#usually if he gets out at night he comes home in the morning for his breakfast

[yooniivrse]

bouquet | myg

summary. every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationsip au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

content: oc buys yoongi flowers / my man is whipped

warnings: none <333

notes: u can find the post explaining how i imagine yoongi and oc’s apartment here (in case u wanna visualise it better) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

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main masterlist

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The fresh scent of flowers tickles your nose as you hold the bouquet close to your chest. You can't help but pride yourself in your selection as you admire the pale colours that caress each petal; an arrangement of pinks the same shade as the blush you often find creeping across your cheeks, oranges that mimic the morning sky on a winter day, yellows that remind you of the sunshine that warms your eyelids as you lie in bed during summer, and whites that reflect the hue of the moon.

It may not be perfect, but it's just right for your boyfriend — this you're sure of. Because it's Yoongi who causes your blushes and watches the sunrise with you in his arms despite the chilly weather; it's Yoongi who convinces you to stay in bed for "just a bit longer", until the day is almost gone but it doesn't feel wasted because it was spent with him.

Yoongi illuminates the dark skies that often haunt you, lighting up even your dullest days in his own way. And he whispers sweet nothings in your ear at night as if they're words from the moon itself.

Getting Yoongi flowers wasn't something you set out in the morning intending to do. You had come across the bouquets on your way back home from work, catching sight of them in the window of a quaint flower shop tucked in the corner of a street. It still baffles you how you had managed to not see the building for so long despite knowing the street like the back of your hand.

It was hard to miss too, given the amount of intricately put together bouquets wrapped in parchment paper and potted plants that were displayed on wooden stands just outside. They spilt out across the sidewalk, painting the grey town with the pop of colour it desperately needed.

You don't know what it was, but nothing had felt more right for you to do at that moment. So you marched in and paid an outrageous amount of money without a second thought.

And now, here you were — unable to hide the smile on your face despite the burn on your cheeks — watching the elevator ascend to the floor of your apartment. The pixelated numbers seemed to be moving slower than usual today, but you didn't linger on it for too long.

Eventually, the steel doors part to let you out, and you walk down the empty hallway to your apartment. It's a struggle to unlock the door with the flowers in one hand and your tote bag flimsily slung around your other shoulder, but you manage.

The door opens with a familiar creak and you step inside.

The immediate aroma of food that hits you is sudden, but also mouth-watering. You make your way down to the source of the smell — the kitchen — to find Yoongi working away at the stove.

A short towel hands around his neck, catching the droplets of water that fall from the ends of his hair. A loose, black t-shirt hangs on his figure, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. He hums an oddly staccato tune to himself, completely immersed in whatever he's cooking.

"Hi."

Yoongi's gaze immediately moves from the dish in front of him to you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hello." He meets your eyes for a brief second before moving down to the flowers. He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze again. "Special occasion?"

"No. I got them for you...just because," you reply with a shrug, walking over to him with the bouquet outstretched in your hands.

"Oh. I- Thank you." You don't fail to catch the tint of pink that creeps across his skin, slowly becoming prominent around the tips of his ears as he takes the flowers from your hand.

He stares at the arrangement for a few seconds, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. He would like them, right?

"So, whatcha cooking?" you ask, eyeing the pot of noodles. A small pile of thinly cut cucumber rests on a cutting board just beside the stove, but before you can take in everything else displayed across the marble, Yoongi's lips are on yours.

You melt into the kiss almost instantly. Your heart soars in your chest and the nerves in your stomach wash away, only to be replaced by the erratic flutter of butterflies.

Yoongi tastes faintly of mint and love, and the pressure of his kiss is slightly stronger than usual — as if he's reminding you of who his heart belongs to, even though you're already well aware.

The feeling of knowing that you're loved is almost overwhelming, but you bask in it, unable to stop your lips from spreading into a smile against his mouth.

"God, I love you so much," Yoongi mumbles as he pulls back, tenderly moving a few strands of your hair behind your ear, and you giggle at his words.

"I love you too, baby," you reply. His eyes crinkle into soft crescent moons, and he places another peck against your lips.

"Where do you think we should put it?" He does a quick scan of the room and you follow his movements. The coffee table would've been your first option, but it's occupied by the flowers he got you on your most recent date.

"Hmm." Your eyes move down the room. "I think it should look fine in the bedroom."'

Yoongi hums in agreement. "You're right. I'll put them here for now, 'cause I'm fucking starving right now."

"Oh my God, same," you reply as he places the bouquet on the marble island behind him. "What are you making anyway?"

"Just jajangmyeon. You mentioned wanting it last night, so I thought I'd make it for you. Didn't want you to get food poisoning like last time when we went to that sketchy restaurant."

"You're amazing," you say, loudly kissing him on the cheek. "I was literally craving it all day today."

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle. "I knew you would be. Don't worry, it'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'll go get changed then. Don't burn down the house!"

"That's rich coming from you," he says with a snort.

You feign innocence with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't."

As you leave the kitchen, your laughter still echoing in the room, Yoongi lingers by the bouquet. A feeling of warmth blooms across his skin, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with the stove.

Even as he continues to stir the noodles, the only thing he is focused on is the single thought in his head.

You really are the best thing that has happened to him.

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permanent taglist: @petals4bangtan @futuristicenemychaos

[lucentloo]

Gift Giving

Summary: Spencer and reader share the love language of gift giving, however, Spencer seems to get reader gifts that she feels like she shouldn’t have since she can’t afford the same for him. 

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Wc: 1740

Content Warnings: Female reader, somewhat poor reader, not feeling good enough, gift giving love language for both Spencer and reader, no y/n, first fic ever, there might be swearing but I doubt it, season 6/7 Spencer, reader works in a restaurant, that should be all (If I’ve missed any please tell me)

a/n: I'm sorry if this sucks really bad but it's my first time writing and I thought I'd give it a try, thank you for reading and if you have any tips for me to get any better please share, have a nice day/night!

You’re staring at the small box on your counter as you hold the phone to your ear waiting for Spencer to pick up. The case he's working on is a crazy one though so you don't have much hope. You wait a few more seconds before giving up and stopping the call. The box on the counter is black with a pristine white ribbon tied and a bow on top. This is the third gift this month from your boyfriend and he doesn’t even have a reason.

You chew your lip as your eyes narrow at the box as if your glare could make it disappear from your kitchen. But alas, it stays exactly where it is. 

You don't hate the gifts, in fact gift giving is one of your love languages, you just feel so guilty that you can’t give Spencer anything back. You’ve tried to buy him something nice one time but that left you without food for a week and you couldn’t do that again without starving yourself. 

With a sigh you grab the box with the silver necklace and make your way to your bedroom to get ready for bed. After you shower and get into your pajamas (Spencer's hoodie and fuzzy socks) you climb into bed and contemplate what to do.

Ever since you were little you were always the kid with the worst birthday present at parties, or you were never the wished upon secret santa at christmas. You don’t have enough money to lavish your love on Spencer like you wish you did. It made you feel bad whenever you got something knowing you couldn’t get him anything like it in return.

You turn on your side and try to push away that persistent feeling that you’re not doing enough, that Spencer deserves someone who can afford to love him. Eventually you grow too tired to think anymore and slip your eyes shut. Sleep comes easier than it should that night and you’re only woken by your alarm early in the morning.

Spencer was worried.

He usually feels at ease with you and knows he can trust you to take care of yourself when he’s gone. However, this week you’ve barely seen him let alone your own bed. Anytime Spencer calls to hang out or take you out on a date he’s interrupted by a, “sorry handsome I’ve picked up the night shift,” or, “I’m filling in for Sandy since she’s out for the day, sorry baby,” and he can’t seem to find a time, day or night, that you’re available.

So he comes up with the only solution. He’s going to your work to forcefully pull you away from your job and take you to his apartment. When he gets there he’s surprised to see that the restaurant is quiet and not bustling like usual. He only spots two people eating at a table and one server walking around. That server isn’t you.

Spencer walks up to the server, Kate, and asks if you’re on break.

Kate looks at Spencer in surprise. “Um no, she left a few minutes ago to go home. The boss made her, apparently she’s been here for, like, three days straight.” she says the last part in a whisper like she’s gossiping to her friend in her high school cafeteria.

Spencer nods and whispers a quick “Thank you” before going back out to the parking lot. He knew he saw your car when he drove in here and decides to check the employees parking, just for reassurance.

Sure enough when he got there he saw your car parked right in front of the back entrance. The car was on and it looked like it was ready to go at any minute. Spencer furrowed his brows as he got closer and looked through your window. There you were, in your car with your uniform still on, sleeping like a baby.

Spencer smiled despite his concern, admiring your peaceful state in the quiet of the night. He doesn’t want to wake you from your sleep knowing it’s probably the most you’ve gotten all week but he needs to make sure you’re okay. 

Spencer knocks on your window and gives a slight chuckle when you jump up in shock. He smiles awkwardly and gives a little wave as you look at him with hard eyes that turn soft when you realize who it is. You unlock the door and step out with a stretch. You yawn before slumping against Spencer.

“Hey baby, why are you sleeping in your car?” Spencer asks softly. He’s trying not to wake you up too much as he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you upright. His heartbeat soothes you enough to let you stay in the drowsy state you find yourself in. Spencer feels you lean more weight on him as your arms encircle his slender form.

“Got off work and felt too tired to drive home.” It was hard to understand you since your face was pressed against Spencer's chest but he heard you well enough to look down at you in concern. He held onto you tighter as he sighed before bending down to pick you up. 

“Let’s get you home sweet girl,” Spencer whispers into your ear as you shut your eyes again and fall back asleep. 

When you wake up the next morning the first thing you register is Spencer's arms around your torso and his breaths blowing down your neck. You groan and shield your eyes from the sun that shines through the curtain and turn your body until you’re cuddled up into Spencer's hold. Your face is pushed into his chest to better hide yourself from the light. 

Spencer shifts slightly and you feel his hand start rubbing up and down the expense of your back. You take a breath in and you’re immediately comforted by the familiar smell of Spencer. He somehow still smells like coffee despite just waking up and he’s got the lingering smell of his cologne that he wore the night before.

 You pull back slowly to look into at him with a small smile before recognition flashes through your eyes. “I’m not at work,” you whisper to Spencer, “I had an early shift today, Spence, baby, I need to be at work.” You try to untangle yourself from Spencer’s tight hold on you but don’t succeed. “Spencer, I'm not joking. I need to leave.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

You look at him, not amused. “No?”

Spencer shakes his head again as his arms hold you impossibly tighter. “No.”

You sigh and stop struggling. Finally looking into his eyes you see the confusion and concern that’s directed at you. And damn does that make you feel guilty. The little seed that was planted at the beginning of the week just keeps growing and growing.

Spencer seems to sense the conflict you feel and kisses the top of your head. “I need you to take a break and tell me what’s going on. You’ve been distant and short with me, and I miss you, I want to see you.” Spencer whispers the confession in the silent room and it makes you tear up a little.

Your head lowers as you try to hide yourself under his blanket. The embarrassment floods through you as guilt eats your inside whole. “I’m sorry,” is all you can manage to say to him. 

Spencer hums in acknowledgment before sitting up and bringing you with him. He sits you on his lap so you’re facing him and he lifts your chin so he can peer into your eyes. “Baby, there’s no need to say sorry, just tell me what's going on in that head of yours, hm?” 

You take a shaky breath in before slowly letting it out to keep your tears at bay. The attempt seems futile though as you can’t seem to hold it together. “I can’t get you anything nice.” You say in a whimper as small sobs escape your lips and you hide your face in his neck.

Spencer’s lips turn down in concern as he thinks about what you just said. His thumb draws small circles on your waist as he contemplates how to go about this. “What do you mean sweetie? You give me nice things all the time.” Spencer tries to point out the things you’ve given him in the past - cookies, a new tie, the pen he uses every day - but it just makes you feel even worse. Those are things that shouldn’t even be considered gifts, let alone nice ones.

“No, n-no, you always get me these necklaces and, and books, and things that I could never afford.” Your sobs interrupt your speech slightly but It doesn’t deter you. “I just want to repay you, give you something nice for a, a change but instead I wo-worry you.” You burst into tears again as you squeeze Spencer tighter.

“Woah, woah, okay, hey, it’s okay. Baby I don’t need those kinds of gifts, I just need you. Is that why you were overworking yourself?” Spencer asks in a worried tone. His lips find the top of your head again as you nod your head against his neck. You hear him sigh before pulling back slightly. You raise your head to look at him and he wipes your tears away when he cups your cheek.

“Your health and happiness come way before an object I don’t even need.” He says in a stern yet soft voice. You lower your head to hide your face but he moves his head as well to keep eye contact. “Hey, I’m being serious, I don’t want you to work yourself crazy just to afford a gift. You’re way too important to me.” Spencer whispers the last part before giving you a soft kiss. 

You sigh after the kiss and look up at Spencer. “But that’s how I show my love, I don’t see you a lot so I like to give you gifts.” Spencer smiles as his thumb strokes your cheek.

“So keep giving me cookies and pens, they really do make my day.” Spencer goes in for another kiss that has you smiling more than you have in days. 

“Okay,” You whisper against his mouth.

Spencer kisses your cheek, then nose, then your other cheek, then your eyebrows, he does this until you’re a giggling mess. “I love you so much.” He finally says as he kisses your lips again.

“I love you too.”

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #1

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, fem!reader, bau!reader, new relationship, sex at work, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, no use of Y/N, caught in the act (kinda, at the end), fluff

Some Tags: @hotwritergf @melodymunson @rafeyscurtainbangs @mediocredreams @loserboysandlithium

@bloodibambiidoll @littlexdeaths @sanctumdemunson @cairro-xx @veemoon (tbh I wasn't sure who all to tag, so I tagged some moots and people I know usually read my stuff. Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing tho lol)

"I swear to god, you're gonna get us caught one of these days, Reid." You say breathlessly, tugging on Spencer's tie to keep his lips close to yours. You'd dragged him into a nearby supply closet after the rest of the team had dispersed for lunch, most of them heading to a new BBQ place nearby. They'd asked you and Spencer to come along, but you've both had much more pressing things on your mind.

From the second you came in this morning (separately, of course, even though he'd stayed the night at your place), your eyes have wandered from your work to each other's desks from across the cluster. It's been absolute torture, forced to sit so far apart, unable to touch each other or whisper all the dirty things you plan to do later. All you had to get yourself by was vivid thoughts of Spencer tossing his papers away, stalking over to you, and bending you over your desk to fuck you silly. You're sure he was picturing similar filthy things, given how often he cleared his throat and crossed or uncrossed his legs. Although, the ideas inside his head are usually more centered around getting down on his knees and burying his face between your thighs. It's a wonder that nobody seemed to notice your discomfort, really. The amount of stolen glances and fidgeting in your seats are certainly behaviors that should set off a profiler's internal alarms. But, thus far, you've managed to fly just below everyone's radar.

You've been seeing each other for a few months now, keeping it a secret from everybody else. It started off as a fluke date shortly after you joined the BAU team, and Spencer took a shine to your quick wit and bottomless well of intellect in no time at all. He'd asked you out for coffee (after a barrage of peer-pressuring encouragement from Morgan), wanting to show you around a bit as you were new to the area at the time. Spencer was a complete gentleman, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair, offering you his jacket when you got cold. Add on the way you talked one another's ears off about everything under the sun, moon and stars, and you were hooked on each other in an instant. Neither of you had met anyone who could keep up, or maintain your interest before. By the time he walked you home that night, you shared in the knowledge that this...spark you felt was something special.

Things progressed rather quickly from there. You've gone out together at least once a week, even sneaking out at night during cases to get some quality time in. A dinner here, a tipsy make-out in either of your hotel rooms there, as well as more educational outings to the planetarium, various lectures, and art exhibits when you're at home base. It didn't take long to heat things up, either. Spencer was less experienced than you, having only a couple casual hook-ups under his belt, which went as awkwardly as one would expect. But you were patient with him, showing him what you like and what you don't, helping him figure out the same for himself. It was a simultaneously experimental and exhilarating experience for you both when you finally had sex the first time.

And now, here you are, all wandering hands and moaning mouths in a closet full of office supplies. Spencer's got you sitting on a metal filing cabinet, legs spread in your pencil skirt as he stands between them. His large hands grip and squeeze your thighs, while he rolls his hips to press his erection against your clothed cunt. "Don't act as if the idea of getting found out doesn't turn you on." Spencer teases, smiling against your lips as you tug him forward into another kiss.

"Maybe a little." You admit, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Your eyes drift closed, and you feel his hand slowly slip further down your leg and under your skirt. His lithe fingers pull your panties to the side, rubbing sensual circles around your clit. You moan down his throat, your own hands reaching blindly for his belt now. You don't have a lot of time, as much as you hate to rush this.

"We should tell them soon. It's only a matter of time before they catch on." Spencer suggests, slipping two fingers into your soaked pussy with ease. The sound he ends up swallowing from your lungs makes his dick twitch inside his pants. Never in his life did he think he'd be so lucky to find a woman like you, or a woman at all, for that matter. Spencer enjoys every moment spent with you like it's his last, and it's been nice existing in this safe romantic bubble. But sneaking around has its disadvantages, namely having to keep his hands to himself when you're around the team. Far be it from Reid to be unprofessional in any sense, but, fuck, it's so hard to behave when you're around.

"I know, Penelope's been dropping lots of extra hints lately." You say with a light laugh, your insides boiling as Spencer curls his digits inside of you. They're perfectly long and slender, reaching all the right places every time. He's made you come with them alone on many occasions.

"I noticed. She's not very subtle." Reid chuckles, his gaze drifting down as you manage to get his belt unfastened. You waste no time in undoing to button and zip, reaching inside his boxers to grab hold of his aching length. According to you, he's very well endowed. Even though he's aware the average size of male genitalia is 5.1 inches when erect, he's never gotten curious enough to measure himself. A brief visual guess probably puts him at around seven or eight, not that he's all that concerned about it. All he cares about it making you happy, and his mind is far too vast to be fixated on how long his cock is.

"I don't think she ever has been." You comment, eyes focused on Spencer's dick in your grasp. He's rock solid, his tip rosy pink and leaking pearlescent precum. The sight makes your pussy throb around Reid's fingers. If you had more time, you'd drop to your knees in an instant.

"And that's why we love her." Spencer adds, groaning as you stroke him nice and slow. The both of you keep this up for a moment, zeroing in on one another's most sensitive areas that you've craved all day. Soft sighs and moans leave your mouths, mingling with the wet schlick sounds of your foreplay. "But, enough about the team." He says softly, meeting your gaze. His free hand cups your cheek, drawing you in closer as you stare into his beautiful brown eyes. "This moment is just for us." He nearly whispers as he kisses you deeply, lovingly. Neither of you have dropped the 'L' word yet, though you both certainly feel it for one another. But the time to say it definitely isn't during a lunchtime quickie in a damn closet. The occasion will present itself, at a later date.

While Spencer has your attention captured in the kiss, he gently takes his cock from your grasp and into his own. He gasps against you, tangling his tongue with yours to make your knees weak, just like you taught him. He gives his dick a couple fervent strokes, taking his fingers out of your cunt so he can line himself up. You whine at the loss, though your stomach twists in anticipation of what will soon take their place. Using his pruned fingers to hold your panties to the side, the sticky tip of Spencer's cock nudges against your center. More moans brew within your throats, kept hidden inside to prevent you from being discovered.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair as you melt into him. His lips and tongue make you feel dizzy with lust, and his cockhead rutting against your folds is sending you into orbit. "Spence, please. I need you, baby." You plead between desperate kisses.

"I need you, too, you have no idea." Reid replies, pulling back just a moment so he can see what he's doing. He positions his dick at your entrance, and pushes inside at an agonizing pace. Low moans escape you both, you at the stretch, and him at the squeeze. "Fuck, you're so wet." Spencer says, trying to keep his cool.

"All for you, Spence." You say sweetly, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him as close to you as possible with your legs. His hands return to your thighs, holding on tight as he begins to thrust.

Spencer starts off slow, watching as his cock pumps in and out of your pussy with no resistance. Your arousal makes him all shiny in the dim light, already forming a creamy ring around his base. "God, you're perfect." He exhales, unable to think of a single thing that looks as beautiful as this. The two of you, becoming one, your interlocking parts sculpted by nature to fit together flawlessly. Nothing within his expansive memory could possibly compare.

"So are you, baby. Can you go faster? We're running out of time." You beg pathetically, needing this release before you inevitably have to go back to work filling out papers and looking over crime scene photos.

"I hate how right you are about that." Spencer replies with a broken sigh, picking up speed with his thrusts. The infallibly accurate internal clock you share is ticking down, every push of his hips against yours marking each second that's taken from you. He plants his lips on yours again, focusing on giving you what those desperate noises you're making are telling him. You need him, all of him. Every last inch rutting into your sopping cunt until you see stars. And when it comes to you, Reid always aims to please.

"Fuck, Spence, just like that." You pant between fervent kisses, marveling at the way his cock pounds into your g-spot with flawless precision. The coil of arousal you've been building up since you sat down with your coffee this morning ripples and tangles with every thrust.

It becomes rather difficult for Spencer to keep kissing you when his pace picks up even more. His head falls forward, resting on your shoulder as he continues to wind you both up towards ecstasy. He turns his head slightly, hatching the naughty idea to speak lowly in your ear. "I can't wait until we get home later, and I can take my time with you." He says, trying so hard not to let the loud groans he wants to emit come through. They come out as hushed whimpers instead, which only turns you on more.

"Fuck." You let out a small noise of your own, muted as you bite down on your lower lip. But he hears it all the same, and keeps going.

"I'll spend all night touching you in all your favorite places, fuck you until the sun comes up, make you cry out for me as many times as you ask me to." His words are equally filthy and adoring, showing you just how much he wants to worship you and your body. Chills run up and down your spine as he speaks, his breath burning hot against your neck. It's nearly too much, and yet, you can't enough.

"God, Spence, please don't stop!" You moan, far too loudly.

"Now who's gonna get us caught?" Reid teases, even though the way you squealed nearly made him blow his load entirely.

"Sorry...sorry..." You pant the words out, for fear of being too loud again.

"It's okay, baby. I like knowing just how good I make you feel." He coos to you, almost sending you over the edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly in warning. His breath catches at the sensation, right there with you in terms of how close you are to reaching climax. "God, that's it...you're so close, so am I. Gonna make you cum, gonna make you feel so good, I swear...so fucking good..." Spencer's mind sprints faster than his mouth can get the words out, barely audible as he buries himself further into your neck. He slams himself into you even harder, faster, chasing his release and dragging you alongside him.

"Spencer, oh my god." You gasp as he hits that perfect place inside you cunt even better than before, his hips pounding against yours hard enough to leave bruises. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck in a feverish need to make you lose control. It's definitely working, the waves of bliss beginning to roll over you in thick crashes. "Oh, god, make me cum, baby...don't stop, you feel so good..." You babble mindlessly as your insides flutter around Reid's dick, threatening to clamp down on him at any moment. "Fuck, oh, I'm gonna cum...oh, god- fuck...oh, spenceSpenceSPENCE!" You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your scream as your orgasm takes hold. You tremble violently in Spencer's grip, your pussy strangling him with all its might. Stars blur your vision, pure pleasure coursing through your veins at lightning speed. You cling to him, nails clawing at his back, heels digging into his ass helplessly.

"Fuck-ing- god." Spencer stutters out as you squeeze him so tight, biting down hard into your neck to muffle the load groan rushing from his chest. He pierces you sloppily through his release, painting your eager walls with thick ropes of sticky white, hips stuttering and feral grunts leaving him with every stab of his spent cock. He gradually comes to a stop as your shared high subsides, pulling his softening length from you, watching as your mixed release flows from your now-sore cunt. He reaches into his pocket for a kerchief he keeps for such occasions, gazing adoringly into your lust-drunk eyes as he cleans you up. He would use his mouth, if there were time for such things.

You gasp as the soft fabric meets your puffy lips, never breaking Spencer's stare while he takes care of you. You've never felt more in love in your life than you do right now, with your legs still spread wide open, while this gorgeous, scrawny, genius wipes your combined spend away. Once you're all clean, he pulls your skirt back down over your legs, and puts his flaccid cock inside his pants, fastening the belt with casual ease. He helps you down from the cabinet, noting your wobbling legs as you stand in your sensible heels.

"All set?" He asks, earning a giggle from you as his hair has become more of a mess than usual.

"Almost." You say softly, smoothing down his unruly locks to look more presentable, and less like you two just went to town on each other over lunch. "Well, we'd better get back out there. The others should be arriving back now." You say, heading for the door first. You hate to leave at all, but the last thing you need is to get caught right now.

"I'll wait the three minutes, and meet you back in there." Three minutes, the amount of time you'd determined was appropriate enough to excuse you both coming back to the bullpen near the same time without raising suspicion. No one bats an eye at three minutes difference. It could be explained away as a coffee refill, a bathroom break, anything really. But returning at the same time? Or leaving this small room at the same time? Out of the question. You'd made the mistake of returning at the same time once, and you didn't hear the end of it from the team for a good three days, despite the assertion that you and Reid had been in separate places at the time.

"Okay. See you then." You nod, giving him a quick kiss. You open the door, checking to see if the coast is clear. Satisfied with your findings, you step out from the closet, closing the door behind you. You're about to turn and walk in the direction of the bullpen, when you end up smack dab in front of Penelope. You have no idea where she came from just now, or how long she's been hiding out. But the sly smirk on her face tells you she knows enough. "Hey, Garcia. How was your lunch?" You ask nervously, failing to play it cool.

"Oh, it was good. I brought some leftover eggplant parmesan from home." Penelope replies, nearly bursting with the knowledge that you and Reid have indeed been hooking up, as she rightly suspected. "How was yours?" She asks coyly, biting her lip as she expects you to spill all the gory details she couldn't hear through the door.

"It was...fine. I packed a lunch as well." You answer, clearing your throat.

"Oh, I'm sure you packed something. What did you have? Some sausage maybe? Or a footlong?" Penelope continues to tease, and at this point, you know the jig is up.

"Oh, alright! Yes, I did! You happy now?" You exclaim, rolling your eyes as your arms cross out of reflex.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Garcia chuckles, doing one of the dorkiest victory dances you've ever seen. The few passersby give her a sideways glance, but she doesn't pay them any mind.

"Okay, okay!" You put your hands on her shoulders to still her, meeting her eyes. "Look, can you just promise me you won't say anything? Spencer and I plan to tell everyone when the time is right, but we like keeping this thing to ourselves for now. Alright?" You implore with her to keep her mouth shut, for your sake, as your friend, and Spencer's.

"Yeah, I can do that." She nods in understanding, pulling you in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you guys!" She squeals, getting excited again.

"Thanks, Garcia. I appreciate that." You smile, returning her embrace.

"So do I." Spencer says from the other side of the door.

"You better treat her right, pretty boy! Or mama is gonna get you!" Penelope warns with all the love in the world.

"I fully intend to." Spencer replies, and you can practically see his lovesick expression from out here, and how his eyes must be looking straight at where he imagines you're standing, meaning every one of those four simple words.

[highonakuweeds]

Who Says Money Can't Buy Happiness? (Part 6)

Sylus x right hand man!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | ao3

Summary: You can't have just one peaceful day, huh? Something had to go wrong after a good morning.

After a week or so of doing what Dr. Zayne had prescribed of you, you woke up more refreshed now, which is a good thing. Before you had left his office, you’d taken a hold of his number so that he could monitor your pulse. You confessed to him that it wasn’t necessarily your heart, but the pulse points at your wrists, which is probably the reason why he chose to keep in touch in the first place. Well, either that, or that he knew that you were close with MC, so if she ever contacted you first, you could tell him how she was doing.

So, he added that before sleeping, it would be a good idea to calm yourself down with a good book, and drink some camomile tea to soothe your nerves. It had you sleeping like a baby, and when you woke up, you felt better than you did yesterday.

You picked up your phone in order to update the doctor.

you

thanks for the recommendation of the tea, dr

feel much better now lol

It didn’t take long for him to reply back.

MC’s boyfriend probs

Anytime.

Just keep on calming yourself down before sleeping.

you

🫡

May your relationship with MC flourish  :333

MC’s boyfriend probs

???

You glanced outside, the red moon of the forever night brighter than usual. Today felt like a good day to take a walk along the N109 Zone’s border. It was a good in-between of the unusual home you had at the gleaming mornings of your day job. Plus, what’s a little exercise before going to work—

Wait. It was your day-off today. 

You let out joyous laughter, laying back down as you stared at the small chandelier just above your bed. Could this day get any better?

—--

You raised your arms high into the air, a sigh of satisfaction coming out from your lips. It had been a while since you decided to take a walk along the border, and honestly, it’s been a while too long.

You started off your pace slow, small steps as breathed in the fresh air blowing from Linkon City. You couldn’t help yourself when a little giggle left you, feeling your heart float. You weren’t quite sure where this sudden burst of giddiness came from, but you welcomed it all the same; when working for the most infamous leader, moments like this are hard to come by.

With this rare instance of peace and tranquility, you could tell that your heart began to beat slower than normal, understanding that you were relaxed for the first time in a couple months or so. The feeling of actually having the chance to rest was too liberating to give up, so you forced yourself not to think about Sylus, or MC, or Aries, or anything that could possibly give you stress or anxiety.

The soft wind ran through your hair, making it sway towards the N109 Zone’s side of the border. You couldn’t care less, though; not with the morning light kissing your cheeks.

Of course, however, given your misfortune, you felt a wave of metaflux surge around you, making you groan. You hadn’t even brought your best day-to-day weapon today! All you had strapped to you (since it was strapped to you at all times) was the simple gun that the Association provided you, a little more than half the ammo right beside it, and a small dagger knife Sylus had gifted you a long time ago.

You let out a groan of annoyance the moment your wrist beeped a warning. You didn’t know how you managed to convince your boss, but you barely wore your Hunter’s Watch; your ‘intuition’ (analyzation of surroundings and calculating possible routes of danger) being accurate enough for Jenna to trust you to not wear it. 

A tick of your jaw clicked in your ear, mimicking the sound of your gun cocking. Your eyes sharpened, darting around everywhere to scan the area for Wanderers. They were near, and attracted to the scent of a human after possible days of not being fed. Or perhaps they were hungry for something else.

The bushes behind you ruffled, causing you to whip your head and aim barely beside the shrub before shooting, just in time as the Wanderer’s failed retreat. It hissed in pain at the bullets, but locked its glare at you, making you purse your lips. It was a Herte Knave, and this specific kind of Knave usually came in groups…

You shot another bullet at its other leg, causing its knees to buckle. Quickly, you shot at its companion’s feet, which was stepping on scrapped metal. It ricocheted into its body, right into its heart. With a cry, it fell, and your attention focused on assessing how many Wanderers were around you.

… 1 at your 12:00—the one you just weakened, 1 at your 10:00—the one you had shot twice, 2 at your 4:00, and 3 at your 8:00, one of them being an Advanced Knave.

You could handle this. 

You were quick to run towards the Wanderer at your 12:00, persuading the other Wanderers to follow suit. Since most of them—aside from the Advanced one—were melee, they took your bait, rushing towards you at full speed. You stepped on the Herte Knave below you, making it scream and squelch as the last of its life drained out of it. And just as the other Knaves were about to attack,

You swiftly move backwards, causing all 5 of them to collide with one another. In their dazed state—as quick as that was—you aimed at the Advanced Knave, easily dodging its ranged attacks. 

You targeted the Advanced Knave immediately, knowing that if you were close enough, most of its attacks would be rendered useless. With one hand, you carried the Hunter’s gun, and in the other, you unsheathed Sylus’ dagger, its beautiful Damascus Steel blade glinting before you sank it into the chest of the Wanderer, making it screech. You could hear the other Wanderers charging at you already, and you rolled your eyes at the nuisance. 

Your foot kicked the Wanderer down, effectively slipping the dagger out of its flesh cleanly. It stayed there as the monster struggled to get out of your weight on that foot, and you made sure to shoot it in its head before shooting the other Wanderers in their hearts. Some of them fell immediately, but the remaining two were resilient; it may be better to kill them with the dagger.

And so you did.

With a stomp to ensure that the Wanderer you had just killed with a headshot remained dead, you used that as leverage to speed up your sprint towards the two Knaves, dagger easily stabbing through their throats. As they fell down to their demise, your melee weapon was difficult to wrench out of one of their necks, leaving it there.

And with the final gush of their blood, the Wanderers were finally killed and dead for good, and you heaved in a sigh. Great, now you have to wash your dagger again. You kneeled down at the Herte Knave with the dagger in its neck, placing your gun back in its holster. Its tip felt hot against your thigh despite the thick elastic fabric distinguishing it from your bare skin. 

Then, out of nowhere, you felt a sharp pain slicing through your other thigh, making you let out a guttural scream. You turned towards the other Wanderer, whose sword was about to cleanly cut your leg in half vertically. It was quick when you stabbed it one more time in its heart, and it dropped slack, no more resistance in its bones. 

Fuck, you could barely even stand with how much pain you were in. you had no choice but to remove your shirt, using your already bloodied dagger to stab a hole into it, making you able to rip it into long strips. With careful and shaky hands, you wrapped it around your thigh, and you cursed when the wound was too big for your shirt to fully cover it. But this will have to do for now. Even if you could already see the blood seeping out of the makeshift bandage.

You didn’t even realize your eyes were tearing up until you tried to stand up. With a loud curse, your knees buckled, causing you to kneel once more. The impact of your knees hitting the hard ground traveled to your thigh, making you suck in a breath at the pain. You had to use something as a temporary cane… Ah, yes, the sword that sliced you in the first place would do.

You stood up with great effort, wincing and groaning throughout it. You placed the blunt end of the sword under your armpit as support, the tip of it digging into the dry dirt of the borders securely. 

How far was home from here again?

—--

You quietly (as quietly as a person with a severe wound could) entered through the staff door that was tucked away somewhere in the back of Sylus’ base. A lot of the people there looked at you, clearly and rightfully alarmed, but you raised a shaky hand, pinching your pointer and thumb and running it across your lips, telling them to not speak a word. 

They preferred you more than Sylus, anyway.

And with that, you were able to go to one of the vacant labs deep underground in Sylus’ base, immediately grabbing all of the tools needed to properly dress your wound. The staff knowing about your condition was inevitable, given they would notice the soiled shirt in the trash anyway. However, you did not want any of Sylus’ doctors to know; they reported everything to him. At least with the staff, you could plead to them to stay silent, but his doctors were relentless.

You sat down on one of the high tables, placing the leg with a wound on its thigh on a stool. The materials were right beside you, but you were just staring at the dripping blood pooling beneath your leg. You had to force yourself to not let any of your tears drip as your wound stung terribly, the flesh around it pulsating as your body desperately tried to fend off any potential infections from dressing the wound in unsanitary ‘bandages’. With shaky and slightly numb hands, you put on latex gloves. This shouldn’t hurt so much; you’ve been through worse. But you were usually under some kind of numbing agent, or under actual good hospital care provided by the Association. Nobody cared if you screamed until your lungs gave out.

But you couldn’t do that now.

Keep yourself quiet, keep yourself quiet, you chided, hissing when you began cleaning the wound, first with unscented, mild soap and water, and then Isopropyl alcohol. It solicited a small whimper from you, and you had to grab a towel from somewhere to bite down on it, muffling any slight noises you made. 

You took a deep breath, staring at the thread and needle in your hands. Could you really do this without anesthesia?

The first stitch that had penetrated you almost made you scream, your hand tensing against the needle driver. You bit down on the towel so hard you couldn’t feel any saliva in your mouth anymore. Push through.

You were glad that you were taught how to suture wounds by Sylus’ doctors long ago. It wasn’t mandatory at all, since you knew that Sylus would most probably just carry you to the nearest doctor that was available. But you insisted on learning, if ever something like this happens. If ever you planned on ‘escaping’ and suddenly found yourself injured.

The thought of you even considering escaping distracted you a little, as it made you giggle a bit. 5 years ago and you were still thinking of leaving such a luxurious place like this. 

You had 3 stitches tied and secured already. But with how big the slash was, you had assumed you needed… 8 more?

The more you worked against yourself, the more you could feel your stomach churn and your forehead dampen. The area burned white with how much it stung, especially after the endless amount of times you punctured yourself with the sharpest needle on Earth.

Well, it wasn’t. But it might as well be without anesthesia.

Finally, after a slow 10 minutes and painful trudges through the necessary procedure, it was stitched. Finally, it was stitched. 

The room was deathly silent, only making the ringing of your ears even more piercing. Your hand slipped slightly with how it was slowly losing its grip, but you managed to place a long strip of gauze over the now neat, clean wound, though slightly jagged from the Wanderer’s sword. Your mouth was dry, your tongue flat against the cloth in your mouth, and you bit down even harder.

Your blood soaked through the first piece of gauze too easily. Too quickly. With a muted curse, you placed another strip, but this time with more conviction; you were slowly regaining your grip.

And so, you grabbed the bandage, finally easily able to wrap it around your thigh. The process was slow, painstaking, and you wouldn’t have been able to deny the times you would force yourself to peel your eyes away from your wound to let your liquid pain drip down onto the cold lab table. 

Two more wrap-arounds and you were finished. Two more wrap-arounds and you were finished. Two more…

You swallowed thickly as you removed the towel in your mouth, sweat beading your forehead. The corners of your vision began to glitch, your physical exhaustion consuming you. But you had to push through; you were already done dressing your wound up. Quietly. Discreetly. Alone. 

It took you a while to clean everything up, to remove the smell of blood from the room. You had grabbed a broom to place under your armpit once more and walked towards your room, which took another 20 minutes. Luckily, throughout the way there, a couple of servants had helped you, though secretly. It was like they didn’t want you to know.

But there wasn’t really anything that could get past your eyes.

—--

The moment you opened the door to your room, you noticed a small plate of your favorite food on your nightstand, still clearly fresh. A smile placed itself on your face; of course the chef knew, too.

You sat down on your bed, the mattress dipping. You didn’t hesitate to take a bite of your food, sighing in pleasure when you tasted the familiar sense of warmth spreading around your body. You laid down to rest your back on the headrest, a hand going down to your bed. There was a file on it, something you didn’t notice through the daze of blood loss you just went through. 

You skimmed through it, right wrist beeping softly at the new information. So that’s what Sylus wanted to do…

Something uneasy and unsettling bubbled in your stomach. Not out of jealousy, though, no, totally not. But rather out of concern for MC’s health. How is Sylus so sure she can handle a mission like this?

You needed to reason out with him, surely.

…

Could you walk like this?

—--

The gunshot was what made you narrow your eyes, your hand hesitant on the door handle. Was there a special client he had to have taken care of in his bedroom ? You knew you shouldn’t doubt your boss as just his subordinate, but when have you ever actually taken that role as serious as that?

So, you opened the door, ready to dispose of a dead body despite your leg, when all of a sudden,

“Oh.” Your heart sank even if you had forced your body not to. Sylus was on top of MC in just his robe, pinning her wrists down. A pink cloud that had the words ”LOVE” written in it was right above them, making your mouth dry.

Sylus cocked his head ever so slightly when he heard your voice, and he raised a brow. “Darling, you should know when to knock.” There was that stupid teasing tone when he spoke, as if taunting you to go batshit crazy.

MC, who came to the conclusion that you two were probably an item of some sort (well, what should she have assumed when he called you darling?), looked rather distressed, immediately pushing Sylus off (or at least attempting to). “Wait! Wait, Nyx, this isn’t what it looks like! I-I needed to get a brooch so I could go to the next auctio—”

“I’m sorry for bothering you both,” your voice hung low with forced professionalism as you bowed your head softly, closing the door

Sylus’ grip weakened at your words, disappointed that you had submitted so easily to what was going on. MC wasn’t having it, though, so the moment she felt his grip against your wrists falter, she slipped away with agility, running towards the door whilst shouting your ‘name’. But it was too late; when she opened the door, you were already gone.

So after she closed the door again, she stood there, anger boiling under her skin. And before Sylus could even sneak in a snarky remark, she marched towards him, making him tilt his head. 

And to say that Sylus was caught off guard was an understatement.

MC’s slap barely made him turn his head, but it still stung nonetheless. He could tell she was fuming, especially since he’d never seen her this mad so far.

“You did not tell me Nyx was your lover .” She said in a low voice, as if restraining herself from doing anything bad. “Why do you treat her like she’s just one of your lowly workers?” Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but MC cut him off with a finger. “And why did you do something so suggestive when you had a girlfriend this entire time?”

“You were the one trying to look for the brooch in my bedroom.” He calmly stated, crossing his arms. “And she is not my lover.”

MC scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I only wanted to steal that damn brooch because I need it to go around the N109 Zone. Didn’t you tell me that yourself? Plus, you were the one insisting that I find it instead of just giving it to me. And I don’t believe she’s your lover. Your grip weakened when she came in. Surely that means something , right?”

Her grasp of the brooch tightened. “The auction isn’t that far from now, and as of the moment, I will go with you. That never changed. But,” she glanced at the door, pursing her lips. “Know your boundaries, Sylus.”

She left the room, pinning the brooch onto her shirt by herself before slamming the door, leaving Sylus in his bedroom, for once speechless.

—--

The tears that came from your eyes were not from the wound you had gotten an hour or three ago. Rather, it came from a more internal wound.

You clicked your tongue as tears dripped onto the dark hallway, MC’s voice quieting the more you walked away. The adrenaline of it all began to wear off, making you lose your balance slightly. You hugged the wall to your left with a thud, but it only hit your thigh, making you seethe in pain. Angry tears blurred your vision, but even with that, you were able to make out the two familiar figures, as well as their voices.

“(Name)!” Luke exclaimed, hooking your arm around his shoulders. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” He pried you off of the wall, and you nodded your head, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you replied, but the quiver in your voice gave you away.

Kieran glanced at the way you kept your left leg on your toes instead of flat against the floor. He was quick to do the same that Luke did with your other arm, essentially making the pressure against your leg alleviate just a bit. “But you don’t look fine. Is there something wrong with your leg—”

“I said I’m fine.” You snapped, taking a sharp inhale before speaking again to keep your composure. “I… I had a little fight with Wanderers a couple hours ago, and my leg is…”

“Bleeding?” Kieran asked you, making you narrow your eyes and tilt your head. “Well, technically. But what do you mean?”

“Well,” Luke stared at your left thigh. “It’s—It’s bleeding. Like seeping through your clothes.”

“What? ” You quickly glanced at your leg and realized that you probably pulled a couple of stitches, making you hiss at the realization. Fuck, that means you’d have to redo everything all over again. 

You bit your lip when the twins sat you down on your bed (you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice the walk there) before looking at them. “You two know how to suture, right?”

They nodded hesitantly, exchanging glances with each other. 

“Get the supplies, especially the anesthesia, or a number agent, no matter how mild it is. Please. ”

@readerxyourbabe

[arget-star]

By Any Other Name

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Alright SO. I know I am primarily a Fire Emblem blog. however, Wind Breaker took over my life in the span of like a week and I could not get this thought out of my head and well. here we are. Not beta read, this is my first xreader fic i've ever posted. i hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of blood, feelings

wc: 2k

about: You met Sakura about six months ago, and have essentially wormed your way into his little walled off heart. He comes home to your now (mostly) shared little apartment, battered and bloody after saving a girl who looked like you

You’re not living together.

That’s what Sakura says, despite the fact you stay over four nights out of the week, and somewhere in the six months you’ve been dating, half your stuff has ended up in his ramshackle little apartment. “You deserve better than a leaky faucet”, he’d said, cheeks red and nose scrunched in a scowl. You’d merely laughed, kissing his forehead before replying, “It adds to the charm.” And that was that.

You’re not living together. So why does he hope you’ll be there, curled up on that cheap little couch you’d insisted on bringing over, that lovely smile on your face as you greet him?

Those assholes must’ve hit his head harder than he realized. Sakura grits his teeth, an arm banded around his throbbing torso as he wobbles along the sidewalk. Weaklings, all of them. Acting tough solely because they have nothing better to do with their time. Seriously, it’s just plain pathetic.

He spits out a glob of blood into the nearby bushes. He doesn’t remember biting his cheek; maybe he’d ground his teeth against it after taking a particularly nasty kick while dodging someone else’s punch. Wasn’t he past his body locking up, his muscles moving with all the speed of a turtle?

The girl had been clutching the long strap of her purse with all her meager might while surrounded by leering thugs. The type of guys who coast by on looks rather than action. Intimidation instead of respect. At least now he’s able to articulate—better yet, understand—what pisses him off so badly about guys like that. Sakura would’ve leapt in regardless, but then he caught sight of her underneath the lamplight, and her shade of hair matched yours. The purse even had a keychain dangling from it, the charms jingling in faint alarm.

She wasn’t you, obviously. You were already home, had probably cooked something simple yet delicious and were keeping it warm until he arrived.

So he froze, mismatched eyes wide as a new type of fear unfurled within his chest, and then all hell broke loose. He knew how to protect someone in a fight, finally, and while the poor girl flattened herself against the side of a nearby building as he sent the idiots flying, his attention still kept flicking to her. He kept thinking what he’d do if it was you, and on one such slip of his concentration, that bastard’s boot came out of nowhere.

He’ll have to report this to Umemiya in the morning, and tell you all about it tonight, and—

Sakura looks up. He’s nearly there; the derelict building doesn’t seem so foreboding, especially once he catches sight of the warm yellow light on in his apartment. Maybe, just maybe, things won’t be so bad after all.

The doorknob wiggles. You carefully place your bookmark inside your book,  sitting up properly in your seat. Sakura’s home a bit later than usual—he probably got stuck eating at Café Pothos with everyone else. Good. You’re grateful he has so many friends, even if he acts like a cat who fell into a puddle of water about it.

“Welco—Sakura!” Your book tumbles from your hands in your haste to stand up. He stands in the doorway while you catalogue his injuries as if in slow motion. Blood drips down the left side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His nose is bleeding, too, running down his chin and staining his white shirt red. His knuckles are raw. It’s subtle; yet he sways, quickly placing his right hand against the wall to brace himself. The motion is enough to jolt you from your surprise.

You’re at his side in a blink. His reaction is sluggish; lips parting in belated surprise when you loop his right arm around your shoulders. Normally, he reads your movements almost before you make them, bracing himself for whatever contact you’re about to subject him to so he’s never caught off guard. But slowly, like water eroding rock, he’d learned that he can let his guard down around you, even at his most vulnerable.

Especially then.

“‘M fine,” he mutters out of reflex. You only scoff, walking him over to the couch with a small huff of effort. “Just a small fight.”

Carefully, you help ease him down onto the cushions, releasing your hold only once he’s settled. “A small fight?” You echo, disbelief in your tone. There’s no reprimand or ridicule, just a healthy doubt. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped looking for the irritation he’s so used to hearing. Leaning his head back, he sighs. “Some guys were causin’ trouble. A new gang, I think. Trying to rob a girl—” he cuts off abruptly, and you watch his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, nearly blending in with the dried blood caking his skin. Sakura immediately looks away; he misses the knowing glint entering your expression.

Spinning on your heel, you head for the kitchen. The faucet doesn’t leak as badly now, after you’d finagled a temporary fix with determination and a healthy amount of internet research. He deserves more than a crappy sink, even if he won’t admit it. “You were by yourself?” You ask, opening the drawer and removing a towel. (Yet another item that had miraculously wound up in his space one day. When Sakura confronted you, you’d shrugged, then asked what he wanted for dinner.)

Sakura watches you for a moment, ignoring how something deep within his chest settles as you run the towel under cool water. It’s a familiar scene, enough that he no longer feels the urge to yell and raise his fists in defense. “Yeah. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle on my own.”

Strange. Suo-chan and Nirei-chan always shadow Sakura. Unless Sakura is going home—they haven’t invaded his space since the day they’d discovered him sick on the floor. Now, especially, Sakura would rip their heads off if they came snooping around while you were home. The faucet shuts off. You wring out the towel once, twice, then pad back over to the couch.

“I never doubted that, Grade Captain,” you tease, arranging yourself so you’re sitting on your knees. Drops of water drip down your wrist and onto the cushions below. His blush deepens, and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “Now hold still.”

“Shaddup,” he mumbles without heat. Instinct makes him shift back an inch; he’s always taken care of himself, alone. Sick, bruised, bloodied—he proved time and again he didn’t need anyone else. Then you breezed into his life, upending his entire world with your musical laughter and patient touch.

This is far from the first time you’ve patched him up. He no longer hisses and rages and scowls, a teenage version of a toddler’s temper tantrum, yet neither can he completely disregard a lifetime of gut reactions to others extending a hand in his direction.

You never minded when his hackles rose. You understood him, remaining endlessly understanding while he let his fear run its course. The damp rag hovers in the space between you and him. Sakura zeros in on the blue material instead of your face.

“Ready?”

That’s another thing. You ask him about things. Wait for his brain to catch up with non-dangerous situations. It’s weird, and scary, and wonderful.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are.”

The smile you give him is radiant. Your free hand cups his less bloody cheek, keeping him steady, while you tenderly press the rag to his chin. He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth.

It’s quiet, as you slowly clean him up, beyond the soft scrap of material against skin. There’s a rhythm to your movements. Sakura finds it soothing, despite the circumstances. You both study each other; Sakura, like you’re a puzzle he’s still trying to solve, and you, like he’s something precious.

His golden eye truly is beautiful. He told you others have compared it to twilight, but you think it’s more akin to burnished gold. Rare, and infinitely treasured. He closes it, keeping it safe from harm as you run the now pink-tinged cloth over his browbone. A shame, you think, he keeps himself so locked away.

The slight pressure leaves his face. You move back, giving him room to breathe, holding the rag loosely in your hand. His eye opens again, a coin glinting in a riverbank.

“There,” you say, unfolding yourself from the couch, brushing your thumb across his cheek before you release him completely. “I’ll be back with the first aid supplies.”

Sakura just nods. He never says the words thank you; but you hear it in the way he lets you take care of him, how he takes your hands so reverently in his once your all finished, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll snap in half if he squeezes too hard.

You’re opening the cabinet underneath the sink when he speaks again. “She looked like you.”

He says it so quietly, you nearly miss it. You freeze, half-bent down to reach for the ridiculous amounts of bandages and antiseptic bottles stashed neatly in their respective baskets. (Another thing you’d changed one day, much to Sakura’s initial chagrin, until he’d stumbled home covered in half a dozen cuts on the rare day you weren’t waiting for him, and found everything he needed without cursing his lack of organization.)

Mechanically, you grab the necessary materials. You’d assumed as much, based on his reaction when you told you the cause of his current state. A shudder runs down your spine as you imagine what the other guys must look like, lying defeated in the street. Sakura doesn’t fight just on behalf of someone else—at least, that what helps him sleep at night, though you know his tune has changed after all his experiences with Bofurin. For him to fight on your behalf, however tangentially related, makes your heart flutter.

Kotoha will practically jump for joy when you tell her.

For now, you let this newfound knowledge settle into your skin, your fluttering heart, smiling to yourself as you exit the bathroom, arms loaded with supplies. “Did she, now?”

Sakura’s sitting upright, head down, once again avoiding your gaze. His fingernails dig into the fabric of his school pants. Beneath the curtain of two-toned hair, you can see the blush sitting high on his cheeks. It’s a miracle they’re not permanently stained pink.

“Y-yeah. I knew she wasn’t you, but for a moment…I need to teach you how to defend yourself. I can’t patrol everywhere, and I’m not the strongest yet. Anyone from Furin will keep you safe, but if we’re not around—”

This is new. You swallow, setting the first aid supplies down on the tatami, sitting down with your legs crisscrossed. (One day, you’ll convince him to buy a table, but there’s only so much furniture you can squeeze in such a tiny place.)

“Sakura,” you say, but he doesn’t hear you.

“—I need to know you can take care of yourself until I get there—”

“Sakura.”

“—and send them all flyin’—”

“Haruka.”

That shocks him into silence. He inhales, then looks up sharply, lips curling into the angry snarl you know so well. It’s his only defense mechanism, beyond his fists, and he’d never raise those at you. (That thing lodged within his chest stirs again. No one’s called him by his given name in years. It feels right, that here, in this space you two have created together, you should use it.)

He’s quite the sight, half patched-up and spluttering mad. One eye darkens like a storm at sea; the other kindles into molten gold, ready to burn any who get in his way.

You’re surprised, too. But you didn’t know what else to do. He’s never spiraled like this before, and it hits you that for perhaps the first time, he was genuinely scared for someone else. You shake your head, breaking eye contact, and reach for the gauze. “I’m sorry, Sakura. I should have asked before using your first name.”

Your fingers shake only a little when you grab the nearest antiseptic, flipping open the cap with your thumb. He watches it all, struck dumb. He doesn’t want an apology. He wants you to say it again, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

All of the fight leaks out of him. His shoulders slump forward. Haruka. Haruka. You hadn’t said it in disgust, or fear, or hatred. If he had to guess, you sounded concerned. Haruka. “I liked hearin’ you say it,” he replies.

A laugh bubbles out of you, born from nervous relief. You nearly spill antiseptic all over you instead of the gauze. “Really? May I call you Haruka, then? Not all the time…just here.” Rising to your knees, you crawl over to him, taking one battered hand in your soft one.

His throat tightens. An odd pressure builds behind his eyes. “Fine.”

“This’ll sting,” you murmur in warning, almost like an afterthought. “You can use mine, too. If you want.”

Sakura’s about to respond, tell you he’ll do it if it’ll make you happy (and make his own heart beat a little faster), but then the gauze descends onto his split knuckles. It’s not like eating a kick to the face; it barely registers in comparison.

Maybe it’s the emotions he’s kept bottled up since the fight. Maybe it’s the fact you called him Haruka and the world didn’t explode. Both things, he assumes, and that’s why your healing touch hurts worse than a dozen roundhouse kicks.

It fades, after that first bright burst.

Neither of you say anything again while you continue your ministrations. Once his knuckles are taken care of, you move on to his face, tenderly smoothing his bi-colored bangs off his forehead to ensure no strands get caught underneath the small bandage you apply to the cut above his eyebrow.

The entire time, he replays this strange evening over and over again in his head. It all leads back to you, caring for him, using his first name like it’s nothing when it in fact means everything. He hates himself, a little bit, for not being better at this.

For your part, your focus on him turns clinical. You can deal with the emotional part of it later. When you’ve finished with the last bandage, you stare at him a moment. Take in this boy who pushed away the entire world when it wrote him off, the very same boy who harbors no malice in his heart, just kindness hidden by anger.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, then slide away before he can reciprocate. He splutters again, blush back in place, and it’s such a Sak—Haruka thing to do, you bite back a laugh.

“Are you ready to eat, Haruka? You get hungry after a good fight.”

He offers you a rare smile in return.

[hiddenlongingsfanfic]

Pushing Your Luck (Lucky Boys 4)

Danny slowly uncurled from the little corner that he had started to make his own. He had never had a home that was completely his before and it still felt too good to be true. He yawned and stretched his hands above his head and leaned back and back and back; doing a lazy little loop de loop in the air.

He cocked his head to one side as he stretched his hearing out to the rest of the building.

Nothing sounded out of place.

No footsteps or voices.

Just the low scratching of some industrious little rodent that was making its own nest in the walls a floor below him.

He raked a hand through his wild white hair and contemplated what he was going to do with his morning. He had managed to gather a small collection of plastic bottles that he had cleaned out and then filled in a public bathroom. The moldy comforter made a comfortable little nest that he could curl up in without having to worry about getting too warm.

The little basket next to the window…had not been there last night.

Still yawning, Danny floated over to the woven basket that someone had placed inside without disturbing him.

When he caught sight of the handwritten note that had been placed on top of his newest present he let out a little chirrup of glee. More presents from Hood. Once he managed to get himself a little bit more established Danny was going to have to figure out where the other man lived so that he could return the favor.

Sneaky presents were the best kind after all.

It meant that the other man had been thinking of him without wanting to bother him. The most recent note was just as sweet as the first had been.

THOUGHT YOU MIGHT NEED THESE. RH 

The note was attached to the top of a little pad of paper and included a ballpoint pen. Danny carefully sifted through the basket with something approaching awe.

Nobody had ever given him such thoughtful gifts before.

His parents had been prone to forgetting his birthday and Christmas.

Jazz had always remembered but cakes and the like were completely out of the question in their house when the eggs were prone to reanimation. So it had usually been some sort of pre-packaged cupcake or at best a new pair of sneakers to replace the ones that had been accidentally dipped in acid.

Danny purred quietly when he pulled out a fuzzy throw blanket in a deep green color that wouldn’t show stains.

A couple of different bottles of cleaner.

One for fabrics and one for tile or linoleum.

Some paper towels for easy cleanup and disposal.

Then finally with shaking fingers he pulled out an oversized hoodie that would be able to swing down to at least his knees; this one in a sturdy black woven material that would drape without clinging to him.

Danny buried his face in the thick material with a stifled gasp as he hugged it to his chest and finally let himself actually think about his sister.

She had always done what she thought was best for him.

No matter the cost.

One of the last sounds he had heard before falling through the rift in the sky was the sound of explosive ammunition being set off with extreme prejudice.

Ancients, he even thought that he might have seen Vlad of all people coming in with his friends trying to get his parents to see reason. It had sounded like the world was exploding around him and Jazz had only been given an instant to hug her little brother tightly to her chest, her lips brushing his forehead before she pushed him back and managed to shove some sort of small tech directly into an opening in his chest.

A gash that the scientists had left on him after they’re latest session and left a couple of his ribs exposed to the open air. 

She had screamed a phrase in a language that seemed to reorient Danny’s world as he fell up through the sky and then started falling straight down into an entirely new world.

He could barely see anything through the lights and explosive noises that had erupted around him but it hadn't looked survivable. He could see Jazz’s eyes red-rimmed and blackened with soot and bruises for a long moment before the portal had snapped shut. Gone so completely that he couldn’t even see a scar in the sky above him as he began to fall.

He had felt the finality of whatever Jazz had done.

There wasn’t going to be a way for him to go back home, even if he had wanted to.

He had the last piece of his world and family hidden behind his heart.

Still holding the new hoodie tightly in one arm Danny pulled it free gently; desperately trying not to damage whatever Jazz’s last gift could possibly be. He looked down at the little cube in the palm of his hand and he could see that Jazz, Sam, and Tucker had all written their initials on it. Danny ducked his head down a little bit so that he could look at the tech a little closer. It looked to just plug in to a normal USB. Jazz and his friends would have had months to plan their insane rescue mission. Hopefully wherever he had landed they had similar technology.

Although if he glanced at the little box out of the corner of his eyes he could see the low sheen of some sort of magic that they had coated it in. Knowing Tucker it was more than likely going to force itself to work with any sort of operating system he was able to find. 

Danny floated over to the corner that he had made his little nest in.

It was easier to pull ectoplasm from the floor when he only had a few layers of fabric separating him from it so he didn’t have to worry about needing to find or haul a bed frame into the little studio.

The moldy comforter was carefully folded; as neatly as he was able to manage and placed to one side.

He scrunched the rich green fabric of his new blanket into a nest that he would be able to curl up in comfortably as long as he continued to not have bones.

The cleaning supplies were left in the basket for the moment.

He still wanted to do a little more exploring before the sun fully rose and cleaning could wait until after he’d rested some more.

The motley little collection of plastic bottles was tucked in next to the cleaners.

It wasn’t a lot but Danny tweaked the bottles and looked over his few belongings with something like pride.

With a great deal of reluctance Danny twitched back into his human form only staying in it long enough to slip the hoodie over his bare torso before reverting back to his ghostly body as quickly he could manage. Danny let his fingers smooth down over his hazmat suit and even though he normally couldn’t even feel whatever clothing his alternate was wearing he could feel a hint of extra warmth on his body from the extra layer.

He floated back towards his window and let himself go invisible and intangible as he slipped through the rotten wooden boards that half covered the broken glass. The early morning sun was still hiding behind the tall buildings and left the streets of his new home murky and fog covered. 

The chill of the mist seemed to penetrate right to his core and Danny shivered with delight.

He let the droplets of moisture phase right through him and he could feel them wicking away the muck and blood of his capture and subsequent escape. The miasma of smog and water felt like a blessing after the close confines of the laboratory and Danny let himself spin and swirl through it. 

It was early enough that he could just make out a couple of windows with their lights on. 

3rd shifters coming home for the day or maybe a few of especially early birds that were preparing for the long day ahead of them. The sidewalks themselves were bare of any commuters and even the women who had been patrolling the area for customers had finally headed back to their homes.

The city wasn’t completely quiet though.

Danny could hear what sounded like pigeons cooing and beginning to stir from their nests and someone had a radio playing a softly sung ballad in Spanish.

The more Danny scouted around the more it felt like any sort of normal morning in a big city.

Well, what he had always imagined a big city would sound like.  

Whatever alternate earth he had ended up landing on seemed to be on a similar timeline at least.

There weren’t a lot of cars lining the streets but the ones that were there looked to be worn from long winters. The rocker panels rusted and were eaten away by the spray of slush from salt covered pavement.

The lines of the cars were different though, a little longer and sleeker than the vehicles he was accustomed to.

Still though; they were undeniably gas powered cars just like those he had grown up with.

As he got closer to the edges of the urban sprawl Danny started to hear the low susurration of swiftly running water.

He trailed the edges of the river, ducking under huge cranes and flying over large shipping containers.

The closer he got to the waters edge the more the smell of pollution and rotten fish began to overwhelm him.

The water looked near pitch black with an oily rainbow sheen coating the top of it.

Sam would have been having absolute fits about this place if she was here Danny thought wistfully.

He hadn’t seen a single designated green space at all in his exploration and the water smelled absolutely toxic even to him.

As he darted around his new haunt Danny was starting to get a vivid picture of exactly where he had ended up.

The entire place seemed to be the worst sort of urban sprawl, a broken down neighborhood trapped in the center of a river that was surrounded by an even larger city. With the cracked concrete, the empty warehouses and the prevalence of a less than legal nightlife as its main source of income the whole place had the feeling of a place that had been abandoned due to neglect and fear.

The unwanted bastard child of an aging royalty. 

It took him a couple of hours but Danny managed to circle the entire island, noting decrepit bridges as the only escape.

Winding his way through the blocks of housing Danny did start to notice some bright spots in the otherwise dingy atmosphere. 

A small diner whose warm lights shone out onto the pocked sidewalks. A woman, he presumed a waitress, between her clean white apron and the neat bun that her graying hair had been pulled back into, was wiping down the tables.

A few blocks down, now that the sun was finally starting to peek over the rooftops he could see a line forming for what looked like a local soup kitchen.

All of the tables and floors were worn but scrupulously clean. 

A couple of brave souls were already huddled over their pancakes or oatmeal with one of the employees waving a full coffee pot at them playfully.

Peering in through the window Danny smiled softly at the friendly group. Maybe once he managed to clean up his mortal body a little bit Danny would be welcomed here too and he could eat some freshly cooked food for the first time in longer than he wanted to think about.

When another early riser slipped obliviously through his body Danny startled and zipped up onto a nearby roof.

He hadn’t even felt the other man come up behind him.

He had used to be better at this, more aware of his surroundings.  

In Amity Park he had been able to feel the trails that the local human population had made through the ectoplasm that had filled the air.

He didn’t always know who it was, but Danny had always been able to determine without so much as a glance, whether there were any civilians in his trajectory.

There was just something about this place that left him feeling constantly on his back foot.

Tail?

Whatever.

Amity Park may have been coated in ectoplasm but he had still been able to feel the people moving through it.

Here it was like all of the people had been a part of this liminal space for so long that they were a part of the atmosphere, generations of people living and dying and being buried in it.

It was more akin to the Ghost Zone than the mortal plane that he was used to. 

Danny slunk back towards his apartment as the streets started to fill up with commuters.

T his time he was careful to float well above the scattering of people. 

It had always felt weird as hell whenever any sort of living thing passed straight through him and Danny had no interest in feeling that particular sensation again any time soon.

When he finally passed back through his window Danny sighed deeply as he let himself slip back into an at least semi-tangible form.

Alighting on the fuzzy softness of his new blanket Danny settled in for a late morning nap.

Once he got a little bit more rest he could start to clean up the worst of the water damage and mold.

The gift basket and the clippers had definitely come from Hood so he was going to work under the assumption that he was welcome in the other man’s haunt.

At least for now.

Snuggling into the deep folds of the fabric Danny could already see the ectoplasm start to seep back out of the floor as his eyes started to slip closed.

He hummed deeply at the unexpected comfort that he had found and let himself slip slowly back to sleep.

When Dick saw Jason the next afternoon he didn’t like the way that his younger brother's eyes were lined with dark bruising from a lack of sleep.

“Problem?”

Jason shook his head even as he took a deep draw from the energy drink he was clutching.

“3 out of my 4…employees.”

Lieutenants, Dick’s brain replaced the slowly enunciated word.

“Came to the meeting we had scheduled.”

“And the fourth?”

“No call. No show. I might have to get HR involved if this continues or maybe a welfare check if they don’t get in contact with me.”

Dick nodded thoughtfully.

HR would probably be the mousy little man that had been working on Jason’s books both legal and not for the past few years. T he man seemed to blend into furniture while also being comparable to Red Robin with his skill with computers. The welfare check was probably going to be an oversized boot to whichever door the missing lieutenant was known to hide behind.

Dick had never actually been to the warehouse that Jason had converted into an open plan office space for the people who worked under him but he had seen the blueprints and been impressed.

Jason had even begrudgingly brought some of his paperwork to Bruce when he had been in the process of legitimizing his business.

A quick glance through the documents had shown that Jason had been deadly serious about taking care of the people that worked for him. W-2’s, health insurance, the whole nine yards.

You could say a lot of things about Jason but he had never failed to commit.

As Red Hood he controlled the trafficking of drugs into the Narrows, made sure that the area children were kept well clear of it, cracked down on violent crime both day and night and ran a legitimate charity as Jason Todd-Wayne. 

The man needed to have employees that he could trust.

If only to make sure that he didn’t run himself completely ragged.

No matter what he or Tim might think, sleep was actually a required activity that both of them needed to partake in on a more regular basis. 

Dick clapped his hand on Jason’s shoulder in commiseration.

“Hopefully nothing too exciting comes from that. Maybe he just forgot.”

Jason nodded in feigned agreement as the pair turned to start walking towards the Bed, Bath, and Beyond that they had agreed to meet at.

Like hell had the man forgotten a meeting but Jason pushed that out of his mind for the moment.

H e was determined to make the strange man more comfortable as soon as possible.

Even if he was living in a murder house.

Dick had needed to physically remove over a dozen didn’t blankets from Jason’s grasp while they had wandered through the too bright lights aisles of Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Every time he had seen another one Jason had fussed and compared the textures between the fluffy dark green throw and the next blanket that had landed in his line of sight.

" You’re positive?”

“Yes.”

“You really think he’ll like this blanket?”

“I think he’ll like any of these very nice blankets but if you get him more than one or two he’s going to be overwhelmed by choice.”

Jason’s eyes flicked over the remaining options in front of him.

He snagged another blanket that was a dark gray that wouldn’t show dirt too easily.

“Two then. One for now and one for when I switch out the green to wash it. So he doesn’t think I took it away.”

Since he was laser focused on the texture in front of him Jason couldn’t have seen Dick tilt his head slightly back, his eyes squeezed shut for just a moment while he silently asked for patience.

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t patronize me, Dick. ”

Dick bit back a smile while he watched his brother, hulking and bulky with muscle, slowly pet against the grain of a throw blanket covered in mushrooms.

“I’m not. From what we’ve been able to piece together about this guy he deserves every bit of our consideration. But buying the wrong...” Dick flicked his hands up to create quotation marks in the air “blanket is not going to be the reason this guy tips over the edge.”

Rubbing his thumb and forefingers together this time on a blue and white check fabric Jason continued to avoid eye contact.

“I scared him. I’m always talking about giving people a chance. Making sure that they’re not judged for their pasts. But I didn’t even give him a second to try and explain himself, just treated him like a threat from the get go.”

"Yeah.” Dick’s voice was soft. “Just because we’re all trying to move past our own personal histories doesn’t mean that we weren’t shaped by them. He scared you too.”

“He didn’t mean to though.”

“The hell he didn’t. We’ve all seen that recording. The only reason that man didn’t suplex you into the ground was because of that muzzle.”

Dick’s eyes flicked around them, triple-checking that nobody was within earshot of their conversation. 

“He used those electrical snips you left him. He’s staying in that shitty little efficiency in your territory. Trust goes both ways and it seems to me that you're both working on it.”

“What other fucking choice does he have?”

Jason growled in frustration and swiped his hands through his hair leaving it curling wildly and swept up off of his face.

“Whoever he is, that man can fly, turn invisible and slip through solid objects. He’s got a whole lot of options even if he doesn’t want to be a hero or a rogue.”

Dick clapped his hand up on the taller man's shoulder and started to drag him out of the aisle that they had been occupying.

“Now, let’s go look at the cleaning products. I’m thinking we go for unscented and dye free. Let’s try to not induce any unexpected allergic reactions in your guest.”

The employees of the thrift store had given him a wide berth but Jason was sure that they had still heard him as he muttered murderously. 

He picked through the selection of cheap baskets that had all probably come from some sort of department store.

“...cheap. Made in China. Cheap and made in China. Whatever happened to craftsmanship I ask you…”

Jason would have had to be a lot more oblivious than he had ever been to not notice the mechanical sound of a phone snapping a picture of him.

The Narrows had accepted Jason Todd’s return from the dead with open arms but Gotham as a whole had been less than impressed. 

He was 100% sure that picture was going to be sold to the local paper with some sort of ridiculous headline.

Riches to Rags: Gothams (Least?) Favorite Son Forced to Shop Second Hand.

As though choosing to shop at a local thrift store was something to be ashamed of.

He had his own fucking money.

Hell he could steal one of Bruce’s credit cards and the man wouldn’t say a single word.

It was the principle of the thing.

He could have purchased blankets made from the furry asses of rabbits mixed with clouds.

Jason may have not had the best start in life, even compared to some of his brothers, but he remembered that sickening feeling of being given things that he felt he hadn’t earned.

Money was basically Bruce’s love language.

The man could be an emotional brick wall.

He hadn't been able to verbalize his feelings in a supportive or even normal way. It had taken a lot of fighting and hard work on both their parts, but Jason knew deep in his bones that Bruce loved him.

Shockingly, the man who dressed up as a giant bat to fight crime didn’t have the most healthy of coping mechanisms.

When Jason had first come to live with Bruce he had felt those debts piling up like boulders in his chest.

He didn’t want to do the same thing to his stranger.

Jason had thought about purchasing a phone for the man but that had also felt like a step too far.

The pen and notepad had felt like a good compromise.

The guy already knew that Jason was sneaking into the apartment he had selected and hadn’t seemed too upset or paranoid of the clippers that he had left.  

If Jason had been raised by absolutely any other family he would have been wringing his hands while he watched the young man gently sort through the gift basket that he had finally selected.

To be fair if he had been raised by absolutely any other family he wouldn’t have been spying on a maybe alien on a rooftop across the street with a pair of Batnoculars. (Jason and Bruce blamed that particular nomenclature on a pre-teen Dick).

He fumbled them hard though when the white-haired stranger disappeared in a flash of light and he saw the bare skin of what looked like a human man's back, black hair brushed his shoulders and scars criss-crossed his back. The skin quickly disappeared underneath the oversized hoodie that Jason had snagged from the same thrift store that he had purchased the basket from. '

Another flash of light and the man was back to white hair and the hazmat suit before he disappeared into absolutely thin air.

Jason slipped away as quickly as he could manage.

It was one thing for the man to know that Jason was leaving him creepy little presents.

If he got caught staring through a pair of over-powered binoculars Jason wouldn’t be surprised if the man drop kicked him across the length of the city.

No need to push his luck at this point. 

[tellyouily]

you can hear it in the silence

dnf - tooth-rotting fluff - 886 words

aka. the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed :)

• • •

Lately, they’ve taken to sleeping in George’s room.

Which makes no sense, really, considering Dream’s bed is bigger, softer and the room itself closer to the main part of the house. Not to mention that his AC actually works like it’s supposed to and his curtains actually close all the way.

All of this, and they have still ended up under George’s covers every night for the last couple of weeks.

Like with most things these days, they can blame it on work.

George’s office is where most of the coding happens, because he is the one doing most of the coding, and it is conveniently located right next to his bedroom. So when Dream comes in at night, so tired he could fall asleep standing up, to pull George with him to bed, then well, it’s whatever bed is closest.

Not that Dream minds. He likes George’s room, even if it’s bare and boring. He also likes George, and sleeping next to him, and maybe those two facts outweigh everything else. Just maybe.

George who is all soft limbs and no sharp edges, and smells like home and is somehow always warmer than Dream is.

The truth is that he is the only person Dream can share a bed with and actually sleep better because of it. Whose breathing and tossing and turning lulls him to sleep rather than annoy him.

So yeah, Dream is fine with anywhere, any bed, so long as it’s the two of them in it together.

It is an early morning in the third week that the room thing becomes an issue.

The sound of birds chirping is usually pleasant… except when it’s the sound that wakes you up. Before sunrise. Slowly, Dream gets pulled from the comfortable depths of sleep, his face buried halfway in George’s hair.

Some quick deduction tells him that the birds are most likely sitting in the tree right outside of the window, and that there is nothing he can do to fix it. Great.

George stirs in his arms. “Can they shut up?” He mumbles.

A smile makes its way onto Dream’s lips, despite his weariness.

“No,” he answers helpfully.

Somehow, each little tweet seems to be getting louder, more incessant, and Dream knows they need to move to a different room. They have slept a handful of hours at most.

“My room?” He offers, pressing a kiss to George’s shoulder. “Should be more quiet.”

George groans, rolling over and burrowing his face in the crook of Dream’s neck. It makes his skin buzz gently when George says, “Too far.”

It’s really not far at all but he decides not to go down that road now. They can talk technicalities about  the distances in this house when the day starts for real, not when the need for sleep is weighing so heavily on them both. On George especially, apparently.

Dream noses at his hair. “My office then. It’s closer.”

No response, but he feels George’s hand slide up his chest over his t-shirt.

“Come on, baby,” Dream coaxes, taking the hand and lifting it off of him as he starts to sit up.

George groans, but starts to do the same. At about half the pace. Dream smiles at him fondly.

You would think he was being forced to do the most laborious task on planet earth with how much effort it seems to take him to move from lying down in the comfy bed to standing upright on the floor. Dream can’t really blame him, though; it felt a little bit like being ripped from a nice dream for him, too.

“Alright, I love you, let’s go,” he says, heading for the door and pulling George along behind him by the hand. He looks tousled in the best way, all sleepy and annoyed.

The hallway and the stairs are mostly dark, still. The light is that weird shade of grayish blue, and he wonders fleetingly if George sees it the same way.

Downstairs, George lets out a small scoff. “Why’d you say I love you?” He asks, rubbing at his eye with his free hand. “So dumb.”

Dream smiles, pushing at his office door. “‘Cause I love you.”

George scoffs again, but he doesn’t say anything else, which says enough in itself. Inside, it’s pitch black, and quiet. Completely quiet.

He lets go of George’s hand and puts a hand on his back instead, guiding him onto the bed before climbing in after him. He has never been more grateful that he keeps this bed fully made.

They settle down in the exact same position from before, with Dream closest to the wall and George in his arms, pressed as close as he can get. For a few moments it’s just their breathing and their heartbeats slowing in the silence.

“Better?” Dream asks, his voice a murmur.

George hums in agreement. Then, just a softly, “Love you.”

Dream smiles into the darkness, closing his eyes. He listens to George’s breaths evening out, the soft sounds of skin against fabric every time they shift in the sheets they’re sharing. Holding him close like this, just existing in the boyish and familiar smell of his shampoo and day-old aftershave, Dream feels like he is already dreaming.

Sleep washes over him like a ray of sunlight.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 20

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Jake comes clean and Daisy has to talk to Penny

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I managed to make it until we were back at my apartment before I broke. Tasha was spending the night at Javy’s place, which meant it was just the two of us and after a  few hours of thinking up the worst possible scenarios for what Jake had to tell me, I was ready to cry, scream, or throw up. Or do all three at once, it was a toss up really.

“I’m going to sit down on the couch and you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” I said, putting my hands on Jake’s shoulder to stop him from kissing me when we walked in the door. “Because I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” Jake sighed, running a hand over his face.

“We’re not breaking up, let’s start with that,” Jake’s voice was tired but serious, his words striking out one of my fears. I nodded, running my hands up and down my pajama pants, trying to ease my anxiety with the familiar feeling of the fuzzy fabric. “Rooster and I might be deployed soon.” The news hit me like a blow to the gut, deployed? What happened over Thanksgiving had been a mission, just a few days apart and that had been hell.

“How long?” I heard myself ask, knees folding into my chest. Jake sat beside me, wrapping me in his arms, chin resting on top of my head.

“I don’t know, Wildflower.” 

“Where?” 

“I don’t know and I couldn’t tell you if I did, it would be classified,” Jake kissed my hair. “I don’t have any details, I don’t even know if it’s happening. It’s all just whispers behind closed doors and rumors at this point, which is why I didn’t want to say anything.” 

“I love you,” It’s all I could think to say. Jake’s thumb brushed over my cheeks and that’s when I realized I was crying, “I love you so much.”

“I know, baby, I love you too,” Jake held me tight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

“Tell me next time, okay?” 

“I promise, Wildflower. I’m sorry I worried you,” Jake kissed the top of my head, rubbing circles into my back. “I love you so much.” 

My first thought was to run, to get away but the second that crossed my mind, the idea of being without Jake hit me like a truck. I didn’t want to be without him, I couldn’t imagine not having Jake in my life. He had managed to intertwined every part of my life with his, from my writing to his family, we were bound together. Running away now would be running away forever. Right?

“Why don’t we call Penny in the morning?” Jake kissed my hair again, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Maybe we can call mama and pops too.”

“I’d like that,” I nuzzled into his neck, “How long are deployments usually?” Jake sighed, bringing me onto his lap.

“It depends, there’s short deployments of just a few months and then there’s deployments that can last over a year.” A year? My grip on Jake’s waist tightened, “It’s probably not going to be that long, baby but if it is, we’ll figure it out.” After a few minutes of silence that felt like hours, Jake whispered, “You’ll be waiting here when I get back?” 

“Always,” I answered without hesitation. I took Jake’s face in my hands, staring him down even though I still wanted to puke a little bit. Jake’s eyes were intense, his brow creased in worry. “I’m not going anywhere and no matter where you go, you’re coming back home to me. Deal?” 

“Deal.” Jake closed the distance between our lips, kissing me soft and sweet. There was no rushing, it was as if we had all the time in the world, and if we did have all that time, what was a few months apart? He pulled my legs fully around him and stood, never breaking the kiss as he carried me to the bedroom. 

When he laid me back on the bed and stripped me bare, Jake took his time. He covered my body in kisses, worshiping every inch like he was committing it to memory, and when we finished, he pulled me into his chest and held me tight all through the night. 

The next morning I called Penny, who evidently had been waiting to hear from me. I tried to ignore the fact that everyone around me probably already knew about the deployment, especially the fact that Tasha hadn’t said anything. Penny invited me over and Jake dropped me off,

“Call me when you’re ready,” He whispered, kissing my forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, cowboy.” 

Penny greeted me with a hug and a mug of peppermint tea, she looked cozy in her navy pajama set and robe, pulling me into her living room.

“How are you holding up, kiddo?” Penny passed me a cream blanket that was soft.

“First thing I wanted to do was run,” Penny hummed, rubbing my knee. “Now I just feel a little numb.” 

“I thought having grown up with my father’s deployments would have made things easier the first time my ex-husband deployed but it didn’t.” She sipped her tea, staring ahead where a picture of her and Amelia hung on the wall. “I spent the first month crying in bed, almost got fired from my job. Then one of the other wives in his unit, an older woman named Vera, sat me down for a talk.” 

Penny looked the picture of calm as she spoke and I envied her for it. What I didn’t envy was how many years, deployments, and undoubted heartache that it took to cultivate that calm. 

“She first told me that I looked like crap,” I chuckled along with Penny. “Then she told me I was going to join her walking group. Most of the wives in the unit met up every morning and walked a mile around base. If we had news, we shared it, some women talked about how their kids were handling things, we organized what we were sending in care packages, and we traded recipes. Anything to keep ourselves sane.” 

“Are you asking me to join your walking group?” Penny pursed her lips at me, rolling her eyes. “What, you, me, and Ames could totally go for walks on the beach before school.” 

“Good luck dragging that girl out of bed early,” She pushed my knee, laughing. “But seriously, Daisy, one of the best things you can do while he’s gone is stay busy and stay connected with me and with him.”

“How am I supposed to talk to him if I don’t know where he is?” 

“You’ll most likely be able to call him but if you want to send him letters, you’ll give them to command and they’ll send the letters to him when they can.” When they can. That wasn’t very reassuring.

“What else do I need to know?” 

X

I spent the day getting my affairs in order, scheduling a stop on my mail, making sure all my bills were on auto pay, and updating my will and life insurance policies. By the time it was lunch, my head was pounding from all of the tedious details. 

When lunch time came and went without a word from Daisy or Penny, I stopped by the store and picked up a few things for Daisy’s apartment. Bath bombs, new pajamas, a few nice notebooks that she’d probably never write in for fear of “ruining” them. I chuckled to myself, I really did love her and all of her little quirks. If it wasn’t for Daisy’s one-year rule I’d pick her up from Penny’s and take her straight to the court house if she’d let me. 

Deployments had never bothered me before, in fact, I loved them. They meant that I could fly on missions, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I kept an eye out for enemy bogeys. Now the thought of being away from home for even a few days made my heart hurt. I wanted to go to work in the morning, fly formations with the team, and come home to Daisy at the end of the day. I wanted to fall into bed beside her and tease her when she spent twenty minutes rearranging the blankets so she wouldn’t be hot. 

The deployment hadn’t even started yet and I already wanted it to be over. I said a quick prayer, praying that this deployment would be a short one.

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90

Next Chapter

[bullet-prooflove]

Five Years Gone: Neron 'Creeper' Vargas x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @est1887 @anime-weeb-4-life @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @spaghettificationandpretzels @redpoodlern @lexondeck @librarian1002 @thanossexual @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @adaydreamaway08 @wnbweasley @skyesthebomb

Brothers!Series:

Brothers - Neron's brother threatens his sobriety.

Wide Awake - Neron regrets his decision.

Out of Sight - Neron asks you a favour.

Slow Burn - Neron and you watch it burn.

Neron lets you sleep in; you usually need the rest after you’ve worked the convention circuit. It’s been three days of solid tattooing, of late nights and early mornings and that’s not including the travel to and from San Diego, the packing and unpacking of your equipment.

Currently you’re splayed out across the bed, tangled up in his sheets. You’re wearing his black wifebeater from last night and boy boxers that hug your ass just right. Your tattoos are on display, that beautiful artwork etched into your skin.

As he leans in the bedroom doorway, his coffee mug in his hand he can’t help but think how lucky he is. His world was dark, barren before he met you and now it’s a sea of colour.

There’s a rap on his front door and he frowns because it’s six in the morning and everyone else he knows it getting ready for work or sleeping. The last person he expects to see is his brother Mateo. He hasn’t spoken to the other man since he’d kicked him out for bringing coke into his home. Something he had vehemently denied until Neron had held up the vial.

His face is a bloody mask, he clutches his ribs as he practically falls through Neron’s door, spilling into the hallway. His palm comes to rest on the cream wall leaving a crimson handprint in its wake.

It’s as Neron cleans up Mateo in the kitchen that the story begins to unfold. Mateo’s in deep with his dealer, he owes 10k after his product got jacked last week and Salvadore Ortiz isn’t feeling forgiving. Neron gets the impression that this isn’t the first time that Mateo’s disappointed the drug lord. If he doesn’t pay up though it’ll be his last.

“I can’t help you.” He tells his brother as he applies the butterfly stitches to the cuts above his brow.

He isn’t lying, the last time he’d fallen off the wagon he’d blew through every single dollar of his savings. He’s just finished paying off Taza and Riz for his last two stints in rehab.

“I can.”

His heart fucking sinks when he lifts his head and sees you standing in the doorway. He doesn’t want you involved in this side of his life, cleaning up Mateo’s messes, having your sobriety challenged.

It comes with conditions; you tell Mateo as you pull on one of Neron’s hoodies and tie your hair back so you can retrieve the money from the safe at the tattoo shop. As soon as he’s paid his dealer, he checks himself into rehab. You’ll set it up but he has to meet you back here later in the day, you’ll walk him in yourself.

In that moment Neron doesn’t think he could love you more, because your compassion, it isn’t just reserved for him, it extends to his fucked-up family as well. As he watches his brother depart with the money, Neron thinks he might just do it this time. That Mateo will finally get himself clear of all the shit he’s involved in, and they can be brothers again.

He hopes for it as the two of you sit in his living room that night, watching the clock and waiting for Mateo to show. By the time midnight comes around Neron knows it’s over, that his brother has taken your money and used it to go on a bender.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, rubbing his hands over his exhausted features. “He took you money, your trust…”

“We both know how hard it is,” You remind him as you sit down alongside of him. “You have to want to get clean and Mateo, he just doesn’t.”

The worst part is he knows that you did this for him, to give him back some connection to the family that he’s lost through addiction. His parents, his brother, himself, every single one of them has been tainted with it. The guilt cripples him. It eats away at his soul as he lies beside you that night, because you’re so wonderful and pure and he’s poison. He’s the toxin that’s bleeding into your life and you don’t even realise it.

It's the next day that he gets a visit from the police and the news, it devastates him. They found Mateo’s body in a motel outside of Santo Padre, a needle still in his arm. An O.D they tell him.

When he identifies his brother, he feels that numbness creeping in because Neron realises for the first time in his life he’s completely alone. His family is gone, eradicated by the illness that’s plagued them for generations.

The next night he finds himself sitting in a bar near the motel where Mateo died. He orders a vodka, watching as the clear liquid swirls around the glass before he throws his head back and drains it completely.

Five years of sobriety…

Gone, just like that.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[windymidnights]

Could I request a comfort fic for Kaeya comforting reader (who has stress induced insomnia). I haven't been able to sleep or get stuff done to the stress from the previous days results and honestly I'm just really scared and nervous and can't sleep. Some comfort would be appreciated.

a/n: ofc. please take care of yourself the best you can <3 im not gonna lie its honestly terrifying, im not sure whats going to happen from here but to all the lgbtq+, women, and pocs, please stay safe. much love goes out to all of you <3

- as observant as he is, he could immediately tell something was off the moment you seemed to get more quiet than usual.

- he has a way with words, he’ll find out what’s bothering you one way or another.

- when you express your inability to sleep he would give you a sympathetic look, holding his arms out for you to join him in your shared bed.

- he would gently hold you, running his fingers through your hair, and would probably make a few lighthearted comments in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Usually, I’m the night owl. You aren’t off to steal my title, hmm?”

- if you wanted to talk about it, he would listen. he would give you amazing advice or just reassure you that everything will be okay, and that he’ll be there for you.

- if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t pressure you. although, he would probably ask you when you were feeling better.. he would likely tell you stories or just talk to help take your mind off it.

- he would stay up with you until he knows for sure that you have finally fallen asleep. he understands what it’s like to be burdened with thoughts that keep you up at night. he would be there for you.

- he was telling you a story about some gossip he heard during his patrol around town until he heard your soft snores gently coming from your now sleeping figure.

- he would smile softly and make sure you were comfy before falling asleep shortly after, still holding you in his arms.

- in the morning he would surprise you with your favorite meal from your favorite place to eat. he would take off work and spend the day with you. surely not to keep an eye on you, he’s worried about you okay?

- would spoil you with gifts and affection for the day to make sure your day is stress-free. if you were to protest, he would pout and say “Now that’s not the proper attitude.. What you mean to say is “thank you””

- won’t directly say it, but he would keep a close eye on your mannerisms and how your acting. he worries about you a lot and would do anything to make sure your alright. if you wanted to spend your time home for the day? done. if you were craving some dessert? already paid for. he wants to try to brighten your day, even by just a little. you deserve it, after all. <3

[cardcatcardboard]

The first time he does it Logan is ready to never sleep peacefully again, but like always, he grows to love it. After a while, without him realizing, it gets to a point where he cannot sleep without it. It's only brought to his attention because one night Wade isn't there for their usual routine and goddamn Logan can't sleep for the life of him.

He tries turning on the tv or a podcast or music or something to fill the silence in the apartment and cover the thoughts in his head but none of it is the same, so he just lays there in bed for hours either until Wade comes home at an ungodly hour of the morning or the sun rises.

One time, Wade is gone for multiple nights on some merc job, and Logan can barely sleep a wink so he's terribly sleep deprived and ready to die at some point because what the fuck when did he become so dependent on Wade to fall asleep. He thought the one night a few months back was just a fluke, but if anything it's gotten worse since then.

You could even take this further to where Logan, currently running on about five hours of sleep for the entire week, calls Wade in desperation, not caring that's it's 2am because he's is probably awake anyway. Wade picks up pretty quickly, much like Logan expected, and he sounds sort of worried because

"Hey Peanut, you don't usually call at all in the first place, but also it's bitch o'clock in the morning right now, did something happen?"

And Logan doesn't say else beyond "'s fine, just talk."

Despite how much Wade would love to question it, he thankfully doesn't, and within minutes of him starting to talk, Logan is out like a light.

And of course, Wade isn't an idiot, so he mostly puts two-and-two together, and any time he's gone over-night after that, he calls Logan around the time they would usually go to sleep to ramble. Neither of them ever acknowledge it once Wade comes home after those jobs, obviously, but there's little differences.

Wade isn't as insecure about his rambling after that. Logan isn't as embarrassed that Wade talking actually helps. Sometimes he'll go on small rambles of his own when Wade asks for him to fill the silence, fully understanding how it's helpful.

It's a little thing really, but it's also everything.

I like the idea that Wade talks in his sleep and the first time he does it Logan realises he will never have a moment of peace around him

[missygoesmeow]

Toulouse is missing 😭

[deva-arts]

☆ Nathaniel Wilson ☆

I Really Like Nathaniel because the guy embodies Hope and Positivity without forcing it down the gullets of everyone around him.

He looks like he'd be a pleasant individual to actually be around at 7 am. Even before his coffee. [ Sera should be too, she doesn't seem like an unbearable person to be around in La Matinée ( the Morning ) . But still, she is alot grumpier than her other half. ]

With that said. Insert Happy music here. Nujabes or Smth.

Submitted by @mettamorphoses!

Love the way you drew Nate here! such a clean style and serious face :> He's my favorite little quadfocal guy... friendly, polite, and a good conversationalist! You're absolutely right, he's one of the easiest people to get along with. It's almost like he knows exactly what to say to people.

Sera isn't grumpy so much as she is disinterested and dismissive. She heads to work without bothering to make small talk besides a basic "Hello." if she passes you by. Not the worst outcome, really, if silence doesn't bother you.

[introspectivememories]

well now that we know the cult is back, imma need some heavy bernard angst from the comic. the panic attacks, relapses into unhealthy behavior, pushing people away, imma need all of it.

[shotmrmiller]

wait wait because imagine being a normal OF creator or a cam girl, just a small name nobody who does it for the sole purpose of getting through college. you keep your face out of everything, nothing in the background of any video of yours is personal, like once you get your degree this entire account is getting deleted and it'll be a thing of the past. (not that you're ashamed or anything. we respect sex workers of all kinds here)

and you plan on doing a different kind of video: one of you fucking yourself with a new, much bigger toy. usually you keep to the rabbits and bullets but following your friends advice, you fucking yourself on a dildo wouldn't be terrible.

plus you need it, sweetheart. when was the last time you even had a date?

bitch. (affectionately)

and as soon as you walk into your usual sex store, you double take. there is no, NO, way that is pornstar!ghost's dick you've just spotted as a dildo.

he's been your favorite pornstar long before you even started this side hustle. who in their right mind can resist that beast of a man with the mask and the tattoos and the heaving thing that's between his legs--

you take it home immediately.

it's almost sad how stupid you fuck yourself on it, cunt split open and dripping onto the floorboard for the internet to see but in that moment, you don't give a fuck.

you don't remember how many times you come that night nor how many viewers you had watching your puffy lips swallow "ghost's" cock whole, but come morning, you notice your bank account and it is padded.

PADDED.

one particular tipper was incredibly generous and they even left a message.

i'd love to see you do that on the real thing.

yeah, me too.

(whoever that is becomes a loyal follower who tips regularly.)

*screaming at the thought of simon getting himself off at your video. hasn't come that hard in months and that says a lot since he's yknow, a pornstar.*

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II