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after-witch · 5 days ago

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The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x reader]

Synopsis: Shigaraki Tomura finds something at Overhaul’s base that’s worth taking.

Word count: 7000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon sex, abuse

It’s not that Tomura Shigaraki thought the base of the once-great–he tucks the once into his molars, savoring it–Shie Hassaikai would be teeming with life. It’s that he thought some of them might have the balls to stick around and fight for the remnants of their organization.

But they must have been paying real-fucking-close attention, because there wasn’t a trace of a living person left in the entire facility. Which was a shame–while killing some stupid underlings wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as destroying the hands of a fear-stricken Overhaul, it would still be a little fun.

Well. At least the rest of the League seemed to be having a decent time sifting through the hallways, the abandoned rooms. Finding things to take home or mock or both.

The sights of overturned chairs and abandoned posts both sickened and thrilled him. Sickened because, really, what unloyal douchebags. Thrilled because it meant they were afraid–afraid of the League. Afraid of him.

They should be. It was only a matter of time before everyone else was, too.

Most of the rooms are what they expected, minus any signs of existing life. There’s even some kind of hospital lab–what did that creepy asshole do in there, he wonders–amidst the various bunkers, a kitchen, odds and ends.

Still, there’s one room Shigaraki wants to find–wants to sift through himself, in case there’s anything worthwhile. More money would be nice. More vials, more secrets. More, simply put.

“Think I found it.” Dabi stares at a door that’s so irritatingly obviously the door that Shigaraki doesn’t hesitate to shove his palm against it, watching it crumble into dust with something a bit like satisfaction.

Unlike the other doors, plain grey things, this door was a sleek black metal. Probably with some fancy lock system that didn’t matter anymore.

And unlike the other rooms with their scattered papers and overturned chairs, with signs of messy life and abandonment, this room is really fucking perfect. Prim. Proper. Utterly disgusting, really, and Shigaraki is the first one to step in and sweep his hand across a side table lined with perfectly spaced vases and send them crashing to the floor.

Lovely.

“Don’t take anything yet,” he says, glancing at the others. “But tell me if you find something worthwhile.”

There’s murmurs of agreement that mingle with a general sense of curiosity. He soaks in the feeling in the air–the triumph. The thrill of victory thrumming through everyone’s chests, no doubt, the same way it’s making his whole body tingle.

Overhaul’s room is just as annoying as he is; it’s entirely expected. Immaculate. Through an open doorway, he can see a bedroom with perfectly pressed black sheets. No doubt in the closet were equally perfectly pressed clothing sets. Fucker probably had perfectly shined shoes, too.

It’s all too satisfying to plop down in Overhaul’s chair and stick his boots, dirt and mud and blood flecking off the soles, onto the meticulously organized desk. There’s probably something important on there, but Shigaraki doesn’t mind if it’s got dirt (or a boot print) on it for later.

“What’s this door for, do you think?” Toga pokes–literally–at a closed door on the side of the room.

In the beats of silence after her question, Shigaraki hears it–they all hear it: sound. From behind the door. Shuffling and scuttling. Footsteps–

Someone’s still here.

There’s a curling little thrill inside his stomach as he stands and makes his way to the door. Toga is mid-way asking about looking for the key inside Overhaul’s desk when Shigaraki places his palm on the wood and disintegrates it with his hands.

He expected an underling’s office. Maybe a second-in-command that had yet to show his face, stationed in some side office next to Overhaul. Probably someone just as organized, by choice or by command.

He doesn’t expect a bedroom. Not just a bedroom, actually, but one that is so clearly not Overhaul’s living space that it’s a bit disorienting. Sure, it’s got that same sort of annoying tidiness as Overhaul’s office and the glimpse of his bedroom.

But it’s… prettier. Softer. Touches here and there, that place it distinctly away from Overhaul himself. A soft pink comforter with matching pillows. Watercolor paintings taped to the wall. A bookshelf with spines that he vaguely recognizes–some light novels and mangas, fantasies, romances, all pinks and pastels.

And in the center of the room, a table with some scattered papers, an overturned chair…

Like someone had heard they were coming and bolted.

There’s only one place for someone to go, and that’s the only other door remaining in the room. He gestures for the rest of the League to stand by as he watches the door turn to ash.

Behind the door is a bathroom, immaculately cleaned, with a toilet room and then beyond it, a room with a tub–and inside that tub, no doubt bleach-cleaned like mad, is you.

Cowering, of course. Wearing a pretty white dress with pink flowers embroidered all over it–you’re all flounces and frills. Even from the doorway, he can see you trembling, can see your eyes all wide, pupils blown in fear.

Staring at him like a victim, like a doe. Like some pretty little thing in way over your head.

And you are, aren’t you? You’re like some fish all flopped out of the water, gasping for breath on the sand.

It’s irritating, really.

“Who are you?” He asks, none too nicely.

He sees your lips press together, and thinks, all instinct: haughty bitch.

But then he reconsiders. The pieces are put together link by link. A pretty little thing kept in a room adjacent to Overhaul’s private office, wearing nice clothes, given nice things…

“You’re Overhaul’s squeeze?”

You furrow your eyebrows, like you’re thinking way too hard. He might add “stupid” to his list of descriptors–doe, sweet, scared. Stupid.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Oh, you are sweet. You’ve got a soft, trembling voice to match your shaking form.

“His girlfriend,” Dabi drawls from behind them. The rest of the League is watching, craning their necks, eager (or indifferent) to see where this goes.

“No,” you say, then seemingly correct yourself. “Y-Yes. I… we’re…” Everything seems to confuse you, and you pull your arms tight across your chest. “Where… is he?”

Shigaraki doesn’t hide his grin. “Oh, he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

And then, odd thing you apparently are, you take a breath in. Almost in relief, he thinks. You stand up and take an unsteady step out of the tub–he finds that he likes that. Likes the way you try to straighten up a little, despite being unable to look him in the eye.

“When is he coming back?” You keep looking to the side, and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “Did he send you?”

Shigaraki’s lips twitches. “You ask too many questions.”

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, then. And he finds he likes that, too. Likes the way you look like some sort of bizarre doll in this bunker of Overhaul’s, some little treat he left behind.

And left behind you were–because there’s no way in hell Overhaul will be able to get you out of here himself.

“He won’t be coming back,” Shigaraki says, easily enough. “Ever.”

And oh, you finally look right at him and what is this? Something that looks like joy in your eyes.

Shit, maybe you aren’t as annoying as you seem.

“Then I…” You swallow, and there’s a crack of a smile on your lips. “I can go home now?”

Go home? Ah. Another piece clicks together. Not a girlfriend, then. A toy; a kidnapped one, anyway. Overhaul wouldn’t be the first creep to resort to kidnapping to get a partner.

“He kidnapped you?” There’s no pity in his tone, and he hopes you aren’t looking for it, because you won’t find it with him. He just wants the confirmation.

You nod, looking down at the floor again. “Yes. Um. And he… I’ve been kept here a while, so…”

While your words drift away, his mind drifts, thinking of the souvenirs from this bunker that the League’s got stuffed in their bags. Remnants of Overhaul’s reign. He ought to take something besides that fucker’s hands.

And aren’t you the perfect trophy? Some doll that Overhaul wanted and took, kept here in this stuffy bunker. You probably haven’t even seen sunlight in ages. All pretty and soft and maybe stupid, by choice or force.

Why not? He’s earned it. He has a right to anything that shitbag left behind.

Even you–especially you, with your trembling hands and flouncy dress. He thinks about the watercolors on the walls and wonders what happened if you got paint on this dress, or any other; Overhaul probably kept you in the same types of frilly things day after day.

He might, too. Or not. He doesn’t even know what he wants with you, really. He might have fun with you, might just let you go, might just keep you until you’re boring. It doesn’t matter. There’s no sense in plotting so far ahead when the real thrill is in the act of taking what he wants. And right now, in this moment, he finds that he wants you.

It’s Shigaraki’s turn to crack a smile, but there’s not much joy to be found in it.

“How would you like to live somewhere else?”

It is, of course, a rhetorical question.

–

What happened in between? You can’t be too sure; the memories are all blurs and fogs, snatches of conversation–a girl complimenting your dress and someone asking if you had any injuries, if he hurt you–and overwhelming noise.

It was easy to forget how quiet your life had been, when confronted with the outside world.

Maybe that’s why it’s all fuzzy. Your mind or your body or both went into some sort of shock, maybe, in between the bathroom to the truck to the–wherever this is. Not a bunker, exactly, like where Overhaul kept you.

It’s a bedroom, that seems obvious enough. A messy one. The man–Shigaraki Tomura, he’d told you–dumped you in here and said simply, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before leaving. The door is surely locked, though you don’t have the nerve to try it. Where would you go, if you were brave enough to run?

It would be stupid, besides, and he told you not to do anything stupid. You’re good at following orders. Well, now you are; it took training. Will this Shigaraki Tomura want to train you? What is he going to do with you, after all?

The question makes you cringe.

“What am I to do with you?” Overhaul–Kai, he insisted–would ask you, when you did something wrong. The question always carried with it the thread of being remade. Literally. The threat of his hands on you and being blown to bits and put together the way he wanted. So you answered his questions by remaking yourself from the inside out; it was gentler, that way.

Overhaul–Kai?--was… gone. Dead, maybe? They didn’t say. Shigaraki told you that he wouldn’t be coming back for you. Someone else in the truck had quipped–”He’s got his hands full”--which made one person snicker, then everyone else laugh. You didn’t know why it was funny, and you didn’t want to know.

Maybe you’ll be bait. Or ransom. Or maybe he wants you to…

On this messy, unfamiliar bed, your fingers begin to pull at the dingy, faded comforter. The threads come out with a bit of work from your fingernails, and it’s satisfying, to yank on them, as you contemplate.

Maybe he wants you to…

You know what villains might do to people they kidnap. You’ve read your romance novels. Though Overhaul took some of them away once he’d realized what they were about. Still. The thought of that is–scary, sending tingles down your back.

Overhaul never touched you like that. Sure, he looked at you sometimes. When you were asleep but when you were awake, too. Told you to stand still and ghosted his fingers just above your nightgown, until he’d pull himself away and scrub his hands raw in the bathroom.

You don’t suppose this Shigaraki Tomura will be squeamish.

As if on cue, the door swings open, and your sort-of-rescuer-but-maybe-also-kidnapper tosses a pre-warmed bowl of noodles on the bed. They bounce against the plastic wrap, and you can see the artificial color sticking to the condensation against the plastic. A pair of chopsticks lands next to the bowl.

“Dinner,” he says, before plopping down on an upholstered chair shoved into the corner of the room. He tears the plastic off his own bowl, and begins to eat unceremoniously.

You scooch back on the mattress, your clean, full skirt feeling dingier by the minute on the mattress. That was dinner? The meals that Overhaul made you come to mind–not just the meals, but the dinner itself.

Dinner was meant to be at 7pm sharp. At your table, which you’d cleaned and cleared. Dinner was meticulously thought out, he told you, each element designed to give you the best nutrition possible. Protein, fat, fiber, carbs; vegetables, lean meat, rice. Sometimes a bit of chopped sweet potato as a treat.

This–this was certainly not appropriate. And to eat it, where exactly? On the mattress? Something tingles in your chest, imagining all the germs seeping into the plastic, settling onto the noodles.

The noodles themselves were a problem, though.

You clear your throat. Shigaraki doesn’t notice. You clear it louder, and he sighs.

“What?”

You poke a finger at the bowl.

“I’m not allowed to eat that.”

As if he should know.

He blinks at you.

“Eat it, or don’t. I don’t care.”

Then he goes back to eating his own meal, and you’re left with something dull inside your chest. It’s not right–the meal. Or the setting. Or any of this, really.

Some part of you, a selfish part, wishes you were back in your bed inside your clean room; wishes that you were still waiting, colored pencils and paper in hand, for him to get back and continue on with your orderly, if captive, existence.

Well, if wishes came true, none of this would have happened in the first place.

You can’t bring yourself to touch the noodles; the thought of them makes your stomach ache. Overhaul (Kai, you remind yourself) would be able to tell you all that was wrong with a meal like that, and you try to envision what he’d say. It becomes too tiring so you simply pull your legs up and wait to find out what this Shigaraki wants.

The answer must come, you think, when he tosses his bowl in the trash bin and shrugs off his coat. It smells of sweat and dust, or is that him?

Without warning, he flops down on the mattress, almost sending you flying off the side. He snickers, and you feel warmth flush your chest as you try to recollect yourself. But even that brief loss of dignity gets lost when you realize what must be coming now.

What villains do, when they take someone away.

Will it hurt? Will it take long? How often will he do it?

He props himself up on his elbow and you can feel him staring at you. Sizing you up, probably. Deciding on how and when he’ll take you. The realization makes your heart begin to race, and cold sweat beads against the back of your neck.

When will he do it? Now? Now?

When you hesitantly glance at him, you can see he is sizing you up–looking at your dress and your socked feet and the way you’ve pulled your knees up to your chest. There’s a flash in your mind of him ripping it off, shoving you down onto the mattress, and then–then.

But it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t move towards you, despite his leering look.

Instead of hovering over you and pinning you down to the mattress, he simply scoffs. Then he sits up and grabs a game controller, turning on a system set-up at the far end of the room.

“Be quiet,” he says, “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to mess up this level.”

Eventually, as your heart begins to settle, you stare at the cooling bowl of microwaved noodles on the mattress.

Your stomach growls.

But this would make you sick; that’s what Overhaul said.

And he’d done many things to you, but he never lied.

–

Hunger can be overcome. It can be uncomfortable, true; but you’d dealt with it before. During the days when you hadn’t been good enough yet, and Overhaul refused you anything but water, until you’d given in and behaved yourself.

So it’s not the growing hunger that’s bothering you now, as the day wears on and it must surely be nighttime.

It’s the sleepiness.

Hunger can be ignored–but this? It’s hard to ignore the way your head is starting to slap hard against your knees as you begin to micronap, unable to keep awake no matter how many times you pinch your flesh.

It’s not a gesture you’ve had to do in so long–bedtime was, well. Bedtime. A set time with set things to do, all designed–or so Kai told you–to get you the best possible sleep so your body could rest and heal. (Heal from what, he never said.)

So sitting on a mattress and feeling your body jerk in desperation as it tries to get some sleep is something new. Something difficult.

If this Shigaraki Tomura notices, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are glued to the news, a grin on his face, his palm slapping his thigh at the action.

The news has him enthralled, so your fights to stay awake are probably not even on his radar. Which means you’ll have to bring it up yourself–that question that’s been pulling at you since you realized it must be well past afternoon and into the night.

“Excuse me…” You say, voice hoarse. You clear it, then realize you don’t know exactly what to call him. He gave his name, but that didn’t mean you were supposed to use it. So when you continue, you err on the side of caution. “Excuse me, sir?”

At this, he finally seems to remember that you’re in the room. He waves a hand at you, vague irritation crossing his features. “Just call me Shigaraki.” Instantly, his gaze turns back to the TV.

Your tongue feels heavy as you swallow. “Oh. I’m sorry. Um. Shigaraki?”

You can see him push his tongue against the side of his cheek, his eyes still not leaving the TV. There’s some sort of press conference footage playing, though you can’t quite focus on the words.

“What?” he says, almost a grumble. “Don’t ask for something to eat. I already gave you dinner. Eat it cold, if you’re hungry.”

Oh, that. You’d set the bowl on the floor once you’d decided that it was best not to eat. It would have been awful if it got knocked over and the sauce seeped through the plastic rim, after all. Although given the status of the mattress, maybe it was generous to care about additional stains.

“It’s not–” Your voice is too soft, in this room, with the mess and the TV. You try to speak up, something you haven’t done in so long. “I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know…” Directly asking things is no longer in your nature, and your fingers find themselves playing with the hem of your skirt.

The sound from the TV stops abruptly, and you flinch. He’s muted it. He turns fully to you now, irritation written on his face. “Can you just spit it out already?”

A shuddering breath escapes your chest as you force the question out: “I just–I wanted to know, what time am I going to bed?”

You do not ask the rest, though surely it must be a given: What time are you going to bathe me, what nightgown would you like me to wear, do you prefer to brush my teeth for me or can I do it myself, am I sleeping on your bed or somewhere else?

He blinks at you, not for the first time today. “Whenever you bother to fall asleep.” The words come out slow, like you’re some inept child.

You’re starting to feel like one. Because the words hit you, the way he intends them, all hurtful and condescending. But you can’t make sense of them. Go to bed whenever? Without anything to prepare you? It doesn’t register–you don’t know what he means.

And you tell him so, as plainly as you can:

“I don’t understand.”

He rolls his eyes, and a pit inside your stomach seems to open up, tossing each irritated expression into it and making you feel worse.

“What’s there to understand?” He waves at the mattress. “Pick a side and go to sleep. Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

He turns back to the TV, clearly not interested in any further conversation, and turns the sound back on. Without so much as an order or command or at the very least, an expectation from you.

What a strange man. What a strange place. What a strange world.

There is, at first, a temptation to tell him. To explain what your needs are–why you can’t simply go to sleep. But then come the thoughts about punishment. He’d already gotten annoyed with you for simply asking. What would he do if you, bold thing, insisted on it?

And so, on this new first day of what is apparently the rest of your life, you’re left to curl up on the farthest edge of the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a headache lingering at the back of your forehead, and hunger in your stomach, and it’s all so wrong.

If Kai were here–and he’s not, and you can’t deny that you don’t hate that fact even as your mind jolts from the strange turnabout the day has taken–this wouldn’t be happening. But this new one… this Shigaraki, maybe it’s too much to expect from him right now.

He just took you, after all, and it sounds like whatever group he belongs to was involved in something major today. A long day–a hard day. So he must still be thinking on the rules, how to properly manage you.

You need to be managed, after all. That is one thing you learned from Kai.

It’s surprising to you that you’re even able to fall asleep without everything that ought to be done. Without the ritual of the bath, without being handed your nightgown while Kai turns around and swears he won’t look, without your hair being tended to, without being tucked into bed…

Exhaustion doesn’t seem to care about rituals.

So sleep, you do; and when it takes you, it takes you hard, dragging you into a heavy slumber while the TV plays on.

–

When you wake up, it’s morning–and you are alone.

There’s a bright light streaming in through the windows and it’s a wonder you can stand up at all, with your muscles aching and the world itself feeling topsy turvy, as you fumble for the shabby curtains with one hand over your eyes. They rip a little as you yank them over the window, but at least you don’t feel blinded now.

There hadn’t been windows, before; in the bunker, that is. With Overhaul–with Kai. Just the overhead lights at first, and then eventually, a pretty lamp with a soft lilac-colored shade. A gift, for behaving; for being trustworthy enough to control your own light. It was nice to be able to turn on the light when you had to pee in the middle of the night, at least.

There are no lilac lamps here. Only an overhead light that, when you peer closely, appears to have a smattering of dead flies resting inside the lamp shade. The thought brings bile to your empty stomach, and it growls in retaliation.

You hadn’t eaten in… was it almost two days, now?

Maybe Shigaraki was getting your breakfast. That seemed right–that he’d sleep off yesterday’s havoc and spend the morning organizing his rules for you. What you should eat, and wear, and your schedule.

But what should you do in the meantime?

You stand, stretching your worn-out muscles, and take stock of the room he’s placed you in. It’s not clean, that’s for sure. Messy, to say the least. Used clothes and food wrappers are strewn about, and the whole room has a terrible sense of neglect.

If your room isn’t clean, how could you hope to get anything done?

Kai had told you that, when you argued about his expectations for your room. Everything ought to be perfectly tidy, he’d said. And after a while, how could you disagree? It only made sense. When your room was organized, your thoughts could be organized. When your thoughts were organized, everything else simply fell into place.

And maybe–maybe that’s the trick, here. Shigaraki left you alone in the morning, because he wanted to see what you’d do. Wanted to see if you’d pick up on a classic rule–keep things clean and tidy–without being told.

Before, Kai needed to train you–but now? Now, you knew the game.

A smile, faint and uncertain though it is, crawls across your face.

You’d pass this test with flying colors.

–

He’s still not sure what to do with you. The thought comes to him, faintly and then stronger, as he gets closer and closer to the bedroom where you’re being kept. It’s one thing to take what you’re due, another to decide how to manage it–how to manage you.

It’s a bit like taking in a pet, he realized over the night. You’ve got to be fed and watered and all that. Clothed, if he feels like it. He’s not sure if he does. And if you’re too much trouble, well. It might not be worth the thrill of taking what was once Overhaul’s, in the end.

He almost expects you to still be asleep when he opens the door, but as soon as he steps in, he can see you’re up and about and–

Cleaning?

The room is almost unrecognizable. He doesn’t bother much with tidying. Not when there are far more important things going on. Yet you’ve picked up every bit of trash, folded all the dirty clothes he’s thrown here and there… even made the bed. You clearly haven’t noticed him open the door, because you’re just finishing up the folding, humming a bit to yourself.

He can’t decide if he likes it or not.

“What are you doing?”

You flinch at his sudden words, and there–he likes that; the fear, the flinching, it’s familiar. He can work with it. He deepens his frown, just to see what you do.

You swallow, timidly folding your hands in front of you. All proper and prim.

“I–I thought you wanted me to clean.”

He snorts. He doesn’t know what he wants you to do, exactly, but “tidy up the bedroom” probably wouldn’t be at the top of the list.

“I didn’t tell you to clean.” And maybe it comes out snarkier than he intends to be, but so what? He’s allowed to be an ass, if he wants.

Your hands wring together, and your gaze flits down to the floor.

“But I thought… I thought…” You seem to struggle with the words, your voice getting higher, more anxious. You’re like a bird, he thinks, one afraid to fall from some carefully constructed nest in a tree. There’s an instinct to crush you until those brittle bones break–and another instinct, too. One that makes him want to scratch.

“I thought it was… a test.”

What.

“A test? Are you stupid, or something?”

When you don’t answer, just bring your top teeth over your lip and wring your hands tighter, he can’t help the almost cruel warmth that spreads in his chest. This–this is more familiar territory, he thinks.

He wonders, too, how often Overhaul made you look like that; how often he might want to make you look like that in the future.

“What did that freak do to you, anyway?” Curiosity mixes with his existing annoyance, and it clearly takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking about Overhaul.

“Overh–” You catch the words in your mouth. “Kai,” you say, and the way you say it so sweetly feels rehearsed–and gross. “He didn’t do anything.” You shake your head, like you’ve said something awful. “No! I mean. He did everything.” He watches your throat bob as you swallow. “He taught me how to be better.”

“Better,” he says, the word coming out all slow and sticky and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Yes,” you say, staring down at your feet. Your fingers pick at the hem of your nightgown. “How to be… organized.” You seemingly ignore his snort. “How to be clean. Things like that.”

“Why?” He can’t help the sneer in his voice, even if he’s dimly aware that he’s not fully committed to tearing you down just yet. “Were you a dirty girl?”

You frown and swallow and shake your pretty head. “No, of course not. He made me take a bath or shower twice a day.”

So much for teasing. You’re too stupid–or naive, whether it was natural or beaten into you by Overhaul–to get it, apparently.

He’s not sure how long he stares at you. Long enough that you stop worrying at the floor and start worrying at him, your eyes all wide and anxious and getting glossier by the minute. Soon enough, he’s sure tears will start spilling down.

He stops you before you start sputtering out apologies–and teardrops.

“That’s not what I meant.” A finger goes to his neck, scratching. The white dress, the teary eyes, the way you can’t really keep his gaze… it’s annoying. It’s endearing. Both are equally tiresome.

“You’re giving me a headache,” he says, finally. An end to the conversation, he hopes. Then he digs into the pocket of his coat and tosses its contents at you–a wrapped up egg sandwich someone pilfered a while ago, shoved into the shared fridge and forgotten amidst their recent win. “Here. Breakfast.”

You barely catch the sandwich (your reflexes sure are shit, he thinks; you’d die in the wild) but the way you simply stare down at it, words apparently caught behind your teeth, brings irritation to the forefront again.

“What?” He almost bites the words out. “Not good enough for you?” Maybe Overhaul fed you on silver platters or something equally ridiculous.

Perhaps it’s his tone, or maybe you’re just that eager to get him un-pissed at you, but you manage to unstick your tongue and stumble out something akin to an explanation.

“I’m not allowed to have white bread. It’s too processed.” You turn the sandwich over, inspecting. “And there’s mayo… it’s got too much oil, and–”

“Not allowed.” The word becomes a sneer. “Who are you to tell me what I’m allowed to give you?” Captives–that’s what you are, at bare minimum, at least–aren’t usually so damn bold.

And oh, the way your face seems to fall, the way your mouth perks around your words like a damn heroine in a novel.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean–it’s that–” The wrapper on the sandwich crinkles as your fingers tighten. It makes his chest tighten, too. How stupid. “It’s not safe. It’ll make me sick. Unhealthy. Kai said so–”

So that’s why you turn up your nose at food? Overhaul, of all fucking people?

“Kai says,” he repeats, mocking your voice, the soft lilt of it, the way each word mimics the pitiful wringing of your hands. “Kai,” he continues, “isn’t here. So who gives a flying fuck what he said?”

He doesn’t wait to see what you say or what you do. He leaves without another word–he’ll relax somewhere else, without you and your pitiful self to think about–and doesn’t see you sink down onto the mattress. He doesn’t see the way you grip the sandwich until your fingers smoosh into the bread.

He doesn’t see the way you eventually, and oh it takes so long, peel back the wrapper and take a small and slow bite.

–

It’s only been a few days, and maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems like your stomach is finally beginning to settle. The food isn’t–it isn’t right, it isn’t healthy. That’s what your brain tells you, what your mouth wants to parrot. But you’re so hungry and–this is what Shigaraki wants you to eat.

So you should do what he says. You think. It’s still debatable, still churning around in your head. Kai taught you what was best, and now you’re here, where what was “best” seems to be entirely pointless.

You’re still digesting a microwaved breakfast that definitely wouldn’t have passed Kai’s examination when the door opens. Shigaraki enters, as he always does, without bothering to acknowledge you.

He’ll probably sit down and eat something for himself. Or start texting someone–the other people in his group, maybe. Sometimes he unwinds with video games. Or naps.

But instead, he approaches you, boots thudding on the hardwood floor. They stop right in front of you and you have just enough time to think about all the germs on the bottom of the soles before he speaks–

“Hey.”

You look up. His face is twisted today, nose screwed over, mouth turned down in a frown. You did something wrong, probably. But what? You ate breakfast, and didn’t even complain about it being wrong today. That was a good step. So what–

“You stink.”

Oh.

Shame curls in your gut with the half-digested breakfast. It’s… true. You haven’t washed for days, and you know you’ve been sweating. Shigaraki doesn’t open the windows and the room isn’t exactly a bastion of fresh air, anyway.

He jerks his thumb at the bathroom door. It’s a far cry from your bathroom back home–back with Overhaul. Messy, dirty; the hand towel hasn’t been changed since you’ve been here. And you doubt that Shigaraki cleans the toilet as nicely as Kai did (well, as Kai’s cleaner did, anyway) so the tub can’t be much better.

Still. Still, it’s what he wants, and that’s what should be done–and it would be nice to get under some hot water and have the sweat and grime and overall feeling of awfulness scrubbed away.

So you dutifully follow him into the bathroom, note a change of clothes that he’s dropped into the open sink, and then–as you should–you stand in front of the tub and wait for him to undress you, so that he can give you a bath.

But instead of ordering your arms up or having you sit on the toilet so he can peel off your socks, he simply turns away and starts to leave.

“Wait–” You can’t stop the word from coming out, can’t stop the way you stupidly reach out a hand.

He does stop. He turns around, face questioning, irritation starting to creep onto his features.

“What?” He tilts his chin towards the tub. “There’s shampoo and soap in there. Some random brand Toga stole. Is it not good enough for your highness, or what?” There’s a bit of a jeer in his tone that makes you want to sink into the floor.

“It’s not that,” you force out. “They’re–they’re fine. It’s just…” And your fingers fiddle with your dress, the fabric feeling more thin and frayed from all your worrying it. “Aren’t you going to draw my bath?”

Because that’s how it goes. Kai draws the bath. Kai undresses you. Kai tests the water, and tells you to get in. Then he cleans you or, if you’ve been exceptionally good, lets you do it yourself while he gives the orders.

The jeer in his tone becomes a snort, an almost sneer on his lips. “You really are a princess, you know that? You can draw it yourself. You’re not that stupid.”

And oh, the way your heart pounds. He’s upset, and you’re upset, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s throwing away the natural order of things or if it’s because you’d like him to be nicer to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel too loud, in the bathroom, trapped in the small space with you and Shigaraki. “It’s that–Kai says I don’t clean myself up right. So he does it for me. Tells–tells me what to do, if he doesn’t scrub me himself.”

Your fingers clench hard against your fists–and then harder, when you see the emotions registering on Shigaraki’s face. One emotion in particular–disgust. Disgust, yes, and it makes you feel awful. Makes you feel dirty and stupid, and everything Kai said you were, when you hadn’t yet listened. You can’t look at his expression anymore, so you stare at the floor. At your socked feet, at the dirt between the tiles.

It’s the floor that you see when you hear him sigh, when he steps further into the bathroom and practically pushes past you to turn the water on.

Your heart speeds up–is he going to?--but as if he’s read your mind, he crosses his arms. “I’m just filling the tub for you. You can wash yourself. You remember how to do that, right?” And maybe it’s the way the question seems earnest, no longer weighted down with a mocking tone, that makes you feel better. Not stupid–not dirty.

So you nod, and smile–just a little. Just to show your appreciation.

“Good.” He grabs something–a towel–from a hook on the wall and tosses it at you. He glances away when he speaks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, or if there’s really a faint hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Just… shout out when you’re done and I can help you out or whatever. If you need me to.”

He glances back at the tub, filling rapidly with hot water.

As if to burn away the flush on his cheeks, his voice turns jeering again. “I’ll leave once I turn it off. Don’t take forever in here, either, princess.”

Jeering, sure; but with something nicer mixed in, something like a flush underneath it all that makes your skin tingle.

Maybe Shigaraki wasn’t so bad after all.

–

Overhaul had clearly trained you and fucking hell, you really need to be untrained.

It’s this simple fact that helps Shigaraki decide what to do with you–that is, he’s going to keep you.

Dropping you outside would be like putting some pampered house pet on the streets–you’d be gobbled up. And if you happened to go to the police before you were snatched up by some back-alley criminal, it would complicate things, anyway.

Besides–you’re… endearing. In a way. He likes the way you ask for his permission, likes the way you stammer and stumble over your words when you get anxious.

You’re like a pet. A pet project, that’s what you’ll be. He’ll untrain all the weird fucked up things that Overhaul taught you, and make you into something better.

Overhaul had his kinks, that’s for sure. And while he’s not going to deny that there’s something really fucking hot about imagining you being his mindless doll, letting him bathe you and eating exactly what you’re told and waiting for him to come home in a pretty white dress… it’s simply not very fun.

Or practical, truth be told.

And more importantly–

He wants you to be his in the right way. He’s not some replacement for Overhaul, some step-in that you’ll simply pivot to because he’s there.

Sloppy seconds aren’t his style.

Overhaul is nothing now, a useless, handless fuckup who will rot away and forever regret tangling with him. You should forget about him, forget about what he taught you, how things were with Overhaul. (He makes a mental note: Train you to stop saying ‘Kai,’ especially so damn softly, so damn sweetly. Something Overhaul meticulously taught you to do, no doubt.)

In the end, Shigaraki is better than that failure–so you need to be better than the pet Overhaul created, too.

–

It’s not exactly clear why Shigaraki wants to keep you–but he does keep you. And he gives you something Overhaul had taken away from you: he gives you choice.

So much choice. Too much choice, maybe. Foods aren’t off-limits anymore, and Shigaraki doesn’t scold you for any awful table manners. Maybe because you never eat at a table. You’re allowed to watch TV, and even tentatively take up an extra controller to try (and fail) at the video game he’s currently playing.

He even–and it’s got your stomach in knots, as you make your way down the hall–lets you out of the room. To get some air and, today, meet other people. You’re meeting the League, the people you met (so to speak) on the day Shigaraki took you.

“It’ll be better if you get to know everyone,” he says, almost muttering. “In case someone needs to keep an eye on you while I’m gone for a while.”

The thought of Shigaraki leaving you for that long, too long, almost makes you feel sick, but you try to force it away.

“But you won’t be somewhere else too often, will you?” The question comes out too soft. Something else you’re working on; he told you to talk louder. Less like a rabbit, more like yourself. Whoever you were before all this.

Shigaraki glances back at you, something unreadable in his expression. Did you say something wrong, or not? You’re almost bold enough to ask, when he simply snorts and turns around, gesturing for you to enter an open doorway where you can hear chatter already sifting through.

But you stop at the threshold. At the sound, at the thought of being amongst a group of people. Eating whatever you wanted was one thing; but talking to a whole gaggle of others?

“Are you sure…” The words are soft, but you can’t help it. It’s easier to slip back into that place from before; to be soft and quiet and let someone else take over everything for you. “Are you sure you want to let me talk to other people? Wouldn’t it be better if I only talked to you?”

And now, you did say something wrong, because his expression twists. His nose scrunches and his lip curls up, like he’s thinking about something unpleasant. “No,” he says. “That’d be weird.”

“Oh.” Something dull hits your stomach. Embarrassment and disappointment, a terrible mixture. “Sorry.” You swallow, and add, quickly. “I don’t want to be weird.”

“Too late.”

The two of you turn your head inside the doorway in time to see someone with a burnt face and dark hair watching you, arms folded, a teasing grin on his face.

It is also just in time to see a young girl playfully smack the air next to his arm–”Dabi, don’t be a jerk! She’s not weird, she’s cute!”

There’s barely any time to decide if this is a compliment or not, before Dabi–that must be the man with the burnt face, after all–shrugs and grins. “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. The fact that the grin is edged by staples doesn’t help.

The rest of the group is sprawled about the room. On a sofa, on the floor. There’s a card game going on. Drinks on the table, along with takeout. The room looks like it was once some sort of office break room, complete with a microwave and dinged-up fridge.

The conversations that must have been going on are silent now, and you’re left standing awkwardly next to Shigaraki in the doorway. He nudges you forward, then takes a step out the door. There’s a strong urge to grab his sleeve and ask if you can go back to the room, but he begins walking down the hallway and doesn’t give you the chance.

“Um,” you say, and his footsteps in the hall stop for a moment. “Nice to… meet you?”

There’s a moment before there’s a burst of laughter, and the girl–Toga, you’ll learn later–grabs your hand and pulls you inside the room.

–

That night, Shigaraki climbs into bed with you and instead of turning over and keeping to his side of the mattress, he slots himself against your back for the first time.

The freeze response comes naturally, as your heart speeds up and your breath seems to slow down. Overhaul did this, too. When he thought you were sleeping, though.

Shigaraki knows you’re up and his fingers, pinky jutting to the side, ghost over your clothed side, caressing your hip. His fingers skitter underneath your shirt and rest against your stomach, before trailing up, bringing the fabric with it.

He cups your chest and you think the sound you make must startle him, because he pulls away without a word. But if he’s mad, he doesn’t tell you. Instead he stays pressed against your back, breathing.

Why was he still in bed?

“Don’t–” And you stutter out the next words quickly, because you’re not telling him to stop touching you. You wouldn’t dare. But– “Don’t you… want to wash your hands now?”

Something between irritation and curiosity lodges itself in his tone. “Why would I wash my hands?”

You lick your lips, and fight the urge to turn around in bed and look at him while you speak. Sometimes, when you told him about–Overhaul–the disdainful expressions he made stirred something awful in your gut. Made you feel ashamed and silly. He didn’t mean to do it, you think; but that didn’t change how you felt.

“Overhaul… when he touched me like this, he always washed his hands in the bathroom after. For a long time. Because–” The word Overhaul would mutter over and over come back, like acid rain pattering on the roof. “I’m dirty.”

You don’t want to look at him, but you don’t get a choice, because he grips both of your shoulders and lifts you up, until the two of you are sitting with your backs against the wall. The curtains are open and the moonlight washes everything out, but you can see him frowning well enough.

“You’re not dirty,” he says. “Stop saying stupid things.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, but you don’t feel sorry at all. Instead you feel–relieved. Lightened.

He frowns. “And stop saying sorry, too.”

“Right. Sorry–”

You stop with a breath left in the word and in a single beat, the two of you burst into laughter.

That’s when you lean forward and kiss him, smashing your lips against his in a brief moment before he pushes you off.

Humiliation stings your chest and you almost start crying in an instant. The world before and the world today blur into one awful moment and you apologize for things you’re not even sure about. “I’m sorry, that was–stupid. I’m awful, I’m bad, I won’t do it again-”

“Shut up. You will do it again.”

Oh. What?

You blink up at him, stupidly, yes, but it’s a nice kind of stupid. The syrupy kind that only gets sweeter when his hand grips your chin and pulls you in. You don’t fight.

This time, he kisses you. His lips are chapped and so are yours, and your mouth opens awkwardly to let his tongue in. It feels wrong and right and for once, there’s nothing old that dredges itself up with the action. No ghost of Overhaul over your shoulder, no commands, no flashbacks to being locked in closets–

Just you and Shigaraki on his bed in the middle of the night, kissing.

–

You can be annoying. Too meak, too unsure; wanting him to guide you and taking too long when he tries to give direction.

You’re a burden, that’s for damn sure, but oh, he doesn’t want to let you go.

The thoughts of releasing you on the streets seem so dim now.

They faded every time you stumbled through eating food that wasn’t perfect by Overhaul’s stupid standards, every time you looked like a deer in headlights at the prospect of washing yourself, every time you suddenly got the ick at his room and scrubbed yourself raw until he stopped you…

You wanted to be better, though–better for him. That’s what sealed it. Well, that, and that kiss, even though it was mostly teeth the first time. He likes you better for that, he thinks. Because that was you.

You’d once told him that you were afraid Overhaul would remake you, so you remade yourself. And now he’s remaking you. No, that’s the wrong word, isn’t it? He’s unmaking. Undo what Overhaul did and find out what’s underneath, Because what’s underneath–you, the you he’s seeing as he peels away each layer of bullshit–belongs to him.

That’s how it should have been from the beginning. Too bad he didn’t find you first.

–

He’s been gone for longer than usual. Long enough that Toga came in with something to eat and played a round of cards with you. Long enough that daylight came and went and came back again, and the sound of morning birds does nothing but contrast with how groggy you feel.

It was too hard to fall asleep, when your stomach was tied up with worry.

They don’t unravel even when the door opens and he comes in, expression troubled, burdened. You know something about burdens. He smells of sweat and dust, and you long to lift it from him. He’s been… nice, hasn’t he? Nice and kinder, kinder than Overhaul, although his words are often short and he sometimes calls you stupid.

He takes a look at you, at the darkened circles under your eyes and maybe he can see all the thoughts swirling around in your head, and snorts. “Go to bed. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I can stay up,” you tell him, sitting up straighter on the bed. “To keep you company.”

He pauses, drops his coat on the chair. Something in him seems to soften and harden all at once. A vulnerable question left on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see which wait it will roll. “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

Words don’t come easily to you, even now. “I… like being around you.” It’s more than that, but you don’t know how to say it, how to peel it out from your mouth.

He eyes you with something that might be suspicion. “Don’t lie.”

At this, you stand. It feels better to stand, to be on something like stronger footing. “I’m not. I–I like that you let me do things. You don’t get mad if I eat what I want, or if I read certain books, or watch movies with you…”

He doesn’t respond and maybe it’s not words you need. Maybe it’s this–

Maybe it’s you taking a step forward and gripping his shirt and kissing him, just as awkwardly as the first time. This time, when he pushes you away, he keeps his fingers curled on your shirt. His eyes search yours and you don’t know what your expression is saying, but you try to make it say: You make me feel good and I want to make you feel good, too.

“Get on the mattress,” he tells you, but it doesn’t feel like an order. Maybe you’re sugarcoating it. Maybe not. In the end, you’re okay with it; you’re okay with turning around and crawling onto the mattress, knowing what he wants now.

It’s not how you envisioned it happening with him. You remember what you thought that first day, flashes of him taking you while you struggled and squirmed, pinning you to the bed. A villain in a book that Overhaul took away from your bookshelf.

It’s slower. Slower and maybe not sweet, exactly; but there’s some tenderness there that you can’t explain. Tenderness reflected in both your tired eyes, in the smell of dust clinging to his skin, in the way you cling to him and don’t have to worry that he’ll scrub his hands raw afterward.

Tenderness that makes you forget that Overhaul took you and now he took you, and you’re never sure if you’ll ever be your own person again.

–

When it’s over, he cleans you up. Slow but sure. It’s remarkably soft, but you don’t dare say so; if you did, you think he might push you off the mattress for good measure.

“Shigaraki–” you begin.

“Call me Tomura.” He interrupts.

“Tomura,” you say.

Something about that makes you want to cry, so you bury your head further against his chest and blink the tears away.

Later–not this morning and not for some time–you will think about whether Overhaul would have ever fucked you. What he might have thought about the mess of it all. The sweat and panting, the warm liquid between your legs that was carefully wiped away with a warm washcloth before he hopped back into bed.

For now, all you think about is Shigaraki–no, Tomura–who doesn’t tuck you into bed like you’re some precious doll but instead wraps his leg across your own, keeping you close on the mattress as sleep begins to overtake you.

His hand brushes against your hair as the world begins to turn into a formless buzz.

“Do you want to stay with me?” He asks.

It is, you know, a rhetorical question.

#yandere #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere bnha #yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #afterwitch writes

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xoxojisu · 23 days ago

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"I LOVE YOU."

synopsis: in which kenma quietly realizes he's completely, utterly in love with you.

notes: it's like THE MOMENT he realizes yk. AHH i love this trope. @suniix my fellow kenma lover <3

you’re sitting on the floor, legs tucked beneath you, bent over his switch case like you’re disarming a bomb. you’re not, but you might as well be. you were focusing on organizing his many games, something he never asked you to do but clearly needed. there’s a small crease between your eyebrows and your tongue is poking out slightly in concentration. you're humming something that sounds like a mashup between 'kiss me,' 'uptown girl,' and the animal crossing theme song. he can’t tell if it's a song he's simply never heard of, or if he's actually correct. he thinks he is.

kenma’s on the couch, curled into himself on one end, a blanket you got for him draped across his lap and a drink in his hands that you made exactly the way he likes it. it's ice cold and disgustingly sweet. he hadn’t even asked. you just knew.

kenma realizes that you know quite a lot about him. you know of his drink preferences and his chronic coldness. he knows that you've noticed how when he lies, his eyes get shifty or he'll start fidgeting. you know he can't open packaging on snacks for the life of him and automatically hand him a knife, because you can't either. you know how bad he is at asking for affection, so you curl your fingers into his scalp at the first sign that he wants it.

they're random and unimportant details, but undeniably and utterly him. and you see all of it. he thinks it's nice.

the room is softly lit, a couple lamps illuminated the space. no overhead lights. he doesn't like how fluorescent they are, and they can sometimes overstimulate him. of course, he's never mentioned this, but you figured it out on your own. the curtains are half-drawn, and the tv’s still on the menu screen of the game you were supposed to start an hour ago, forgotten in the warmth of just simply existing next to each other.

he doesn't really know why, but he has now put down his game in favor of watching you. really watching you.

not because you’re doing anything extraordinary. you're just… being. sitting in his hoodie, sleeves slightly rolled, hair thrown lazily into something of a bun. fixing something for him that he didn’t even realize was broken. and smiling, every now and then, to yourself. like it’s enough just to be here.

and that’s when it hits him.

he doesn’t feel his chest tighten like the air has been sucked out of him, or his stomach flutter with the intensity of a thousand butterflies. it’s not cinematic or dramatic like those shojo animes you like to watch where the music kicks up and the camera circles around them in riveting and exciting motions. it’s quiet. like a single domino tipping in slow motion, or a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

“oh.”

he says it out loud, though barely audible, like a secret meant for no one but himself. it sounds stupid as soon as it leaves his mouth, so he coughs, trying to cover it up, hoping you didn’t hear.

you glance up.

“hm?”

he shakes his head a little too fast. “nothing. just… forgot something.”

you blink, noticing the way his eyes shift, but then go back to your organizing, humming that random tune again.

he watches you for another beat, then looks down at the drink you made for him. he sips it slowly, even though it’s cooled down a little. still sweet. still perfect. still him. still you.

and in the back of his mind, something settles. quiet. simple.

"i love you."

masterlist

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farfromstrange · 9 months ago

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“What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy?” | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! (18+), shower setting, oral f!receiving, masturbation, fantasizing, beard appreciation (kink?), dirty talk, mentioned unprotected p in v, slight Dom!Matt, DDBA!Matt, improper thoughts about a certain crucifix necklace, (kind of) religious symbolism, mentions of choking, praise kink, pet names, “good girl”, not perfectly edited (shocker)

Summary: Fantasies about your late-working boyfriend take over your much needed self-care shower—until he’s suddenly (and unexpectedly) right in front of you when you are about to take care of the problem yourself.

A/n: So, the Born Again trailer brought me back from the dead and made me so fucking needy for this man. I thought this would be the best opportunity to rewatch Daredevil and practice writing Matt again because I’ve been a bit out of practice lately. Let’s just say the experiment was successful, but I definitely owe it to my hormone levels. The gif below inspired this fic (as it probably has done to many writers in the fandom these past two days). Anyway. If you want to listen to the song I was listening to while writing, it’s “Guilty As Sin?” By Taylor Swift, hence the title. Other than they, enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

Read Me On AO3!

The warm water from the shower head above runs down your clammy skin, seeping into your pores and aching muscles. You have been dreaming about this ever since you got home from work.

The apartment is quiet, save for the little noise you make in the bathroom. Matt called you earlier, telling you he would be late and that you shouldn’t wait up for him; you expected as much after he and Foggy caught a high-profile case a couple of weeks ago.

When he isn’t busy at work, he tries to fulfill his duty to protect the city. You’re not mad; you knew what you were signing up for when you fell in love with him, but that doesn’t change the fact that you miss him sometimes. Or rather, all the time. It doesn’t matter if he’s at work or wandering around in red leather, searching for a fight—you always miss him.

There’s not a day that goes by that you’re not worried he might not come back to you. You can only hold on to the thought of him coming home in the middle of the night, crawling into bed beside you because he’s too tired to shower, wrapping his arms around you as though you are the only thing anchoring him to reality. It makes you appreciate what you have in him.

The thing about Matt is that he feels he has to do penance for every little thing he has ever done, whether his actions hurt people or not; he loathes himself for who he is, which is absurd to you but to him, it makes sense. Perhaps it’s the catholic in him, or all those years of losing soulmates, or maybe it’s both.

His shampoo smells faintly of sandalwood and the rainforest, but only if you focus closely. You like that it makes your skin soft, and when you wrap yourself in his silk sheets at night, it’s almost like he’s all over you before he physically can be.

You close your eyes and you focus on the feel of him, imagining your hands are his. You imagine his calloused fingers trailing over your heated skin, exploring every dip and every curve, even though he already knows the wonderland of your body inside and out. His lips on yours, traveling down your neck to your shoulder to your chest… a shiver runs down your spine, pooling in your core. You’re on fire, and he isn’t even with you.

He’s at the office, sleeves probably rolled up, the first two buttons of his dress shirt undone, loosening his tie with that strained look he gets when he’s stressed. Or maybe he’s on his way to Fogwell’s Gym so he won’t disturb you before he puts the suit on, fists raining down on a sandbag as sweat drips down his body, and he grunts whenever he lands a hit.

You were just trying to have a nice shower, but Matt always manages to invade your every thought like a burglar on a mission.

It’s just not fair how he always looks so sinful when he’s at his wit’s end. Oh, you love that look he gets when he’s feral. And you suddenly remember how long it has been since you got to touch each other. Since he let the devil out on you. Since he came home in the middle of the night and fucked you into the mattress because he was still so full of adrenaline.

It has been so long since you two got to have a nice dinner together and you last rode him on his leather couch until you were both sticking to it, not even thinking about stopping; since he devoured you for hours and hours and hours until you were almost severely dehydrated and overstimulated from the orgasms he tore from you.

You bite your lip so you won’t moan into the void of the bathroom. If you touch yourself now, he will know when he comes home. For a moment, you consider it. You slide your hand from your chest down your stomach. The water is slowly starting to grow cold. You just need to take the edge off. Lower, lower, and lower, and—

“Don’t,” Matt’s voice reverberates in your ear. His hand slides over yours, calloused fingers on the back of your hand.

The veil of fantasy burns to the ground. Your heart stops, then picks up the pace at a million miles an hour. In an instant, you turn around to face him, a gasp dying on your lips.

He’s right there, clothes discarded on the floor before the shower, no doubt. The golden crucifix around his neck offers a sinful contrast to his milky skin. You have always wondered if he was made out of marble rather than skin and bone. How can one person be this beautiful—this close to perfection and still be human?

Matt is close enough for you to feel his heartbeat against your own. His hands slide to your forearms to make sure you don’t slip. You can see your wrecked reflection in his hazel irises.

His unfocused gaze is right on you, boring through your skull into your soul. Only he can read you like an open book, listen to your body, and know exactly what you want, what you crave. He thinks of himself as the devil, but all you see is an angel. He’s the sun. To you, at least, he’s everything. The moon, the sun, the stars, and the entire fucking universe.

He caught you when you were about to touch yourself, and he’s naked. Really fucking naked. This is not how you imagined tonight to go.

His chest heaves with a deep inhale of your scent, forehead coming to rest against yours.

“You’re home,” you whisper.

His lips curl into a smile—not a smirk but a genuine smile. “Yeah.”

“But you said you guys had that case, and then you were gonna go out…”

Matt cuts you off, “I missed you,” he says. “Couldn’t go out without seeing you.”

He chose you over the city. You never doubted Daredevil meant more to him than you, but hearing it out loud almost brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you too,” you answer. So much. Days, weeks, seconds, all the fucking time.

He’s so smug about it, too, when he tells you, “I know.”

The water keeps falling around you, drowning out the noise of the city and pearling off his necklace. He should have taken it off. If he wanted to shower with you, he should have taken it off because the need for him that makes your cunt pulse in desperation feeds off of the mere thought of taking the cold metal into your mouth while he pounds into you like a madman.

He doesn’t look agitated, not at all, but there is a dark shadow falling over Matt’s bearded face. It’s a calculated shadow rooted in a need for control, and who are you to deny him the only thing he can control?

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, “Tell me. What were you doing in there, hm?”

You bite your lip. “Just… showering.”

“Just showering?” He brushes his nose against yours. “You know I can hear your heartbeat…”

You nod. Your lips brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. You can taste the remnants of his last coffee, the familiar warmth of his mouth on yours, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction. You crave him so much that fireworks have started erupting on your skin wherever his fingers dare to travel; it isn’t fair. He isn’t fair.

Matt studied the science of driving you crazy, and now you are bordering on the edge of madness. Alone.

“Mhm. So, I know you’re lying…” He moves to your cheek, his breath hot when he speaks, “And I know when you’re touching yourself. ‘Cause I can smell how fucking wet you are, sweetheart.”

There he is. The relentless, feral animal you fantasized about before. The man driven by primal need and the sheer power of his senses rather than rational thought, and yet he knows exactly what he is doing. He’s a musician playing you like a delicate violin, pushing her to the breaking point but never fully destroying.

“Like I said,” you breathe, “I missed you.”

He presses his lips to your cheek, almost like a reward. “I know,” he says. “Probably been thinking about me, too, with your hand on your pussy…”

You swallow a needy moan that would have been too embarrassing. It’s been a long few weeks. Neither of you will be able to resist for long, you know that, so you decide you have to be bold tonight. “And what’re you gonna do about it?” you ask.

Though stunned for a moment, the smirk on Matt’s face isn’t far out of reach. “That’s my girl.”

Your back hits the now warm tiles of the shower wall before you can string together another remark, and then, finally—fucking finally—his lips are on yours. Kissing you. Devouring you. Breathing air into your aching lungs. He tastes like paradise, the Garden of Eden, and the six circles of hell all at once. It’s all the same to you, anyway.

As long as you’re with him, you don’t care where you end up. No amount of torture could take away the love you feel for him, and you know that with Matt, even weathering the stormy seas of hell would be worthwhile. It’s sick and twisted how far you would go for this man, but you can’t find a single bone in your body that cares.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting you, and inhaling you like his sole source of life support. You don’t bother fighting for dominance; you’re all his. Your body is telling him to command you. Your mind is screaming for him to touch you in any way he pleases, so help him God, and the chain around his neck keeps sinfully dangling against his toned chest. You want to bite it. You’re going to bite it. But not yet.

When it is time for you to swim to the surface for air, he pulls away. His lips move from yours to the corner of your mouth. He kisses there, taking his time to explore what he has explored many times before. But Matt Murdock is an addict, and you are his drug of choice, so why would he ever stop?

He kisses your cheek, your eyes, and the bridge of your nose. That’s how he sees you. Either with his fingers or his mouth or both. Touching you. Listening to you. He wants to see you in his own way. In a way that is far more intimate than you admiring his objective beauty could ever be.

“So beautiful,” he whispers between kisses. When he says it, you know it has to be true, even when you don’t see yourself in the same light as him.

His beard is rough where he kisses you. He has grown it out quite a bit, not having the time to bother shaving. The specks of gray that have started appearing as he got older should be illegal, you think, staring at him through hazy eyes. It should be illegal to look this good.

You caress his face, palm covering the entirety of his cheek. So beautiful, you want to say, but you don’t have the words.

The confession of love tumbles against your skin, softly, breathlessly, and he dips his head into the crook of your neck. He seeks your pulse point to press his lips against the beat of your heart. Your head falls back against the tiles. He’s a fucking menace, but he’s gentle about it. So, so gentle.

The hands-on your hips pull you closer, as close as you can get. Your nipples brush his chest, and you can feel him growing hard against you. He’s hot, red, and flushed, and with his lips against your neck, sucking and biting and licking some more, the shower water isn’t the only thing running down your thighs. You’ve been wet just thinking about him; Matt is here now, and he has no intention of stopping until you’re screaming his name.

Your skin is raw from the way he’s moving his face against you, suctioning his lips right where he can feel your pulse reaching for him. Reacting to him.

“Matthew,” you moan, breathless. “Please.”

He hums, fingers digging into your flesh to keep his composure. The sound of his name from your lips in such ecstasy makes his cock swell to the point all he wants is to sink into you and fuck you against the wet shower wall until you can’t walk anymore. He wants to wrap his hand around your throat, just holding you there as you take it like the good girl you are. God, he wants to do so many things to you.

He wants to push all of your buttons and reward you for it. He wants to feel your nails running down his back until he’s bleeding. He wants to eat your pussy until you forget your name, and when he’s done with that, he wants to do even more because that is the kind of animal you turn him into. That is what you do to him. You consume him with your mere existence and your love you keep pouring into him like a glass about to overflow, a glass so full yet so fucking empty at the same time, and he has been neglecting you for far too long to hold back now—yes, the water bill be damned!

“I love it when you beg,” he growls, feeling his voice vibrate through your skin. Like he’s in your veins.

You whimper. Oh, that sound. That sweet, sweet sound. It seems to do him in. Matt sinks to his knees like he would in front of God in church—like Mary knelt in front of Jesus after he got crucified. But there are no stained windows, no crosses, and no confessional booth in sight; you’re his place of worship, and your body is the altar. You are the only constant in his world on fire. You always want him to set you on fire, too.

Once on his knees in front of you, his cock straining high and mighty against his stomach, he grabs your thigh and places it over his shoulder. No rush. You can barely catch your breath.

Burning along the inside of your thigh, Matt kisses his way toward where you need him most. Your core yearns for him. Your hand slips from his face, searching the tiles behind you for something to hold onto.

He’s quick to bring your hands back to his hair. “Don’t let go,” he says.

It’s almost embarrassing that the only sound you can make is a grunt, and when your brain finally catches up, it’s too late. He’s impatient. Desperate. And he places his lips in a gentle kiss against your clit. The sudden contact makes you jolt, but that is not nearly all of it.

He tests the waters. Once, twice, even a third time, gently kissing along your slick folds. You instinctively tug at his hair, but that doesn’t deter him. Matt inhales your scent, tasting your essence on his tongue; he would bathe in it if he could.

You cry out when he dives in. He parts your folds with his tongue, sucking and licking until his face is covered. The obscene noise of lips smacking against wet skin goes straight to your head. He can hear the wetness gushing out of you, every twitch of your muscles and hitch of your breath, and he sucks a little harder on your sensitive clit. You’re scared you might fall.

“Fuck!” Your moans are as obscene as the sound of him eating you out. You grind against him, at first involuntarily, but then he moans against you, and you can’t help it; the vibrations he sends through you continue to pool in your cunt, tightening the coil that is waiting to snap.

Matt prods your entrance with his tongue, the tip of his nose digging just right into that sensitive bundle of nerves he lost when your hips first jerked. He’s completely out of it, hooded eyes rolled back into his skull while you are almost splitting yours open on the dark tiles. The cross necklace is sticky with his saliva as he drinks from you like you are the spring fueling his ocean. He’s thrusting into his hand, pre-cum leaking from his cock, but his mouth never wavers. He has a job to do.

Your walls clench around what little of his tongue is inside of you. There is nothing more arousing than the sight of him touching himself because the taste of you is bringing him to the brink of an inevitable orgasm. Because he wants to come with you. Because he’s desperate and he can only imagine being inside of you as he licks away at you. It’s a kind of dedication that makes you feral. No one has ever loved you quite like he has, and no one will ever eat your pussy as only he can.

“Matt,” you choke out. “Fuck, I’m gonna—’m gonna come. Don’t stop. Don’t…”

As if he could. He flicks his tongue from left to right, painting shapes you have never felt before over every last of your nerve endings. You’re quivering. You’re shaking. You are turning the bathroom into a concert hall for the symphony of your pleasure.

He doesn’t stop to tell you to come, that would be futile. You couldn’t possibly stop the wave headed for your shore. You can’t warn him. You can’t do anything other than let it happen. The coil snaps and your orgasm crashes into you at full force, shattering you into a million pieces. You grind against him until you’re sure he is branded into your skin forever.

Matt holds you through it, working his tongue against you to prolong the electricity running through your veins. He gets lost in the echo of his name, stroking his cock harder and faster, and within seconds of you, he’s coming, too. He spurts into his hand and on your thigh, moaning deliciously into your pussy. For a moment, he’s stiff, though as you are starting to come back to him, he’s starting to come back to you.

The aftermath of your orgasm is quiet. His lips slip from your swollen folds eventually, and he pulls away to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, the one resting over his shoulder. He’s still catching his breath, cock softening in his hands, but when you look down at him, he’s a wreck. For you.

Slowly, he rises back to his feet. You look at him, unsteady now on both of your feet. He wraps his arms around you. “You okay?” he asks softly.

You lean into his hand when he places it on your cheek. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m…perfect.”

“You were so good for me. So good.”

The distance between you dissipates, foreheads falling together in absolute exhaustion. He smells and tastes of you. You kiss him softer than you ever have. “I love you,” you whisper, and he smiles because he knows.

You don’t count the minutes you stay like that, kissing. It might have been an hour, not nearly enough. Matt reaches for the water when it starts getting cold, and he lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist.

You frown. “Aren’t you going out tonight?”

He shakes his head. “No, sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not done with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure you know how much I missed you.”

The giddy smile on your face when you kiss him again is involuntary, but not unnecessary. He giggles, too, before you finally shut him up.

Hell’s Kitchen can live without him for one night, that much is for sure. And when he finally thrusts into you and you bite down on the golden metal of that godforsaken crucifix to stifle your scream as he fucks you to hell and back in a way that is gentle yet possessive, you know this is the only place Matt needs to be tonight—for both of you.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil: born again #x reader #charlie cox

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brain4stew · 1 month ago

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Sooo, I don’t write much for forsaken x reader, but a silly idea here from me, to other writers (possibly).

A reader that’s either sleepy 24/7 or could sleep 24/7, like a fucking hibernating bear.

• (In my case, it’d be both, so let me write for that rq.), (Only idea related, I guess??)

• If you’re a survivor, then damn, either you’re lucky to be the last one remaining, and the killer leaving you alone to win, due to you either sleeping, or being too sleepy to even stand. Or you could be unlucky as hell, and end up dead first, spotted first or attacked first.

• Other survivors worry about you dying first, or dying in general in rounds. (Especially Elliot, that guy gets some sort of heart attack.)

• Either you’re with a survivor you spawn together with, or you’re just, going to a corner of the map and just, either sitting there and wait the timer out, or you’re sleeping in the said corner.

• God forbid the killer is C00lkidd… He’ll probably go for you first, to “Get your energy back!” As he says it.

• On another note, if it is Mafioso, he’ll just scare and chase you in the dreamscapes… So you’ll basically have a nightmare of that.

• Thankfully, Jason, 1x1x1x1, John Doe, Azure, Noli and the other killers leave you be. (Maybe not 1x4 but… It’s possible they’ll leave you be.)

• If you’re a killer, then you’ll just be an event killer. You’ll spawn with another killer, and you’ll be able to either stand where you spawned, or sleep where you spawned. You’ll also be invincible for around 40 seconds within the start of the round. It could come back, but only if the killer companion of yours is close by you for 5 seconds.

• (It gives your fellow killer companion 20 more stamina, and gives survivors drowsiness 1 for the duration of the rounds you’re in it. Drowsiness means that the survivors visions will be outlined with a bit of black “smoke”, obscuring their visions. Not only that, but occasionally they will “blink” and yawn, which will be a problem for the survivors. If the survivor tends to yawn loudly, then your killer companion will be notified of the survivor.)

• Now, Mafioso paired with you, might be a very hard challenge for the survivors. For if you’re sleeping, or just staying by the killer spawn and probably fall asleep standing, Mafioso can actually get to where you are rather quickly. Thanks to the dreamscapes. (There’s a cooldown ofc, of 60 seconds.)

• Each survivor and killer have different opinions on you, whether you’re a killer or a survivor yourself. It varies on how it is to be around you, how you act and all of that.

• I have a feeling that the survivors do NOT trust you to be asleep, or even remotely close to Two Time, due to their past, and all that. The survivors might have a debate on whether they’ll allow 007n7 to be close to you or not however, due to his past actions.

• The killers all agree that 1x4, Mafioso and C00lkidd should NOT be near you. If you’re sleeping or not. Mainly because, 1x4 literally hates anyone and everything? Mafioso… Due to the dreamscapes and all of that… C00lkidd is pretty self explanatory. Hyper little kid.

• Jason, Azure and I think Guest 666 will be able to be around you, even if you’re asleep or just sleepy in general. Mainly because they won’t be too loud around you, and because they don’t do much, unless they’re in a round. (Jason legit can’t talk.)

• Out of every survivor, I’d assume that Taph, Dusekkar, Elliot, Guest 1337, Builderman and Noob will be the safest around you. Mainly Guest 1337 though, as he’s got quite high senses due to his past, and because he had to be on high alert for any enemies from war.

• Dusekkar would probably just put a noise canceling shield on you, so you’d be able to sleep without too much noise. Taph is naturally quiet, they only speak with emoji’s, so it’d probably be sign language. They’d also hold back on testing their subspace trip mine when you’re nearby.

• Noob would just be grateful that you even trust them enough to be sleepy, or even sleep near them. They feel like they have a “objective” to help you sleep. Elliot is also just glad you trust him enough to be sleepy or sleep around him, it also eases down his own stress levels.

• Builderman would make sure that you’re REALLY protected when you’re sleeping. He’d even build a sleeping dispenser nearby for you, quietly of course, just so you’ll get some ambience and fairly “fresh” air.

#roblox forsaken x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #brain4stew/l i n’s texts/chats #brain4stew/l i n’s work‼️

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lcatala · 17 days ago

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Inspired by this post by @thanergetic-hyperlinks, I present to you

Tessellations of the Nine Houses

(Or "I can't really draw figurative art so my Locked Tomb fanarts are geometrical vector drawings")

"A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface, often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes, called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps." — Wikipedia.

Making tilings themed after each necromantic House seems obvious: for each House you pick a tile with the same number of sides as the number of the House; but this does present some challenges for some of the Houses.

note 1: this might give the impression that I first decided on the symbols and then found patterns to match them in a very organized and motivated manner; in practice it was much more chaotic and multidirectional, the patterns informing the symbols as much as the symbols informed the patterns; this is fine since symbolism is entirely associative and arbitrary anyway

note 2: I added alt-texts for all the images, but I have no idea of how to properly describe abstract geometric art; if you feel you can do a better job than I did, feel free to put your fingers where your mouth is--wait, hang on-- I mean feel free to provide better descriptions if you can

note 3: looking forward to the geometry nerds explaining to me how I got basic geometric details wrong, friggin nerds

The First House

The First House seems obvious, as a shape with one side is an ellipse (of which the circle is a special case). There's just one problem: ellipses do not tile the plane. No matter how much you stretch them and deform them, the very nature of ellipses means you'll always have gaps or overlaps.

So we cheat and we work with overlaps: turns out there is a history of tilings that use circles as a construction pattern, then turn the overlapping sections into the actual tiles. Such patterns have been used extensively in European and Middle Eastern art, and have also been associated with the New Age movement, so it fits Jod's style perfectly. And so we get this:

The different cells correspond to different House colors, with the resulting gothic stained-glass appearance quite in line with the Roman Catholic Empire vibe Jod is going for. The overlapping circles convey the intricacy of the relation between the First House and the eight other, both autonomous from it yet intrinsically part of it.

The Second House

There's a variety of geometrical shapes that have two sides, but most of them don't tile the plane, altho there is one that does — if we take a crescent shape and slightly thicken it so that the inner and outer curves are identical, we can do this:

The waving pattern is of course evocative of the flag of conquest which the Cohorts of the Second House have planted on many worlds.

The Third House

With the Third House things get a lot easier, because equilateral triangles are one of the three regular polygons (where all sides are the same length and all angles are identical) that tile the plane all by themselves without needing any other shape! Which however doesn't mean we have to be boring; we can have a little bit of fun:

Flowers for the beauty and ionizing radiation warning signs for the rancid vibes.

The Fourth House

Squares are the second regular polygons that tile the plane by themselves, so again our job is easy here, altho we still want to not go for the easiest option in order to be able to work in some symbolism:

The four big navy squares with a small white square at the center of course evoke the number five and the shadow of the Fifth House's regency over the Fourth.

The Fifth House

Regular pentagons do not tile the plane, so we have to use a more unusual shape — there are many options, but obviously we want to again pick one that offers some interesting numerical symbolism:

The cross-like patterns of course bring up the number four and the hold of the Fifth House over the Fourth. As for the crosses themselves and the fact that they appear to be made of wooden stakes, well uh… Abigail Pent, Vampire Hunter??? She does have Van Helsing vibes.

The Sixth House

Hexagons are the third and last regular polygons that tile the plane on their own. But this is the Sixth House we're talking about, things need to look orderly but in a convoluted way. So how about multiple levels of recursion:

The apparent complexity of the pattern is created by different orientations of a small number of elements, either 3 irregular hexagons, or 1 patterned regular hexagonal tile, depending on how you look at it, in line with the kind of hermetic scientism one imagines the Sixth House indulges in. The result is those apparent three-dimensional elements and emerging higher-order patterns, including that of ꙮ, the Multiocular O found in exactly one word of one 15th century Old Church Slavonic translation of the Book of Psalms ("серафими многоꙮчитїй" many-eyed seraphim).

The Seventh House

Regular heptagons do not tile the plane, but they don't need much tweaking to work, which is fine since for the Seventh House we want something deceptive yet simple (deceptively simple? deceptive in its simplicity?):

Hearts for the beauty, snake scales for the poison [the Seventh House is on Venus, the planet named after the Roman Goddess of love, but etymologically "Venus" is actually the same root as "venom", and of course "Septimus" resembles "septic" — tho in that case there's no etymological connection, it's just a happy coincidence].

The Eighth House

Octagons do not tile the plane, but they come pretty close, so we can give the Eighth House a simple, stern, but slightly threatening pattern:

Boring sterile bleached temple mosaic, with just a little bit of passive-agression, a perfect fit for Evangelical Christians Tumblr puritans the Eighth House.

The Ninth House

And so we reach the Ninth House. Now the thing about the Ninth House is that, even by imperial standards, they're huge freaks, like they're completely unhinged heretical weirdoes. So, when it comes to their tiling, we need to get weird, like, a lot weirder than we've been so far, and this will require some context, so get ready because now we're officially going on a wild tangent.

So far all the tilings we've seen were periodic. That is, they were drawing a pattern that repeats itself indefinitely in all directions.

But starting in the 1960s, mathematicians began to study aperiodic tilings, tilings that don't repeat; you can keep expanding them forever and never exactly find back the original pattern you started with. The first mathematical proof of such a pattern was made in 1964 and theoretically required 20,426 distinct tile prototypes… This was soon refined to just 104 tile prototypes, then a mere 40. By 1971, it was mathematically demonstrated that you could make such a pattern with just 6 tile prototypes.

Except that was a lie.

Note that I said mathematically demonstrated. As it turns out there was an aperiodic pattern with just 5 tile prototypes, known as Girih, that had been used in Islamic art… since at least the 13th century — but it had historically been treated merely as an element of architectural design, and its mathematical properties weren't studied until 2007.

Then in 1973 this guy Penrose came along and demonstrated you could make an aperiodic tiling with just 2 tile prototypes. So now the goal was to find the ultimate aperiodic tiling, the one that would use only one tile prototype. Given how fast the field had progressed so far, it seemed that this discovery was imminent.

It took 50 years.

Not only that, but it was the work of amateur mathematician David Smith who accidentally discovered a 13-sided polygon that could make an aperiodic tiling all by itself (he then had his discovery checked by and co-authored a paper with a number of professional mathematicians).

EXCEPT THAT WAS A LIE AGAIN.

In turns out an aperiodic tiling using only one tile prototype had already been found… in 1936. But since the study of aperiodic tilings only started in the 60s, its significance in that domain wasn't understood at the time. It was seen as significant, but for an entirely unrelated reason: it was the first demonstration of a polygonal shape that needed only two copies of itself to completely enclose the original one — many mathematicians before that point thought the minimum possible was 3 (think of the Triforce from Zelda, with one equilateral triangle completely enclosed between three other identical triangles).

And coincidently, that shape happens to be a highly-irregular nonagon [yes "enneagon" is """technically""" more correct but "nonagon" has been used since the 17th century and is more common and it has Nona in it and Nona loves you]. So here it is, the Voderberg tiling, the freakish freakish tessellation of the Ninth House:

Like you see this and you're like "what is this, what is that thing, that's not a tiling, what the fuck is that" — but it is, it is a tiling, you can keep adding the freaky polygon and it keeps expanding outward forever, with no gap, no overlap, and with an ever-changing pattern. A double-spiral radiating outward, for Anastasia and Samael, Anastasia and Alecto, Alecto and Harrowhark, Harrowhark and Gideon.

And if you were thinking that this last one must have been significantly harder to draw than the other ones, you would be correct.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb fanart #tessellation #tiling #geometry #vector art

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vamptizm · 6 months ago

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ii. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : smut, fingering (oc receiving), brief degrading, exhibitionism if you squint, they’re both assholes, no aftercare. please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable!

word count : 3.5k

note : this is my first time writing this stuff and omfg was it HARD, i cringed at myself like 10 times and this might be bad but everyone starts somewhere ig lol

series masterlist

The team weight room was alive with the rhythmic clanking of weights and low murmurs of conversation, but Paige only had ears for Clover. The two had been switching off sets on the bench press, each girl pushing themselves harder than necessary—not to outdo their personal records, but each other. Ice, nearby and unbothered, worked through her squats, seemingly oblivious to the escalating competition between the two.

Clover added another set of plates to the bar and smirked as she lay back, her tattoos flexing with every adjustment of her arms. Paige leaned against the rack, her arms crossed, watching with an unimpressed expression.

"Feeling bold after last night, huh?" Paige's tone was casual, but the edge was unmistakable.

Clover gripped the bar above her, sparing Paige a glance. "Nah, I couldn't care less." she quipped, her voice light as she lifted the bar. "Why? Did I make your little friend cry?"

Paige's jaw tightened with a small scoff, but she kept her composure. "You really thought you ate, huh?" She stepped closer as Clover re-racked the bar with ease. "Maybe next time, try not to scare people off before dessert."

Clover sat up, wiping her hands on her shorts. "Scare her off? Oh, baby. She was hanging by a thread before I said anything." She stood, gesturing for Paige to take her spot. "Maybe don't bring your charity cases to team dinners next time."

Paige slid under the bar, refusing to let Clover see how much that comment—and pet-name—got under her skin. She grabbed the bar with purpose, her fingers tightening around it as she muttered under her breath, "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Clover, now spotting Paige, leaned forward slightly, her grin widening. "Yeah, and you fucking love it."

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed that she couldn't come up with a retort fast enough. Instead, she pressed through her reps, feeling Clover's eyes on her the whole time. By the time she re-racked the bar, she was already regretting agreeing to partner with Clover.

When Clover took her turn again, she added more weight to the bar, clearly trying to prove a point. Paige didn't bother hiding her scoff. "Sure you don't wanna just tape a 'look at me' sign to your back while you're at it?"

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Bueckers," Clover shot back, her voice steady as she lowered the bar with perfect form.

Paige crossed her arms, leaning slightly closer. "You're not that special, Ma."

Clover's laugh echoed through the room as she racked the bar with ease. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. I'm not the one who brought a backup date to dinner."

Paige felt her temper flare, the heat rising up her neck. "You think everything's a game, don't you?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as Jia moved to another station.

Clover tilted her head, her expression smug. "Maybe. But you love to play, don't you?"

Paige didn't respond, instead picking up a pair of dumbbells and turning her attention to another exercise. But the tension between them lingered, thicker than the humid air in the weight room.

The weight room grew quieter as the rest of the team filed out, leaving only the steady hum of the overhead lights and the sound of weights being racked. Clover and Paige remained, neither willing to be the first to leave.

Paige pretended to focus on her dumbbells, but her attention kept flickering to Clover, who was at the mirror adjusting the resistance on a cable machine. The gym's fluorescent light caught the sheen of sweat on Clover's skin, highlighting the tattoos curling around her arms and peeking out from the neckline of her tank top.

Clover glanced at Paige's reflection in the mirror, catching her staring. She didn't say anything, but the smirk that tugged at her lips made Paige's stomach twist in equal parts annoyance and something else she refused to name.

"Enjoying the view, Bueckers?" Clover's voice broke the silence, casual and teasing.

Paige huffed, looking away as she set her dumbbells back on the rack. "You wish."

Clover turned, leaning against the cable machine, her arms crossed. "You're still mad about dinner, aren't you? I thought we had fun."

"Fun for you maybe," Paige shot back, stepping closer to grab her water bottle. "I don't make a habit of embarrassing people for sport."

Clover's grin widened. "Oh, come on. Amelia was—what's the word?—forgettable."

Paige glared, taking a long drink to buy herself time. She hated how Clover always knew exactly which buttons to push. But worse than that was how Clover's confidence—the way she carried herself, so effortlessly bold—made it hard to focus on anything else.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Paige asked, her voice quieter this time.

Clover tilted her head, her expression softening just enough to catch Paige off guard. "Why would I?"

Paige didn't answer, but the air between them felt charged, almost suffocating. She could feel Clover watching her, and it made her want to walk out—or close the distance between them.

Clover took a step closer, her gaze steady, curious. "What is it about me that gets under your skin so much, huh? Don't act like it's just my big mouth."

Paige's breath caught, her pulse quickening as Clover's words hung in the air. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss.

"Nothing to say?" Clover teased, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping. "That's a first."

Paige clenched her fists at her sides, every nerve on edge. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you," Clover replied, her tone softer now, less playful but no less intense.

For a moment, the weight room felt impossibly small, the space between them shrinking by the second. Paige could feel the tension in her chest, the unspoken words and emotions she wasn't ready to name.

Paige didn't step back. Her smirk turned sharper, her eyes searching Clover's face for any sign of hesitation—but she didn't find any. Instead, Clover stood firm, her confidence unwavering even as the air between them grew impossibly thick.

"You're looking at me like you wanna fuck me, Bueckers," Clover remarked, her voice steady and cocky grin unfaltering, even if her heart was pounding.

"Good," Paige replied, voice low. "Maybe that's exactly what I wanna do."

Before Clover could reply, Paige's hand moved—lightly brushing her hip first, then lingering at her waist, her grip firm but not overbearing. Her touch sent a jolt through Clover, but she didn't pull away. Paige stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching, her breath warm against Clover's cheek.

"You're bold today," Clover murmured, her voice quieter now but still laced with challenge.

Paige chuckled softly, the sound deep and confident. "Bold, or just tired of you running your mouth?"

The weight room suddenly felt a hundred degrees hotter. Paige's free hand came up, her fingers gently grazing along the line of Clover's jaw, tilting her head up slightly. The smirk on Clover's lips wavered for a second—not out of nerves, but because Paige's sudden boldness had thrown her off her game for the first time.

"Speechless for once?" Paige teased, her thumb brushing the corner of Clover's mouth.

Clover regained her footing quickly, her cocky grin returning as her hands came to rest against Paige's chest. "Not speechless. Just wondering if you're finally gonna back up all that talk."

Paige's response was immediate. She closed the small gap between them, her lips brushing against Clover's as she pinned her against the cold wall, teasing at first but quickly growing firmer, more insistent. Clover matched her energy without hesitation, her fingers curling into the fabric of Paige's shirt as she pressed closer.

The kiss was nothing short of electric—heated, competitive, and every bit as charged as their arguments. Paige's larger hand slipped from Clover's jaw to her ass, pulling her closer, while Clover tilted her head to deepen the kiss, not willing to let Paige take the lead entirely.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Clover was the first to speak, her voice soft but edged with humor. "So... does this mean you're done being mad about dinner?"

Paige laughed under her breath, her hand still lingering on Clover's waist. "Not even close." She stepped back slightly, her cocky smile returning as she grabbed her towel. "But that's a conversation for another time, Ma."

And instantly, the blonde's lips crashed back against Clover's, her unoccupied hand snaking back up to the girl's face before finding a light grip around her throat. That was enough to ignite the tamed fire inside of Clover, their kiss growing rougher, teeth clashing and tongues meeting— Paige licking into her mouth like she was seeking water in the Sahara desert. A small whimper escaped Clover into Paige's mouth. One that had the blonde cockily grinning against her lips as her slim fingers lightly squeezed the girl's throat.

"Already got you whimpering for me, Baby?" The blonde's grin was taunting, nothing short of confident in herself like she always was.

Clover, however, wasn't as amused as Paige. Too worked up, too hot to come up with her usual and well known retorts. "Just shut the fuck up." She rolled her eyes, barely able to express her annoyance, that could more so be described as frustration.

Paige didn't make an effort to reply, her hand snaking to the back of Clover's neck, pulling the girl into another rough and messy kiss. Her lips slowly began to trail down, peppering wet kisses along Clover's jaw until she reached her neck.

Clover couldn't help but fist the blonde's shirt, gripping it tightly in hopes of grounding herself. Her head tilts backwards, upper teeth biting down on the bottom of her lips to suppress the whimpers that so desperately wanted to be let out. Paige started out with placing soft kisses down Clover's neck, halting at the crook of her neck. Her grip around the girl's waist tightened, tongue darting out to lick along the inked area, down to the collar bone.

The pooling wetness and the growing heat between Clover's legs was hard to deny, even harder to hide. She almost scolded herself for the way her thighs pressed together—it only gave her away and of course Paige didn't miss that. A smirk tugged on the corners of the blonde's lips, darkness clouding her bright eyes.

"You think you're slick, huh? Spreading them for others all fucking week and now you wanna close those legs?" Her tone was mocking, almost degrading and for some reason it only turned Clover on even more.

She couldn't keep her mouth shut, though. When could she ever? Clover Amar was a loud mouth through and through. "Maybe if you weren't all talk I would've spread them for you instead."

Paige had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes, only a small, amused scoff escaping her. "Oh, I'm so sorry I made you wait, princess. Let me make it up to you, yeah?"

And just like that Paige went back to kissing and nibbling on her collar bones, mouth moving further south with each second before reaching her cleavage. Her hands slid up slowly, fingers playing with the hem of the girl's sports bra. "Can I?" Her gaze was back on Clover's face, blue eyes locking with hers and her tone unusually and bizarrely soft and gentle. As if getting permission meant a great deal to her. Clover could only nod her head, too dazed to trust her own voice.

That wasn't enough for Paige, though. She lifted her head up, standing straight as she shook her her head. "You got words, baby. Use 'em."

Clover had to bite her tongue to not curse the blonde out at that very moment. Even in a moment like this, Paige still needed to tease her about it. Typical. Taking a deep breath, she finally complied. "Yes. You can."

A smug smirk made it's way back onto Paige's lips, triumph painted all over her features. It was clear that she enjoyed this more than Clover herself. "There you go, good job."

And oh, how Clover hated the way those words made her stomach do flips.

Paige's fingers finally hooked into the material of the black sports bra, taking her sweet time in pulling it up until Clover's breast sprang free. She stilled for a moment, breath hitching in her throat as she took the sight in front of her in, mouth already watering. If it had been anyone other than the girl in front of her, she'd make sure to shower them in praise and compliments, but she couldn't do that yet. Clover's full tattoo was now in sight— starting from the valley of her breast and ending only a couple of inches above her navel.

The blonde took a subtly deep breath before her hands continued their abandoned actions. "Arms up," she dryly instructed, tugging the clothing over Clover's head and throwing it to the floor after she complied once again. She had to refrain herself from commenting on how well Clover could listen for once.

Paige took her sweet time admiring the girl's exposed chest, hands instinctively finding their way back to her waist, rubbing and caressing the soft skin up and down. Clover was starting to get impatient, her hand finding one of Paige's, guiding it up and placing it over her breast.

The smug smirk on Paige's face only intensified, exuding her all too known and obnoxious confidence. "Eager, aren't we?"

Clover didn't say a word, she didn't have to because as soon as the blonde spoke those words, her mouth was already back on Clover, lips latching onto one nipple while her hands played with the other one. Fondling, pinching her nipples, suckling and biting on them until she got a satisfying squeal out of the girl.

As much as Clover hated this, she absolutely loved it. In some way she was being worshiped AND pleased right? Technically, she was the winner.

Paige continued to suckle and place open mouthed kisses all over her tits, slowly trailing down along the inked skin, licking and pecking.

It wasn't enough for Clover, though. Not nearly enough to coming anywhere close to stilling her hunger for the annoying blonde. But luckily for her, she didn't have to do or say anything. Paige was already on it, hand sliding to the waistband of the girl's shorts while she straightened up. That's when Clover felt her body ignite with fire, the mere thought of being touched in such a public space where anyone could walk in at any given time—despite it being so late—excited her more than she'd like to admit.

"Can you stop teasing?" She asked in an unintentionally low tone, her question coming off as more of a demand or request.

"I don't know, can you behave for once?" Paige countered, that stupid smirk never leaving her face and if Clover wasn't so turned on in that moment, she'd want to smack it off of her.

She hesitated before replying, voice barely above a whisper and a small pout on her lips. "Yes."

That one word seemed to be enough for Paige. Her hand came back up, two digits hovering over Clover's lips. "Suck."

'Is she serious?' Clover thought to herself. She debated it, fighting her pride and ego all for the sake of pleasure before ultimately complying and parting her lips, slowly wrapping them around Paige's fingers.

"Good girl." The blonde hummed as she watched and Clover wanted to roll her eyes. Her tongue swirled around the digits, sucking on and wetting them all while maintaining eye contact until Paige pulled them out again, a string of saliva connecting them. This was purely for the blonde's own pleasure.

Her hands were back on Clover's hips, but this time she didn't seem to have the patience to tease her. Paige's hand slipped right between the material of her waistband and panties.

Clover let out a huffed breath of relief at the touch of Paige's fingers running over her slick folds. The girl was completely soaked by now—embarrassingly so—something that emitted a raised brow from the blonde. "What's got you all soaked, Ma?"

"Shut the fuck up." is all that Clover could muster to say, her words coming out breathless. Her body was on fire and the last thing she wanted, was to be teased again.

Paige could only chuckle, something that would've aggravated the girl if she wasn't so worked up and desperate. She began to slowly circle Clover's clit, biting back that smug smirk as she studied her expression. Clover made no efforts of hiding her face, nor how good she felt, multiple sighs escaping her lips and her eyes fluttering shut. Her leg lifted to semi-hook around Paige's hip for easier access.

"More, please." She breathed. Clover knew that if there was one way to get what she wanted, it was by playing her cards right. By asking nicely.

And it seemed to work when Paige sped her movements up, rubbing tight circles as her mouth latched back onto the girl's chest. It was as if she couldn't get enough of her.

Paige's movements slowed, two digits circling the girl's entrance for what felt like an eternity before slipping in all at once.

A soft gasp left Clover's lips at the delicious stretch, her head tipped backwards as Paige continued the abuse on her chest. The blonde's fingers were pumping in and out of Clover's sopping cunt, and the sound of wet squelching would've flustered her if she'd cared enough.

"Oh- Fuck, Paige." Clover's hands came up to the girl's shoulders, steadying herself. Soft whimpers and the sound of kisses all across Clover's chest was all that could be heard through the weight room.

"Good, huh?" Her voice was low and sultry, eyes looking up at Clover's already fucked out face, who could only nod her head.

The familiar knot below her stomach started to tighten, nails digging into Paige's skin as she continued her abuse on her cunt, fingers curling deep, hitting that gummy spot just perfectly.

Clover feels like she's floating and suffocating all at once, her muscles and senses trembling with pleasure and she can feel her high approaching. This wasn't what she had planned—being at the mercy of Paige Bueckers—but there wasn't anywhere she'd rather have been in that moment.

"You close, baby?" Paige mumbled against her neck that she was now attacking with kisses, almost as if she could sense it. "Clenching on my fingers like a slut. You're that desperate, Mama?"

Once again, Clover could only nod her head, whimpering and whining were the only form of noise she could muster up.

Paige smirked against the crook of her neck before pulling back to get a good look of Clover. Her unoccupied hand grabbed the girl's chin, tilting her head back forwards. "Look at me or I'll stop." She near to demanded as her movements quickened.

Clover barely had any time to register what was happening, her eyes fluttering open only to be met by Paige's hungry eyes. The intimacy of it should've turned her on even more, should've brought her closer and while it did just that, it also scared her. Looking into Paige's eyes was a form of intimacy and vulnerability that Clover had never expected to experience with her, a language so foreign, one she’d never bothered to learn. Her heart was pounding in her chest, stomach fluttering and she didn't know whether it was due to Paige bringing her closer to her release, or if it was the girl's baby blue eyes staring deeply into her soul, almost as if wanting to find a home within.

Those thoughts were quickly disrupted by the sudden feeling of Clover's climax washing over her, everything except the feeling of her all consuming orgasm, vanishing into thin air.

Just as quickly as it happened, it seemed to end when Paige's hand slipped out again, barely giving Clover the time to register anything. All she could do was watch how the blonde casually licked her fingers clean. "Tastes good." She spoke, but it sounded like she was more so speaking to herself.

Paige turned and a towel along with Clover's sports bra were already being handed to her. "To clean up with." She said, as if it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world.

Before Clover could register anything, the blonde was already making her way towards the door. "See you tomorrow." She called over her shoulder, barely looking back as she left the weight room.

Clover could only stand there in shock. Did that really just happen? Did she really leave just like that? It's not as if she expected any aftercare or something as silly as a kiss, but standing topless and still catching her breath, Clover couldn't help but feel ashamed. Feel as if she had just been used and discarded so easily. It wasn't something she was used to. Heck, even she had the decency to help the girls she hooked up with get cleaned up and dressed before ditching them.

She scoffed humourlessly before putting her bra back on, tightly gripping her towel and walking out of the weight room herself in annoyance, and which she hated to admit, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #mission jealousy #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #wnba #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut

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persevereforahappyending · 7 months ago

Text

No Man's Land |7|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

It wasn’t that long of a drive from your place to Sam’s apartment, she was surprised how close you lived. It made sense though, she had never seen your Jeep at the gym, even in the middle of the night, she figured you jogged there every time, it seemed like a thing you would do. Their apartment didn’t have parking, but it seemed you got lucky enough to get a spot on the street, Sam would have felt bad if you had to park further away and then walk all the way back to the apartment.

She led you into the apartment complex and up to her apartment number, which was on the top floor, though you didn’t seem to mind the stairs. There was an elevator in the complex, but Sam didn’t trust it, she had the image of getting into the elevator and then Ghostface attacking, only for there to be nowhere for her to run to or a way to fight back. You didn’t even so much as raise an eyebrow as Sam began unlocking every lock she had on the door.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked as soon as Sam walked through the door.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, giving her sister a small smile so she knew everything was truly okay.

“Great,” Kirby said, pushing herself off the chair in the living room. “I need to get back to my case anyway.”

“You stayed?” Sam tilted her head. She had expected Kirby to drop Tara off, maybe walk her up to the apartment but she definitely didn’t expect Kirby to still be there when Sam got home.

Kirby gave a little shrug and looked back at Tara who was sitting on the couch next to the others, except for Quinn, who Sam assumed was either out or in her room with a guy. “Figured you wouldn’t mind,” Kirby smiled. “Didn’t feel right just leaving them alone.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, I’ll keep you updated.” Sam nodded and followed Kirby to the door to see her out. When they got to the door Kirby turned around, looking past Sam and at you. You were standing a bit away, far enough to give Sam and Kirby privacy but not so far into the living room that you were invading the unknown space. “Are you sure you trust them enough to be here?” Kirby whispered.

Sam looked back at you, seeing you with your hands shoved in your pockets and despite everything that’s happened, you were still completely relaxed. “I’m not sure why, but I do,” Sam whispered. “Was there anything in their file that would indicate otherwise?” Sam searched Kirby’s face for any sign that you might not be as great as you seemed. She didn’t like asking Kirby about you, it didn’t feel right, like that she should hear about your past from you and not someone else, it almost felt like she was crossing a line.

Kirby sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Sam furrowed her brow and glanced back at you. It wasn’t a bad reaction, if there was a glaring red flag Kirby wouldn’t have even let Sam leave the station with you, not without warning her first, but it also wasn’t exactly a good reaction either.

“They’re special forces,” Kirby whispered. Sam nodded; you had told her that much. “Pretty much anything they’ve ever done is classified and way above my paygrade. From what I could make out,” she looked past Sam again. “They’re an exemplary soldier.”

“Then what has you hesitating?” Sam narrowed her eyes; she knew Kirby was holding something back.

“This is Ghostface, no one can be trusted.”

“Kirby,” Sam pleaded. Kirby’s excuse wasn’t wrong, it was completely true. The only people Sam knew she could trust a hundred percent was her sister, Chad, Mindy, Kirby, and as much as she hated it at times, Gale.

“I don’t know why they’re in town,” Kirby finally caved. “Their base is in North Caroline.” Sam furrowed her brow at that. “They do have a house here, have for years.” Sam nodded; she had seen that for herself. “The army doesn’t just let someone go off that far away from base, not when they’re active duty, they’re meant to be training or nearby in case a mission comes up.” Sam glanced back at you again to make sure you weren’t listening. “They’ve been here for a few months now, that’s not normal. So, something had to have happened.”

“Any ideas?” Kirby shrugged. “Right, classified.”

“Look, I want to trust them,” she gave Sam a sympathetic smile. “Them saving your life definitely adds points in my book.” Sam smiled at that; in the back of her mind, she knew that still could have all been a ploy though. “Just be careful.”

Sam nodded and said her final goodbyes to Kirby. Once Kirby was out the door, she quickly closed it and re-locked all the locks again before turning back around to you and the others. Despite the initial meeting in the hospital, she had a feeling this would be a long night. Tara was the only one who knew Sam asked you to come back to the apartment, she figured Tara would inform the others when she got home but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t still be caught off guard by your presence.

“So, we’re just inviting random people over when Ghostface is clearly out there?” Mindy asked.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Anika and Ethan are literally right there,” Sam said, gesturing at the two.

Anika didn’t seem too offended by the comment, but she did pout a little. Ethan looked around as if he were shocked by the accusation, despite knowing he was a suspect.

“And they’re not a stranger,” Chad said. He jumped up from the couch and practically ran towards you. “I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he gave you a big smile. “It’ll give us time to get to know each other better.” Sam flung her head back and closed her eyes as she tried to suppress a groan.

“How exciting,” you said, though Chad seemed to miss the sarcasm based on the way he was smiling and nodding along.

“I think it’s only fair,” Mindy said. She detangled herself from Anika and walked up to you, crossing her arms as she raised an eyebrow. “We deserve to know who you are if you’re going to be staying with us.”

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” You asked, looking at Sam and completely ignoring Mindy.

Sam put a hand to her head and tried to rub away the oncoming headache. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing she could think to say. You probably would be better off on your own, Sam knew that, if Ghostface had tried to attack you at your house if your dog didn’t scare them away you certainly would have.

“They’re a suspect,” Mindy continued, pointing at you. “We deserve to know who’s going to be sleeping in the next room.”

“You probably think having everyone stick together, even if they’re a suspect,” you said before Sam could think of a way to get them to ease up on you. “Is the smart move, if everyone is together and one of the parties is the killer, then they’re less likely to make a move.”

“Yeah, what of it?” Mindy crossed her arms and straightened her back just a bit more. Mindy talked big with this kind of stuff, Sam couldn’t deny that Mindy knew her stuff when it came to horror and when it came to the Stab movies and the real life Ghostface killings. That didn’t stop the fact that Mindy was terrified, and she was trying harder than Sam had ever seen to put on this cool and confident front.

“It’s a mistake,” you said plainly. You were blunt but it didn’t seem like you were judging them on their decision.

“You don’t think keeping the enemy close is a good idea?” Tara asked, getting up from the couch and joining the others around you.

“Not when you don’t know the enemy.” Sam flicked at glance at Tara to see her and Mindy already looking at her, as if they expected her to jump in. Sam just tilted her head and looked back at you, curious as to what you were seeing that they weren’t. “You think watching everyone means you’re watching the enemy. When really, it’s the exact opposite. Keeping the enemy close just means they know all your plans and where you are at all times.”

Sam sucked in a breath, that’s exactly what happened last time. They didn’t know who to trust, even after Dewey told them it’s always someone in the friend group. Everyone still hung out together, they all went to a party at Amber’s house. Sam still trusted Richie until the end, the first time she truly hesitated had been when she was in the basement and left him. Amber and Richie worked together, when one was pretending to be a victim the other was doing the killing. Seeing one of them in the same room as Ghostface made them all lower their guards around them, made them trust and reveal things to them.

“Kirby said you were a sergeant,” Tara said. Chad and Mindy both raised their eyebrows at that, it seemed Tara hadn’t revealed everything they learned at the station. “Who are you with?” It seemed she had picked up on the exact same thing Sam did.

“Army, special forces,” you answered, exactly as you told Sam.

“What kind?”

Sam raised her eyebrows, she didn’t think to ask that, she didn’t even know there were different kinds, she kind of figured a sergeant was a sergeant. She looked at you only to see you smirking, it seemed Tara asked the right question. “A weapons Sergeant.”

“So that means you know how to use weapons,” Mindy interrupted.

“It is in my title,” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“So, you’d know how to use a,” Mindy bobbed her head around as she pretended to search for a weapon to ask about, “knife?”

“It is probably the most basic and common weapon there is, so yes, I’d say so.”

“Why don’t we make this interrogation a little more family friendly,” Chad said, slapping you on the shoulders in a friendly gesture before putting arm around you as if you were one of his buddies. Chad was smiling as he raised an eyebrow at Mindy who just rolled her eyes. When Chad looked back at you, he was met with your glare, making his smile instantly fall as he slowly removed his hand from your shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Sam couldn’t help but smile as Chad gestured awkwardly at the dining table around the corner. He pulled out a seat for you and then moved to one on the other side of the table at the complete opposite side of you. Sam shook her head and joined as Mindy took a seat next to Chad and Tara grabbed the seat at the end of the table, leaving the only seat left next to you for Sam.

“I apologize for my sister,” Chad started again, this time much more calm than he had been any other time he talked to you or about you. “When did you join the army?”

“When I was eighteen,” you answered.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey,” Sam snapped. “You don’t ask someone that.” Sam knew she was being a total hypocrite, but you didn’t point out she had asked you the exact same thing just a little bit ago.

“You will never believe the night I had,” Quinn yelled as she entered the apartment, locking the various locks before stepping into view. “This guy…” Sam looked over when Quinn never finished, she saw Quinn standing just a few feet away, her arms still raised as they usually were when she was about to go into extensive detail about a particular hookup, but her eyes were locked on you.

“Well, now, who is this cutey?” Quinn said, smiling as she walked right up to you. You didn’t turn to face her until Quinn gently ran a finger up and down your bicep.

“This is Y/N,” Chad introduced you. “They-”

“Saved Sam’s life,” Quinn completed. “How dare Sam keep something like you a secret from me.” Quinn tilted her head; she was giving you her best flirtatious smile. Sam was trying to make her glaring at Quinn not too obvious. “Now, tell me,” Quinn stared right into your eyes. Sam couldn’t tell if you were falling for Quinn’s attempts or not, she was finding your composure and lack of reaction to things very irritating at the moment. “Is there a special lady in your life?”

You looked down and smiled, more to yourself than anyone else. Sam shook her head, hoping she hid the hurt on her face before anyone saw, it was clear you were thinking about a special someone. “You could say that,” you said. “Saved me more times than I can count. Can’t imagine life without her.”

Quinn pouted but took her hand off of you. “She sounds amazing,” Sam said, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“She is.” You turned to Sam and smiled at her. “You should know,” you nodded at Sam. “You met her.”

Sam furrowed her brow before rolling her eyes. “Your dog, really?” she chuckled. “That’s the special lady in your life?”

“Most important girl in my life.” Sam just rolled her eyes again, she shyly smiled to herself. She never thought she’d be thankful for Quinn’s relentless flirting.

“You have a dog?” Tara asked, her eyes lighting up. Tara had always wanted a dog when they were growing up but even before their dad left their parents never let them get one.

You nodded. “Her name is Artemis and she’s my battle buddy.”

“She’s a military dog?” Tara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she got more invested in hearing about your dog. You nodded once again.

“That’s so cool,” Chad said. “She goes on missions and stuff with you? Finding bombs, taking out bad guys,” he did some fighting motions with his fists.

“She did,” you explained. “She’s retired now but she still can give a good scare.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sam scoffed.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Quinn said. “Unless the soldier here wants to join?” she looked you up and down, making Sam glare at her again.

“No thank you,” you said.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she shrugged. She winced when she turned around to head towards her room.

“Are you okay?” Sam called out, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” her voice went slightly higher. She turned around and smirked, “I started to tell you, it was a crazy night.” Sam let out a hum and turned back to the others.

Sam glanced at you only to see you watching Quinn walk away. It didn’t seem like you were regretting not taking Quinn up on her offer, more like you were studying her. When she heard Quinn’s door close, you looked back at Sam, and she couldn’t help but send you a questioning glance. You just gave a subtle shake of your head as if to tell her not here, which only perplexed Sam more.

“Okay, I think it’s time we call it a night,” Sam said.

Tara went off to her room with Mindy and Anika following her. Everyone was staying the night, and the girls tended to share Tara’s room while Chad always took the couch. Sam frowned, with you she’d have to figure something out, she didn’t want to ask you to stay with them and then force you to sleep on the floor.

“You’re not staying?” Chad asked, making Sam turn around to see Ethan gathering up his backpack.

“I-I have an early class,” Ethan replied, giving them an awkward smile.

Ethan’s looked around the room, but his eyes kept darting back to you. Sam glanced over to see you watching him with narrow eyes, your eyes didn’t leave him until he was out the door. Sam wasn’t sure if you were seeing something she wasn’t or if you were just even more paranoid than she was.

“I’ll take the floor,” Chad said, getting up from the table.

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Take the couch.” Chad opened his mouth, clearly ready to object but you beat him to it. “I’m serious.” Chad sighed and got comfortable on the couch, pulling the blanket they had draped over the back down on top of himself.

“You can take my bed,” Sam said. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No,” you waved her off. “It’s fine.”

“Please, I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you stood up from the table. “Besides, the floor’s more comfortable anyway.” Sam searched your face for any evidence of a lie, but it didn’t appear you were.

“Fine,” Sam reluctantly agreed. “But let me help change your bandage first.”

You sighed but sat back down at the table. Sam smiled and ran off to grab some clean bandages. When she came back, she took a seat next to you and you lifted your shirt to reveal your wound. As gently as she could she peeled off the dirty bandage, she could feel your breath hitch as her fingers brushed against your skin.

“I’m sorry about my friends,” Sam whispered again. “Thank you for putting up with them.” Sam placed the clean bandage over your stitches and lightly pressed the edges to make sure it would stick.

“It’s not problem,” you whispered back, pulling down your shirt when Sam was all finished up. “If I may ask, why do you want me here?”

Sam made a fist, bunching up her jeans in the process. She looked up to see your eyes already on her. “You protected me, when you didn’t even know me,” Sam shrugged, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I just-I can’t explain it,” she looked down at her hand again and slowly unclenched them. “I think we’re safer with you around.”

When Sam looked up again, she was suddenly aware of how close she was to you. “No harm will come to you or your sister while I’m here,” you rasped out.

Sam wasn’t sure if it was you leaning in, or herself, or the both of you, all she knew was that you were getting closer. Her lips had just brushed yours; she wanted to close the gap and pull you in for a real kiss, but a loud snore broke the moment. You both quickly pulled away and glanced across the room where Chad was already passed out on the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sam rambled, shooting out of her seat, trying to create as much distance between you and her as possible. “I can’t,” she shook her head, but man did she really want to. “I’m sorry.”

Sam stopped when she felt you gently grab her hand. “Hey,” you whispered softly. “It’s okay,” you smiled. “Good night.”

“Night.” It took all her strength, but Sam pulled her hand away from yours and went to her room. She leaned back against the door as soon as she shut it, she couldn’t believe she had just kissed you, it was barely a kiss, but she wanted nothing more than to do it again. She knew she couldn’t though, not until this whole thing was over, there was a part of her that was still doubting whether they could trust you, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, there was no way she would get this lucky finding someone so perfect and understanding.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x fem!reader #sam carpenter imagine #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #no man's land

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beanarie · 6 months ago

Text

of course

in which the helicopter crashed with both our guys inside. inspired by this awesome post by @mooshkat

(tw: vomiting, heart issues, near death angst, biphobia mention)

Once the wave of agony subsides, and Tommy is reasonably sure he's done vomiting into the dirt, he blinks over at Evan appraisingly. "Is your arm broken or did your shoulder go out again?"

Evan grimaces and finishes tying off Tommy's splint. "Shoulder. And my hip's not feeling great. Cracked rib, maybe two. But of course you had to outdo me."

"Didn't do it on purpose." Tommy glares at the spot where his tibia poked through the skin, like he can intimidate the pain away. "Anyway you've got me on quantity."

"There's nothing else?"

"My head hurts," Tommy admits, "but there's not much we can do for that right now."

Evan leans in to compare his pupils. Tommy is very proud of himself for not flinching. "Dispatch had our location?" Evan asks, and instead of reminding him that he was there when they confirmed it, Tommy nods.

He knows he can't go to sleep, even if the leg would allow him. He finds a stick and starts tic tac toe. Evan chuckles and joins in.

He wins the next two games. Tommy blames his probable concussion.

Evan holds his bad arm tight around his midsection, but his eyes seem stormy for a different reason. "These people who hurt you in the past, what- what are their names?"

"Huh?" Tommy gives up on the game, scratching it out of the dirt. "You want a full list of legal names or just what I called them?"

"Was it Evan, for any of them?"

God, he's so transparent. Tommy laughs.

"Do you- do you judge everyone by who came before? Is that just what you do in a-all situations? One barista spilled coffee on you in 2011 and you pay for Starbucks with one of those grabby reacher things ever since?"

"Fuck's sake." Tommy doesn't even like Starbucks, but he doesn't say that.

Evan sort of shrugs before he remembers his shoulder with a wince. "It's not generally considered a sign of maturity. Ironic, I guess."

"Yeah, call me old. See where it gets you."

Evan brightens. "You're talking to me. I like my results so far."

There's something indefatigable about this man. Tommy can't help but surrender in the face of it, just a little. "How did you know I'd have to pinch hit for this fly along?"

"I didn't. I just hoped." His grin is just the slightest bit abashed. "Worst case scenario, get out of the engine for a day and I pump one of your coworkers for info."

"They have very little to pump," Tommy says. Evan and the codependent 118 are the aberration, and they're well aware of that. Tommy has great coworkers. They do their jobs and leave, with the exception of drinks once or twice a month. None of them gave him shit after the breakup. Few of them noticed. This is how most teams operate. Evan, however, looks surprised and a little sad. "What were you hoping to hear?"

"I don't know." Evan looks away, suddenly self conscious. "That you messed yourself up at least half as much as you did me."

Tommy rubs at his face. "I didn't mean to mess you up, Buck. Truly. We- It just ran its course. It doesn't reflect badly on you, or me. This just happens."

He looks upset at first, then calculating. "What if I hooked up with those Not-Evans?"

Tommy looks behind him, searching for something that makes sense. "What if you moved to the moon? I have no idea what you're getting at right now."

"Would I be experienced enough for you if I let them have a go? They were terrible for you, so it stands to reason they'll be terrible for me, too." He lifts a finger, his eyes lighting up in a way that turns Tommy's stomach. "Oh, I guess one or two of those might be women. They don't count. Some might be bi and married to women. Do they count as half? If I bag a threesome, is that like seventy-five percent? Do you give points for polyamory?"

Tommy feels about eighty years old, and not a fit eighty. "When did I say even one of those things?"

"The implications were pretty clear, Tommy. 'You're just young and excited. You don't know what you're feeling or how to interpret anything going on in front of you.'"

Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. It's not remotely what he meant, but he's never been good at communicating through panic.

"Did you love me?" Evan asks quietly. Tommy can't look him in the face. "It felt like you- like you did, but when you let me go like that, like chopping off the top bit of a carrot, it made me re- reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us."

The note of devastation in his voice almost tips him over, but ultimately what does it is the implication that Tommy made Evan lose faith in himself. He can't abide being responsible for that. "Of course I love you, Evan. How could I not?"

The tightness in his chest, that felt so much like raw emotion, intensifies, growing sharper. It's hard to breathe now, like sucking a milkshake through a coffee stirrer, and he realizes, something is very wrong. About as wrong as it could possibly be.

"Oh," he says. An attempt to inflate his lungs all the way makes his vision go sparkly at the edges.

"Tommy?"

Tommy drags his eyes up to meet Evan's. "S- Sorry, I-" I wouldn't have said any of those things if I knew. "Sorry. Evan." You deserve better than a fucking deathbed love confession.

A rough hand grasps his neck, slowing his descent to the ground. "No, hey. Hey hey hey. Tommy, we'll figure this out." Evan sniffles and tries to smile. His tears are falling everywhere. "You're okay. You're fine. Just keep- keep breathing."

The coffee stirrer is about a millimeter wide. Tommy can feel the muscles in his neck straining like he's deadlifting his own weight. Evan rips Tommy's shirt open and he swears floridly, miserably. They both know what this is; they've seen it in a hundred MVAs. Cardiac tamponade. When his heart gives out from the strain of all the blood surrounding it, chest compressions can be worse than useless. They could punch his ticket that much faster.

"Tommy," Evan says, pulling Tommy into his lap. The complaints from his splinted leg are distant, belonging to someone else entirely. Evan's voice is a ragged mess trying to piece itself together. His shoulder and ribs are probably killing him. "Don't run out again. You need to stay. Breathe."

Half a millimeter.

One quarter.

Tommy can't remember what comes after millimeter.

"That's it. I know it's hard, but keep trying. That's all I ask. Just try, okay? Look at me."

Micrometer? Is that it?

Evan's face is shadowed by the sun cresting over his shoulder. Tommy closes his eyes against the glare and is rewarded with a shake.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Just a little- little bit longer, please."

Fingers are running through his hair, lips are pressing against his forehead, and he thinks he can hear... sirens.

#bucktommy #911 abc #my writing #things by beanarie #there's a second part but it veered off to the left #and i'm not sure how to get back on course #so self contained for now!

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heizours · 1 year ago

Text

COLLAPSING CONSCIOUSNESS

summary. when you faint in the middle of an argument with them (requested)

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. reader passes out, signs of fainting beforehand, call signs of endearmeant, there are parts where they think that the reader won’t wake up again out of panic, angsty in the beginning

feat. heizou, ayato, xiao

note: i have a history about fainting but i can't tell if what i wrote was accurate enough but, pls lmk if there's something that i should change especially in the warnings.

HEIZOU.

First off, what was the cause of the argument? I don't think big fights would occur between you and him, you see Heizou is a rational thinker and whatever dispute there will be between the two of you — he is willing to solve it right away. He hates it when the both of you are not in good terms.

How would he react if you fainted? Heizou would be frozen at first, but once his senses reach him, he reacts to it immediately once he sees you in an unconscious state or you're just about to fall unconscious.

He is a great detective that is level headed even in the brink of danger but when it comes to you, all those greatness disappears because you're the only one who can make him this vulnerable.

"And I came back, all in one piece aren't I? [Name], what's all got you so worked up over this plain case?" Heizou's tone remained stern, as he tried to keep this little dispute under good wraps.

However the problem here is, he isn't getting your point of view. He is talking about how easy this case was, while here you were at you're wits end after gathering information that this case he claimed to be easy, is very dangerous to the point it can costs his life if he wasn't careful enough in the first place.

To add more gasoline to the fire, he had gotten an injury from it and tried to also hide it from your prying eyes which just increased your disappointment in him.

“You’re simply not getting it, I am getting worked up because if you weren’t careful enough, you could have killed yourself. Speaking of coming back in ‘one piece’, how about that injury you had taken from it huh?” You backfired, as the temperature in the room continues to rise between the two of you.

You could feel the continuous pulse in your head and the sudden need to go to the bathroom as the a tense feeling climbs up your throat, yet you paid no attention to it, thinking it’s nothing more than that.

But, you were very wrong about it. As the argument escalates further, so does your need to breathe and get much air as possible, continues to increase rapidly as well.

Sick of simply hearing his repeated explanation, you decided to stand up from the chair you were seating, finding a pace to cool off and avoiding the path where you could possibly lash out on him.

Unexpectedly, you find yourself standing steadily on the floor for a moment as the noises around started to gradually fade away.

There is this feeling from within you that you need some air or you want to puke, you tried to remain unaffected, ignoring the concern look Heizou was giving you after stopping in place.

It didn't stop there- your sense of hearing was starting to get fuzzy almost turning you deaf as Heizou’s words were beginning to be incoherent in your part.

You could feel the air inside your body being sucked out, like you're losing the oxygen that you need, and black spots began clouding your vision, not before the world before you was spinning.

You heard someone shouting and shaking you vigorously, and with all your might you tried to respond back yet nothing came out, as your mouth remained open without saying anything.

Your body was starting to lose it's balance as it started to fall carelessly, and the last thing you felt before losing yourself was a gentle yet firm hand wrapped around you.

---

Frozen.

That’s what Heizou had felt when you fell right into his arms.

Looking back at what happened when you’re already laid out in his arms, he could still clearly remember how his eyes widened in fear, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. His thoughts were scattered all around the place, as all he could think about is to get you urgent help, but at the same time he doesn’t want to leave you by yourself.

He remembers it all too well, how he finds himself trembling slightly, frozen in place and filled with deep regret by his unthinkable actions.

You were just looking out for his safety, like he have always did back at you, yet when you’re the one who reprimanded him to be careful, all he did was caused you further harm. You didn’t want to let him know the uneasiness you were feeling, and that what greatly fears him the most.

What if you never wake up again?

---

As you fluttered your eyes open, you were met by a ceiling, as you process what just happened not too long ago - Heizou, who was sitting right beside you caught wind of your consciousness and sat right up.

"..[Name]? Can you hear me?" He spoked with such tone that you could feel that a part of his voice cracked out of nervousness and worriedness because of how he was fidgeting in his seat.

You turned your head at his direction, silently observing him - he seemed to be in such a distress by how he looked. As you tried to sit up from the bed you were resting on, Heizou didn’t waste a millisecond of helping you be comfortable in the position you wanted.

"W-what happened?"

You stuttered out, while still feeling a little drowsy from the incident.

"...You f-fainted, it happened right in front of me while we were having a misunderstanding. Before you could fall on the ground, I made it near you as soon as I can so that the fall wouldn't be worse than what I am imagining." Heizou started, as he began to fidget once again and bit his lip to prevent the tears that are threatening to come out.

"Y-you were unresponsive [Name], I was trying to shake you, to get something out from you, anything to let me know that you're still there, my cries of help was heard by the General Gorou, he and his comrades calmed and distract me down while a healer was called upon by the Young Priestess."

He continued.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I made you feel this way my love. If - I wasn't so stubborn to listen to your concerns, maybe this could have been avoided. What I did, was horrible - I shouldn't have been angry about what you said, I had let my words get the best of me during the heat of the moment, I'm sorry."

He finished, averting his eyes away from you out of shame.

As soon as you heard his side of the story, you leaned forward to cup his cheek into your hand, turning him to face you. Despite the tiredness, you let out a grim yet genuine smile along his way, as if to assure him that you too are sorry.

"Oh my love, hush now - I'm alive and still breathing here and right in front of you, see? Do not take all the blame by yourself, as I have a fault too. I'm sorry for lashing out on you like that, when all you did was doing as you're told to, and for making you worried as well. We we're both in the wrong." You replied

Heizou grabbed the hand that was cupping his cheek, snuggled into it before giving a long peck on it before turning to look at you.

"I'm so glad you're alright, I really am. My heart, it always beats for your name, it calls your name and you have no idea how it dropped in a heartbeat like how you dropped in my arms."

He leaned in for a peck on your forehead, before grabbing your face gently into his hands, as if he was holding the whole world.

"You, you are the very essence of my existence"

Heizou finished.

All the tension, fear, anxiousness and pent up emotions that he was holding while you were resting unconsciously was now free, away from it’s cage. The detective couldn't help but to smile at you, that is so full of love and care.

"Now, it's time for you to rest easy again my love. I suppose we won’t be stubborn for the meantime, aren’t we?"

He affirmed while hinting you with a joke at the end of his reminder about your stubbornness, that he also sometimes has.

You couldn’t help but laugh in response, before nodding.

All is well now, and the both of you couldn’t ask for more. What makes the moment more significant, is that you both knew.

AYATO.

Arguments doesn’t occur often as well when you’re in an established relationship with the Kamisato Head, but if minor disputes were to emerge between the two of you, he would like to cool things off like giving you space and him some space to sort things out.

How would he react if you fainted while the both of you are in the middle quarrel? He would immediately set aside whatever the both of you are fighting about, and he’ll be catching you the moment that his instinct tells him so that you’re not feeling well.

He tries to be calm, but his strained voice tells another story. When threat comes close to you that is too much for his comfort, his serene image falls into shambles.

“I don’t know when will I come back, but if the night is already falling late, please do not wait for me anymore, darling.” Ayato announced, still busy on his table

Recently, Ayato has been trapping his self inside his office and has been going on for a while now, much to Ayaka’s concern. At first, you didn’t tried to intervene with it even though you’re worried, since you knew how much your significant other cares about the well-being of the common people.

But, judging by how much he is being selfless to the point where he is not even properly taking care of himself, you decided to step in and pay him a visit with a tray of tea in your hand. You started off with a conversation and then brought up the idea of him taking a break, by drinking the tea you had visited him along with, and as usual - what he had said earlier was his response to your offer.

The situation isn’t getting any better, especially that you have sensed that you’re not feeling like yourself as well. Despite that, you pushed away what you’re feeling at the moment, and chose to persuade Ayato to rest instead.

“Then, can you at least drink the tea I have prepared for you? I’m worried, Ayaka’s worried, we’re all worried about you.” I expressed ignoring the lightheaded feeling that is coming from within me.

“[Name], as much as I would rather do it, I can’t have this documents hanging around. You know that right? Please leave me be while I am still having the patience to do so.” Ayato argued back, his voice trying to sound calm and gentle as possible yet it sounded disapproving.

This time, what you were feeling that you dismissed not too long ago, somehow become worst. In fear that you’ll add more to Ayato’s pent up stress, you just silently agreed and gave up the fight, deciding to take the rest and you’ll try again tomorrow.

Turning your back on him, your body suddenly felt the need to fall - your vision began spotting black and white forces as if it’s forcing you to close your eyes, then came in an annoying yet blurred ring in your ears.

It doesn’t stop there, you could feel your head hanging low, you’re body was rapidly falling and you have nothing to lean on to.

Before you can even entirely fall, Ayato grabbed you by the waist preventing you from the incoming impact. By the time he sat down with you on the floor, you were already unconscious.

Ayato turned your body around so you’re facing him, tapped your cheek multiple times, and shook you gently awake, but to no avail, you remain unresponsive.

---

Guilty.

That’s what Ayato felt, looking from the situation you were in right now.

Not once did he left your side the moment you fell senseless in his arms, no he didn’t want to take the chance - and instead shouted with all his might, that he has never done before, to get you instant help.

And he still hasn’t left you alone, as you were laid down on a futon that you’re resting upon. For once in a blue moon, Kamisato Ayato was scared of even leaving you out of his sight.

It creeps upon him, that all you did was cared and understand him as a busy man, all you asked for once is for him to take a rest even though you should also be doing that to yourself, but no - you putted him first before your well being, and that what makes him feel that he should be accountable for what happened to you.

---

The first thing your eyes laid upon was Ayato, who continued to seat in deep silence, not until when he looked at the slight sound that was caught up by his ears, as he let out quiet gasp of surprise and relief.

As you fidget to sit up from the futon, Ayato took action and gently helped you sit right up. When you finally settled down, he continued to stare at you in silence, but his eyes tells a different story.

They softened at the sight of you, but despite that they were also letting you know how much ache, and ashamed do they feel from putting you in this kind of state.

“...You’re alright, I’m glad.” Ayato whispered, the relief relevant at the tone of his voice, yet you could also that there’s a part in him that just wants to burst out in tears, seeing that you’re still here in front of him, alive and breathing once again.

You looked at him tenderly, as you reached out to grab his hand and squeezed it tenderly and gently, to affirm him that all is alright.

That was the breaking point.

It was Ayato’s last straw, as the tears he was trying to push away to put up his casual facade finally began to stream silently. He brought your hand near his lips, as he pecked it gently and held your hand closer to his face, rubbing it on his cheek, as if holding your hand was his lifeline.

“..I’m sorry, I truly am. I’m sorry for denying your care, I’m sorry for denying your concern and worries, I’m sorry that I made you feel this way. It was not what I intend to do darling, maybe if I did agree for that cup of tea, this situation would have been prevented, and you could have been able to tell me.”

He expressed, the regret clearly evident in his voice, as he grasped on tightly yet gently to your arm that he brought closer to him, placing a light peck every now and then as if it was an assurance to him that you’re still here right beside him.

You cupped his face by cupping your other hand on the other side of his cheek, as if you were holding the whole world in your hands right now, gesturing him to look at you in the eye. Never once did you look at him with such hatred nor misunderstand, but instead kept up the sentimental look that you always used to.

“We were both in the wrong, I hid how unwell I was feeling because I didn’t want to be a burden to you nor be added as something that can distract you. But what matters the most to me right now, is that all is well, my darling.”

You stated, as a gentle smile made it’s way on your face even though a little bit the drowsy feeling is still present there.

Ayato couldn’t help but smile back, as he let out a big sigh of relief, not before affirming you with such words you couldn’t help but feel giddy about.

“From this day forward, I will save the time to rest from being a workaholic man, and I am expecting that you, are to rest with me as well. Will that be a good negotiation between us, darling?”

Ayato replied with a hint of tease at the end of his sentence, as you nodded while laughing lightly - glad that he seemed to be in good spirits now.

He looked at you with such a tender face, as if you’re the whole purpose of his life, that he couldn’t help but to blurt out such words, it just adds to the evidence that despite being focused on his work in the past few days, all he could think and miss about was you.

“I burn for you, [Name], I’ve always been.”

Ayato whispered lovingly.

Stuck in the midst of the sincere moment, the both of you couldn’t ask for more other than the fact, that the love between the two of you is still burning, and it increased more than ever.

XIAO.

Arguments with Xiao tend to be a little rocky, only in the beginning of your relationship though. He avoids bringing arguments into the relationship but if the argument continues to grow bigger like a raging fire, he wants things to not be as worst as it already is, and would try to sort things out in the best way he thinks it would work.

How would he react if you fainted? Xiao won’t have time to comprehend what is happening, because as soon as he senses that something about you is not right, he would be right by your side in a heartbeat. His priority first is to get you to safety, before he would ask such things.

He can’t find a way to stay put, because even if Xiao can stay level headed at such emergencies, he can’t act the same when you’re the one being directly involved.

“...This isn't working out” Xiao said, breaking the tense silence between the two of you after a brief moment.

The argument wasn’t that bad at first, but as the both of you backfired such words at each other, it had came to the point where it is already big as it is before the both of you could even realize it.

Stuck in the midst of trying to mend again the misunderstanding in each other’s perspective, you forgot the fact that you’re not feeling well at the meantime as well, wanting for this argument to be fixed up first.

Looking back at what he previously said - You freeze in your spot, almost as if a bucket of cold water was dump right at your face. You couldn’t find the right words to respond to it, almost as if you’re questioning if Xiao really thinks about it like that.

Xiao’s back remained turned against you, arms crossed as you were right behind him almost in the dark, if not for the moon illuminating some light across his room in Wangshu Inn.

Your breath becomes shaky, but you remained your ground.

“....Well, do you love me?”

You asked, dodging the question he gave and instead gave him another one taking in slow deep breaths maintaining a good pace in hopes that the ringing in your ears would soon stop.

Xiao stood silent, back still facing you - If only you could see how his eyes widened slightly at the question.

“This isn’t the right time for you to be asking m-”

“Do you love me?”

You asked again, ignoring the sudden light headedness that washed over you, as you tried to plant your feet on the ground. The air was silent for a moment, but something was not right, almost as if something more eventful would happen.

Every millisecond that passes by as you await for his answer, your body starts wobbling on it’s own, as black and white spots began to cloud your vision.

This time, Xiao turned his back on you, but before he could give his answer, he gasp in shock at the state you’re in. Your face was pale, and it seemed that at any minute or even second your body would give up on you.

The high pitched ringing in your ears was more vigorous than ever, and your body screams for you to do something. The blood that flows right through you suddenly drops, as your consciousness leaves you, but before you can fall with a loud thud, a firm grip held you down.

---

Clammy.

Xiao’s hands was clammy from the nervousness and guiltiness sucking him in.

His voice was caught in his throat the moment he caught you, as he tried to speak, to shout for help, anything at all, but all he managed was to inhale a harsh breath, as his grip on your unconscious body tightened.

And at last, for the first time in his life, Xiao shouted for help, he didn’t care who it was, anyone will do, as all he knows is that he can’t lose you right at this moment, not now, not ever.

The tone in his voice still held with the same firmness but if anyone were to listen closer, it was at the verge of cracking from despair, as he tried to gently shook you awake while still calling out for help.

He looked down on you, worried flickering in his eyes as the minutes continued to passed by, while the gut in his stomach continued to dig deeper, it was such a sickening feeling that he thinks he’s about to go crazy.

---

You stirred in the futon, as you slowly gained back your consciousness - eyes darting around the room looking for a certain person, until your eyes landed on him who’s at the balcony, staring off into space outside, as he gripped the wooden railings to ease down his thoughts.

“..Xiao?”

Your voice came out as weak as you’re still recovering especially at a state like that, but Xiao heard it all too well as his eyes snapped open in your direction.

The both of you had a stare off for a moment, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you in just a few strides, as he kneeled down at the side of your futon.

You slowly sat up, as Xiao helped you gently. The both of you still as quiet as ever, that is until you caressed Xiao’s cheek giving him an assuring look.

He let out a shaky sigh of relief, as if the weight in all his body has been now lifted, as he lifted his hand to grasp and caress your hand, leaning further into your touch, as if it was his lifeline.

“..Don’t scare me like that again, alright?”

Xiao whispered, almost too quiet as his voice was on the verge of cracking again - this time not from the despair he felt not too long ago, but because from the comfort and solace provided by your warm touch.

There was a beat drop of silence before the yaksha glances at you once again, still with a heavy heart from the events that took place not too far ago.

"..My life...it revolves around you. You are the reason I breathe, you are the reason I continue to live. Telling you that I love you is an understatement to begin with, because it would not be enough for how much you mean to me."

Your eyes soften as Xiao stated those words with a sincere tone, as he pressed a peck on your wrist, looking at you still as if you are star that hang and brought back the light in his life. It was his own way of apologizing to you.

"We will work this out.."

Xiao continued, nodding at you with affirmation and determination.

"We will"

You repeated with a light yet groggy chuckle, as Xiao pressed a kiss on your forehead this time, before gently placing his hand at the back of your head bringing the both of your foreheads closer to each other.

"Rest, and after that we will talk and fix this out calmly"

He whispered.

No words were spoken after that, but the both of you knew this was enough assurance that in every afterglow, there is a daylight. The both of you will work this out just fine.

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im-not-a-ghost · 8 months ago

Text

How will you meet your next lover?

Group 1

Cards : 2 of pentacles, Knight of pentacles, Temperance, page of cups, ace of swords, 4 of pentacles

This feels like a work setting or at least a work related meeting. You might not necessarily meet them directly at work but your occupation may lead you to meet this person. I feel like either one or both of you are in a transition when you meet. If not, a period of instability. It's like you're not really sure whether you want to keep going in the direction you're headed to. When you meet, I feel like the connection is instantly going really smoothly. You and this person may be chatting right away, exchanging ideas and tips. However, I feel like both of you are on the reserve. I don't see anyone being at the origin of your meeting with them. You will likely be surrounded by people but they will not come into play here. It's just you and your person interacting with each other. I feel like both of you are single when this happens. The transition phase may concern your respective studies or career. There might not be much going on upon first meeting. But you will instantly feel attracted to them, especially to their mind. In terms of timing, I'm picking up on a few years. A little pigy bank was depicted on the 4 of pentacles card. So I'm getting the message that in order to meet this person, you will have to save money. Or you will meet them at a point in your life when you or they need to save money for a project. Maybe you live at a distance from one another and when this person meets you, you or they are only there for a short period of time. Which would explain the transition thing. Think about a tourist visiting a country and making acquaintances with the locals.

Group 2

Cards : 4 of pentacles, 9 of swords, Queen of swords, Magician, 6 of swords, King of pentacles

I am getting a work setting from this group as well. You might have felt drawn to group 1 too. For this group, I'm picking up on a difficult phase in your career. Maybe you've reached a stalemate. You're working really hard to ensure your future and stability but somehow you're not seeing any progress. This may lead to you feeling anxious or even being depressed. I see that during this period of time, you're not entertaining any relationship. You feel very guarded and hurt and the last thing you need is for someone to come into your life and see you stuck in this mess. Yet, that's what happens. This person is also single and very career focused. You may meet them at a time of their life when they're travelling for learning purposes. This person has reached a stale mate in their career as well. And in order to overcome this phase, they have decided to make a move and find an opportunity to learn more and get more resources. This person decided to force their luck so to speak. "If I'm not going to be given the sucess that I seek, I'm going to create it on my own, no matter how hard that may be" was their mindset. Neither of you expected to meet each other. I don't know why I keep talking in past tense. This could be an indication that you may have met this person already. I get a vibe from you that both of you are very witty and cerebral people. This may be what got you to interact with each other in the first place. I'm picking up on different zodiac signs which could give us an indication as to who they are or when you met them. We have Gemini, Libra, Taurus and Scorpio. So that gives us a time frame from mid June to mid November. You may have met them during Summer.

Group 3

Cards : Hierophant, 5 of cups, The World, 10 of pentacles, King of cups, 10 of cups

For this group, the place of the meeting may vary. What triggers this meeting is a loss. It could be the loss of a partnership in any form (person, contract) or of an important belief system. In both cases, this really affected you on a spiritual and emotional level. When you start to overcome this loss and feel a bit more optimistic about life is when this person comes in. You may be travelling abroad or interacting with a lot of foreigners online. Your job or studies are going well. You may be travelling or enhancing your presence online in order to gain knowledge, notoriety or resources. The person you meet is very generous. Right off the bat, you will get a very good impression of this person. They will make you feel safe and cared for like no other. One way that you can recognize this person is by how sweet and kind they are. They will gift you many things out of the blue, for no other reason than to make you smile. They will give you compliments out of the blue, reassure you very frequently, encourage you every step you take. This person is a very good listener and a reliable support system. When you meet and start interacting, you may be living at a distance from each other and thus use social media to stay in touch. I'm picking up on fixed signs very strongly, especially Taurus and Scorpio. When you meet this person, you will notice that a lot of things in your life are improving. It will almost feel surreal. It's like this person has unlocked a cheat code that you weren't aware of and now all you ask for is in your hands. Lucky you!

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #love pac #tarot reading

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hoe4hotchner · 5 months ago

Text

New Years Eve | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1k | CW: Fluff, fireworks, new years eve, first kiss.

The soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald's voice played in the background as it filled Rossi’s living room. The BAU team had gathered to celebrate New Year’s Eve, though the invitation had invited them to party in style the emphasis of the party leaned more toward cozy than extravagant. Fairy lights twinkled across the walls, and a fire crackled in the hearth, making the winter night outside feel miles away.

You stood in the kitchen, carefully pouring champagne into a cluster of fluted glasses, mindful of the bubbling foam. The air was scented with cinnamon and cloves from the mulled wine simmering on the stove while the faint sound of laughter spilled in from the living room. Hotch leaned casually against the counter beside you, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up in a rare sign of relaxation. His eyes flicked toward you every few moments, the corners crinkling when you glanced back at him.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” he said, his voice low and warm, almost lost beneath the clink of glasses.

“Someone’s got to keep things running smoothly,” you teased, placing the bottle on the counter before reaching for another glass in the cabinet overhead. “Besides, you’re not exactly rushing to help.”

He chuckled softly and stepped closer. His hand brushed against yours as he picked up one of the glasses, sending a flicker of warmth up your arm. “I think you’ve got it under control. But for the record, I’m ready to step in if things get out of hand.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Agent Hotchner.”

The gentle banter was interrupted as Jack burst into the kitchen, his cheeks pink from running around. He skidded to a stop, his excitement making him bounce on his toes. “Dad! We're playing charades, and Uncle Derek’s losing so bad!”

Hotch laughed, ruffling Jack’s hair with an affection that softened his entire face. “Is that so? Maybe I should go rescue him before he kicks down a door.”

You grinned, watching as Jack tugged his dad toward the living room. You followed with the tray of glasses. Before settling down with the others on the couches, you paused to grab a spare blanket from the basket near the fireplace in case the night’s chill crept inside. The living room was alive, and the team was in various stages of jokes and games. Morgan was mid-performance, flapping his arms in what you guessed was supposed to be a bird, while Reid shouted increasingly wild guesses from his spot near the fireplace.

“A chicken? No, a swan! Wait, a penguin?”

Emily doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach. “Why would he be a penguin?”

“You don’t know! Penguins are very expressive creatures,” Reid retorted, crossing his arms defensively, which only made Emily laugh harder.

Rossi raised his glass from his spot on the couch, smirking. “This might be the best entertainment I’ve had all year.”

“Careful, Dave,” you said. “We still have two hours left. Plenty of time for things to get even better.”

JJ stood, her phone in hand, and called out, “Alright, everyone, time for pictures! Before we get too… uh, spirited.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the half-empty bottle of wine in Garcia’s hand.

Garcia gasped in mock offense, clutching the bottle to her chest. “Excuse me, Jennifer, I am always perfectly composed.”

“Sure you are,” Emily quipped, pulling her up from the couch.

The group crowded together in front of the fireplace, where Rossi insisted on setting the timer so everyone could be in the shot. Hotch’s hand found the small of your back as you squeezed into the frame, his touch steady and warm through the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, you leaned into him, the moment so natural it didn’t even register until the flash went off.

The rest of the night flowed like the champagne. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the house, and Jack eventually fell asleep in a pile of blankets, his head resting on your lap. Hotch sat beside you, his posture relaxed as he nursed a glass of wine. His hand brushed against yours again, his fingers warm as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The intimacy didn’t go unnoticed; Emily sent you a look from across the room, silently telling you that an interrogation would be scheduled in the new year, but she said nothing.

As the clock approached midnight, Rossi produced a box of sparklers, and the group bundled up to step outside. The cold air bit at your cheeks and made your breath visible in soft puffs, but the sight of the glittering sky, clear and dotted with stars, was worth it. Jack woke up just in time to light a sparkler with his dad.

When the countdown began, you found yourself standing next to Hotch again, your breath mingling in the crisp night air.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

The voices grew louder, for a moment, you thought about stepping away, about playing it safe. But when the clock struck midnight, Hotch turned to you.

“Happy New Year,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the cheers of the others.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, the words barely leaving your lips before his hand cupped your cheek, and he kissed you. It didn't take long for the sparks of fireworks to ignite the sky, setting the background for your first kiss.

When you pulled back, your cheeks felt warm despite the cold, you noticed the team trying (and failing) to act nonchalant. Morgan’s grin was wide enough to split his face, and Garcia looked ready to combust with glee.

“Alright, everyone inside,” Rossi called, clapping his hands together. “Let’s toast to the new year properly.”

As you followed the others back into the house, Hotch’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt as natural as breathing. And as you raised your glass to toast with the team, surrounded by laughter and love, you couldn’t imagine a better way to start the year.

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fear-is-truth · 4 months ago

Note

i don't know if you've already done this (if you have, i haven't seen it), but, how would the evans do with a girlfriend with a high sex drive? how many times a week, how many rounds, etc. i don't know if some of them could keep up-

-🫐

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans x nympho!gf .ᐟ | nsfw. mdni

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson

i love this idea sm anon, kissing ur brain rn mwah

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t exactly be keeping a tally, but he’d totally match your libido. it’s like he’d been waiting his whole (after)life for someone like you, so he’s not complaining. three times a day? no problem. repeat the same routine every day of the week? sign him up. he’s got nothing but time.

he’d thrive on the attention. tate’s got a lot of insecurities, and having someone who genuinely wants him that much? it’s a massive confidence boost, even if he doesn’t admit it. he’d also loves that it’s your idea most of the time—takes the pressure off him and makes him feel wanted.

verdict: several times a day, so it’s honestly hard to account for.

rounds/stamina: probably 2 rounds per session when he was alive, very clingy afterwards. as a ghost he can’t physically burn out, and he’s just as clingy so you’re in luck.

notes: tate wouldn’t just indulge your high libido—he’d love it and go along it.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit walker is 100% a giver—like, he’s all about making you happy. if you’re a nympho, he’d try his best to keep up. (plus he’s a horny mf too..)

sure, he might get tired after a long day at work, but if you look at him a certain way or tug him towards the bedroom, he’s done for. he might jokingly tease, “darlin’, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” but he’d always be down to fuck, no questions asked.

he’s so husband about it. he wouldn’t just go along with your needs—he’d cater to it. need him to be sweet and slow? check. want things a little more kinky? he’s on board. he’s the type of man to always check in with a soft, “this okay for you, baby?” and genuinely mean it.

he’s probably in awe of your energy. he might be embarrassed the first time he realises how…enthusiastic you are, but once he gets used to it, he’s all in. he’d see it as a sign of how much you love and trust him, which melts his heart every time.

if an “oops” happens, he’d take full responsibility and raise the baby with you lol.

while he’d try to keep up with you, there might be nights when he’s genuinely exhausted from work or parenting duties. in those cases, he’d pull you into his arms and offer a compromise: “how ‘bout i cuddle you tonight, and tomorrow, i’m all yours?” he’d always want to make you feel loved, even if he’s too tired to fully match your energy.

overall, kit would be so sweet and attentive, completely willing to cater to your needs while cherishing how much love and (spiritual + physical) connection you bring into his life.

verdict: he’d love to indulge you as often as you want, but realistically, it would average 6-7 times a week. kit is a family man who wants to make you happy, but he also has a job to manage.

rounds/stamina: 2–3 rounds per session. kit is physically fit and has great stamina but wouldn’t push himself to exhaustion. his priority is making sure you’re satisfied first and foremost.

notes: kit is all about making you feel loved and satisfied, but he’s also very attuned to your comfort. you guys might unintentionally add a new member to your family if you’re not careful—just saying lol (just hope you don’t get snatched by aliens)

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle spencer is the definition the golden retriever boyfriend—sweet, attentive, and always eager to make sure you’re happy (in every sense of the word).

as a frat boy who’s physically active (probably from intramural sports, he’s not a gym bro but still works out), kyle’s got the energy and endurance to keep up with you. if you’re in the mood, he’s down. and he’s definitely very thorough about making sure you’re satisfied—he lives for the gold-star boyfriend role.

there are definitely times when he’s more focused on studying or finishing up a project for class. during those moments, he’ll be sweet about letting you know: “babe, i have to hand in this paper tonight. rain check?”

he’s the kind of guy who’ll compromise, though. he might take a quick break from studying to give you some attention (a quickie or blowjob, depending on time), then dive back into his books after.

post-study reward ! if he’s been putting you off all day, he’ll make it up to you later with extra enthusiasm. kyle’s not the type to do things halfway, so when he does finally focus on you, it’s all about you.

verdict: 4–5 times a week. kyle is sweet and eager to please, so he’d do his best to keep up, even if it means sacrificing some of his study time.

rounds/stamina: 3–5 rounds per session.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

jimmy has a naturally high sex drive and would match your energy without much hesitation. growing up in the freak show, he’s not exactly a stranger to their… unconventional lifestyles, so he’d embrace your enthusiasm wholeheartedly. “you wanna go again, doll? yeah, i can do that.”

despite his willingness, jimmy would draw a hard line when it comes to anyone else at the freak show getting involved, especially knowing how open and uninhibited the other performers can be about their sexual escapades. while he doesn’t judge them for their choices (cuz he low-key used to be like that), he makes it crystal clear that you’re his and only his.

as for elsa mars, jimmy knows how manipulative she can be and how far she’s willing to go for her ambitions. he’d be paranoid about her trying to use you in one of her schemes, especially after what happened with penny. he’d warn you about her, telling you to steer clear of any “favors” or “opportunities” she might offer.

he’d prioritize your needs above his own, even if it left him worn out. he’d take your super high sex drive as a challenge, always wanting to prove himself capable of keeping up with you. and he’d probably brag about it just a little.

verdict: 8–10 times a week. easy, no problem.

rounds/stamina: could keep up for least 2-3 rounds in a single session, especially when he’s well-rested. however, if he’s had a long day or is emotionally drained, one round might be all he has in him.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

james patrick march is the definition of indulgence and excess, but he’s also a man of particular tastes and high standards—so an energetic, nympho of a partner would definitely be met with mixed feelings.

he’s indulgent, but not always approving: james would absolutely adore the attention and relish in how much you crave him—it would feed into his ego and his possessive streak.

however, he’s also a man of control, and your frequent advances might make him pause. “my darling, while i am most flattered by your… boundless enthusiasm, even i must draw the line somewhere.” (sometimes a man just wants to murder his hotel guests. let the man indulge in his hobby)

he’d appreciate your eagerness, but he’d always make it clear that he sets the terms. if he’s in the mood, he’ll more than rise to the occasion and keep you thoroughly occupied.

oh, when he decides it’s time, he’ll absolutely make you regret pestering him earlier. james is nothing if not thorough, and he’d turn your enthusiasm into a marathon session (picture that scene with the countess… yeah). “now, my darling, this is what happens when you beg a man of my caliber for attention.”

verdict: depends. i’d say at least 10 times a week if he’s really obsessed with you.

rounds/stamina: unlimited, technically. he’s a ghost and doesn’t have the physical limitations of the living. however, he might limit himself for your sake.

notes: james would enjoy your enthusiasm and entertain your requests pretty often. however, he’d insist on keeping things “in moderation” and not letting it interfere with his other pursuits (murder)

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

okay, let’s be real—kai absolutely has the stamina to keep up with a nympho gf. dude’s wired on adderall and his own ego, so when he’s into it, he’s really into it. could probably go all night if he’s in the mood.

here’s the thing: kai’s got a lot on his plate—councilman duties, plotting world domination, a cult to run. so if you really pushed him, interrupted his plans one too many times, or just kept teasing him when he was trying to focus? he’d make you pay for it later—like, to the point where you can’t walk straight for days.

smug as hell about it too, tossing out things like, “maybe next time you’ll think twice before being such a needy little bitch, huh?”

but if he’s in a petty mood—or just wants to watch you suffer—he’d force you to hump his thigh while he’s not lifting a finger to help. or even outright forbid you to even touch yourself…and the bastard would enjoy every second of it.

but he’s not completely heartless, not when it benefits him. when he’s too busy to fully cater to you, he’ll let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him while he’s working at his desk. it’s his way of keeping you close while staying focused on his agenda.

if kai has a rare moment of downtime, you’re all he’s thinking about. he’d probably find your enthusiasm flattering (in an “of course you can’t resist me” kind of way) and give in with a casual, “alright, i’ll let you tire yourself out on my dick.”

verdict: 3–5 times a week. sometimes more. he’d only indulge your high sex drive when he has time and isn’t busy scheming or running his cult.

rounds/stamina: 3–4 rounds on average, but on rare occasions, he might go 5–6 rounds in one night just to prove a point.

notes: he’d alternate between indulging you until you’re begging for mercy and withholding just to torture you. a shitty boyfriend but the sex is bomb.

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temporarywelcome · 7 months ago

Text

Home Run - Spencer Reid

Wordcount: 2.6k

Summary: The FBI's baseball team needs a fill in for their game against the Secret Service, Morgan being able to convince Reid to take up the role. However, the boy genius does not have an athletic bone in his body, Morgan recruiting the genius' girlfriend to help.

Warnings: some swearing, Spencer is like a baseball magnet

A/N: my inbox is open! Currently working on my first request right now, and will hopefully have it posted tomorrow! This also can 100% be read as a standalone, though it's kind of a continuation of my first Spencer fic "Smooth Criminal". All information needed is in this fic as well though! ok ill stop yapping

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

It might have been the worst day of Spencer’s life.

Trudging along the field as sweat trickled down his neck and back, the sun beaming down at his pale, vulnerable skin. His tongue was dry, throat closing in on him. He could see spots clouding his vision.

This wasn’t good.

“Jesus, Reid, we just got out of the car,” Morgan chuckled, hitting Spencer’s back, “This isn’t a desert,”

It wasn’t a desert, it was actually a baseball field. Which was just as bad to the boy genius.

“You couldn’t ask Hotch or Rossi to do this?” Spencer mumbled nervously, eyeing the field as if some jock baseball player was going to come out of the dug out and murder him.

“You’re young. Nice and nimble. Lots of potential-”

“They said no?”

“Yes, they said no,” Morgan sighed, placing down his bag on a bench in the dug out. Spencer did the same, awkwardly looking around once again. “Look, it’s only for one day,”

“One day too many,”

Morgan shot him a look, taking out his baseball glove and a ball, “We’ll start simple with some catching and throwing, yeah?”

“This is so embarrassing,” Reid grumbled, grabbing his glove as well (which he has never used before, just buying it this morning).

“Did you break it in like I told you to?”

He shook his head, “I got it two hours ago…”

Another sigh left his friend, who walked out into the disgusting sun. Spencer hesitantly followed.

And within fifteen minutes, Spencer was laid out on the ground in a starfish position, his life flashing before his very eyes. He thought this was the end.

“Shit! Reid! Reid!” Morgan sprinted towards the young genius, crouching next to his still figure, “Are you okay?” he touched Spencer’s cheek, already starting to turn red after connecting with the ball.

“Shit, that hurts!” Spencer hissed, slapping Morgan’s hand away. The first sign of life. He slowly sat up, cradling his cheek, “I feel concussed,” his other hand went to the back of his head.

“Be for real,” Derek muttered in worry, “It’s that bad?” Spencer had quite a low pain tolerance, so neither of them could tell how bad this really was. “I mean, you almost passed out just being in the sun.”

“I could feel my cells mutating,”

“Let’s hope you’re just being dramatic,”

_________________

Luckily for them, Spencer was being dramatic, and was back to normal activity the day after.

Like most days, his girlfriend, Y/N, drove into the bureau parking lot and parked, waiting for Spencer to get out of work. She was reading sheet music for her next show when there’s a knock on their window, making her gasp, snapping her head in the direction of her window.

Derek Morgan.

With a sigh, she pressed the button, window inching down slowly, “What the fuck was that for?”

Morgan laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “Sorry, Y/N. I know Spencer is trying desperately to keep you away from the team, especially after the fiasco last time we saw you, but…”

Ah, yes. Last time. Y/N and Spencer have been dating for a year, but he has kept the relationship extremely secretive from his team, until Garcia was able to finally crack the case and find pretty much everything to know about her, discovering she was a diagnosed kleptomaniac. The team (minus Hotch, who was peacefully in his office during the whole ordeal) was completely eager to meet this kleptomaniac girlfriend, and Y/N had a) admitted to not being able to pronounce JJ’s last name, and b) stole Rossi’s keys.

Yeah, Spencer wanted his girlfriend and friends far, far away from each other.

“I really need your help.” Morgan finished.

“With what?” She asked in curiosity.

“I don’t mean to creep you out, but when Garcia did her whole ‘background check’ on you, or whatever you would want to call it, she found you used to play softball?”

“Yes, I’ve played since I was five,” She confirmed with a nod, “Still do, occasionally,”

“Well, the FBI has this little team I play on, and next weekend we’re going against the secret service, but we’re short one player, one of us has an injury. I convinced Spencer to fill in,” he noticed Y/N’s shocked expression, “Yeah, I know. I convinced him to fill in, really because no one else wanted to, and we went to practice yesterday-”

“Oh, yes! He’s got a huge bruise on his cheek, he said it was from some special training though,” Y/N laughed, “I guess he was embarrassed. He was hit by a ball?”

“Yes, he was on the grass fifteen minutes into our practice. It’s bad. He doesn’t even want to practice anymore, but I need him for that game. We haven’t beaten the secret service in years.”

“So you want me to convince him?” She concluded.

“Not just that. Maybe he’ll be more willing to learn if you’re also there to teach him?”

“Hm,”

Derek frowned, “Please, Y/N?”

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him, “How much?”

“What?”

“How much did you bet on this game?”

“Oh,” he awkwardly cleared his throat, “Five hundred,”

“Damn,” she whistled, “We gotta whip Spencer into shape,”

___________________

Spencer loved Y/N.

He loved her dearly.

However, right now he hated her with a burning passion.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Morgan asked as Spencer ran from home to first base. “What if this just makes him quit again?”

She had Spencer running laps. “He won’t.”

He only did two runs around the diamond before he came back to them, panting dramatically, hands on his knees, “Why… why do I have to… do this?” he gasped.

“Because, drama king, when you hit that ball, which you will, you need to be able to get to the bases on time,” Y/N replied, handing him a bottle of water.

“This is hopeless,” he began to carefully sip the water, not wanting to choke in his desperation for hydration.

“We just started, baby” Y/N sighed, rubbing his back, “Now, c’mon, break’s over. Two more laps and we’ll practice catching and throwing,”

“I hate you,” Spencer huffed, handing the water back to her. However, he went back to running.

“I love you too, darling,” Y/N rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled as he clumsily ran along the diamond.

Morgan glanced at her, “Thanks for this.”

“Of course. I love seeing Spencer suffer,” She joked with a chuckle, watching her lanky boyfriend move. He was so cute, despite the fact he looked incredibly pissed off. She sighed, soft smile on her lips, “I know you guys are all probably iffy about me, but… I do love him. Genuinely, I do.”

Morgan’s lips curled up, “I know.”

Spencer finished his second lap, looking at Y/N and Morgan with an annoyed expression, “Okay,” he panted, “I did it. Now what?”

“Catching and throwing,” Y/N slipped on her glove, grabbing a ball, “Alright, we’ll start with the basics.”

“How hard can it be?” Spencer said, putting on his glove (which Y/N had broken in for him).

“Eh, best not talk, you might end up with two bruised cheeks,” Morgan chuckled, nudging him. He was not amused.

“Alright,” Y/N began, “When you throw the ball to someone, you have to aim for the other person’s chest. As a beginner, you can practice by using the hand you’re not throwing with, so the gloved hand, to aim. Like this,” Y/N faced Morgan, holding out her gloved hand and throwing with the other. Morgan caught the ball with ease. “See?” Morgan threw the ball back at her the same way, which she caught. “You try.” She tossed the ball to Reid, who was, like, two feet away.

He fumbled the ball, scrambling for it as it landed on the ground. Once it was in his hand, he stood up awkwardly. Spencer got into position, following Y/N’s instructions. He threw the ball to Morgan, it landed a few feet in front of him.

“You’re releasing it too late,” Y/N explained, “Try again”

Once the ball was in his hand again, he took a deep breath, throwing it again. It flew way past Morgan’s head this time.

“Okay, at least you got a strong throw,” Y/N said, trying to stay positive, “Now you released it a little too early. We’re getting somewhere. Try again.”

A few tries later, the trio went on to catching. It ended with Spencer thrown onto the grass once again in a starfish position, Y/N and Morgan both running to his side.

“Well, now your cheeks match,” she said, making Spencer groan.

They decided to end the fieldwork, getting Spencer to bat next. He had a helmet on and everything, determined to not actually get concussed.

“Alright, baby,” Y/N began, handing him the bat, “Knees shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly. This elbow up,” she gently touched his arm, bringing up his elbow, “Keep your eye on the ball. The ball should be chest-height when thrown to you. If it’s a bad pitch, don’t swing.”

Morgan goes to pitch, Reid’s brows furrowed as he eyed the ball.

“Hold on,” Y/N stopped him, “I can see the gears turning in your head. No calculations, none of that smart boy stuff. Just put on a mean face, spit in front of you, and hit that home run.”

“Spit?” Spencer gasped, “That’s disgusting.”

“It works,” Y/N shrugged.

“I’m not doing that,” he deadpanned, making her giggle. He faced Morgan, a determined look on his face. “Let’s do this,”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Y/N grinned.

With a grin, Morgan pitched the ball to Spencer, who grunted, swinging the bat as hard as he can.

Losing his grip in the process, the bat flying through the air.

__________________

A week had passed, game day approaching fast. The BAU all sat together to cheer on Spencer and Morgan, Y/N awkwardly with them. Garcia was friendly enough, yapping away, which caused Y/N to yap away as well.

Until it was Spencer's turn to bat.

Y/N rushed to the fence, clapping, “You got this, baby!” He turned his head and gave her a look that resembled a deer caught in headlights. Prior to the game, she said she won't embarrass him. She had to promise it, because he knew how competitive she was.

Spencer gave her a thumbs up, going to the home plate and getting into position.

“Bend those knees, baby,” Y/N called. Members of the secret service glanced at each other smugly, making her scowl.

Spencer did as told, eyeing the ball nervously. The pitcher was a mean-looking guy with a vicious bulldog expression. He pitched the ball, and Spencer squeaked, swinging at nothingness as the ball flew past him.

“Nice try, baby, nice try!” Y/N said. He turned his head to glare at her, before looking back at the pitcher. “Oops,” she said, making Garcia giggle.

Spencer ended up striking out, incredibly embarrassed. He had a girlfriend coaching him at the stands and a team that was completely pissed at his inability to even catch the ball. He was humiliated.

Until he turned his head, seeing Y/N, camera in hand, taking pictures of him with a huge smile on her face. She grinned, doing a finger heart, and Spencer felt his spirits lift slightly, raising his hand and doing one back at her.

And then a ball went flying into his abdomen.

After that setback, the FBI was back to batting. Morgan landed on third, this guy Ron at second. The FBI was at two outs already, losing to the secret service by one point.

And it was Spencer's turn to bat.

He heard some other agents groan from the dugout, making him feel like absolute shit. As he trudged to the home plate, the secret service members were all chuckling to themselves, already knowing they won another year in a row.

Spencer felt awful.

Then he passed Y/N. She had a determined look on her face as she stood in front of the fence. “Baby, he's a shitty pitcher. Don't swing at every pitch.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding. “O-Okay.”

She cracked a smile, “You got this. Make them cry. I already don’t like them.”

He laughed, nodding and going to the home plate. Morgan nodded from third, and Spencer clenched his fists around the bat.

Putting on a mean face, he gathered the courage to spit, staring at the pitcher straight in the eye (who looked a tad bit grossed out). He planted his feet shoulder width apart, bent those damn knees, had that elbow raised.

The pitcher threw his first ball, and as instinct, Spencer swung, missing. He cursed under his breath.

“Chin up, baby, chin up!”

Spencer turned his head to Y/N, who was smiling wide. Then his team, all cheering for him in the stands. His family.

The pitcher threw again but Spencer got himself, not swinging the bat.

“Good job, baby, that pitch sucked!” Y/N said proudly. She paused, “I mean, it didn't suck…”

“We're going to get kicked out,” Rossi muttered to Hotch, who chuckled softly in agreement.

The ball went to Spencer again, and this time, with a low growl, he swung hard, bat connecting with the ball and sending it flying.

Everyone gasped, watching the ball descend into the air, until Y/N shouted, “RUN!”

Spencer snapped out of his trance, bolting towards first base while Derek sprinted towards home. Once at first, Y/N shouted for him to keep going, and so he did, rushing to second.

Longues burning, he dashed for home, throwing himself onto the plate.

And saving the game.

The FBI erupted into cheers, everyone rushing towards him and hauling him to his feet, slapping him on the back and shouting in joy. After a few hollers, Spencer was lifted off of his feet, laughing excitedly after their victory.

Once the crowd dispersed, Spencer immediately ran to Y/N who was waiting for him, a big grin on her face. She already had her arms open, which he dove into.

“You saw that, right?!” Spencer asked her, practically vibrating in eagerness.

“I did! I told you spitting works!”

He was pretty sure the spitting had nothing to do with it, but he didn't argue. “I can’t believe I made a home run!” He pulled away to greet his team, but Y/N stopped him.

“Jesus, baby, you’re lucky you didn't trip. How embarrassing that would have been,” She chuckled, gesturing to his untied sneakers. She kneeled down, tying them for him.

Prentiss, who was still sitting with the rest of the BAU, noticed the exchange from the corner of her eye.

Maybe Y/N wasn't too bad.

When Y/N finished tying his shoes, she stood up and kissed his rosy cheeks, red in embarrassment. She then patted his back and nodded, silently telling him to go to his team.

With a grin, Spencer rushed off to them, babbling about his hit.

_______

A few weeks had passed, and Y/N was with some friends at a softball field, getting ready for a game. Slipping on her glove, she turned her head, smiling at Spencer who was seated at the bleachers. He waved, and that's when she noticed Derek and Penelope were sitting next to him.

Y/N's eyes widened and she grinned, waving back at them.

Then, surprising her even more, Emily Prentiss took a seat with them.

It seemed that, little by little, Y/N was winning over the BAU.

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