#vague mentions of Something Bad from their shared past but we leave it at that

[lemony-snickers]

@butter--peanut ficti-gram for you!

to: @butter--peanut from: @wind-becomes-lightning message: Hello my love, I mean my rival, I am currently working through the first pages of the book you are writing and am in total awe of your work!! I want to send you this little sweet thing so you can relax a little for a minute with a good fic before you dive into rewrites again! I am very happy that I met you and that we have met in person so many times and hopefully many many more times until you leave forever! (;(). Sending you many hugs!! <3 characters/pairing: kakashi hatake/obito uchiha word count: 3,646 prompt: the smell of coffee

Obito Uchiha has always hated the smell of coffee.  Freshly roasted at a fancy kissaten or poured from a grody two-day-old carafe into a travel mug, he thinks it always smells like burnt piss.  No amount of sugar or milk or cream or flavoring could ever make it palatable, and Obito will never understand how anyone, under any circumstances, could ever find themselves so desperate for an infusion of caffeine they would resort to drinking it.

Admittedly, coffee might be a useful beverage to keep on deck in the event of poisoning, to make a person throw up.  Maybe.  He’d have to be really poisoned to consider it, and Obito sees no other reasonable purpose for the existence of such a foul liquid.

Normally, Obito is fairly adept at avoiding coffee in all its forms, but there is one occasion upon which he has little to no control over whether he’s subjected to it and that is whenever Kakashi Hatake texts him to say he’s on his way over.

It’s still relatively new, all the Kakashi stuff.  When Obito ran across his old classmate on a dating app, he’d only partially been serious when he swiped to match with him.  Mostly, Obito was curious.  He smirked when he saw Kakashi’s profile—pathetically sparse and with a picture that didn’t even show his entire face—because it was very clear Kakashi was looking specifically for hook-ups while Obito had spent hours agonizing over which photos to upload, how many of his own scars to show, and how to make an appropriately-but-not-too-seriously self-deprecating joke about them in his bio.

Online dating is a terribly complicated thing, it turns out, when half your body is marred by the mistakes of your past.

Obito had not expected to match with Kakashi in the slightest.  At best, he thought he might receive a message something along the lines of, “Fuck you, loser,” before he was blocked.

Instead, Kakashi invited him out for a drink and Obito—perhaps foolishly or at least with a dash of foolhardy optimism—said yes.

The alcohol helped soothe the awkward sting of their reunion.  They spent hours at the bar, ordering round after round, allowing the fuzziness of the booze to seep into their blood, their bones.  Cloud over all the terrible parts of their shared history they did not wish to relitigate or relive in any detail.  Their conversation remained light, easy.

Perfunctory shit only.

“How have you been?”

“Good, you?”

“All right.  What do you do for work now?”

“A little bit of everything, really. Whatever brings in enough to cover my rent.”

Kakashi cracked a grin at that and Obito turned his attention toward his beer to hide that he liked it.  There had always been something terribly magnetic about Kakashi.  Even as a kid, when they first entered school together, Obito always found himself drawn to him, desperately trying to escape his orbit with very little success.

It would take several years of distance and a decent amount of therapy for Obito to recognize the feelings of his adolescent self for what they were.  That all the jealousy and anger had been part and parcel to something else, something soft and unknowable, then.  Something he hadn’t been yet able to acknowledge or put voice to.

Obito didn’t realize he was interested in men for a long time after Kakashi was no longer part of his life.  Now, though?  It was painfully clear Obito measured every man he’d ever dated by the metric of his old schoolmate, and not one of them had ever passed muster.

So when Kakashi invited himself to Obito’s apartment after they split their bar tab, he acquiesced.  When he shoved Obito against the wall in the entryway and bruised a kiss against his mouth, Obito’s knees buckled.  When a hand shoved its way down the front of his jeans, Obito whined.

It was so easy to succumb to decades of longing.  To open the half-crushed box where he’d packed it all away and dust it off, return it to a shelf in the sunlight where he could stare at it.  Covet it.

Ignore everything else in the box except this one thing.

And now when Kakashi calls—err, texts, he never calls—Obito unlocks his front door and waits patiently for him to stride in and repeat it all again.

It’s rather infuriating if he gives himself any time to think it over.  That he allows Kakashi to wander in and out of his life like a wraith without expectation or explanation.  He comes and goes as he pleases and part of Obito hates himself for allowing it to continue.

The rest of him, though, sees it as a reward for all his patience.  For all the progress he has made since they last saw each other, broken and bruised and grieving.

Obito’s therapist tells him there might be too much history between them for any of this to work on a functional level.  But then, Obito has never really been all that functional.  At least now he has someone in his life who will touch him, make him feel good without also making him feel self-conscious of his body.

It’s complicated.  At least, that’s what he tells himself (and his therapist), so he doesn’t have to unpack the rest of the box.

But Obito knows deep down none of this is sustainable.  While he’s willing to take what he can, he’s also not a moron.  He’s willing to take what he can get and be satisfied with it; always has been.

What makes things infuriatingly more tenuous, though, is that Kakashi always smells like coffee.

Obito knows that’s probably a sign, but he refuses to read it.

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night he appears at Obito’s door, all hungry eyes and demanding touches, there is always this persistent burnt scent that lingers under everything else.  It’s pervasive.  Poisons the very air of Obito’s apartment as Kakashi swoops in without a word.

It clings to Kakashi’s clothes, his skin, his hair.  It’s on his tongue when it pushes its way into Obito’s mouth, staining itself onto his teeth.

Coffee.  Every time.  Everywhere.

And during the course of their liaisons, the scent transfers itself to Obito, sliding against his scalp and burrowing into the thick folds of his scarred skin.

The burnt piss smell lingers in his nostrils long after Kakashi departs, trailing in his wake like a vile stream, and Obito spends an inordinate amount of time in the bath afterward trying to scrub away the putrid scent and replace it with fruity-smelling body wash or the lavender oil his therapist tells him is good for promoting relaxation.

He doesn’t think he agrees, but it smells nice, so what the hell?

His therapist might also have something to say about Obito’s obsessive need to clean himself every time Kakashi leaves his apartment, but he doesn’t like to think about that much.  Each time, he convinces himself it is the smell and not their fraught and complicated history which demands another cycle of shampoo.  He dips his head beneath the surface of the water until his vision stings and blurs so he won’t imagine what his therapist’s frown looked like when he said as much during their last session.

Obito is a big boy who can make his own decisions, thank you very much.  He just wishes his potentially poor life choices didn’t come with a side of putrescent coffee bean stench.

After a brief On my way text message, Kakashi arrives this time with a soggy-looking bag of takeout and plops it on Obito’s kitchen counter.

“For me?” he asks teasingly, “You shouldn’t have.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes.  “It’s mine and you can’t have any,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.  Obito rakes his eye over Kakashi’s frame, taking in the lean, wiry muscle of it.  His posture is terrible, he looks like a shepherd’s hook the way his spine curves too much at the top.  As always, Obito’s gaze eventually finds the scar over Kakashi’s eye, traces it carefully.

Whenever he tries to touch it while their kissing or fucking, Kakashi pulls him away, tangles their fingers together or tugs his wrist down to the mattress and restrains his hand there, like it can’t be trusted not to wander.

He doesn’t like to acknowledge his scars any more than Obito likes to acknowledge his own, and Obito wonders if that is part of why they remain within one another’s terrible, destructive orbit.  Because neither of them needs to explain their scars to the other—they were together when they were earned.

Kakashi, for the first time since this all started months ago, looks unsure.  He stands in the liminal space between the kitchen and the living room, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet.  His energy is nervous.  Sizzling.  Like a crack of lightning splitting the night sky in half.

“Something on your mind?” Obito asks, trying not to let the panic he feels fluttering in his chest make its way into his voice.  It’s like there’s a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his ribs, frantic to escape.

Kakashi shakes his head.  “How, uh… how was your day?” he asks, and a grimace follows immediately, slicing its way across his face like the dull side of a kitchen knife.

Obito can’t help it, he tries not to laugh, but it takes only half a heartbeat for the raucous noise to skitter out of his chest, setting the hummingbird free as he guffaws.  Watching Kakashi try to be normal, try to treat their interaction as if it is casual and regular, is the funniest shit Obito has ever seen.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and takes two quick, purposeful steps forward.  It’s then the coffee scent slams full force into Obito, snaking its way up his nose and into his throat.  He gags a little and Kakashi halts his advance, pausing just as his knee would have brushed against Obito’s own where he sits on his ratty old couch.

“Something smell bad?” Kakashi asks, glancing over his shoulder at the takeout he deposited on the counter.

“Yeah,” Obito says, pinching his nose closed for dramatic effect, “you.”

Still, after all the years of knowing him, of provoking him—and then missing him—Obito experiences the same swift thrill whenever he catches Kakashi off guard.  And watching the confusion blossom over his features, first in the subtle downturn of his mouth at the edges and then in the wrinkles of his nose and crease of his brow, is a glorious, wonderful thing.

“Me?  I smell bad?”

Obito rises slowly from his seat, the good side of his face pitched up in a grin.  “You smell fucking terrible all the time.”

There’s that gorgeous, adorable confusion again.  Deepening.  Pulling Kakashi’s lip toward the infuriatingly beautiful mark on his chin, carving a ravine between his eyebrows.

Obito wishes he could take a photo, blow it up, and hang it on his wall.  He knows he’s probably picking a fight—knows it’s probably long overdue—but this moment is worth the risk of blowing up the very small good thing he’s managed to unpack from his past.

Of course, Kakashi does not handle discomfort well.  Obito doesn’t need a therapist to tell him that.  Kakashi is a man who thrives on control, and Obito’s revelation has clearly thrown him.  It doesn’t take long for lovely confusion to break apart, resettle itself against Kakashi’s features as something vicious.

“Fuck you, I didn’t come here to be insulted,” he says.

Obito’s grin widens.  “But you did come here to fuck me, though.”  He chuckles, and Kakashi spins on his heels.  Before he can snatch up his takeout and head back out into the hall, Obito grabs the bag first and holds it out of his reach.

An impressive feat, if Obito does say so himself, considering they’re close in height but Kakashi definitely has longer arms.  He’s always been built like a swimmer, lanky with a broad chest and narrow hips.

“Stop being such an asshole,” Kakashi says, grabbing for the bag and missing as Obito passes it to his other hand behind his back.

“Don’t be such a fragile little flower,” Obito chides, “take a little criticism for once in your life.”

Kakashi’s face hardens and he stops trying to reach for his food, which Obito knows probably means he’s gone too far, pushed some invisible button too hard.  Rather than acknowledge that; rather than walk himself back or apologize, he simply opens the bag of food in his hands, maintaining uncomfortably intense eye contact with Kakashi as he reaches in, grabs the first food-shaped thing he finds, and brings it to his mouth.

He gags when it hits his tongue, spits it half-chewed right back into the bag without any concern for the rest of its contents.

When he glares at Kakashi, nose wrinkling, pulling his facial scars in a way that tugs uncomfortably at the unmarred flesh of his face, Obito expects to see the same sharp and acerbic glare from a moment ago.

Instead, what he finds is mirth—light dancing in Kakashi’s dark eyes as his mouth splits into a smile, revealing his perfect teeth.  Obito knows his left canine is false, but it’s hard to tell since the rest of his smile is just as dazzlingly white.  And as Kakashi tilts his head back, the apple of his throat jumping wildly in time with his laughter, he wheezes out a high-pitched, “Serves you right!” and then keeps on laughing.

Obito supposes it does, to some extent.  But how was he supposed to know Kakashi Hatake, well-established hater of all things even remotely dessert-like, would be carrying coffee cake in his to-go bag?  Obito keeps sticking out his tongue, like exposure to the air will somehow cleanse the taste from his mouth.  He must look like a frog; a big dumb amphibian who snapped its tongue out only to realize it caught a stink bug.

He tosses the bag back onto the counter, content to have it as far from his person as possible.  “I thought you hated sweets.”

“I do,” Kakashi says, finally regaining some semblance of stoicism.  “It’s for my neighbor.”

Obito frowns.  “Since when have you been that social?”

Kakashi shrugs, but says nothing.  Typical.

They stand there, awkward and unmoving, for several long seconds.  Obito can feel sweat prickling at his nape, his temples.  He has no clue what he’s supposed to say, now.

Do you still get to fuck someone after you’ve told them they reek and then spit half-masticated baked goods back into their extremely kind bag of neighborly good will?

Probably not, which is disappointing.

Is he supposed to open the box, splay the contents across his floors so they can examine all the missing pieces?  Try to fit them back together?

Obito decides that isn’t something he’s ready to do.  That whatever exists between them, now, is still too new, too fragile, to bear the weight.  One day, maybe, it will be strong enough.  But not now.

Mercifully, Kakashi clears his throat, which clears the air enough for him to ask, “Why haven’t’ you ever said anything?”

“About what?” Obito asks, realizing a moment too late that he’s fucking dumb.

Kakashi knows, too, and infuses as much incredulity into his clarification as possible, each syllable dripping with a sickly-sweet undertone of are you fucking kidding.  “You said I smell, Obito.  All the time.  Why didn’t you tell me before?”

There’s no truly easy answer.  Because of course, Obito thinks Kakashi smells like burnt piss, but he doesn’t actually.  What he smells like is coffee, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to smell like, probably.

Assuming Kakashi drinks the stuff because if he doesn’t, then what the fuck?

“I hate the smell of coffee,” Obito says finally, after Kakashi reaches out and flicks him on the forehead for taking too long to answer.  He rubs at the spot where he’s sure the gesture has left a red smudge on his skin.  “You always smell like fucking coffee.”

Obito isn’t sure what he expects Kakashi’s response to be.  More incredulity, maybe.  Irritation.  Hands thrown up in the air and then a purposeful march out of his apartment.  An annoying dissertation on why coffee is wonderful and Obito is wrong.

Instead, Kakashi grins like a very smug cat, takes a step forward and presses his forehead to Obito’s, arms crossed over his chest like the smug, self-assured bastard he has (almost) always been.

Obito bristles, mostly because the move is unfamiliar.  For all Kakashi enjoys making people uncomfortable, he typically uses his words to do so.  The proximity of him, the coffee smell and the warmth of his skin and the faint tickle of his breath as he leans close to Obito’s ear are things typically reserved for the duration of their sex and that’s all.

Kakashi doesn’t like being close to people.  Obito understands why, respects the boundary for the most part.  He nearly topples backward trying to maintain any semblance of space between their bodies.

Then Kakashi rasps almost alluringly against his ear, “I own a fucking coffee shop, you dumbass.”

It occurs to Obito in that moment he has never bothered to ask where Kakashi works.  Their first meeting at that bar replays in his mind and he recalls Kakashi asking him what he did for a living, but Obito had gotten distracted by his momentary embarrassment and never returned the favor.

He groans loudly, leaning his forehead against Kakashi’s shoulder, which jostles as he chuckles at Obito’s expense.  Obito snorts, a short, half-hearted attempt at that self-deprecating humor he has so perfected over the years.  “Figures I’d fall for someone who smells like my least favorite thing.”

He pulls away, flustered and embarrassed.  The heat of his face is probably enough to warm that coffee cake like it’s fresh from the oven.  Obito wonders suddenly if the cake came from Kakashi’s shop.  Wonders where the shop is and what it’s like inside.

If they serve anything other than fucking coffee.

Kakashi’s fingers are rough against Obito’s jaw as he pulls him in for their first kiss of the day, but the kiss itself is gentle.  He doesn’t open his mouth, isn’t as greedy or demanding as usual.  And Obito relishes the temporary softening, the tender moment offered to him.  He clings to Kakashi’s shirt and tries to breathe as little as possible so the coffee stench won’t invade his nostrils.

Though, he must admit, at the moment, he cares a hell of a lot less than usual.  Because Kakashi’s kisses are delicate and coaxing, one hand skimming over Obito’s scars with a carefulness that makes his chest ache.

A carefulness he has never experienced before, not with anyone, and especially not with the man he knows deems himself responsible for their existence.

Obito pulls away first, finally in such desperate need of a full breath he can’t hold out any longer.  He doesn’t pull far, though, just enough to let his lungs expand without restriction.  And when his eyes meet Kakashi’s, the light in them is still there, less twinkling and steadier.

A porch light welcoming him home, peeling away the shadows to reveal safety and comfort.

“Let’s take a bath,” Kakashi says quietly, grinning.

Obito has the decency to laugh.  It’s a convenient enough sound, anyway, one which hopefully drowns out the erratic thudding his chest.  The hammer beat of a heart only now realizing Kakashi didn’t run away when Obito said he was falling, didn’t put up the cool partition Obito is so used to running up against every time he tries to open up, to be opened.

To drag the box out and bring its contents back into the light.

The tub is not large enough for two grown men.  Not really.  But they Tetris their limbs into the basin as well as they can, tangling together like brambles—perhaps just as prickly—and laughing at their own foolishness in unison.

“It’s smells like a department store in here.”

Obito splashes the scented water at Kakashi, who squints and spits.  “I need all the eucalyptus and lavender I can get my hands on to wash out your coffee shop’s stench.”

Kakashi leans back against the tub with a serene smile and closes his eyes.  “You should come visit sometime,” he offers and Obito knows it’s no small thing to be invited into Kakashi’s life even such a minor way.  He looks up to wink at Obito through the steam of the bathwater.  “Maybe not on roasting day, though.”

“You couldn’t pay me.”

His therapist will probably still tell Obito this is an unhealthy attachment at their next session.  But Obito thinks today is a step in the right direction, at least.  A limping movement toward the honesty that comes so hard to them both.

Maybe they can figure the rest out together, peel back all the layers and scars until they are raw and open to each other.  Until they can repair all the marks of their shared past, their fractured future.  Maybe.  Someday.

Obito likes the idea that his past and his future might yet be able to exist together.  That one day there won’t be any dusty boxes he has to carry around, regrets and secrets stuffed between tabs of moldy cardboard.  He likes the idea that maybe he and Kakashi can unpack together.  Build a bonfire afterward and burn away all the shit they no longer need to hold onto.

The smoke would smell better than coffee, at least.  And as long as Kakashi agrees to take a bath when he comes over, Obito thinks they just might be able to make this work.

[honeyglz]

</3 Breaking up w/ mha characters + little snippets </3

A/N - Let me know if you guys want full length fics for any of these cause I may or may not do some. Im starting this off with the main three but hopefully Ill do more characters later. Also Shoto's is a lil shorter than the rest my bad. Yk the drill on rpoof reading.

Reader- GN for Bakugou and Deku, fem used for Todoroki (Though it could be veiwed as more of a Afab reader instead, just mind the pronouns) , She/Her, You/Your/ Yours

Disclaimer- I do not own any of the characters aside from my depiction of Y/N.

Pairings (separate) - Bakugou x (engaged)reader, Deku/Midoriya x (dating) reader , Todoroki x (engaged) reader

Warning- Mentions of violence/death/injury (No abusive relationship is written in this it is just part of their jobs as hero's). Arranged marriage for Shoto's

Category- Angst Check Master-list for follow up's for each character.

-♡- ✮Bakugou K.✮

Reason: He didn't care enough to make time

Plain and simple.

He's a busy guy, esp once he becomes a pro hero

It starts off small too

He misses the good morning kiss he usually gives you

Next its coming home late

At first you thought maybe he was just tired.

Until he starts blowing off dates. Here you were. Sitting in your chair uncomfortable with the amount of whispers that you could hear. 3 hours you had been waiting. Pity glanced brushed off your shoulders as you sighed flagging down a waiter. "ready to order?" the waiter said in a small voice as he watched you try to cover the sadness in your tone "Yea.. Ill take.."

Katsuki arrived home later that night. Covered in soot and ash as he lay on the couch.

You found him in the morning, still fast asleep.

You sighed as you let it slide, he was busy, surely it was a one time thing right?

Wrong

So so very wrong

He had missed a total of 20 dates

20 .

2

0

It wasn't until you finally had enough of being second place to his job did you try and talk to him...

Bad idea. It was late. The glow from your alarm clock light your face, dried tears staining your checks. You looked down at the sliver ring on your finger. Unaware of the door to your shared apartment having been opened. Katsuki's footsteps were heavy, sluggish movements as he kicked off his boots. His gauntlets thrown carelessly onto the couch noticing the dim light from your shared bedroom. Tracking his way into the room he noticed you staring down at your ring, twisting it nervously as you spaced out. A low grumble snapped you from your thoughts as you stared up at him, eyes devoid of the warm glow he fell in love with. "Bakugou. We need to talk." His thoughts came to a halt at your words. Why the actual fuck were you using his last name? He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he sighed clearly annoyed at the shit you were trying to pull. "Can this wait, Im fucking tired and-" he huffed only to be cut off "It can't wait." There was a cold sadness to your voice, foreign to his ears. He had to be hearing things. He watched as you stood only now taking in the rest of the room. Your things were missing. "Did we get robbed or sumthin- where the fuck is all your stuff" He said making a vague gesture to what now felt like a very empty room. Katsuki's eyes landed on the packed suitcase. Everything clicking in place now. You were leaving. He felt a lump form in his throat as he looked you over. You looked almost as tired as him. You kept your eyes low fidgeting with the ring once more before speaking. Your words calm and thought out. "I think we should take a break" Now. Katsuki has grown alot in the past years. But something inside him snapped at hearing the dreaded words fall out of your mouth. To him you were giving up on him. Like everyone else. Emotions swirled through his scarlet eyes before an anger bubbled over them.

Yeaaaa.....

Safe to say you both didnt recover from that. -♡- ✮Midoriya I. (Deku !!)✮

Reason- He's too scared of leaving you that he kept you at arms length.

You heard me right folks

Poor bby is scared that one day he wont be around and he'll leave you all alone

Solution?

Leave you all alone while he's still alive :D

Being fr tho ever since he became the new symbol of peace he's had this unconscious state of "Any moment may be my last"

Thing is he didn't really develop this until one night.... There had been a villain attack, one far more catastrophic then anyone would have predicted. Izuku came home hours later battered and bruised beyond belief. Walking into the your shared house it wasn't until he heard muffled cries that he snapped out of his daze rushing to the source only to find you, clutching his shirt, tears streaming down your face as the sound of the news blasted through the room. You turned your head to see your boyfriend, leaning against the door frame, splattered with blood and dirt his clothes torn with wounds oozing the horrid crimson liquid. Your glossy eye's met forest green and you sprang to your feet tripping as you fell, hands gripping his. That night Izuku fought tears while he watched you try to scold him between sobs about how he should have called you. How scared you were and how much you needed him to come home after stuff like that. Something in him switched that night. He never wanted to see you cry like that again.

And so he distanced himself

AND I DONT WANT ANYONE BEING LIKE

"Oh why dont u just come home early when stuff like that happens or be more careful"

At the end of the day there is no guarantee he'll be able to call you.

Or that he'll always be safe

There's no guarantee He'll be alive at the end of the day.

Its the realistic statistic's of his life

And of course being the symbol of peace, he had to accept that

But the thought of leading you on with the rest of the world

Leading you to think that every night he'll be there to lay next to you.

Allowing you to feel so much pain if he ever did leave.

The thought alone had him uneasy.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

Letting you leave first. You sighed as you packed your things, Izuku watching out of the corner of his eye, trying his best to act indifferent to it all. "I think that's the last of it..." You said gripping the handle as you looked over to the man you had loved for years. The man that you thought you would marry. The man who now wouldn't even spare you a glance. A uninterested hum echoed through the house. Utter shock painting your face as you scoffed biting back tears that threatened to spill once again. You turned on your heel hand hovering over the cool steel of the door handle before you stopped. "You're not the man I fell in love with, not anymore." You turned the handle leaving the shattered man behind. The slam of the door making the hero flinch. He did it. He kept you save. So why was he still crying? -♡- ✮Todoroki S.✮

Reason - He never gave it a chance

You two had been young when your parents arranged for you both to be wed.

You were told since day one about it.

Shoto, not so much.

It wasn't until he turned 18 was he told of this.

His first thoughts?

He hated it.

He hated the whole idea.

He despised it so much that he fought tooth and nail to get out of it. "You're not listening to me- I don't want to marry someone I've never met!" Anger filled his body as he yelled at his stoic father. The man never once cracking a look of sympathy for his son. Instead he stood up, firm eyes trailing down to the duo coloured ones below. "She had no problem with it. I don't see why you're making such a fuss, its for the family's blood line and-" Shoto felt flames crawl up his skin as he listened to his fathers ramble. Tired of it all he left leaving the man talking to thin air. He paced his training room before sending the room into a pit of rage filled flames. Ice covered the windows as he let out all his pent up anger. Cursing aloud at how foolish anyone would be to marry someone they didn't know.

Safe to say he didnt even want to meet you.

But you did and eventually got engaged.

But it was all a lie.

He didn't love you. He made sure you both knew it -♡- A/N I ran out of room. :/ I can redo Shoto's if yall end up liking this idk

[cursedvibes]

Tagged by @voxofthevoid thank you 😊

Rules: Post a snippet you’ve written that you’re pleased by/proud of and tag some friends.

Tagging (if you want to): @hxhhasmysoul @kaitakushi @frankenjoly @iris-nonsense (I saw recently that you wanted to try your hand at fanfics, so this is kinda me encouraging you :D but no pressure of course)

Need Somebody to Lean On (No Curse AU Pinchan)

“Well, what do you wish for? What do you want for next year?”

Kenjaku thoughtfully considered the lemon pigs, their weird shapes and colour and crudely edged expressions. They hadn’t given the matter much thought during the creation process.

“Same thing you do pretty much.”

Money, stable income, job opportunities. Those were the typical things you’d want for the new year. What else was there? Health? They weren’t that concerned about it taking a sudden bad turn and they had the knowledge and resources to weather most illnesses thrown their way. Happiness? What a vague concept. When was something like that ever truly achieved.

Their eyes roamed around the crammed little room they were sitting in, noting the sketch book the lemon pigs were currently standing on, the open closet that had costumes poking out of it – too numerous to be able to shut the doors – and the ruffled sheets of the futon they had neglected to straighten out in the morning.

“Actually, I think most of all I wish for the next year to be interesting. I want to have fun and be entertained.” Kenjaku shrugged. “Money, success, I’ve had that before. I don’t need it that desperately right now. I’ll save it for next year. What I actually need and haven’t been able to get is excitement. I want to do comedy with you. How popular it is, isn’t of much concern to me.”

They glanced over to their partner. His dark eyes glinted with astonished keenness, maybe a tad contemplative.

“I just want to spend more time with you.”

The eyes widened, truly taken aback this time. Strange. Wasn’t it obvious this would be one of their desires? Perhaps they hadn’t stated their feelings this clearly before. The wish to be close to him and not leave his side had always been implied, evident in them teaming up and spending more and more time at his place, but not said out loud, they now realised. And not in this context of a long-term wish for the future, even if it was tied to these silly little figurines. In the sleepy darkness of the night or the heat of an approaching orgasm all kinds of impulsive promises could be exchanged, but this was different. Felt more deliberate without physical pleasure accompanying it. 

Fumihiko cleared his throat, trying to find his voice again. “Oh well, that's an easy wish to fulfil then.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. 

They cracked a smile. “For you it is.”

The past decade had shown that not everyone was up to the task of providing them with that spark of interest and able to scratch that constant itch in their brain. Not everyone was even willing to meet their simple request to spend more time together, they thought bitterly. Involuntary, their brows furrowed at the thought of their former friend. Jin had tried, succeeded often enough with his weird ticks and strange fantasies of family and flesh, but it had now already been 8 years since they had disposed of their husband’s remains.

A confident grin returned to the face of the man across from them. “Why wouldn't it be? You're a bit needy and sure like to nag, but I've had worse partners.”

They crossed their arms, smiling haughtily. “I'm not nagging, I just point out when you make mistakes.” 

A mocking chortle burst out of him. “Yes, you sure like to do that.” 

Suddenly, he turned serious. 

“But I share your New Year's wish. Comedy is worthless, no matter how successful it makes you, if you aren't having fun. I don't just want the audience to laugh at us, but for us to make each other laugh more than anything. I didn't mention it because it seemed obvious to me that we would stay together like this. But I guess exactly because it seemed so natural to me, I was surprised to hear you say it out loud. It made things more apparent. And well, it's a reminder that I shouldn't take things for granted.” 

Thoughtfully, his fingertips trailed over Kenjaku’s figurine, tracing out the smiley on its chest. 

“It seems unimaginable now, but I started this year in a very different place. I had even given up ever finding a partner, much less having fun doing comedy again. For the past years I was purely doing it because I needed the money. But then you showed up, latched yourself onto my life and here we are. Thank you for being so persistent and reminding me of what’s important.” 

As he looked up, their gaze met and a smile slowly returned to his lips.

“I want to spend the next year with you too.”

[babygirlgh0st]

Modern Leper

Summary; Despite living with Simon Riley for several months now, the intricacies of his mind still find ways to surprise you; Tonight is nothing new for either of you.  Word count; 2,245 A/N; This is the first fic I’ve actually finished and decided to post for CoD! I rarely ever post my writing, so forgive me if it isn’t the best. I just really love Ghost, and my fiance deals with night terrors and I saw an outlet and decided to run it into the ground with this. The relationship dynamic for them is something I cherish and is loosely inspired by this song. I could write a three hour power-point on all the trauma this man struggles with, but for now y’all gotta deal with my drabbling instead lmao. No beta we die like men. 

I’m also open to taking requests, if you have anything to offer me :>  Warnings; Vague mentions of past trauma/gore/death, night terrors, ambiguous and complex situationships, minor physical harm (unintentional), hurt/comfort. 

It had taken you months to finally convince Simon to move in with you, just like it had taken nearly a year for him to admit to your not-quite relationship. It was based on understanding more than love or romance; The common knowledge that you shared the same weight as the other, that your weird quirks were complimentary despite their usually volatile state. 

You both understood each other's needs, traumas, the baggage you both carried within yourselves that you’d yet to find the space to put down. He needed space and quiet, a silent companion who never seemed to judge him for whatever ailed him at any moment, and you had a supernatural ability to read him like a book and offer what you could when he needed it without a word being exchanged. It was an invaluable bond you two shared, not quite love, but not quite friendship. You just knew each other like you were one and the same, and found safety in that fact. He had grown to trust you, and you found solace with him, and you were relieved when he relented to moving into your sad one bedroom apartment. Filling some empty void that always seemed to follow you in life. 

You had been having such a nice dream, something warm and soft and honey sweet for once, when the yelling started. It dredged you from the depths of sleep, like ripping off a band-aid or throwing ice water down your shirt, and you blearily shot up in bed in surprise as you blinked into the dark of your shared bedroom, seeking its source.

Simon had warned you about his night terrors, but you hadn’t fully comprehended just how bad they could get sometimes. Yelling, screaming, pained moans and thrashing like he was an animal caged, feral and in desperate need to escape himself. He’d told you that there wasn’t much to do about them, and apologized when he said to just let him be until they were over. He’d even insisted on sleeping on the couch for several months upon moving in under the concern that he’d hurt you or cost you sleep, or god forbid traumatize you even further than your shared line of work already had. 

It took you a few moments to process that it was happening again, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you watched Simon jerk in his sleep across the bed, sheets twisted around his limbs in a way that you found both angelic and heartbreaking in the moonlight from the window. You were sure there wasn’t a single way he could appear to you that you wouldn’t find beautiful, though you knew better than to voice those thoughts out loud. 

He remembered everything if he was woken up in the middle of a night terror, though waking him up while in one of his fits was a feat of its own. You had relented to leave him be and fight his demons in his dreams undisturbed, until the neighbors started to complain about the noise. It killed you to see the haunted, distant look he would always get the following morning if he didn’t sleep through it, but he understood that it couldn’t continue, not in your subpar apartment. After a few too many noise complaints, things had to change. 

“Simon?” You called softly, voice heavy with sleep as you shifted to face him, watching him for a few moments. You knew that pinched expression, visible even through his balaclava that his face was an image of agony. You’d never learned what he had been through- never anticipated you’d get to know- but it still made you question the poor man’s past as you watched him squirm and groan in pain in your sheets. 

“Simon,” you call his name more loudly this time, shifting closer to him on the bed as you did. 

You had never let go of the hope that maybe one day, you’d be able to soothe away his nightmares with just your voice. That your presence alone could banish the horrors that he hid inside of himself, the things he fought back during the day that he couldn’t run from at night. You prayed for a day when you could simply whisper sweet nothings to him, and ease his pain without having to wake him. 

It had yet to work despite your insistent efforts, and after a couple more minutes of soft crooning and attempts to console him with no changes in his behavior, you relented to the one trick you and Ghost had found to wake him up; Sternum rubs. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said as you always did, before shifting to get out of bed and walk around to his side of the mattress. He’d attempted to grab or punch you the few times you’d had to resort to this specific method in the past, and you couldn’t blame him for it; it was an agonizing sensation to experience, and he had always been adverse to physical contact regardless of whether or not he had just suffered a night terror. You couldn’t fault him for lashing out when you woke him from painful dreams in an equally as painful way, even if it cost you a few bruises. At least if you were standing, you had a better chance of moving out of reach when he did come to. With a sharp breath in, you lowered your knuckles down onto the solid muscle and bone of his sternum and pressed, dragging your fist across his chest.

It didn’t take long for him to let out a shuddering gasp, a choked yell of “Get the fuck off me!” following after. It left you flinching, startled by the outburst despite this situation not being a new one. His eyes flew open in shock as his hand locked tight, too tight around your wrist in a grip that brought a squeal to your lips. You knew by now it would leave bruises, the skin tight and twisted under his calloused palm as he ripped your hand off of him.  

“G-ghost! It’s me, it’s me,” you chanted, fear evident in your words as you tried to not struggle against his grip. You had never been able to get used to the violence in his awakenings, the way he would shudder and heave like he’d been shot. His eyes were frantic, manic as he stared at the room around him, at himself, at you as if he had never seen you before in his life, your words foreign in his ears. 

“Simon… It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re at ho-”

“Shut up.” 

He panted heavily, releasing your wrist from his ironclad grip as he shifted to sit up in the bed. His eyes were squeezed tight, hands reaching to cover his face as he tried to reorient himself to the waking world. His body shuddered and rattled as if still stuck inside of his dream, somewhere else, experiencing who knows what. You stood silently beside the bed as you watched him, letting him calm down in his own time.

It felt like a century before he spoke, but his words were much softer despite the way his hands trembled against himself. 

“...I’m sorry, love,” he mumbled, fingers rubbing at his eyes as he forced everything in his mind down into the trenches of himself. Hiding away from your concerned eyes as you watched him like a hawk. His scars throbbed, his skin still clinging to the feeling of blood and dirt and rot as if he had never showered since everything had happened to him. 

“It’s okay, Si,” you said quietly, finally letting yourself move, breathe, as you made your way back to your side of the bed and settled back into the sheets there. 

“You… Can I get you anything?” You offered, always trying to be helpful after an episode. Always supportive and gentle and quiet in his presence as he struggled to hold everything down like bile in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out. A mug of tea, an ear, a shoulder, a warm bath, it was always the same with you despite him always pushing you away every time. He usually settled for silence and nothing more, and this time didn’t seem any different. 

Simon finally pulled his hands from his face, blue eyes exhausted as he stared down at your red wrist with a look of heartbreaking guilt. You knew he was staring; he always did when he’d hurt you after this happened, guilty and pained as he struggled to chew and swallow the reality of once again doing the one thing he always told himself he wouldn’t. 

“I’ll get you some ice,” he offered, no room for argument in his words as he shifted out of bed with a groan and disappeared from the bedroom. Your hand cradled your inflamed wrist, and as you looked down at it you could already see the angry, finger-shaped signs of a bruise forming under your skin. 

He’d always shown his care through action, insisting he was bad with words and worse with touch, so he settled on the little things to try and bring his affections across to you. Grabbing things that were too high for you to reach, doing the extra steps to make whatever task you had at hand that much easier, bringing you small souvenirs when he went on an assignment that you couldn’t follow him on. 

He returns with a deep rooted sadness in his eyes, silently asking for your injured hand as he goes to wrap a bag of frozen peas around it like you were made of glass; something so fragile, so delicate. It felt wrong to feel you in his hands, no matter how careful he swore to be with you, the feeling of staining or breaking you never leaving the back of his mind as he iced the wound he’d caused.

“Really, it’s okay,” you reassured him a second time, offering him a gentle smile as you let him ice your wrist for you. It felt like he was licking a wound like a dog, trying to erase the accidental damage he caused like he always tried with himself. He only offers you a curt nod at your words, and once he’s decided your wrist is sufficiently encased in the frozen peas does he let you go and return to his spot in the bed. 

“It was the coffin, this time,” he says in a low voice, rough from yelling and the cigarettes he tended to chain-smoke every second he was off base and out of your shared home. 

You turn to stare at him in surprise, not expecting him to be open about what happened as your mind reeled from just that one sentence. He stares down at his hands in his lap as he speaks, but you can tell his eyes are looking at something beyond your gaze. 

“It… Isn’t the worst one, but it’s still not great.” Simon laughs bitterly, shaking his head to try and rid his mind of the memories. Some part of him still felt like he was stuck down there trying to claw himself out, nothing but the rotten bones of someone else to help him along. 

You aren’t sure what to say in response. A part of you wants to pry, to take the mile he’s offered with the inch given and see what horrible things seem to follow him like a shadow, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you open your arms to him, head cocked to the side in question. 

A hug. Simple, easy, comforting- For you at least. He looks up at you quietly for a few moments, the air easy and calmer in the space between you both as he considers your offer. His eyes are raw and wet when he finally relents, folding himself easily into your arms. 

You make a point of ignoring the way his shoulders silently shake as he presses himself against you, his own arms going to loop around your waist with that same fragile care he’s always given to just you. An olive branch in the distance he always held between you, for his safety or your own you weren’t sure. You accept it all the same though, hands light and gentle as they go to rest against the back of his head, his shoulders, his spine; petting him like a wounded dog, some poor pet dying on the side of the road. 

“You’re safe now, love,” You whisper in hesitance, body wound tight like a live wire as you wait to do something you shouldn't, cross some unspoken boundary you weren’t able to pick up on in this uncharted territory; But the moment never comes. His shoulders still shake, his face finding refuge in the pulse point between shoulder and throat, and you both act like your skin isn’t damp as you let him hide inside of you. 

You don’t think you’ll ever find the right word for what you two have. It felt like something too delicate, too raw and wounded to be love, but it felt like it went deeper than just simple understanding. Beyond the realms of your minds or bodies, beyond the atrocities the two of you had both committed and been subjected to. 

All that really matters to you though is that he trusts you, and you trust him, and you decide that that is all that matters. 

[rist-ix]

I got a question about winx, and I think you’ll be able to answer. So to get the enchantix a fairy needs to save her kingdom or somebody from there. Valtor is from Domino, right? (I guess, i’m not sure if it’s canon or it’s something i read in so many fics and became head canon for me) So if Bloom save him from something she would get her enchantix? 🤨

Big question, gonna divide that into strictly canon and somewhat headcanon-ish (as in interpreting canon).

Going with what's strictly canon? Probably not. Valtor's exact place of creation is left pretty vague, and the only real references that come to mind are Faragonda's explanation in s3 ep 7 or Valtor's allusion to a “shared past” in the infamous Andros episode. As always, there might be differences in dubs, but as far as I remember, Valtor is never specifically tied to Domino — to Bloom's parents and the company of light, yes, but not to the planet. And I feel like if it were the case, it would have had to be mentioned at one point or another. It’s a pretty important detail!

From what I recall of the German dub and the background animation that accompanied Faragonda's exposition, it seemed to be implied that Valtor was created somewhere out in space, so nowhere at all. With that, I’d argue that we can safely assume Valtor is NOT from Domino, and does not share Bloom's nationality (planetality?).

Which is why we're gonna delve into fanon-territory now and ask: does it matter?

Enchantix rules and regulation are, to me, a bit wonky. Even leaving aside the fact that Bloom was able to creative-mode her way into one, how does the magic that triggers enchantix determine whether the saved person is from the same planet as the fairy in question? Does it run a cold, calculated if(get(nationalityOfDamsel) = get(nationalityOfFairy)) {return Enchantix = true}? Does enchantix check passports? Does it trace bloodlines? What happens if the saved party in this situation is mixed-race or emigrated to another planet? Does only one nationality apply, do both, or neither? Is it more important what ethnicity or people you belong to, or does your current home address supersede that?

In a universe as big and diverse as the Magical Dimension, having a transformation take nationality into account is kind of difficult. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, or that enchantix is being racist or anything. It makes perfect sense that a transformation that elevates you to guardian fairy of a planet requires you to demonstrate your care and devotion to the people of said planet.

So here's my personal work around:

People with magical abilities hailing from the same planet tend to have similarities in power. Think Princess Galatea, a music-adjacent fairy, or Nova, who has a star theme going on. It’s not 100% guaranteed, and the system completely falls apart if you count the Earth fairies, but it did give me the idea that ppl who come from the same planet share some kind of magical origin. If that core slash origin fits to a certain degree, that’s enough for an Enchantix. Kind of like how blood types can match, but the DNA is still different.

And for that, I think, Valtor would 100% suffice. He pretty much consists of Bloom's magic. Or, well. The magic Bloom is in possession of. Mom said it’s her turn with the dragon flame.

That being said, something people tend to forget is that Enchantix runs on two-factor-authentication. You need to save someone who matches the criteria, AND you need to make a big and personal sacrifice. So not only would she have to save our local megalomaniac's well-dressed ass, she would need to make a sacrifice in doing so. Which is the trickier part, in my opinion.

[tsuy4n]

Chaotic dumbass x (chaotic) Smartass / Moron x Genius (both still chaotic)

[Leo] >Donnie< [Raph] [Mikey]

[Y/n]: Dee!

Donnie: Yes?

[Y/n]: Wanna see a butterfly?

Donnie: Wh–

[Y/n]: *throws butter across the room*

Raph: *passing by only to see a butter getting thrown and almost hit him* ???

Mikey and Leo: *wheezing on the floor* THAT WAS GOLD!

Donnie: *shaking head while leaving* You're all dumb dumbs.

—

[Y/n]: I wish I was a jellyfish. Just float around while looking all pretty.

Donnie: Jellyfish have no brains, therefore you are close to being one.

[Y/n]: Really? That's aweso– are you calling me stupid?

Donnie: *nodding* My point exactly.

—

[Y/n]: I couldn't sleep last night.

Mikey: *smiles cutely* They say that if you can't sleep someone's thinking about you.

[Y/n]: Who the fuck is thinking about me at 3 AM??

Donnie: [Internal panic]

—

[Y/n]: I just finished a 50-bit puzzle. It took four weeks.

Donnie: Four weeks? That's long.

[Y/n]: You think? On the box, it says 2-4 years.

Donnie:

—

[Y/n]: So, what's Donnie's type?

Leo: [h/c], [e/c], [clothing pref.], oblivious, good sense of humor, cute, and funny.

[Y/n]: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we're just friends.

Leo: Did I mention oblivious?

[Y/n]: Yeah, why?

Leo: Okay, just making sure.

—

Donnie: When I said 'bring something from the coast', I meant seashells or something.

[Y/n]: *struggling to hold a seagull* How was I supposed to know!

—

Donnie: I've been keeping an eye on [Y/n].

Raph, Leo, Mikey: *shares a look*

Leo: You mean stalking them.

Donnie: The language of most stalking laws is pretty vague. I like to think of myself more as a guardian angel.

—

Raph: Is something wrong with Donnie? He's been laying on the floor in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, and Mikey's not looking too happy about it.

Leo: Oh, he's just a little overwhelmed.

Raph: Why? What happened?

Leo: [Y/n] smiled.

—

Donnie: Are you lying?

[Y/n]: That depends on your definition of lying.

Donnie: It– Its defined as not telling the truth. We've been through this. How else would you describe it?

[Y/n]: Reclining your body in a horizontal position, usually on a bed or couch.

Donnie: ...

[Y/n]: ...

Donnie: Get out.

[Y/n]: Fair.

—

Donnie: *on 17 different types of energy drinks at 3am, finished making a new invention.* I am fire. I am embers. I am flames. I am DEATH.

[Y/n]: *is having a sleepover at the lair, woke up to the sound of maniacal laughter* A fucking nightmare is what you are. Jesus, dee. Go to sleep.

—

*on their first date*

Donnie: *already knows but is a nervous wreck atm* So...what's your favorite color?

[Y/n]: *unimpressed* Really? Don't ask me dumb questions.

Donnie: How is fomic acid prepared in a lab? Give me the chemical reaction for it.

[Y/n]: [f/c]. My favorite color is [f/c]...

—

[Y/n]: *entering the lair* Heeey, how's the most beautiful person in the world doing?

Donnie: I don't know, how are you?

[Y/n]: *blinks then blushes* Gre–

Leo: *shouting from across the room* I'm doing amazing, thank you!

—

Waiter: How would you like your steak?

[Y/n]: I'd like it a lot.

Waiter:

Donnie: He means how you want it cooked, [Y/n].

[Y/n]: In the kitchen, obviously. Wtf is wrong with you two??

Mikey, Raph, Leo: [ w h e e z i n g ]

—

Donnie: So we roll, then summersault.

[Y/n]: We'll get caught for sure.

Mikey: Are you guys planning a heist?

[Y/n]: *shares a look with Donnie* No. Raph's asleep and we need to get past him.

—

Raph: Explain to me how you two got into an accident.

[Y/n: Well, we were driving and there was a deer on the road and Dee didn't noticed so I said, "Donnie, deer!"

Raph: And?

[Y/n]: Tell him what you replied.

Donnie: *sighs* "Yes, love?"

—

Leo: Only genuises can say these four words quickly: Eye. Yam. Stew. Peed.

Donnie: *Rolls eyes and scoffs* Oh, come on. No one's falling for that–

[Y/n]: IAMSTUPID

[engravedinaash]

Memory

part 5

directly following this post

cw mentioned self harm (vague and brief)

I'm doing smaller chunks of lore for coerthas because there is a LOT cooking

Lore Masterpost

-

"Ah, you're awake! Splendid"

And so Sen finds himself in a hastily made igloo on top of a bedroll, the same man who plucked him easily from the snow staring right down at him. He goes to jump back, to escape, but he finds it hard to move his body without unspeakable pain shooting through it. He wasn’t even aware he was injured until he finds the elezen attempting to redress his biggest and freshest wounds–a gash on his upper arm near his shoulder and a deep slice to his thigh. His limbs are so heavy. He’s defenseless. But the man–Haurchefant, he calls himself–seems docile enough. He’s strong, clearly, but indicates no harm. In fact, he readily informs Sen on the circumstances: how many days have passed since the Calamity (yes, that is what occurred), whereabouts of the Empire, any hearings of other regions of Eorzea, and his own plans of rebuilding the settlement of Camp Dragonhead.

It's a strange situation. Sen would at first call it uncomfortable, but soon enough he finds he cannot deny Haurchefant’s kindness. He keeps Sen’s wounds clean, gives him food, and once supplies roll in he has nightly hot cocoa offered to him to keep warm. But why does he call me friend when we have only just met?

Sen knew little if nothing about Ishgard’s affairs and never cared to learn. He would be ready to start, but it seems Haurchefant’s primary focus remains to be locating survivors and offering refuge to any and all who need it. Politics and religion are not an immediate issue after such catastrophic events and Sen can’t help but feel grateful for that at least.

Sen chooses to stay. If only because his new “friend” insists he at least recover before departing. It is only when weeks must have passed that Sen finds the strength to stand for more than 5 minutes at a time but still not without difficulty. And after that point even when he could make the trek out from Coerthas…he can’t find it in himself to leave. Because where will he go? The Shroud? Thanalan? It seems they remain standing if by a miracle, but the thought of finding who among those he cares for has made it out in one piece… It brings him fear and dread. The unknown and not wanting to find out.

When Haurchefant asks of his family or loved ones, Sen finds he can’t say anything. As if speaking about them would cause something bad to happen. The man is so damned patient though, and leaves the topic each time with an offer to at least send word of Sen’s whereabouts and condition to whomever in any location of the realm if he can help it. And he’s not saying it just to say it. Sen can see how genuine his desire to aid others is. Even when there is no benefit to himself. Chivalrous like the knight he is. And when Haurchefant reveals his own past, it all makes even more sense.

Sen finds his heart aches around Haurchefant the more distance is closed between them. The cold of the air, the warmth of a smile and genuine conversation…the combination is too familiar.

To distract himself from those racing thoughts, and to repay the debt he owes at the very least for the care he received, he assists however he can to rebuild the camp. Weeks and months fly by. Much progress is made to the settlement and between Sen and Haurchedant. Try as he might, even as he steadily heals, he still stays by his…friend’s…side.

And the other man can just read him so easily like an open tome. What has become of him? And in somehow asking this aloud one night when they were sharing a nightly hot cocoa in the miqo’te’s chambers, all of Sen’s past chapters come pouring from the page.

And so Haurchefant is one of the only few souls to know about what happened in Ilsabard. Though Sen does not shed tears recounting it, never could and never will if he can help it, his body language indicates it is upsetting enough. But when Haurchefant looks at him, there is no pity in his eyes. There’s understanding, sure (he could not forget when he helped launder Sen's garments when the other man still could barely stand. The panic in his eyes when he could not locate this particular cloth and the relief when Haurchefant returned with it. The elezen knew it was important and now it all makes sense..)

But there is also something sad there in Haurchefant's eyes, maybe hidden anger at the circumstances that caused Sen’s turmoil. But the miqo'te is suddenly too exhausted to determine what it means. Regardless he feels as if the weight of his past had been lifted if but for a moment.

He falls asleep with a hand gently caressing his own that night.

And when he wakes, the hand is still there. Haurchefant did not leave his side. There are no windows in this room, nevermind the clouds and snow are endless, but he can still imagine how sunlight would fare on the elezen’s sharp features softened by slumber.

Sen tears his eyes away, embarrassed, and lowers them to focus on their hands entwined instead. Haurchefant’s hands are rough from years of training, though not as scarred and torn as Sen’s own. He notices the callouses from wielding his sword no doubt, and he takes to mindfully mapping and counting them. He obviously never forgets their difference in size, but the way Haurchefant’s hand dwarfs his own is almost comical in a sense that they possess fairly equal strength. Haurchefant never makes him feel small.

But isn’t he kind to everyone? The air grows frigid around Sen’s brain with the thought. In truth, ever since more Fortemps knights and merchants and adventurers came into the camp he has noticed Haurchefant's smile and warmth is given freely. And does he truly think himself so special to receive this man’s…more directed affection? And how dare he even allow his heart to anyone else in the first place. He was convinced it was not there anymore anyway. It died along with who it belonged to--

All at once, the once peaceful scene becomes wrong. All Sen can see is his own trembling hand, the scars shaped like crescent moons and claw marks on his arm and wrist that he is sure Haurchefant saw but said nothing of--he’s too kind, why is he so kind– and his dull heart threatens to hammer out of his chest.

He leaves, he regrets it. He at the very least lays the other man down and covers him with the wool blanket. He goes out to sit in the freezing waters outside the camp with a few other knights. He doesn’t need more resistance training but the sensation does wonders for lessening his ruminations.

The gesture of allowing Haurchefant his bed does not go unnoticed by the man himself. He doesn’t mention it or thank Sen, but he shows it in his smile that day. The crinkle of his eyes. And Sen’s heart is aching terribly. He never smiles back, but his notched ear betrays him with a twitch that just makes the other man’s grin widen. Sen wonders if his fingers itch to pet him there like the rough adventurers of Uldah none too gently took no hesitation to do. He startles himself when he finds that he very much wants him to. He tries to stifle the motion of his tail thumping against the bench he sits at as he turns back to his breakfast, hoping no one sees his burning face.

Sen feels pathetic.

As taxing as this battle between his heart and his brain is, he once again cannot make himself leave Haurchefant’s side. Even though the man is clearly strong and brave enough to hold his own, and the camp is nearing completion, Sen feels a need to remain. To be better at handling the cold and the sad memories it brings, to help train the newer knights, to heal his body as it is yet still recovering from the wounds the Calamity brought, to avoid facing his family–found and biological both, and to have Haurchefant's smile at him (selfish though it may be). If he can't give his heart, can't bear the feelings he steadily denies, he will be content to stay in his presence.

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 9

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1300 words)

author's note: we're back with part 9, babey!! your concerns about matt start getting a little...worse. sorry if this is a bit messy—i did not feel like proofreading it! this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: alcohol consumption, a brief vague mention of homophobia (past, not on-page), some strong language

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~*~*~

On Friday, you head straight home after leaving work so you can shower and change before you meet Matt and his friends at Josie’s. You take your time getting ready and double-check that you have your wallet before leaving. It’s not an exceptionally far walk, but you’ve learned to start taking cabs to places if you’re walking at night, so you manage to hail a cab and direct it to Josie’s. 

“You sure you wanna go there?” the driver asks, peering at you over his shoulder. “There’s way better places.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m meeting friends.”

The driver scoffs, but does as you ask, taking you to Josie’s and dropping you off in record time. He doesn’t say a word when you get out and drives off almost as soon as you shut the door, and you sigh as you head inside. 

It isn’t too late, but it’s already pretty crowded inside—not enough that you can’t spot Matt, Foggy, and Karen sitting at their usual table off to the side. Karen waves at you as you enter. 

“Hi,” you say, hurrying over. You drop into the empty seat between Karen and Matt. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” Matt says. He leans over and kisses you, soft and quick, and you can’t help but smile. “We just got caught up finishing a case. Decided to head over from the office.”

“And God, do I need a drink,” Foggy groans, tipping his head back. “Man, this week sucked.”

“It did,” Karen confirms with a little sheepish grin. “We had three separate cases about landlords.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Matt told me a little. You win any of them?”

“All of them,” Karen says. “It wasn’t fun, but…”

“I fucking hate landlords,” Foggy says. 

Matt laughs, tips his head in Foggy’s direction. “He’s got the right idea.”

You’re not going to disagree—a few months ago, Eliza and her girlfriend’s landlord (former landlord) had tried to kick them out for being lesbians. They’d managed to move before anything bad could happen, thankfully, but still. You hadn’t even met the guy and you’re pretty sure you’d like to give him a swift kick to the balls. 

Karen goes to get beers for the table first, leaving you to talk to Foggy and Matt. Despite his claims of exhaustion, Foggy is as lively as ever, sharing a story about him and his brother when they were younger. You listen carefully, laughing, joke about wanting to meet Theo to see where their parents went wrong with Foggy, get a laugh from both him and Karen as she returns with bottles. 

You’ve already known this, but Foggy’s exceptionally funny. You can’t help but be glad that he’s there to lighten the mood. Karen too—you don’t know her well, but damn, she’s smart, picking apart Foggy’s stories like she’s been doing it for years (because she probably has been). It makes you feel a little better about your last couple of days too. 

Matt, though…

He’s more quiet than he usually is, barely even nodding or smiling whenever Foggy says anything. The cuts on his knuckles are still healing, the bruises shifting from purple to green, and when he turns his head, you can’t help but notice a dark bruise on his cheekbone.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, reaching up and resting the tips of your fingers on his jaw. 

He winces. “Nothing. Just tripped and fell. It’s fine.”

You press your lips together but say nothing, dropping your hand. Something’s wrong. You can’t tell what it is, and you doubt he’ll tell you if you ask him. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. 

Did he get mugged? you wonder, taking a sip of your beer. It tastes like piss but you need something to do with your hands aside from searching Matt’s entire body for bruises. Did he get into a fight? Is that why his knuckles are bruised?

Foggy calls your name, and you glance at him. He jerks his head to the counter. “I’m getting more. Help me.”

“Okay,” you say, and you squeeze Matt’s wrist once before easing yourself out of the chair and following Foggy to the counter. 

Foggy orders four glasses you aren’t sure you want to know the contents of and leans against the counter, his kind eyes regarding you with something a little like concern. “Something wrong?”

You sigh, mimicking his posture, facing him. “Is Matt okay?” You keep your voice low so it doesn’t travel over the noise of the other bar patrons. 

Foggy pauses, tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitate, resisting the urge to look at Matt. “He’s been quiet the last week. And his hands, his face—”

Foggy winces. “Yeah. He…you know he boxes, right? As stress relief.”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, well, he can go a little overboard,” Foggy says. “Y’know, work and life in general. Did he tell you anything about how he grew up?”

“Only that he lived in an orphanage after his dad died,” you say, and Foggy nods. 

“It’s not my place to say, obviously,” he says, “but sometimes…sometimes it gets to him. And he needs to try a little harder to get his brain to turn off so he can rest. I’ve tried to help him, actually.” Foggy looks down, taps his fingers against the sticky surface of the bar. “In the past. He didn’t like it much at first, but we came to an understanding. The only thing we can really do now is be there to support him.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Foggy catches it and adds, “I don’t like it much either, but he’s one stubborn sonofabitch, so he’s not going to change his mind. I’m sorry.”

A sigh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you hang your head. “Yeah. I get it. Thank you.”

Foggy waves you off and reaches for the drinks that Josie passes your way. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

“I mean, thank you for being there for him,” you say, and he stops short, his gaze back on you. “He…he cares a lot about you. And Karen. Thank you for being there for him.”

It feels almost stupid to say it, considering how you’ve only been in Matt’s life for a little while compared to the years and years that Foggy and Karen have on you, but Foggy’s smile is soft and understanding. 

“He cares about you too,” he says. “I’ve known this guy for a crazy long amount of time, and he’s never been like this with anyone.”

“What do you mean?” you ask as Foggy picks up the glasses. 

“Y’know, normal,” Foggy says. “This is the most like himself that he’s ever been, at least since we graduated college. You’re good for him.”

You find yourself going a little red at that. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He jerks his head in the direction of Karen and Matt. “Let’s go.”

You replay Foggy’s words to yourself a hundred times as you head back to the table. You know he boxes, right? That doesn’t explain the bruise on his face, or how quiet he is. You’ve seen Matt when he’s exhausted, and this isn’t it. 

What the hell is going on?

You don’t manage to catch your sigh as it slips out, and judging by the furrow in Matt’s brow, he hears it too. 

“Everything okay?” Matt asks as you slide back into your chair. 

“Yeah,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Everything’s fine.”

And if you’re lying about that, then…that’s between you and no one else.

part 10

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[ssplague]

Chapter 5

Part 4

Rated M

The group had been to Bakugou’s house twice before, and they all agreed on two things; It was big and LOUD. Two things that still held true…Then there was a new addition; Which was you.

Warning (s)⚠️ Abandonment, manipulation, mind games, mental breakdown, “Blind eyed” Bakusquad, hallucinations, manic episodes, toxic relationship, SEX, sprinkles of ddlg (incorrectly portrayed), gas lighting, Yandere, Liquor consumption, mention of past child neglect, some physical/verbal abuse

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of my gorgeous and beloved readers! 💌

📬 Honorable mentions: @angie-1306 @wolfunderthetree @marifujioka @im1nobody @atmyhet@elaineplayz@girlwithnokatsuki@rainstorm22 @bi-polar-pandas @itadakimasu @ss-akii @po3ticb3auty @lizethecookie01 @maggiecc @lordmypantsaresocool @shoslutt @presidentmonica @winchescumberholland

Remember: Leaving only a simple ❤️‍🔥 or 💥 in a comment will get you put on the tag list.

👗 🎒 🍕 🍾 🫂

“You really think this is a good idea man? Bakugou really isn’t the type of guy that likes being around people in general….I can only imagine what he’ll do when we show up at his door unannounced” Kaminari says with a nervous grimace.

“Relax, he’ll probably just yell for a bit and then everything will turn out okay” Kirishima replies, always the optimist.

“I still dunno why I had to come…I hate being the only girl! Y/N’s phone was off when I tried calling her a few minutes ago” Mina whines.

“D’you really think she won’t be around? They are always together” Sero offers a vague attempt at comforting the pink haired girl.

The reason Kirishima organized this sporadic visit to the Bakugou residence was simple; He hasn’t seen his best friend since school let out for break almost a month ago.

Katsuki’s replies to texts are the normal insulting messages the red head has come to expect from his explosive buddy, but he feels like something is off? Or different? The few times the two boys have talked on the phone, the blonde always seemed distracted, as if something else had captured his attention.

Of course Kirishima shared all of his thoughts with their group of friends, and it was no surprise that all of them had no clue what could be happening with their self appointed leader. You were even harder to get ahold of, and if you would actually text anyone back it was either oddly cryptic or overly enthusiastic. Not sounding like the person they’d gotten used to, not anything like you at all.

“Do you think they may have split up again?” Mina asks as they turn onto Katsuki’s street.

Even with the warmth of summer surrounding them, a collective shiver ran through the group at the thought. That break up was all kinds of ugly, and none of them wanted to have to experience that kind of darkness again. The other three thought they saw how bad the situation was, the small glimpse they got was nothing compared to the front row seat Kirishima had to Bakugou’s absolute melt down.

“No No No Shitty hair you don’t get it! She’s just acting up right now…she needs my attention that’s all”

“I‘ll kill anyone that tries to get close to her, y/n’s my girl; She’s my princess, my prize I won fair and square”

“I marked her on the inside, she’s always going to belong to me”

A disgustingly lovesick expression accompanied that last one; Red eyes showed that Bakugou was somewhere far away, hidden inside his ill mind.

Kirishima considers himself to be the manliest of men, and it’s not easy to intimidate him, but the look on Bakugou’s face and the insanity shining through his eyes…

My prize, I won fair and square

He forced the memory into the deepest recesses of his brain, praying that one day he would forget it entirely.

“It’s this one right?”

Mina’s hand gestures directly infront of his face.

“Yeah this is it!” Kirishima put his happy go lucky smile back on as the group approaches the front door.

He leans forward to give the door a few loud wraps with his knuckles.

“Princess, would you go get my post workout shake ready?” Katsuki asks and immediately regretted doing so. You had went down into a full split to properly do your cool down stretch out, and the view of your ass in those spandex was top notch from his angle.

“Of course daddy”

“That’s my good girl”

You joined Katsuki on his morning runs now, and even did some weight lifting with him (what he would allow you to lift anyway). It wasn’t your favorite thing in the world, but he seemed to be in better spirits on those days. When he’s happy your day is better, unless him and Mitsuki get into it…then you try to stay out back with Masaru for as long as your angry lover will allow you too. Sometimes he’ll catch you beforehand and then with a gruff “S’bedtime princess” he drags you upstairs. You don’t usually get to sleep on those nights, and you can barely move around the following morning.

Exiting the bedroom you head up the hallway towards the staircase, only to pause when you hear your name shouted from the opposite side of it.

“Coming!”

You quickly head towards the room with its door slightly ajar and poke your head in to see Mitsuki standing in-front of her vanity mirror.

The lights surrounding the mirror were incredibly bright, so much so you’d had to shade your eyes slightly to get a good look at the older woman. Once you did, you couldn’t think to stop yourself from excitedly spewing out compliments.

“Wow mom! You look amazing! That dress is so pretty, I’ve never seen one like it before!”

Of course she’d taken each one in stride, saying “Well I’d certainly hope not since I was the one who created it!If you had, then someone would be up shit creek without a paddle” then giving you a wink through the mirror.

“I need you to help zip me up sweetheart, that way once Masaru gets back from the car wash, him and I can take off” she explains, gathering up as much of her unruly hair as possible, making sure to hold it up at the base of her skull.

You put the upmost care into your task, making sure to hold the undoubtably expensive fabric taught as you pull the zipper up, “Done!”. You catch a set of vermilion eyes staring you down in the mirror and then you remembered that you hadn’t put another shirt back on after casting your sweaty one aside when you and Katsuki returned from your morning run.

Standing there in your sports bra and spandex shorts; Any other mother would undoubtedly say something about the many hickies and bite marks littering your neck and chest. Luckily (?), for you that Mitsuki isn’t just “any mother”, she knows what you and her dumbass son get up to, and once said dumb ass son reassured her you were on birth control, she brushed it aside.

“Ah I…um-“ you nervously stutter.

“Thank you sweetheart” she says with a smile and you relax almost instantly.

Then a loud knocking sounds from downstairs, “Would you mind going to open the door? My idiot husband tends to forget his keys and somehow manages to lock himself out” she rolls her eyes before turning back towards her mirror. “No problem!” You scurry out of the room and down the staircase.

Already assuming you knew who was on the other side of the door, you opened it without a second thought.

Only to come face to face with Kirishima, Mina, Denki, and Sero.

The four of you stare at each other in surprise.

“H-Hey y/n” your boyfriend’s best friend stutters, face now as red as his hair.

“We aren’t interrupting anything are weeee?” Mina asks, giving you a knowing smile.

That’s when you once again remember your state of undress.

“Ah no it’s not like that! We just got done with our morning workout”

“Morning workout huh?” Of course Denki felt the need to chime in.

Finished with his last rep, Katsuki wonders what the hell is taking you so long? Sticking his head out the door with the intention of yelling down to you, he pauses when he hears…is that Kirishima’s voice? What the fuck!

He takes the stairs two at a time, getting downstairs to see you standing in front of the open door in only your sports bra and spandex shorts.

“The fuck is going on?!”

Katsuki’s hand falls on to your shoulder, gripping it tightly, his yelling in your ear startling you. Taking a step backwards you resemble a deer caught in head lights; You wrap your arms around yourself, nervously shuffling your feet as you stare down at them, refusing to make eye contact with the owner of the palm starting to simmer against the skin of your shoulder.

An awkward situation if ever there was one…

“Oh hey man!” Kirishima quickly interjects “We were nearby, so we just came by to see what was going on with you?”. With the burning stare transferred over towards Kirishima instead, you try to turn and leave.

Only to feel Katsuki’s grip tighten, it’s not visible to the others but he does pull you backwards to mumble; “Go put some fucking clothes on”.

You hurry off to do as he says, trying and failing at swallowing the lump in your throat. The heat the skin on your shoulder is emitting let’s you know it’s at least slightly burnt.

Another mark to cover up.

Katsuki doesn’t want to invite the group inside, but as usual the red head is able to slip through the cracks In his defensive walls, and weasels his way inside the house.

“So uh.. You-“ Kirishima starts, Denki butts in, “Certainly have been occupied, hah Kacchannn?”.

“Maybe we should come back another time?” Mina offers.

“Dunno what fuckin’ difference that would make” Katsuki snarls “Fuckers are gonna bother me no matter when you show up here”.

“She means if we interrupted you and y/n-“ Sero finally speaks up, only to get shut down.

“Interrupted us what? She fuckin’ lives here, she’s always going to be here now” Katsuki hears the blender start up In the kitchen and smiles.

His good girl remembered to do what he asked.

You had purposely pulled one of Katsuki’s hoodies out of the hamper and put it on. The hoodie was long enough to go past your butt, so along with some black boy shorts and thigh highs it could be counted as “lazy day in” attire. Plus he loves seeing you in his clothes, so maybe he won’t punish you for opening the door in just a bra.

Wishful thinking.

Maybe he wouldn’t punish you as bad.

That’s more realistic.

Finished making his post workout shake, you poured it in his cup and washed the blender.

You stopped before exiting the kitchen, drawing in a deep breath through your mouth, then blowing it out of your nostrils, you repeated the process twice more. Then put on your fake smile and entered the living room, as centered as you could be.

“Suki” you say quietly while holding out the cup “Sorry to make you wait”.

He looks you up and down once, twice, and then smirks “Thanks beautiful”.

“Awwww he just thanked her you guys, how sweet” Mina teases.

“Shuddup Racoon eyes or I’ll throw you out” Katsuki growls after taking a swig of his shake “sit down”. He roughly pulls you down beside him on the couch, almost onto his lap.

You hadn’t realized you were still standing.

“Alright I’ll be out in just a minute”

Hanging up her phone, Mitsuki snatches her clutch off the dresser and tosses the device inside. She doesn’t bother taking a last look in the mirror, she knows she looks incredible (even you had told her so). Starting down the steps voices drift up towards her ears, she didn’t remember either one of you mentioning guests were coming.

As soon as the older woman comes into view, a low whistle sounds and her son’s dunce of a friend stands up.

“Mrs.Bakugou it’s so nice to see you again” Kaminari says with a polite bow, following up with; “Might I add, that you look absolutely breath taking”.

“I know that already, and just like I told you last time; I’m years out of your league little boy” she quips, much to the other’s amusement. After they all finish greeting one another, she starts towards the door “Y/N you’re in charge while we’re away, don’t let Katsuki fuck the house up!”.

“I…I won’t mom, have fun!”

The door slams before Katsuki can finish insulting his mother.

“Tch good fuckin’ riddance” Katsuki huffs, wrapping his arm around you.

“So are we going to get an explanation about the bombshell you just dropped on us a few minutes ago or…?” Sero directs this at Bakugou.

“Yeah man, to be honest I’m kind of hurt that neither one of you two updated me on such a big step in your relationship” Kirishima adds, putting on his best hurt expression.

“The fuck are you on about-“

“You just told us that you two are living together! Y/n just called your mother “Mom”!” Mina exclaims “Both those things are a huge deal!”.

Katsuki feels you shift uncomfortably, pressing further into his side, lightly grabbing onto his shirt. The shouting and too personal line of questioning was amping up your anxiety. When your eyes meet his they are glassy enough with unshed tears to clearly display his reflection.

“Some things happened and now she’s staying here, it’s not your business until she decides to share it, and if she doesn’t than fuck off” his tone leaves no room for disagreement, that’s that. You are thankful for his intervention, your friends are great people but you still have yet to process everything that happened to you, it’s all still so fresh.

You barely have adjusted to your new surroundings.

Barely adjusted to your relationship.

“Oh that reminds me!” Denki picks his bag up off the floor, setting it on his lap, “I brought party favors”. A large bottle of liquor and a 2-liter of soda are placed on the coffee table.

“Ooooh it’s not the cheap stuff this time” Mina notes, studying the bottle.

“You fuckers really came over here and thought you were just gonna use my house as a place to get drunk and freeload? Nah fuck all that, GET OUT!”

Katsuki shouts, standing up so abruptly you end up getting knocked side ways on the couch.

“Now Now Bakubro just relax, we won’t break or mess up anything alright? We can order pizza and play video games or even watch that new movie about-“ Kirishima’s attempt to convince him gets interrupted by a loud squeal from Mina as a spark emitting hand swipes towards the bottle “Sero catch!”.

A game of keep away ensues and you watch your friends racing around, hopping over furniture to evade a furious Katsuki.

“Order us Pizza y/n-Chan” Kirishima says with a wink as he tosses you his phone. You do as you were told and continue to sit there awkwardly until Katsuki finally simmers down, “Fuckin’ knock it off before you assholes break something and I have to get my ass chewed out for it”. Celebratory whooping and cheers sounds around the room from the other four;

“So that means we win!”

“I’m thirsty from all that running!”

“Knew you’d give in eventually bro”

“When’s the pizza coming?”

You answered the last question immediately “Thirty minutes”.

“Boo that’s a long time” a collective sigh from the group can be heard as they all stare at the slouched over electric blonde. “Would you go get us some cups pretty girl?” Katsuki asks, bringing your attention back to him (where it should be).

“Y-yes of course” the stuttering came from the intensity of his stare, you were happy to briefly free the room.

This whole situation was uncomfortable and awkward, to you at least.

The group had been to Bakugou’s house twice before, and they all agreed on two things; It was big and LOUD.

Two things that still held true.

Then there was a new addition;

Which is you.

Something was different about you though….

For being four heroes in training it’s kind of pathetic that only Mina picked up on the vague signs that something had happened to you. What that was she was unsure, but it was definitely SOMETHING serious. Her eyes continually lingered on you after you’d come to join them now that you were dressed.

You met her gaze only once.

The small smile you gave her didn’t reach your eyes, and the pinkette did her best to wordlessly express her concerns.

“Later” you’d mouthed so quickly she almost missed it as you pressed yourself even further into Katsuki. Noticing the way he stared at you, Mina quickly feigned checking her phone before that white hot stare was redirected towards her.

You already anticipated the questions she would more than likely ask you, and you came up with both sensible, and blasé enough answers. Only one of the questions you couldn’t come up with an answer for, and it was undoubtedly the simplest one; Are you okay?

Are you okay?

Well are you?

By the average person’s standards you are right? There is breath in your lungs, blood moving through you veins and pushing through your heart.

You aren’t on the streets or alone in that big house anymore.

You could argue that this is the best you have ever been; You finally know you are wanted somewhere.

Every good thing in your life right now is all brought about by one person in particular….

Katsuki.

So what if he makes all your decisions for you? You get to sleep in his nice warm bed, cuddled up with him every night.

It wasn’t necessarily attention you wanted at first, but you’ve come to crave it.

Being alone in the dark, stalked by shadows, haunted by the past…It changed you.

Katsuki ended up making your drink for you once you’d returned with the glasses. It wasn’t a particular booze you enjoyed that was being served, but the continuous whispers of “C’mon baby drink up” followed by “There you go, that’s my good girl” encouraged you.

On your third and final you didn’t even seem to mind Katsuki’s wandering hands under your hoodie or creeping up the inside of your thigh. He had you partially laying across his lap once the movie started, the lights were dim enough that no one noticed what he was doing to you.

“You like them being right here don’t you? What if they knew where my fingers were right now haaaah? Fuckin’ slut…Bet you’d let me fuck you in front of them” he says whilst nibbling on your ear. You only clamp down on his fingers in response. It felt nice to get out of your head for a bit, the liquor stopped the swirling rip tides that were your feelings and in the normally chaotic sea of thoughts. You didn’t feel like you were treading water or drowning anymore, you just floated along.

You were aware the movie had stopped playing so it must have finished, and you knew everyone around you was talking but you couldn’t focus on what they were saying. All you could focus on was the sudden overwhelming feeling of emptiness as two thick fingers slid out of your drooling cunt.

“Suuu-“ you begin to whine and immediately shut up when a hot hand comes down on your mound. The heat was what delivered a sting since the slap wasn’t loud enough to be heard.

A ding came from someone’s phone, followed by a drunken slur sounding somewhat like “uberzere!” You now notice your friends were all packed up and ready to go.

“Wait…hugs!”

That sounded like your voice, wait it was your voice that shouted out.

“Awwwwww” cooed the drunken quartet as they redirected their drunken stumbling towards you, rather than the door.

“Oi get the fuck off of me, Shit faced Shitty hair!” Katsuki snarls, only halfheartedly shoving at the wall like man with an arm draped over his best bud’s shoulders.

“C’mon man this is a group hug! C’mere princess you too!” Kirishima wraps his other arm around you “Now the rest of you!”. Within seconds this group hug turned into a fuckin’ dog pile; The angry blonde was the first to emerge and after getting his lungs filled with fresh air, he realized you were still under there!

“Get off of her you fuckers! I’ll blow you all to hell if she’s hurt! Y/NNNNN!!!”

Everyone (minus you) ended up clumsily running out the door, barreling down the driveway toward their awaiting ride.

“Let’s do this again sometime!” Kirishima shouts, quickly yanking the car door shut to avoid his best friend’s wrath.

Somehow you’d ended up flat on your back on the living room floor, you let out a drunken giggle at the ridiculousness of it all.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to soak in this unhinged apathy, running your finger tips down your body to reignite the fire he started.

“What do you think you’re doing haaaah?”

Re-Opening your eyes to see Katsuki frowning down at you, “Why are you still on the floor?”. You aren’t given time to answer as he scoops you up in his arms “Yer sooo strong suuukiiii, sooo powerful and sexy too”.

“Tch you just now noticed all that? Dumbass” he scoffs, but puffs his chest out with pride anyway.

“No I knew it…I’m just happy that you made everything okay again…Yer bad but you keep the bad away….which means yer good…really goooood”

“The fuck you mean I’m bad?”

“You take things that don’t belong to you, touch things you’re told not toooo”

He tossed you on the bed with more force then necessary.

“If you are referring to yourself; You are mine and I’ll touch you whenever I want to, sure weren’t complaining a little bit ago when I was finger fucking you in front of the idiots”

He’s mad.

You aren’t in your right mind.

Ingredients for a disaster.

“Stop acting like a dumb bitch, it’s not cute” he snarls, heading back downstairs to get you both some water and shut the lights off.

“-The incident…couldn’t face myself in the mirror anymore” you finish mumbling as he re-enters the room, dismissing your words as drunken rambling. “Katsuki” you softly call out to him as he approached the bed. Getting a gruff “m’here” in response as he sits down on the bed “Get up princess, you need to drink this”. You squeal as the freezing cold water bottle hits your skin, quickly sitting up and shivering.

“When did you-“ he asks, staring at your bare chest.

“Got too hot” you interrupt, opening the water bottle and swigging it down.

You both sit in silence after finishing your water, it’s not awkward but the air around you seems…heavy?

“So what the fuck was that earlier when you were standing at the door?”

Here we go.

“I had been in your mom’s room helping zip up her dress when the doorbell rang; She thought it was your dad that locked himself out again, so she asked me to let him in, and I did, or thought that’s what I was doing…”

You lay back on the bed, feeling small and vunerable under the harsh stare of red eyes.

“When you saw who it was why didn’t you shut the door or call for me? Just prefer to let everyone see you? Bet they got a good look at all the marks I’ve left on you” such a prideful grin Katsuki has after mentioning that last part.

You didn’t have a response for that.

“Them and everyone else need to know who you belong to, but the question is…Do you know? Haah princess?”.

Of course you know, what kind of dumb question is that? It’s not like you could fucking forget it at this point.

“M’talkin’ to you pretty girl” he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him.

“You”

“That’s right” he rewards you with a kiss “ I’m gonna take good care of you baby, you won’t ever be neglected like you were by your parents…Gonna give you all my attention and affection 24/7”. You can’t help it, you have to mess with him; “What if someone tries to steal me away? What will you do then?”.

“Oh princess why do you gotta ask stupid shit like that?” He grumbled, tracing the shell of your ear with his tounge “They wouldn’t because anyone who even tries to make a serious pass at you will get their brains spattered across the pavement”.

“Surely I’m not worth killing someone over?” you ask, rolling on your side to face him.

Somehow you were sweltering a few minutes ago, but now goosebumps are starting to cover your arms. Only a thin sheet covers your lower half, your torso exposed to the cool air blowing from the ceiling vents. Instinctively, you cuddle up to the warm mass laying beside you.

“No one takes what belongs to me, and you belong to me, so that means you are worth killing for dumbass” Katsuki corrects you, an immediate pinch to your nipple follows.

“Ow!” You push at his chest, attempting to move back towards your side of the bed.

“Oh what you big baby?” he sneers.

One of his muscular arms was draped across your waist, now he has a healthy handful of your ass. Effectively preventing your escape and groping you meanly.

“Oh and to answer your other dumb ass question” he pauses to pull you back towards him, until your breasts are squished against his pecs “If you ever think you’ll be “stolen” or runaway…”. Crimson eyes are alight with fire as they glare down at you, and you gasp as his grip on your ass becomes painfully tight.

“Just know that you won’t ever be able to hide from me for long princess” you feel his other hand in your hair before he tugs it backwards, exposing the length of your throat “I’ve got your scent burned into my nose and the taste of you seared across my tongue”.

His warm wet tongue licks a stripe up your throat and you gulp nervously as his mouth suctions over your pulse point. The satisfactory groan he lets out as his teeth sink into your flesh rattles your brain and you cry out in pain.

“No one else has ever caught my eye like you did, Nobody was worth putting in effort for me to get to know, except you; You weren’t afraid of me, always ready to give me a hard time, fuckin’ teasing me all the time and leaving my balls blue, I endured all of it though…” he kisses the newest mark he’s left on you “It was all worth it just to have you here with me like this; Living here with me in my parents house, sharing my childhood bed, working out with me every morning and fucking me every night…S’perfect, better than I ever dreamed”.

This is as close to heartfelt as you can get from Katsuki Bakugou, it’s crude and aggressive but his guard is lowered.

He wants to connect with you y/n…

Vulnerable isn’t something he’s used to being…Still, he’s trying hard for YOU.

You aren’t alone.

Someone wants you.

Someone needs you.

Someone LOVES you!

Don’t fuck this up for yourself.

Your hands slide purposefully up his chest and come to rest on both his cheeks. That dazzling smile he loves so much clicks into place, unshed tears shine in your eyes (that bite hurts like hell) it makes him feel especially proud to know that his words have moved you to tears.

“I love you so much Katsuki, please don’t ever leave me…you make my life worth living, even though it’s been such a short time I’d be lost without you”

Put the cherry on top of your bullshit sundae 🍒🍨

“I need you”

These lies just flow seamlessly from between your lips now. Only a few months ago you couldn’t get them out without a nervous stutter or twisted up gut.

Are they really lies anymore y/n?

“I know I’m shit with words so���can I just fuck my feelings into you now?”

“Thought I was in trouble?”

“That’s right you are! Such a good fuckin’ girl! Reminding daddy that he needs to put you over his knee still” his praise lacks condescension, it must be genuine. Sweaty palms paw at your breasts before giving each a soft squeeze, the kisses he places on both of them are feather light.

“My girl…My perfect fuckin’ princess”

It was as if he was stuck like an old record; continuously repeating himself over and over again. The gruff voice that used to make your heart skip a beat, had now become the sound track to your descent into this unfamiliar territory.

Have you fallen down the rabbit hole into insanity?

Or have you really just fallen in love with a beast?

Are you Belle or Alice?

Both scenarios are equally as treacherous, especially once you’ve lost yourself along the way….

“I’m all you have left and you can’t even see it!”

[crankynewt]

Good for a Weekend (Helmut Zemo)

Masterlist

Summary: You were retired, a disgraced Avenger content living the rest of their life out in solitude. But Sam and Bucky's shenanigans dragged you back into the hero life and you found yourself face to face with the man who'd got you into this mess in the first place. The question is, however, is he really who you thought he was? Or are you just as crazy as him?

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader

Warnings: TFAWS Episode 3 Spoilers, Zemo (he's a warning), swearing, mentions of torture and experimenting (past), drinking, Zemo being semi-protective, I think that's it??

Word Count: 3.41k

Author's Note: Biting the bullet and writing this BEFORE Marvel does something to get us to hate him again. Also, ZEMO AND BLANK SPACE WORK SO WELL TOGETHER OMG.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You murmured, looking at the message from Sam flashing across your phone. Although you had stopped dead in your tracks, the chaos of the bustling streets of London continued around you. You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose, them having fallen down as you were peering at the screen of your burner cell.

‘Need your help in Madripoor ASAP,’ the text read. You weren’t daft, you knew exactly what kind of lawless entropy happened on that Indonesian island and if Sam was asking for your help, that meant he was in some deep shit.

‘I’m retired,’ you replied, glancing over your shoulder out of habit. Although you’d been pardoned after the Berlin incident by the government, you were still a disgraced Avenger in the eyes of the world. All you wanted was to live the rest of your life out in peace, a future without the world-saving you began when you left HYDRA with the Maximoff twins.

You hadn’t chosen to become a human lab rat, tortured and exposed to the mind stone until you could suddenly hear the thoughts of others in your head. Telepathy and telekinesis were not necessarily the kind of special skills that employers wanted to see on a resume, but alas, here you were. Thankfully, however, you'd learned to block them out until necessary to violate people's privacy. Fighting aliens and other superpowered entities, including the people you’d once considered to be your family, were in the past.

‘Please. It’s Bucky,’ Sam messaged again. Those three words were enough to make your blood run cold and your heart stop. Bucky was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, and you would be damned if the ex-assassin was going to fall back into the clutches of evil.

With a sigh, you typed back ‘fine’ and began the trek towards your apartment. Your phone was vibrating again immediately, Sam explaining that they would be picking you up at a small airstrip on the edge of the city.

Three hours later, you were walking along a long, concrete runway, the harsh England wind attacking your body as you pulled your leather jacket tighter around you. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of a civilian jet rather than the military-esque vessels you’d become accustomed to. The steps were awaiting your ascent with an older man stood adjacent to the entrance.

“Ms.(Y/L/N),” he greeted. A thick accent laced his tone, one you couldn’t quite determine from the crackling of age in his voice. German or Russian, most likely, you deduced. Attempting to be polite despite your skepticism, you gave him a tight-lipped smile and handshake before the elder man gestured towards the stairs for you. Entering the jet, you turned right to be met with the familiar faces of Sam and Bucky.

“(Y/N)!” Bucky exclaimed, rising from his seat and embracing you in a hug. He held you tightly against his body, almost as if he wasn’t sure you were really there. The super soldier had taken a liking to you when the two of you stayed in Wakanda during your exile, both of you having a certain understanding of the other due to your shared experiences with HYDRA. The sergeant had become somewhat of a brother to you in your time away together. “What are you doing here?”

“Sam messaged me.” You replied, Barnes’ arms immediately releasing you as he whipped around to face Sam.

“You tattled on me to (Y/N)?” He scoffed. If looks could kill, Sam would have dropped dead from the darkness in Bucky’s orbs.

“Wait, if he’s okay then what am I here for?” You said, shifting your gaze to Sam as you raised a brow.

“You’re here to make sure that he stays in line.” Sam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as Bucky let out an exasperated ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath.

“Bucky’s fine, Sam.” You replied, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance as you glanced at the super-soldier.

“He’s not talking about James.” A new voice sounded from behind you, one both vaguely familiar but also strange. Whipping around, you were met with a face you’d only ever seen through a screen. Zemo.

“What the fuck is he doing out of prison?!” You exclaimed, looking between Sam and Bucky in utter disbelief.

“Bucky broke him out of jail!” Sam exclaimed, pointing a finger towards the super-soldier.

“Sam’s the one who pulled me into this mess!” Bucky pointed back.

“You two morons have reached a whole new level of dumbassery!” You exclaimed, keeping a cautious gaze on Zemo in the corner of your eye. “You broke out the man who ripped apart the Avengers out of jail and you let him do it?! The same man who killed King T’Chaka! Do neither of you remember what T’Challa and the people of Wakanda just did for us after we became enemies of the state?! I cannot believe that you would betray their trust and help this monster to escape!”

You paused for a moment, breathing heavily as you looked at the ashamed faces of Bucky and Sam in front of you.

“I’m sorry to-” You heard Zemo begin, you turned to face him with utter rage shining in your eyes. “No! The grown-ups are talking, you can wait your turn.” You scolded him, almost as you would a child but just a tad harsher. Grown-ups may have also not have been the best choice of words to describe Wilson and Barnes.

“I don’t want any part of this suicide mission!” You snapped at the duo, moving to leave.

Thirty minutes later, however, you were still on the jet, glaring into a pair of brown eyes as the four of you flew through the air. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you were still there, but Sam and Bucky knew you too well and pushed just the right buttons to convince you to stay. Sam needed you to tap into Zemo’s mind if need be to figure out if he was planning on betraying them, and you didn’t want two of the last people you trust getting themselves killed if you could prevent it.

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum were sitting across from each other, meaning that you got stuck sitting across from the Baron in silence. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, the darkness in your (Y/E/C) orbs not sitting well with the man.

“So, you read minds.” He began, rubbing his hands together anxiously. You noted the nervous tick and couldn’t help but feel amused at his discomfort, but your expression never faltered.

“You don’t need to make small talk.” You bit, your icy tone growing colder in every syllable.

“I’m genuinely curious, is all.” He began, pausing his fiddling to brush his hair back only to resume it once more. “It just seems like for someone with your abilities, you’re often an overlooked member of the team. You’re the most powerful, even more so than Maximoff or Banner, perhaps, yet you were never truly an Avenger, were you?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m retired.” You muttered, ending your glaring to gaze out the window. The way Zemo spoke about you was unsettling, especially considering how he felt about the Avengers. He seemed not to think that you were part of the team, similarly to Bucky, and that brought you a feeling of unease.

“And why is that?” Zemo pushed, your avoidance evidence that he’d struck a chord.

“Why do you care?” You scoffed, looking back at the Sokovian man, both annoyance and exhaustion present in your tone.

“Because I think you’re like me.” He answered, his tone becoming quieter. Zemo didn’t look at you with the same rage you’d seen in footage from 2016, nor with the amusement that he gazed at Bucky and Sam with. No, it was something different, softer and analytical, perhaps. You wanted to peer into his mind for something, anything to figure out what he was thinking, but he would likely feel your prodding into his consciousness. As of now, he didn’t seem to have any plans to betray you guys, and you wouldn’t be the one to give him a reason.

“That’s enough from you.” Bucky interrupted, rising from his seat to switch places with you, his brotherly possessiveness clear as day.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and Zemo provided the three of you with costumes for the roles you were to play in Madripoor. Yours seemed to have been designed specifically to be horribly uncomfortable, both in feel and the amount of skin that was exposed in the cool evening air. The three of you were making your way towards the glowing city shining in the distance, the nerves in your stomach rising with each step.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” Zemo explained in response to Sam’s protests over his own outfit. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname.” Sam said, looking at the picture of Conrad on the phone Zemo had just handed him. “Hell, he does look like me though.”

“And who am I supposed to be playing, exactly?” You questioned, still unsure as to what role you would be playing in this scheme.

“My partner,” Zemo said simply, an amused smile working his way onto his lips.

“What?! No! Nu-uh, I’m not doing that!” You protested, Sam chuckling at your denial of what was probably inevitable.

“Would you rather the alternative of all of us getting slaughtered the second we step foot into the city?” Zemo retorted, still humored by your resistance.

“Fine, but if you try anything I’m going to break your nose.” You gave in.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Soon, the four of you were making your way into a bar, Helmut’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist since the second you exited the car in a mock possessiveness. It was all part of the charade, you had to remind yourself, as the Baron kept your side pressed against his snugly.

Making your way up to the counter, the bartender didn’t look impressed to see the group of you there as he made his way over to you.

“Hello,” He began. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have a business to do, with Selby.” Zemo interjected before Sam could respond.

“The usual?” The bartender ignored Zemo and turned his attention back to Sam, who simply gave a curt nod in response. The bartender turned, grabbing a snake from a jar and slicing it down the underside with a blade. A part of you wanted to cackle, especially seeing Sam stiffen beside you, and you didn’t doubt that Bucky was having to restrain himself as well. Zemo didn’t seem surprised as the bartender pulled who knows what out from the snake and placed it into a glass.

“Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” The Baron commented, the bartender sliding Sam his beverage only to pour two glasses of a different liquor for Zemo and yourself.

“I love these,” Sam said, raising to clink glasses with yourself and the Sokovian man whose arm was still draped around you.

“Cheers, Conrad,” Zemo replied, smiling back at poor Sam. The three of you downed your burning liquor, Sam struggling the most out of the three of you, clearly appalled by the organ at the bottom of his shot. You could see Bucky give a little nod in the corner of your eye, knowing he must be finding this as amusing as you were.

A man soon approached Helmut from behind, tapping him on the shoulder before he turned to face the stranger, shifting you with him. When Zemo felt the little nudge, he immediately pulled you closer to him. You were even tighter against him now, so much so that you had to wrap an arm around him as well to stabilize yourself. It was almost as if he was trying to shield you from the man despite him knowing full well that you can hold your own.

“I got word from on high; you ain’t welcome here.” He spat, getting too close to the two of you for either of your likings. But Zemo kept his air of indifference while you instinctually moved closer into his side. It’s all an act, remember? You have to play the part of the clingy partner who would get frightened at such a rough man threatening you two. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo began, trailing off as he gestured to Bucky.

“New haircut?” The strange man asked Bucky, who merely glowered in response.

“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo finished, this time him being the one to get into the man’s face. Thankfully that was enough to send him away, most likely to Selby or this Power Broker who seems to be Madripoor’s own version of Big Brother.

You could feel Zemo let out a breath that you don’t think he even knew he was holding, giving a quick glance down at you before placing a peck on your temple. For the facade, of course. But what wasn’t fake were the butterflies rise in your stomach, something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were you… Flustered?

No, you reminded yourself internally. This was a very bad man holding you close, the same one who killed the former King of Wakanda and ripped your team to shreds. Not only that, but he hated all the Avengers, so why did he seem to like you? It doesn’t matter whether or not he likes you, he’s Zemo. But the more time you spent with him, the more intoxicated you became. He was starting to look more and more like your next mistake, and love is certainly not a game you wanted to be playing with him. Right?

The next thirty or so minutes were a blur. Bucky having to fake being the Winter Soldier to kick a bunch of men’s asses to finally meeting up with Selby, only for Sam to break your cover through a phone call and Selby quickly being shot. The four of you promptly exited the bar, attempting to remain inconspicuous until bounty hunters from all around started shooting at you. Bucky and Sam jumped forward, meanwhile, Zemo darted to the right, dragging you with him as he moved his hand from your waist to interlock your fingers.

You cut through alleyway after alleyway, hiding in the shadows as gunfire echoed around you. Eventually, you managed to catch up with Bucky and Sam, approaching the pair with your hand still in his.

“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice interrupted your mini-reunion, Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows as she ripped down her hood, gun fixated on Zemo.

“Drop it Zemo,” She started, Zemo raising his gun-holding hand before lowering the weapon to the ground. “You cost me everything.”

“Sharon, wait.” You reasoned, raising your hand as you slowly backed up.

“What, are you his lover now? His sugar baby or some shit?” She badgered you, causing your eyes to widen as you only just remembered that you were still holding his hand. You quickly dropped it, raising it to match your other arm as Zemo sent you a look that you couldn’t decipher. Oh, how desperately you wanted to look into his mind, but the little bit of sanity left in you told you to leave it be.

“Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead,” Sam explained.

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” Sharon replied, gun still pointed at your group.

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky questioned the blonde.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass so that you could save his ass from his ass and became a criminal with their ass.” She explained, pointing the gun at each mention of whoever's ass it was that turn. “Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up, so, I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

“Hey, don’t blow that smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam rebutted Sharon’s complaints.

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore - I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.”

“Listen…” You began. “Sharon, we need your help, the former agent only laughing in response. “Please.”

“This isn’t over.” She conceded, shaking her head at you. “I have a place in High Town, you should be safe there for a while.”

Sharon’s place was definitely nicer than yours is now, and you’re not even on the run anymore. She, thankfully, had a change of clothes for you to slip into, the soft material much a welcome relief from the tortuous item Zemo had you wearing.

While you were waiting for Sharon’s guests to begin arriving for whatever event would soon be taking place downstairs, everybody slowly filtered out of the room until it was only Zemo and yourself remaining.

“Can I ask you a question?” You spoke up, breaking the silence from your spot on the sofa as you glanced towards the Baron seated across the room.

“Ask away.” He smiled, taking a sip from the amber liquid in his glass.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said we were the same.” Your voice was quiet now, so much so that you weren’t sure if he’d even heard you. That is until he got up from his seat and slowly walked towards you.

“I never wanted to tear the Avengers apart, not until they killed my family. Destroyed my city… Sure, I didn’t like them, but I didn’t want to destroy them. It was all about vengeance.” He began, sitting beside you on the yellow fabric. “For you, it was HYDRA who ruined your life. You joined the Avengers because it was where the last people you had left were going and it was the easiest way for you to ensure the organization was destroyed. You never wanted the idolization that came with being a hero, and it was clear when your work was done that you had no desire to keep going. Everything that came after the Sokovia Accords was out of survival.”

“I’m not saying you're right,” you began, “but what would that make me, then? Insane? Cause that seems to be the running theory.”

“You’re not crazy, despite how rumors fly. Neither am I, really.” He began, eliciting a small smile from you at the last bit he added. “You’re a fighter, someone doing whatever it takes to get their agenda done. Whether that means breaking the law or joining the Avengers, nothing will stop you once you put your mind to it - it’s one of the things I admire about you.”

You pursed your lips as you focused on the amber fluid floating in its crystalline home, him taking another sip of the burning liquid. Your gaze shifted back to his face, and oh god, look at that face. Maybe it was the liquor in your system already or maybe your last bit of sanity was finally escaping your mind, but suddenly his past didn’t seem to matter anymore. You had plenty of red on your ledger as well, and the more he spoke the more you began to sympathize with him.

“So you admire me?” You smirked, crossing your arms as you tilted your head slightly to the right playfully.

“Why don’t you look into my mind and tell me?” He replied. Reaching out, you gently placed your fingers against his temple as you gazed into his consciousness. Flashes of magic and madness, ideas of a love that could be forever or go down in flames. You didn’t go searching deeper, because your own mind was racing. Would pursuing this be worth all the pain that could very well follow? No, not could, would. You’d be betraying your former teammates, but what did that matter much anymore.

Rather than pulling your hand away, you placed your lips gently on his, tentatively, even. He tasted of expensive liquor and a hint of peppermint, and you found yourself intoxicated. The kiss ended far too soon for your liking, him pulling away so his brown orbs could gaze into your own.

“So… What do you say?” He asked, cupping your cheek in his hand, you place your own over top of his.

“Why not?” You smiled back, reconnecting your lips to his.

“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.”

Taglist:

@fanfictionedagain @lam-ila @b0nnyzz @haydieenzzibug @cyanide-mustard @duchess-of-new-shire @the-chocoholic-writer @milenadixon @real-fbi @golddenlioness

[caitimetravels]

she's insignificant

chapter 10: where you've gone

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: none

masterlist

with a sigh, y/n stood. five was still writing away behind her on the walls non-stop. she didn't dare interrupt him, simply leaving. she would be back anyways. all she needed was a nice walk. 

as she wandered down the street with no destination in mind she spaced out, eyes trained on her feet. suddenly someone knocked her shoulder and brought her back to reality. she raised her head, hoping they weren't someone looking to start a fight or argue with her.

"y/n?" instead she was met with allison. her technically older sister seemed frustrated.

"allison? are you okay?" y/n's eyebrows furrowed, looking up at the curly haired woman. 

"yeah.. i think so" she frowned, "i'm worried about vanya. she won't listen to me but her boyfriend, whoever he is.. i think he's dangerous. i couldn't find anything about him-"

"you went searching for his records?" y/n pulled back in disbelief, "allison! you know vanya doesn't like-"

"i know, she already got angry with me" allison sighed, shaking her head.

"why would you do that?" y/n tilted her head up at her, eyes narrowing incredulously. "where are you even going?"

"well, i found his address. i was going to see if anything's weird.." she earned a disapproving look, "i can't just sit around and do nothing y/n! please, help me, for vanya?"

y/n's expression only darkened, "why are you trying to ruin one of the only good things in her life?! she deserves to be happy for once and im not going to help you take that away from her!" she begun to shout, freezing as she realised her powers were getting out of control in the middle of the street. "just.. leave them alone!" 

she took off, hoping to get away, she needed to get away.

————————————————–

as the sweet melody came to soft halt y/n smiled up at her sister. vanya donned a similar grin, placing her violin down and joining y/n on the floor, cross legged and leaning back against her bed.

"one day, you're going to be amazing, v" y/n mumbled quietly, looking like she was in a slight daze, "more amazing than you are now.. you're going to be a famous violinist, i can see it now. 'vanya hargreeves, the world's best violinist'" 

vanya softly nudged her shoulder, shaking her head. "no way, the world? c'mon" 

"i'm serious!" y/n was adamant, sitting up straighter to see her better, "you're gonna be so cool! and everyone here is going to see you and say 'damn, wish i had seen how awesome our sister was back then' and you're going to have lots of fans!"

vanya snorted, shyly brushing her long hair to the side, "yeah, right"

".. you won't forget me when you're famous, right?" y/n leaned back against the bed to avoid direct eye contact, her voice was much softer now. "don't forget me.. okay?" she nervously side eyed her sister, trying to gauge her reaction.

"i could never" vanya shook her head, leaning into the h/c haired girl. both of them shared small content grins.

————————————————–

as she walked upstairs to five's room she heard a commotion, hopefully he hadn't gotten into a fight with one of their siblings again, right?

wrong.

"put her down" five snarled, holding a gun up to luther who held dolores' body out the window. y/n grinned at the sight, highly amused. who would have thought luther would ever threaten someone? well, y'know excluding their missions.. but five nonetheless? she leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossing and waiting for them to sort out whatever issue she walked in on.

"put the gun down, you're not killing anyone today. i know she's important to you so don't make me do this" luther paused, waiting to see what five would do. "it's either her or the gun.. you decide"

eventually five did decide that dolores was more important and dropped the gun before spacial jumping to catch dolores before she could fall. not that much damage would have occurred to the mannequin anyways, maybe a few scratches.

"i can keep doing this all day" luther spoke triumphantly, now holding the gun at his side. y/n snorted, catching their attention.

"you're such children" both glared at her in response, "c'mon, surely you have a better plan than whatever ended up in this-" she gestured vaguely between them, "squabble"

"we did not squabble" five hissed, placing dolores down and straightening his jacket. "but yes, i do have a one other plan" 

————————————————–

the three of them, five, luther and y/n, drove down an empty road before slowing to a stop. five unbuckled his seatbelt and sighed, looking around.

"you know, i never enjoyed it" he started and luther turned to him in confusion.

"what?"

"the killing. i mean i was- i was good at my work and i took pride in it but it never gave me pleasure" he took a deep breath, "i think it was all those years alone. solitude can do funny things to the mind"

"yeah well, you were gone for such a long time.. i only spent four years on the moon but that was more than enough. it's the being alone that breaks you" luther placed a hand on the briefcase, "you think they'll buy it?"

"well, what i do know is that they're desperate. it's like a cop losing his gun" he alluded, "if the commission finds out they'll be in deep shit, well not to mention that they'll be stuck here until they get it back"

"i should hold onto it" luther suggested, patting it with one hand.

"hm?" five's eyebrows furrowed,

"incase they make a move on you" he added to explain his point.

"okay, luther.. but be careful. i've lived a long life but.. you're still a young man, you've got your whole life ahead of you. don't waste it" y/n snorted and five turned to her, unamused.

"what?" they stared at each other for a moment before five shook his head, looking away with a small smile.

suddenly a car began to drive towards them and they all made to get out of the car. "here we go" five sighed again, he was doing that a lot, y/n realised.

the car continued to drive past them, stopping a few metres away.

"if this all goes sideways.. do me a favour and tell dolores i'm sorry" five turned to luther who nodded slowly.

as five walked away from them y/n leaned back against the car.

"i have a bad feeling about this" she nervously picked at her nails and luther frowned, looking over at her.

"why? what's wrong?"

"that.. i don't know yet" she looked down the road, "i just.. feel like something's off" she shook her head as five walked back, leaning next to her.

luther stepped forwards a bit, "what happens now?"

"now we wait" 

barely a moment later they heard the music of an ice cream truck. y/n squinted against the sun and wind, trying to work out who it was. she took a moment to focus, sensing klaus, diego and ben. uh oh.

as the car got closer luther turned to five, "is that her?"

"luther, you idiot" y/n shook her head, "it's klaus and diego" right on time klaus waved to them as they passed.

the two assassins begun shooting, thinking it was a set up and y/n raised her arms to cover her head as luther stepped in front of her and five to block any shots.

suddenly time stopped.. well, only for five.

he frowned down at y/n next to him, the girl cowering in on herself. he felt bad for bringing her into something like this but she was very persistent.

he slowly stepped under luther's arm, looking at everyone frozen in slight confusion.

"neat trick, isn't it?" a feminine voice called out behind him and he turned to face the woman he had asked to see. the handler. she stared at him, pulling the veil over her face up and onto her hat instead before pulling her sunglasses off.

"hello, five" she smiled, "you look good.. all things considered" she softly gestured to all of him.

"it's good to see you again" he nodded back,

"feels like we met just yesterday, 'course you were a little bit older then" she teased, "congratulations on the age regression, by the way. very clever, threw us all off the scent"

"ah, well, i wish i could take credit" five shrugged, looking away. "i just miscalculated the time dilation of projections and.. well, you know, here i am" his gaze met hers once again, throwing his hands up before putting them back in his pockets, casually.

"you realise your efforts are futile" the handler shifted so that her briefcase was behind her, "so, why don't you tell me what you really want?"

"i want you to put a stop to it" five moved his own hands behind his back. 

"you realise what you're asking for is next to impossible even for me" she shook her head, "what's meant to be is meant to be. that's our raison d'etre" 

"yeah?" five smiled sarcastically, pulling a gun from his shorts "well how about survival as a raison?" 

"i'll just be replaced, i am but a small cog in a machine" the handler waved it off, ignoring the gun pointing straight at her heart. "this fantasy you've been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse is just that.. a fantasy. i must say though, we'll quite impressed with your initiative, your stick-to-it-tiveness, really quite- quite something. which is why we want to offer you, a new position back at the commission, in management" the handler held a hand up, smiling like her offer was an obvious choice.

"sorry what's that now?" five scoffed as she stepped closer, hand tightening on the gun.

"come back to work for us again, you know it's where you belong" 

"well, it didn't work out too well the last time" he glared up at her, not liking the persistence.

"oh but you wouldn't be in the correction department any longer, i'm talking about the home office, you'd have the best health and pension and an end to this ceaseless travel" she laughed freely, "you're a distinguished professional in.. school boy shorts. we have the technology to reverse the process. i mean you- you can't be happy like this" she slowly pushed his gun down, stepping ever closer.

"i'm not looking for happy" he spat through gritted teeth.

the handler only tilted her head, eyeing him carefully before raising a hand to stroke his cheek, "we're all looking for happy. we can make that happen, we can make you.. yourself again"

five huffed a laugh, gesturing to his siblings. "what about my family?"

"what about them?" the handler raised an eyebrow, acting like she didn't already know he intended to save them.

"i want them to survive" 

the handler took in a deep breath, taking in the sight of luther protecting y/n who was still crouching against the car as well as diego and klaus who were in the middle of crashing the ice cream truck.

"all of them?" 

"yes, all of them" he narrowed his eyes at her,

the handler gave him a small smirk, moving towards the recoiled girl. five watched carefully, waiting to see what she would do.

"it's such a shame.. she would have done well with us. if only we could take her too" she reached a hand out, about to touch her but five moved first, spacial jumping in front of her and grabbing her hand. he held her away from y/n.

"don't touch her" he snarled, unmoving from his protective stance. 

"my my, five, i didn't expect such protectiveness from you" the handler merely smirked, stepping away. as they walked back she once again proposed her deal.

"well" the handler begun, reaching a hand into her pocket and pulling out her sunglasses before putting them back on her face. "i'll see what i can do from them.. do we have a deal?" she reached a hand out to him, awaiting his acceptance. he merely stared at her hand before sighing,

"one thing" five stepped back, putting his gun in his shorts again. he walked over to hazel's gun on the floor, taking out the ammunition and chucking it on one side of the road before chucking the rest of the gun to the other. he turned and walked back, noticing the bullet headed towards luther and y/n. he frowned, using his pointer finger and thumb to move it over so that it would hit the car instead of them.

as soon as he shook her outstretched hand they disappeared and time was restored.

y/n shivered, ignoring the bullet hitting the car next to her and the way her siblings scrambled around to get away quick. she allowed herself to be shoved into the car with klaus and diego, spaced out.

"you alright?" diego turned to her while klaus stuck the middle finger up at hazel and cha cha. 

"i felt someone else.. it was only for a moment but i felt someone.." she spoke solemnly, staring at her shaking hands. "and then five just.. disappeared"

tag list: (if your name is crossed i couldnt tag you) @rxses-and-reverie @lostgreekgod @on-yourmark-99 @bicyhot1 @navs-bhat @midnightmystic @shawkneecaps @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah @velveticxyyy

[yandere-sins]

Past and Future

Horrortober Day 2: Decision  |  “It’s your decision. Choose wisely.”

Day 2 woop! Got a chance to work on my Kazuha a bit more. I hope to write for him more in the future!

Warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Possessiveness, Stalking Mention Characters: Kadehara Kazuha x Reader

Kazuha couldn’t not notice the yearning in your gaze as you looked across the plaza at your old friends. These scumbags. Wannabe goody-two-shoes. Oh, how much he despised them. And yet, you longed for their laughter in your ears, the wrinkles in their eyes as they grinned and smiled at each other cheerfully. They were celebrating something Kazuha didn’t know about. But undoubtedly, you remembered after having been close to them since early childhood. 

And yet, you didn’t belong to their circle anymore. You hadn’t been invited to wine and laughter, food and celebration. Instead, you absentmindedly squeezed his hand tighter, and Kazuha took that as a sign. “Come on,” he mumbled, watching how sadness overcame you with every passing second. Frustration and anger, but mostly disappointment, snaked their way into your expression. You had been so excited for today, going out with him, exploring Liyue Harbor with your boyfriend, but the mood was ruined now. 

When you didn’t react, Kazuha used his free arm to lay it around you, pushing you forward despite your feet being unwilling to move. Part of you wanted to go to your friends, to join them in their festivity. But without being invited, you were way too hesitant to approach, and it hurt you even more. Your head hung low as you two finally disappeared in the crowd of people working and shopping, the night market making for a great scene. Still, you couldn’t take it in anymore after remembering your past heartbreak now.

Kazuha wasn’t the type to leave you alone, never wishing to be separated from the warmth and comfort you gave him by being by his side, but in your depressed state, it was hard to do anything with you. Placing you on a bench, Kazuha left to get you something to drink. His mind was wrecking itself of how to help you as he bought your favorite, seasonal beverage, still hot and steaming in its cup, and brought it back to you. 

Unfortunately, no one heard the clattering sound as he dropped it, watching you talk with some of your old friends. When did they come over to talk? Why were they here? How did they notice you? Why now of all times? This was his evening. His time with you. And yet, you hadn’t been as happy with him all night as you were when you talked to them. Kazuha’s expression changed from worried to upset as he had to watch you laugh with them, even though the mood seemed awkward from afar. Maybe they were apologizing, or perhaps just trying to replicate the good old times with you, but you seemed very receptive to their presence, smiling in a way that you never did when you were with Kazuha. 

It had taken a lot to break you guys apart. Not willingly, but they weren’t a good influence for you. He had never done anything to them, but one day they had decided they didn’t like the way he looked at you. That Kazuha was too ‘possessive’ and that the ‘took up all your time’. They told you to stay away from the outsider, to ignore the soft, wonderful feelings you two had for each other—the strong bond you were forming with your boyfriend. Your friends decided he wasn’t good for you but were they really your friends when they made you choose between them and your love? Gods, he hated what they did to you. Hated how miserable they could make you. You had been so nervous and anxious after they started harassing you to leave him, crying at night and into his shoulder when you didn’t know what to do. The first time you said you loved him was while you were assuring him that you still had feelings for him; that being the reason why it was so hard on you to be forced to make this decision. It wasn’t a romantic moment, but one filled with tears. Kazuha would never forgive them for robbing him of his amazing confession from your lips.

However, in the end? You chose him—naturally. You chose him for this very reason. Because you love him. Kazuha never made you decide. Sure, he didn’t like your friends, but he didn’t go out of his way to engage with them. He only ever had eyes for you, following you whenever you met with your so-called friends and making sure you’d be safe from them. However, he was better than them, and even if they made you cry on your way home, he never once went back to hurt them just as much as they hurt you, even if his blood was boiling. Kazuha would rather spend his time comforting you, asserting his place in your heart, than stick to the ones who were desperately trying to tear him out of said place. 

But maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have demanded that you decide on one side. After all, you were already distancing yourself from these people that kept hurting you in the name of ‘only wanting the best for you’. He was the best for you. There was nothing that could be better for you than Kazuha. He was strong; he was safe for you. No one else tended to you as gently and lovingly as he did. Comforted you when you were down. You had to wear the burden of everyone around you, but Kazuha only committed to you and your worries. He was the saving grace and the helping hand you needed in your desperation. The person your friends should have been if you had actually mattered to them. 

In return, you were the same for him. You gave his life a meaning that he had long searched for. A new friend and a love to wake his lonely heart again. No one could ever stir him like you did, and he was thankful. Thankful for the opportunity to be by your side, to warm you on cold nights, and to tell you about the past he never shared with anyone else. You were the listener he wanted; gave him the attention he needed. And Kazuha...

Kazuha wouldn’t lose you now. He couldn’t lose someone again. Not you.

Marching up to you and your friends gathering around, he listened to the meaningless conversation you had. “We’re sorry for saying such harsh things,” and “We were worried about you.” Loads of empty words, in his opinion. But seeing your eyes tear up at them made his heart sting and his blood boil all over again. It made him furious. Furious for you. You deserved so much better than these lies. They didn’t care about you!

Pushing through them without roughly, Kazuha only looked at you, finding your eyes instantly. You were surprised by his appearance but quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and returning to the silly, little smile you usually graced him with. One that was as empty as your friend’s words. One you adapted just to please him and not worry him further, but once he’d put an end to this, Kazuha knew you’d be able to smile at him properly again with a sincere one. 

“Choose,” he prompted, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion while your friends began to grow tense and murmur between themselves. 

“These people-” he made a vague gesture between the few gathered around, “-aren’t good for you, and you know it. They dropped you when you needed them the most while I’ve been with you all this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathed, but Kazuha didn’t confirm your wish. He was serious, even if that meant upsetting you. This was for the best. “It’s your decision. Them or me. Choose wisely.”

“That’s unfair!” one of your friends cried out, upset about his intention, and Kazuha looked at them sharply from the corner of his eye, silencing them effectively. “It’s not unfair,” he shut their argument down, looking only at you as he spoke. “They made you choose first and broke your heart. I never have and never will hurt you. But I am not so sure about the people who already did it once.”

Kazuha’s words had impact; he could see it in your eyes. You, too, remembered the bad times that felt like your heart was ripped into pieces by the people you put so much trust in. And instead, it had been him who was there, making sure you ate and drank in your troubled times, and got rest when you needed it. Even if there was no luxury in his life, he still had been a better friend than any of them. Kazuha completely missed that he suggested dropping you the same way your friends had when he made you choose. He didn’t want to believe you would choose anyone over him after all he did for you. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. That’s how love worked. 

“I love you.” 

A dirty trick. One that your friends couldn’t use. Kazuha directly pulled at your heartstrings, making you miss a breath as you grew even more blindsided. “I don’t want to lose you, again,” he didn’t hesitate to add, noticing how your friends’ faces grew worried and upset at his words. He was hinting at the bad time you two had gone through. The one that made a part of you die. But you only looked down, hands balling into fists as you felt conflicted. There was no need for you to wreck your pretty head over these nobodies, Kazuha decided, holding out his hand. You only needed him—as much as he needed you. 

Timidly, you reached for his hand, and he gripped yours tightly, pulling you up from your seat and after him, away from these fake friends and their fake worry without another word to them. “It’s better like this,” he assured you, dragging you through the crowd so you wouldn’t be able to look back at your past. He was before you, your future, and he wouldn’t let anyone take you from him and ruin this for you. 

But when you were unresponsive, he threw a glance back over his shoulder, noticing the tears streaming down your eyes. You two came to a stop as he turned around, cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss. Even though your hands came to rest against his chest, pushing, you never managed to escape his grip, forced to kiss him until neither of you could hold your breath anymore. Leaning his forehead against yours, you were left speechless, but not Kazuha.

“I love you. I love you so much. Promise me you’ll never go back to them.” It was hard to commit to that, but his hands grew tighter around your face, desperate to hear it. “You chose me,” he insisted, pain swinging in his voice. “You’re not leaving me.”

There was no way of saying where those emotions came from, but he didn’t give you time to think them over. This was the future he chose, by your side. And that night, you chose it too, even if you ended up not liking it once you found out that your friends had been right all along.

[deadravenclaw]

There's no shame in crying

Summary: Reader has never shared a room with Emily during cases. When they're finally forced to share one during a case, they find out why. Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader Word Count: 698 Category: Hurt/comfort, very slight angst Warning: n/a A/N: I wanna start writing more regularly so I guess I'm going to try to write more blurbs till I get the hang of writing again

Read on AO3

You shoot up from your bed when you hear the blood curdling scream. Whipping your head around, you hold up your hands in front of you as you try locating the source of the sound. For a moment you relax slightly when you realised it was just Emily. The brunette in question was sitting on her bed, breathing heavily.

Getting out of the warmth of your own covers, you quickly make it to the other bed, where you sit on the edge of Emily’s bed. Placing a hand on the brunette’s knee, you wince and move back slightly when she jumps violently, her head whipping towards you.

“Oh god,” muttered Emily. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

The last part had you frowning. You hadn’t known Emily for that long. The brunette had only been on the team for a little over two months and this was the first time the both of you had to share a room, JJ or Tara being the ones who would room with her. You had noticed the way Emily’s body seemed to tense when JJ said she was rooming with Tara, leaving you to room with her.

At first, you assumed that Emily was just nervous about having to share a room. Now, as they both sat facing each other, you wonder if this was the reason. You shake your head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You say. Hesitating for a moment, you ask, “how long have you been having these nightmares?”

Emily squirmed in her bed. “I don’t know. I’ve stopped counting,” she mumbled. You move forward, your legs crossed and knees brushing Emily’s.

“Are they always this bad?” you ask softly. Emily shrugs, turning to stare at the wall behind you.

“Sometimes.”

You both sit silently opposite each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say. A while more passed before you find yourself placing a hand on Emily’s wrist. You feel Emily move her hand and slowly your fingers curl around Emily’s. The grip on your hand is loose, and you tighten it, secretly happy when Emily returns it. Her hand fits perfectly in yours, the coldness of her palm a stark contrast to the warmth of your own.

You listen as Emily's breathing slowly evens out, her posture slowly becoming more relaxed. However, you could still see the tension in Emily's eyes, and in the way her eyes were still occasionally searching the room. Your mind drifts back to Emily's vague mentions of past cases. How she would tense up similarly when certain names or locations were mentioned.

You wonder if those cases had something to do with the agent's current state.

Eventually, Emily let out a loud yawn. It was then that you remember how late it was.

“Come on, we should probably go to bed.”

You didn’t miss how Emily’s shoulders seem to tense. How her relaxed posture seemed to disappear in an instant. Hesitating for a moment, you nudge her slightly, making yourself more comfortable on her bed.

She moves instinctively, giving you a curious look. You shrug.

“Having someone beside me always helped me sleep better.”

Emily tensed for a moment, and you worry that you’ve crossed a line. But Emily soon relaxed and she nodded gratefully, muttering a soft ‘thank you’.

“That’s what friends are for.”

For the next few minutes, you both lay in silence as you try to get more comfortable in the small bed. Then, you hear a soft sniffle beside you.

“Emily?”

“I’m sorry,” Emily mumbles, and you don’t need to be looking at her to know she was crying. “You didn’t need to do this.”

You can hear the embarrassment in Emily’s voice and you turn around to wrap your arms around her. “There’s no shame in crying, Emily. It's a normal human reaction. Shows us that we’re human.”

Emily nodded against your chest, and you can feel the dampness on your shirt. You hold her against you, gently rubbing soothing circles along the nape of her neck. Soon, the sniffles stop and you hear her yawn.

“Sleep, Em.”

You didn’t need to tell her twice.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[pascalslittlebrat]

I'm here to fill your inbox with smutty ask, to hopefully help you out of your writing rut 😄

First one - 182: "We're not just friends and you fucking know it" + 270: "Just shut up and fuck me" with Frankie Morales 😍❤

I'm a weak bitch for the friends to love trope so:

Ruin the Friendship

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

warnings: 18+, two idiots yearning, v vague mention of Frankie's past, a dash of oral (f recieving)

You don’t know how it happened, who had made the first move. You both had been on your couch, a movie playing as you both ate pizza and drank, a usual Friday night for you both. You had been laughing at something Frankie said, head on his shoulder when you looked up at him. Your eyes had met and you realized how close he was.

Frankie’s eyes had flickered to your lips, hand reaching up and cupping your face softly. You had closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, as his thumb caressed your cheek. Frankie’s eyes were on you, lips parted, he looked lost in thought.

You had both been dancing around each other for a while now. Feelings between you both that you each had been avoiding. Frankie didn’t want to ruin what you both had, you were his closest friend, one of the few people he knew he could turn to or confide in when things got rough. You were always there for him, no matter the problem or time of day.

It’s what made him fall for you, the way you didn’t take his or any of the guys’ shit. You weren’t afraid to call their bluffs, you didn’t care about their pasts or the things they had done. You had held him on bad nights, when the relapse felt imminent, when he felt his weakest. You were tough on him and the ones you loved when needed. You knew how to make people smile and feel special. He felt like he was a normal person around you, a guy with a life and a future, not a fully trained cold killer that could lose himself in the adrenaline of a mission.

You both had been trying to ignore it. The way you both seemed to always find your way to each other in a crowded room, lingering touches and looks, a yearning between you both. The pull that drew you each in, loving smiles shared, the way you each looked forward to a text or call from the other, the inside jokes. You both felt comfortable in each other’s presence, everyone always thought you were both more than you said.

There was something in the look you both shared, as if the restraint you both had been holding had burst. Next thing you knew you were straddling Frankie, him pulling you onto him as if he needed you to live, his lips were immediately on yours, one hand tangled in your hair as the other grasped your hip.

Frankie’s lips were soft and eager against yours, his tongue slipping between your parted lips to taste every inch of your mouth. You moaned into his mouth, tugging on his curls as you pressed yourself closer to him. You could taste the beer on his tongue, a whimper escaping you when you shifted against him, feeling the clear effect you were having on him.

Clothes were pulled off and thrown in a lust filled frenzy, all the desire you had each been holding back pouring out. Frankie’s mouth was hot against your skin, leaving a trail of burning in every place he kissed. He kissed down your stomach, your hand clenching in hair as you tried not to squirm knowing just where his hot trail of kisses would lead. Frankie stopped just above the hem of your panties, his cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from your heated kisses. “Are you okay with this hermosa?” he asked softly, staring up at you, pressing a kiss to the top of each thigh, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

You reach down, touching his cheek softly, “I would want nothing more, please Frankie.” You look at him, eyes pleading, your body desperate to feel his touch.

Frankie nods against your palm, he wanted you more than anything, your consent giving him a boost to the insecurity he was suddenly feeling. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits sheepishly.

“So have I,” you lean up to press a kiss against his lips, a smile on both of your faces.

Frankie presses a kiss to your forehead, “This won’t change anything will it? I don’t..I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow or that our friendship will end.”

You cup Frankie’s face in your hands, looking into his soft eyes, you could see the anxiety within them, “We're not just friends and you fucking know it. I don’t think we have been for a while now. So please don’t be afraid, I won’t run, as long as you promise not to either.” You look at him with the same anxiety blossoming in your chest, you can feel your heart race picking up, “I-I love you.”

His eyes widen and you’re almost afraid you had said too much before a smile takes over his face. He kisses you deeply before peppering your face with kisses, “I love you too beautiful.”

Your racing heart calms, you can feel it, you blinking as it hits you before you smile back at him as big. Frankie chuckles, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before laying you back down, his fingers curling into the hem of our panties, “Hermosa, I don’t think I could ever run from you.”

“Just shut up and fuck me," you giggle, as he pulls your panties down. You watch him toss them to the side, his eyes hungry as he takes you in slick for him, he didn’t have to touch you to know how wet you were.

Frankie looks at you with a cheeky smile on his face, you let out a soft gasp as you feel the flick of his tongue against you, it was a tease, a taste of what was to come, “Oh hermosa, I’m going to do more than fuck you, I’m going to devour you, then I'm going to make love to you.”

taglist: @221bshrlocked @agos-505 @skvatnavle @pedro4ever @pintsizemama @starvel-3000 @agentmoonshine1 @sleepylunarwolf @greeneyedblondie44 @a-skov @rebel-fanfare

[pathetic-dumpling]

Coming to Terms

Dream has been having a bad day, which has quickly turned into a bad week. Techno and Phil both need to go out and do essential tasks around the tundra, but they can't leave Dream alone either. So... they find a babysitter. words: 5,188 - read on ao3 instead

CW: overstimulation, implied panic attack, unintentional self-harm, referenced abuse

Dream has been having a bad day. Correction, he’s been having a bad week. He’s been caught in a bit of a spiral for the last several days, and the exhaustion from an attempt at healing keeps dragging him down before he can get out. The last thing Techno wants to do is leave Dream alone like this, but he and Phil have already pushed off as many necessary tasks as they can. They need to head out, but they can’t leave Dream alone… So in comes the Syndicate.

They consider a few people. Niki is chosen.

“Look, all you need to do is watch him for a day. We’ll be back by the end of it, and you can leave, alright?”

Niki scrunches her face up, which is, in all honesty, reasonable. She’s one of the people who didn’t want to interact with Dream, but Techno and Phil are running desperately low on options.

“Is there anyone else?” She asks. “What about Puffy? She’s a therapist, right? Wouldn’t she be more equipped for something like this?”

“A, we don’t want more people knowing about Dream than necessary, and she’s already refused to give Dream treatment. B, we don’t trust her to not psychoanalyze Dream when he really doesn’t want to be psychoanalyzed. Plus, we don’t know what kind of domestic issues there are because Dream hasn’t opened up about that part of his life yet.”

Niki winced. “What about Ranboo?”

“Well, you see, Ranboo’s been growing into himself recently,” Phil interjects, beside Techno. “Which is good, by all means, but that also means he’s been embracing that he’s a little bit of a dick sometimes. You’re literally the only person we can think of who can be… pleasant and hold your tongue around Dream.”

“And- and we don’t wanna sound misogynistic,” Techno quickly adds. “This isn’t a ‘the kind woman puts up with the toxic man’ situation; it’s just… Dream is fragile right now, like, really fragile, and we’re pretty sure you’re the only person who has the kind of self-restraint to not break him any more, you know?”

Niki raises a brow but ultimately sighs. “This is your only option?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Phil laughs.

“...alright. I’ll watch him. One day, got it?”

“Oh my gods, thank you so much, Niki.”

So Niki is given keys to the house. Mentally, she prepares for whatever Dream might try. She saw him, briefly, in a Syndicate meeting or two, but only between several layers of fabric and zero spoken words. She doesn’t know what he’s like if he’s grown out of his… nastier habits yet. Techno has done everything in his power to tell the Syndicate that Dream has changed, but none of them have actually seen any change. Niki kind of doubts it, if she’s being honest, but she trusts Techno’s judgment more than anything. She knows Techno wouldn’t lie to her and lead her on like others in the past.

She wakes up the following day when things are still dark. Niki can see her breath, even within the small haven of an underground city warmed by countless fires and lanterns. She throws on her Syndicate cloak, getting ready to head out to the arctic. Hopefully, Techno didn’t want her to do anything with the animals because she definitely wouldn’t be able to stand being outside for that long. When she arrives, Techno thanks her profusely. He pledges to show her around the house and offers a few tips while Phil gets ready for their trip outside.

“Alright.” Techno swings his hands by his sides. Niki has noticed he’s stopped clapping them when he begins to speak. “First things first, Dream hasn’t eaten in, like, three days, so we really need you to try to get him to eat something. His diet has been pretty limited so far, but we left a list of things he’s been able to eat so far on the counter. Try to stay fresh- anything stale makes him throw up, and so does steak. Don’t offer it. We keep apples in a little icebox downstairs because he likes fruit cold. Also, Dream likes himself cold, too. He gets anxious when he’s hot.

“If Dream hides in his room, he’s most likely hiding under his bed. If you need to interact with him during that time, do not try to pull him out. That will scare him and he might bite. Instead, just kind of lay on the floor and face him and just… wait until he’s ready to talk. If you try to push him, he’ll probably just curl up more, and he tends to get really distant for the next day or two when that happens.

“If he asks for something, it means that he needed it about three hours ago and has only now gotten the courage to ask for it. Even if he prefaces it between a lot of ‘only if you want to’ and ‘you don’t have to,’ don’t believe him. We’re trying to teach him that asking for things is good but it’s been a bumpy ride. Also, he’s iffy on touch; I’d say it’s better to not try.”

Techno stops, tapping his lip. “Try not to let him outside without supervision; we haven’t really been able to block off potential hazards yet. Other than that, I think that’s everything. Dream is sleeping right now, but he knows you’ll be here. He might get startled anyway. Try not to stare or anything. It makes him uncomfortable. Just treat him like a nervous cat or something.”

Niki blinks, trying desperately to process all of the information that was just dumped on her. Techno waits patiently as she mentally backtracks and tries to commit everything to vague memory. Nervous cat? That’s what the ruler of the server has turned into?

“Okay… I think I got all of that?” Niki says, hoping she got everything she truly needed down. She knows how awkward things get when she or Techno has to start repeating themselves.

“Cool.” Techno sighs, running a hand through his hair until it gets caught in his braid. “A nervous, injury-prone cat… That’s Dream. Thank you for doing this, really. Dream just started being okay with being in the same room as boiling water, and I think I might have a breakdown if I have to leave to make tea again. This means a lot. Anything you need from us, me or Phil, we’ll be happy to help as soon as we get back.”

Niki nods. “Honestly, I didn’t think this would be on the agenda when I joined the Syndicate, but I’m happy to help you, Techno.”

“Of course.” Techno bows his head. “Of course. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Again, don’t let him… do anything to himself, okay?”

Niki gives another nod and a thumbs up. “You can count on me, Techno.”

Techno gives a strained smile and then, awkwardly, does a slight bow before leaving. His muffled voice filters through the door as he calls out to Phil, and then they head out. Niki takes in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before sighing as she watches the silhouettes of her friends disappear over the horizon.

Alright. She can do this. She may not like Dream, but she did agree as a part of the Syndicate to… help. This is just for Techno and Phil, to keep them from worrying. To watch Dream and make sure he doesn’t try anything he shouldn’t. Niki could do that. In fact, she was happy to keep the man out of trouble, if it were for Techno’s sake. Now she just needed to find something to do until there was someone to watch.

Niki glances around the house, finding things pleasantly clean. The chests were a bit of a mess, but things weren’t lying all over the place, and it looks like it’s been cleaned recently. It looks like the house has been somewhat baby-proofed, too, which makes a little chuckle bubble in Niki’s throat. They’ve only been housing Dream, and he’s certainly a grown man, isn’t he? What would they need to keep him out of drawers for?

Niki gets to entertaining herself with one of Techno’s many book recommendations, making a tiny home for herself on the couch. She opens the blinds and curtains, letting any sort of light filter in as much as it can. The sun is slow to rise in the arctic, and candlelight can only do so much. Slowly, as the sun rises over the north, Niki finds herself growing more hungry, so she starts making some food. It gets bright soon after that, lighting up the room with the near-blinding rays of the sun. Niki adjusts soon enough, simply happy to have more than enough reading light.

A few hours later, after Niki has already eaten and taken care of her share of the dishes, Dream emerges. The first thing she notices is that he’s completely maskless. Secondly, he looks exhausted to the bone, drowned in a dark green jacket and a black shirt underneath. Loose-fitting pants cover Dream’s legs, almost completely hiding his figure from view. Dream’s eyes are dark, his posture slouched inward, and his hair is messy, long, and frail. He looks unbearably tense. His eyes squint at how bright it is, but he tries to shake it off quickly with a flick of his hands. He does a quick double-take on Niki, eyes darting around the room before relaxing slightly. His attention never leaves her, though. His gaze makes a shiver crawl up Niki’s spine.

“Good morning, Dream!” She says politely because maybe Dream is worse in the mornings.

Dream waves tiredly, and Niki notices his bandaged finger. Something about it looks off until she realizes it’s too short to be normal, missing nearly the entire first section. She wonders how it happened, how she’s never noticed before. Dream takes his bandaged hand, dragging it down his face. He lets out a long sigh, sitting down at the circular table in the kitchen, leaning heavily on it for support. He raises his hands, and although they tremble and shake, Niki recognizes one thing. Dream is signing.

Oh. It looks like Technoblade forgot to mention one thing.

“Oh!” She says quickly, tucking her book into her chest. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know sign language.”

Dream, from the table, raises a brow at her. He raises his hands, signing what Niki can only assume is: you don’t know sign?

“I always meant to learn, but the only people who use it actively on the server are Callahan and….”

Me. Niki can guess that one well enough.

“Yes… you. I’m sorry.”

Dream waves his hand dismissively. He gestures for a pen, which Niki retrieves without much hesitance. She may not like Dream, but she still needs to communicate with him if this day even has a chance at going well. She places the pen and small pad of paper on the table, stepping back quickly. Dream lets out a long breath before beginning to write.

I’ll show you some stuff I probably won’t be able to translate in the moment, Dream writes. Writing looks a little more challenging with the ever-present tremor in Dream’s hands and his shortened finger, but he makes do. He writes down a few simple words: can’t, stop, no, sorry, and shows the signs for each of them. Niki furrows her brow.

“These are all negative responses. What about… ‘yes’?”

Dream struggles to meet Niki’s eyes for a second, looking away almost immediately. He seems borderline uncomfortable. Slowly, he curls his hand into a fist, nodding it forward twice.

“Yes?” Niki asks in conformation.

Yes.

Niki nods, trying to commit this information, like everything else dumped on her today, to memory. Dream drops the pen after that, cradling his hands in his lap. They certainly… don’t stop shaking. Hm. Niki would ask about it, but she doesn’t really want to poke at any boundaries. Dream fiddles with his fingers, beginning to bounce his leg.

“Em-” Niki starts, catching Dream’s attention and picking at the back of her neck awkwardly. “Techno told me that you should probably eat today, right? I made food a few hours ago, but I can make something for you or….”

Dream waves his hands, furiously shaking his head. He scribbles down variants of I’m not hungry, and you don’t have to, which Niki isn’t given a chance to object to. Dream carefully gets up, grabbing the notepad beside him and pushing past Niki. He makes his way over to the couch, plopping himself down and sighing. Niki watches him, unsure of what entirely to do. She knows what Techno told her, but there was only so much that was truly in her power. It didn’t help how dismissive Dream appeared to be with her attempts at offering him food.

This Dream is… new, to say the least. She didn’t know the old Dream outside of what she heard from her peers, but she especially doesn’t know this Dream. Is he better? Does he know that what he’s done is bad? Terrible? Unforgivable, even? Does he regret it at all, or does he just think he’s a victim in all of this?

It takes two more attempts at getting Dream to eat before Niki’s patience starts running a little slim. She’s never had the time to talk to Dream before, but right now, he just seems nothing more than tired. He looks fine, if not a little skinny, maybe a little quiet. For all Niki knows, this could be a ploy, a trick, to live the high life off of Techno’s dedicated care and then run off into the woods. Niki feels a little nasty for thinking this, but what if Dream is just faking this all? What if he’s just playing it up for show and sympathy? To get free protection while his next plan brews quietly in the background? She’s heard about the lengths Dream was willing to go to in the past; what would make this different? She knows how convincing an actor Dream can be, and dedication to a part can take someone a long way.

Well… Now is as good of a time as ever to get a few things off her chest, Niki supposes. If Dream isn’t faking, he’ll have some kind of genuine reaction, and if he is, then, well… Niki can keep her friends from getting used again. It’s a win-win, really.

“You know, you’re very lucky Techno decided to care for you so much,” she says from the kitchen because the distance makes her feel safer. “He didn’t have to do all of this, you know? It’d certainly be easier for him to have ignored your favor. I would’ve.”

From behind, Niki hears a sharp intake of breath, but no objections come. Niki looks behind her at Dream, still sitting on the couch, wide-eyed and staring at her. He swallows, eyes darting to the side like he’s sorting through his thoughts. He gestures at Niki, a sort of go-on movement, so she turns around and continues. “Things like Wilbur, Doomsday, the festival, you played a role in all of those, you know? You’ve been the authority figure of the server for so long. You-- you had control over exile and Tommy and… Everything you’ve done, it’s hurt all of us. It’s- it’s hurt me, and I-”

There’s a loud, distinct sniffle behind Niki. Slowly, she turns to look behind her, finding Dream curled up on the couch. He brings his knees up to his chest, pressing tightly into himself. He’s looking to the side, almost shameful. His shoulders are shaking.

“...Dream?” Niki asks. Maybe this is the genuine reaction she’s looking for.

Dream nods sharply. He looks up, meeting Niki’s eyes, his own glassy and red and wet. His eyes fill with tears, so he quickly hides his face again, pressing it into the arm wrapped around his knee. It feels like he’s forcing himself to keep his gaze on Niki, and that information tastes a little bitter going down Niki’s throat. He lifts his head just enough to meet Niki’s eyes again, folding his hand into a half square and pressing it to his temple. Niki doesn’t know the sign, but she doesn’t need to.

I know, he says. I know.

Dream takes a shuddering breath, fingers dancing across the parts of the body he’s gripping. They speed up and slow down as he filters his thoughts, eventually coming to a standstill. He grabs his notepad with trembling hands, scribbling down something hastily, ripping out the paper, and holding it out for Niki while hiding himself. Nervously, Niki steps forward because the memory of powerful and quick and ruthless Dream has never left her, even when presented with the sight of the trembling man before her.

I know, the paper says. I want to listen. But not today. I can’t today.

Niki swallows. She looks at Dream, trembling and crumbling in on himself, and nods. “Okay,” she says. “I understand. I… I’m sorry. That was out of line, I...”

Dream nods quickly and sharply. His fingers tap quickly against his leg. Niki feels awkward, standing in front of Dream like this as he fidgets and shuffles. She puts a little distance between the two of them, retreating back to the kitchen. The house is plunged into a small period of unrelenting silence. Niki wished that she knew at least a little sign because maybe things wouldn’t be so awkward. Dream doesn’t look all too thrilled to be talking with her either way, though, so perhaps it was wishful thinking. He’s running a hand through his hair, pausing to tug on the long strands every few seconds.

Niki frowns. Has Techno told her anything about how to handle something like this? Sorting through her memory quickly tells Niki that, no, Techno hadn’t spilled anything helpful for a time like this. He’d asked Niki to make sure Dream didn’t do anything to himself, but certainly, he wasn’t that much of a danger to his own wellbeing, right? Techno had mentioned some other useful things, but he seems to have forgotten some details Niki would’ve loved to have. She sighs.

Niki supposes that the best she can do right now is swallow her words and try to be helpfully polite. To, in kinder words, simply watch Dream. She tried to ask him about some things here or there but mostly ended up talking at Dream instead of with him. That’s okay, Niki didn’t mind. She didn’t really go into today expecting some sort of riveting conversation, and the one she’d already tried to have ended oh-so-splendidly.

Suddenly, the sound of Dream’s stomach growling caught her attention. Niki looked back from her chunk of dough that she’d started kneading to fill the silence at Dream, who was caught like a deer in headlights. He looked to her quickly before starting off on what Niki thinks is a garbled bundle of excuses about how he wasn’t hungry again. Niki laughs kindly, making Dream’s hands pause mid-air.

“I’ll go get you an apple or something,” she says, running her hands under the sink to wash off the extra flour. “Techno showed me where everything was before you woke up. I’ll be back in just a second. Stay put, okay?”

Dream nods, hiding his face and giving a small thumbs up. The trip downstairs is quick, only interrupted by a skulk of three foxes Techno apparently kept in his basement. The box with cooled fruit was propped up, probably to keep the foxes out of it, Niki mused, if the scratch marks on the side were anything to go off of. Dream was sitting in virtually the exact same position Niki had left him in, nervously glancing at her when she approached. At least he’s good at following directions, Niki noted. She held out the apple, waited a long few seconds for Dream to take it, then set it on the table next to him. Dream’s eyes watched her with rapt attention, almost like he was afraid she was suddenly going to turn around and attack him.

After that little experience, Niki went back to kneading dough as pleasantly as she could. She couldn’t explain the small smile that crept onto her lips when the inevitable crunch of an apple being eaten hit her ears after minutes of silence. Niki chalks it up to the fact that Techno would be happy that Dream ate and tries to move on from it as passively as she can.

Shuffling fills the corners of the house between the clanging of various pans and Niki’s humming. Dream had come a little closer, sitting stiffly at the counter and watching Niki work after throwing his apple core into Carl’s stable from the window. He keeps the notepad close to him, bouncing the pen back and forth against the solid surface. Niki greets him and starts explaining what she’s doing, to which Dream nods along. She tries to suggest Dream join the baking whenever she can, moving pans around and into the sink when they’ve become dirty. Dream’s eyes follow her hands as she gestures around, eyebrows twitching downward every few seconds. Every semi-loud sound makes his eyes blink in surprise and something else Niki can’t quite place. It goes on like this for about half an hour, with various levels of participation coming from Dream.

Eventually, he begins to look more and more lost in thought, distracted, even borderline frustrated, eventually dropping his pen roughly and tapping his pointer finger against the counter. His other hand goes to his hair, pulling, as a small whimper tumbled into the air. Dream’s nail makes a quick tap, tap, tap that sounds borderline panicky, only increasing in speed. His shoulders are tense, and because Niki is so used to providing comfort to those unscarred by touch, she reached out for his shoulder.

Dream jerks away as soon as her hand meets his shoulder, a small, distressed noise leaving his throat. He stumbles onto shaky legs, looking almost as if Niki burned him. Niki, in return, pulled her hand back to her chest. Dream holds up a finger, a small give me a moment, before distancing himself. He hangs his head and holds up his hands, shaking them out almost violently as he paces the living room.

“Dream?” Niki begins to ask, watching the man pace and shake his hands. What was he doing? What was going on?

Her thoughts are abruptly cut off by a sharp yelp when Dream suddenly turns and pushes over a chair. This is still Dream at the end of the day, and once upon a time, he was terrifying and dangerous. Niki clamps her hands down over her mouth to keep any further sound from escaping when it makes Dream flinch. His breath picks up in shakiness and speed until a loud crash makes the house go silent.

Dream’s head whips around, finding a pile of shattered glass on the floor next to the chair he flipped over and the table it apparently took on its way down. He stares at it for a good, long second, the breath stolen from his lungs. A quick, strangled sob leaves Dream’s mouth as he drops to his knees, scrambling for the glass pieces. Hot, fat tears fill the corners of Dream’s eyes. His hands are shaking so much it makes the glass pieces he picks up clink against each other. Almost desperately, Dream tries to wipe away the tears, and Techno’s worry about Dream hurting himself suddenly becomes much more apparent as the world catches up to Niki.

“Oh- Dream, no, we- let’s not-” Niki drops to her knees beside Dream, holding her hands out gently. “Let’s not do that, okay? You’ve got glass in your hands.”

Dream doesn’t stop. The tears and sobs only spilling harder and faster. Niki doesn’t think this can get any worse, so she slowly puts her hand over Dream’s, grasping it and pulling it away gently. There’s no resistance, even as Dream digs his chin into his chest. Pricks of blood are already forming on scratches left on Dream’s cheeks from the glass, quickly mixing with tears. Dream starts signing something frantically, and Niki doesn’t know what he’s saying, but, oh, she wishes she did.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Niki tries. “Are you worried Techno will be angry?”

Dream nods, choking on another sob.

“I’m sure he won’t be!” Niki presents her hands, cupped, to Dream again. “He really cares about you, alright? He won’t be mad over a broken cup, okay?”

Dream makes a strangled sound that almost sounds like a “but” as he snaps his head up to face Niki.

“No. No buts.” Niki pushes her hands forward pointedly. “I’ll clean up the glass, okay? I think you should go lay down on your bed and rest. Calm down a little, alright? I’m supposed to be here to help, and Techno would be upset if you hurt yourself. I’ll let you know when everything’s been taken care of.”

Shakily, Dream brings his free hand up to his face, fingers touching the newly formed cuts as his lips trace Niki’s words. His eyes go wide, pressing down on the tiny bubbles of blood forming. He drops the glass into Niki’s hands, staggering up with a sharp breath. He mutters something too faint for Niki to catch before disappearing into his room. Niki picks up the rest of the glass, her hands thankfully much steadier than Dream’s own despite what just happened. Periodically, she glances up to Dream’s room, watching, waiting.

She isn’t quite sure what she’s waiting for, maybe for him to come bursting out, angry at being coddled, or perhaps for him to come slinking back with shaky hands and hot tears and try to help again. Whatever it is, it never comes.

Carefully, Niki spends a few minutes making sure no shards had spread out over the house or that she misses any finite pieces. After her searches come back clean, Niki moves to the knocked-over furniture. She rights the table and chair Dream had knocked over, huffing out a small sigh of relief. The living room was clean again, thankfully. She hopes Techno won’t be mad. That would just make her look bad when Dream was so clearly distressed over the whole ordeal.

At the thought of Dream, Niki makes her way over to his room. She knocks, the wood giving way and opening up into the small room. Dream lays on his bed, curled up into a ball, and appears to be fast asleep. The blankets look almost deliberately untouched around him. Niki steps into the dark room, noting the closed blinds on his window. Everything is kept down to nearly a depressing minimum, the only trace of life in the room being the messy, yet unmoved, sheets and a single flowerpot laying on a chest.

It would be better to let him sleep, Niki thinks. The room is kept cold, and Niki doesn’t want Dream to get sick, so she decides to drape the untouched sheets over Dream’s sleeping form. As she pulls up the blankets around the sleeping body, though, Dreams’ eyes flutter open, and his body tenses. He turns his head to watch her silently.

“I’ve cleaned up the glass, so the living room is good to be in again,” Niki offers. She pulls her hands away, crouching down so she doesn’t loom over Dream. “I was going to let you sleep; sorry for waking you.”

Dream shrugs, not really looking like he had been sleeping in the first place. He sits up, glancing at the sheets pooling around him. Dream glances around, scrubbing at his face and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Despite Niki’s protests, he gets up and shuffles his way into the living room. His eyes fall on the now empty space on the table, sucking in a soft, shuddering breath. Niki comes to stand beside him.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m not angry, and they won’t be either, okay?”

Dream’s eyes flit from the table down to Niki. His body, slouched forward, leans a little closer to her as he nods silently. He looks back to the room, eyes squinting. He shoves his hands in his pockets and produces the pen and paper he’d kept on him; scribbling down, can you close the blinds? Niki smiles. She needs to encourage him to ask for things, too.

“Sure.”

Dream makes a home for himself on the couch. He eyes Niki’s book and they make idle chatter over it, Niki sitting across from him in the chair. They slide the notepad between each other on the table, both patiently waiting for the other to read or write before responding. Dream apologizes for the outburst. He said that he was feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t had to deal with something like that in a long time. The apology was accepted. Niki even manages to get a small laugh out of Dream, one that tugs gently on his throat and makes his chest stutter. It’s nice to see Dream’s smile, the way it cracks his face as he chuckles to himself. Somehow, it’s the most pride she’s felt in a while.

When Niki gets up to make herself some food, Dream takes her up on the offer to eat together. The list Techno left with what Dream could eat suddenly became very useful when preparing dinner. He doesn’t eat much and apologizes about it, for the hassle he must be causing, but it was what Niki was expecting anyway. Dream goes to sleep soon after that, pausing at his door and sending a quick, earnest thank you to Niki. She smiles.

“You’re welcome, Dream.”

Techno wasn’t mad, and neither was Phil. They seemed more focused on the fact that Dream actually ate a decently sized meal for the first time that week than anything else. Dream, who was hovering in the back, made sure to send Niki off with a little wave.

If she feels a little protective over him during the next Syndicate meeting, that was only her business. If she spoke in a hushed tone and kept an eye on him so he wouldn’t get into trouble, it was just general caution mixed with a bit of care. When she brought the loaves of bread with her on a visit, they were for Techno, Phil, and Dream, but she couldn’t deny the tiny bit of excitement that bloomed in her chest when Phil suggested Dream learn how to bake to help with tremors and outbursts.

If she let Dream into her stash or secret recipes for pies and bread, it stayed between them. Dream promised to keep them secret, and Niki didn’t doubt him. He smiled at her one day, growing nicely into the freckles that had started to speckle his skin, while his third batch of experimental dough was baking. Niki couldn’t help but smile back.