neutral. SFW.

The whole story can be read below or on AO3

"Damn this weather," Hosea huffed, stomping extra hard through the snow for emphasis as he scrubbed his gloved hands together desperately for warmth.

"It's called winter, darlin'," you chuckled, watching your sweetheart grumble as he trudged alongside you. "If you didn't want to be cold, we should have taken my advice and followed the geese south for the winter,"

"Alright, alright smart aleck," Hosea huffed affectionately. "You know it wasn't just my decision. Dutch wanted to stay up here a bit longer and follow that lead,"

"And now we're stuck here until the thaw," you chuckled, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "So you'll just have to tough it out,"

"Ah, what did I ever do to deserve such a cold-hearted sweetheart?" Hosea lamented dramatically. You just rolled your eyes.

You and Hosea had been sent out to gather some wood that could be dried out and eventually used for firewood. You always went through firewood faster than anything else in the winter time, when everyone was cold. Hosea carried the ax and you pulled the small sled behind you to make transporting logs easier.

"Where is this fallen tree everyone's been talking about?" Hosea huffed. "Feels like we're going all the way to Saint Denis,"

"If only," you chuckled. "it's just around the bend here," you assured him.

You and Hosea continued onward, trekking slowly through the snow, which was just high enough to spill over the tops of your boots, soaking your socks and rendering the winter boots useless. It was quite the miserable trek, you had to admit. Even following the deer trail didn't save you much.

As much as you teased him, you couldn't help but worry about your sweetheart. His lungs had been getting worse and worse, and the cold weather was not helping. You subtly listened to every breath from his lungs, aware of every little change in case he took a sharp turn for the worse. Fortunately, it was still only a slight wheeze, and a little crackle if he coughed. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

As you rounded the bend in the ridgeline, your treasure came into view.

A tall lodgepole pine that he'd likely fallen in early spring. Arthur found it the day before the first snow hit, and every day someone from camp came out to harvest more and more of the tree to bring back to camp.

The tree likely was the tallest in the area when it fell. You weren't sure what had caused it to go. Perhaps a mudslide or a strong wind. It had been ripped up, roots and all. It was almost sad to see it go, chopped into pieces and lugged back to camp. But without it you all may freeze.

"Alright," Hosea sighed, stopping alongside one end of the tree. He set down the ax for a moment to rub feeling back into his hands before picking it up once more. "Let's get to work. Sooner we have that sled loaded up, the sooner we can get back to camp.

Hosea began the work of chopping manageable sized logs off of the tree, while you lifted those logs onto the sled. You'd offered to do the chopping, knowing Hosea's shoulders would ache something fierce. But he'd declined, saying his knees and back would hurt worse if he were moving the logs. That probably was a bit of a lie. You could see a familiar determination in his eyes. He wanted to prove he wasn't just some weak old man. Probably more to himself than anyone else. So you agreed.

You also gathered any smaller twigs and branches that you could off the log, strapping them to a sling across your back to carry back for kindling.

It took about an hour to fill the sled with logs. Hosea wasn't complaining about the cold any longer. After the hard work of lopping pieces off the tree, he was sweating even. You could see his shoulders were really starting to hurt too.

"That should be enough," you said. "Any more and I won't be able to pull the sled back to camp,"

Hosea nodded and set the ax down before sitting on the fallen tree. He rolled his shoulders with a groan.

"I'm getting too old for that," he huffed. You stood next to him and rubbed his neck.

"My strong, handsome man," you purred.

"Don't patronize me," he grumbled good naturedly.

"I wasn't," you hummed, dipping your head down to kiss the side of his face. "Come on. Let's get back to camp. Stew should be ready soon and it's hot if nothing else,"

Hosea sighed and nodded, pulling himself up with a grunt. You grabbed the ax and tossed it onto the sled with the wood. With one hand you grabbed the rope on the sled so you could pull it back to camp. The other hand you held out for a moment before Hosea's hand slid in, fingers interlocking with yours. It was a little tricky to hold hands with your thick gloves, but the two of you always managed.

It was slow going back to camp. The sled glided through the snow easily, so there wasn't much friction fighting you, but that didn't mean the sled wasn't heavy, and pulling it was sometimes a challenge. Hosea offered to help pull it, but it was your turn to be a stubborn bastard, and you wouldn't let him help.

With a full sled you couldn't snake across the foothills along the deer trail. It was just too heavy. So you had to take a slightly longer way home. Fresh snow crunched under your boots and the sled hissed as it carved it's way through the snow.

Suddenly your foot slipped out from underneath you, having found a patch of ice under the snow. You scrambled to stay up, but ultimately fell on your back in the snow, foot getting tangled with the ski of your sled.

Hosea flailed for a minute, trying to keep his balance, before he fell to his side in the snow with a grunt.

"You okay?" You asked. Hosea grumbled and huffed for a moment before responding as he sat up.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Just hurt my pride,"

"Good," you said, laugh wavering. Your ankle hurt something fierce, and any attempt to move it sent sharp pain up your leg.

"Are you okay?" Hosea asked, noticing your change in mood.

You hesitated, wanting desperately to keep it from him. But the pain was really picking up.

"No," you groaned. Hosea was on his knees beside you in a moment. "My ankle," you gasped, gesturing to your right leg. Hosea carefully helped untangle your leg from the sled, lifting your ankle up.

"Can you wiggle your foot?" He asked. Through gritted teeth you did as he asked. You felt him gently pressing his fingers along your leg as best as he could around your boot.

"I don't think you broke it," he finally said. "Likely just twisted it something fierce."

Hosea helped you up, ducking under your arm so you could lean your weight on him. "Come on. Let's get back to camp,"

"The wood..." You mumbled, looking back at the sled of wood.

"I'll send John out to get it once we get back. He could stand to do something around camp,"

Slowly you and Hosea limped back to camp, wary of any other hidden ice patches.

Once you did make it back to camp, Hosea barked for John to go get the sled.

"What happened?" Susan asked, coming along your other side to help Hosea get you to your shared tent.

"Slipped on some ice under the snow," you huffed. "Twisted my ankle,"

When you reached your tent, Susan helped you sit on your bedroll while Hosea shucked off his wet coat.

"I'll get some bandages," Susan said.

"And something warm to drink, please?" You asked, trying to stop your teeth from chattering. Susan nodded and ducked out of your tent.

You and Hosea took a moment to shed your wet clothes and change into fresh, dry ones. Hosea had to help you remove your boot. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but you grit your teeth and let him do what he had to.

Susan returned a few minutes later with bandages and the percolator of coffee. She made quick work of wrapping up your foot in bandages before putting a couple large socks over it to keep warm. She then propped it up on a stack of folded blankets to keep it elevated.

Once Susan was done, you flopped back on your bedroll, thoroughly exhausted from your adventure. Hosea lay down next to you with a groan, and you immediately snuggled in closer.

"I hate the snow," Hosea grumbled, pulling you closer, mindful of your foot, so you were cuddling together.

"Agreed," you mumbled. "Let's just hibernate in our tent until spring,"

"Good plan," Hosea chuckled, kissing the top of your head. "Bears have the right idea. Just sleep through the whole thing,"

The two of you fell into an easy silence, and Hosea pulled a quilt over you both so you could snuggle in for a little nap. It was only noon, but you could both certainly use it.

"I love you," you mumbled sleepily.

"I love you too, darlin'," Hosea sighed.

In moments the two of you were fast asleep, snuggled up in each other's arms.

[mylittlemystery]

can you do Freddy Krueger with A to Y please ?🌺

AAAHHH, MY FAVORITE SLASHER! I hope you like these answers of mine, my dear! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

A: Aftercare | What is their aftercare like after a heavy round of tickling?:)

If I'm being honest, he'd probably just drop you on the ground like a sack of potatoes. XD He really doesn't know what it means to be caring, per se, so you're going to just wind up gasping for breath as he smirks down at you.

B: Bondage | How do they react to bondage, do they enjoy it and if yes, what is their favorite pose?

If you're being too squirmy for his liking, you are going to be restrained before you can so much as blink. XD He prefers to stretch one's limbs out like in an "X" formation because it leaves lots of spots open to attack and allows the least amount of wiggling possible. As for restraining him, you'll have to do it via body weight because this man is both nimble and quick for somebody who's not even named Jack (I am losing my mind as we speak).

C: Chase | What are their chances in a chase, both as a lee and ler?

As a 'lee, you are really going to have to catch him by surprise because there is not a chance in hell you're gonna get your hands on him if he knows that it's coming. As I mentioned before, QUICK and NIMBLE (not to mention all the weird mind shit he's got going on as well).

As a 'ler, you're kidding yourself if you think you're going to get away from him. He'll let you run for quite a long time, even allowing himself to slip out of your sight occasionally, but this is only to indulge in the thrill of the hunt on his behalf. Once you're out of breath, he'll appear from literally out of nowhere behind you.

D: Death Spot | What is their most ticklish spot?

RIBS. If you wanna have any hope of taking him down, then you need to aim for his ribcage. It is a death sentence for him.

E: Expression | How do they express their wish to tickle/be tickled?

When he wants to tickle somebody, he has a tendency for making those blades on his glove turn to stiff feathers real fucking quick. There's a lot of subtle finger wiggling as he casually approaches you, audibly wondering where your worst spots could be lying. To put it bluntly, this man doesn't mince words. XD

Being tickled? In his Christian household?! Surely not! XD No, but in all seriousness, I see any potential 'lee moods of his being EXTRAORDINARILY rare. When they do occur, he will not let anyone come within five feet of him. He is pouty and angy.

F: Fight | What is their behavior in a tickle fight like?

Oh, he is going into this bitch to win. He will immediately tackle anyone that he can and just go apeshit, making sure that he is the one to beat. Despite his small stature, the multitude of tactics up his sleeves can bring even some of the tallest figures to their knees wheezing with hysteria.

G: Gentle | How do they react to gentle tickles?

He will breAK YOUR FUCKING FINGERS, STOP THAT SHIT-

They make him huff out a few short laughs before you find yourself in a whole lot of pain, however, and they almost make the whole ordeal kind of worth it. XD

H: Habits | As a lee/ler or both, do they have specific habits when it comes to tickling?

As a 'lee, this man is thrashing around like a wiggly worm all throughout the time he's being tickled. He's clawing at the 'ler's skin, kicking out his legs as hard as he can, and pounding a palm on the floor all in the span of a few minutes. Gotta have a VERY high pain tolerance if you wanna go after him.

As a 'ler, he loves pinning his 'lee down with a knee to their stomach when he hasn't already restrained them. He likes watching them try to buck themselves up and away from underneath him because he thinks it's just absolutely hysterical the way they almost look like a caterpillar when they do so. :3c

I: Interrogation | How well would they handle a tickle interrogation?

Aw, do you honestly think you'll be able to get this man in a scenario where he's being interrogated~? Poor you...XD

J: Joy | Their absolute favorite thing about tickling?

The power trip it gives him. It's one thing to be able to elicit fear from somebody via pain, but it's another thing entirely when he can get the same sort of reaction through something as juvenile as tickling. Adorable, really, and painfully easy to implement.

K: Killer Move | As a ler, do they have special skills to use against their lees and drive them crazy with?

Definitely the fact that he can make pretty much anything happen at the drop of his musty ass hat. The psyche is something that plays a huge part in normal tickling spats, so the fact that he practically has it in a chokehold makes him a very dangerous 'ler. He knows what flusters you before he even starts, and you can bet your bottom dollar he's going to use that information to his advantage. >:3c

L: Laughter | What does their laughter sound like when they are tickled?

It's a raspier and deeper sort of take on a traditional witch's cackle. He does it a lot in all of those movies they put out about him (yes, I watched all of them including the shitty remake), so I pretty much consider it to be like that only a little bit more frantic.

M: Mornings | Their tickle behavior during mornings?

Big fan of fucking with his fellow slashers who might not be as accustomed as he is to going days without a wink of sleep by sneaking up behind them to deliver a few surprise squeezes to their sides in passing. He has gotten his ass beat for it, but you already know that this burnt chicken nugget doesn't give a single fuck. XD

N: Nights | Their tickle behavior during nights?

Do I even have to give an answer for this one? XD He is fucking with people in their dreams, making them as torturously flustering and drawn out as he possibly can. He will make you wake up out of breath from laughing so hard, and he will also be a complete asshole and pretend he doesn't have a damn clue what you're talking about should you decide to confront him about it.

O: Online | Text messaging and social media, do they have some kind of online tickly behavior to tease their lee or ler with?

Nah, he doesn't have a need for it! When you have access to someone's entire mind, there's no need to result to social media or text messages in order to fluster them. :3c

P: Partner In Crime | If they were to go after a lee and accept the aid of a tickle partner, who do they prefer to join hands with and why?

Chucky. Why? It's simple, really: they're both smug assholes who like to fuck with people they're around often, so it only makes sense that they would team up when it comes to utterly wrecking a 'ler. Freddy has to play a big part in restraining the victim considering Chucky is a literal doll at the end of the day. XD

Q: Question | Their response to the question ‘are you ticklish’?

If you have the gall to ask him this, then I have no choice but to give you your proper applause. You will still get cut for it, but you're very brave nonetheless. XD It's better to just go straight to trying it out for yourself when he isn't expecting it (be warned, this will result in worse injuries once he recovers).

R: Role | Lee or ler, what is generally their main role?

If I haven't already made it obvious, he's more of a 'ler by far. However, I do think he would make a stupendous occasional pouty 'lee as well (yes, I headcanon all these characters to be switches because I love to project my own traits onto them).

S: Safeword | If they were to suggest the safeword for a tickle session, which word will it be?

Once again, he's one of the people who I would just suggest praying for mercy from. XD He is going to leave you a mess of mirth by the end of things, and he's not stopping until he's satisfied with how utterly hysterical he's succeeded in making you.

T: Teasing | Their most favorite methods of teasing their lee/ler?

He loves using vernacular and actions that make his 'lee feel small and helpless. False starts of his hands, creeping up to one of their sweet spots, and cooing about how horrible this must be for them are just a few of the things you can expect from him.

This dude doesn't even think of teasing his 'ler because he just jumps straight to trying to bite them and throw them off of his wildly thrashing body. XD

U: Unusual | Do they have some unusual tickle spots? Where?

Hm...you know that spot on the back where the shoulder blades kind of meet? Yeah, I think that spot would be ever so slightly sensitive for him (enough to make him flinch, at least).

V: Victim | As a ler, who is their favorite lee and what makes this person their ultimate victim?

I am going to say Carrie because it is MY blog and I'm allowed to make the fictional serial killers have soft spots, God damn it! >:( She just melts the hearts of everyone she comes across, plus they kind of have a bit of a connection with the mind powers and religious background. He also really likes her laugh, but who doesn't?

W: Word | What is their reaction to the T-word? Can they say it out loud or do they get embarrassed?

Oh, this man says it like it's some sort of charm. It doesn't bother him whatsoever, but the fact that it does get under some people's skin only makes him want to apply it to his lingo as much as humanly possible.

X: X-Over | In a crossover AU, which other fandom character would be a fitting tickle fight opponent for them and why?

William Afton, perhaps? I just thought of him because they're both charismatic fictional child murderers who would put up a serious fight so...yeah, fuck it, why not? XD

Y: YOU | Any personal self- or reader-insert tickle fantasy / headcanon to share with this character?

Ever since I watched the original franchise a couple years ago, I have been OBSESSED with applying tickling to it. My brain is rotted, and I am well aware of this fact. '^^

[tinyboxxtink]

"Betrayed" *Chapter 14

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

Alright I said before I didn't know if I was going to post this chapter like this, because it's not as long as the other chapters and it could lead to smut. *Spoilers*

But the thing is, I don't want to write smut for this story. It just doesn't feel like that kind of story to me. I took so much time and care into the building up, it doesn't feel right just cheapening it with porn. And I know that people like smut, so I was torn whether to give into public opinion or not.

But I decided to be true to how I feel about my story, and if you miss the smut, I'm sorry. I'm really proud of this chapter though, even if it is short and sweet.

I'm going to try and wrap it up in the next chapter, but there might be an epilogue. Stay tuned.

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@meishaabae

—----------

“Y/N!” Olivia yelled at you as you walked tearfully down the street. When you heard her voice, you sped up but somehow, she ended up standing right in front you, panting heavily.

“What?!” You screamed angrily. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“It’s not what you think,” She claimed in a winded voice.

“Oh, I’m sure,” You laughed. “So original, sergeant,”

“I’m serious,” She caught her breath as she tried explaining. “I came here to tell Rafael what an idiot he was being,”

“Why?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“Because he IS!” She gestured back towards Rafael’s place. “I know he loves you, and he should’ve told you and–”

“Why do you wanna help me at all?” You crossed your arms. “You think if you ‘give’ Rafael back to me I’ll save your job?”

“No!” She waved her arms. “No. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I’m just trying to make things right!” She exclaimed.

“Why?!” You asked skeptically.

“Because believe me or not, I do feel guilty about what I did to your family,”

“Oh, I’m sure–” You rolled your eyes.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” She noticed Rafael running towards the two of you. “But at least hear him out,”

“Oh yeah right, I–” You rolled your eyes as you watched Rafael sprinting towards you. He got closer and closer until you saw him slowing down, and finally collapsed to his knees.

“God DAMMIT—” You looked to the sky and yelled before taking off running towards him. You were so enraged at him and yet he STILL pulls you back in by trying to die on you.

“Rafael!!” You screamed as you ran towards him, Olivia quickly behind you. You came up on him coughing and reeling with pain.

“Oh god, please don’t die–” You begged as you started to pull out your cell to call 911. Rafael put a hand over your phone as he shakily sat up. You grabbed his hands and helped him up onto a bench nearby as he gasped for breath.

“Are you hurt, Rafa?” You checked his body for any injuries.

“I’m—I’m fine,” He wheezed. “Just embarrassed,”

“Embarrassed?” You scrunched your nose. “Why?”

“Are you kidding me?” He huffed and puffed. “I’m so, so—”

“So what?”

“OLD,” He groaned, just as Olivia walked up next to the two of you.

“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your, whatever you have,” You grunted as you stood up to walk away, but Rafael stopped you by grabbing your hand.

You hadn’t really touched like this before, not really. Sure, he cried in your arms while you held him, but it wasn’t sweet and definitely didn’t feel intimate. But when he grabbed your hand this time, you felt the warmness in his touch. You felt the urgency in his grip on you.

“Y/N…” You heard him whimper.

Fuck why did he have this power over you? He sounded so sad, just like the other night. You sighed deeply before turning around. You saw he was gripping your hand tightly with his one hand while one hand was on the bench, trying to steady his breathing.

“God dammit…” You muttered before sitting back down next to him, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Well now I know why you never come running after me,” you said softly in a joking manner while looking down at the ground.

“Old man,” You added while looking at him this time, a small smile on your face.

“I wasn’t going to let you get away again,” He interlaced his fingers with yours as he looked back at you with the same sweet smile you had missed so much.

“By killing yourself?” You teased him, making the two of you chuckle.

“Y/N,” He suddenly got very serious. “I’m sorry about the other night,”

“Yeah, I know,” You nodded softly.

“No,” He shook his head and took your other hand in his. “No, it was completely inappropriate, and cruel, and–”

“Jesus, man,” Olivia interjected. “Just get to it already,”

You looked at her with an annoyed confused face before turning back to Rafael. Why wouldn’t she just let him apologize?

“Get to what?” You asked.

“I–” He shot Olivia a glare before looking back into your eyes with his soft expression. “I didn’t leave that morning because I didn’t mean what I said,”

“Oh, for God’s sake…” You could hear Olivia mutter.

“Do you mind?!” You snapped at her. “Let him talk at his own pace, Benson,”

“Yeah, Benson!” Rafael gave her a tongued smile.

“Alright, you know what you two have your ‘moment’; my work here is done,” Olivia rolled her eyes with a slight grin as she walked away from the two of you down the street.

“Alright now that captain buzzkill is gone,” You made a face at Olivia’s figure walking into the distance. “Go ahead,”

“Right,” He nodded as he gathered the right words to say in his head. “I should have never said what I said or did what I did to you the other night,” He looked at you sorrowfully.

“It’s fine, it’s–”

“No it’s not,” He squeezed your hands tighter. “It’s not okay, it’s not me,”

“I know that Rafa,” You assured him. “That’s why I told— that ‘other guy’, that I would wait for you to talk to me,”

“And I should have,” He looked away in shame. “I should have just stayed and talked to you, but I was too ashamed of my behavior the night before. I was sure that I had ruined things between us for good,”

“Yeah, you should have,” You agreed. “Because if you had, I would’ve told you that I know that wasn’t you. And I really didn’t mind…comforting you,””

“You shouldn’t have had to,” He shook his head.

“Yes, I should have!” You argued. “I know you don’t have anyone else right now, and even if it makes me wanna die inside having to listen to you cry over Olivia Benson–”

“Y/N–”

“Then I’m still gonna do it, okay? I may not like it, but that’s what you do when–” You paused as you caught his gaze on you; the guilt written all over his face. You hated him looking so pitiful, it choked you up just to look at him.

“When what?” He looked at you curiously.

“When you love someone,” You looked at the ground to say it, ready for him to run away screaming. When he didn’t, you continued.

“You stick it out, and don’t let go– ever,” You paused as you reluctantly said your next words. “Like you did with Olivia,”

“Wait, what?” Rafael’s puzzled voice gave you the courage to look at him.

“That’s why I came over here,” You sighed, still glancing at the ground as you confessed. “Tiffany and I were talking, and I realized that–”

You paused again, swearing you wouldn’t break down right now. You couldn’t always be falling apart every time you spoke.

“That...?” His voice sounded hopeful.

“That I love you more than I hate Olivia Benson,” You said softly before looking away.

“Oh my God,” Rafael whispered, stunned that you would admit that.

“I know, right?” You laughed tearfully.

“And– I mean, what is getting Olivia fired going to really do for the people? She didn’t actually shoot Terrence; she didn’t even think it was right. I think,” You looked back at him.

“She didn’t,” He assured you.

“Mmm,” You nodded. “I know that I said there were sides, and that you were wrong for not choosing one, but–” You took a deep inhale and exhale.

“I realized it was just me trying to make you choose me over Olivia, and it’s not right for me to ask you to do that,” You played with his hands in yours.

“Y/N that is so–” He laughed in relief. “That is so mature of you,”

“Thanks, I think,” You made an awkward smile.

“But for the record,” He took your hand again. “I wasn’t choosing Olivia over you,”

“I didn’t say you were–”

“I know that’s what you thought when you saw us just now,” He gave you a look.

“I–” You looked away in guiltiness. “I may have thought that for a moment or two,”

“Oh sure,” He nodded. “That’s why I had to almost kill myself trying to chase after you,”

“Rafael I just sat here and basically embarrassed the hell out of myself by going on and on about how in love with you I actually am. I had to make you chase me a little,”

“A little?” He laughed. “We’re about a block away from my apartment!”

“Whatever,” You teased with a tiny shoulder check, leaving yourself leaning against him.

“So…” You lead while looking in your lap.

“So…?” Rafael looked over at you as you raised your head.

“You were saying something about you not acutally not meaning what you said–?”

“Right,” He nodded sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have said what I said or did what I did because–” He paused and put one hand on your face.

“That’s not how you deserved them. That is not how I wanted us to happen,”

“Us?” Your eyes widened a bit at the term.

“Yes…us,” He took a nervous breath.

There was a long awkward pause before you gave in and hit him playfully.

“God Benson was right, just spit it out man!” You giggled.

“Right,” He was turning bright red before he straightened himself up to look you in the eyes when he said the next words completely and clearly:

“I love you, Y/N,”

“.... You do?” You asked in a small voice, scared to believe this was really happening.

“I do,” He nodded with a loving smile.

“I’ve tried not to. I’ve tried to rationalize it, I’ve tried to run from it,” He sighed as he thought of all the drama the two of you had gone through in such a short time.

“Gee thanks,” you said sarcastically while looking away from him, but his hand turned your chin back to face him.

“But you know that’s me,” He gently caressed your face with a sad smile.

“I know,” You nodded. “Mr. Logical,”

“...Or…” He suddenly looked down and away with a small laugh as he recalled something.

“Or what?” Your eyebrow raised.

“...Or, the Boy Who Was Always Grown Up,” He looked back at you with a cheeky smile, and your heart stopped.

“Y-You–” You blinked back tears. You wanted to say that you couldn’t believe he’d actually remember that, but you were afraid you might burst into tears if you spoke any more in that moment.

“I’d say falling in love was the most childish thing you could do, until I met you,” he said the line perfectly while he beamed at you. You swore you were in your dream again. You had to literally pinch yourself the slightest bit to make sure this was actually happening.

“Taken down by a pair of beautiful eyes, hmm? What would your colleagues think?” You recited the line back to him in the shakiest of voices, still for some reason absolutely sure you’d wake up any second now.

“I don’t care what they’d think,” He cradled your face in his hands. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. All I care about is what I think,”

“And what do you think?” You searched his eyes while speaking barely above a whisper.

“I think—” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear with his sly mischievous grin. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,”

That was it. If he was going for a slow burn kiss, he screwed himself out of it with that line. You grabbed his face with both of your hands and pulled his lips onto yours.

This kiss was so much more loving than the drunken kiss, and frankly the dream kiss as well. Because you knew for certain that he actually loved you behind that kiss.

It was the most perfect of kisses in the history of kissing, you were sure of it. The way your mouth opened slightly to let his tongue in, the way his tongue gingerly circled around your mouth as if he was trying to taste every inch of you.

It felt like your heart was finally full after a very long time. It felt as if you were coming up for air after years of drowning, and he was breathing life into you. All the years of pining for him were coming to a crescendo into this one moment, and you couldn’t get enough.

Your mouth became more aggressive the more you thought about how long you had yearned for this moment. You nibbled his lip, maybe a bit too hard you realized when he winced a bit. You pulled him closer to you, he couldn’t get close enough. His hands went up into your hair, then around your face as he rubbed your temples lovingly but sensually.

The scraggle of his beard rubbed roughly against your face like a scrub brush, but you didn’t care. You did however make a note of perhaps mentioning he might be in need of a shave.

It seemed to last forever and not enough at the same time. But soon you noticed that joggers and people walking their dogs down the street were starting to stare at you.

“Now who’s trying to kill me?” Rafael joked as he tried to catch his breath from the intense mini make out session.

“If you’re worn out from kissing, counselor, that might put a huge damper on what comes after,” You teased while sticking your tongue out at him.

“Oh, I do believe I can rally, Miss Reynolds,” He grinned devilishly before picking you up.

"If you pass out, I don't know CPR!" You laughed as he made dismissive noises.

He practically flew back towards his apartment with you in his arms squealing and giggling the whole way down the street.

You were so enthralled with each other you didn’t notice the photographer across the street following you back to the apartment.

As you neared Rafael's place, he slowed down and let you back down on the street, huffing and puffing.

"Dammit Rafa..." You sighed with a chuckle while he put his head between his legs.

"I'm--" He panted. "I'm fine,"

While he was catching his breath, he noticed the bag of espresso still laying in his bushes when you had hurled them earlier. He walked over and plucked them out, examining the bag.

"Wow, you really did your research this time, didn't you Miss Reynolds?" He gave you a sly grin.

"Yes, and if you tell me those aren't to your liking I will toss them at your head again," You smirked. "And this time I won't miss,"

"Well then," He smirked back as he took your hand. "We should test them out,"

"Indeed," You bit your lip with a smile as he led you inside.

Neither of you noticed the paparazzo set up shop in the bushes.

[soyforramen]

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

·  “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

·  You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

 --

             It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air.  Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves.  Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.  

             “Just over there,” she lied.  

             It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

             On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves.  Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars.  Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

             It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot.  Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

             Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car.  Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard.  Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

             “What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

             Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat.  She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

             “Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder.  A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

             “Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back.  Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

             Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them.  From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse.  Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings.  It wasn’t her place, though.  Not anymore.

             Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

             “I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps.  “I had everything covered.”

             She snorted and stood up to face him.  A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist.  Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist.  Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.  

             Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

             “I’m sure you did,” she said.  Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice.  “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape.  Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

             Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder.  Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot.  Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

             Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

             Betty narrowed her eyes.  Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and -  Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

             “You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

             “It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

             Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself.  Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck.  As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them.  The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea.  With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

             “Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.  

             Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping.  After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him.  Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

             “Just –“

             Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath.  They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear.  As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut.  She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road.  In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

             Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad.  It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

             She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

             “He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly.  “You can stay in his room.  Unless you want to go home.”

             Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her.  The house was empty and would be for the next week.  They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it.  After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.  

             The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

             Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead.  He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand.  He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not.  She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

             She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on.   When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.  

             Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore.  A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.  

             “I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly.  “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

             The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

             “Thanks,” Betty said softly.

             She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom.  A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair.  Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red.  As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all.  Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she  looked.

             Pity about the boots though.  Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life.  Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

             The pipes groaned as the water warmed up.  Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate.  The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.  

             The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her.  Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised.  She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

             A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled.  She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

             The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter.  Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago.  Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to.   He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

             But to have kept that shirt all these years?  To have kept her shirt?  Surely not.  Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

             The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt?  regret? hope?

             Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks.  Careless.  She was always so careless with everything worth while.  Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies.  She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in.  This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

             A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another.  She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub.   It was all she could do to keep from breaking up.  A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead.  His head lolled absently against a support beam.  His hands tightly bound with duct tape.  Tight enough they were turning purple.  Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

             Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well.  TBK laughing above her.  Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab.  The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat.  Jughead’s hands –

             Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally.  It’s not real.  

             Not this time.  

             Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself.  Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton.  With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground.  Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.  

             Into her life, even.

             Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house.  The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation.  Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized.  Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

             Perhaps that would be best.  Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.  

             With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub.  As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters.  She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

             Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts.  Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

             “Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out.  His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

             At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.  

             Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with.  She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something.  Do something.  When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

             It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

             “Just tell me why you did it,” he said.  

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me?  Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said.  Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly.  Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred.  When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand. 

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat. 

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling. 

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again. 

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has. 

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. " 

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?" 

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack. 

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least. 

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so. 

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch.  “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken. 

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.” 

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability. 

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady. 

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

 TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting​ @babybloodstonebones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @m0rcia​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @blakes-dictionxry​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[touya-is-dabi]

Butterfly Kisses and Arson

Dabi x Reader Multi Part Series

Part 2

Welcome to part two kiddos! I know it's the same day but I was so fucking excited to continue it! Hope you guys enjoy!

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

Your body was shivering and shaking by the end of the mission. Why Endeavor had placed you in the mission, you'd never know. Your breath came out in white puffs of cold air as your teeth chattered. Hints of purple laid across your skin. Letting you know you were close to your limit. Soon enough you'd be curled in a dozen blankets and in front of four space heaters to warm yourself up. Frostbite was hell when your body couldn't regulate your body temperature. You half heartedly listened as Endeavor talked to the other agency member. You just wanted to be home. Part of you really wondered if Endeavor knew he was alive. You remembered back to the night you had asked on your first week at his agency.

"He's dead Y/N." His voice was cold. Strange how cold he could be for someone who had such a hot quirk.

"Sir, I know, but you never found-"

"I SAID HE'S DEAD! STOP ASKING AND GET TO WORK!" His boomed loud enough for you to shrink down a bit and back a bit away. You mumbled a quick apology before going on patrol for the night. Your mind kept wandering to your missing best friend. You wondered if he was lonely. If he thought life was war? You shook your head and remembered the way Endeavor had yelled. It was best not to go digging.

You couldn't help but laugh to yourself as you thought about it all. It really wasn't out of character for Endeavor to lie about things like this. If he was ashamed he would bury it deep down. You were suddenly met with his stern and unforgiving gaze.

"Go home. We don't need you anymore."

You only nodded before pulling your jacket closer to your body. Trying to get more warmth to your body.

When you had finally gotten home you turned up the heat to the max level it could be. Not really caring if your father complained about the heat of the house. When you entered the main room you noticed you younger brother passed out on the couch as the TV played late night cartoons. His golden shaggy hair completely covering his face as he snored softly. You couldn't help but smile a bit as you turned it off and shook him. Muttering for him to go into his room. Of course dad was out at the bar. It would have been more concerning if he was sober and home to sleep early. You passed by the framed photo of your small family with a small smile. Pausing to place your hand on your mother's smiling face.

"Hey Mom... You wouldn't believe who I saw. I hope you are okay. I love you." You walked away before the tears could set in. The comfort of your warmed room was something you couldn't ever replace. You slowly peeled off the layers of clothing and showered before heading into your weighted blanket lined bed with a deep sigh. Your frostbite finally calming down. It didn't take long before you dozed off.

Of course it didn't take long until you heard your window being tampered with. You shot up seeing a blue glow as his scarred face and devilish grin were illuminated by his bright quirk. You stared at him for a second with a bit of concern. How did he know where you lived? You shrugged it off as you opened the window and let him in just as a light from a flashlight hit near your window. He covered your mouth and pulled you to the side as the light illuminated your window and passed by. You were so close in the quiet room that you could hear his shallow breathing. You pushed his hand away and stepped away from him.

"Touya how the hell did you-"

"Hey doll, good to see you. I was passing by and remembered you lived somewhere around here!"

You raised an eyebrow. "Touya?"

He gave you a nervous smile. "Yes Y/N?"

You punched him in the chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

"Don't fucking lie to me. How. Did. You. Know. Where. I. Lived."

He coughed out a laugh and glared at you. The look in his eyes was a bit unnerving.

"Followed you the night we saw each other again to see if you were okay. Alright? Jesus fuck Y/N you didn't need to go all All Might on my chest."

You crossed your arms and cocked an eyebrow at the boy standing in front of you.

"Okay, so maybe you did have a right to."

You nodded and sat on your bed. "So what's up? Who were you running from?"

He only laughed and leaned against the wall. His cobalt eyes boring into yours.

"Coppers. They almost caught me. Good thing you got me inside quick enough."

You felt your mouth get dry at his words. "Cops?! Touya. what the hell did you do?"

He gave me a look almost as if I was stupid. "Erm... Arson... Murder... Apart of the League. Take your pick, princess."

You stared at him blankly before bursting into a laughing fit. Those words were too much for you to picture. You still saw him as the scared little boy he was back then.

"Real fucking funny. Now, be serious?"

He glared at me.

"I'm... Serious?"

You stopped laughing and stared at him. Your heart nearly stopped when you realized he wasn't joking.

"You are Dabi aren't you."

He kept his gaze to yours.

"Yeah. Why?"

You stood up and walked slowly to him before punching him square in the chest again. Sending him down to his knees with the amount of air being forced from his already weak lungs.

"You do realize I'm a pro hero, and you are a wanted villain. Touya what the fuck did you think I was going to do?!"

He wheezed softly and looked up at you. Blood trickling from his eyes as he tried to get to his feet.

"I thought you'd... Look past it? We are friends aren't we? I've known you since diapers."

You tried to keep all of the emotions in. All the anger, fear, hurt, but most importantly love, down in your chest as you spoke.

"You can't seriously think that just because I had a crush on you when we were five that I would just, let you run around and kill more people."

The hurt in his eyes only made it harder to push out the sentence.

"Y/N wait! C'mon, we were attached at the hip! Doesn't that mean something?!"

You had to avoid looking in his eyes. You guessed the blood was his version of tears.

"Touya, that doesn't matter-"

"You can't tell me you don't still love me!"

Why the pain in his voice hurt so much. You'd never understand. Maybe it's because you wanted to cry as well. You just wanted to cry and hold him close, but you were a pro hero now. Not some little kid. He was a villain. Someone you swore you'd always put behind bars.

"I do, I have never stopped loving you. I've missed you. I've wanted nothing more than to have you with me these past couple of days, but that doesn't change we are completely different now. I need to turn you in... But if you leave right now, we don't ever have to discuss that I know you. Then I will let you leave, and don't talk to me again." The tears were falling faster than you could wipe them as you looked into his eyes.

He nodded slowly and climbed out of the window and down the fire escape without another word. You watched as he walked down the alleyway and into the city. Your tears quickly turned into sobs as you shut the window. You had just gotten him back. And now you had to push him away.

You hadn't seen him again for a long time. Days, weeks, and months had passed. No sign of him...

And that's all you could think about.

Tag list: @potatotiingz

[morallygreyprompts]

Ok so I'm a total sucker for villains getting whumped- can I get Villain getting captured by the 'good guys' and the last thing hero says to them essentially boils down to 'I hate you'. Except that said 'good guys' turn out to be terrible people, Hero and their friends find out they're hurting Villain and storm over there to rescue them but Villain's so messed up that they only recognize Hero?

Ask 94

SAME. I should do it more often, to be honest ^^’ This is a mega oof request and I cannot wait to get this written XD And I wrote A LOT. Like 2K (Mostly in lesson, might I add) so enjoy. It is quite the whump.

The heroes wrestled Villain down onto their knees and tied their hands behind their back whilst Hero loomed over them. “So you’ve won,” Villain grumbled, trying without success to snatch their hand back. “Now what? Prison, house arrest, cage in your cellar?”Hero shrugged. “I don’t know. The Government wants you, said they had a new secure facility for you and any other… villains, like you.”

“Sounds boring. But a villain? That’s what you think of me?” Villain smirked. Hero leaned in close to their face, Villain could only see some odd mix of anger and relief. “I think so much worse of you.”Villain turned their head to see a van pulling in, some grim and stony looking agents inside.

“Looks like my taxi is here,” Villain muttered.

Villain was lifted to their feet and dragged off in the direction of the van by the other heroes.“Hey, [Hero],” Villain called. “All this- this was fun. I hope we can do it again some time.”“Hold it,” Hero said. Their friends stopped, waiting for Hero to catch up. Villain tried to smile away the concern that rose in their chest. Hero was inches away from their face, but Villain wouldn’t break eye contact, wouldn’t wipe that smirk from their lips.

“Let’s make something very clear,” Hero resumed. “I hate you with every speck of my being. I never want to see you again and I don’t care what happens to you. You’re going to rot in there and it’s the least you deserve.”Villain’s face fell slightly. “You don’t mean that. We’ve hardly got ourselves a clear cut relationship here, but-”“Relationship? There is nothing between us, not even an acquaintanceship. You’re a thorn in my side I’m glad to get rid of. I mean every word- get them out of my sight.”

Villain fought against the heroes, shouting “You don’t mean that! I know you don’t! If you hated me you’d have killed me! Hey, where are these guys taking me? [Hero]!” Hero paid them no attention. They’d turned their back on Villain and waited until they were bundled into the van, restrained adequately and whisked away.

Hero stood in the still air, taking deep breaths, trying to block out Villain’s voice that still rang in their head. One of the other heroes came over and put a hand on their shoulder. “You good?”

Hero turned to face them and nodded. “Yeah, just- It. It’s finally done. They’re gone somewhere they won’t hurt anyone but… they weren’t that dangerous compared to some- so why is the Government taking them there of all people?”

Other Hero shrugged. “They’ll be looked after and the city is safe. I know you’re very good at it, but, don’t think too far into this.”

Hero nodded and watched the van fully disappear out of sight.

_____

“They don’t mean that,” Villain mumbled, their thin arms swaying in the shackles above their head. “They don’t mean that. They’ll be sorry, they’ll help. They’ll help, they care. They have to care…” They were so busy mumbling to themselves, trying to find a way to fix the hurt Hero had caused them that they hardly noticed the two guards coming into their cramped cell, constantly illuminated with white light which glowed on the white tiles they were sat on.

It was only when their hands were freed from the shackles that Villain said, “What’ll it be today? Hmmm? The chair? The table? The bath?”

Villain groaned as one of the guards grabbed them by the wrist and exposed a vein for the other to catch with a needle. “Hm, something new then?” they guessed before their eyes slipped shut.

New and underwhelming considering some of what they’d been through. They were hanging from the ceiling by their wrists, but the group of half a dozen guards around them was torture enough. It was quite clear what they had in mind, it had happened once before, but not with this many people. The leader didn’t hesitate in starting, they punched them until their knuckles bled. Villain could hardly stop their vision swimming by the time the next one came at them.

They felt bones break, skin tear and blood pour from their nose, lips, eyebrow and after that Villain was too out of it to know what was going on, but they didn’t stop. Not until all six of them were satisfied and Villain was left hanging, unable to keep their feet at all. Unconsciousness kept claiming them for a little while, like waves on a shore. The entire time they could only think of one person, Hero. That was the only person they could remember anymore.

“Bring them in, it’s time they got in on this,” one of the guards said. Villain was amazed to see one of their Henchmen walk in, one of the younger ones. Villain had considered them family. They didn’t let their surprise show, but that face filled them with hope.“Come on then. Show us what you’re made of,” one guard said.“If you hit them any more chances are they’ll die,” Henchman pointed out, acting unphased. Or were they unphased? Did they care? Hero didn’t, why should anyone else?

“Then aim for the gut, now come on!”

Villain didn’t look at them as they punched them in the gut, in the ribs, and the rare strike to the face. Villain was past the point of making noises, past the point of trying to raise their legs to protect themselves. All they could do was lie there limp and accept the pain at the hands of someone they once thought was a friend. It wasn’t like they had a choice, but the concept hurt them more than any blow, but not as much as Hero abandoning them.

A particularly nasty strike to the stomach winded them, and Henchman stopped, panting.“Burnt… out. A.already?” Villain tried to taunt. They couldn’t see their reaction for their blurring vision, but Villain was sure they saw surprise.“It’s a start,“ one of the guards grunted. "Drag them back to their cell. We’re done here.”

Villain fell into Henchman’s arms as they were released. They held them with as much care as they dared to show in front of the others.

Once they were back in their cell, Henchman waited at the door until they were alone. They took out their phone and Villain couldn’t stop them from taking pictures of them.

“Trophies?” Villain wheezed, curling up on themselves. Their ribs throbbed and their breathing was dangerously shallow. Their body shuddered with exertion. Henchman didn’t answer, but the pitiful look on their face was enough for them to guess that wasn’t what they were for.“Rest up. They’ll probably be back for more soon.”

And watched the door shut, just like they’d watched Hero turn their back on them. They were alone again, and that hurt more than anything.

“They care,” Villain started murmuring to themselves again. Their white lie, the false promise that kept them clinging onto hope. It was something they constantly chanted to themselves now. “[Hero] will come… They care… they, they have to care.”

________

Hero slammed Henchman into the wall of the store they’d ben trying to rob. “You picked the wrong store,” Hero grumbled. Henchman didn’t retaliate. “I need your help. That’s why I’m here, doing this.”“Yeah, right.” Hero grabbed them by the collar and marched them out of the store and into an alleyway.

Henchman used their arm like a windmill to free themselves and they stepped back. “Before you start anything. Look. Just look, I need to show you this. After that, you can do what you want.”

Henchman carefully took their phone out and shoved it toward their face. Hero took a moment to focus on what the image was.“[Villain]… What?”

“That ‘Government facility’? It’s a lie. It’s just a group of people who want to make [Villain] suffer for everything they’ve done. Everything they haven’t done, rather. You guys really don’t understand how [Villian] is. You’ve just pinned every crime on them that you can think of and they haven’t done half of it!”

“Is that so?” Hero raised an eyebrow.“[Villain] doesn’t kill,” Henchman snapped. “And they are getting tortured out there. You have to help them, please! You’re their only chance.”

Hero frowned. “Show me that picture again, I need to look again.”

Henchman did so, this time showing them more than one, showing Villain curling up, hugging themselves, the blood dripping onto the floor. Deep scars and sores showed on their wrists and arms. Their face was completely masked in bruises, and they were so thin. So weak…

“It’s been months since they went there… How did you get this?” Hero asked.“I infiltrated the place. I needed to know [Villain] was okay… They’re all I’ve got.” Hero could hear the upset in their voice, the dampness forming in their eyes.“Is this a recent photo?” Hero continued.

“I took this picture yesterday and it really doesn’t show how badly off they are. The first time I saw them I. I had to beat them. They need you, [Hero]. They murmur your name all the time, they’re clinging onto the hope that you care, that you’ll save them. That place, it’s driving them mad. I’ll do anything you say if it means you’ll get them out of there. Hell, I’ll beg on my knees! You’re their only chance.”

Hero’s face looked blank. So many emotions hit them at once that none of them seemed to register in their mind. Anger, confusion, guilt, upset. They couldn’t process it. “You’re coming with me. I’m getting the team and I’m getting them out of there.”

Henchman’s face lit up with hope. “Really?!” They bowed their head low in genuine gratitude. “Thank you, thank you so much! You’ve no idea how much this means to me- and to them.”

“Just get me in there, and if you’re lying then I’ll have you in a worse state than that picture.“

__________

Villain rocked back and forth in their corner, mumbling about Hero. Their ribs screamed at them but it was a pain they were accustomed to. They wanted to sleep, but that would only come to them when they were truly exhausted. They kept their swollen eyes closed to keep the painful light out. It was the only comfort they had now.

Their will was breaking. Villain had never wanted to go home so much in their life. They were never given time to heal and the injuries were stacking up so badly. They’d already suffered water torture this morning, getting dunked in the bath for what felt like hours. It probably was; whoever had them here enjoyed their suffering. No one was going to help them. No one cared. This was all they had to live for now until they were finally permitted to die.

“They don’t care…” Villain realised tears sneaked through their flimsy defences. The cold realisation that they were alone burned their chest, or was that just their over-exerted ribs and lungs? Villain didn’t know and didn’t care anymore. Seeing Henchman had been the final straw, the final betrayal. They were alone, with only the suffering to keep them company.

When the door opened that night, Villain braced for another attack. But when Hero showed up at the door, Villain couldn’t accept what they were seeing.

“[Hero] again… and who are these…” Villain dismissed their sloppy thought process. “Hallucinations… More lies… more trickery. [Hero] doesn’t care. No one cares…”Hero came closer to them, followed by their team, and Henchman in their uniform.

“No more… please… no more,” Villain whispered.

“Shh,” Hero said gently. “Sit up. You’re stressing your ribs, sit up for me and it’ll be better.”Villain didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge what was said. “You’re… not. Not real…”

“I am, [Villain]. I’m here, I’ve come to save you. [Henchman], they raised the alarm. We came as soon as we heard.”“[Hero] hates me… won’t come.”

Hero crouched down beside them and put a warm hand on their shoulder. “I am so sorry, [Villain]. You were right, I never meant those things, but I was upset. I want to fix this- I should never have let it happen in the first place but I want to help however I can now.”

Villain still didn’t answer.“Sit up, please,” Hero said gently. “It’ll help.”Villain strained their weak limbs to force themselves back against the wall, sitting up, face shiny with sweat, hair long and filthy, tatty and unkempt.

Villain reached forward and hugged Hero, not caring for the pain in their ribs. If they hugged it, it would disappear. It would go away and leave them to rot. But it didn’t. Hero stayed there, hugged them back, stroking the back of their head.

“I’m going to fix this,” Hero promised. They paused when they heard Villain sob, the way they pressed their head into the crook of Hero’s neck. Hero felt hot tears of their own.

“[Other Hero], get me that wheelchair. We need to get them back to the base, desperately.”Other Hero left and returned triumphant a few moments later. Hero struggled to help them in, but Villain would not let go of them. “Who are they?” they asked.

Hero looked at their team in confusion. “You… don’t remember? They’re my team. They want to help you too. It’s okay.” Hero managed to slip away from Villain so they could push the wheelchair, but Hero had to hang a hand over Villain’s shoulder for them to hold.

“They care,” Villain continued to murmur again with a weak smile. “I knew they cared…” They went limp in their chair.