#we didn’t need to see any more than that

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 17: The One About All the Hot Air

Oh, hey, hey, hey – what is that over there?

No, not that –

That!

Ah, fuck.

Is that what I think it is?

Yeah, yeah, it looks like some sort of hot air balloon.

Ugh, it’s that fucking wannabe Wizard! Get that manipulative shit-fuck outta here!

Seriously, don’t let it set foot on land. It’s not welcome on this side of Oz.

Someone release the flying monkeys! Like, now. Knock it out of the sky.

Wait, I thought the Wizard liked green. This weirdo has a red balloon.

Bitch, I didn’t say it was the Wizard; I said it was a wannabe Wizard.

Oh, no wonder it’s steering that balloon like a fucking clown.

Hell, I don’t even think we need the monkeys. That idiot is going to crash and burn itself straight into the glass walls of the Emerald Palace.

Well, you know what they say when you start throwing stones in a glass house…

It is slightly amusing (and a tad concerning) to me that children are always led to believe that the villain of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is that bitch of a Witch of the West when the worst character traits are actually portrayed by the Wizard himself. And, by “worst character traits,” I mean that he was a master manipulator who conned an entire city into believing he held some form of great power.

Did you know that in the original story the Emerald City wasn’t really that green? Sure, it was made from green glass and emeralds, but the Wizard required everyone to wear green-colored glasses so that everything appeared greener than it actually was. Weird, that. And, even more weird, people bought it! “Here, put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fully aware “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is a work of fiction, but the idea that people can be easily manipulated – especially by someone with “power” – is not fiction.

That’s what today’s piece of “hot air” is about – fandom manipulation and the power of suggestion. And who better than to manipulate an entire fandom than the media? It’s unfortunate that I have to give the media power in this story – and even more unfortunate that I have to give it to rag-mags and social media – but the reality is information is power, regardless of whether it’s misinformation. In fact, MIT Sloan did a study in 2018 demonstrating how false information spreads through social media, namely, Twitter, six times faster than true information. Disturbing, right? I don’t even want to know what the going rate for misinformation is in 2025.

And, of course, since I opened today’s story with a visit to the Land of Oz, we may as well take a day trip over to Australia. Remember how I told you Australia deserved an entry of its own? Well, this is it. No, not really. I did say this was a day trip, not a sleep-over, so it’s not going to be chucked full of shiny bracelets or ways to “keep a good girl down.” It’s just our starting point today.

In my first entry, I briefly described what brought me into this fandom. It was something Luke said – and not really what he said, but how he said it – that left me intrigued. He was being interviewed on the Bowral red carpet by “Gretchen from the Philippines.” Yes, that’s literally how she introduced herself! Could I instead refer to the nice lady by her real name (Gretchen Fullido)? Sure, but “Gretchen from the Philippines” is far more fun. Plus, it sounds kind of whimsical. Any ways, Gretchen (from the Philippines) asked Luke if, “in real life,” he’d support friends-to-lovers. Luke’s response was, well, a bit jumbled, which was what sparked my curiosity because his previous answers that day were, for the most part, articulate: “I would – I would support friends – I feel like it’s not something that – that I have in my li – that I resonate with – that I’ve experienced. But, you know, if my – if my friends wanted to explore a relationship with one their friends, go for it. I’ll support it.”

Something in the way Luke answered that question was like suddenly being able to see the forest for the trees. At that moment, I was convinced Luke had always been in love with Nicola, and everything else that went on during that particular red-carpet event (and thereafter) simply christened the USS Lukola. However, that comment by Luke – and a subsequent one he made in New York – would result in the addition of a lot of trees to our enchanted forest.

Now – I apologize – we need to borrow a hot air balloon, preferably one that can travel through time, and jump forward to November 5, London-time. I promise, we will return to Oz momentarily.

Oh, fuck.

What now?

That ridiculous faux Wizard is right behind us. I thought I told you to send in the monkeys!

Dammit, you said we didn’t need them! I left those fuckers back in Oz.

Well, umm, I think we might need them now.

Why??

Uhh, do you see those four-legged beasts on the ground chasing our balloon?

Oh, you mean those coyote-like creatures?

Yeah, but we’re not in the Americas – and those ain’t coyotes…

Ah, here we are: November 5, Claridge’s, London. This was the evening Nicola attended the Harper’s Bazaar Women of the Year awards. We’re only stopping in real quick to steal a piece of the speech Nicola gave that evening. Okay, got it! Let’s get the fuck out of here!

The part of the speech I wanted to share was this: “I did a six-month press tour for Bridgerton, the show which I love, and I’m so proud of. The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance, about my relationship…”

Hold up. Relationship? What relationship?

Did she say “relationship” or “relationships?”

Does it fucking matter?

Well, I guess not. But what does it mean?

I could tell you what I think it means… Wait a hot-air-balloon-minute – where the fuck have you taken us? I told you we needed to go back to April 21, Aussie-time. This looks like Soho in January.

Shit, sorry. Let me fix that. Here we go…

>>> 

Umm, hey, where’s that weird little red Wizard? I swear it was just behind us…

Eh, probably got stuck in Soho, hahaha. Guess it missed its exit.

Do you think that’s a good idea?

Yeah, sure. It’ll be fine…

We’ve returned to April 21, Bowral, Australia. Now, at this point in the timeline, World Tour interviews were already well underway. In fact, the first two parts of EmEdits on YouTube are entirely pre-Australia interviews, making up roughly 6 ½ hours of screen time. I’m not the least bit surprised that “Gretchen from the Philippines” asked Luke what his thoughts were on “real life” friends-to-lovers. The chemistry between Luke and Nicola was hard to ignore.

The Australian red carpet also introduced the hand holding, which – if we took another magical mystery tour over to May 9, Italy – Nicola and Luke agreed was a sign of “love.” I suppose I could buy the excuse that one or both had so much anxiety they needed the other’s hand to remain calm on the red carpet. But, nah, I wouldn’t buy that at all – for one very specific reason. When Luke and Nicola were seen leaving (I believe) the Milton Park Country House on April 23, Luke instinctively reached for Nicola’s hand as they were descending the steps. Why? This reflex by Cool Hand Luke was as natural as a pregnant woman touching her stomach. I ask again – why?

There’s only one answer.

It’s the answer that fits with the Claddagh ring. It’s the answer that fits with the side jaunt to Galway. It’s the answer that fits with their natural chemistry, the hand holding, the canned “shared experience” and “unique relationship” responses, the playful sexual innuendos. It’s the answer that fits with Luke’s “the best foundation for love is friendship” bracelet. It’s the answer that fits with Nicola’s remark about “[t]he amount of inappropriate questions I got asked…about my relationship…” It’s the only fucking answer that makes sense.

But, the real kicker is, why don’t people believe that is the answer?

Why is it so hard to believe that Luke and Nicola could be in a real-life relationship?

That’s easy – because the Man Behind the Curtain told us so.

Who is the Man Behind the Curtain? Well, that’s also easy. It’s collectively the rag-mags and the social media creators on the prowl for a following. It’s the spread of misinformation at its worst and it’s so incredibly easy to do with, say, a pair of green-colored glasses.

Like I said, “…put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

There was one major plot twist that came out of the World Tour, and you already know what that is. The seed was planted with a New Year’s Eve kiss, fertilized with blurry pictures, a compulsory hallway hug, and copycat photos, and encouraged to grow with a bit of junk news and a lot of social media innuendo. Now, I’m not saying the video and photographic evidence that was presented was fabricated; I’m simply suggesting the narrative that came out that evidence was skewed. The media, namely, social media creators, pushed us to plant Lutonia trees while Luke’s actions (i.e., not acknowledging the existence of Lutonia) told us to “pay no attention to the Man Behind the Curtain.”

Uh, so, what you’re saying is we shouldn’t have left that wannabe Wizard in Soho?

Ah, shit! I forgot about that fucker!

The unfortunate thing about the Lutonia narrative was that it was bolstered by insinuation that Luke would never be interested in Nicola. Now, whether these remarks were deliberately planted, or they were simply seedpods carried away by a storm, they were not overlooked by Lukolas – or Nicola. In fact, Nicola herself brushed upon it in her Harper’s Bazaar speech: “The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance…” Yes, I’m referring to the suggestion that Luke preferred “brunettes” over “blondes.” Somehow this narrative was conveniently supported by the existence of – lo and behold! – the brunette “friend of a friend” Antonia, who happened to be slender. Again, whether it was intentional or not, the push by, initially, social media creators (and later gossip rags) to link Luke to Antonia inadvertently called the blonde in our story – Nicola – fat. I refuse to dance around that word because it is exactly what this disgusting narrative implied when it chose to compare Antonia to Nicola. Regardless of whether these gossipmongers “corrected” themselves by replacing “thin” with “brunette” and “fat” with “blonde,” the implication was that Luke would never be interested in Nicola because she had thick blonde hair. This was incredibly upsetting and confusing to many Lukolas because it was contrary to Luke’s behavior towards Nicola throughout the World Tour (and in Bridgerton behind-the-scenes clips).

I decided months ago that Luke was incredibly transparent. And, by that, I mean he’s terrible at keeping secrets. Luke himself admitted his “tell” to this was pulling at his ear – now go watch the World Tour with that information in mind. It’ll give you something to do, at the very least. Luke’s sincerity is also why the blonde versus brunette nonsense just doesn’t take flight for me. Any ways, as I hinted at earlier, Luke’s comments on the Bowral red carpet and his later comments in New York City about friends-to-lovers would – again, unfortunately – give the Man Behind the Curtain ammunition to debunk any real-life relationship between Luke and Nicola. Luke was quickly labeled as being “…dismissive of something ever happening between him and Nicola…” Those are literally the words The Tab used in an article dated May 22 to explain Luke and Nicola’s differing commentary about real-life friends-to-lovers. In fact, the article is titled, “Luke Newton has revealed the reason he’d never date Bridgerton co-star Nicola Coughlan.” Oddly – but not really given the source – Luke never actually said he would never date Nicola. But that fact didn’t stop it from becoming a theme of the World Tour – Luke didn’t believe in friends-to-lovers therefore he would never date Nicola – even though, by the end of the tour, Luke’s stance on this had seemingly changed. That’s not to say the rag-mags misquoted Luke – they didn’t – but the narrative they coiled around his words attempted to shut down the idea that Luke and Nicola would ever date in real life because Luke wasn’t interested. But what Luke was saying was that he believed in love-at-first sight. “I actually don’t think friends-to-lovers is something that happens in my life. If I meet someone, I know immediately.” Now, take that statement with the fact that Luke has repeatedly stated he remembers everything about the moment he met Nicola.

The above examples of gossip and innuendo are simply par for the course. The media manipulates facts all the time – whether it be through social media chatter or rag-mags putting their own spin on ordinary commentary – but this type of manipulation is not what puts the fandom in danger of itself. In fact, most of the gossip and innuendo that took root during the World Tour would have dissipated almost immediately after it ended – if it hadn’t been for Papsmear.

Yeah. That was disastrous.

Come to think of it, it was awfully convenient, too, don’t you think?

Absolutely. And you know what else was convenient? That little wannabe Wizard was –

Oh, yeah, I heard that, too! That clown has been trying to hand out green-colored glasses ever since!

Yep. Tried to give me a pair and I told it to go fuck itself and its little glass cat, too. I mean, they weren’t even name brand glasses. Fake ass, bitch.

All jesting aside, if you haven’t noticed already, I do, on occasion, use my writing to call out the fandom, usually as a whole. I mean, we are in this together, right? Actually, no; we ceased being Collectively Delulu after a few unsavory characters were bitten by the Hunter’s Moon and followed Nicola through the streets of New York and London. There was a major – and rather unexpected – shift in the fandom when the rabid Jakolas appeared from the dark corners of our enchanted forest. And I’m sure you’ve realized at this point in my story that I have one particular – oh, shit, I just realized I don’t even know to which fandom our wannabe Wizard belongs. Ruh-roh. Regardless, that motherfucker is in my peep sight because it is a perfect example of how fandom manipulation has reached a new level of toxicity.

Typically, I don’t care what part of the fandom you’re on. My general attitude is, to each their own. If you’re a Jakola and you find yourself spending an average of 15 minutes each week reading my Lukola blog, I applaud you for peeking outside of the den hole. Best not let Alpha find out, though. It’s all in good fun, right? I often find myself getting a good laugh from Jakola stories, especially when they theorize on the Woman Behind the Curtain. Question, though – did you find her? In all seriousness, if I didn’t consider Jakola and Lutonia perspectives, I would be borderline Conscientiously Stupid, now, wouldn’t I? After all, the desire for knowledge is what ultimately gave our Scarecrow his brain.

However, what I don’t find “in good fun” is when social media creators prey on more than one side of the fandom under phony pretense, namely, that they “just want Nicola to be happy.” Oh, these Cowardly Lions may argue that they’re simply being “neutral” – and, yes, I’m sure some instances of this do exist – however, neutrality does not embrace openly ridiculing one fandom over another, especially on a platform that is touted by its owners as being a “safe space” for everyone. The problem with these so-called “neutral creators” is that they’re only here for social media engagement – the clicks and the giggles – and they defect to the other side when the going gets tough. If you, too, take issue with this kind of creator, be soothed in knowing that when you play two sides, you find yourself with two-times the number of enemies.

What makes these so-called “neutral creators” – actually, let’s just call them the “Defectors” – so poisonous to the fandom is that they are made from the grease drippings found at the bottom of the barrel of the Conscientiously Stupid. The Conscientiously Stupid are one thing – they are the ones using their platforms to spread misinformation because they choose to ignore exculpatory evidence (i.e., they’re headstrong in their beliefs) – but the Defectors are typically the ones creating the misinformation and feeding it to the Conscientiously Stupid and then hanging them out to dry when the information proves to be false. The Conscientiously Stupid who refuse to “lose the battle” then resort to bullying (more so than usual) the Sincerely Ignorant of an opposing fandom. And in defense of their Sincerely Ignorant comrades (or simply because they’re sick and tired of the Conscientiously Stupid preventing anyone from having nice things), the Fact Finders – unceremoniously, I might add – have taken their own place on the battlefield (oh, yes, they are absolutely your tactical commanders). Now, the entire fandom is at war with each other – all because some wannabe Wizard – a Defector – convinced people to look through a pair of shiny, green-colored glasses. More than once.

Is it appropriate – or perhaps a bit catty – to put “ceasefire” here?

Ah, yes, well, uh, we have found ourselves a bit far from Oz at this point, haven’t we?

I suppose – but we are trying to help Dorothy find her way back home, and at least we now have an idea as to how she got lost.

Maybe one day we will get her back to Kansas.

Yeah, maybe.

Oh, silly me! I forgot to sneak in a sly reference to Dorothy’s third companion – the Tin Man! He’s perfect for the end of our story. You know, in the book, the Wizard was just an ordinary man who stumbled into his Ozian existence on a magnificent hot air balloon and took advantage of the power that Emerald citizens bestowed upon him. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Wizard preyed on the naïve using deception and the power of suggestion and invoked fear in anyone who dared to question his authority –

Uh, where are you going with this?

Give me a minute!

Like I said – shit, where was I? – Oh, yes, the Wizard was just an ordinary man, and ordinary people are flawed. We all make mistakes. This is where our Tin Man comes in as he represents love and empathy. Yes, empathy; the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, to understand and forgive, to take into consideration someone’s redeeming qualities –

You know that Wizard defected in his hot air balloon before taking Dorothy home, right?

Wait, what?

Okay, okay. It was Toto’s fault but the Wizard sure as shit didn’t come back for her!

Hmm, you’d almost think Toto knew the Wizard’s true colors all along…

“Au revoir, Wiz.”

[goddamnitmahtin]

This is too good… I must add because what if…

During one of their meetups

Tim, sleep deprived and desperate for coffee, “Robu…. I need you.” He slumped onto Danny’s couch

Now normally, Danny wouldn’t prefer to be referred to as a coffee brand all the time but… this was Tim. And it was Tim’s favorite coffee… so in a way… it was like he was Tim’s favorite coffee? It was hard to explain but Danny knew that he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have.

He placed the cup of coffee into his fake boyfriend’s hands. His very big hands. Course from working so hard being all heroic in the field of duty. Calloused and bruised, no doubt broken and reset dozens of times. The hands of a vigilante who was fully and utterly alive.

Danny was never jealous of Tim for that. Infact… he was very happy for Tim that he was so alive. Heartbeats are a good thing of course. And his was very nice. Steady and always going 100 miles a minute from the amount of caffeine he consumed. He supposed he should stop providing said caffeine but he spent his whole life being selfless. He was going to let himself be selfish this one time. He didn’t want to stop seeing his fake boyfriend.

“How long has it been this time?” Danny asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, “Since you’ve slept?”

He watched as the adorable mess of a man slumped over his couch sighed, “Um- 6- no- 8? Um- 74 hours or so?”

Well it wasn’t as bad as sometimes at least. He knew that it was bad for him to be awake so long. Sometimes on their “fake dates” Danny suggested movie nights just so he would take a nap. He wanted Tim’s heart to keep beating so he could keep listening to the sound.

Danny nodded, “Busy man you are.” He made sure his body blocked the coffee table from Tim’s view. He hadn’t properly put his mail out of sight before his vigilante had come to see him and he knew that Tim was nothing if not a detective.

Tim noticed the awkwardness coming from him immediatly, “Hey why are you hiding your mail from me?”

Dammit Tim why do you have to be so smart and perfect all the fucking time-

Danny laughed nervously, “I’m not- doing that…”

Tim sat up and gently adjusted Danny out of the way to look at the papers, grabbing him by the waist to do so.

Danny swooned only a little when he felt those big hands on his hips. Momentarily, he very much forgot why he was hiding his mail from Tim. But not long enough for the distraction to stop him from trying to grab the papers before Tim could reach them.

He failed.

Tim looked at the eviction notice in his hand, “Danny you never told me- I could have given you more money?!” He looked bewildered and confused. And more than that. Danny could tell there was a bit of fear in his eyes. He understood. He felt it too.

“Money isn’t the problem Tim, you give me more than enough,” Danny said fidgeting with the tracker fashionably dangling from his ear, “Everyone in the building got one. Ms. Abernathy sold it under the table to some shady company.”

Tim looked outright pissed, “What company is it?”

“I don’t remember but I remember hearing the name of it and thinking it sounded fake as hell. Probably why we are all getting kicked out instead of our leases transferring to the new owner. Ms. Abernathy doesn’t want her tenants in a bad situation,” Danny explained. He may not have been a vigilante anymore but hey, he still knew shady shit when he saw it.

Then a ding from Tim’s Nightwing tracker. And then immediately after, he feels another presence outside the window. The other birds were spying again.

“Move in with me,” Tim blurted out.

Danny… well Danny…. Danny fucking short circuited.

“Wha-?” was all he could get out. Normally he was better at improvising but ancients be damned, the cutest man ever just asked him to move in with him.

“Look I know I said we should wait since I didn’t want you in harms way if any rogues found my apartment but…” Tim wrapped his arms around Danny’s waist AGAIN, “I trust you to be able to defend yourself (after Danny broke into the Batcave as Phantom, Danny told him everything because why wouldn’t he) and honestly… I’de love having you around more often Robu.”

Danny’s breath caught as he felt those callouses on his hips again. He watched Tim stand to look him eye to eye and felt his entire core purr as one of those calloused hands moved to his cheek. Tim was really playing it up.

Danny could play it up too, “Aw is the tracker not enough anymore Timothy?” He wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck, bringing his face closer, “Of course I’ll move in with you. But don’t think I’ll be taking it off.” (Danny was referring to the tracker)

Tim smiled, “Don’t you dare.”

Then they kissed. Like on the lips. Cuz they were acting. Yeah, that. It didn’t stop Danny from adoring how Tim tasted of coffee though.

The next minute they were packing a few bags of Danny’s things and heading off to the new apartment.

While his core buzzed excitedly about the future of much more close proximity, Danny’s mind couldn’t help but wander off a little. They had gone this far. And Tim had a nickname for him. Maybe he should come up with one for Tim? He called him Tim or Timothy mostly, sometimes throwing other names in there to see if they stuck but nothing ever did. He called him Birdie once and the man gave him the biggest glare he had ever seen. It was attractive but not the response he was hoping for.

Danny knew a lot about death. Obviously. He also knew the irony of Tim’s vigilante persona Red Robin. The most alive man he had ever met used the name of a bird of death. Most people only know about the associations from cardinals, many stating that the dead send the bird to their loved ones as reminders of them.

What not as many people knew was that this was also extended to red robins. Red robins also had a double meaning when it came to the dead as they represented rebirth and starting anew. The same meaning as an upright death card in the tarot deck.

If anything… of the two of them Danny was the red robin. Tim was more of a…. swan. Yeah a swan. Loyalty, fidelity, and grace. Swans also mate for life but Danny wasn’t going to think about that. He knew Tim probably didn’t do that kind of thing like ghosts did. But it was a nice thought that he wasn’t going think about at all.

He set down the box with his clothes in it. He didn’t have very many. Most of the clothes he had were from before he moved here and most of that was destroyed in Amity Park when his parents found out what he was. It was… a lot of fire.

The rest of the clothes he had… well he kinda slowly stole them from Tim whenever he finally decided to shower and crash out whenever he stayed the night.

It wasn’t weird. He trusted Danny to wake him up before he had to leave for work. It wasn’t weird at all. Infact… Danny’s core quite liked it whenever he would stay.

“Well that’s all of my stuff,” he said.

Tim nodded, looking at all 4 boxes and 1 backpack, “Well it’s a good thing you pack so light. Too bad that couch wasn’t yours. It was comfy as fuck.”

Danny chuckled, “The bed wasn’t mine either.”

At that Tim laughed as well, “I know Robu. It was far too comfortable for you to afford.”

Danny scoffed, though the thoughts of his hometown that were brought up by how little stuff he had didn’t leave completely, “Wow thanks.”

Tim’s posture straitened. Dammit. Tim always fucking knew.

“What are you thinking about,” he asked, getting close. He always did that. Got close. He knew Danny sought comfort in physical contact. He could hear a difference in Tim’s heartbeat from the genuine concern.

Danny looked up at him, “Amity… my parents…”

Tim nodded, “Do you want to talk about it or a distraction?”

Ancients, this man was so fucking perfect.

“Distraction please,” Danny sighed, letting his head fall against Tim’s chest. He wanted to listen to his heartbeat. It was nice. And Tim held him for a while just like that. Talking about how he was going to buy a brand new bed for Danny and that after that, he was going to make 3 new tracker earrings all in different colors so that he could always have one on him no matter the outfit (As if Danny didn’t wear the silver one he already had everywhere).

One day… one day maybe it could be real. But until then… having Tim like this was going to have to be enough. It was better than having never met him at all. He couldn’t let go of his swan.

Extra:

*a few days into them living together*

Danny on the phone: So yeah I’m living with Tim now.

Jazz on the other line: So he’s your boyfriend? You could have just said that Danny.

Danny blushing furiously: N-no!

Jazz: Danny… from what you’ve told me, you live together, you eat together, you do laundry together, he knows your past, you know his…. you sleep in the same bed!

Danny: I- well- the new one hasn’t come in yet and before that it was only sometimes!

Jazz: Uhuh. And denial is a river in Egypt.

Danny: Jazz….

Jazz: Daniel the man has a tracker in your ear! So, what did you decide to call him?

Danny: *blushing profusely* I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jazz: You can’t hide from me. I know your brain Daniel Fenton! He has a nickname for you so obviously you came up with one for him.

Danny: Fine… he’s… my Swan.

Jazz: ….. (processing) …. (Google searching the meaning)…. (Reading) …. Danny you are so insufferably corny. I hope you know that.

Danny smiling: He reminds me all the time.

Jazz smiling wider: Uhuh.

Danny, working as a cashier: Can I help you?

Tim half-deranged: Please I just want a cup of coffee

Danny squinted, then pulled out a binder: I'm sorry, sir, but you are on the Don't Serve Coffee list. I can offer you some tea instead-

Tim: NO. THIS IS THE FIFTH PLACE. BRUCE CAN'T OWN YOU ALL!

Danny leaning in to whisper: Look, man, I can't give you coffee under the cameras. Meet me in the back alley in twenty minutes and I'll get you a coffee. Bring Cash.

Tim: how much? Five hundred, six hundred or hell even a thousand? I'll bring whatever you want.

Danny: Chill dude, it's a cup of coffee. Three dollars is fine.

Tim: It's not just any coffee! It's my favorite brand and Bruce bought them out just to make sure they wouldn't sell to me anymore!

Danny: okay okay, this coffee means a lot to you. I get it. Twenty minutes alright?

Jason three weeks later in Bat cave: Tim's on drugs! I've caught him trading cash for small containers in a shady alley six times. We need an intervention.

Dick: What?! I thought that was his boyfriend!

Bruce: I also thought that was Tim boyfriend but if it's a drug dealer we have to help him.

Tim hiding in the shadows: shit.

Tim texting Danny: If anyone asks your my secret boyfriend who been making me teas in allies

Danny: who the hell would believe that? But I've had a boring week, so yeah, I'm down to be a pretend boyfriend.

[yoonjae20]

Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine. 

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again. 

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread. 

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them. 

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens. 

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind. 

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly. 

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out. 

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”  

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head. 

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.” 

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door. 

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —  Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.  

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure. 

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex. 

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life. 

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left. 

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile. 

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?” 

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.  

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is. 

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom. 

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say. 

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all. 

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell,  his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green. 

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration. 

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them. 

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens. 

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper. 

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin. 

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in. 

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence. 

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-” 

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.” 

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses. 

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war. 

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes. 

[creatur3featur3]

Street Rat

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: uhhh.... street rat! reader, pathetic thing yayyy!! i'll probably build off this eventually- work has been kicking my ASSS

not proof read, i'm tired, i work and have a new kitten 😭

-----enjoy my loves-----

You weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, let's just say.

Having your ass handed to you by some hooligans when trying to swipe their bag of cogs at one of the various bars in the Undercity isn't one of your finest moments let's be honest-

You cough with a groan as the older male of the group grabs you by your chin, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his, the blood running down from the gash over your left eyebrow not making it any easier for you to focus.

His eyes narrow as your own do, he scoffs and lets go of your chin allowing you to fall onto your hands with a groan of discomfort. “A shame we had to get our hands dirty with such a little thing,” he comments, the other men chuckling as your stomach churns- “we could've had a better time doing more entertaining things than fighting.”

You scoff sourly as you try to get up, pushing off the dirty concrete under your hands, spitting out some blood out of your mouth with a growl, “god you wish…” you hiss, before a pained yelp falls from your lips as the man’s boot makes contact with your ribs, kicking you back down.

You hold the spot he kicked, whining softly at the pain as the man walked closer to you, leaning on his knees as he tilted his head to the side, “you're lucky we've got a card game to finish up.” 

and just like that, they left you on the street, bleeding, maybe dying a little but who cares? Nobody, it seems like as you lay there for god knows how long until you hear a sharp scoff off to your right.

Your eyes trail up to see.. a cyborg.. woman?

your... not really sure what the fuck she is..

She's smirking at you with a mix of amusement and- slight.. worry?

“The fuck you looking at..?” you hiss, trying to hide the wince of pain in your voice.

The woman scoffs and she rolls her eyes, “You, you look like absolute fucking shit .” 

“Thanks.”

“Your welcome, Doll.”

Sevika smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned lazily against the grimy wall of the alley. Her mechanical arm whirred faintly, catching the dim, flickering light from a nearby streetlamp. Her gaze swept over you, taking in your bruised face, bloodied lip, and the way you were clutching your ribs like you might fall apart if you let go.  

“Don’t let the blood fool you,” you growled, voice shaky but determined. You pushed yourself up to your knees, swaying slightly as the ground spun beneath you. “I can still throw a punch.”  

Sevika let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m sure you can, doll. But let’s be real—one good gust of wind might knock you out right now.”  

You glared at her, your vision still a little blurry from the gash above your eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”  

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Sevika mocked, the smirk on her lips widening. “Look at you, all bark and no bite. You’re a scrappy little thing, I’ll give you that. But you’re lucky those guys didn’t finish the job.”  

You bristled, the mix of adrenaline and indignation overriding the pain for just a moment. “I didn’t need your commentary, tin can.”  

Sevika’s smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by something sharper—something dangerous. She pushed off the wall, her full height towering over you as she took a slow step closer.  

“What was that?” she asked, her tone low and threatening.  

For a moment, you hesitated, the weight of her presence pressing down on you like a physical force. But you weren’t about to back down.  

“I said,” you rasped, squaring your shoulders despite the ache in your ribs, “I don’t need your help or your attitude. I can handle myself.”  

Sevika snorted, shaking her head as she crouched down to your level. The smell of smoke and oil clung to her like a second skin. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and pity.  

“Sure you can,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you’re lying in a puddle of your own blood, playing tough with someone who could snap you in half.”  

You opened your mouth to retort, but she cut you off, standing abruptly and letting out a sigh. “Listen, I’ve got better things to do than babysit some half-dead alley rat. But I’ll give you a choice: I can leave you here, and maybe you bleed out before those assholes come back to finish what they started… or you can swallow your pride and let me help you.”  

The choice hung heavy in the air, her sharp gaze daring you to refuse.

But as needy as you were, you had a hell of a lot of attitude.

You scowled up at her, spitting blood to the side again as you forced yourself to your feet, clutching your ribs. “I’ll take my chances with bleeding out, thanks,” you snapped, glaring daggers at her. “Don’t need some half-baked hero act from a walking toolbox.”  

Sevika blinked at you, her smirk fading into something colder. Her expression didn’t shift much—she just raised an eyebrow and let out a short, humorless laugh. “Suit yourself, doll.”  

With that, she turned on her heel, her mechanical arm flexing slightly as she stuffed her flesh hand into her jacket pocket. Her boots clacked against the cracked pavement as she strode toward the mouth of the alley, her figure disappearing into the haze of smoke and faint neon light.  

You stood there, swaying slightly, a mix of frustration and regret bubbling in your chest. You hated that you’d let her get under your skin, hated even more how quickly she dismissed you like you weren’t worth her time. But mostly, you hated the way your stomach growled, reminding you how long it had been since your last meal.  

Your pride warred with your desperation as you lingered, gritting your teeth. Eventually, with a growl of frustration, you limped forward, catching sight of her just as she was about to round a corner.  

“Wait!” you called out, your voice cracking slightly. Sevika paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a raised brow.  

You hesitated, fidgeting as you leaned heavily against the wall. “Do you… have any cash on you?” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze.  

Sevika’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate. She turned fully, crossing her arms as she studied you. “Cash?” she repeated, as if testing the word out. “Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t need my help?”  

You glared at her, though it lacked the venom it had earlier. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. You gonna gloat, or are you gonna help?”  

Sevika chuckled, taking a step closer as she fished something out of her jacket pocket. “You’re lucky you’re kind of amusing, doll,” she muttered, tossing a small hand bag of whatever your way.  

You caught them awkwardly, wincing as the movement jarred your ribs. Sevika watched you for a moment longer before shrugging and turning to leave again.  

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” she called over her shoulder, the amusement in her tone unmistakable.

—(time skip)

It wasn’t anything new. The Undercity thrived on desperation and violence, and you were just unlucky enough to keep getting caught in its teeth. The older woman who ran a small, rundown food stall had been kind to you once, giving you a hot bowl of soup when you looked ready to drop dead on her doorstep. You hadn’t expected her generosity to last forever, but that didn’t stop you from trying your luck again.  

The air smelled of damp metal and stale grease as you crept toward the stall, your stomach twisting with hunger. You spotted the woman setting up for the day, her wiry frame moving with practiced ease as she laid out bowls and utensils. You opened your mouth to call out to her when a sharp voice behind you made your blood run cold.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little street rat again,” sneered a man’s voice.  

You turned slowly, your heart sinking as you saw a familiar face among the group of three closing in on you. One of the same guys who had beaten you senseless a few weeks ago, the gash he’d left on your brow now a faded scar.  

“Back for more, huh?” he taunted, cracking his knuckles. “Figured you’d learn your lesson by now, but I guess some people just can’t help being stupid.”  

Your throat tightened as you took a shaky step back, glancing around for an escape route. The older woman at the stall had noticed the commotion and was watching with wide, worried eyes, but she didn’t make a move to intervene. You couldn’t blame her. Getting involved in fights like this only brought trouble.  

“Look, I’m not looking for any problems,” you said quickly, raising your hands in a placating gesture.  

“Too late for that,” the man growled, and before you could react, his fist connected with your stomach. You doubled over with a choked gasp, falling to your knees as the air was knocked from your lungs.  

The others closed in, one of them yanking you up by the back of your jacket. You squirmed, trying to throw an elbow, but it only earned you a sharp jab to the ribs that left you gasping.  

“What’s the matter?” one of them jeered. “Thought you said you could fight?”  

You clenched your teeth, glaring up at them through the haze of pain. A part of you wanted to fight back, to spit in their faces and prove you weren’t some helpless victim. But another part of you—one that was tired and bruised and just plain done—knew you didn’t stand a chance.  

“Maybe we should make an example of this one,” the leader said, his grin sharp and cruel.  

Before he could act, a low, familiar voice cut through the tension like a blade.  

“Didn’t realize it was open season on small fry,” Sevika drawled, stepping out of the shadows. Her mechanical arm gleamed faintly in the dim light, and the way she stood—casual but coiled, like a predator about to strike—made the group pause.  

“Sevika?” you rasped, half in relief, half in disbelief.  

Her sharp gaze flicked to you briefly before settling on the men holding you. “Let the kid go,” she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. “Unless you want to see how hard I hit.”  

The group exchanged uncertain glances, clearly weighing their odds. But Sevika’s reputation was enough; with a few muttered curses, they dropped you unceremoniously to the ground and retreated, disappearing into the haze.  

Sevika watched them go before turning her attention to you. She crouched down, her expression unreadable. “Didn’t expect to find you playing punching bag again, doll,” she said, her tone somewhere between amusement and exasperation. 

You scowled up at Sevika, wiping a trail of blood from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. The ache in your ribs flared as you shifted, but you ignored it, your pride stinging more than the bruises.  

“Didn’t ask for your help,” you hissed, glaring at her as she stood over you.  

Sevika didn’t flinch, her sharp eyes sweeping over you with an air of practiced indifference. “Yeah, well, you looked like you were about to lose a few teeth,” she shot back, standing to her full height and turning away. “Try not to get yourself killed, kid.”  

And just like that, she walked off, her boots echoing against the concrete.  

For a moment, you stayed where you were, stewing in your frustration. Your gaze dropped to the ground as you weighed your options. You could stay here, licking your wounds and pretending you didn’t need anyone, or you could—against all your better judgment—go after her.  

You gritted your teeth. The idea of trailing after Sevika like some lost puppy made your stomach turn, but… where else were you going to go? You were broke, bruised, and starving, and while Sevika wasn’t exactly the picture of compassion, she’d gotten you out of a tight spot twice now.  

“God, I hate this,” you muttered under your breath, forcing yourself to stand despite the pain in your side.  

Your legs carried you after her, the distance between you and her widening until you broke into a stumbling jog to catch up. Sevika didn’t even glance back as you fell into step behind her, her broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dim light of the Undercity.  

“I’m not following you,” you blurted after a moment, more for your own dignity than anything else. “I’m just… heading the same way.”  

“Uh-huh,” Sevika said, her tone flat.  

You glared at her back, resisting the urge to snap at her again. “Where are you even going?”  

She shrugged, her mechanical arm whirring faintly as she adjusted her jacket. “Somewhere that doesn’t involve babysitting,” she said dryly.  

“Great,” you muttered, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks. “Guess I’ll just… keep you company.”  

Sevika’s smirk was faint, but you didn’t miss it as she glanced over her shoulder. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, doll.”

Sevika didn’t slow her pace, her strides long and deliberate, while you hobbled along behind her, trying not to let your limp show too much. You were determined to keep up, if only to avoid looking even more pathetic than you already felt.  

“I’m not looking for a pity party,” you muttered at one point, more to yourself than to her.  

“Good,” Sevika replied without missing a beat. “Wouldn’t give you one anyway.”  

Her bluntness made you bristle, but you bit back any retort. Talking to her was like punching a brick wall—painful and pointless.  

Eventually, she came to a stop at a stall tucked into the side of a dingy building, the smell of sizzling meat and spices wafting through the air. The vendor, a wiry man with a crooked smile, greeted her with a casual nod.  

“Usual?” the vendor asked, already reaching for a stack of greasy paper.  

“Yeah,” Sevika replied, digging into her jacket pocket for a handful of crumpled bills.  

You hung back awkwardly, shuffling your feet as Sevika leaned on the counter, her mechanical fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the metal. The sight of the food—whatever it was—made your stomach churn with hunger, but you refused to say a word.  

That resolve shattered the moment your stomach betrayed you, letting out a loud, miserable growl that seemed to echo in the quiet of the alley.  

Sevika glanced over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised, while the vendor paused mid-motion, his eyes flicking between the two of you. You felt your face heat up as you clutched your ribs, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.  

“Shut up,” you mumbled to your stomach, cursing yourself inwardly.  

Sevika’s smirk was slow, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “That you, or is there a dog around here I don’t see?” she teased.  

“Bite me,” you shot back, glaring at her through your embarrassment.  

“Careful what you wish for,” Sevika said with a low chuckle. She turned back to the vendor, gesturing toward you with her thumb. “Throw in another, on me.”  

Your jaw dropped. “I don’t need—”  

“Relax,” she cut you off, not even looking your way. “It’s not charity. I just don’t want you keeling over before you can finish being annoying.”  

You wanted to argue, but the smell of the food was too enticing, and the growl of your stomach made it clear you weren’t in a position to refuse. You muttered a begrudging “thanks” under your breath, still avoiding Sevika’s gaze.  

She didn’t acknowledge it, only taking the food when it was handed over and shoving one of the wrapped portions into your hands. “Eat,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for debate, before turning to walk off again like nothing had happened. 

Sevika slowed her pace just enough to glance at you over her shoulder, watching as you tried to juggle eating and walking without looking like you’d never seen food before. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes sharp but not unkind.  

After a moment, she asked, “So, what’s your deal? You always been this bad at staying out of trouble, or is it just a recent thing?”  

You paused mid-bite, the question catching you off guard. Swallowing quickly, you shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “Guess you could say I’ve always been a bit of a… ‘street rat.’”  

Sevika raised an eyebrow, slowing her stride as she turned to face you more fully. “Street rat, huh? That what you’re calling it?”  

You huffed, shoving another bite into your mouth to avoid answering too quickly. Once you’d swallowed, you gestured vaguely to the streets around you. “I’ve been out here for as long as I can remember. No family, no home, just… surviving. You know how it is.”  

Her expression didn’t shift, but her silence was heavy enough to make you squirm. You tried to fill the void with a bitter laugh. “What, you surprised? Figured you’d have me pegged as a gutter kid the moment you saw me.”  

Sevika didn’t respond right away. She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes scanning your face like she was trying to read something in the lines of your expression. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head.  

“Not surprised,” she said simply. “But living like that… it eats people alive.”  

You shrugged again, trying to play it off, but her words settled uneasily in your chest. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t have a choice.”  

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked like she might say something more. But then she just scoffed and started walking again.  

“Guess not,” she muttered. “But you’re still here, so I guess you’re tougher than you look.”  

The faintest flicker of pride bloomed in your chest at the comment, though you weren’t about to let it show. Instead, you fell into step behind her again, muttering under your breath, “Damn right I am.”

Sevika’s low chuckle echoed in the air, a sound that somehow managed to be both mocking and oddly approving. She didn’t stop walking, and her pace didn’t slow, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. You hadn’t even noticed the way your steps had faltered as you’d walked alongside her, your gut twisting in something like regret.  

“You really do have a thing for getting yourself in trouble,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder at you with a smirk. “A real talent for it, honestly.”  

You scowled, but didn’t respond, too tired to argue. Your feet dragged slightly behind her now, your earlier confidence slipping away like the last scraps of food you’d barely managed to scarf down.  

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sevika added, her voice turning more serious, though the faint amusement never quite left it. “You’re better off on your own, kid. Keep following me around, and you’ll just get yourself hurt more.”  

You didn’t even realize the weight in your chest until she said it. A pang of something sharp and uncomfortable hit you, like she’d just thrown you in the dirt and walked away from what little you had left of your pride.  

Before you could muster any response, Sevika turned her head fully, giving you a final glance before shaking her head. “Get your shit together,” she said with a scoff, “And don’t waste my time. You’ll be fine out here. If you don’t kill yourself first.”  

And just like that, she was gone.  

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place as the weight of her words sank in, the quiet hum of the city around you suddenly deafening. The sounds of footsteps on the slick pavement, distant chatter, and the endless pulse of neon light all seemed to fade as the emptiness of the moment pressed in on you.  

Alone again.  

You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you looked at the ground, your fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as the cold from the night air settled into your bones. You didn’t know why it hurt this much, or why you still felt like you were following some thread that was barely hanging on. Maybe you were just too tired to care.  

But you’d never been someone who gave up easily, even if it meant keeping your head down and surviving the way you always had—alone.  

"Whatever," you muttered to no one in particular, your voice barely audible over the city’s hum. You turned away, heading in the direction you knew best: forward, with nothing more than the remnants of your pride and a half-empty stomach.  

It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.

(please ignore any random gaps, my ass still doesn't understand tumblr)

part 2

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Intoxication [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k

Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.

warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!

It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.

However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.

The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.

“Hi”

“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.

“I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.

“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.

I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.

Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.

She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.

“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”

“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”

“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.

“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”

I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?

“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”

I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:

“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”

I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.

“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”

I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.

“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”

She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.

I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.

There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Tastes like… strawberry.”

“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.

Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.

On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.

Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.

“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”

She looked around with a slight smile.

“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”

“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”

She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.

“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”

She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.

I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.

“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.

I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”

But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.

“You have to try it,” she moaned.

I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.

After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.

Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.

I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.

She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.

We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.

She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.

The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.

My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.

By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”

“Of course.”

My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.

I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.

“You move well, Reid.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”

Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.

He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.

“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.

“Want a drink?”

“Honestly, no.”

By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.

Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.

“Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”

“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”

“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”

Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.

“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”

Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.

“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”

She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”

My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.

“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.

“That makes sense.”

Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.

She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.

She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.

“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.

She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.

“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.

Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.

“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.

“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.

She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.

“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”

My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.

She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.

“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”

Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.

“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”

I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?

It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.

The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.

I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.

“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”

“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”

I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.

“Did you throw up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”

“I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”

She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation���and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.

When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.

It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.

It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.

The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?

“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”

“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.

She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.

The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.

She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.

“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Go to university parties?”

“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”

Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.

“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”

A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.

“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.

I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.

Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.

She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.

In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.

The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.

I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”

“Let me check”

My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.

My choice of words wasn't the best either.

“You’re hot,”

“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”

A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”

A soft laugh echoed in my ears.

“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”

I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.

“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”

“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”

Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?”

A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.

Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.

My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.

Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.

“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”

For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.

Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.

My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.

She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.

“Hey, wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel okay with this?”

“A lot. Do you want to stop?”

“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.

Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.

“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

“No”

“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”

I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:

“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”

Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.

I wanted her too. I wanted her now.

“I never imagined…”

My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.

When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Did that clear your doubts?”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.

“Then stop overthinking”

The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?

But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.

The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.

I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.

Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"

I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.

"Tell me”

"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."

"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"

Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.

Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.

Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.

Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.

Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.

Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.

I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.

My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.

Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?

I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.

“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”

“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”

Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.

I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.

“Take me to bed, please.”

He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.

Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?

Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.

Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.

“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”

My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.

I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.

"Sorry, I..."

“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.

"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.

"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that."

I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.

"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."

"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."

“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”

Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.

"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.

"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”

"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."

Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.

I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.

As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.

I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.

Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.

I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.

Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.

Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.

"Busy?"

I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.

“I guess you found what we need, right?”

“Uh-huh”

“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”

“Quite a few”

“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”

A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.

“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”

He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.

At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.

“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.

I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.

We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.

I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.

“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.

I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.

Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.

My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.

“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.

I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.

My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.

“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.

“Your wish is my command”

He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.

I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.

At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.

He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.

I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.

He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”

“I'm speechless.”

I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.

We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.

“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”

I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.

“Do you mind lending it to me?”

“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.

When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.

“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”

“Yes, of course I want”

He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.

One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.

“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”

"Not much"

“Do you want me to get you some socks?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”

“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”

“So you’re like a human blanket”

“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”

I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”

“Your guess is quite accurate.”

“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”

From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.

“I like you a lot”

“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.

@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes

Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)

[futfemfantasies]

More Than Anything // Alessia Russo x Catley!reader

As the sun began to set over the hills of Tuscany, the sky is painted in pinks and blues. The air was warm but not too hot, a perfect summer evening. Ever since Alessia could remember, she dreamed of getting married in Italy. When you agreed on the destination, Alessia was like a kid in a candy store.

The guests were seated on rows of white chairs with white ribbons and the family villa behind everyone. A path with white and pink rose petals lead the way to the way to the front of the altar. Your mum walks you down the aisle, bringing a tear to your sister Steph’s eye. As you reach the end of the aisle, you give your mum a hug before she sits in the front row.

As you wait for Alessia’s bridesmaids to walk down the aisle, you heart was pounding in your chest. You see a mixture of Lionesses, Matildas and Arsenal players amongst both your families. The music starts up again and you turn your gaze towards Alessia - your Less. Eyes locked together and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You swore your heart skipped a beat and you could hardly contain all the emotions rushing through you. Alessia reaches you and you both stood face to face, gazing into each others eyes. The world around you both disappeared, and all that mattered was this moment.

The officiant started the ceremony, speaking softly as she guides you through the ceremony. This was their moment any nothing could take this away from them. Finally, it was time for the vows and for Alessia to speak. She took a deep breath and looked directly in your eyes.

“Y/N,” Alessia began, her eyes shining.

“You’ve been the light of my life from the very first moment we met. You’ve made me laugh and when I didn’t know I needed to smile and you’ve held me close when I didn’t think I could keep going. You’ve been my strength, my protector and my partner in all things,” she paused, her smile softening as she spoke.

“I promise to build a life with you, to create memories that will last a lifetime, and to never take a single moment with you for granted” Alessia’s voice wavered as she continued, her love for you written all over her face.

“I love you Y/N. I love you more than words could ever express. And I will spend everyday showing you just how much” Alessia reached for your hand and for a moment, everything disappeared into the background. You smile, your heart so full of Alessia’s words. Now, it was your turn to speak.

“Alessia,” you begin, your voice trembling with emotion. “I knew from the moment we met that you were something special. You taught me the real meaning of love,” you paused, looking out into the crowd before turning her gaze back to Alessia. Her heart swelling as she spoke the words she has been holding in for some time.

“I love you more than the bad days ahead of us. I love you more than any fight we’ll have. I love you more than any obstacles or distance will ever come between us. I love you more than anything. So from now on, know that when I say I love you, I don’t just say it out of habit. I say it because your the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me” Alessia’s eyes glistened with tears, her lips trembling as she continued to look in your eyes.

“My darling Alessia,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “I adore you. I always will”.

The officiant, smiling warmly announced. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you wife and wife. You may now kiss your bride.” The crowd erupted out of pure joy as you dipped Alessia and kissed her.

The reception that followed was filled with love and laughter. The villa was alive as wine flowed and people made their way to the dance floor. The night was filled with exquisite food and tear-jerking speeches from both your and Alessia’s siblings. As the evening drew on, the last guests slowly left the villa. There was still music playing softly in the air and the dance floor quiet, which gave you the ultimate idea. You walk up to your new wife and intertwine your hands and silently pull her to the dance floor. You pull her close and start to sway.

“I don’t want this day to end,” Alessia murmured, her voice so soft as she rested her head on your shoulder.

“Me neither but for now, let’s not think about it.” You gave Alessia a soft kiss on her forehead as you danced, well swayed, being content in the moment.

You felt Alessia tighten her hold around your waist before saying “you make me the happiest woman alive, you know that?” You smile at the comment as Alessia lifts her head from your shoulder.

“I think I do, but hearing you say it makes it all the more real”

As the both of you swayed to the calming music, the faint scent from the flowers flows through the villa with a warm breeze.

“I never imagined that I’d have a moment like this. To love someone so deeply and to get it in return, is overwhelming but in the best way,” You cupped Alessia’s face, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“You deserve this. You deserve everything and more.”

As the final notes of the song played, Alessia stopped your movement and looked at you with a smirk. “So, Mrs Russo…”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curving into a grin. “Technically, you’re Mrs Catley.”

“Fine,” Alessia said laughing. “Mrs and Mrs Catley-Russo, then. Better?”

“Much. I like the sound of that.” Reader replied, leaning in to kiss her softly.

It wasn’t just a wedding day; it was the beginning of forever, together.

[puckinghischier]

Nico looking stressed, grumpy and pissed off lately. He would def take out all that on reader if they gave him permission to do so. God he would become a whole different person in bed 😵‍💫🫠

“just say the word, and i promise it all stops. it all starts and ends with you,” he’d check just one more time you’re sure, almost feeling guilty for what he’s about to do.

“swear on my life, neeks. give me everything you’ve got. please,” you whine and squirm, his outburst on the ice earlier planting a seed in your brain only he can grow.

his eyes darken, your pleas all he needs to spur him on, slamming into you so hard you see stars, gripping your hips with a bruising pressure.

he gives you no warnings, no recovery, just slamming into you over and over again, every ounce of anger he felt on the ice being transferred to your body.

your body jolts with each thrust, thankful the two of you won the argument for a plush headboard in this exact moment. his grunts are animalistic and guttural, never having heard sounds like this from him before. they make your body melt into his even more, not having enough brain power to think about the implications of why this is all so hot for you.

“swear, just can’t get them to do anything right. s’like trying to teach monkeys how to play hockey,” he grunts, using the physical outlet to purge the mental frustrations as well. “s’like i’m the only one on that ice that gives a shit about anything. they won’t shoot, won’t block, aren’t there for passes. a bunch of idiotic fucks.”

you would respond, but the moment you open your mouth, his fingers immediately fill the space. you swirl your tongue around the digits, sucking lightly. the action earns a particularly deep groan, throwing his head back like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced.

“don’t wanna hear anything other than my name from these pretty little lips, got it?” his eyes bore down onto yours, waiting for your small nod of agreement. “if i can’t get the performance from the guys i want, you’re gonna give me the performance i want in here.”

his command wasn’t even that harsh or demanding, but you’ll be damned if it didn’t make your eyes nearly roll back into your head. when he slips his fingers from your mouth his names becomes the only word in your vocabulary. repeated over and over and over again, never stopping.

you can feel his grip on your hips tighten, making you wonder how many purple splotches you’ll be able to count tomorrow morning. his thrusts get more aggressive as your whines of his name get louder and louder, teetering on the edge of pathetic, but you don’t care.

he thrusts into you the harshest and deepest he has yet, and it causes your body to erupt into the most intense bliss you’ve ever felt, feeling nico’s own body still and his deep voice cry out a loud “FUCK!”

you convulse and shake beneath him, wondering when the waves of pleasure are gonna stop. nico’s still hovered above you, blinking his eyes in a daze.

he pulls his softening dick out of you, a whimper escaping your still shaking body. the waves of pleasure are still subsiding when he climbs off the bed, returning a few seconds later with a warm washcloth and a fresh pair of boxers on.

when he goes to clean you up, you whine and whimper at how sensitive you are, nico’s soft ‘shhhs’ not doing much to calm you.

he crawls into bed beside of you, lifting the bed sheet to cover your bare body, pulling you against him.

“y’alright, sweet girl?” nico whispers as he nudges his nose into your neck, back to his sweet and attentive self. you hum back a “mhmmm,” nestling into his warm body.

you can feel him smirk into your skin, his rumbling voice causing goosebumps to rise. “didn’t realize y’liked when i’m so rough. maybe we should explore this more often.”

the thought brings another whine from your throat, wanting to roll over away from him, but you’re trapped in his arms, any kind of movement impossible.

“god, let a girl recover a bit, yeah? think my vagina is gonna fall off if you put those images in my head right now.”

nico erupts in full on belly laughter, amused at this new discovery. “well not right now, no. just…gonna keep it in mind anytime i try to tell myself not to get too worked up during a game. might…slip and let a hit or two through if i know this is what i have waiting on me when i get home.”

and when he see’s the hand sized bruises on your hips the next day, rushing out apologies and peppering kisses over the purple skin, you assure him you’re fine, seeing the small glint in his eyes at the physical reminder of last night, you know that his penalty minutes are about to sky rocket.

[afterglowkatie]

mistletoe mischief | k.m./c.f.

katie mccabe x caitlin foord x child!reader ft. kyra and teyah | 1.0k | ‘you’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss,’

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the little starfish universe. starfish is nine in this blurb since it fit to make her a bit older than she is in the other current starfish fics

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘Don’t you think we might’ve gone overboard?’ Kyra took a little step back to look around the apartment where you, Teyah and Kyra just put up as much mistletoe as you could find. You frowned, looking at Kyra with disbelief, more in disbelief that she was the one, of all people, thinking you’d gone overboard. There wasn’t that much, but enough to hopefully be noticeable.

‘The point is for them to see it,’ With you being a bit older, you’d noticed that your mums had started showing each other less affection than you remember from when you were a bit younger. For a moment there was a thought that went through your head where you thought something was wrong between them both but Teyah did remind you that sometimes things change and take a while to adapt now that it’s not just you and your mums anymore. 

One night after you’d begged your mammy and mum to let Kyra look after you, something they were very apprehensive about but they didn’t really have any other option at the time, she let you stay up way past your bedtime. Way past the time Kyra and your mums agreed on. But you were both watching a movie.

‘Why do they have to kiss?’ You looked at Kyra, tilting your head to the side, your eyebrows furrowing a little, a small pout on your face.

‘They’re under the mistletoe,’ Kyra shrugged, not taking her eyes off the movie.

‘But why?’ Your voice is still questioning but a bit more firm, wanting Kyra to actually answer you properly. Sometimes people forgot you were still small and didn’t know everything that they knew.

‘It’s just what two people do when they’re under it,’ Kyra, trying to take the easy way out and not have to explain the entire meaning behind it, hoping that you’d be happy with an answer like that.

‘Two people who love love each other, right?’ As soon as Kyra nodded to your question, a little idea started forming in your head. An idea that you were going to need help executing.

You faked being sick so you could skip school one day, in hopes your mammy and mum would let you come to training with them. They were going to take the day off but you’d convinced them to just bring you along anyway. There you got to form the little idea you had with both Kyra and Teyah.

It was close to Christmas and the best way to get your mums out of the house and get them to agree to Kyra and Teyah looking after you? Tell them that you told Santa of something you wanted that you hadn’t mentioned before. The sure way to make them panic and willingly leave you with the pair so you could carry out your little idea. 

Katie and Caitlin were both unaware that Kyra ruined the magic of Santa last year but you never said anything with your younger sister around, plus the idea of extra presents was obviously appealing to any nine year old.

‘Knowing my mums, bets are they won’t notice it,’ You all laughed, they can be the most observant but oblivious people at times and you’ve started to use it to your advantage.

You were right, you don’t even know how they didn’t notice basically a roof covered in mistletoe but they both did. Most likely the stress of your last minute present idea was enough to distract them. 

As soon as the three of you heard the jingle of your mammy’s keys in the front door you all rushed towards your room. Trying to act normal and not cause too much suspicion. Though, the three of you just being in the same room together is any cause for suspicion.

Eventually you opted for sitting at the top of the stairs, perfect view of the lounge, watching your mammy and mum rush around trying to sort out everything for you and your younger sister. Your younger sister who was currently having her midday nap and you were hoping wouldn’t wake up crying for them any time soon.

Though the longer you waited for them to notice, the more bored the three of you got and the less fun it was beginning to become, ‘What the-’ Your mum was the first to finally notice, stopping in her tracks. Your mammy came back from hiding a present in their room, standing next to you mum and following where her eyes were going.

‘Who decided to grow a mini forest on our roof?’ You knew your mammy was five seconds away from yelling out for you throughout the house. 

‘It’s mistletoe,’ Your mum pointed out, an amused smile on her face while she gently flicked the mistletoe that was dangling from the roof. Your mammy just rolled her eyes, still trying to process it all.

Though, just like your mammy’s does on the pitch, your patience grew thin and you couldn’t stand to watch it unfold naturally anymore, ‘You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss,’ You semi yelled out, bounding down the stairs.

‘Where did you even learn that?’ Your mammy was the first one to question it before her eyes drifted off behind you where Kyra and Teyah were slowly making their way down the stairs, ‘Typical, shouldn’t leave you lot alone together,’ 

‘Stop stalling mammy,’ 

‘Yeah come on,’ 

‘You heard Starfish,’

The three of you trying to get your mums to kiss under the mistletoe. Your favourite part when you were little was seeing how happy your mums made each other, and you, and all the little bits of affection towards each other, and towards you as well. It was part of the reason you were the happy kid you currently were and you didn’t want you and your sister to be the reason any of the changed. In your mind you were just trying to help them adapt to having two kids faster.

‘We aren’t part of some show for the three of you,’ Your mum laughed, resting her chin on your mammy’s shoulder looking at the three of you. They didn’t have only two children, somehow they had six, Vic and Laia were often included in the mischief you’d all get up to.

‘Yeah how about yous go back to your own houses and stop pestering us,’ Your mammy directed towards the older two.

‘I’m going with them and that-,’ You pointed towards all the mistletoe on the roof, ‘-is staying up until you both give a proper kiss,’

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter twelve: Under Watchful Eyes

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

P t 1 P t 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12

In-ho’s presence was a fortress around you. The second those VIPs started circling, closing in, you felt it—his body went rigid, his movements sharp, calculating. His mask still covered his face, but you could feel the weight of his every decision through the air. He was a wall between you and them, and you clung to that wall like it was the only thing that could keep you from crumbling under the pressure.

The VIPs weren’t hiding their excitement anymore. They were pushing forward, murmuring to each other with that sickening tone, their eyes hungry, searching for any crack in your armor. It made your skin crawl, the way they watched you, the way they talked about you like you were nothing more than a toy to pass around.

You couldn’t let them see how scared you were. Your legs were shaking, but you refused to show it. Instead, you pressed your hand to In-ho’s back. It wasn’t for him, really—he didn’t need reassurance. It was for you. His body was so solid, so unshakable, that it grounded you, even if just for a moment.

And then, like a shadow looming over everything, he appeared. The man in the panther mask stepped forward, his presence practically oozing arrogance. You could feel his eyes on you even before he spoke. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that, Frontman,” he said, his voice low, slick like honey but with a venomous edge. “Your job is to please us, remember? To meet our needs.”

The words hit you like a slap. The air turned colder, tighter. You wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the wall behind you, but In-ho didn’t flinch. His back remained straight, his posture strong, like he wasn’t going to let them tear you apart, not if he had anything to say about it.

The pack behind the panther-masked man started laughing—low, cruel chuckles that only made your stomach churn harder. Some of them leaned forward, eyes scanning you like you were a prize to be fought over, something they could break and take for themselves. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt like prey, but this time? It felt like they were all waiting for In-ho to slip. And if he did, you knew there was no way you could escape them.

But In-ho didn’t slip. He didn’t even budge. His voice, when it came, was like a warning. “No,” he said, his tone smooth but firm, like he’d just drawn a line in the sand that none of them could cross.

You could feel the tension rise. The panther-masked man didn’t back off. Instead, he just tilted his head, like he was sizing In-ho up, testing him. “You seem to forget your place, Frontman,” he said, stepping closer, the mockery thick in his voice. “You’re here to serve us. All of us.”

The other VIPs seemed to edge closer too, sensing the shift, their eyes dancing from In-ho to you. You could feel them closing in, their hunger more than just physical. It was like they were watching a spectacle, waiting to see what would break first: In-ho’s resolve, or yours.

In-ho’s hand never moved from his side, but you saw the tightness in his fingers. He wasn’t going to back down. You could see it in the way he stood, unmoving, the line drawn in the sand.

The panther-masked man wasn’t done, though. He stepped forward, his eyes glinting with amusement as he spoke again. “You can’t keep her safe from all of us, Frontman,” he mocked, his voice almost playful. “You know what we like.”

The laugh of his posse rang out again, sharp and ugly, but In-ho didn’t so much as twitch. He kept his posture steady, his voice calm. “Step back,” he ordered, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. And somehow, they listened. Just for a moment.

The leader’s smile flickered, but only for a second. He wasn’t used to being defied, but he wasn’t stupid either. He knew better than to push In-ho too far. At least, not in this moment.

Instead of arguing, the panther-masked man turned toward the others, his voice rising just enough for the rest of the VIPs to hear. “We’ll see about this.” His tone was still mocking, but there was a chill to it, like he was putting a pin in the situation for now, waiting for the next round.

You didn’t take a breath until the crowd began to slowly pull back, still murmuring, still watching like they were waiting for the next fight to break out. In-ho didn’t relax, but his presence softened, just enough for you to feel the change. His hand brushed lightly over your wrist as he turned, silently guiding you toward the exit. His pace didn’t falter, and you followed him without question.

The second you were out of the room, In-ho’s grip on your wrist loosened, and you felt the weight of everything press down on you. You stumbled slightly, but In-ho caught you before you could fall. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to—but the moment stretched out, his hand still steady on your back as he guided you down the hall toward your quarters.

As you walked, you couldn’t shake the feeling of their eyes on you, the hunger of their stares still burning against the back of your skull. You didn’t even want to imagine what they were thinking, what they were planning.

When you finally reached your door, In-ho didn’t hesitate. He unlocked it, led you inside, and then closed the door behind him with a soft click.

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside seemed miles away, but the memories of those men—of the laughter, the jeers, the way they saw you as nothing more than a game—were still there, lingering in the air.

In-ho didn’t speak immediately. He simply removed his mask, the last barrier between him and you. The moment it came off, it felt like a weight had been lifted from the room. For the first time, you saw him fully—no cold eyes, no emotionless expression, just In-ho. The man who had just stood between you and those monsters.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was hidden beneath the mask: the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He didn’t need to say a word. You knew how heavy the situation had been for him too.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than you expected. But there was relief in it, an assurance that he wasn’t going to let you go.

The words didn’t make you feel safe, not really. Not in this world. Not when you knew what was still waiting out there. But they did something else. They reminded you that, even if your father didn’t lift a finger, even if you were alone in the chaos, you had In-ho. He was here. And that, for now, was enough.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t. Everything felt too much—too raw, too new. The feeling of being watched, of being cornered, was still fresh, still eating away at you. But you could feel In-ho there, steady and unshaken, even when you couldn’t be.

And then, without thinking, you stepped closer, your hand finding his. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t some romantic act—it was just a way to ground yourself. His grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to exhale.

But the night wasn’t over. The game was far from finished.

———————

Chapter 12! Updates might be coming slower as I’m back in school but we’ll see.. lemme know what you think! Thank you! :)

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[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Dean’s POV)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

The OG story is here; it’s the same story, just from Dean’s perspective with a scene of his added in

Things were different now. Dean knew it, but he wasn’t willing to face it.

Ever since Sam had died in his arms, Dean couldn’t look at the world the same way. It was bigger, it was darker, it was scarier—and he was no longer certain he could protect his siblings.

He couldn’t let his nerves affect his relationship with Sam; Sam would call him out on it in a second. But he couldn’t help his sudden overprotectiveness of you.

He didn’t think you’d notice the little things, like bringing you with him any time he left, or going with you any time you left, or generally doing whatever he could to stay as close to you as possible.

“What’s with the shadowing? You’re like a magnet,” was the first thing you said about Dean’s behavior, but he brushed it off with a halfhearted quip about keeping you out of trouble.

He knew he was pushing it when he ignored the usual sleeping arrangements and shared a bed with you, despite it being Sam’s turn, but he couldn’t help it. He found he couldn’t sleep without the sound of your breathing right there, without knowing he could protect you if anything came after you.

But he really took it too far at the store.

He hadn’t meant to freak out on you and run around the store like an idiot the minute he couldn’t see you, but losing sight of you had scared him more than he’d ever admit. He’d turned his back for just a second to grab some pie, and you’d disappeared. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he ran down the aisles searching for you, and even when he found you it didn’t calm down—not until after he knew you were safe.

“Where were you?” He snapped, checking you over carefully; you were, of course, fine.

“I…went to find the bread.” Your face was scrunched up in that concerned look that Dean hated so much.

“You can’t just wander off!” Dean took your shoulders in his hands and shook you, as if to knock some sense into you. “I didn’t know where you were! You can’t do that, understand?”

“Dean—“ you didn’t understand, but Dean needed you to agree.

“Understand?”

“I understand!”

Dean forced himself to let go of you, telling himself that this was nuts, that he was nuts, that you were safe and he needed to stop acting crazy.

“Ok,” Dean breathed, willing himself to calm down. He grabbed the bread from your hands and tossed it in his basket.

“Dean—“

Dean refused to let you start lecturing, or worrying about him.

“Come on, we should go.”

He was glad you didn’t argue as you let him lead you out of the store.

…

It was the first hunt after Sam died. Sam seemed ready for it, but Dean wasn’t. Not just because he didn’t want to take his little brother into danger again, but also because he hated leaving you behind. Anything could happen to you while you were alone in the motel room, and Dean wouldn’t be able to do anything.

You caught Dean staring, and he quickly looked away—he couldn’t meet your eye, you’d read him too easily.

Sam packed his bag of weapons all too quickly, beating Dean out the door. Dean stayed in the doorway, still unwilling to leave you here alone.

“Don’t open the door for anyone,” he said to you. “And just…” what was he supposed to say? He’d done this a hundred times before, so why was it so hard now? “Be safe.”

…

All the breath in Dean’s body left him the moment he laid eyes on the shifter.

It can’t be…

“Y/N?” Dean’s grip on his knife faltered, and for a moment he was frozen.

“Dean, it’s the shifter!” Sam’s voice from behind him spurred Dean into action, but too late. You—no, the shifter—were running at Sam, and Dean had a split-second decision to make.

“No!” Dean jumped in front of his little brother, driving his knife into the shifter’s chest.

It’s a shifter, just a shifter…

That may have been true, but that didn’t change the fact that it was your body that shuttered in pain, your voice that cried out, and your eyes that fogged over and began to shut.

“No no no no…” Dean groaned, dropping to his knees as your body gave out. Dean held your form in his arms, and all he could do was watch as your blood pooled in his hands and your breathing slowed to a crawl.

“De…” Sam’s hand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not her.”

It’s not her. You know it’s not her.

But knowing it didn’t change anything. Dean still couldn’t find it in himself to abandon the dying creature in his arms that looked up at him with your eyes. He couldn’t help the fear that gripped his heart as he watched those eyes close, and stay closed. He watched your body give one last, shuddering breath, and then stay eerily still.

“Dean.” Sam shook Dean’s shoulder. “Dean c’mon. It’s not her.”

That reminder shook something loose in Dean’s head.

“It saw her.” Dean gulped. “If-if it looked like her, it had to have seen her. What if it—“

“We just saw her, she’s fine,” Sam assured him, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He laid your body down gently on the ground before jumping to his feet.

“We need to get to her.” Dean left no room for argument as he rushed for the Impala, trying to ignore the blood soaking his hands and the memory of your life draining out in his arms.

…

Dean broke every speed limit getting back to the motel, and when he reached the room he slammed the door open so hard he was sure it would dent the wall. But he didn’t care.

You had jumped up when the door opened, and now you were standing in the middle of the room—safe. Dean went straight for you, ignoring whatever question you were asking him as he pulled you into his arms and held onto you like a lifeline. The hug wasn’t enough—he felt like he needed to hide you from the world. Dean lifted you into his arms, sitting down on his bed and cradling you against him like he used to do when you were little. He started to rock back and forth, focusing on nothing but your heart beating against him.

Sam was trying to talk to him, but Dean didn’t hear anything until Sam started talking about the shifter.

“Somehow, it must’ve seen you, because it…it looked like…Dean had to—“

The image of your dead body flashed in Dean’s mind, and he tightened his hold on you, resting his chin on your head and lifting his hand to the back of your neck.

He barely heard you assuring Sam that you were ok, that nothing had happened, and soon enough Sam left to shower.

“Dean?” Your voice sounded strained; worried.

“Just don’t go away,” Dean whispered. You couldn’t leave him—he couldn’t take it.

“Dean, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, I’m ok.”

Your words didn’t seem to get through Dean’s fogged mind; not when he still had your blood on his hands.

“I stabbed you through the heart. You—you died in my arms.” Dean tried to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. You weren’t dead, you weren’t—it was just a shifter, and you were reminding Dean of that just now, though he was barely listening.

“You can’t go away. You can’t do that to me, understand?” Dean pulled you even closer—it was like he couldn’t get you close enough, or safe enough. “I-I can’t lose you the way I lost Sammy. I can’t watch you die, I won’t.”

“That’s what all this was about?” Dean knew you were finally piecing together all his clingy behavior, but when he felt you trying to escape his hold he tensed.

“Don’t go,” he begged. He couldn’t lose you tonight, not again.

“Ok, ok I’m right here, I’m staying. But…but is that why you won’t let me go anywhere alone? You think I’ll…I’ll die like Sammy?”

Dean’s heart caught in his throat. Why did you have to see right through him?

“No, you won’t,” he promised. “Because I won’t let you.”

“Dean, you can’t…you can’t be around me all the time. It’s too much, it’s not healthy.”

Dean’s mind was working overtime. What would he do if you tried to get more space from him? If you didn’t let him protect you? He’d go crazy if he couldn’t protect you.

“You can’t leave. You can’t.” You can’t die like Sammy.

“Dean.” You were moving around now, trying to escape Dean’s grip.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Why were you so determined to not let him help? He felt like if he let you go now, he’d lose you forever.

“Please, don’t go, please.”

You can’t leave me, you can’t leave me…

“Dean, we can’t live like this. You’re gonna make yourself sick with worry, and I’m gonna go nuts if you don’t give me some space.”

Dean swallowed, trying to let your words sink in. You were right, he knew it, he’d known it ever since he started to feel this way, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Dean?” You prodded. “Are you hearing me?”

He knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t do it; not tonight.

“Yeah. Ok, I hear you, and I’ll try to do better, but…but can I have tonight?”

“What?”

“Just…” Dean took a deep breath, trying to force his thoughts into words. “Just let me do this tonight, ok? I saw you did, and I-I can’t…”

“Ok.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he felt you finally relax into him. He twisted around, laying down so the two of you could get some sleep, but never releasing his hold.

He knew he would have to back off—it was what was right for the both of you.

But for tonight, he couldn’t bear to do anything but listen to your steady heartbeat and feel you breathing in his arms. He needed to know you were safe, and there wasn’t a safer place he could think of than right here in his arms.

Taglist:

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[juniperskye]

You’re Not Alone In This.

Based on the following ask: @itzvenus04 Hotch is my comfort character, maybe it’s because he takes care of others and I like that especially when I take care of people all the time, I’m like Cinderella in my house like no joke, if I don’t do it, nobody will ever do it. Anyway, I was wondering if you could do like an Aaron x Diabetic reader fic, as I have diabetes and it’s extremely difficult and exhausting and love to maybe see that with a comfort character of mine. Like Aaron does anything and everything he can to understand the reader and the illness, like when the reader sugar is high or maybe low, taking care of doctor’s appointments, medication drop off, just putting effort in I just want to read something that could comfort me in that way because it’s exhausting being a diabetic and having no one bother to care about it or put effort in, I’m alone essentially - I really hope you like this babe! I did my best!

Aaron Hotchner x Diabetic! Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 1709

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, reader has type 1 diabetes, mention of doctors and appointments, mention of medication/insulin management, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description – other than being a diabetic and having an insulin pump (worn tucked into their waistband or pocket) and an administration site located on their leg (there is mention of a site failure and relocation) as well as a sensor worn on the arm, reader is mentioned to work as well as being active in college courses (not full time), Hotch cares a lot, use of pet names, I think that’s everything – let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were the type of person who couldn’t bear the thought of burdening others. As exhausting as it was, constantly doing things on your own and taking care of others, you did so without complaint because things needed to get done. It would be much easier to just do them as opposed to putting it on someone else, or worse, adding weight to their shoulders.

This growing sense of solitude grew when you began dating Aaron. It wasn’t that he made you feel alone, actually it was quite the opposite! Aaron was always reassuring you that he was by your side through it all, especially as your relationship progressed. But as things intensified, you couldn’t help but notice the sag in his shoulders, bags under his eyes, and the air of weariness he exuded. Aaron had an extremely difficult job, one that had taken far too much from him, so who were you to make his life any more difficult than it already was.

You did everything in your power to hide things from Aaron – just to keep from filling his plate with anymore worry. You would suffer in silence through the highs and lows of your mental health, the business from working full time and taking classes at the local college…and even more so, your physical health.

You had kept the fact that you had type one diabetes a secret from Aaron…not because you were embarrassed or because you didn’t trust him, it was simply because you knew he’d make it his mission to ensure that you were taken care of, ahead of everything else.

But that was the problem with dating a profiler. Aaron could see through the façade that were your replies of “things are good!” “I’m great.” “Classes are going well.” “I feel fine, just a little tired.” Aaron knew that there was something deeper, looming under the surface, something you weren’t telling him. So, two months into dating you’d had to come clean.

“Sweetheart, I know something is wrong. I just wish you’d tell me so I can help you.” He’d beg.

“Aaron everything is fine I pro-”

“Please don’t say everything is fine…honey, you were basically lethargic the other day when we facetimed, and I was so worried about you.”

“I’m diabetic Aaron. That’s what was wrong. My sugar was low. But everything is fine.” You explained.

After that, Aaron made sure to keep a closer eye on you. Not so much that you’d feel suffocated or like he was babying you, but enough that he could tell if your sugar was too high or too low. Once Aaron found out you had type one diabetes, he dove into late night research sessions on what all your condition entails, how to best manage your insulin, what an appropriate level looks like, how to calculate your carb intake so the proper amount of insulin is being administered as well as how to change your site and how to use the pump.

The change in his behavior was subtle…but noticeable. Aaron started keeping small snacks or juice with him in the case of a sugar low, he also started checking in on you more frequently. When you moved in, the changes became far more obvious, Aaron was doing so much around the house – always doing the dishes, taking the trash out with him on his way to work, doing laundry on the weekends, setting up deliveries for your groceries. It was overwhelming to have someone this attentive.

“Aaron, I can do this!” You giggled as his arms snuck around you, pulling the vacuum from your grasp.

“I know you can sweetheart, but you don’t have to. I will.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, encouraging you to go sit.

His overprotective nature didn’t surface until he witnessed a pretty intense low.

The morning had started off normal, you’d skipped out on breakfast, which wasn’t unusual. You’d completed an assignment for school and taken your dog on a walk when you started to feel off. It had been a little bit warm outside, but with the way you were sweating, you knew that wasn’t it.

You managed to get back home, but not without feeling lightheaded. You reached down to unclip the dog’s leash, and that’s when Aaron caught it, your hands were shaking, so much so that you were struggling to open the clasp.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I uh, I feel a little…” You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and with the other, steadied yourself on the entry table. “Can you – would you grab me some…some juice?”

“Yeah, honey why don’t you sit down.” Aaron quickly went to the kitchen and poured a glass of juice.

Aaron watched you insistently as you sipped the juice. He reached over to check your phone, to see if your numbers were starting to regulate. Taking note of the number beginning to rise, he sat next to you and rubbed soothing circles on your spine.

“Honey, did you eat breakfast this morning?” Aaron inquired.

“No, but I never eat breakfast Aar. When I do, my numbers usually end up to high and then I feel sick all day.” You huffed.

“Okay, we will figure it out. Maybe we should schedule an appointment with your doctor.” He suggested.

“It’s always been like this, it’s okay really.”

“I’ll schedule an appointment for you sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your temple.

Aaron was far more attentive with your illness, going with you to your doctor’s appointments, asking them how to avoid highs and lows, figuring out the best way to manage your insulin. He also began to monitor your medication, making sure you never ran out and that the pharmacy was processing your refills, when they got low.

This day was not going the way you had hoped. Things had been super overwhelming, you had finals coming up for your classes and work had been particularly busy, truthfully you were exhausted. You’d been nauseas all day, your numbers elevated, despite your best efforts to lower them.

You had taken a break from studying to change the laundry when you heard Aaron get home.

“Hey baby!” Aaron pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hi hon.” You mumbled.

Aaron knew you had been stressed out about school and work, you had put your finals dates on your shared calendar, and he figured that was taking its toll on you.

“Why don’t I make us some dinner? I can grill up some chicken?” He posed.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I can steam some broccoli to go with it.” You suggested.

“Perfect!” Aaron left you with a peck.

You’d finished up with the laundry and went to the kitchen, pulling out a water bottle from the fridge while you got started prepping the veggies.

Aaron glanced at you through the sliding door, he had noticed there were quite a few water bottles and cups scattered around the apartment, more than usual. He couldn’t help the bit of concern that crept in – you’d previously mentioned sugar highs sometimes came with unbearable thirst.

“Sweetheart, have you checked your number recently?” He asked.

“Yes, it’s been a little elevated today.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, a little nauseous but I’m fine.”

The two of you sat and ate dinner while talking about your days. You told Aaron about a new project at work and how you were more than ready for your finals to be over. He shared that he had consulted on a few cases today with some law enforcement from other states – hopefully they wouldn’t get called away this weekend.

After dinner you’d excused yourself to the restroom and Aaron cleared up the table, placing the leftovers in the fridge. He made his way to your shared bedroom and softly knocked on the bathroom door.

“Baby, is everything okay?”

“Aar, I’m fine.” You sighed.

“Would you let me in? Maybe I can help.” He offered.

“I don’t need help – Shit!” You hissed.

With that Aaron let himself in the bathroom, worried that you were hurt.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think there’s something wrong with my site.” You were fiddling with the site attached to your leg.

“Honey, why don’t we change it out, I can help.” Aaron moved to grab everything you’d need for your new site. “Is your sensor good still?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, go lay on the bed.” He commanded gently.

You went to lay on the bed, sliding your sweats off, carefully moving your pump to lay beside you on the bed. Aaron made his way over to you with the new injection set. He assisted you in removing the old one and placing the new one, taking note of the needle being bent slightly.

“Sweetheart, I think this is why you’ve been high all day. Your insulin wasn’t injecting properly.”

“Ugh. Stupid thing! Let’s just put in the new one so I can get this all sorted out.” You stressed.

You had tears in your eyes. Not from the pain of the needle entering your skin, or the sick feeling you’ve endured all day…but from the fact that you don’t get to have a normal day that’s carefree. Aaron has taken so much off your plate by being especially helpful with day-to-day things, but this feels like too much and you feel so alone in your illness.

“Alright honey, you’re all set.” Aaron began cleaning up all the trash from the new injection set.

“Thank you.”

“Hey sweetheart…” Aaron began. “I know that I will never be able to fully understand, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. I want to help you in anyway I can, whether it’s changing your site for you, doing the dishes after a long day, or even just to give you a hug.”

Your tears were falling freely at his confession. You had never felt so seen, so weightless, so supported. You let your head fall back and your shoulders finally relaxed.

 “I love you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me Aaron.” You wrapped your arms around his middle.

“I love you too sweet girl.” Aarons arms enveloped you as his lips connect with your forehead.

[xhazzz]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Bouquets & Barbecues

warnings: none, more of Jake being a sweetheart

summary: just Maverick being a little over protecting with his daughter and Jake being cute as always

a/n: ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LENGUAGE so feel free to correct me if there’s anything wrong :)

masterlist || request’s are open

For the end of summer and to take a break from work worries, Dad had organized a barbecue in our backyard, inviting everyone: the Dagger Squad, Penny and Amelia, and even Hondo and Cyclone. Everyone was supposed to bring snacks and drinks, while Dad took charge of the meat. But he seemed to have gotten a little carried away, buying enough to feed every football team on the coast.

“Dad, are you feeding the Daggers or the entire Arctic Circle?” I asked as I arrived in the backyard with the cooler.

“Have you seen how those guys eat?” Dad replied, firing up the grill. “Just Rooster and Hangman alone will eat half of this. Speaking of Hangman…”

“Dad,” I sighed, placing my hands on my hips, “I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m too old for this.”

“No matter how old you are, you’ll always be my little girl,” Dad said, walking over and kissing my forehead. “Seresin better never hurt you, or I’ll have six confirmed kills in the air.”

“I think he got the message after all the extra drills you’ve made him do on base.”

“After seeing him make out with my daughter on my front porch, can you blame me?” he added, shaking his head. “I still need to have a serious talk with him.”

“Stop, Dad,” I replied, covering my face with my hand in embarrassment.

He just laughed as I walked back into the house. Moments later, I heard the doorbell. The gang was starting to arrive.

“I’m here!” Rooster shouted, barging in like he owned the place, with Phoenix and Payback right behind him.

“Come on in, guys. Dad’s out back,” I said, giving Nat a quick hug and putting the drinks in the fridge. “He bought enough meat to last us all fall.”

“Your old man promised to host the best barbecue of the summer,” Payback said, accepting a beer Rooster handed him.

We all headed to the backyard, and it quickly started filling up. Everyone had arrived—except Jake. I was starting to feel nervous, knowing it was only a matter of time before Rooster and Dad started teasing me.

“Punctuality doesn’t seem to be his strong suit,” Dad commented, handing me a plate of sausages.

“Come on, Dad, it’s just a regular Saturday, not a base training session,” I replied, pretending not to care. Hangman better show up soon.

“You’re wrong, sweetheart. It’s not just any Saturday,” Dad said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside me. “It’s the first time I’ve invited everyone to eat at my house. And if I’m not mistaken, Hangman is dating his trainer’s daughter.”

“I told you he’s just another idiot,” Rooster chimed in, sitting on my other side and trapping me between the two pilots.

“You too?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“I’m just making sure no one breaks Baby Mav’s heart,” he replied in a baby voice, pinching my cheeks.

“Get off me,” I laughed, playfully pushing him away. Just then, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell.

I rushed to the door and found Jake on the other side, flashing his charming smile. He was wearing khaki shorts, a casual navy blue shirt, his signature aviator sunglasses, and his hair was slightly messier than usual—no gel today.

“Hey, you, Seresin,” I greeted him with a quick kiss. “You had me worried. I thought you weren’t coming, and I’d have to endure Dad and Rooster lecturing me all afternoon.”

“I’d never stand you up, darling,” he said, placing one hand on my waist and pulling me closer. I noticed his other hand was behind his back, and next to him was a small cooler, likely filled with beer. “I was just running late picking these up for you.”

From behind his back, he revealed a beautiful bouquet of gardenias and lilies in various shades.

“They’re gorgeous,” I said, taking them in my hands. “Thank you, honey. You didn’t have to.”

This time, he placed both hands on my hips, rubbing them affectionately, and pulled me into a tender yet passionate kiss. We were interrupted by a fake cough behind me.

“Watch those hands, Seresin,” Dad said, standing there with Rooster, both wearing their overprotective hawk stares.

“You’re late, Bagman,” Rooster added, stepping forward to grab the cooler from the ground.

“Damn, Chicken, you’re annoying even off duty,” Jake sighed, shaking his head and guiding me inside the house, his hand never leaving my waist while he used the other to close the door. As we walked through the kitchen, I quickly placed the flowers in a vase with fresh water.

“Thanks for the invite, Mav,” Jake said, smiling politely.

“All pilots are welcome here,” Dad replied with a nod toward the backyard, “but how you treat my daughter will determine how welcome you really are. Don’t forget who’s in charge.”

“You have my word, Mav. I only have the best intentions…” Jake started, but I quickly cut him off.

“Enough, both of you. This is so embarrassing,” I muttered, shaking my head at them. “Let’s just eat before the food gets cold.”

“Lead the way, my lady,” Jake said with a tight-lipped smile, walking behind me while Dad chuckled, crossing his arms.

[tuesdaykiss]

“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part - 20 | 21 | 22

masterlist

the evening after sarah’s fashion show was a blur of flashing lights, applause, and mingling with the industry’s elite. but as the night wound down and you returned to the hotel, the buzz online was impossible to ignore.

you sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room you were sharing with sarah, scrolling through your phone. article after article speculated about your connection with rafe, all because he was sarah cameron’s brother: “caught on camera: rafe and his new flame?”, “fashion show sparks new couple rumours” and “rafe cameron’s new mystery lady — who is she?”.

your stomach churned as you read the comments beneath the posts. some were kind, calling you beautiful or lucky, but others were so cruel… dissecting everything from your appearance to your worthiness to being with ‘the internet’s boyfriend’, rafe cameron.

“stop reading that, y/n,” sarah said gently from across the room. she was perched in front of the mirror, wiping away her makeup after kicking her heels off at the door.

“i can’t help it,” you muttered, locking your phone and holding it clutched in your hand tightly, “it’s everywhere.”

sarah turned to look at you, her expression softening, “that’s just how the internet is these days, they hyper fixate in a person and everyone they come close to.”

you sighed, dropping your phone onto the bed as you sighed, “i didn’t think it would be like this. i didn’t even think about what people would say — i mean he’s not exactly famous!”

sarah got up and crossed the room, sitting beside you on the bed. “hey,” she said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “it’s a lot, i know… trust me, i went through this with john b. but you’re strong. and if this is what you want, if he’s what you want, you can handle it.”

you hesitated, your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve, “ i do want him,” you admitted. “but it’s scary — what if this is all too much?”

sarah smiled softly, brushing your hair out of your face, “then you take it one step at a time, together. and tonight? i think you should stay with him.”

“what?” you blinked, take aback.

“go to rafe’s room,” sarah said, her voice firm but kind, “you’ve had a crazy day, and i know he’s dying to see you, again. plus, i can tell you’re overthinking. being with him will help, and then tomorrow we can go back to outerbanks and forget.”

“are you sure?” your voice was uncertain.

“absolutely,” sarah said with a grin, “and don’t worry about me. i’m ordering room service and then i’ll facetime john b and tell him all about today… go!”

her encouragement gave you the push you needed. you quickly changed into something more comfortable, grabbed your things, and headed down the hall to rafe’s room.

the knock on rafe’s hotel room door felt heavier than it should have, your hand lingering on the wood a moment too long before you finally knocked. the weight of the day — and the worries that were swirling your mind following the fashion show — made you feel like you could potentially crumble at any moment.

the door opened almost immediately, revealing rafe in sweatpants — his chest on full display. his hair was messy, his face soft with concern as he took in your figure.

“hey,” he said gently, stepping aside and inviting you in.

“hey,” you murmured back, slipping into his room.

the place was dimly lit, cozy, and the scent of his cologne lingered faintly in the air, you set your things on a nearby chair and turned to face him.

“i’m sorry to just… show up,” your voice trembling as you spoke, “it’s just — everything today… i don’t know if i can do this, rafe.”

he took a step closer, his expression softening, “do what?”

“all of it,” you began to ramble, gesturing vaguely, “the articles, the comments, the way people are looking at me now — like i’m just some accessory to you, i’m not my own person. and then there’s topper. he doesn’t even know yet and i just — i can’t help but worry about how he’ll react.”

rafe’s brows knitted with concern, “you don’t have to be sorry,” he said softly. “come here.”

before you could protest, his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on the top of you head, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.

“i know it feels like that right now,” he spoke up again, his thumbs brushing over you knuckles, “but you’re not alone in this. you’ve got me and i’m not going anywhere.”

you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “i’ve always been the kind of person who doesn’t need help,” your admitted, “not from my family, not from my friends. but with you… i don’t know, it’s different. i kind of… like having you here.”

he smiled softly, his lips quirking up at the corners. “kind of?” he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

“don’t make me regret saying it,” you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“i wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice warm.

you sighed, your smile fading slightly… the moment only short-lived. “but i keep thinking… what the hell am i doing? what are we doing? this whole thing is getting so messy… and i don’t even know where it’s going.”

“we don’t have to have it all figured out,” he said, his presence suddenly feeling quite grounding, “we just have to know what we want right now. and for me? that’s you.”

you smiled at him, allowing yourself to fall into his bed, as he settled the blanket over you, “you make it sound so simple.”

“maybe it is,” he reassured, his voice full of certainty, as he joined you in the bed.

your toes brushed against his as you shifted slightly to move closer to him; the small, accidental gesture caused you to pause. he noticed it too, a smile tugging at his lips as he nudged your foot with him.

“you’re stuck with me now,” he laughed.

you couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest despite your lingering worries, “i think i’m okay with that.”

as you lay beside him, your head on his chest and his arm around you, the chaos of the day felt a little farther away. his foot remained brushing against yours under the blanket, the small, tender action reminding you of how close he was, even in the quietest moments.

“good, because i’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair, “and when we tell topper — or anyone else — we’ll do it together. whatever comes next, we’ll face it… together. one step at a time.”

you closed your eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest lull you into calm. “one step at a time,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

the weight of the day hadn’t disappeared, but in this moment, it felt a little easier to carry.

a/n: given the severe lack of social media in this chapter, i ended it with some visuals!

back to obx in the next chapter woohoo

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @yesshewrites1 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @fruitcakerafe @littlefreak-liz @wdwbts101 @akobx @lossfairy @marleymarleymarleymarley @jjmaybankmylovee @mbella607 @scream4mami @mrsdrewstarkeyy @honeyluvsatj

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[gingiesworld]

I Know I’m Not Your Everything (Drabble)

Natasha Romanoff X GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst

18+ MINORS DNI

At the beginning, both Y/N and Natasha were in love, well so it seemed. As Y/N’s feelings grew, their doubts grew silently within. Over the years of them being together, dates became very few, hardly any time spent together. Y/N could feel Natasha pulling away, further and further away as time went on. Although the two had extremely demanding roles within the Avengers, Y/N still made time and effort to try and make their relationship work, with every beat of their heart, it ached, it pained them to realise what was truly happening. So they decided one day, after they returned from a mission, to talk to Natasha.

“Hey.” Nat smiled slightly as Y/N entered their bedroom. “I didn’t know you were coming home today.”

“Yeah, well we completed the mission.” They told her, no emotion within their voice.

“Are you okay?” She questioned, sitting up on the bed.

“I honestly don’t know.” They chuckled as they moved towards the closet, getting themselves some clothes for a shower.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She questioned as Y/N sighed, taking a deep breath before placing their clean clothes on the bed neatly.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.” They started as they remained on their feet, their heart beat racing in their chest. “About us.”

“What about us?” Nat questioned.

“You know that you’re my everything.” They told her barely above a whisper. “And it’s got me thinking over the past couple of years, it’s only me who’s making an effort, I’m always the one organising our dates, asking you on a date. But I.” They rubbed their brow nervously. “I can see more than just that, the lack of dates. There’s so much more, we barely talk to each other unless I start the conversation, but the few moments when you start the conversation, it feels like you get bored before it’s already begun.” Nat listened to their every word before trying to find the words.

“I.” She started before Y/N shook their head.

“I’m not stupid Natasha.” They told her. “I can feel it, I can feel you pulling away. You tell me that you love me, that you’ll always need me, but it’s like you’re just saying that to save face.”

“I do love you.” Nat spoke up, her voice low.

“You say that you love me, but you don’t.” Y/N’s shoulders slumped as they spoke. “Not really, not like I love you. I would do anything for you, whenever you needed me to, and you know that. You know exactly how I feel, and you know I fell hard when I fell for you. I did, you are my everything. The one person who I thought would always be here for me, despite everyone else always leaving me, I thought that you wouldn’t be like them.”

“I’m not like them, I’m still here.” She tried as she got to her feet.

“You’re not really.” Y/N yelled, running their hands down their face. “When was the last time we both had a deep conversation? Not about work or any of the others, something that we only feel comfortable with telling each other.” Nat tried to find the answer, her mind running in circles as Y/N soon broke her thoughts. “You’re my everything, you have been since the moment I was sure about my feelings.” They told her, tears welling up in their own eyes at the thought of their next words, soon taking a shaky breath before continuing. “But, I know I’m not your everything.”

“Y/N.” She tried as she watched them grab their clothes from the bed. “I.” Y/N remained in their spot, waiting for her to speak.

“It’s okay.” They told her, looking in her eyes. “I just, I thought you were the one for me.” They chuckled dryly. “No, I know you are the one for me, but I know I’m not the one for you.” With that they left the room, their clothes in hand as they headed towards their old room, leaving Natasha stood frozen, lost in her thoughts at what had just happened.

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[delilahsturniolo]

𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓’𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 — 𝒄.𝒔 ᥫ᭡⋆˚࿔

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 . . . 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 💌

in which . . . y/n and chris attend boston university, the both of you are always competing and bickering with each other academically. one day, chris suddenly asks you to help him make his ex jealous. the only problem is, you can’t stand each other. what happens when chris can no longer keep his true feelings about you a secret?

warnings . . . academic rivals, fake dating, enemies to lovers. mentions of alcohol & weed, cursing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

one, two

you gently dabbed your makeup brush against your cheek, blending in your blush. when you finished, you popped open your tube of strawberry frosting flavored lipgloss and spread it across your lips, smacking them afterward. you were currently getting ready for a party that chris insisted you went to with him, he mentioned that victoria was going to be there. nick and matt were also accompanying you both, since mary lou told them they needed to get out of the house, especially matt.

your phone buzzed with an incoming text message, you picked up your phone, seeing a text from matt saying that the three of them were outside and waiting. you shoved a few things into your purse before going downstairs, saying bye to your parents and opening the front door. you saw the triplets’s car in your driveway. chris was driving, while matt and nick sat in the back seats together, purposefully leaving the passenger seat empty for you to sit in. great, just great.

you walked over to the car, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. “are you two serious?” you whined, looking at the two brothers in the backseat, trying to stifle their laughter of success in their plan. “cmon, buckle up. we don’t have all night.” chris scolded you, causing you to shoot him a dirty glare and buckle your seatbelt.

chris backed out of the driveway, and began driving over to the house that the party was being held at. you weren’t really the type to party, you’d honestly prefer to be at home and in your bed more than anything. but, a deal was a deal. around 15 minutes later, the four of you arrived. chris parked the car before you all got out.

“alright, we meet back here by 11. don’t do drugs, make good choices, y’know the deal.” chris explained to his brothers, matt nodded and started heading into the house, nick clinging onto him like a lost puppy. chris turned his head to look at you. “y’ready?” he asked, you took a deep breath. “yup.” you confirmed, chris gave you an unexpected reassuring smile before he started walking into the house, you followed behind him, staying by his side the entire time. you didn’t know anyone at this party, after all. it was mostly popular kids, that you didn’t associate yourself with.

neon lights flashed throughout the house, loud voices were shouting over the music that was being blasted. the smell of alcohol and weed filled the air, which was unpleasant. the place was absolutely packed, you had no idea where nick and matt had disappeared to. chris suddenly wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him so he wouldn’t lose you through the crowd. his touch sent shivers down your spine, but it felt…comforting?

“yo! sturniolo!” a random guy in sunglasses shouted, whom you assumed to be chris’s friend. chris waved and walked over, keeping you attached to his side. you stayed quiet, standing by chris’s side as he chatted with his friends. you didn’t want to seem like a loner, so you just followed chris the entire time. it might’ve been lame, but you weren’t as popular as chris was.

you sighed in annoyance, you didn’t want to be here at all. you felt so—out of place. you tapped chris’s shoulder, he turned his head to look at you. “i’m gonna get a drink!” you shouted, your voice muffled over the noise. chris nodded, barely even acknowledging you. you huffed and walked away, going over to the drink table. you grabbed a plastic red cup, placing it under the pitcher of cranberry juice and filling your cup.

you took a sip of your juice before beginning to walk back to where chris was. but, you didn’t get far. you grunted as someone bumped into you, making your drink splash all over your clothes. you gasped, the red liquid seeping through your clothes. you lifted your head to see who bumped into you.

victoria. of course.

she gave you a fake smile. “oops.” victoria grinned. your eyes widened at her, a few people stopped their conversations and stared at you. to say this was embarrassing was an understatement. your eyes darted to chris who stood in the corner, staring at you and victoria in shock.

you glanced at victoria with anger one last time before storming off, you scoffed as her high pitched giggle made your ears bleed. you made your way through the crowd, breathing in and out heavily in panic. your clothes were a mess, this whole night was a mess, all you wanted to do was cry. you went up the stairs of the house, the music of the party was now muffled as you went into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

you were so embarrassed, more than embarrassed. you couldn’t believe it, why would victoria do that to you? you thought for a moment, you usually never really had a problem with victoria, you knew she despised you, but she had never really done anything to act on it. you honestly felt a bit better about the situation, the goal was to make her jealous after all. the plan was to make her jealous so chris could get her back. but, the thought of that made you feel uneasy.

a firm fist knocked on the bathroom door, making you jump. “it’s occupied!” you shouted, your voice shaking more than you intended. “y/n? it’s chris, can you open the door f’me?” chris spoke to you on the other side of the door. his voice sounded, caring..?

you slowly opened the door, chris held a plastic bag in his hands, slowly extending his arm out to hand it to you. “i uh—i brought you a change of clothes…they’re mine so, they might be a bit big.” chris explained to you. you smiled at his kind gesture, taking the bag of clothes. “thank you, chris.” you replied in a sincere tone, you could tell he felt horrible about what happened.

“yeah, i’ll be downstairs when you’re done okay? i’ll find matt and nick so we can leave.” chris gave you a smile of reassurance for the first time in your life, he walked off and you shut the door again. why was he being so…nice? you could’ve sworn he didn’t care about you one bit.

you opened the plastic bag, seeing a matching fresh love hoodie and sweatpants. you took off your cranberry juice soaked clothes, putting them into the plastic bag and changing into the new set of clothes. the hoodie fit fine, but the sweatpants were absolutely huge, even tying the drawstrings didn’t help. fuck.

you held the waist of the sweatpants up as you opened the door, practically running downstairs where the party was, trying to find chris. you found matt, nick, and chris standing in a corner of the party, talking to a few people, chris turned his head to look at you. “you good?” he spoke loudly over the music.

“it’s loose.” you told him, he snickered slightly, making you roll your eyes. chris grabbed your waistband, holding it up. “y/n’s pants are falling down, we gotta go.” chris joked as he told nick and matt. the triplets said goodbye to everyone, chris held onto your loose waistband to prevent your pants from falling down as he lead you out of the party and back to the car, to save you from having another moment of embarrassment.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.