#you just think he's being nice cause you saved him

[trek-tracks]

Something that I think is interesting about McCoy and Spock's dynamic with each other is that neither of them verbalize their affection, instead preferring to show it via action. The fact that they are simultaneously extremely different and extremely similar, I think, is both the cause of much friction and why that friction is so compelling. It's not just that they're philosophical opposites, it's that, practically, they're often alike with a different veneer or mask. (They probably wouldn't get to each other so much if they didn't recognize this to at least some extent.) Neither of them are much with words that acknowledge their importance to each other; it's Kirk who says, "I need you. Badly!" or "I need him."

In the James Blish novelization of Bread and Circuses, McCoy thinks, "I am very fond of this man," but he says, "I know. I'm worried about Jim too." In The Immunity Syndrome, he can't say "Good luck, Spock" until Spock is out of earshot. Even when he's talking to Kirk, he expresses affection obliquely with lines like "Don't destroy the one named Kirk," and when he's on the verge of death, he expresses his affection to Spock by telling Spock, "You've got a good bedside manner," a nod to McCoy's own caring profession that serves as his highest honour.

While McCoy is driven by emotion, he also relies on it as a mask, just like Spock relies on logic as a mask and excuse for any action he decides to take. We see McCoy take action for Spock again and again at the risk of his own life. He rescues him in The Galileo Seven after fighting with him half the time they're stranded on the planet. He volunteers to die in Immunity Syndrome, and he convinces Kirk to save Spock later at great risk. He risks his own mind and life to save Spock in Spock's Brain. He injects himself with an untested vaccine in Miri for many reasons, one of which being to let Spock get back to the ship. He risks his life to snap Spock back to himself in All Our Yesterdays. He defies thousands of years of Vulcan tradition so Spock won't become a murderer. He holds Spock in By Any Other Name.

He agrees to stay on a doomed spaceship/planet so that Spock won't be executed. He tries to stay with the Platonians because Spock is being humiliated (in fact, many of his nice words about Spock are defending Spock to other people--in The Menagerie to Kirk, in Plato's Stepchildren to the Platonians, in The Omega Glory to the villagers...calling him "the best first officer in the Fleet" when he thinks Spock can't hear (or does he? It would be a great excuse).

And then, of course, there's The Empath, where he allows himself to be tortured to death to prevent Spock from being tortured to insanity--not death, but probably worse than for a Vulcan. Much as Bones says he doesn't understand Vulcan dignity in S2, I think he has a clearer idea in S3, considering how much he risks himself for Spock's mind. I'm not even getting into the movies, but Spock clearly trusts McCoy with his soul, and McCoy clearly proves worthy of that trust--and yet, in the same film, we get the "Jim, be careful" "WE will" exchange, with Spock still withholding the words. It becomes almost a game of tacitly acknowledged chicken by the end of the films, with neither willing to break.

The funny thing is that, while both Spock and McCoy show their regard for each other through actions and not words (and both can be genuinely cruel in words that completely belie their actions), many viewers can see Spock's bluff, but not McCoy's, taking everything the latter says at face value. Perhaps that's because they expect McCoy, being emotional, to mean everything he says and say everything he means. That's pretty obviously not true. (Similarly, a lot of people tend to take Spock's self-aggrandizement and McCoy's self-deprecation at face value, but that's another discussion. There's also the theory that McCoy is reinforcing Spock's preferred Vulcanness by allowing him to push back against his statements.)

McCoy challenges Spock to verbalize his feelings instead of the logic he uses as a mask, and Spock in return challenges McCoy to verbalize the actual feelings he feels, not the ones he's expressing as a mask. But it would be so much less interesting if they both clearly said what they meant, instead of going to increasingly ridiculous lengths to save each other's lives.

This scene is so interesting to me.

We all know Bones accuses Spock multiple times that he isn’t able to love (while knowing it’s not true). Bones and some others around him even accuse him being heartless or unemphatic.

Spock IMMEDIATELY started holding Bones’ hands when he found him when Bones was unconscious. He looks worried and upset. He didn’t know if Bones will die, but even when Kirk came, which was after some time, Spock was still holding Bones’ hands and wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He doesn’t try to wake him up. Just holds his hands.

It looks like he wanted to make sure that if Bones is dying, he won’t be alone. That he will probably feel that Spock is there.

This gesture is touching, and shows how human Spock is, how much he cares for Bones, didn’t want to leave him alone, didn’t go to search for Kirk. It is very touching.

This scene adds a layer to the scene in Bread & Circuses when Bones accuses Spock of being incapable to have a decent warm feeling, to Spock’s reaction “Really, doctor?”. Because he doesn’t want Bones to die not only because it is logical. Probably Spock hoped that Bones knows it, realizes it.

I wonder if Bones felt at this moment Spock’s grip.

It is interesting how Spock often shows signs of affection to Bones, but Bones still doesn’t acknowledge it. Why does Bones want for Spock to acknowledge his affections verbally? Why his actions are not enough for him?

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[spilt-ash]

the autism has been winning

[kavehayati]

GUYS WTH DOES A MID ATLANTIC ACCENT SOUND LIKE ?!?!!

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Where the boys get jealous... (Feat. Barty, Regulus, Sirius, Remus, and James)

WC: ~3.5k

CW: Fem!Reader, a few cusses, obsessive and possessive boys, Remus and Moony are written as different characters.

Barty gets asked if you're single…

Barty leaned against the stone wall of the corridor, arms crossed and a lazy smirk playing on his lips as the boy in front of him tried to find his footing in the conversation. It was late enough in the evening that most of the students had cleared out, leaving the space quiet except for the faint echo of distant footsteps. The boy- what was his name? Probably irrelevant- was shifting his weight nervously, though he tried to mask it with a forced bravado.

“So,” The boy began again, licking his lips as though trying to sound casual. “You’re close with her, right? I mean, you two are always together.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening just a touch as he tilted his head- pulling the smoke from between his lips. “We’re friends,” Barty replied easily, though the word friends came out slow and deliberate, almost like a challenge.

The boy took a deep breath, seemingly bolstered by Barty’s nonchalant tone. “Right, yeah. I figured.” He hesitated, then plunged forward, clearly emboldened by the silence. “I was just wondering, you know… do you think she’d go for someone like me?”

Barty blinked. For the briefest moment, his expression was unreadable- like he hadn’t quite heard the question correctly. Then, like a switch being flipped, he grinned widely, his whole face lighting up as though the very idea had amused him to no end.

“You?” He repeated, laughter edging his voice as he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. He took a deep breath of his smoke and let the ash slip onto the boy's shoe, who quickly shook it off. Barty gestured at the boy vaguely, as though considering his entire existence. “You’re asking if you would have a shot?”

The boy’s bravado faltered slightly at Barty’s tone, but he straightened his shoulders, forcing a confident nod. “Yeah. I mean, she’s nice to everyone, right? So I thought- ”

“Oh, that’s precious,” Barty interrupted smoothly, his voice warm but condescending. He stepped closer, his free hand sliding into his pocket, his green eyes glinting as he looked the boy over. “She is nice to everyone, isn’t she? That’s what makes her so…” He paused, pretending to search for the right word. “Enchanting, I suppose.”

The boy relaxed just a fraction at Barty’s seemingly complimentary tone, but Barty’s smile sharpened as he took another step forward.

“Here’s the thing,” Barty continued, his voice softening into something dangerously close to friendly. “You’re not a bad bloke, are you?” He flicked his robes, letting the smoke from his cigarette fill the boys senses. “Clean enough robes, decent enough grades- probably someone your mum’s very proud of. Real cookie cutter, yeah?”

The boy blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I guess?”

Barty grinned wider. “See? Nothing wrong with you at all. And yet…” He trailed off, taking another hit before he blatantly blew the smoke into his face. Even then he still found himself leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “She’s not for you.”

The boy coughed, shooing away the smoke, confused. “What do you mean? She’s not- ”

“Let me save you some time, mate,” Barty cut in smoothly, stepping around him as though they were taking a casual stroll together. “Do you know what she wants to be after she graduates? How she wrinkles her nose when she laughs too hard- how much she hates when someone brings it up? Or how she’ll hum to herself when she thinks no one’s listening? How to make her smile on her worst days?” He glanced back over his shoulder, his smile full of sharp teeth. “You don’t, do you?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Barty’s words. “No, but- ”

Barty whirled back to face him, the sudden movement causing the boy to flinch. “That’s the problem though, innit?” He said softly, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You don’t know her. Not really. And she deserves someone who does.”

The boy looked frustrated now, his confidence cracking under Barty’s pointed gaze. “You’re just saying that because you think you’re better for her!”

Barty’s smirk vanished. The shift was subtle but immediate, the playfulness draining from his face as his eyes turned icy, pinning the boy where he stood. “Better for her?” Barty echoed softly, his tone devoid of its earlier amusement. “I’d destroy myself for her. I’d burn the whole bloody world down if it so much as thought about hurting her. I've spent years of my life making sure she'd never know fear when I'm around.”

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Barty stepped closer, forcing him to back up until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall. Flicking out his cig and tossing it at his chest.

“You don’t understand devotion, mate,” Barty continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not the kind that keeps you awake at night, wondering if she’s happy. Not the kind that has you ready to rip apart anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way. That kind of love… it’s not for people like you.”

The boy swallowed hard, his eyes darting away as though trying to escape Barty’s unrelenting stare.

Barty tilted his head, the hint of a smile returning to his lips, though it held none of its earlier warmth. “But don’t worry,” he said lightly, taking a small step back. “I’m not angry. You’re harmless, really. Like a moth buzzing too close to something far too bright for you to touch. Happens to everyone who meets her.”

The boy shifted uneasily, his face pale as he tried to muster some shred of dignity. “You’re crazy,” He muttered under his breath.

Barty grinned at that, his eyes glinting with something almost feral. “Probably,” He admitted cheerfully, shrugging. “Just trust me mate. You wouldn't survive the competition.”

~~~

Regulus sees a guy trying to ask you out…

You were standing just outside the courtyard, the stone archways sheltering you and a nervous-looking Gryffindor boy from the cool autumn breeze. He’d stopped you after class, clearly trying to build up the courage to ask something. You were being polite, as always, listening with a soft smile while he stumbled over his words.

Regulus hadn’t been far, of course. He never was, though you hadn’t noticed him watching you from across the courtyard, his keen gray eyes narrowing slightly at the boy’s sudden presence.

“So, um,” the Gryffindor started, shifting on his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering if- uh- well, maybe you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Just us?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh- ”

Before you could finish, Regulus moved in like a shadow, silent and swift. Without a word, he appeared at your side and leaned down, resting his chin casually on your shoulder. The gesture startled you, your breath hitching as his weight settled comfortably there, familiar but intrusive all the same.

“Are you busy, ma moitié?” Regulus asked smoothly, his tone soft, casual, and laced with just a hint of amusement. He ignored the Gryffindor completely, acting as if he didn’t exist.

Your face turned slightly to the side, startled by his sudden proximity. “Regulus? What are you- ”

“We have that thing to do, remember?” Regulus murmured, his voice low but perfectly clear. He tilted his head, the movement brushing his hair softly against your cheek.

The Gryffindor frowned, his nerves quickly shifting to irritation. “What thing? I was just asking her something- ”

Regulus finally glanced at him, his gaze lazy and unbothered but chilling nonetheless. “How generous of you to interrupt,” he said coolly, his chin still perched on your shoulder as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

The boy bristled. “I didn’t interrupt- ”

Regulus cut him off with a small, sardonic smile, as though he were correcting a child. “You didn’t mean to, I’m sure,” he drawled. “But, you see, we have plans. So unless you’re particularly fond of wasting her time…”

You frowned slightly, your hand moving to nudge Regulus’s shoulder as if to make him move. “Reg, that’s not- ”

“Isn’t it?” Regulus replied smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The Gryffindor’s face flushed, clearly caught off guard by Regulus’s presence and tone. He looked at you, frustration in his voice. “Look, I just wanted to- ”

“I think you should go,” Regulus said, his voice as light and polite as ever, though there was no mistaking the ice beneath it.

The Gryffindor hesitated, but Regulus’s unwavering stare pinned him in place. It wasn’t a glare- Regulus didn’t need to glare to be intimidating. His calm, unwavering confidence was sharp enough. After another awkward pause, the boy muttered, “Maybe another time.”

He turned and walked off, shoulders tense and ears red.

Regulus finally lifted his chin from your shoulder, straightening up with a look of faint satisfaction. You turned on him immediately, pouting a bit with your bottom lip jotted out- eyebrows furrowing and your arms crossed. “That wasn't very nice, Black.”

Regulus shrugged and wrapped his arm around your waist as he turned you away from the courtyard. “He’ll live.”

~~~

Sirius seeing someone flirt with you…

It was a lovely spring afternoon by the Black Lake. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the nearby trees, dancing over the rippling water. A cool breeze swept through the air, ruffling your hair as you sat cross-legged on a blanket, deep in conversation with a Slytherin boy.

The boy- someone vaguely familiar, you thought his name was Marcus- had approached you earlier in the day, something about needing help with Potions. He was pleasant enough, a bit shy, though you couldn’t help but notice how often he looked away or scratched the back of his neck when you smiled.

“…and, you know, it’s just the stirring,” Marcus was saying, his voice faltering slightly as his eyes darted to yours. “I keep- well, messing it up. Slughorn says I’m overthinking it.”

You offered a gentle smile, always patient. “It’s probably just nerves,” you reassured him kindly. “You’re better at it than you think, I’m sure. Do you want me to walk you through it?”

Marcus blinked, visibly perking up. “Oh- yeah, that’d be great, I mean- ”

“Ah, there you are,” Sirius Black’s unmistakable drawl cut through the serene afternoon like a thunderclap.

Both of you turned toward the voice, and there he was. Sirius stood at the edge of the blanket with his hands shoved lazily in the pockets of his trousers, the sunlight making his dark hair shine like ink. There was an unmistakable mischief in his gray eyes as he looked from you to Marcus and back again.

“Sirius,” You said with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance, straightening where you sat. “What are you doing here?”

“What, can’t a man visit his favorite girl?” He replied with a grin, though his gaze sharpened ever so slightly as it flicked toward Marcus. “You know, it’s dangerous out here by the lake. Giant squids, rouge bludgers, snakes- all that. Best you’re not left alone with someone… inexperienced.”

Marcus’s face flushed, clearly thrown off. “I think she’s doing fine, thanks,” he muttered, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

Sirius smirked, as though that was the response he’d been hoping for. Without any preamble, he dropped onto the blanket beside you- practically on top of you- his long legs stretching out as he sprawled back against the grass like he owned the entire lakeshore.

“Merlin’s beard, it’s exhausting being me,” he said dramatically, folding his arms behind his head. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart? Just needed to rest my bones for a bit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sirius, I’m kind of busy- ”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he said innocently, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was anything but. “Go on, Marcus. You were talking about… stirring, was it?”

Marcus shot Sirius a pointed glare. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Were you?” Sirius replied, eyes gleaming with barely contained amusement. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You frowned, nudging him with your elbow. “Sirius, stop being difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult.” He purred smoothly, shifting just enough to rest his head against your shoulder, his hair brushing your neck as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just keeping an eye on you. Someone has to.”

Your face burned at the unexpected affection, though you tried your best to seem unbothered. Marcus, however, looked positively livid, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Marcus accused, glaring at Sirius.

Sirius blinked up at him, all mock innocence. “Me? What on earth would I be doing on purpose?”

“You know what- ”

“Marcus,” you interrupted, sighing as you tried to salvage the conversation. “Maybe we can pick this up later. It’s… getting a bit distracting.”

Marcus glanced at you, frustrated but resigned, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he nodded stiffly. “Sure. Later.”

He stalked off without another word, leaving you alone with Sirius, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re an ass.” You huffed, finally shoving him off your shoulder.

Sirius sat up with a dramatic groan, smirking as he stretched out his arms. “Merlin, that was exhausting.”

You glared at him, exasperated. “What was that?”

“That, my dear,” Sirius said, grinning cheekily, “was me doing you a favor. You don’t honestly want to spend your afternoon discussing stirring, do you?”

“That’s not the point!” You argued, narrowing your eyes. “He was just being nice, and you scared him off!”

“Good,” Sirius replied smugly, lying back down with his hands behind his head. “Couldn’t risk losing you to someone boring.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I could be practical- real practical. We can talk about stirring.”

You huffed, trying to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius turned his head to look at you, his grin softening ever so slightly as his stormy eyes held yours. “Besides,” he added, voice quieter now, “it’s much better when it’s just us, don’t you think?”

~~~

Remus finds you asleep on someone he doesn't know…

The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, the fire burning low, its golden light casting lazy shadows across the walls. Most students had gone to bed, and silence blanketed the space, save for the occasional pop of burning wood.

Remus hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d lain awake for what felt like hours, restlessness gnawing at him as Moony clawed at the edges of his mind, pacing.

She’s not where she's supposed to be, Moony murmured, insistent and low, like a growl rumbling through his chest. Go to her. Find her.

It was nonsense, of course. You were probably curled up in your dormitory, safe and warm, and yet Moony’s unease bled into Remus, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and padding barefoot to the staircase. Just to be sure. Just to calm Moony.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the fire caught his eye first. Then he saw you.

You were curled up in a worn armchair by the fire, your head tilted to rest softly against the shoulder of a fifth-year boy Remus barely recognized. The boy sat stiffly, afraid to move, his expression somewhere between frozen panic and misplaced pride.

Moony stilled.

And then he snarled.

Get her up. She’s vulnerable.

Remus stopped in place, his breath catching as an instinct he couldn’t quite name surged through him. Moony’s anger wasn’t a loud roar this time- it was quiet, simmering like an ember. What’s he doing there? She’s asleep. He shouldn’t be near her. She's vulnerable.

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers twitching as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t want to startle you, and he didn’t want to scare the boy. He wasn’t angry- not really. But Moony… Moony didn’t understand manners.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, Remus moved forward. Quiet as a shadow, he stopped in front of the chair, his amber-tinged eyes fixed on the boy.

The younger Gryffindor glanced up nervously. “Oh. Uh- Lupin- she fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

Remus didn’t say anything at first, his gaze shifting to you. Your breathing was soft and steady, one arm curled loosely under your head. Moony quieted just a little at the sight, though the wolf’s presence still pressed against Remus’s ribs, heavy and protective.

“She’ll be more comfortable in her own bed,” Remus said finally, his voice low and calm. “I’ll take her.”

The boy blinked, confused. “I- what?”

Remus lifted his chin slightly, his tone firm despite the gentleness in it. “You can go. I’ll make sure she gets to her dorm.”

The boy hesitated, but something in Remus’s steady gaze seemed to settle the matter. “Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled awkwardly, carefully shifting out from under you. He moved to stand, glancing one last time at you before hurrying up the stairs, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

Remus let out a slow breath, crouching down next to you. Moony settled just a little further, content now that the boy was gone, but still restless, still protective.

She’s too exposed, Moony murmured. Wake her. Take her where she’s safe.

Remus hesitated, watching the way your lashes fluttered faintly against your cheeks as you stirred, your lips parting slightly as though searching for the warmth that had left. His heart tugged in his chest, guilt biting at him.

“Dovie,” He called softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his hand hovering over your arm for just a moment before gently brushing against your shoulder. “Up you get, lovely girl.”

You shifted with a quiet murmur, blinking blearily as your eyes fluttered open. “Mmm… Remus?”

“Hey.” He cooed, his lips curving into a small, careful smile. “You fell asleep down here.”

“Oh.” You blinked again, sitting up slowly and rubbing at your eyes. You looked around in confusion before your gaze landed back on him. “What time is it?”

“Late,” He chuckled, standing to his full height as he offered you a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

You frowned sleepily, tilting your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Remus’s jaw tightened faintly, and for a moment, he swore he could feel Moony’s growl rumbling deep inside him. She needs protecting. Don’t leave her here.

“I insist,” He said gently, his voice soft but brooking no argument. “You’ll sleep better in your own bed.”

You yawned, smiling at him as you took his hand. “If you say so.”

~~~

James steals the show from your newest admirer…

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening bustle- cards flying in midair from a game of Exploding Snap, the fire crackling merrily, and the low hum of chatter filling every corner. You were perched on the arm of one of the chairs, laughing softly as a chaser- Finn regaled you with a story from practice, his easy-going charm and dramatic hand gestures keeping you engaged.

Finn’s voice was lively, something about a Bludger mishap and the newest Beater, and you couldn’t help the bright smile it pulled from you.

James, sitting across the room with Sirius and Remus, had been halfway through a halfhearted game of Wizard’s Chess when he noticed.

“Prongs,” Sirius said, nudging him when his knight didn’t move. “Your move, mate.”

James didn’t hear him. His hazel eyes were fixed on the sight of you leaning just a little closer to Finn, laughing at something he’d said.

James sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“Earth to Prongs?” Sirius waved a hand in front of James’s face, earning himself a scowl.

“Do you lot know,” James said suddenly, his voice pitched loud enough to carry across the room, “about the time I stole Filch’s keys and locked him in his own office? Poor guy thought Peeves was after him.”

All at once, a ripple of laughter swept through the room. Students turned toward James with wide smiles and bright eyes, a chorus of, “No way!” and “You’ve got to tell us!” filling the air.

Finn faltered mid-sentence, glancing toward the growing crowd around James.

You shot Finn an apologetic smile, clearly torn between listening to the end of his story and the infectious energy that always followed your best friend. James’s grin was wide and charming as ever, his eyes twinkling mischievously- but when his gaze flicked to yours, something sharper lingered beneath the warmth.

He hadn’t stopped looking at Finn once.

“What happened?” One of the younger students urged eagerly, completely captivated by James’s easy charisma.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe it,” James replied, leaning back in his seat as though he had all the time in the world. His voice was smooth, his confidence magnetic. “I’d hidden behind that big grandfather clock, you know the one? Filch swore up and down he’d heard a ghost- but he couldn’t figure out how the door locked from the outside. Poor bloke works at Hogwarts and still doesn't grasp magic!”

More laughter erupted, and James winked at you as if to say, See? Isn’t this better?

Finn glanced at you, clearly realizing he’d lost your attention entirely. “I, um… I guess I’ll finish the story later,” He muttered sheepishly.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You said, genuinely apologetic, but Finn was already waving you off.

“It’s fine. James has a habit of stealing the spotlight anyway,” he joked, though his tone wasn’t without a hint of frustration. He wandered off toward his dorm room, leaving you to turn toward James and his growing group of admirers.

Later, Sirius confronted James about his little stunt. Calling him jealous, James scoffs dramatically. “Jealous? Me? Please. I’m just looking out for her.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Looking out for her, or making sure no one else looks at her?”

James shrugs, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. “Same thing, really.”

[miniimight]

"S'NOT MY BIRTHDAY..." silly girl, thinking you need an occasion in order to be spoiled by them!

with gojo, nanami x fem!reader

notes trying out this writing thing again lol

in previous relationships, you had to deal with the bare minimum. a generic greeting card on valentine's day, a bunch of snacks for your birthday, and a necklace for christmas because 'that's what girls like, right?'

now, with him, it's different. he has no qualms about getting you anything your eyes linger on, no matter the price. he had so much money, he picked things up and swiped his card without so much as a glance at the cost. it baffled you sometimes.

it happened was early on in your relationship. you then quickly learned to just sit back and let him spoil you!!

GOJO

satoru's fingers were laced with yours as he swung your connected arms between you. he inhaled deeply, looking up at the high ceiling of the mall. "today's a good a day as any to throw some cash, don't you think baby?"

you giggle and squeeze his hand. "one or two things should be okay." that's what you budgeted for, anyway.

he rolled his eyes, scolding you for your tiny imagination before allowing you to pull him along to your favorite stores.

it wasn't long before your eyes spotted the store you loved but couldn't afford. your stare was glued to the window display, all the cute tops and pants and bags and shoes and bracelets and...

when he felt your steps slow, satoru glanced at you. you were laser focused on the clothing store—naturally, he sharply turned towards it.

"hey!" you squeaked at the sudden change of direction, and you hurried to match his pace again. "toru??"

"i saw you looking, baby, why didn't you just say you wanted to check it out?" he teased.

you looked over to the side, embarrassed. "i... i don't wanna tempt myself, cus i know i'll gaslight myself into buying something."

he narrowed his eyes, not in scorn but in confusion. "who said you were buying anything?"

"huh?" you chirped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

gojo stared blankly at you. you really were adorable, thinking he wouldn't spend his last dime on whatever you wanted, regardless of how trivial it was. a smile pulled at his lips.

"my sweet girl," he cooed. "my sweet, slow girl..."

you gasped indignantly and poked satoru's side, earning a giggle from him. "slow?!"

"obviously, i'll by whatever you want, silly." he tugged you towards the entrance of the store.

"but..." you resisted his pull. "it's not my birthday or anything..."

huh? he pouted. "as if i need a special reason to get you stuff."

"but..." heat creeped up your neck as you reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of being spoiled. something inside you told you that he was just being nice and was waiting for you to shut him down, save him the expenses. "it's not fair, is it? i didn't get you anything so far..."

his face fell slightly as he pulled you away from the busy traffic of the moving crowds. satoru pulled your chin up to face him. "i dunno what's running through that pretty head of yours, but answer me this, okay?"

you nod.

"you want it?" he gestured towards the store.

you hesitated, eyes straying from his face. he quickly squished your cheeks, causing your eyes to widen and snap to his. "—!"

"don't overthink it, pretty girl, just tell me."

"yesfh." you answer dejectedly, muffled against his hands.

"then you'll have it." he told you. "i want you to have anything and everything you say you want. i wanna buy it for you. and being able to hear you say 'my boyfriend got this for me' is all i need in return." he grinned cheekily.

you pouted, looking unbelievably cute in his eyes. he despises the partners of your past for leading you astray, thinking you needed to do something special in order to be appreciated. don't worry, he'll fix that in no time.

he pecked your pursed lips before hugging you. "okay?"

you giggle. "okay."

"yay!! now let's go!!"

by the end of the day, he had to call ichiji to help carry all the bags to the car. he was so proud of you!

NANAMI

kento was your shadow as you glided through the store, picking up things and setting them down.

"oh, this is so cute!" you squealed holding up a tee for him to see.

he smiled, more because of your excited expression than the t-shirt. "it is. you should get it."

you hummed, in thought. your hands drifted over the material, picking up the tag before inhaling sharply. "nah, another time."

he frowned. you'd done this at every store so far, picking up things you said you liked but leaving them behind. he was bewildered. "but... you like it, do you not?"

you winced, hoping this topic wouldn't come up. "i do! it's just the price. out of my budget, you know?" you said, trying to be light. you burned with discomfort. might as well just say you're poor.

kento frowned. "oh..."

"yeah."

you quickly turned away, avoiding the confused look on his face.

"y/n." he called you.

"...yes?" you glanced behind you, seeing him standing over the shirts.

"are you under the impression that you would be paying?" he asked.

you blinked. "oh?" yes, you were, but you were surprised to learn that he had the opposite understanding. "well... yeah."

he frowned, disappointed with himself. "i'm sorry. i didn't intend to make you feel that way."

you stepped closer, rubbing his arm soothingly. "what are you talking about?" you laughed softly. "you didn't make me feel any kind of way. i'm not upset, if that's what you're getting at. i never expected you to spend your money on me."

his frown only deepened. oh, how he has failed. "why not?"

you faltered. how did you manage to make it worse? "i'm not sure i understand..."

kento shook his head. "have you been thinking you'd be using your own money for purchases? this whole time?"

"um..."

"sweetheart, i'm paying. for everything, at all times." he refused to hear anything else, cutting you off when you opened your mouth to retort. "we'll have to circle back to the stores we previously visited."

it was your turn to frown. "kento, it won't be my birthday for a few months! you don't have to get me anything right now."

"what does your birthday have to do with anything?" he asked, genuinely confused. "i don't mean to interrogate you, my love, but i think i am the one who doesn't understand."

"you'd get me anything i asked for?" you shoot back, spelling it out for him. "for no reason?"

"for one reason," he replied. "simply because you want it. it'd make you happy."

warmth spread across your face. "that's two reasons." you mumbled.

he clicked his tongue, exacerbating your bashfulness when he pulled you into his side. he kissed your forehead. "you make me laugh, y/n. i was so confused as to why you weren't getting anything. surely that's not how you usually shop."

he bought that shirt for you, as well as the many things you thought were cute at all the stores you stepped foot in. now, you shop without any hesitations.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon, gangbang, elf-reader, orc captors, racism between orcs and elves, captive reader, enslavement, piss drinking, mindbreak, mentioned toe-sucking and rimming, navigating cultural differences

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: THE PILLORY

The orc bandits sold your fellow elves off like slaves, but the commander ended up saving you for himself.

You’d been out of it throughout the ordeal. Already with the feeling of being numb, dumb, and tingly from the top of your crown down to the tips of your toes, you’d soon been overcome with fever as if taken by sickness—or withdrawal. Kept warm in the lap of your captor, you could barely keep your eyes open and must have passed out again—all to the sound of your troop's despair as they were bid on individually and dragged off by different buyers, all adorned collars and chains.

When you woke up again, whatever had you so enthralled and pliant was gone, leaving you feeling much like those times you’d woken from drinking more than your limit—along with a sore ache spanning your entire body, leaving you bedridden.  

Lying there, on a massive fur pelt in a fire-heated tent with a pair of shackles upon your ankles, you decide against your former poor judgment of making demands—this time, staying still and deadly silent, causing no fuss and voicing no complaint in petrified fear of the heavyweight resting at your back, breathing soundly like a beast in hibernation.

You still don’t understand what happened—still don’t understand what got into you—why did you act that way? It was as if you’d completely lost your mind—hijacked by something unholy and depraved—something vile. You’d been possessed—you must have been! To be bred by those monsters, swallow their semen—drink their piss. Thinking about it, the shock of it all cancels out the disgust. How could you have done all that? Sure, you were forced, but you could swear… somewhere halfway through, you started to enjoy it.

“Why so quiet, elf-pet?”

He must have felt the shift in your breathing. Beasts of war sleep with one eye open, after all. Still, you don’t answer—you don’t move a muscle. Stiff and lifeless, you remain, even as his hand—the one dwarfing your hip—slides south.

"Afraid to wake me?"

You just swallow thickly with a whimper as his thick orc finger, weathered by labor and battle, pets your naked sex, rubbing your clit before splitting the lips and playing with the poorly treated hole beneath it.

“Where’d all that fight go, hm?” he rumbles at your stillness, amused by it as he prods your entrance and pulls your bottom against his bulge. “Don’t tell me I fucked it all gone…” 

All you do is quake and tremor, even as his digit breaks through and starts prepping you—slipping in and out slowly, drawing slick as if your cunt was already trained to do so.

His pleased hum rumbles at your back, wreaking your bones—making you feel fickle like a sprout.

“Elves make such good pets once you tame them,” he states, chuckling. “You love cock and cum so much it makes you dumb—a single taste of it and even the priggish of elves like you turn into filthy little whores hungry for more.” 

You feel him fatten behind you—clenching your thighs as it swells up against your rear. 

His arm, the one beneath your head you’d been resting on like a pillow, coils around your neck and pulls you back snugly against him. 

“Don’t worry, elf-pet—” he grins, teeth by your ear in heated words, “I’ll keep feeding you good and full.”

And that's how it goes. Anytime you sober up, he fucks you silly—well and truly silly—silly in the way it makes you indiscriminately slurp his cum off the ground and suck his toes and lick his ass and squeal with joy as he swarms your womb with piss, “Ah feels so nice and warm inside—I love being master’s piss-bucket! Thank you!”

It’s been that way for months now.

He’s taken to calling you Putty because of how dumb and malleable you’ve become, eager to do anything he says, just to please. It disgusted you in the beginning, but you’ve since learned to accept the weakness of your nature—if only for the sake of survival and your own sanity. 

There’s no point in beating yourself up about it—not in this godforsaken part of the world where everyone seems out to do it for you.

You’d known orcs were soulless creatures, but truly, nothing could have prepared you for their level of depravity. If you could, you’d stay hidden inside the tent and never expose yourself to the horrors outside—already sated with those you have to endure within its thin drapes. But unfortunately, your master enjoys bringing you with him wherever he goes. 

Many orcs do, you’ve come to understand. They like parading their slaves, mostly fae-folk like you, around—all dressed skimpily, all with collars—nymphs and fairies often with their wings clipped and elves with their heads shaved in shame. 

Today, you’re out walking the market—you, with your leash on, and him, with his fist tugging it close behind him. 

He’s looking at weapons and armor for the most part and the odd toy or article for you. He likes keeping you pretty, in jewelry and sheer silks that let everyone admire what he has warming his bed. 

Since becoming his slave, he’s taken you to get plenty of piercings and markings. You can’t read their scripture, but he’s told you what he’s marked on your pretty skin several times. His name, of which you’re not allowed to speak, paired with his title as your direct master, as well as his guild’s seal, stating their ownership of you—all in three intricate patterns down your right arm. So, even if you ever do get home, you’ll never be able to wash him off. Another train of patterns on your left arm shows your status as a slave and your worth if anyone but your master were to damage or kill you accidentally.

For all their cruelty—you’re surprised by their level of organization. Though you don’t agree with it, you can at least admit that what they have is some variation of civilization—as supremacist as it is. But then again, elves are much the same—always thinking themselves better than everything, even other groups of fae.

It’s funny, but in a way, you’re almost convinced this is divine justice—the gods punishing you for your false sense of superiority by forcing you to live your life in suffering as an orc’s slave. 

It’s a trial—your last chance at redemption before death. Fulfill it, and heaven will be waiting for you with open arms. Yes, that must be it. 

The crowd becomes thicker near the end of the market street. It seems there’s an ongoing roadside show that many are keen on watching. You hear the jeers and hollers, the oos and ahs, and coming out empty-handed from the market trip, it seems the commotion is enough to pique your master’s interest enough to make him battle his way through to the front with you in toe just behind him—paying no mind to how members of the crowd paw at you. 

One is even so brazen to spit on your chest. But it comes as no shock—nor does your master’s indifference. In orc culture, all orcs are masters and can do what they want to any and all slaves with respect to their direct master. In fact, it’s not uncommon to see masters chain their slaves up like mutts in the street—free for all to have a go.

Actually, you can bet that’s what gathered this flock.

And sure enough, you’re spot on. 

Three fellow fae are on display up on the stage, naked and drenched in cum and sweat and other fluids—all made fully dumb by it.

You’ve theorized why over the months of being subjected to it and could only come up with one sound theory to explain it. Orc fluids must contain strong aphrodisiac properties, maybe even other substances that make their victims so agreeable—a type of natural incentive, possibly to make breeding more plausible and easy for a race so ugly. 

Yes, that must be it. It’s the only thing that could make any sense of the heart-eyes and love-cries you witness on all your otherwise dignified fellow fae.

One of them is folded between two orcs, desperately sucking on one of their tongues with her eyes closed in bliss, taking both their cocks in both her holes. It’s hard feeling sorry for her when she looks so happy, but you know the situation yourself—it’s like your mind’s been replaced by a fluffy cloud, and all you can think to wish for is to be taken higher.

Another girl is on her knees, ass up and head down—with a heavy foot placed on top of her cheek, squishing her pretty face against the wooden stage—tongue out and eyes crossed as he fucks her sloppy cunt with his whole entire fist. The poor girl is so mindbroken she just giggles with a smile, thighs shivering in delight as she squirts out a puddle beneath her.

The last girl is placed on her back on a beam—ankles suspended in the air, tied tightly to two poles—arms tied together under the bench. She’s also got two of them having their fun with her—one in each end in a spitroast. 

You’ve been in her position once—shared like a piece of meat—stuffed overfull with no freedom to spare. You wonder if she’d spoken out of place, too.

The orc by her head tugs his cock in his fist, standing over her head, letting her lick the sweat off his balls before dropping his length on her chest, bunching her tits and fucking through them with a groan, letting his balls swing and drag over her pretty face. But it’s not long before he steps back and puts his shaft to her lips, holding her throat in a light grip as she sweetly teases his dickhole with the tip of her tongue. When he gives her a firmer squeeze, she obediently widens her mouth, gaping to receive the head.

The girl holds it in her mouth like you do for your master, trying your best to suck but only ever managing to drool around it like a roasted pig with an apple between its teeth. Oh, but then something impossible happens.

You swear it’s like watching a circus act—you look on in horror and awe—unable to grasp it as more of the orc’s meaty member disappears down the girl’s swallow—one girthy inch at a time. You watch her throat swell, eyes wide in disbelief as her pipe blows out to accommodate the size, letting it sink inside all the way through down to the hilt.

The audience whistle and shout at her performance—all impressed as the two orcs fuck her on time with each other—out, then all the way in. And honestly, you’re one of them. Blinking at the display, you can barely trust your eyes—the two cocks must be kissing each other's tips inside her.

“What good whores,” your master mumbles at your side, swinging you against his chest with a grip on your jaw, making you face the scene. 

“You see that, Putty,” he gruffs and points at the one you’d already been watching, wide-eyed and drop-jawed. “One day soon, you’re gonna be just like that.”

You dont know why, but watching the filthy scene makes your gut gurgle. How can you be hungry at a time like this?

“A perfect throat-sleeve for me. So deep, I can finally touch your guts from both ends and fill your belly just how you like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[pomefioredove]

only one bed room

summary: it's the sdc and everyone's staying over at ramshackle but, oh no! you're one room and one bed short. being the generous (or gullible) soul that you are, you agree to share characters: all sdc competitors, separate additional info: fair warning I have no replayed book 5 in a while, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, most scenarios end in cuddles. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic (nix vil and rook's part)

Deuce Spade

"I don't mind sleeping on the floor!"

it's a big fat no from Vil. waking up sore and tired is unacceptable, and will affect his performance during practice. he will use the bed, end of story.

you offer to take the floor or one of the many stiff and uncomfortable couches in Ramshackle, but he refuses

what kind of aspiring honor student would he be if he kicked you out of your own room?

so, yes, you end up sharing the bed

he's a perfect gentleman about it

he insists on sleeping on the complete opposite end of the bed

to give you your space, of course

not because he's nervous

obviously it doesn't pan out- he's kind of a messy sleeper, and on the first night you wake up with him sprawled on top of you

you decide not to wake him up

you'd been thinking about saving for a weighted blanket, anyway

Ace Trappola

"you better not hog the blankets,"

takes it like a champ, though he might be screaming internally

he already sleeps in a dorm with three other guys- this can't be any different, right?

it totally is

sharing a bed with someone? someone he likes, who he isn't just forced to live with for convenience?

he's not sure how to tease you about this one without coming off as nervous himself

so he just shuts his trap about it (for once) and accepts his fate

in the end, it's no big deal for a player like him

he ends up hogging the blankets, though. hypocrite.

Kalim al-Asim

"YAYYY SLEEPOVER!"

he means exactly what he says

not a care in the world

all he's thinking about is how fun this is going to be! just him and his favorite Ramshackle prefect (Grim heard the news and will be staying in deuce's room to avoid any cracker mishaps)

Kalim, admittedly, is not a creature of great thought. he tends to be dictated by his feelings, and he can be a little selfish sometimes

so when Jamil pulled him aside and asked him to just buy another bed for ramshackle, he ignored him entirely

why would he do that? the situation is resolved, and everyone's happy!

well... not everyone, but Kalim's happy!

he stocks up on Vil-approved snacks, insists you two braid each other's hair and stay up late into the night talking with no one to remind you to go to sleep

(he tried to invite Jamil and got the door slammed in his face)

this arrangement lasts approximately one night

when Vil sees the dark circles under your eyes, it's over

you are confined to the couch, and Kalim is forced to sleep alone

Jamil Viper

"okay,"

really. he's totally fine with it.

besides the fact that he doesn't want to cause any more trouble, he's shared beds with his siblings before. no big deal

he just wasn't expecting to wake up with you snuggled against him

but this is fine

totally fine

he's barely conscious and it's early morning, still dark, the time he's used to getting up at

Vil has things covered, right? he can stay here for a little while longer. it would be awkward trying to get up without waking you

it feels nice having something all to himself for once

he smirks, imagining how jealous everyone else would be:

the beautiful, kind, intelligent ramshackle prefect in his arms? oh, the looks on their faces would almost make this whole thing worth it!

but in the end, he decides to say nothing

he wants to keep you all to himself, after all

for just a little while longer

Epel Felmier

"ain't no way I'm sharing!"

that's what he says in his head, anyway. but it's late and he's worn out from practice (and being shouted at) so he just sighs and accepts his fate

of course Vil would make him do it. it's probably because he's the smallest, isn't it?

you can tell he's unhappy with the arrangement (not that he's making much of a secret of it- he's grumbling under his breath all evening)

he starts coming around to the idea when he wakes up holding something warm

his heart jumpstarts and he nearly panics before remembering where he is

and then he realizes the thing he's holding is... you. somehow the two of you had ended up spooning during the night

but, more importantly... he's the big spoon!

he's almost tempted to wake you to announce that he, in all his manly glory, had naturally assumed the most masculine cuddling position!

(yes he sounds ridiculous. just let him have this one)

he lets you sleep, though. just a little more won't hurt anyone, right?

he's okay with the arrangement after that

Rook Hunt

"I will do it!"

Vil isn't even able to finish his sentence before the vice housewarden is practically jumping up and down

pretty much everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief; a volunteer! thank the sevens. otherwise, this could get awkward...

of course, he quite intentionally ends up with you in his arms

but not for any nefarious purpose, he insists!

he's a light sleeper, and can be stirred by any sudden noise or movement

you appeared to be having some kind of nightmare

it reminds him of a small animal caught in a trap, struggling for its life. he can't bear to see it- it's cruel to let a poor creature go on suffering before you can make the kill

of course, instead of killing you (thank the sevens), he decides to comfort you

he presses your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, and he runs his fingers through your hair until you calm down.

then he keeps you there, just to be sure you don't have another bad dream

if you gave him permission, he would gladly be all over you in seconds. kissing up and down your shoulders, caressing every perfect inch of your body, whispering words of admiration

but he's perfectly content just cradling you for now

hopefully, you will continue to have these nightmares and give him excuses to do this again

Vil Schoenheit

"don't argue with me,"

initially, you just gave him the bed

maybe you were afraid of him; maybe you like him; maybe you just wanted to avoid a conflict altogether

either way, you spent the first night on the terribly uncomfortable floor, and trudged through Ramshackle like a zombie the next morning

Vil was feeling guilty watching you

what? he's not a monster

and he's a leader, which means he has a responsibility. and you had so graciously invited them all into your home...

fine! he'll share. he insists, even

when you try to argue, he shuts you down, repeating all that stuff about responsibility and hospitality, blah blah

and he doesn't want the team manager dead on their feet

arguing with him is pointless, so you just agree

he wakes up with you against him, sleeping peacefully

now, if it were you clinging to him- he might have had a good chuckle. can't keep your hands to yourself, prefect? I'm just that irresistible?

but the way he's holding you, the way his arms are so tightly wrapped around your waist, the way he's so clearly pressing you against him...

he hates to admit it, but you're an elegant sleeper. it's almost cute

the tension is relieved from your face, your breathing graceful and steady, and your perfect lips open just a sliver...

he is a perfect gentleman, and would never dream of doing anything without your explicit permission, but for one shameful second he thinks about how easy it would be to kiss you

... and then he quickly puts those thoughts aside and tries to get back to sleep

he doesn't want any dark circles, after all

[reidrum]

wine or wine not | s.r

spencer reid x bau!reader

a/n: i think i love writing buildup to smut than actual smut, but i hope you guys like this lmk what you think. this was requested with the prompts "look at me when you come on my fingers" and "muttering compliments kissing down their body" and it was so much fun to write aaaaahh, my requests are open so please send more!!! guidelines in pinned <3

summary: you're hopelessly pining after spencer at a rossi party, and when you run into him in the kitchen when you're getting a refill and he asks if you want to explore the mansion with him, who are you to say no?

cw: 18+ minors dni pls, fingering, p in v, nipple play, soft!dom!spence, spencer being ridiculously hot its criminal, ooc penelope but it was for the plot, pining idiots, wine cellar sex wine cellar sex wine cellar sex, public sex, morgan and prentiss being dumb, rossi being a smug lil shit, a dumb ass title sorry i didn't know what else to name it lol

wc: 4.1k

★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★・・・・★

these days rossi was always finding some reason to throw a party at his mansion. you’re not exactly sure what it was tonight, a birthday? an anniversary? regardless, you and the team appreciated the excuse to unwind, dress up, and have non murder related fun.

the sun is setting over the rolling hills the mansion is perched on, and you’re sat at a table with the girls— penelope, jj, and emily discussing penelope’s latest dating escapade. you’re trying hard to pay attention, you really are, but it proves to be difficult when you’re focused on the man showing magic tricks to the kids across the room.

you look on yearnfully as spencer pulls a coin from jack’s ear, all the kids are laughing and cheering and he has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hellooo?” penelope waves a hand in front of you dramatically, “i’m getting to the good part and you’re off in space!”

you jolt back to the present, “sorry pen, i’m listening i promise. so he shows up to your door with maple syrup and feathers?”

“YES, anyways so then he’s like i have a proposition for you…” penelope continues her story but you can’t help but zone out again. your eyes drift back to boy genius as he finishes another trick for little henry before rising up to his full height. it’s in that moment his eyes meet yours and softens as he offers you a small wave. 

you return the gesture back which causes the girls at your table to look in the same direction and they come to a glaring conclusion too quickly.

“ah, that’s why you’re not paying attention. too busy ogling mr. houdini over there.” jj remarks.

“i am not!” you scoff.

“oh you so are,” emily says, “when are you going to let yourself feel your heart’s full content.”

“first of all, i can’t stand you. second of all, it’s not worth it. he would never feel the same about me.” you say as emily rolls her eyes.

this time penelope interjected, “oh don’t be so cynical. you haven’t even tried how could you even know?”

but you did know. it’s not that spencer didn’t like you, he treated you the same as any team member, but that was just it. you wanted him to see you as more. during cases you would try to impress him or make breakthroughs in the hopes he would tell you ‘good job’. a couple times you brought him coffee when you got yours, just to hear him say your name and thanks. work conversations rarely seemed to move past small talk, but you’re a little sure that’s on your part because he just made you so nervous. and like, he’s a profiler. so you’re sure to some degree he knows how you feel, and it just makes you regress into your safe hole even further because you think he’s being nice by not acknowledging it and saving you the embarrassment.

the girls knew about your harbored crush for a month now, since the last bau drinks night you got a little too truthful during truth or dare. you were much younger in comparison to your colleagues, so they offered their sympathies at your unrequited love and tried to get you to come out more and let loose.

which is one of the reasons you’re sitting in rossi’s living room, wine glass in hand, as morgan recounts the craziest date hes ever been on. the other reason, which you wouldn’t admit to anyone, was so you could admire your (not) lover from an acceptable distance and not risk embarrassing yourself.

so here you are, two glasses deep, rising up from your spot on the floor telling everyone you’re going to get a refill. your heels click against the hardwood floors all the way to the kitchen where you just so luckily run into the (your) man of the hour.

“hi.”

you were looking down at your feet as you walked to the kitchen, your head snapping up to meet the voice, “hi spencer.” you said softly.

“if you’re looking for more wine, i think emily just grabbed the last bottle,” you must have outwardly deflated as he continued, “that bad out there?”

“only so much wine can get me through penelope’s sexcapades and derek’s crazy one night stands.” you joke.

he chuckles back, “oh i know, why do you think i’m hiding out in here?”

you laugh again before an uncomfortable yet strangely comfortable silence falls between you both. unknowingly you both take turns gazing at each other, indexing the others features as if this moment would be the only chance you got.

you’re about to take your loss and leave when spencer speaks up again, “you know, i wouldn’t put it past rossi to have a secret wine cellar somewhere.”

“honestly, you’re probably right. what kind of italian just runs out of wine.”

spencer pauses slightly before saying, “do you want to see if we can find it?”

you look at his eyes again and catch a glint of mischief? concern that you’re wine-less? whatever it is, you take the bait.

“i’m game.”

—

rossi’s mansion was humongous. it was well known that he was loaded from his years in the bureau and multiple book deals, but holy shit, the rooms just seemed never ending, and none of them were a wine cellar.

“i don’t know spence, i'm starting to lose hope, and debating to revoke rossi’s italian card.”

you’re both in one of the many studies and are about to leave to find another room, when spencer notices a smaller door next to the study. he slowly opens it and peaks inside to find a descending wooden staircase. he looks at you with a smirk, “i think we just found it.”

he holds the door open and gestures you to enter first, following shortly behind you as he shuts the door. he makes sure to check that it’ll still open even after it’s shut, and you both relax a little seeing it still unlock. you move down the stairs, gripping the handrail and praying you don’t trip over your heels and fall to an embarrassing demise.

spencer descends a step behind you, trying so hard not to let his eyes wander down your bare back to the curve of your hips. once he steps off you both go in opposite directions to explore. you take in the vast amount of shelves and wine racks, taking note of how it seems to be separated by year and by type. running your fingers over the labels, you’re intrigued by a shelf with the year you were born, and pause in front of it. you reach up to a shelf that is just a smidge taller than you, hoping to grab the neck of an old wine bottle.

even in your heels you’re struggling, attempting little hops to try and reach. you’re about to give up when you feel a warm hand on your right hip, while an outstretched arm on your left seamlessly grabs the bottle and brings it down to you, “careful sweetheart, don’t wanna break that pretty head of yours.” spencer says lowly.

excuse me, what the fuck did he just say.

you inspect the bottle he so kindly brought down for you, but it’s a futile effort. you can’t even remember why you wanted to see it. all you can think about is your hands clamming up, sending threats to the wine bottle it’s holding. your mind is fogging up fast, and you’re trying to order your brain to say something instead of going mute while he’s still an inch behind you. with his hand on your hip still.

“oh god,” you start shakily, “you scared me spence.” you angle your body to the left so you can attempt to show how unbothered you are and look at his face.

good save (not).

he’s staring down at you with a hint of a smirk on his lips, like he’s keeping a secret from you. his eyes are intently focused on you when he speaks again, “just didn’t want you to get hurt. s’all.”

with his close proximity, you’re sure he can hear your heart beating through both of your chests, hell it was so loud they could probably hear it upstairs. he’s still got you caged in front of him when he continues, “any particular reason for this bottle?”

“yeah no, i just, wanted to see what bottles of wine he had from the year i was born.” you answer, watching as spencer moves back to give you space when you turn to face him.

he nods, “did you know that wine is associated with the greek god dionysus?”

“no i didn’t, actually.”

“it’s really interesting,” he moves forward a tiny inch, “they call him the patron god of wine, but a lot of people often forget that he’s also the god of fertility and ecstasy.”

oh. “ecstasy?” you whisper confusingly.

“yes, he believes when you drink wine it gives you emotional and physical pleasure.”

“how does that even work?” you nervously laugh.

spencer reaches his arm above your head, never breaking eye contact, and grabs two wine glasses by their stems, “you wanna find out?”

with only so many words, you give another nod. he uncorks the bottle with ease and pours out two glasses, with his having a little less than yours, most likely due to his slow but steady return to drinking casually. clinking your glasses, you take a big gulp hoping it’ll satiate the building nerves. but you’re watching the way his fingers wrap around the glass, his veiny hand showing prominently and you’re unable to focus on anything else.

“you know, i’ve been running something of an observation the last few months.”

you take another small sip, starting to feel less nervous, “oh yeah, what about?”

“you.”

it took everything in you not to spit your drink out all over his suit. 

“me?”

he nods after another sip, “i’ve been watching you, and not in a creepy way i swear. but i’ve been keeping track of your habits; how you take your coffee, your tells when a case gets too much, things like that,”

that didn’t seem overtly terrible to you, you knew spencer was an observer of his environment, always seeking out patterns to aid his predictions. you’re about to speak when he cuts you off.

“i’ve also been noticing how you seem to change, when i’m in your presence.”

you feel like the sweat and nerves are just oozing out of you at this point, and he continues his verbal taunt.

“i’ve seen your breathing rate get faster,” he moves a step forward, “how your cheeks rise with the faintest red, kind of like right now,” another step forward, “and how you try to avoid looking directly at me because you think i’ll find out everything if you do.”

the room has to be at least a thousand degrees at this point, heart beating so fast it’s probably gone to the moon, and your brain just unable to have any coherent thoughts at the realization that maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

he takes one final step to close the gap between you and delicately places two fingers on the pulse point of your neck, “i couldn’t figure out your heart rate from afar,” he pauses to count, “but now that i know it, i can come to my conclusion.”

the air in your lungs has all but escaped, nowhere to be found. “and wh- what is your conclusion d- doctor reid?” your voice betraying you by dripping with anticipation.

“that i make you nervous. do you agree? do i make you nervous?” he says while you feel the hot breath of his whispers ghosting on your lips.

your mouth opens to say something and then shuts, because what the hell are you supposed to say? any and all logic has left the room, but the last working neuron works to make an unthinkable conclusion of your own. there is no way.

spencer moves his fingers to grip your chin between them, guiding your face to look directly into his copper eyes, “i asked you a question angel, do i make you nervous?”

you’re cornered, “y- yes.”

“why’s that?”

“spencer..”

“is it because you’re thinking of me the same way i think i about you?” his thumb starts tracing the outline of your lower jaw. he’s pressed right up against your chest, his other arm covertly moving to snake around your waist. the way you lean in subconsciously towards him, paired with your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

the pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, dragging it downwards a little. there’s a hitch in his breath when his eyes flicker from your lips back up to meet your eyes again. he quietly mumbles, “can i?”

your eyes widen slightly, relishing in the way his arms are holding you firm and steady. this was about to really happen. you’d been pining after him all this time, believing you were destined for unrequited love. but as spencer stands in front of you, looking at you as if he’d been poisoned and the only antidote is your lips, you can’t help but wonder if there’s been a similar weight on his side that’s been holding him back too.

so you nod once again, and trust your voice this time, 

“yes.”

you’re fully expecting him to go into it full force, and kiss you like a man starved. but he lets the premonition bubble for a little longer as he so agonizingly leans down and closes the gap, teasing you with the ghost of his lips on yours without making contact. he waits a moment, and just as he predicted your subconscious betrays you again and you impatiently lean up in an attempt to meet your lips together. spencer can’t help but smile before he softly pressed himself against you.

the feeling of his mouth on yours is something you can only describe as cosmic, like a star exploding into a supernova, emitting a powerful and luminous show of energy. it’s all consuming, the light reaching every neuronal end of your body and electrifying it ten times over. your hands reach up to tangle in his curly hair and he lets out the faintest whimper, spurring you on to grab it more earnestly.

spencer loses all restraint. his hands begin furiously mapping out your body, running up and down your back, reaching down to grasp a handful of your ass. he moves his hands down further to grip your thighs, effortlessly lifting you to sit on the counter behind you. spencer slots himself between your legs and continues kissing you, his mouth marking a hot trail to your neck as he mutters between, “is this okay?”

“please don’t stop.” you moan softly.

his fingers move to deftly slide the straps of your dress off your shoulder, mirroring the movement on the other side while continuing to work his down your neck. he slides the dress far enough down to expose your chest, immediately taking the swollen nub into mouth and running circles around it with his tongue. you let out a sharp gasp at the sudden warmth, whimpers leaving your throat. he repeats the motion to the other one as you cradle his head closer in an attempt to keep him there, as if spencer had any plans of leaving.

he moves his mouth back up to meet yours again, in a lust filled attack sending shock waves straight to your core. you move your fingers to work the buttons of his dress shirt and spencer moves his hand further south and under the hem of your dress, something you don’t notice until his thumbs are rubbing circles onto the plush of your inner thighs. it makes you falter on his last button as he pushes your legs farther apart,  inches closer to where you desperately need him.

spencer looks directly into your eyes as his thumbs reach up to hook onto the side of your panties and slowly move them down your legs. he groans outwardly at the resistance caused by your slickness, “all this for me, baby?”

you’re rendered speechless watching spencer and his ministrations but he continues, “you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?” his fingers are less than an inch away from your cunt, “i see you walk around the office in those tight pants, your hair and makeup all done, and those blouses jesus,” he reaches your entrance and dives in to collect your wetness, you brokenly moan as he begins to spread it all over. “couldn’t tell if you hated me for the longest time.”

“c- could never hate you.” you whine.

“i know baby,” he slides his middle finger into your hole, “just imagine the fun we could’ve had if we figured this out earlier. but it’s okay, we have all the time now.” he sets a steady rhythm before inserting his ring finger, actively working you towards a barreling orgasm.

“spencer, fuck, oh god.”

“you’re so fucking wet, bet you’re gonna come soon, right? gonna make a mess on my hand?” he baited.

you’re in shambles, one hand deathly squeezing onto one shoulder the other turning white from the grip you held on the counter. the moans won’t stop falling out of you, he works his fingers so skillfully within you it’s impossible to hold any resolve when he curves upwards and hits that spot.

your head tilts back, reeling from the intense pressure coil building inside you, the peak about to hit you any moment now. spencer uses his free hand to move your head back down, “look at me when you come on my fingers.”

that was all it took for the white hot to ravage through you, engulfing every sense and leaving you breathless. he continues moving his fingers through your orgasm, watching as you come back down to him. you don’t waste a second reaching for his belt to unfasten it, slipping your hand down to palm him through his boxers. he moans in your ear as he feels you slip inside, your small hand moving up and down, and getting impossibly harder when you take your hand back up to spit on it to then return to your movements.

you take the moment to lean into his neck and leave bites of your own, finding his sweet spot right behind his ear and sucking hard. spencer’s hands have taken a spot on your lower back beneath your dress, pressing so hard with his fingertips you know there’ll be evidence of this night tomorrow.

“spence..” you mutter in the crook in the neck.

“yeah baby?” he whispers back.

“can you fuck me now?”

he preens at your boldness, and wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers down enough to fully free himself. he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter before pulling his length out and giving it a few strokes. he lets it glide between your folds, gathering your wetness as lubricant as it hits your clit. both of you are panting hard realizing the anticipation has led to this moment. spencer positions himself at your entrance, never breaking eye contact with you, and watches your face drop into a perfect ‘oh’ as he pushes in.

spencer is absolutely wrecked as he hears your breathing pick up, reveling in the vice grip your cunt has on him. you’re no better above him as you’ve broken eye contact to stare at where the two of you connect, watching as he disappears into you and the feeling of being so full overtakes you and you’re letting out soft expletives. he bottoms out and stalls for a minute, waiting for you to signal that you’re okay for him to move. in the time he’s waiting, he takes a moment to really look at your face, how absolutely ruined you look, your cheeks are deeply flushed, hair flying in every direction, and he can’t help but tell you, “you look so pretty.”

your eyes soften as you gaze back at him and nod slightly, and he pulls back all the way to ease in again experimentally. once he hears you moan out loud at the movement, and feels you tighten even more around his cock, he loses any and all restraint he’d been holding onto this entire night.

his hips pick up the pace in harsh snaps to your core, sending ripples of pleasure all over you. your arms are wrapped around his neck attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you, “spencer…fuck…” you drawl with a whine.

“i got you baby, gonna take good care of you, promise,” he says back in between grunts. the sentiment causes you to squeeze on his cock again as he attempts to continue, “if you keep…fuck…keep squeezing me like that i’m n- not gonna last long.”

one hand in his hair and the other leaving dark red scratches on his back, you feel your second orgasm of the night hastily creep up on you. he can tell you’re close and quickens his pace as he thumbs your clit. you moan his name out once more before reaching your peak, feeling like your body is on fire as he continues to fuck you through it. 

spencer feels his own release building up, “wh- where should i..?”

“inside, i’m on the pill just please come inside me.”

it was more than enough for spencer’s movements to stutter as he released his hot load in you, groaning out loud as he finished.

he slows to a half, still hilted inside of you but softening post orgasm. you’re both breathing heavily as you look up at each other and take in the other’s fucked out faces. spencer presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his own on it, “that was..”

“intense,” he quirks his eyebrows at you, “in a really really good way.” you add quickly.

he smiles down at you, “i wasn’t kidding, what i said earlier. i think about you an embarrassingly high amount each day. i’d love to take you out and make this a real thing.”

“yeah?” you gape incredulously, “thought i was the one embarrassing myself if you were able to notice all those things i did when you were near me.”

he laughs, “no, no it was endearing, definitely made it easier to be as forward as i was tonight knowing you wouldn’t freak out.”

you’re about to respond when you hear the door to the cellar open, you’re both hidden from view but know it’s only a matter of seconds before someone catches you. you both look at each other in panic as spencer pulls out of you, tucking himself back in and zipping up his pants. you grab your panties from the floor and begin to pull them up your legs when he notices his come dripping down your thighs. he swiftly gathers the release on his fingers and shoves it back inside you, causing you to let out a near pornographic moan as he pulls up your underwear all the way.

“did you guys hear that?” a voice sounding like emily said.

“see this is why i don’t do big houses like this, too many creepy ass noises.” morgan.

“mansion,” rossi corrects, “and for a couple of profilers, you both are stupid if you don’t know what that sound was.”

your eyes widen to match spencer’s, you’ve been caught.

“was it a mouse or something?”

“no more like, bunnies,” he joked with an innuendo, “come on, i found the bottle i was looking for, let the bunnies do their thing so they can leave and go home to do whatever it is bunnies do.”

“you’re a weird old man david…” emily muttered.

the door closes and you both let out a big breath, and burst into a fit of laughter, “how the hell are we gonna show our faces to him on monday?” you whine.

“that is a monday us problem,” he starts, “but right now, i think it’s time for me to take you home.” he winks.

two stuffed bunnies show up on yours and spencer’s desk on monday. you’re both redder than a tomato as rossi chuckles when he walks by. prentiss and morgan are still confused.

[whatifitis]

♡ Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.

Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best 😭

WC: 1045

CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff

You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.

Fucker 

It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, you’d still have 5 more minutes of sleep. 

For most of your life, especially in recent years, you’ve never been able to get a full night's rest. You’d always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep. 

However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time you’d been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you. 

Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees. 

Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place. 

The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint. 

Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought it’d be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando. 

The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up. 

Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, “As much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.”

As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. “That’s why.” he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him. 

The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment. 

Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded. 

What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing I’ve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I don’t think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!

As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, “Lan, my love, my gorgeous boy… what the fuck?” you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area. 

Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face. 

The cheeky fuck. 

“It’s a mattress!” he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect. 

“A mattress?” you ask.

“A mattress.” 

After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask “Why?”

“Cause, you’re always tired and you never sleep well unless you’re at my place. So I figured out why! It’s because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since it’s your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.” he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you don’t deserve. 

He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home. 

“I sleep better at yours because you’re there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!” you exclaim. 

You watch as Lando’s face immediately drops, “what?” he asks. He’s truly been stunned with this information, “What’d you mean it’s not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I haven’t helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors you’ve seen for this issue!”

You can’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement. 

“Gorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors I’ve seen… that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?” 

Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices. 

“Fuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.” he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he’s going to return the heavy ass box. “Wait, you sleep better when you’re around me?” he looks at you, somewhat shocked. 

You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, “Gorgeous, in the time we’ve been together, we’ve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because I’m with you, I feel safe with you.”

“Oh… oh!” he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, he’s blushing, “That’s nice.”

You don’t think you’ve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it. 

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”

[realcube]

— SAIKI RELATIONSHIP HCS

☆ very hesitant to hug you/hold hands bc he is afraid he might shatter all your bones. prefers kisses, less can go wrong

☆ except that one time he kissed you and was so flustered that a whole galaxy exploded

☆ but it was one of those really distant, useless ones so he moved on

☆ or that time you held his hand and he literally started levitating ??

☆ finishes exams in two seconds then spends the rest of the time annoying you

'i don't mean to disturb you but i noticed you put the wrong answer for question four' 'get out of my head!'

☆ i already wrote a drabble about this but he morphs into different objects to 'prank' you

☆ you always want him to shrink bc what's the point of having a psychic bf if you can't carry him around on your person like a polly pocket

☆ he's very apprehensive about it, however one day he finally agrees to it because you have a shift at work and you really wanted him to join you but it would be weird if he just showed up to your place of work unannounced so he shrunk and you carried him around in your back pocket

☆ that is until you almost sat on him!! and when he dived out to avoid being crushed, he fell onto the sticky work floor covered in dust

☆ still hasn't fully recovered 😿

☆ omg if you are insecure about a physical feature of yours , instead of using his powers to change you, he will use his mind control on the entire world so that your insecurity is now the beauty standard (similar to what he did with his hair)

☆ he doesn't use mind control on you though bc it's rude

☆ in fact he tries to avoid using his powers on you all together bc it would only cause trouble (with the exception of telepathy bc he likes to speak to you.. unlike he does with most people)

☆ and he's very strict with that ethic of his

☆ which is nice and all, and really easy until he does something super embarrassing in front of you

☆ like you see him scream at a cockroach or smth

☆ and he is SO tempted to use memory alteration on you so you could just forget that ever happened

☆ but he just can't bring himself to do it

☆ OR when your birthday was before his so he got you a present but didn't do that much else, but when it was time for his birthday and you went all out, he so wanted to either go back in time and do better or just alter your memory so you think he went all out too

☆ oh and passive aggression doesn't work on him ofc

☆ if you are ever mad or upset at him for whatever reason, you can't be like 'hmph i'm not gonna tell you what you did wrong, you just have to know :<' bc he can.. y'know.. read your mind

☆ and he also knows exactly what to do to make you feel better and forgive him, every single time

☆ plus you can never stay mad at him for long anyway bc he's just too cute!!

☆ too shy to admit that he wants to spend more time with you so he will use his powers as some sort of excuse

as you're about to leave saiki's room, he lies, 'wait. don't go. i have had a precognition that something terrible is going to happen to you if you do.' 'really?' you raise an eyebrow. 'and what might that be?' he wasn't really ready for any follow up questions so he stutters and thinks of the scariest scenario he can 'toritsuka.' ... 'toritsuka is going to do what? jump me?' 'no. just toritsuka.'

☆ for your birthday or anniversary he does something you call the 'saiki special' where he duplicates himself to give you a full body massage

☆ it's what dreams are made of !!!

☆ but yeah it's a lot of effort so he saves it for special occasions

☆ he would so love to watch trashy reality tv shows with you

☆ but he so uses it against you

☆ like if you are ever studying and are like 'why am i working so hard when you are psychic and can literally set us up for the easy life 😫'

☆ he'll be like.. you know who else never worked hard a day in they're life.. the kardashians!! do you really want to end up like that??

☆ and when you say yes this is the face he makes 😐

☆ dw though bc as i said before he will be in your head during exams so he can help you a little

☆ his love language is actually spoonfeeding you food and desserts

☆ and yes he actually uses his hands opposed to his mind to control the spoon, just to show you that being a psychic doesn't mean he gets to cut corners!

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU Part 3

The creature's surprise surprises everyone else.

“It understands English?” Dick asks with a thoughtful tone lacing his voice.

“Or recognizes the motion of the wave as something benign,” Damian proposes, tense as a live wire as he keeps eagle eyes on Cass below.

Cass raises her hands, and though she does so slowly no amount of surprise keeps the creature from restarting that odd, piercing warning sound.

“Don't be afraid,” she says slowly and clearly, her hands moving to sign the words as she speaks. “I'm a friend.”

Despite there being no iris or pupil to be found in those glowing eyes, the way they dart back and forth between her hands and her mask is clear to see.

It doesn't stop growling, but it does shift uneasily. 

Cass's hands move to sign without speaking.

Do you understand me?

Nothing, save for the flicking of bottomless eyes.

“Do you understand me?”

The creature twitches, like being asked such a thing is a surprise. It takes a long moment - as if the question must be some kind of trap - before its head jerks in a jittery, hesitant nod.

More than one person's breath catches audibly over comms.

The set of Cass's shoulders softens in a way that telegraphs a smile, one that can't be seen past her mask.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with her voice.

Knows English but not sign, she says with her hands.

Smart girl. With that knowledge she can sign to the Bats without the creature realizing her hands are saying anything different than her mouth.

As soon as nice to meet you spills into the open air, the creature stops growling. For something with such an inhuman, blank face it telegraphs shock and confusion loudly.

Actually, it…it's almost like Bruce can feel those things himself, like something brushing against the base of his brain. It's disturbing and fascinating all at once.

Perhaps the feelings of dread and disturbance being near it causes is more than just fear of the unknown.

If it can project its own feelings, can it also sense theirs? Bruce isn't sure how he feels about that idea.

“Are you hurt?”

Definitely guarding chest. Bleeding.

“Bleeding?” Tim asks. 

“Chest hurts?”

Bleeding green.

“It's bleeding the Lazarus water?” Tim hisses. 

“I'm sorry,” Jason's voice cuts in on comms. “Your creature is bleeding what now?”

“Unconfirmed, but the color is similar,” Bruce says.

Jason is on standby, gracious enough to be patrolling a little further than his usual to cover the gaps while they deal with whatever this is.

Gracious is actually a stretch considering the choice words he'd had about the request when asked. Still, the protests had been more routine than truly venomous.

Bruce suspects he's mostly displeased with not being on site if his siblings need him in the face of a total unknown.

“Do you need help?” Cass's voice rings out softly again.

Doesn't want to admit injury.

“A doctor?”

There are flinches all around as that finally gathers a marked reaction, and a negative one. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard, like a million light bulb filaments breaking and fizzling out. The cadence is odd, almost like the creature is trying to speak.

“No doctor! Okay, no doctor. It's okay.”

Afraid. Terrified.

The sound stutters out again, that odd feeling against the base of Bruce's skull and the wide eyes of the creature projecting confusion and disbelief over the easy acquiescence. 

This is not an entity that expects to have its desires or fears cared about. Bruce has a bad feeling it's an expectation borne from experience.

Once again, he thinks with a sick feeling about the fact that he hadn't stopped to consider the creature might be reasoned with until Cass stepped in.

“Can I come closer?”

The creature whines as if it's a frightened stray, not a shadowy nightmare. Its claws click against the pavement in a manner that feels distinctly nervous. 

“Please? I won't hurt you.”

Tired. Can't go for much longer and knows it.

They all watch closely as the creature's eyes flicker up and towards the line of police cruisers and officers at the very end of the alley, then back to Cass.

Its claws keep clicking. 

The pool of green below it might be bigger, or it might just be the new knowledge that the substance is like blood messing with Bruce's nerves.

“I'm coming over. Slow. I won't hurt you.”

Weighing their options. Either me or cops. Knows that too.

True to her word, Cass moves slowly.

The creature's tail lashes and it grumbles its unrest, but it doesn't snarl like before and it doesn't lash out even when she's certainly close enough for those long spindly arms to reach.

Cass sinks to her knees just feet from it, posture intentionally open. Carefully, she offers another wave and a pleased, “Hello. See? All okay.”

Bruce's heart seizes. For just a moment, the wide glowing eyes angled to look up at Cass read as painfully young. Like a frightened child.

“You need help,” Cass almost whispers, hands laying on her thighs in plain sight. “No doctors, I know. But maybe a safe place? Come with me?”

Surely the comms have never been so silent as they are while Cass turns her hands over and extends them, like she's inviting the creature to place its own in her palms.

“Keep you safe. I promise.”

For a long few moments, the creature is so silent and still it may well have frozen in time.

Then there's a mourning keen that nearly buckles Bruce at the knees and the creature is moving. 

Instead of taking her hands, it drags itself forward and grabs at her to a chorus of panicked shouts on the comms. So quickly nobody has time to react, it's dragged itself up to cling to her shoulders and bury its face in her neck.

The shadowy frame trembles when she holds it in return.

Masterpost

[hellfire--cult]

Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

wc: 6.7k+

summary: Johnny grows infatuated with you, something he never thought was going to happen to him, at least for a long while. He liked being single, but then you came along, and all he could think about was you... then you got kidnapped thanks to him, and he felt so guilty for it... but not everything was as it seemed.

warnings: +18 smut, p in v (no protection), roughness, hate fucking, some fluffiness, branding of skin, description of getting burnt, slapping, some violence, porn with plot

a/n: I had this vision that needed to be written cause it would not leave my fucking mind, and this was the only chance i would be able to write something like this. I will clarify, this is my first ever MCU fic, and I do not believe I will write anything else for it, at least not now. If you are from the MCU fandom, and decide to follow me, don't expect more really... i mainly write stranger things, i was just... too haunted with this image...

Anyways, I love Joseph Quinn, so I pictured HIS Johnny Storm for this (yes, he triggered the thots.)

thank u to @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby for proofreading this and helping with my editing cause i never wrote marvel and i needed their opinion, i love both thank u

Enjoy and don't forget to reblog!

BRAND ME

When Johnny Storm saw you for the first time, he thought Cupid fired an arrow his way.

Now, it wasn’t the best of situations of course, he had to save you from a slight altercation regarding some of Doctor Doom’s subjects wreaking havoc in the city and all that, and he saved you by beating up the guy that held you hostage in spirits of saving his ass. 

You had thanked him, smiled at him and he may or may have not thought of having you as one of his conquests. He was known for it, you absolutely knew about it, but he couldn’t really help himself when he started talking to you. He first asked to meet up with you privately and you immediately rejected his advances, surprising him, sure, but not stopping him, so you offered to meet up with him for a coffee after work. 

Coffee was not something he did often. It was usually drinks, and to be fair, no women really ever said no to him. Sure he messed up a few times, but who hasn’t? Still, sharing a coffee with you didn’t sound like a bad idea. It was different, but different didn’t always mean bad. 

So you gave him the address to your building, and at 1 PM sharp on Tuesday, he met up with you right outside of it. You were wearing the typical office attire, skirt to the knees, a nice blouse, a comfortable jacket and he still thought you looked absolutely beautiful. Sitting down at the coffee shop, you two talked, and talked, and he found out so much about you.

You were an only child, and you have been working since you could remember. You lived alone, you liked to cook, and you absolutely disliked pickles. Every small thing he found out about you, he reciprocated with a fact about himself, without giving much away of course.

One coffee date turned into two. Then four. Then, counting didn’t matter anymore.

For a month he has been seeing you, and never once has he made a move on you. It’s not that he didn’t want to… He absolutely wanted to. But you were different. You were completely different from all the flings he had, and he even tried to have one after meeting you and it felt pointless. He didn’t know himself any longer, even Reed got a little worried from all the sneaking around he did, but Johnny couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it when it came to you.

You were magnificent, a breath of fresh air to be around with. You always greeted him with a smile to your face and he’s never felt more alive when you did. He, of course, had to be careful with you. Not because of trust, but of what might happen to you if you were seen being involved with one of the Fantastic Four. He always picked out private places for the two of you to meet, away from public eyes. 

Coffee shops turned into take-out coffees and parks. Talks that happened at your home’s balcony. Him looking for a comforting shoulder after a long day of being a hero. He was always careful in keeping you away from public. In keeping you a secret. In keeping you safe.

But not careful enough.

When you didn’t answer your phone that day, his heart stopped. You always answered. He tried and tried but you just wouldn’t pick up and he became restless. He flew out of the headquarters, not caring for the waves people gave him, with your apartment as his only destination. He felt himself growing cold despite being up in flames, flying, the horrible feeling that something happened to you making him want to puke.

And when he arrived at your home, he froze. Your balcony’s sliding door was open and what he saw inside made his whole world shatter. Your things were all thrown to the floor. Your furniture was destroyed. Your pictures were all broken and shattered. And then, as he put a foot into your apartment, he saw you. 

You were breathing heavily as you lay on the floor, facing down, and your hair was all over your face. He rushed towards you, jumping over everything that was on the floor, and immediately dropped to his knees in order to scoop you up in his arms and turn you. He pushed the hair off your face as his heart beat loudly in his chest, only for it to come to a stop as he saw the open wound on your eyebrow and the bruise that was starting to form all around it. 

“Crap– fuck!” He felt his world plummeting to the ground as he tried shaking you awake, calling out your name, and he sighed with relief as your eyes slowly opened, only for your face to contort into a wince.

“What…?” He shook his head at you and held onto your form, one arm underneath the back of your knees while the other was wrapped behind your back. He got up on his two feet with ease as he rushed towards the balcony. You made a sound of discomfort as you were moved around, and all he wanted was to keep you safe right now. He needed to take you with him. He cannot leave you alone, not when all of this is probably his fault.

“It’ll be quick, I promise…” He took a deep breath as he controlled his flames temperature, ensuring it would not go towards his arms. Your eyes looked up to meet his, his eyes that were now fiery orbs, looking down at you with sadness displayed on his eyebrows. You whined through the pain again and he immediately leaped out of your balcony.

You could feel the heat off his body, but he made sure to make it as less uncomfortable as he could, but he still knew he had to be quick. He was angry, desperate, and that wasn’t making the flames be any less intense. He knew he was gonna break a rule, but he couldn’t give two shits for the consequences he might face with his family. His sister was going to kill him, but she will understand. They all will have to understand.

He sneaked you in, heading straight to his room, laying you down on his bed. The rage he felt with himself was scorching him from the inside out, so he took the top of his suit as fast as he could and rushed towards the bathroom to get one of his medical kits. 

He aided you, cleaned your wound, put the butterfly strip over it, and even gave you medicine for any impending headaches. He checked for other wounds besides the one on your eye, but there was nothing else, at least from the places where your clothes did not cover you. 

An hour passed and you were slowly coming back to your senses. You opened your eyes to see him walking back and forth, pacing, worry displayed on his features as he seemed deep in thought. You slowly sat up on the bed, looking around, wincing slightly thanks to the throbbing in your head.

“Johnny?” Your voice was small but it was enough for his head to snap towards you and rush to the bed, sitting on the edge right next to you. His hand came up to caress the side of face, making sure to not touch the bruise on your eye.

“Hey…” His eyes were filled with fear, anger, sadness, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as your eyes roamed all over the room.

“Where… am I?” Your eyes found his again and he gulped, thumb caressing your cheek softly.

“My room… I– I couldn’t leave you alone…” Your eyes widened for just a second to then look down at your hands. Your breathing turned heavy as your eyes filled with tears, shaking your head at him.

“I– I thought it was you… I opened the sliding door and– They wanted information–” Your voice was cut off with a sob and Johnny saw how you winced in pain, your hand flying to press onto your temple and he quickly shushed you, scooching closer to you, lifting his hand to grab yours gently and move it away from your face.

“Don’t touch it– I… I seriously thought I was careful in keeping you safe and hidden… I screwed up.” Your eyes met his, seeing the guilt that was flooding inside, knowing he was torturing himself because of it. His lips were downturned, disappointment written all over. You shook your head at him, your hand grasping his.

“I don’t regret a minute of it…” His eyes met yours as you guided your gaze around the room, frowning slightly as your headache seemed to start to drift away. “So this is your room…” “Fantastic Four headquarters… nobody knows I sneaked you in, but I really couldn’t care less. I won’t let you out of my sight, at least until whoever is stalking me is captured.” You turned towards him again, a soft smile on your lips that made his heart combust in its own flames.

“Probably a fan.” Even now you still joked to him, when you were the one hurt. You were too beautiful. Too incredible, even for his own good. He should be careful with his moves, he should let you know how different you are to his other flings… but his body betrayed him as his free hand came towards your cheek, holding it gently, and his lips surged forward, slotting right onto yours.

Your eyes were wide as a surprised gasp fell from your lips, but you reciprocated that kiss, even if a bit hesitant at first. His lips moved with yours as his body started rising in temperature which he was trying to keep at a warm number. He could easily control his temperature but with you, he was finding it hard to do so. 

He was happy because you were not pulling away from the kiss. You were moving into it, following his lead, not even stopping it after your tongues started to dance together. He wanted you. He definitely wanted to show you just how special you are but– You were hurt, and he can’t do that to you now… so he pulled away. Your breaths were heavy as you looked at each other and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll tell everyone  tomorrow you’re staying here for a while. You need safety, and I can give that to you… Just stay with me…” He held you so gently, afraid of you running away, or disappearing right before him. You licked your lips as you nodded slowly at him, to which he responded with a satisfied smile. He leaned forward, pecking your lips once more before getting up which alarmed you, getting hold of his hand.

“Where are you going?” Your voice was small and he thought he was going to break listening to it. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just going to get you some clothes for you to sleep in, baby.” Your eyes widened at the new petname, but Johnny noticed how you tried to look away from embarrassment, and he found you too cute. He will definitely protect you. He won’t let whoever is looking for him, or his team, hurt you. 

But when he fell asleep and cuddled up to you after having some tea with you before bed, he didn’t expect to be awoken in the middle of the night to a ring of his cell phone. He was startled, sitting up on the bed quickly only to realize you were not by his side. He looked around frantically and grabbed his phone from the night table next to his bed. He answered it, getting up from the bed to walk towards his bathroom in hopes of seeing you in there.

“Hello?” And all he heard was heavy breathing on the other side until a raspy, robotic voice talked.

“How does it feel to wake up alone?” And Johnny’s blood drained, evaporated, and he knows you are not in the building. How did it happen? How? There were cameras, security, detectors, how?

“What the fuck did you do to her?” His voice was coming from in between his teeth, like a growl, a hiss, a threat. The other voice only laughed, igniting Johnny’s anger even more than before.

“Come find out. We’re at her old apartment. We have to talk, Johnny, so come alone.” And like that, the line clicked. He was breathing heavily as he looked down at his phone and his hand shook as he grunted, his eyes igniting in yellow as the hand that was holding his phone set aflame, destroying the device before he threw it across the room, making it hit and for the plastic to splash onto the wall. 

He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it all out, to burn the whole building down. If he didn’t tell anyone, he might die, but if he does, then you… He couldn’t. He has a chance, even if alone. He has to save you, he can’t let them have you, he can’t let you suffer because of him. 

So he stepped out to his balcony, his body engulfed in flames as he leaped into the sky, headed straight to your apartment. He was trying to go as fast as he could, his breathing heavy with anticipation as he swerved through the buildings. He finally got onto your balcony, the sliding doors were open again but when he looked inside, he couldn’t help but feel confused.

He took a few steps in as his flames subdued, and all your furniture was gone. All your pictures, even the cabinets… it was just empty. Empty except for the big windows that were on the side. What happened?

A chuckle coming from one corner startled him. It was the robotic voice that slowly transformed into a female one. A voice he knew too well. A voice that never chuckled in that manner, always be it a giggle, or a little scoff, but never… this. He turned to face it, and his eyes widened as the figure stepped into the small bit of light that came through the windows thanks to the night sky.

“Aren’t you a little naive Johnny?” 

And there, in front of him, was you. Face hard, wearing a simple cocktail black dress, some black heels… nothing like what you normally wear. You didn’t look dizzy because of your bruise, the butterfly strip he applied to you hours ago was still there. It was you… but at the same time, it wasn’t.

“W-What…?” He stuttered, not feeling the tips of his fingers as he looked at how you slowly walked towards him, throwing a device to the ground, a voice-changing device. 

“I really didn’t think you would take me to your headquarters. Not this quickly at least.” You sighed, looking out the window as you kept talking. “I had a whole large plan for it, but you just had to make it THAT easy.”

You finished with a giggle, the giggle that he knew too well. The giggle you directed to him many times when he told you stories about Sue and him. Stories about how he made a fool out of himself on a few dates. The giggle that he liked so much… all for it to be a fucking lie. You–

“You lied to me… You–” He felt his heart twist as your eyes turned to meet his once more. He really isn’t lucky, isn’t he? The first time he feels something genuine and he gets stepped on by the universe. You took a step towards him as you put your hands behind your back.

“Not all the time. I can promise that, but my boss will be glad to hear I got into the headquarters in such a short period of time…” Your eyes studied his face, seeing how his features turned from shock to anger, slowly, making a wicked grin appear on your face. “Aw… are you mad?”

“What the fuck do you think?” His voice turned low, and it almost made you freeze in your place, but you kept talking, your head high.

“You look cute when mad. I wish I could take a picture right now–”

“Stop–”

“I would hang it up, frame it… Name it ‘My best show yet’.” Johnny felt his body start to burn, and he had to try to keep the flames from igniting out of his suit, but each word you spat out, made it more and more difficult for him to hold himself back.

“I said stop–”

“I just didn’t think it would be this quick. Who would've thought that Johnny Storm would be so desperate for actual love? So much, he throws himself head first like an idiot–” 

A hand came to grab the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your scalp, grabbing your hair, and yanking your head backwards with no restraint, no care. And suddenly your eyes were looking at the Human Torch. His eyes were yellow flames, his face, his hair, his body, everything was on fire and it was burning you. He was baring his teeth at you, your face illuminated by his flames, and you noticed the hand holding the back of your head was not lit.

“I could kill you right now. I could easily burn you to a crisp for no one to find your body.” You trembled under his grasp, and your breathing turned a little heavy as you stared into his flaming eyes.

“But you won’t…” Your reply was soft, making the flames go down, making you breathe out in relief, feeling the cool air again on your body and face. He was still glaring, his nose slightly scrunched up in anger, in disgust. “Approaching you romantically was never the intention.” 

That made him tilt his head at you, his eyebrow twitching at the mention of romance. Of how he was so close to having it but–

“Why tell me this? Why not keep the fucking act until you have more?” And you didn’t answer him, still under his grasp as you looked up at him. He couldn’t describe what he saw in your eyes, but he knew that it wasn’t hatred. He knew that there was a feeling that you shouldn’t be experiencing but you couldn’t help it.

So you stayed silent, swallowing as you kept your eyes on him. You saw him tremble slightly and he raised his free hand, making your gaze turn to it as the flames enveloped it all, to the tip of his fingers. It wasn’t a massive flame, more like embers, small, yet damaging. 

You felt anything but scared of him, and he knows it, yet his anger fuels him in ways he cannot describe, and he wants to show you. He wants to show you just how fucking angry, enraged, he is. He wants to hurt you, burn you, engrave himself deep on your skin and in your mind. 

“Say you don’t want this.” He needs to know if he connected the dots right. Why tell him? Why tell him who you truly were? Why not keep faking it to get more out of him? Did you take whatever you needed in the short period he kept you there? Those few little hours…

You remained silent, looking into his eyes as you struggled in his grasp slightly. Your right hand flew to the wrist holding the back of your head, which only made him pull on your hair once more, making you wince. It was another warning, another chance for you to push him away.

But you didn’t.

His right hand lifted up to reveal that it was slowly being covered in small embers, not yet flames, and he pressed it on your back. Your eyes widened when you felt heat engulf your back, the scent of burning fabric filling your nostrils. You winced when the burning turned a bit painful, his eyes not leaving your face. 

He was still scowling at you, his eyes traveling to your exposed neck as his hand kept moving on your back, making small holes in it, the embers spreading slightly. He knew he was burning you, but it doesn’t compare to what you did to him. You will heal from these superficial burns.

You wanted to tell him to hurry up, but you knew that you weren’t the one with control right now, so you had to be careful with your words. You yelped when his hand started moving to your front, leaving embers fluttering over the black satin. It was burning easily, the material too thin, too flimsy. 

His eyes caught onto yours once more. You were breathing heavily, waiting for his next move. He clenched his jaw as the memories of those picnics filled his head. Those movie nights. Those nights when you told him about your family. You showed him those pictures that were on your wall that you probably faked. Those pictures were all fake.

His fist grabbed onto the front of your dress and pulled on it as he grunted from the force. Your dress ripped easily away from your body thanks to the holes that were burned on your back and side. Your body will probably have scarring, burnt marks, or red spots, but you couldn’t help the excitement in your body when he held your torn dress in his hand.

His eyes turned to it for a second and then back at you. You saw how they glowed in a deep yellow and his hand engulfed into flames, your dress catching on fire and burning into ashes in three seconds. His eyes returned to their natural color as his hand dropped, and then he could finally take a look at your half-naked form. 

You took the opportunity of his distraction to push him away, making him rip his hand off your hair, looking at you with surprise and anger. You were breathing heavily in just your bra and thong, a matching black set, looking at him, the anger in you also coming out to light after how he treated you. 

Anger, but no hatred. Not from your side… nor his.

So you took a sharp intake of breath as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slammed your lips against his, connecting your chest to his. He groaned at the kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your frame, his lips moving against yours instantly, like a starved man. Weeks of wanting this with you, dreaming of having you, but he never thought it would be like this.

You bit his bottom lip, yanking a bit on it with your teeth, provoking a protest on his part but you silenced it by sliding your tongue into his mouth. You moaned in satisfaction as his right hand slid downwards, grabbing onto your ass cheek and squeezing tight. You responded by raising your leg up, thigh against his hip, while his hand moved, leaving your behind to graze your thigh, gripping it tightly to hold you in place.

His hips pressed against your core, earning him a moan from you. You felt his buckle against your clothed cunt as well as his hardness as he rutted himself on you, moaning into your mouth. One of your hands went towards his hair, running your fingers through it and then you gripped tightly, pulling his head backwards and away from the kiss. He hissed at the action, his eyes connecting with your defiant ones.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Your voice came out through your teeth, a taunt. He gave a tilt of his head as if asking if you were really defying him right now. You could almost see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he huffed in anger, his hands flying to the back of your thighs, pushing you upwards with his strength, making you yelp slightly at the sudden movement.

Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist so you wouldn’t fall, but then your back was slammed against the window, with such force that you were amused by how strong the glass was. You whimpered at the coldness against your naked back and ass, eyes glaring back at him.

“You think you have the right to talk back to me right now?” One of his hands left your thigh so it could get between the two of you. His lips reconnected to yours before you could even reply back to him, and you heard how he started undoing his buckle, that ‘F4’ shaped stupid belt he had.

You felt him move underneath you and you heard the rustling of clothes and then something pressing against your wet thong, making you whimper into the kiss. You pulled away to look down in between the two of you, and he had pulled his pants and underwear mid-thighs, enough to let his cock free, which was now pressing against you.

He got hold of the elastic of your thong, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it away from your body. You then saw a tiny and quick flame set fire and it quickly snapped the elastic apart, making your thong drop from your cunt, left to dangle thanks to the scraps still holding onto your other thigh. 

You were exposed to him now, and then he pressed himself against your aching clit, rutting his hips against yours, causing a beautiful friction that left you moaning, throwing your head back, thumping against the glass.

He groaned as he looked at your exposed neck, moving forward so he could bite on the side of it, making you wince as your clit kept being hit with the ridge of his dick. It was hot. Literally hot. Not even warm temperature, it was burning and you wondered how that would feel inside of you. 

He was coating his cock with your wetness, and he couldn’t be bothered with foreplay, he didn’t care for it, and you didn’t either, not that you needed it. You’ve been wet the moment he gripped your hair. So he pulled his hips back, letting the tip of his cock kiss your clit for a brief second before it caught on your entrance.

A voiceless moan got caught on your throat, where his teeth still remained, as he slowly pushed inside and– it was a perfect burn and stretch. He was perfect as he seethed himself inside, your walls fluttering in need around him as his mouth unlatched from your throat in order to look at how your face contorted at each inch of him.

“Good. That shut you up.” He held back the groans as he watched how your eyes were wide, looking in between the two of you now, seeing how his cock was disappearing inside of you. He wanted to hate you. He wished he could. It wasn’t fair that even now all he could think about was you, even if it wasn’t like before.

He cracked his neck as he felt his control slipping away, afraid of letting his flames burst out without his intention. He slammed his hand on the glass, right next to your head, as his left one gripped your thigh tightly and he struck his hips forward, bottoming out inside of you in one forceful thrust. 

You gasped as your eyes met his. He was deliciously deep. There was a little bit of discomfort due to not having any prep but it was worth it. He was breathing heavily as he looked at you and your eyes danced with his in uncertainty, in rage, in sadness, in confusion. He was letting you adjust, or maybe he was just catching his breath, either way, you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You’re gonna cum already Johnny boy?” He gave you a glare, which only made you smirk at him. You didn’t deserve the kindness, at least not from him. He started pulling out of you, only to roughly slam back in, causing you to choke on your own moan. You felt it in your throat almost. And then, he set the bruising pace. No mercy, slamming into you like a wild man.

The glass behind you shook, the metal hinges making loud sounds as he kept smashing his hips against yours over and over again, not leaving a single second for conscious thought, not leaving a single second for even a memory to slip through the both of you. All he wanted was to pour his anger out, all he needed was to show you how you made him feel then and how you made him feel now.

The sound of skin slapping echoed through the now empty apartment, an apartment where he spent a few nights with your company. He growled at the memory, his hips picking up a pace as your moans raised in pitch, your fingers digging into his shoulders, scratching on him while your eyes filled with tears. Was it pleasure? He didn’t know.

“Not acting so smartass now, huh?” You choked out a moan as you tried to speak but he was piercing you right where you needed. Your g-spot was being abused at each sharp thrust of his. Punch. Punch. Punch.

You felt your body heating up, more than any other time you slept with someone, feeling as if you were sweating more than you should and you knew it was him. You knew he was raising the temperature of his body, including the one in the entire room. Your forehead was sweaty, your neck, your chest that was still covered in your bra that you now need to rip off because it was just too fucking hot.

You lowered a hand and pressed it against the glass, right next to you, and you grunted as you pushed against it, forcing him to stumble backwards. He fell to the ground, holding onto you, his back hitting the floor, his dick never slipping out of you as you landed on him, which caused you to choke. 

You were breathing heavily as you looked down at him, who only winced slightly at the sudden hit on his ass and back. Your hands were now on his chest, still covered with his suit. You stared at the number 4 logo, glaring at it, and then your eyes found his. He was looking at you now with furrowed brows, sad instead of angry ones. 

You didn’t deserve those.

Your hands went towards your back, unclasping your bra off and ripping it off your body. A sigh of relief escapes you as the air hits the sweat that’s on your tits. Your hips started circling against him, slowly, and he threw his head back as his hands gripped your hips, his digits digging into your skin. 

Your belly coiled as you started rising yourself up and then slam back down again, knees pressing against the hard floor, knowing you will be bruised tomorrow, but you could give two shits about that right now. His hands traveled upwards, grabbing onto your breasts and everywhere he touched just left a lingering feeling of warmth, of burning. 

You threw your head back as his fingers pinched your nipples, making your belly coil as you slammed yourself down again and circled your hips against him, making the tip of his cock rub against your g-spot repeatedly. He moaned your name in pleasure, the first time he did during the night and you looked down at him.

“You sure that’s my name?” And his eyes clashed with yours in new found anger, sitting up as his left hand gripped your waist, while the rest remained on your hip. His face came close to yours as his words became venomous.

“I wonder how many names you had to come up with. With how many you had to whore yourself to in order to get information for your boss. Whoever that might be.” And him calling you a slut was not something you expected. You didn’t want him to think that. You became angry. Not at him, but yet, you had to direct it towards someone.

So you slapped him. 

His head was turned with wide eyes and you had to pretend you weren’t shocked at your own actions. You looked at your hand and then back at him, opening your mouth to say something but as he slowly turned to face you again, you knew you had fucked up. You saved yourself by talking once more.

“I didn’t jump your bones. You jumped mine, back in your room. Who’s the actual whore here, Johnny?” And you let him have the small memory of that innocent kiss he gave you. Of that kiss that made him so happy you had reciprocated, only for that memory to be shattered, tainted. His glare turned murderous as he looked at you. 

You started feeling the areas he was grabbing you at become hotter and hotter. Your breathing became heavy in nervousness as your head turned to look at his hands which were becoming redder by the second. He laid back down and pushed his hips up, making you raise yourself a bit on your knees and before you could say something, he started slamming himself inside of you once more.

Your mind became mush in an instant, your moans choking up your voice as he hit your insides over and over again, the slapping of skin loud and quick. Your belly started turning, the elastic band about to snap as your hands dug into his chest. And then, you screamed as pain took you out of your pleasure palace.

The smell of burning filled the room, very slightly, faint, but still there. You looked down at where he was holding you, and his hands were now almost as red bright as metal against fire. He didn’t stop his pounding either, growling as he looked at you with his yellow irises, filled with flames.

“This is your reminder of who you betrayed. For you to remember me.” 

Tears fell down your cheeks as you felt the pain of your skin being burnt, of being branded by him, and then your climax hit you out of nowhere. You choked out a whimper, a cry of his name as your walls tightened around him, pulsating. His balls tightened with the need for his own release, and he cooled his hands once more but kept them in place on your body.

He groaned loudly at your tightness and he looked at how tears fell down your face as well as the drool that had pooled in the corner of your mouth. He cursed under his breath and slammed his hips upwards one more time, completely seething himself inside as his cum filled your insides and you felt the heat of it. You could feel it. 

He was breathing heavily as he lowered his hips, his hands keeping you in place so you wouldn’t lower on him. He hissed as he pulled out of you, his cum already dripping down from your hole, falling on the red tip of his cock. Your eyes looked down at his hands as they slowly parted from your skin, a squelching sound following after.

You were bleeding in some places, layers of your skin successfully burnt with his handprints. They were hurting you, they were very painful, and you… you couldn’t be mad at him for them. Your eyes connected to his as he lay there looking at his own hands, trembling at the sight.

Pieces of your burnt skin were stuck to his hands, on his palms. He lost control. He didn’t want to hurt you like this. You saw the guilt that displayed on his face and you raised your hand, wanting to touch him and tell him–

“Shit…” You winced before you could say anything else. He snapped out of his thoughts and sat up, pushing you to sit on the floor next to him. Without another word, he got up and you looked as he pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt once more. 

“I guess we’ll see each other again now that you’ve entered the headquarters.” He was asleep while you were there. He was sure you took something, and it was just a matter of time for you to strike the building or him. He walked towards the sliding doors, and you moved on your place, wanting to go after him, but the sharp pain of the burns made you stay put.

“Johnny… wait.” Your voice was choked, but he turned around to face you again. You felt the room becoming cooler, and you didn’t want it to be that temperature… but it had to do for now. “My name… I didn’t lie about my name.” 

His eyebrow twitched in confusion at that. Should he believe you? Should he trust you on that one? He didn’t know, he didn’t want to find out, he didn’t want to see you again, but he knew that one was inevitable. He turned away from you and you saw how his whole body turned into flames and flew out of the balcony, leaving you bruised, branded and alone.

In an empty, cold, room.

“It’s been a while since your last report, Chameleon.” 

The stupid nickname your boss gave you. You had the ability to infiltrate through people without being spotted. It wasn’t a superpower, just good hiding. 

“Got a little bit busy Boss.” Your voice was flat as you looked at how the man turned to look at you. So many people are afraid of this man, but there was something about Doctor Doom that just made you want to laugh.

“I hope that ‘bit busy’ was to get the information we need.” His voice was threatening, menacing as he looked at you through the screen. You gave him a sharp nod.

“Yes, I was planning my next encounter with Storm.” At your report, he gave a small nod of approval. You felt your bandages becoming sticky underneath your oversized sweater. It was about time to change them again, so you had to make this a quick call.

“I see. So, you still didn’t get into the headquarters then?” And you wanted to smile at his question. You wanted to show him how fucked he was, but you held yourself back because you had another plan in action, one that doesn’t include a boss.

“No sir. I require more time to create a bond with him.” He gave a small nod as his sharp tone filled the speakers.

“Get it done.” And the call ended abruptly.

You stared at the black screen, a smile appearing on your face as you slowly got up from the couch, walking towards the windows that were all blacked out. You pressed a button that was on the side and the windows returned to be transparent, showing the city lights in the night.

But what caught your attention was the orange gleam that was far away, still, floating, as if looking your way. You knew it was him. He has been waiting for you to turn the windows transparent once again. You had blacked out the apartment from his view for a whole week. You had refurbished it again, even hung up a real picture this time, the only one in the room.

One of you and him. One that you took at a picnic you had planned for the both of you. One that wasn’t part of the plan. Like the theater. Like the nights spent in this fake apartment. Like the drinks spent on a terrace. But he didn’t know that. 

And then you saw him fly away, making your heart plummet to the floor. You winced as you turned to walk towards your kitchen, ready to take care of your wounds. Of his markings. Of his handprints that will permanently stay on your skin. 

It was funny. First, you betrayed Johnny, and now you are betraying your boss, someone who might rip you apart the moment he finds out you’ve been lying. Yet, you are more scared of losing the only fire that made you feel alive after a long while. 

You’ll keep that flame alive. You have to. 

You’ll make sure it does.

end

a/n: um, yeah, the thot was the burning of clothes, like, how was i supposed to do that one with just like, a normal person with no superpowers... with a lighter? not sexy enough.

also, handprints.

ta-ta

[whore-ibly-hot]

THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR @yanderereblogs THE FACULTY HAVE BEEN FOYND AND RETURNED TO US! PRAISE BE TO REBLOGGERS, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARCHIVISTS!

Yandere Boarding School Part 2, (Faculty)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, smoking, horny posting.

(AN: Part Two has been reuploaded after a takedown, godspeed @yanderereblogs for saving it! Mmmmmm, old men. Everyone pictured as a student is OF LEGAL AGE TUMBLR MODS HOP OFF MY DICK.

Background: Thinking about a Headmasters Son or Daughter!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Ridgemoore Academy being an all male school, this makes it easier to imagine a world where reader is allowed in the school. Now, let's focus on the faculty...

◇ Mr. Joel Murphy, who teaches the majority of the 'life skills' classes at the school. The school being all-boys is very traditional, and teaches things like game hunting and orienteering, which is why they hired a manly-man like Joel. If only they knew what a bitter grump he is. An ex-sheriff of the nearby town, he decided to leave the force after realizing there was no real crime in the small, privileged town, and decided to take up an easy job at the school. Unfortunately, he realized his love for camping and hunting is warped into what he considers 'frilly shit for rich little boys'. He's gruff, barking out orders and easily been exasperated at the sheer incompetence of the boys.

"Shoot one quail, and these boys act like they killed a bear..."

He thought about retiring from yet another job, as living on the ritzy campus just doesn't feel like home to him, and lord knows he's not fond of his job. However, things change when you arrive. Whether you're a delinquent or a little more sweet and obedient, he likes you. If you're a delinquent, he likes seeing a little hell-raiser kick up some shit at the fancy school. If you're sweet or shy, he gets protective. Nice youngins' like you shouldn't be thrown in amongst these spoiled weasels.

He's sure to help you if you need it, a gentle hand on your back as his burly chest presses against your shoulder blades, adjusting your position against the butt of a rifle. Standing by while you're on hands and knees trying to light a fire, making sure none of the boys are trying to get a look at your assessts. Not that he isn't going to, but he justifies it to himself as just making sure your school shorts/skirt is regulation. He's protecting your modesty. After class hours, come to him with any issues, or shit, even his room. He'll put on some coffee and ask you to help him create a curriculum that 'reaches the kids', as your father instructed him to. It's cozy, the fancy school adnorments thrown away for medals and plaques, national parks posters and a few old family photos. He'll keep you tucked in on his warm couch while he strays from curriculum talk to stories of his time in the scouts and on the force. Tells you about how much he loves just... laying out under the stars with somebody special, to sit around a campfire with friends, then slyly ask is you've ever had somebody to do that with. He knows you're younger than him, and he struggles with the idea that you won't want him cause of it, so for now, he'll bask in the feeling of seeing you curled up in his room, keeping the idea of picking you up and having you accept his cock to himself. If you can get pregnant, his fists his cock to the thought of that too. He's not some horned up boy, he wants you in the long term.

He looooooves the yearly orienteering final, in which the students in the class are made to go on an actual camping trip. It's possible a tent will 'accidentally' go missing, leaving you to bunk with him. Don't worry, nothing bads gonna happen while you've got this burly bear of a man practically spooning you, warm gut from his dad-bod pressed against you as he tries his best to make sure he doesn't scare you.

"Sorry those damn boys left your tent back at the school, kiddo. I... wouldn't be suprised of one of them did it on purpose, little bastards." He grumbles, hoping you'll take the hint to separate yourself from those immature preps and stick to being with a man who can treat you right. "Remember that lesson from a couple weeks ago, on body heat? I know it's awkward, but we've only got one sleeping bag. You feel like you can trust this old man to keep you warm?" Unfortunately for his ego and trying to keep down his urges, the trees aren't going to be the only wood in the morning.

◇ Mr. Paul Burton, head of the arts department. He's so over this, a once decent artist who dabbled in pop art and theatre only to stop getting gigs and be black-listed after offending several more famous artists, calling their work 'sell-out chic', he's now a burn-out who smokes and ignores his students all class. He's passionate about art, but frankly he doesn't want tow aste his time teaching when he knows these rats are taking his class for easy credit. He's only teaching here to utilize the facilities and studios so he's not living in a van in the Walmart parking lot. A mix of hippie culture, live and let live and cynical burnout, he's so. Fucking. Done. But... maybe you change that for him.

You're interesting, a headmasters child who doesn't fit in to your fathers perfect mold? Maybe a rebellious student who goes against the grain of this perfect school. Or a blooming ray of sunshine in this dark den of privilege and conformist curriculum for the future lawyers of the world. Either way, he's found a new muse. See him after class.

He'll be thrilled if you're into art, let him guide you. Tell him your favorite artists and he'll tell you when he threw up on there shoes by accident in his hey-day. Gossip about a student you don't like, he'll listen while he smokes and tell you about how that guys mom hit on him. He loves to gossip, but he loves to watch you create more. The way your hands shape a vase or brush across a canvas light a fire in him he hasn't felt in a while. He's more willing to forgo the age gap between you, while it's never something he considered before, he knows he's not gonna let go of the one thing that makes him feel like he lives again. Besides, he's always been unconventional.

He'll have you stay after class, maybe he'll have you pose nude for a painting, assuring you it's fins, it's platonic, it's just for the love of art. He chooses and extra large canvas, it lets him paint while he relieves himself as you explain you're getting cold. He'll put on some artsy, silent, black and white film from the 30s, and while you watch and slowly realize it's pornographic, He'll grin to himself while he watches you flush. He'll ask you all sorts of questions about your thoughts on the film, the actors, what they're doing. He really wants to figure out how experienced you are. "What do you think of the composition? It's really carnal, you know?" He puts out his cigarette. "I'm glad I can show this to you, you'll actually appreciate it. You're not giggling like an idiot when some guys penis is out on the screen." He groans, thinking of his other students.

He does actually like one student, though they make an odd pair. Joseph's easily spooked and shy personality clashes with the brash older man's, but he's glad to have someone he can think of as a protege. Someone who loves art as much as him, but get isolated for it. He was doing a portfolio look over when Joseph accidentally turned in the wrong folder. Joseph feels like he might die as Mr. Burton, a man he admires, flips through nude pictures of the object of his affection, and at a distance no less. A part of him wants to rip it away, but he needs this scholarship.

"Please, please, sir! I-I'll never do it again, it was just a phase, I didn't mean for you to see-"

"They're good." Mr. Burton flips through the folder. "Real good. You could really get somewhere with these, maybe not in the fine art scene, but... tell you what." He adjusts his glasses and leans forward on his desk. "We'll do a special session, you and me, yeah? I'll get your friend here, and I'll vouch for your integrity so you can take some less-" he purses his lips. "Stalker-ish pics- Jesus, kid, is that taken from a tree?"

☆ Anatoli Sidorov, probably the best paid staff given how they got him here. He's a Russian coach for a former Olympic Russian swim team, and he joined the prestigious American school to escape shame after he 'resigned' post a doping scandal which he swears he wasn't involved in. (Whether he was or not is your choice.) Still, he's led the boys swim team and track team to nationals several times, and he's a legend among the wealthy benefactors of the school. He's outwardly very serious, hard on his team but respectful of them. He doesn't put up with any unruly or unsportsmanlike behavior from his boys, at least not what he can see. He's very nice deep down, intellectual and funny, though he still struggles with American humor and English.

He adores you when he meets you, milking about with the other students before class. You seem genuinely social, and wanting to fit in. The idea someone could be so welcoming warms his heart. Deep down, he misses his home, and he misses the friends he once had. You're warm, and he likes that. Not to mention, you're a looker. He's embarrassed, especially if you're male, seeing as he never considered swinging the other way, and much less with someone younger. But he can't help but stare when your pretty tits bounce as you run, or the way those jogging shorts hardly conceal your bulge. He even pulled you to the side one to scold you for not wearing regulation gym clothes, before realizing they were and awkwardly sending you back into class. That was a moment of self-reflection for him.

He's not necessarily outwardly softer to you, you might even think he doesn't like you, given that he has you stay late to run or jump rope, or constantly pulls you into time out mid-game. It's all for your own good, trust him. He doesn't like the way some of the boys were looking at you, and he could tell Evan was a only a play away from trying to practically hump you while trying to 'get the ball'. He's made Harrison, who he loves as a player, run laps for talking to you for only a few minutes. He hates feeling like a jealous boy, but he can't help it. You make him feel young.

He establishes a private locker room area for you, since you're the headmasters kid and not an official student. Besides, you're clearly being harassed by the others! So, he's got a nice little closet for you, with a not suspicious air freshener that's not a hidden camera, and a private key only you have access to. (Technically that's true, he just has a bypass key for himself.) He'll snatch a pair of boxers or some panties, slipping them into his track coat for later. Eventually, he'll tell you he's worried you aren't able to catch up to the others, given that you arrived later and started the gym curriculum later than the others. He'll start having extra 'make-up' workouts with you, starting with stretching. One leg uo on the bar, you'll have to excuses his cold hand running along your thigh, or stroking over your chest as him just admiring how your strength and flexibility is evolving. He relishes the feeling of your body on his, groping you under the guise of training and resisting the urge to just slip aside your gym shorts and veg you to take him.

"Little star, part 'dem a little, there ve go." He keeps your legs parted as he works you into a position on your back, against the rubber mats the tumbling team had laid out. He lays just over you, pushing your legs back a little further with his arms, just far away enough to keep you from noticing his hard on, but enough to lightly press it against the plush swell of your ass. Good, let's just- fuck- hold. Let's hold."

☆ Kory Koffman, English teacher and part time librarian! The school outs so much effort into sports, both admin and students seem to forget about him. Hell, the library is used so little they fired the librarian, and he took it upon himself to try and care for the building himself. He's a sweet, shy man, who just wants to share his passion for literature with others. However, unlike Mr. Burton, he was never popular or famous, so he's content to keep to himself, but the loneliness does get to him.

When you wandered into his library one day, maybe looking for a book or seeking refuge from a hoarde ofadmirers, he was happy to welcome you into his little safe haven. He'll give you some warm tea from the little coffee machine he has set up, and sit you down. Let him help you find a book, or tell you about his creative writing class? He'd let you join, even late in the semester! It's not a very full class.

For the first time in his life, he finds himself craving the attention of another, of someone else's company, other than his books. He hasn't felt that need for connection since he was a boy, after his momma passed. He'll do anything to keep you there, and if reading isn't your thing, much to his chagrin, he'll add a DVD section to the library, but only good films and classic for you! No Adam Sandler, those movies are to overstimulating for poor Mr. Koffman.

As his feelings turn romantic, he's ashamed. You're a student, and he's a lonely old man, you deserve someone better, someone your age. However, the thought of you being with any of the many students who mock him in the halls or disrupt his class, the thought of hand you over to those-those imbeciles, hurts him. He wants you, and he's ashamed at the way his trousers go tight when you bend over to get a fallen book, or when you hand him his glasses after he misplaced them (again), the fact he just stares at your finger prints for awhile and refuses to clean the lens. He's not had sex in a long, long time, but he finds himself masturbating more than he ever did when he was younger. He'll watch library security footage openly, moaning and whimpering at his desk with no fear anybody will stop in, no one ever does but you. He wants you as his spouse, you already make his library, his home away from home seem brighter, imagine what you could do for his actual apartment.

"Oh, hello! It's good to see you, it's been a bit." He's a little bitter at that last statement, but adjusts his glasses and continues. "Just remember to stop by often, okay? I'd really, really hate to impose the late policy on you..."

☆ Atticus Critch, the schools latin instructor and head sponsor of student body, (not to mention the man in charge of detention), is a strict disciplinarian. He takes no nonsense from anyone, and despises the behavioral pardons given to boys like Evan or Harrison simply because they are athletes. Peter is obviously his favorite, and when he catches wind of the ways the boys around campus are speaking about you, he decides to take it upon himself to remove the distraction, by having Carter trail you and give you detention for minor inconveniences. Carter isn't particularly thrilled at always having to send you to detention instead of extorting you to get his rocks off, but he's hoping maybe he'll get to 'monitor' detention one of these days.

Initially, Mr. Critch has you doing small tasks, writing lines or organizing things, but soon he starts to see the appeal. If you're a good student for the most part, he's determined to keep you good, and away from all the vermin in this school. If you're bad, he's had plenty of experience in taming brats. He's open with his sexual desires, it his growing affection for you that makes him struggle.

If you've stayed out too late and broke curfew, you can spend detention on your knees, suckling his cock into the late hours. Maybe you've been running around with Tyler. He'll make you lay down on his desk and deny you your climax over and over again, asking 'if not making you cum' is what that boy does to you, never fully satisfying you. He'll make you beg to finish, and to promise you'll be good from now on.

"Come on, repeat it. Tell me you'll be good now, that you won't bother with BOYS-" He annuciates with a thrust, "When you have a man right here, whose willing to take time out of his day to discipline you!" One the amorous session is over though, he definitely softens, trying to prove he's more than a boy in many ways, including good aftercare. He'll dress your limp form back up in your uniform and walk you get you a cup of water from the fountain. "Only ten minutes till your detention is over, dear. Just sit there, take some time to reflect on how you got here." His tone is demeaning, but as he pets your scalp, his touch is so feather-light. Don't expect is to last into the next day though.

[sanguineterrain]

holiday spirit | jason todd

Summary: Stuck at a shitty office party for your shitty job on Christmas Eve Eve, you’re at your wit’s end. The last thing you expect is to play vigilante for a night with the Red Hood.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings/tags: panic attacks, reader has anxiety, creepy coworkers, office party shenanigans, canon-typical violence, jason being both a menace and a sweetheart, attempts at humor, fake relationship, silliness!

the divider

You’re grateful for a reason to escape. Someone announces that the lights on the obnoxious eleven-foot Christmas tree are burned out and you’re already on the elevator, volunteering to find spare lights. 

You hate these office parties. They’re just a way to play politics, show off fiancés, and reaffirm cliques. You wanted to skip it all together. But Mr. Emerson, your boss, had insisted that attending tonight’s party was mandatory.

Alma had told you about a hundred times to skip tonight, but Alma’s worked here since the Reagan administration and has too much pull to be fired. You, conversely, have been here eight months, and if you get fired, your next job is going to be as a henchman for a B-list Gotham villain. 

Being painfully ordinary and anxious is a toxic mix. Your doctor still thinks all your worrying is because of your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t believe in work-related stress.

So anyway. You’re just trying to get through tonight. And find some tree lights that work. 

You unlock the spare office where all the holiday junk is stored and turn on the light. 

The motherfucking Red Hood looks at you, one leg dangling outside of the window and one leg inside the office. He unclicks his harness. 

"Oh my God,” you say, hand frozen on the light switch.

Red Hood pulls his leg in from the window and steps into the office. He puts the harness in a duffel bag and roughly zips it, then tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

"Oh my God.”

He glances at you, helmet eyes glowing. "No God here, just me.”

"Oh my God," you say again, near hysterics. "Oh my God, Red Hood."

"Always nice to meet a fan," he says irritably, brushing snow off of his jacket, flashing his holsters. Oh, fuck. That's a lot of guns.

"What, um—" You close your eyes, lick your lips, try to find your sanity. "To what do I—why—are you gonna kill me?”

"The fuck? You think I'd sneak into an office and kill someone in cold blood? What kinda operation you think I'm running?"

Your mouth opens and closes in horror. "Wh–I... I don't—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hood."

"Please, Mr. Hood was my father."

He laughs. You taste bile in your throat. 

Hood sobers. "Damn. Tough crowd. Look, sorry to freak you out, but I got shit to do. If you'll just point me to Hershel Emerson's office, I'll be on my merry way."

"That's m-my boss. Are you gonna kill him?" You can’t handle murder tonight. You’ll have a breakdown for sure. 

"Literally, what did I just say?" Hood throws his hands up. "Not one minute ago. I'm not killing anyone!"

"Yet?" you ask weakly, mind inundated with too many mob movies to watch your manners. You know what the Red Hood is all about. Everyone does. 

"No. I'm not killing Emerson. But he is a bad dude, so I gotta take care of business. Actually, I should kill him. He deserves it."

You squeak in horror. He raises a hand.

"But I'm not!" he says gruffly. "Respectfully, get a grip. You live in Gotham."

You swallow. "What're you gonna do to my boss if not kill him?"

Hood shrugs. "Eh, maybe scare him a bit. Mostly get intel to take him down. He's currently sitting on five million dollars of stolen life savings from clients."

You blink. "What?"

"Yup. What I really wanna know is which of his employees are in on it. He didn't do this alone."

Hood takes out a small roll-up pouch of what looks like lockpicking tools. You release your sweaty death grip on the doorknob, causing it to squeak. Hood doesn't look up.

Five million dollars is ringing in your head. That happened here. Where you work. Your boss is even scummier than you thought.

“Is that a lockpicking kit?” you ask.

“Yup. Good eye.”

"This seems... illegal.”

"Well, I won't lie to you, most of what I do is. You won't be implicated though.”

He looks at you. You flinch. Even with the lights on, the Red Hood is scary as shit. 

"Yeah..." he says, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t do well in prison. I can tell."

Your chest hurts. "I don't think anyone does well in prison," you say, eyebrows scrunching. "Have... you been to prison?"

"Only to break out a friend. You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry. Um, Mr. Red Hood—"

"Ah-ah. Call me Red. Or Hood. No Mister-ing."

"Okay.” You lick your lips, hoping he doesn't go back on his temporary no-kill policy. “Hood, do you think you could come later? After the Christmas party?”

He tilts his head at you. You keep talking. 

“Not that I don't admire what you're doing! Because I think taking down my boss for stealing money is great, eat the rich and all that, but, um, I came up here to get lights to replace the ones that burned out downstairs because that's a normal thing that happens and now you're here, at my job, and I'm freaking out. Oh God, oh my God—”

You grab the wall for stability, feeling like you've been rocking on a boat for hours. Sweat beads on your forehead. This time, you really do feel like you’ll throw up. Throwing up in front of the Red Hood would be humiliating. 

“Look, I got shit to do, okay? I'm sorry you're freaking out but your boss is gonna cash out in a few days and then I lose him and that five million. It's now or never."

You should've just stayed home and baked cookies. Fuck being social! This is what happens when you're social: you meet morally gray vigilantes who force you to be complicit with their crimes.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying? Maybe it’s sweat. 

Hood points to the hallway. "Is there a camera outside?"

"Y-yeah.” Your voice is weak. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you call security on your way out?"

“Does your left arm hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Are your limbs stiffening?”

“No, but—”

“You’re not having a heart attack. Your speech is fine.”

Hood takes out a few more things from the duffel, then kicks it under a desk with his foot. You wheeze and grab onto the doorknob again. 

It’s quiet for a second. Then— 

“Shit. You're having a panic attack,” Hood says.

"Mm, probably," you say, hunched over like an armadillo. Fuck your stupid doctor. 

There's silence as you wheeze quietly. Then something small hits your head. You flinch and squeal.

"You don't need to throw things at me!" you say, beyond defeated, near tears.

"No, I wasn't—sorry. It's a Warhead. I have one when I'm feeling… not my best. They're s’posed to help occupy your other senses so the panic disappears."

You stare at the candy, confused and suspicious at once. "Is it spiked?"

"Again, what sorta operation do you think I'm running? It's not drugs. Look." Hood unwraps a Warhead and sticks it in his mouth underneath his helmet. You hear him suck on it. "Eesh, that's sour. Okay? No drugs."

So you take the candy from the floor, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth. The sour taste immediately overwhelms you. It's like your brain resets. You pant through the sour.

"Ough," you say, face scrunching from the taste.

"Yeah, right? Life changing hack."

You suck on the candy desperately and close your eyes, trying to find your breath. 

“It’s okay,” Hood says, stilted and awkward. “Just, uh, focus on your breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale. Breathe through your nose.”

It takes another few minutes, but the feeling passes. Your chest lightens. It’s the quickest you’ve ever recovered from a panic attack. 

“I was just kidding about the prison thing,” Hood says. “You’re not gonna go to jail ‘cause of this, I promise.”

Yeah, but what if you lose your job?

You spit the Warhead into a trash can and smack your tongue a bit. “Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow night?”

“No can do,” Hood says. “Your boss will be gone by then.”

“It's just that I'm really bad with keeping secrets and according to Google, that's how ulcers form and I really can't afford any sick days off, so—"

You yelp as the door suddenly swings open, hitting your shoulder. You spin around.

"Hey," Bill says, squinting at you. "Where have you been?”

"No!" you yell, and turn off the light. 

Bill stares at you, illuminated by the hallway light. “Uh…”

You clear your throat. "Ahem. I'm fine. It's just taking me a moment to sift through all these decorations. Please return to the party.”

You hate Bill. He’s a sleaze and doesn’t do any work. More than once, he’s trapped you by the water cooler in a conversation about his “smokin’” imaginary lawyer girlfriend.

“If you wanted me to come help you, you could've just said so," he says, reaching for the light, way too close. You don’t like his tone either.

"No!" you yell, blocking the light switch with your hands.

"What the hell? Why not?"

"Because—"

There's a creak from the back. You wince. 

Bill immediately whips his head toward the sound. "Is someone here? Hello?"

He reaches for the light. Again, you block him, swatting his hands away.

"Would you stop—is someone here?"

"My boyfriend!" you blurt.

Bill stops, looking at you. "Your boyfriend? You've never mentioned a boyfriend."

"Well, I have one and he's here."

"Okay. Why can't I turn on the light and see him?"

"Because he's... um..."

You spot the red Santa suit out of the corner of your eye. 

Oh, this is a terrible idea.

"He's changing! He's our Santa for the party. Surprise!" You make weak jazz hands.

Bill looks into the dark where you're pretty sure Hood is hiding. You hope, anyway. Otherwise Bill is going to tell everyone that you're making up boyfriends. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," comes Hood's unmodulated, deadpan reply, and you jump. "Don't turn on the light. I'm naked."

"Oh..." Bill looks queasy for a moment. "Uh—" He looks at you and suddenly grins. "Oh, I get it. You two were having fun before going to the party, huh? Didn't know you were such a wildcat."

"That’s disgusting,” you say. “I would never do that in the office.”

Bill wiggles his eyebrows. "Me-ow. Does the Santa thing turn you on?"

"I'm right here, Bill, and naked or not, I'll kick your ass," Hood says.

Bill pales and quickly backs out of the room. "Right. Sorry. Uh, carry on."

He closes the door. You push your back against it and exhale, heart racing.

"Bill is a shithead," Hood says. 

“How… do you know his name?”

“Employee background check,” Hood says mildly. 

"Oh… yeah, he's been written up a bunch of times for inappropriate behavior, but he's close with Emerson, so he never gets fired."

"Want me to kill him for you? Free of charge."

"What? No! Hood—"

"Oh, relax. I was kidding."

"Uh-huh." You turn on the light. Hood has his helmet on, and his voice is modulated again. "What're we gonna do?"

"Well, I'm gonna go make sure Hershel doesn’t fuck off to Bermuda. The lights you wanted are here, by the way."

Hood tosses you a box of multi-colored tree lights. Then he walks toward you. You plaster yourself across the door.

"Wait! You can't leave. I said that my boyfriend is going to be Santa. Bill will tell everyone. They’ll expect you.”

"I appreciate your quick thinking, but that's a hard pass,” Hood says.

"You can't leave now! Bill's gonna tell everyone I'm a liar and they'll think I was up to something worse in here, like snorting coke."

"I mean this gently: I think you should look into anti-anxiety meds. My brother swears by Xanax.”

“My doctor won’t prescribe it to me,” you say glumly. “He thinks my anxiety is made up.”

“Huh. Want me to kill him? I know a better doctor.”

"Well…” You hesitate, then shake your head. “No! No. Hood, please. They’re all gonna expect a Santa. And when I don’t show up with Santa, they’ll remember that I didn’t participate in White Elephant or any of that other office nonsense that I don’t want to waste my money on. I need this job!”

“They’re not gonna fire you for not doing White Elephant,” Hood says. 

“You don’t know them! It’s a popularity contest.”

But Hood is indeed disinterested in the fact that you'll be the office pariah. Probably because he’s never worked in an office. 

Instead, he ushers you aside without a struggle. Then he turns the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait, listen. If you dress as Santa, you'll have access to the party and offices. You won't have to sneak around. And people get really drunk at these. They'll talk. You can figure out who's helping Emerson steal money."

His hand pauses. He looks at you. You look back, wringing your hands.

"You're pretty crafty," he says. 

"...Thanks?”

Hood releases the doorknob. "Alright, fine. I'll do the Santa shtick.”

“You will?”

He tilts his head. “Should I not?”

“No! No, you should. It’ll be a good disguise.”

He hums. “Sure. But we're in this together now, got it? You blow my cover and we both go down."

"Y-yeah, got it."

Hood heaves a gusty sigh. "Next time, I'm sending Roy in to do this shit."

"Who's Roy?"

"Ah." He holds up a finger. "Too many questions."

He makes a beeline for the Santa costume and then looks at you expectantly.

"Yo. Boyfriend or not, you're not watching me change. Guard the door, Mrs. Claus."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

You turn off the light and go into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It's empty, luckily. You rap your fingers on the box of lights, leg jiggling. 

This is insane. You should just tell Hood you can't do this and let him figure out his own plan.

But then... this would make it easier to find Emerson's crime partner. And you're really sick of Bill being a jerk. You don’t want to be called a liar, or get iced out for the rest of your time here because you didn’t bring Santa. Maybe having Hood be your Santa-boyfriend would make people leave you alone. Which is a crazy reason to stick to this plan, but still. You're trying to find the bright side.

And all those people that Emerson stole from... surely, you have a responsibility to help get their money back and bring him to justice, don't you?

The door swings open. You turn around.

“You wear a mask under your helmet?” 

“As a precaution.” He sounds defensive. “Lots of people in my profession do it.” 

You doubt that. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird if Santa has a mask on?” 

He hesitates, evidently debating between protecting his identity and arousing suspicion.

“Fine.” He carefully peels off the mask and tucks it into his pocket. The surrounding skin is slightly pink from irritation. His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles. 

And wow. The Red Hood has beautiful eyes. So vibrant and clear, like seafoam. And young! How old is he, anyway? He doesn’t look much older than you, if at all. 

His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and it makes sense, Hood being a brunet.

“What?” he snaps, glaring.

“Nice eyes,” you blurt.

His brows furrow. You remember the guns.

“Um, anyway. Should we go?” you squeak out, backing away.

Hood huffs through the beard. It flutters. "We need to have some ground rules."

"Okay."

"First, you should know that I will shoot if there's a physical threat at this party. Two, you're gonna call me Todd at the party. Three, if you try to tell anyone that I'm Red Hood or that I'm taking down Emerson, I will make your life hell. And if you're his partner, you'd better tell me now or I'm gonna be a lot less jolly."

"I'm not!" you say. "I would never do that. And I won't tell anyone you're Red Hood."

"Good. Let's go. Keep your ears open for hints about Emerson's partner."

He takes off in long strides. You hurry to keep up. The Santa costume doesn't slow him down.

"So how did you find out that Emerson's stealing?" you ask.

"Got a tip. You really didn't know he was stealing?"

“I don’t have access to the finances. I work in user interface. Website design.”

"Yeah? That's pretty cool. I got a brother who's into that stuff," Hood says.

"The same one who takes Xanax?”

“Would you believe it?”

You try to picture Red Hood with a regular family. With a brother or a sister or a father. It's hard to imagine.

“How come you don’t take anti-anxiety medication?” you ask. 

“I have Pit Madness Syndrome, and it has a weird chemical reaction with that stuff.”

“Oh.” Subject change. Quickly! "Do you celebrate Christmas?" 

"Not really. I'm not a believer or celebrator of much. You can see what my plans are two days before Christmas."

"Your family doesn't celebrate?"

Hood just grunts, eyes suddenly stormy. You take the hint and stop talking.

The room where the party is isn't particularly special. It's big enough to fit about a hundred people. For all the money the company makes, you'd thought that they could afford to splurge a little and rent an actual hall. Now you know what the profits have been going toward. But the decorations are decently lavish.

"Oh, wait." Hood leans in to speak in your ear. Lightning shoots down your spine. "I don't know your name."

You give it. He repeats it, and you shiver, like your boyfriend just said your name.

"'Kay. Stay in this room. We don't know how much Emerson or his partner knows, but assume they’re willing to do anything to get away with the money."

You nod. “Got it.”

“Hey, it’s Santa!” Bill shouts from across the room. “He made it!”

You smile tightly. “As promised.”

A few people wave. Others cheer. 

“These people really like Christmas, huh?” Hood asks.

“You have no idea,” you say, hyperaware of his hand brushing your back.

“Don’t think I got your name, man,” Bill says as he approaches. He sticks a hand out. “Bill.”

“Todd,” Hood says, taking his hand and shaking. Bill winces at the handshake. You hide a smile.

“Ah, Todd. Right.” Bill looks at you, trying to subtly soothe his hand. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

You shrug. “Never came up.”

“I’m pretty private,” Hood says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “But we’re very much in love. Ain’t that right, baby?”

“Th-that’s right… honey,” you say, face going hot.

“So what do you do for work?” Bill asks. “My girlfriend’s a lawyer.”

You roll your eyes. Hood snorts.

“There’s no way you’re dating anyone. You look like you got dressed in the dark, Billy.”

You cough your laugh into your arm. Bill’s eye twitches.

“Enjoy the party,” he says icily. He glares at you, then stomps away.

“That was amazing, but I think Bill might retaliate,” you say. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Hood says. “I’ll take care of it.”

You look at him with big eyes. “Hood—”

“Not like that. Just… it’ll be handled. Okay?”

You nod. Maybe it’s insane, but you trust him. “Okay. Want some punch?”

Hood hums. “No alcohol. Thanks.”

You go to the punch bowl, a little relieved to escape Hood’s piercing ocean-eyed stare. He’s intense. Whoever dates him for real is in for a ride. 

Then again, you can’t imagine Hood meeting someone for coffee or dinner. You giggle at the image of him showing up with his guns and helmet. 

“Hey, IT.” A woman in a white sweater you’ve seen maybe once waves at you. “Cool idea, bringing a Santa.”

“Yeah, Emerson’s too cheap to,” the man next to her says. They laugh.

You smile. “Glad you like it.”

You serve yourself two cups of the alcohol-free punch. Then you turn. 

Your smile falls. Across the room is Hood and Tanya Donaldson, resident shit-stirrer. She’s trying to cozy up to him. You sigh and walk over, bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” Hood says, practically dragging you into his side. He takes a cup of punch. “Just met Tanya.”

You can guess exactly how he feels about that.

"Oh, is he your boyfriend?" Tanya asks, eyeing Hood like he's a slab of steak. “I had no idea!”

"Uh-huh," you say. "This is Todd."

She wiggles her fingers, grinning. “So how often do you go to the gym, Todd?” She rests a hand on Hood's arm. "I didn't know Santa was so big and broad."

Your gaze drifts to where you're pretty sure Hood has a gun strapped to his ankle, and the temptation does appear, you won't deny.

But you need this job and it's going to be really hard to explain why Santa's armed and dangerous, so you just grit your teeth. Tanya's the worst for this kind of behavior and she doesn't respect you, so bringing your hunky boyfriend is like dangling a bunch of carrots in her face. 

And it’s not like Todd is actually your boyfriend. 

"Are you flirting with me in front of my girlfriend?" Hood asks, prying her hand off of his arm.

"Flirting?" She claps a hand over her mouth, the movement slightly delayed from all the wine. "No, oh my God! I was just saying—"

"That's really pathetic," Hood says. "Don't do that."

He walks away and you follow, leaving a wobbly Tanya on her own. You smile to yourself.

"Thank you for that," you say.

Hood gives you a thumbs up. "I can plant evidence on her and get her fired if you want."

"No, I don't want to feel damned for eternity. Thanks anyway."

"You have a lot of assholes at your job," Hood says. "But you're not one. I admire that.”

You sigh. "They're not all bad. Alma is cool. She keeps me from quitting.”

"And where is she?"

"At home. She's a sixty-two year old accountant who doesn't care about these parties. Her hip aches when it's cold."

"Mm. Maybe you should follow her lead," Hood says.

"But then who would help you with your spycraft, Hood?"

He allows himself a tiny laugh at that. You wonder how often he laughs. If ever.

“Well, suffering Tanya wasn’t in vain. She said this whole party cost twenty grand.”

“So?”

He gestures grandly. “Does this look like it cost twenty grand to put this together?” 

It's true. The alcohol is the most expensive thing here. No food, except for some people that participated in the potluck, but you don't trust anybody's food here. The decorations are old. Not to mention the Red Hood as your Santa. Your boss might have spared a thousand for tonight. No more. 

“So where did all that money go?” you ask. 

Hood snaps his fingers. “Bingo.” 

“That is so shitty. I got a chocolate-covered pretzel as my Christmas bonus,” you say. 

“A bag of ‘em?” He shakes his head. “Pretty cheap.”

“Ha, no. No, I got one big pretzel. In a box. The box cost more than the pretzel, I think.”

His eyes widen. “Jesus. Even I give more than that to my guys.”

“Got any openings?” you ask, half-joking. 

Hood snorts. “Don't think you'd like what we do. Why d’you stay?” 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go. I have to eat somehow.” 

“Crappy boss, crappy coworkers, no Christmas bonus. Hell, I feel sorry for ya.”

The Red Hood feels sorry for you. Perhaps you've reached a new low. 

He drinks the punch and coughs. “Ahem, wow. Did you make the punch?”

“No, some people mixed it here.”

“Oh, then I'll be honest. Tastes like a flavor that's not found in nature.” He throws his cup away. You trust him and set your still-full cup on a table.

“I won't even mention the potluck,” you say. 

“Yeesh. Can't eat at everyone's house.” 

“That's what I say!” 

He winks at you. You look away, flustered. 

The crazy thing is, you could get used to this. Well, not specifically Red Hood, but having a boyfriend to bring to these functions, who’ll warn you against gross punch and defend you against Tanya. 

And Hood is surprisingly good at this. If you forget the past hour, you can almost pretend that this is just another office party that you happen to be spending with your new boyfriend. 

"Hey, look! It's Santa! Dude, check me out with Santa!"

One of the finance guys who's very drunk—you want to say that his name is Matt—bounds up to you and Hood. Hood tenses, reaching for his hip (gun!) and you touch his elbow, reminding him to relax. He drops his arm. 

Matt reeks of alcohol, the front of his shirt stained with bourbon. He laughs, forehead shiny with sweat.

"Santaaa, hey, Saint Nick, take a pic with me, man!"

Matt throws his arms around Hood. Hood does not like that and shoves him off accordingly. But Matt doesn't seem to notice and holds up his phone, camera facing front. Hood slaps the phone out of his hand.

"No pictures," he says.

You wince. The guy stares and blinks, taking three to five business days to process what just happened.

"What the fuck, man? That was my phone!"

"Sorry. I'm drunk." Hood sighs like he's physically in pain, then leans back and makes drinking motions with his fingers. "Fuckin' wasted! Did you try those rum shots? Lit, dude!"

The guy cheers up, forgetting all about the phone. "Oh, yeah, for sure! I'm gonna go get one right now! Thanks, Santa!"

"You do that!" Hood says cheerily.

As soon as the guy leaves, Hood returns to his resting scary face.

"Wow," you say.

"I know. I threw up in my mouth a little."

You laugh. Hood grins. Then it fades.

"Damn it. We're getting no closer to finding Emerson's partner. I should just interrogate Emerson until he tells me."

Interrogate makes you feel woozy. You're pretty sure you know what Hood's idea of an interrogation is.

"Wait! We just need to lure them out. If they think their money might be in jeopardy, they'll sneak out of the party to go check on it, right?" you ask.

"Potentially, yes. But how do we lure 'em?"

"There's an alert if someone withdraws more than ten thousand dollars from the company. But I don't have access to the accounts," you say.

Hood smiles slowly. "You don't need it. Remember I mentioned my computer whiz brother?"

"Yeah…” You grimace. “This sounds illegal again.”

"Hell yeah it is. He owes me a favor too. Lemme call him."

You two go off to the side while Hood dials.

"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound at all like Hood, more like a one percenter from the Diamond District. This is Hood’s brother?

"Aliases only. I need you to withdraw fifty grand from Emerson Corp,” Hood says. 

"Why?”

“‘Cause you owe me a favor. Just do it.”

“Zombie breath.”

“Shortass,” Hood says, voice taking on a distinct older brother tone. 

“You’re such an asshole,” the voice says. He yawns. “B’s wondering if you’re coming tomorrow.”

“I’d rather die again,” Hood says. “And you can tell him I said that.”

“The broody emo bullshit is getting old, dude,” the voice says.

You giggle. Hood looks at you sharply. You press your lips together, properly chastened. Sorry, you mouth.

"Who's that?" the voice asks.

"No one," Hood says. "Did you do it?"

"Chill out. I'm getting past their firewall. So who is that?”

“It’s the TV,” Hood says.

“No, it’s not. That was a lady's laugh, IRL. And you wouldn’t lie if it was someone we know…”

“Mind your damn—”

“I’m helping him with a case,” you blurt. 

Hood throws his hand up, glaring at you. It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a solid ten seconds. Then…

“Holy shit,” Hood’s brother says. “You do have a girlfriend. Wait. Hold on. This is wild. You don’t even have a social security number.”

“I do not have a girlfriend!” Hood snaps, drawing the attention of some coworkers. You nudge him. He exhales through his nose.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you little fucker,” he says, quieter. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Can I ask your girlfriend a question? Respectfully, what were you thinking? You can do so much b—”

“Text me when it’s done,” Hood growls and hangs up.

You look at each other for a moment. 

“You didn't hear any of that,” Hood says. “Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Good. Let's see who gets scared. He should do it right about…” 

His phone beeps. You look around the room. 

Soon, your culprit reveals himself. Matt!

Holy shit. 

"He didn't want a picture," Hood says slowly. "He was frisking me! Motherfucker."

"But isn't he drunk?" you ask.

"No." Hood sighs in disgust. "How did I miss that? Br—someone I know does that all the time, spilling alcohol on himself so he smells like he's been drinking. God. Oldest trick in the book!"

"Do you think he knows you're the Red Hood?"

"No. But he might suspect something. Let's go.” 

You follow Matt out of the party. He's walking fast. Yeah. Definitely your guy. 

Down the hallway, Matt turns around and makes direct eye contact with you. You panic. 

“Hood!” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. “Follow my lead.” 

Loudly, he laughs and puts an arm around your waist. “C’mon, baby, no one’ll know.”

And then you're being herded into a janitor’s closet. 

You stumble in, confused and reeling from how easily Hood plays the affectionate boyfriend role. He follows you in, shuts the door, and pulls the chain dangling from the ceiling. The single light bulb turns on. 

You take care to not knock over any cleaning supplies. You don't see the mop on the floor, however, and you trip backwards on the handle. 

Hood's reaction time is impeccable. He jerks forward to catch you, tugging you back on your feet with his hands on your arms. 

“Y’alright?” he asks. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, mildly mortified. “Thanks.”

He lets go. You shift on your feet. 

“How long are we gonna stay here?” you ask. 

Hood checks his phone. “Well, he should've moved on by now. Let's—”

The doorknob jiggles. You look at Hood in fear. His expression is similar. 

“Pretend!” you whisper, and that's all he needs to understand and move. 

You're expecting your arms around Hood, maybe exaggeratedly feeling him up. You are not expecting Hood to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs and press you against the wall. You squeal, arms shooting out to hold onto his neck. Hood's beard ends up in your mouth and you spit it out. 

The door swings open, revealing a very tipsy couple. 

“Oops!” the woman says, grinning. “Sorry. Carry on.”

The guy gives a thumbs-up. “True love.”

You smile awkwardly. Something is pressing into your hip.

“True love,” Hood deadpans. “Rock on.”

As soon as the door closes, you're squirming. 

“What is that?” you hiss. 

“My gun! Oh my God, it's my gun,” Hood says, quickly setting you down. “It's not…”

He trails off and backs away. You stand there, processing what just happened. 

“That wasn’t—”

“I didn’t—”

You both stop. Hood adjusts his beard. 

“You're really strong,” you say, wringing your hands. 

Hood nods. “Sorry about the, uh…”

“Yeah, let's just not talk about this.”

“Yup. Find Matt?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You open the door and peek out. The hallway is empty. Glory be.

“All clear,” you say, and Hood is on your heels as you sneak out. 

“Any ideas on where he'd go?” Hood asks. 

“Matt works in a cubicle like the rest of us. Emerson’s office is on the twelfth floor.” 

“Fine. We'll hit Emerson's office first. More privacy, and maybe they'll both be there. Two birds.”

“Emerson's office is protected by a password lock. He changes it every night,” you say, scurrying to keep up with Hood. 

“That's fine. I got a key right here,” he says, patting his holster.

“Wait! If the lock is tampered with, it sets off an alarm and security will come. You can't shoot it, Hood.”

He stops and sighs. “Why is everything so goddamn complicated? Alright, new plan. I'm gonna get my stuff from where we were and I'll break in the old-fashioned way.” 

Fifteen Minutes Later.

“This seems really unsafe!” you say, watching Hood dangle outside a three story window on a wire. He's attached to a grappling hook but still. Still! 

“Eh, I died once. Didn't stick. Hold the hook.” 

“I am!” As if you'd do anything but. You don't want the Red Hood to become Red Goo. 

Chilly December wind makes your eyes water and your nose cold. Still, you hold on. 

“Almost there!” he says. 

“Hey! What're you doing?” 

You whirl around and close your eyes due to the flashlight shining at them. Even though the lights are on. 

An elderly security guard glares at you. It's a good thing you're not an actual criminal… though after tonight, you're not so sure. 

“Um.” You try to hold onto the hook while hiding it behind your back. “Bird watching?”

The guard turns off the flashlight and tucks it into his belt. He slowly walks to you. 

“If you're doing something illegal, Miss, you're in big trouble.”

Well, this is fantastic. Of course it would be you that gets caught. 

The guard is getting closer. Your grip is sweaty. He peers over your shoulder. You let go of the hook, praying to every spirit out there that Hood is as good as everyone says he is. 

The guard looks around and scratches his head. You shrug, heart in your throat. 

“See?” you say. “Bird watching.”

He frowns at you. “I've got my eye on you.”

“And I commend you for that.” 

“Are you sassing me?” 

Are you? You might be. You've been spending too much time with Hood. 

Hood! You turn and look out the window. You don't see any red goo below, but it's also cold and foggy. Shit. You hurry to the elevators. 

“Okay, happy holidays, bye!”

The elevator doors open. You press twelve and close the door before the guard can consider getting on with you and shooting you a hairy eyeball all the way down. 

You hurry out and run down to Emerson's office. The door has been left ajar, which is good, right?

Bang!

You throw yourself against the wall. Shit. Maybe not. 

Ugh, you told Hood no shooting! Son of a bitch. 

“We're doing this tonight!” That's Emerson's voice. “I don't care if I have to shoot my way out.” 

Shoot? Oh no.

You carefully peek through the crack. Hood is standing with his hands behind his head. His beard has blood in it. Emerson is in front of him, gun to his head. 

Hood catches your eye. He gives you the tiniest head shake. You swallow. 

You can't just leave him there. 

Okay. Think. Emerson's back is to you. You can't see Matt, but you figure he's far enough away to not immediately shoot you. Hopefully. 

Anyway, what's your other option? The feisty relic upstairs? You can't risk any civilians getting hurt. 

Technically you're also a civilian but not tonight. Tonight you might as well be Batman. 

You slowly pull the door open further. You sneak in, then hide behind the secretary's desk.

“Is it done?” Emerson snaps.

That's when you see Matt in the corner on a laptop. 

“It takes time,” Matt says, obviously stressed too. 

“Well, hurry up!” Emerson looks at Hood. “Then we'll dispose of Santa here.”

Hood shrugs. “You can certainly try. Many have. ‘M still here.”

“Lots of bravado for a man in a costume,” Emerson sneers. “What are you, police?”

Hood groans. “As fucking if! I'm not a cop.” 

He hums. “Perhaps not. Otherwise this place would be crawling with them already. But you're alone.”

“How d'you know I'm alone?” Hood asks. 

You're glad he's calm because you're feeling the beginnings of another panic attack. But you can't panic, not now. The adrenaline pulsing through you is the only thing keeping you from going catatonic. 

You have no weapon, no plan. How the hell are you supposed to help Hood?

“You're bluffing,” Emerson says. 

“He has a girlfriend,” Matt says. “Some IT girl. She might come looking for him.”

“Then we'll take care of her too.”

Matt looks uncomfortable but he doesn't say anything. Hood is still cool as a cucumber. 

“She won't look for me. We had a fight. I forgot to buy the candy she likes.”

Candy? Why would—oh!

On the secretary's desk is a glass bowl filled with mini candy canes. You wrap your hands around it. 

“She knows my favorite,” Hood says, locking eyes with you.

You throw the bowl with all your might. Emerson is too slow—Hood grabs the bowl one-handed and swings it, knocking the gun from Emerson's hand. The candy explodes into pieces. Hood swings again, this time into Emerson's head. The bowl cracks. Emerson crumples to the floor. 

“Are you o—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In a blink, Hood wraps one arm around your waist and yanks you to the floor, covering your body. You curl into him on instinct. 

“I got you, I got you,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod, words not coming right now. You squeeze his hand. Hood seems to understand and he scoots you both behind Emerson’s desk. Then he loads his gun and cocks it.

“Stay here,” he says, then fires six shots. 

“Goddamnit!” Matt yells across the room. “This wasn't the plan! You're not supposed to be here!”  

Hood laughs, which is absolutely terrifying. “Don't talk to me about ruined plans, buddy. I've been waiting all night for an excuse to shoot somebody. Please make my night.” 

Matt fires four more shots. 

“Fuck you, cop!” 

“What the fuck? Fuck you more! I'm not a fucking cop!”

“Maybe it's the way you stand,” you say, teeth chattering from anxiety. 

Hood squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “I stand like a cop? Gross. I gotta work on that.” 

“You're somebody!” Matt yells. “You're not just some guy, Todd, don't lie to me. You and that chick from IT are in cahoots.”

You huff. “He knows your name but not mine?”

“I’d take it as a compliment.”

Matt fires again. Hood tucks you behind him. 

“He won’t kill anybody,” he says, with way too much confidence, in your opinion. 

“Oh, is that why he's peacefully shooting at us?”

“He's scared, sure. But he can’t kill. Trust me, I know. Hey, Matt!” 

“What?”

Hood stands up. Your eyes bug out of your head. 

“Hood!” you hiss. “Hood!”

He ignores you, of course. 

“You won’t hurt anyone,” Hood says. He starts walking toward Matt. “You're not a killer, Matt.”

And all this time you thought Hood was sort of sane. Nope. 

“I will shoot you!” Matt warns. 

“Aw. You wouldn't shoot Santy Claus, would you?” 

Matt pulls the trigger. You gasp. It clicks. The magazine is empty. 

Hood closes the distance between them and grabs the gun, then elbows Matt in the face. Matt sprawls onto the floor. 

“Yeah, I don't risk my life on human emotion,” Hood says, loud enough so you can hear. “People can be so unpredictable. I will take a chance on a gun that only fires seven rounds, though. For a guy in finance, you're not very good with numbers, Matty.” 

You sigh in relief, slumping against the desk. After tonight, you're retiring. 

“Y'okay over there?” Hood asks. 

“Yeah.”

It's quiet for a bit. Then Hood returns and offers you a hand to help you stand. You do so on shaky limbs. 

He's got a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his cheek. You frown. 

“I'm sorry I let go of the hook. I thought—”

“You let go of the hook?”

You stop. “Um. No?” 

Hood squints at you. “Choosing to forgive you for that.” 

“I knew you were inside the office!”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I'm not the only one taking risks,” you say. “Matt still fired at you.”

“Eh.” Hood shrugs. “He’s a crap shot. And I counted the rounds. I maintain my point. Factually, he could not shoot me.”

“You could've told me the gun was empty,” you say. 

“I wanted you to think I was cool and brave.” 

You laugh. “I already think that.”

Hood looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to see right down into your soul. Intense. You cross your arms.

“So, um, ready to ditch this party?” you ask. 

“With pleasure.”

“What about them?” you ask, pointing to Matt.

“I have backup arriving soon. Let's get your coat.” 

You get your things while Hood changes back into his usual garb. He meets you at the back exit, the one that leads to an alleyway, Santa suit gone. The party's winding down and most are getting into their cars. You're grateful no one stops to ask where you disappeared to. 

There's police outside, but they're not here for Emerson. It's Bill that's being questioned by Commissioner Gordon. You stop short at the sight. 

“Hood… what did you do?” 

“Hm? Oh! There might have been some discrepancies in Bill's finances and he might have committed fraud to pay off his gambling debts. All circumstantial, though.”

“Please don't tell me you framed my coworker because he's a jerk,” you say. 

“No, but I'm not above that, for the record. I recognized Bill from when I was casing the Iceberg Lounge. That's where he racked up all that debt.”

You nod slowly. “That's how you knew his name.”

“Yup. He was a nobody, so I didn't bother with him. Had I known he was such a menace at work, well…”

You grin. “It's okay. I appreciate it now.” 

Hood nods. The silence is awkward for a few seconds. 

“So—”

“You don't have to keep working here,” he says. “You can leave if you wanna.”

“Hood…”

He puts up a hand. “Hear me out. I have a contact at Wayne Enterprises. I can get you an interview. Hell, I can get you the job.”

“And what would I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Think of it as a thank you for tonight. You didn't have to help me but you did.”

You open and close your mouth. “I don't… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't gotta say a thing,” Hood says quietly. “If anyone deserves a new year, it's you.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels tight suddenly. “Oh, Hood, that's really—that's nice of you.”

“It's been known to happen. Don't spread it around though.”

“But I don't want the job without interviewing!” you say. “I want to get it on my own.”

Hood nods. “Deal.”

You want to hug him but that seems like too much, even with all you’ve done tonight. So you take out a candy cane instead.

“I salvaged one from the bowl,” you say. “Merry Christmas, Hood.”

He takes it, tucking it into his pocket. “Merry Christmas. Need a ride?”

You shake your head. “I'm fine. See you around?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Stay safe, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Will you?”

He laughs. “No promises.” 

Then you blink and he's gone. You shove your hands into your coat pockets. 

In each pocket, there's a handful of Warheads. You smile.