#Reader insert sorta

[matt-murdockk]

Hindsight

you'll see me in hindsight tangled up with you all night burning it down

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

words: 2.5k summary: spencer's hindsight is screaming at him that he made the wrong decision by ending your relationship warnings: angst but like in a hot way, happy ending besties <3 spencer's kind of a dick in this for a little bit (he means well, he's just confused), language, allusions to smut, making out, fluff (?) towards the very end but like you gotta really squint

Spencer fucked up.

He's gripping the sink with both hands, water running down his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. The previous week has been hell, almost, and Spencer knows a thing or two about hell. It was the right thing to do, he thinks to himself, but he can't help the part of him that wonders if that's even true in the slightest. His mind flashes back to that fateful night.

"Spencer, what do you mean 'we can't do this anymore?'"

"Us. This!" he said, wildly gesturing to the space between you.

You stared at him, mouth parted like the words were there, ready to go, but stuck behind disbelief.

"Why?" you asked, quiet. Measured. Already bracing for an answer that would hurt. He hesitated. That was all the confirmation you needed— he didn’t want this either.

"I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending this is okay.”

“What part of this isn’t okay? The part where we care about each other? Or the part where we’re actually happy for once?”

“You don’t get it—”

“No,” you cut in, sharper now. “No, I don’t get it. Please enlighten me.”

Spencer ran both hands through his hair like he was trying to yank the thoughts out by force. “People I care about get hurt. That's just how it goes. You’ve seen what we deal with. You know how dangerous it gets. I can’t— I won’t be the reason something happens to you.”

You blinked. “Spencer, we work the same job.”

“That’s not— it’s different.”

“How?” You're beyond exasperated at this point.

“Because I—" he broke off, breathing hard. “Because I really care about you.”

You laughed, humorless. “Bang-up job of showing it, then. Also, wh— you think I don't care? Spencer, what—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost a whisper. “I just… I can’t live with myself if something happens to you. I cannot do this knowing I am actively putting you at risk.”

“Look. I care about you too. You’re the smartest person I know, and I trust your judgment. But if you’re going to sit here and break us apart, then you better have a legitimate reason.” You stepped closer. “Because what you’re giving me right now? It’s bullshit, Spencer. YOu know that. And I’m not going to let you overthink your way into a breakup.”

He looked at you like he wanted so badly to believe you. Like you were the rope dangling over the cliff, and he didn’t trust himself to grab it.

“Yes, we deal with hell on a daily basis,” you continued, softer now, “but we also come home to each other. It's tedious, and awful, and exhausting, but we have each other, Spence. And I—”

You paused. Swallowed hard. Didn’t realize you’d said it until it was already out.

“I love you.”

Silence.

Something cracked in his expression. He looked at you like that was the one thing he wasn’t prepared for. The one thing that might’ve saved him— if he let it. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

Destroy it.

“I don’t,” he said, voice flat.

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stutter. Just said it. Like ripping the pin from a grenade and waiting for it to blow.

“I don’t think I love you.”

It didn’t matter what he meant. It didn’t matter if he was lying through his teeth. Because the second you believed him, the second you stepped back and nodded— something broke. The damage was done.

Now he’s gripping the sink like it’s the only thing holding him upright, staring at a reflection that doesn’t look like him anymore.

“I am an idiot,” he mutters to no one. The mirror doesn’t disagree.

He sees you everywhere. On his couch in your pajamas, eating cereal straight from the box. He sees you on the jet, asleep on his shoulder, warm and close and real. He sees the last time you laughed at something he had said. How your head tipped back, how your nose scrunched. He sees your face the first time he kissed you, how your smile made him feel like he was bathing in sunlight.

He sees you and him tangled together in the back seat of his car, your eyes closed and head tilted back as his name falls out of your lips like a prayer. He sees your pile of clothes next to his on his bedroom floor, half forgotten in the haste of needing each other.

He sees you in the faint lipstick smudge still clinging to the collar of his favourite shirt. In the barely-there marks scattered along his neck and chest, fading now but not forgotten. His fingers brush over them without thinking, retracing each one like muscle memory, each a timestamp of a moment he’d give anything to relive. He wonders if you're thinking of him too.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and laughs— bitter, breathless.

Yeah. Spencer fucked up big time.

You always thought that even if by some horrible twist of fate, your relationship with Spencer were to end, at the very least it would be amicable. You'd be able to work together, be friends, and still stand to be around each other. You were wrong.

Immediately after the fight last week, you were called to Detroit for a case. There was barely enough time to pack, let alone recover. So, you didn't say anything. Neither did he. To the team, or to each other. It’s easier that way, you thought. The team thinks everything is fine. Business as usual. You’re partnered up for interviews like always. Briefing side by side. Riding in the same car. Sharing a room.

But it's not all okay. It's not all fine, and you know that. He’s quieter than usual. You catch him zoning out in the middle of victim statements. His hands tremble when he thinks no one’s looking. He’s unravelling. And yet, every time you brush past him, he flinches like you’re the one that left.

He still looks at you the same sometimes. Like you’re his. Like you matter. Like nothing’s changed. And that, more than anything, is what hurts. You’re not angry. You’re wrecked. Because you can survive heartbreak. But what he did? That was reckless abandonment. You don’t show someone heaven and then blind them.

Neither of you has had a wink of sleep since then. Even familiar places feel foreign when you're not with each other. What makes it worse is that you're so used to being with and needing each other that it's second nature to you by now. There are absent-minded touches, kisses, lingering hands and eyes that none of you mention.

There’s a moment— small, forgettable to anyone else— when his fingers graze yours as he hands you a case file. It’s nothing. It’s everything. You both freeze. Just for a second. He doesn't look up. Doesn’t say a word. Just retracts his hand like it burned him.

And that’s how it’s been. Every second of this trip. A minefield of almosts. Close calls. Words left unsaid and looks held too long. Lying awake all night in the bed as far away from each other as possible. It's driving you insane. Damn Detroit's winter that makes you crave his warmth. And damn this forced proximity bullshit that the universe has punished you with.

You’re sharing a room, which is objectively a horrible idea, but it would’ve been suspicious to change it last minute. You'd mentally agreed not to bring it up now, so you had to soldier through. At least that’s the excuse you told yourself when you didn't protest. And so now, you’re both here, end of a long day, door shut behind you, silence thick enough to suffocate.

You're sitting on opposite ends of the bed like strangers in a waiting room. You hear him sigh behind you. A long, pained sound. And for the first time since the break, he says your name. It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But it’s enough.

You turn, slowly. Not because you’re calm, but because you’re not sure what will come out if you speak too fast. He’s standing now, fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Like he doesn’t know what to do with you. His shoulders rise with a breath he never quite finishes.

“I can’t sleep,” he says. “I haven’t. Since that night.”

You stare at him. “Okay.”

"Okay? That's it?"

"What do you want me to do, Spencer? Sing you a lullaby?"

"You know what, forget I said anything."

"Believe me, I'm trying," you say, your voice dripping with contempt. Spencer's face contorts like he's confused.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

“It means,” you say, finally standing too, “that you don’t get to say things like that and expect comfort. You don’t get to crack open this— this door like we’re still something and then slam it shut the second it scares you.”

He flinches.

“You think I’ve been sleeping?” you continue, voice shaking now. “You think I’ve been fine? Because I’ve been trying to be. I’ve been trying to hold it together. But it’s really fucking hard when the person I love tells me he doesn’t love me back and then acts like that never happened.”

He's trying to find the words, he really is, but he can't choose between the part of him that's mad at himself for being an idiot, and the part of him that's mad at you for believing him in the first place. He makes the wrong choice.

“You don't get to say that. You walked away. You believed me when I said I didn’t love you.”

Your laugh is sharp, disbelieving. “Oh, you major fucking hypocrite. I’m sorry— its my fault now? Was I supposed to not believe the man I loved when he looked me dead in the eyes and ripped my heart out?”

He throws his hands up. “I had to! You wouldn’t have walked away otherwise!”

“Yeah? And whose fucking fault is that?”

“Mine! Obviously mine!” he snaps, voice rising. “Is that what you want to hear? That I made a mistake? That I wake up every goddamn day hating myself for it?”

“Oh, poor you!” you shout back. “Waking up alone by choice. Because you couldn’t handle the idea of someone loving you. Spencer Reid— genius, coward, commitment phobe.”

He moves closer, eyes blazing. “Don’t twist this into me being scared of you. I was trying to keep you safe.”

You step forward to match him, nose to nose now. “Did I ask? Did I ask you to keep me safe, Spencer? You don’t get to protect me by abandoning me.”

“Oh, get over yourself—”

“Me? I need to get over myself? Jesus, you're so full of yourself. I can't even believe that I'm entertaining this right now."

"Nobody's making you stay. Door's right there."

"You know what, Spencer? Fuck you,” you snap.

“Fuck you.”

You let out a bitter laugh and shove his shoulder. “Bold words from someone who doesn’t even have the balls to tell their partner that he fucking hates them!”

“WHEN did I say that I hated you?” he roars, hands shaking now. “I never said that. I love you! Jesus Christ, of course I love you!”

You stare at him, heart pounding in your throat.

“Then do something about it, you moron.”

And he does.

He grabs your face like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth and kisses you so hard it knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s angry and desperate and messy, like trying to glue a shattered heart back together with nothing but skin and breath. Your hands fist into his shirt like you’re trying to tear it off or hold him closer, maybe both. Neither of you knows how to be gentle about it.

"You're an idiot," you mumble between kisses.

"Good, we're on the same page."

Your back hits the dresser with a dull thud, and neither of you flinch. His hands are everywhere— on your waist, your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt like he can’t get close enough fast enough. His mouth moves from yours to your jaw, down your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your knees threaten betrayal.

He finds that spot just behind your ear, the one he knows drives you crazy, and lingers there like a punishment. No, like an apology. You gasp, hand tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

He is whispering apologies, begging for your forgiveness as he unravels you, his breath warm against your skin.

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” you whisper, voice already unsteady as you pull him back to your mouth. “You need to make it up to me.”

“I will,” he promises, between kisses that are more like confessions than contact. “I will. I swear to God, I will.”

And he did. Multiple times that night. For the first time in a long time, both of you slept. Not just passed out from exhaustion, but real, peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. The kind that only comes when the weight has finally lifted.

You woke up tangled in each other, your head tucked under his chin, his arm tight around your waist like he still didn’t quite believe you were there. He kissed your forehead before either of you said a word.

The case wrapped itself up faster than expected after that. Something about sleep and not repressing your feelings— radical concepts, really. You and Spencer cracked the final piece during the afternoon briefing, and the rest of the team rallied around the lead like clockwork. It felt good to feel like yourselves again. Felt even better not to pretend anymore.

You’re on the jet heading home, fingers loosely intertwined beneath a shared blanket when Emily strolls past and pauses in front of your seat. Her smirk is practiced. Lethal. Oh, this can't be good.

“I was in the room next to yours,” she says, casually. “I heard screaming. Was gonna knock, actually, see if everything was okay.”

Spencer tenses beside you.

Emily raises a brow. “But then the screaming turned into a, uh, different kind of screaming.”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, burying your face in your hands.

“Anyway,” she grins, completely unbothered. “Glad you two worked it out.”

She pats Spencer on the back as she leaves. You and Spencer look at each other, mortified and emotionally prepared to change your identities and leave the country. He leans in to whisper something.

"Worth it."

a/n: wildest dreams og version does something to me man istg, song of all time <3 also I have been sitting on this fic for a while not knowing how to end it so I apologize if it's ass, I've been trying to experiment with writing different POVs and gender neutral reader, I'm tagging this as gn!reader, but I'm so sorry if I've accidentally implied that the reader is female 🫂

[taruruchi]

Random heartshackle, adeuce and yuu, thingy I came up with over a week ago, here u go !!

Sorries if they don't type how they seem like they would, I'm so bad at coming up w stuff like that 😭

[heartfullofleeches]

I feel like amab werewolf reader’s tits should be bigger than afab yan’s, why? Because of the funnys

Big titty Darling supremacy-

Poor werewolf reader and their big, fat naturals. Their stalker admirer could probably buy them all the bras they might need, but the only support those tits should have is their hands. It would be so kind of Darling to let them hold what they've been missing out on all these years.

-

Afab Yan: Why are your boobs so big?

Amab werewolf reader: They're not boobs.

Afab Yan: Do you have to wear a bra??

-

Afab Yan, sobbing: I'm flat as a fucking pancake...

Werewolf Reader: *Exists*

Afab Yan: Well clearly all my growth went to someone else. Not that I'm complaining-

-

I see this and propose a vampire/human Yan who's always been warned of the danger surrounding werewolves, but all rational thoughts fly out the window when they see Reader's honkers.

"Look out! There's a wolf outside!"

Afab Yan: Oh no!.... [peaks out the window] Good lord, look at the rack on them, surely they can't be all bad.

[sauce-salad-bowl]

drabble idea where sans is an author underground and reader is just a video game character okay send blog post it’s under there 🤝🤝

This is embarrassing. He doesn’t even know what to write. Sans scoots away from the empty document on his computer, face buried deep in his hands. Maybe he should just cut his losses and go to sleep. Again.

But he doesn’t go to sleep. He mopes for a minute, then glances back at his computer and sighs, pulling himself closer again. Instead of agonizing over the blank page, he opens the UnderNet.

Scrolling will totally help him forget his problems.

And it does, for a few minutes.

He leaves five or twelve comments on Papyrus’ page, swipes through a few videos, only to quickly stumble onto another drawing of you. The caption says:

‘miss this game sm. who’s ur fave character? ^.^’ His thumb hovers over the keypad for a moment, then he ‘likes’ it.

It was a few years ago from now when he was getting coffee with Alphys, and she was gabbing to him about the things she had found in Waterfall. He was surprised when she handed him a copy of a video game he had never seen before.

“keep it, alph. you’ll appreciate it more than me.” Sans tried to respectfully decline, honestly thinking he’d be too lazy to play.

But Alphys insisted, her claw tapping the package. “I found a b-bunch of copies, actually. I-I’ve been trying to p-pass them around, get a bunch of p-people i-into it.”

“and how many you got so far?” he asked, placing his skull in his palm.

“Uhm, Undyne! A-and Asgore, for a f-few minutes…” She pushed the game towards him on the table. “And th-they both liked it! C-Can you just try it out?”

Sans shrugged and took the game from her, doubting that he would. But he could give it to Papyrus, maybe he’d get a kick out of it. He glanced at the cover, decorated with humans in odd-looking outfits. You didn’t stick out to him, not at first.

The video game ended up on the bookstand, under his quantum physics/joke textbook, for weeks. He was a busy guy, okay?

It would’ve sat there longer too, had Undyne not been over soon after. She grabbed the dusty case and insisted that they all play, waving it around wildly.

“It’s got swords and chainsaws, awesome characters, and a totally badass story! We’ve gotta take turns between levels!” Her eye had sparkled, and Papyrus had squealed at the thought, and that was how Sans found himself on the couch, sandwiched between them and watching them play.

It was a simple RPG adventure. And honestly, it didn’t seem like anything crazy to him, so he was content with just watching. But of course after a while his brother was shoving a controller in his hand and insisting he have a turn.

“alright, alright. ulna’t get your radius in a twist.”

“OH MY GOD, SANS. JUST PLAY.”

He snorted, but complied, actually enjoying solving some of the puzzles. He thought the art style was neat, too. And the NPCs were kind of interesting.

Especially you.

You were a loyal companion to Sans’ character, and he immediately noticed how… endeared he was by you. Your dialogue genuinely made him laugh out loud— he was definitely stealing some of your material. And your character just had this… aura, no, mystery about you, like you knew something more than he did.

Maybe this game was cooler than he thought.

Sans found himself quickly exhausting your dialogue options. He was just curious about what you had to say. When Undyne started to complain, he blinked, and handed the controller to her. He’d gotten distracted.

It’s only really spiraled from there. After playing the whole thing through right after Undyne left, he’s been a fan of the game ever since.

But if someone really asked him about it, he’s not sure what he would say. He liked it, but not much else. Because he wants to seem casual about it. He is casual about it.

That’s why he’s here now, a few years later, struggling to get down thoughts about you onto his keyboard. Super casual indeed.

He sucks in a breath, finally opening the document page again. You didn’t just fascinate him. He thought about you constantly, more than he’d like to admit. He found himself seeking you out outside your game, which worked well since it became pretty popular on UnderNet. He’s read his fair share of theories about you, only half of which he agrees with.

He wasn’t sure at all what to make of it, but he knew he liked thinking about you a lot. Sans had a lot of time for daydreaming as a sentry, since no humans ever actually came through. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine you, shuffling past him in the snowy forrest.

Can he write about that? Sans puts down a few sentences, but it doesn’t really go anywhere, so he deletes it.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried with, y’know, real people. But he’s found that it’s a lot of effort to make relationships work. Sans has had a few great ones, but things always just sort of fizzled out. He hasn’t given up on it, but there are only so many folks down here. And he has a funny habit of finding his way back to you.

Is his little crush odd? Uh, yeah, maybe. But when his chest swells at the thought of you, or he thinks of a joke he just wishes he could tell you, he has to admit that he’s never really felt like this before.

He startles at the sound of pots banging downstairs. Papyrus, probably starting on dinner. For some reason, he wonders if you’d like his brother’s cooking. He pictures you at the table, eating and laughing with them in their living room. It’s sweet, but he shakes his head. Still underground. Not quite what he wanted.

When he thinks about what would really make him happy, he sees himself on the surface. The sun is hot against his face, and there’s a sky that somehow never stops. And when he looks, the hand entwined with his is yours.

Suddenly, he knows what he wants to write about.

+++++

hi what’d you think?? i was sitting in bed and gardening, and this idea that i’ve had for a while kept bugging me, so i opened my drafts and had to expel. i’ve had writers block all day so im hype that i actually came up with something, even if it’s not what i planned on writing.

uh i hope it makes sense?? its late where i am, cant tell if it makes sense!! im going to bed 🛌

[severussnapemylove]

(Poking you head inside Sev's lab)

Y/N; "Darling, are you ready to come out and interact with people?"

Severus; *demonic screeching*

Y/N; "Understandable. Have a good day, Babe."

[doodle2anomaly]

Ok...YOU KNOW WHAT? Im down bad for Bill Cipher ok?! i fw any form as long as its him 😭 YES I DO SELF INSERTS AND SELF SHIPS, is it cringe? CRINGE CULTURE IS DEAD

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: Shiu Kong // wc: 1.7k // [ao3]// Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The wait was the worst part. You didn’t know where Shiu was coming from, didn’t want to know, but wherever it was gave you far too much time to doubt yourself while you waited for the man to arrive on your bloodied doorstep. 

When he finally did, it was with a careful smile and a carelessly chewed cigarette at the corner of his lips. “We meet again.”

You looked him over and gestured for the man to step inside. “Yeah.”

“Where’s Fushiguro?”

“In my bedroom.” Shiu raised his eyebrows knowingly, and you glared back. “Hooked up to an IV, for fuck’s sake, relax.” You’d never been entirely comfortable around the handler, your hackles raised by his studied nonchalance and the few steps he stayed away from any real risk, assigning death to other people rather than doling it out himself. Someone had to keep the guns-for-hire organized and answer the phone when it rang with a new hit, but you didn’t have to like him.

Kong, for his part, liked you way too much. It was something of a sore spot for him that you went for Fushiguro instead of himself after the three of you met in that shitty Kabukicho bar. But he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, not when there was a chance of him picking up the pieces when you and Toji inevitably fell apart. He hadn’t been surprised to get your phone call after he disappeared, though he was disappointed to find that instead of a rebound you just wanted a promise that he’d look out for your ex.

He had been surprised to get Toji’s call. Through a drunken slur, the assassin had extracted another promise from Shiu, this time that he wouldn’t tell you anything about where Toji had gone. “To keep her safe,” he’d insisted. “I know we both want that.”

The man had kept both promises faithfully. He had had an idea that Toji was trying to get out of the game, but Shiu didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. He thought the bastard would come to him eventually, that he’d trust him after all this time. He had been wrong. Old habits die hard, and he and Toji had never been the type to talk about their feelings, of all things. But he found himself wishing they had been as you led him to the room where Fushiguro lay.

He was still asleep, thankfully. It gave Shiu time to sit and smoke a cigarette down to the filter in deep, lung-burning drags before you caught him and made him toss it out. 

“No smoking in my damn house, Kong,” you muttered, confiscating his lighter. He glared at you and tapped his fingers on the heart monitor.

“When’s sleeping beauty coming out of it?”

You glanced at your watch. “Around now, I think. Remember what we talked about, okay? Don’t antagonize him.” Shiu grinned wickedly. 

“Would I ever?”

“Yes. Yes you would.” Conversation stalled and you both looked at Toji’s form. He looked less intimidating with your blanket pulled up to his chin, but you knew that all hell would break loose when he saw his visitor. You clenched your fists in your pockets as he started to stir. Beside you, Shiu tensed too, trying to smooth his face into a neutral expression.

Toji opened his eyes and blearily scanned the room, looking for you. “Doll?” His voice was sleep-scratched and hoarse.

“I’m right here,” you said quickly, reaching out your hand to smooth his mussed hair. “Toji…you have a visitor.” Shiu stood up and smiled crookedly.

“Hey, Fushiguro. You’re looking pretty rough, huh?”

Toji unleashed a string of curses that made your ears burn. He scrambled up into a sitting position, instinct sending his hand into his pocket for a piece that wasn’t there. “What the fuck is he doing here?” He kept his eyes on Shiu, but the accusation was aimed at you.

You spoke slowly, carefully. “I called him. We had been talking about-”

“You fucking snitched to Kong? When I came to you for-” He broke off and stared at the monitor beside the bed. The feeling of weakness, helpness, burrowed into his gut and made him burn. “When I told you what I was doing. Why I was doing it.” He laughed bitterly and dragged his hand down his face. “I was a fucking fool.” 

“Toji, it isn’t-” 

“What it looks like?” He snapped. “Because it looks like you betrayed me. Serves me right for thinking I was anything more than this, right?” He clamped his fist around the IV line and yanked it out with a low groan, pressing down against the wound as he flung off the blanket. He smiled sardonically at Shiu. “Here to give me another job? My vacation’s over, don’t worry.”

He was straining to feign nonchalance over the hurt, to hide the shame that was running through his veins. Every doubt he’d tried to swallow for the last few months came rushing back up his throat like bile.

Shiu stepped in front of Toji, his voice low and clipped. “Calm the hell down, Fushiguro. Don’t talk to the lady like that.” 

He just laughed, shouldering past the other man. “Sounds like you and the lady got pretty close while I was gone.” He turned to look at you, his dark green eyes haunted. “Close enough that you had him on speed dial, huh? Working together to catch a runaway killer?”

“Toji, it isn’t like that. I’m trying to tell you, if you’d just listen-” His leg buckled as he tried to shove past you, and he swore a fresh streak.

“I’m not in the mood to listen, alright? I’m gonna find someplace else to wait for my damn wounds to heal, then get back to work. Don’t worry. You’re not ever gonna hear from me again.”

God, he was so fucking stubborn. Exactly like you thought he would be, but your own anger at it surprised you. You were sick of the martyr act, tired of him acting like he didn’t deserve the bare minimum of decency. His insistence on his own worthlessness made something sharpen inside you, and you flung a rough arm across his chest.

“Shut the fuck up, Toji.” You shoved him back, taking advantage of his rare weakness, and he stumbled against the bed. He was already opening his mouth to argue back, but you stormed ahead. “Put your ego down for two fucking seconds and listen to me, okay?”

The fury in your tone finally got through to him, and he sat silently. You took a deep breath, looking at Shiu. He only raised his eyebrows at you, the bastard. Fine. You could keep talking.

“Yes. I called Shiu. And we had been talking before, but only about you.” Toji snorted and you fixed him with a furious glare. “We were talking because the person that I loved- that we both care about- had disappeared without a trace. What do you think that felt like?”

You dug your nails into your palms, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He told me you were safe, but that he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything else. Like you could just decide that for me. I’m not a fucking kid, Toji. We were together. As in making decisions together- choosing to be and stay together. And if you wanted out, you owed me that truth.” 

Toji’s voice was much softer now. “I told you why I left, ma.”

“But that doesn’t undo it. It’s not an apology. It’s hardly an excuse.” You looked down. A drop of dried blood lay beside your shoes like a scarlet letter. “And then you come back to me, half-fucking-dead, and I- I’m supposed to process your claim that it was all for me, while I’m trying to keep your guts in…” You took a shaky breath.

“I called Shiu after you left the first time. Asked him to look after you for me. He wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but it made me feel a little better, you know?” Toji nodded slowly.

“I did something similar.” He shot Shiu a guarded look. “Guess you were keeping secrets for both of us.”

Shiu spoke up at last, choosing his words carefully. “My job is to handle you, after all.” He folded his hands in his lap and leaned over them toward Toji’s bed. “I knew you’d been…freelancing. Whatever you want to call it. I kept some tabs.” He shrugged. “Thought I’d let you get whatever it was out of your system. But I heard the last job went wrong, and you weren’t answering my calls, so…”

You cut in. “All he did was ask if I’d heard from you. I ignored it at first!” You added quickly. “But he wrote again to say that he thought you might be trying to go straight, that he wanted to help.”

Toji dropped his head into his hands with a low laugh. “So this is some kind of intervention? I should’ve trusted the power of friendship, is that it?” 

Somehow Shiu produced another lighter from the depths of his suit. He lit up with an apologetic glance in your direction and exhaled toward the ceiling. “You can call it that. But I see it more like asset management. These things need to be done cleanly, Fushiguro.” He gestured at the man’s battered body with his cig. “And this is a hell of a mess.”

Toji took the cigarette from Shiu’s fingers and dunked it into a cup of water beside the bed. “She doesn’t like it if you smoke in here.” He smiled faintly at the other man and added, “I would know.” He let the implication hang in the air, trying to regain some control of the conversation.

Shiu rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Fushiguro stretched with a wince, but waved you off when you moved closer. “So then. What’s the plan? The clean break?”

Shiu shifted, turning more serious. “We kill the Sorcerer Killer.”

[pepperpixel]

Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

[daistea]

i have a strong desire to brush mithruns hair i feel like when he gets to the point where he can take care of himself again without needing to be helped by someone else itd be soft

Same! I feel like his hair is the fine, thin type with a light wave, so it would tangle super easily. Yet, when looking at Mithrun’s tall-man form, his hair looks a lot greasier and less fluffy(but still gorgeous, I would use the grease to fry my morning eggs.)

I would think that implies that elves don’t produce as much oil, which would track seeing as they don’t really get blemishes either bc they’re like supernaturally perfect. (Fleki also having freckles in her tall-man form vs. no freckles in her elf form makes me wonder if they even have like.. moles. But I feel like I’ve seen an unnamed Canary in the background who had freckles. And the fact that they can get scars, too… idk)

Anyway yeah I think his hair would be soft when it’s brushed, though I also feel like he’d forget to do it or just ignore it. He keeps up his hygiene routine ofc, but I think he’d just let his hair air dry, uncombed, and it dries a bit wavy and a little stringy, but fluffs up once he does get around to brushing it— maybe a bit frizzy, even.

Post-canon, he’d probably enjoy the process of having his hair brushed. It makes him feel loved lol, and if you’re the one doing it then he’s just pleased that he’s the one you’re giving attention to. And the feeling of your hands running through his hair would be nice, he’d close his eyes and lean into the touch.

It would be a good idea to pull it back into a ponytail for him when it’s hot! Because he probably won’t do that for himself. Also, a half up, half down style would be fun for special occasions. When it’s actually taken care of, it’s very soft and his curls are curling and it’s much easier to run your fingers through. He’ll start brushing it himself just so you’ll be more inclined to play with it.

Hims corls!!!!!!

Life is so beautiful

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

can you do cyberverse grimlock fluff please :3

♡ [TFC] "INTERRUPTION" Grimlock

feeding grimlock fans like myself <3 you will never understand how much i love this dude. hes so silly. HIS DYNAMIC WITH THE OTHER DINOBOTS IS EVERYTHING. he's so utterly adorable to me.

scenario: you and Grimlock get a rare moment alone before you're interrupted, for the millionth time. fluff.

setting: before Tarn's attack, after the Dinobots are introduced.

"I'm sorry, Swoop. But he isn't here." Your frown is believable, you continue to lean against the doorframe of your quarters as you look at the four dinobots. One servo above your helm, pressed against the wall.

"But King Grimlock told us if we can't find him at the training grounds, he'd be either with you here!" Swoop squawked in her Pteranodon form, metallic wings flapping to make sure she can stay airborne and above the other three.

"Or at Maccadam's Oil House." The brontosaurus, Sludge, added on in full confidence.

"We already checked there you dunce!" The triceratops, Slug looks up at the Sludge as if he was the stupidest bot he'd ever laid optics upon.

"Well then you tell us where to look if you're so smart!" Snarl snarls out, the stegosaurus looking at Slug with an offensive glare, as if he were readying to fight right in front of your quarters in the newly repaired living complexes.

Not on your watch.

Your frame tenses and your servos lay on your hipstruts, arms akimbo as you slightly lean towards them with a disapproving gaze, your EM field letting them know you're more than displeased with them starting a fight in here. You're not angry at them, no. It's even worse— you're disappointed. And its enough to for the four of the adorable, havoc-wrecking dinosaurs to have their frames stiffen and look at you instinctively.

You didn’t move. You didn’t need to.

They got the message immediately. You're not sure why but they always listen to you, Grimlock isn't sure on how to be stern with them so you're the one who steps in most of the time— you'd thought they wouldn't like you because of that but in contrary, they actually seemed to... respect you, oddly enough. You suspect Grim probably told them to listen to you, you wouldn't surprised.

"That's what I thought. No fighting in the residential area. If you want to duke it out, go to the training grounds." You huff as you stand straight with your servos folded tightly across your chassis like a door slammed shut. Your derma curve into a small frown as your heavy, judgemental gaze narrows down on them.

"We're sorry." They mumble out collectively as they look down at the floor.

You can sense the nervousness from their EM fields. Its makes your posture relax a bit, you can't stay displeased with them for too long. Your frown wavering as a flicker of surprise crosses your features— they apologized so quickly and they're just so... so... adorable. A sigh leaves your vocalizer as your optics offline.

"Just... don't fight. If you want to find Grim, he's probably with Optimus. Or Jetfire." You say as your posture relaxes completely, trying to think of where else Grimlock could possibly be when he's not hiding in your quarters as these events unfurl. You're trying to divert them from the helpless Grimlock who doesn't know how to shake them off his tail.

"Thank you!" Swoop squawks as the other three already take off, quickly catching up behind them with a few flaps of her wings. The sounds of their heavy, stampeding pede-steps grow fainter and once its inaudible, you let out a deep ex-vent.

"Grim? Love?" The automated metallic door of your home shuts behind you as you walk past the main area and into your berthroom, the worn out mech laying face down on your comfortable berth with ambient lighting flowing subtly— It would make anyone want to recharge and Grimlock was just taking a power nap but his systems gently glow to life as he hums in response to your call— your Conjux is exhausted. You on the edge of your berth, gently caressing his backstruts, feeling the rough plating; dents, scratches and chipped ends from battle and adventures.

"Mm.. Dearest, that tickles.." He murmurs out with a gentle laugh, flipping himself over to look up at you with a smile as you withdraw your servo from his back.

"You know, they were looking for you." You say softly, mindlessly drawing invisible patterns on the armour of his broad chassis. Grim knows just who you're talking about and lets out a long ex-vent.

Ever since Grimlock met those other 'Dinobots' as they now call themselves, they've been following him around like his own little entourage— more like his disciples with how they take his word as fact. Now, you didn't hate it. You thought it was pretty darn cute how they looked up to your big guy. Not to mention the clear ego boost you could see on Grimlock's faceplates when he was around them, initially. But now, he's trying to get them in control. The Dinobots have been causing trouble lately for a few Autobots, namely just accidental property damage and street brawls. But it doesn't change the fact that they're decent fighters and capable bots... just chaotic and the fact that Grimlock of all mechs think they're chaotic when he's been chased by invisible Cyber-chickens on a distant planet is telling.

You'd be lying if you said that they didn't remind you of Grimlock way back then. Reckless, adventurous, courageous and filled with good cheer. Mini-Grimlocks if you had a say in the matter. Not much different from how he usually is but definitely dialed up to a higher setting.

"And? What did you tell them, dearest?" His blue optics look at you. Despite how relaxed he is at the moment, you can see the concern twinkle in his gaze. He really did care about those bots more than he'd want to admit and certainly seemed to feel bad about hiding from them like this but he's not gotten any time to spend with you alone & uninterrupted ever since they came into his life.

"Oh, I just lied saying you'd be with either Optimus or Jetfire." You move closer to him, laying beside him with your frame turned towards him. Grimlock seemed slightly displeased with your answer, a slight frown adorns his features.

"You know, Prime already has a lot on his plate." He mumbles out as his helm lazily turns towards you. Despite his words, Grimlock doesn't have any intent to get off the berth and chase after the Dinobots anymore. He's has a long day.

"I couldn't think of anything else at the moment." You move closer to him, snuggling up with you helm on his pauldron, right on his shoulder plating. Your servos move to the Autobot insignia on his chassis, tracing the shape of it as you mindlessly just look. Grimlock says nothing either, choosing to focus on the feeling of your digits on his frame. His spark practically hiccupping beneath layers of armour, making it near imperceptible to you. This was oddly relaxing, just you and him, on your shared berth, enjoying each other's company— a gentle moment, uninterrupted.

The servo from the shoulder you use as a headrest slowly finds its place on your hip, pulling you closer towards him with tenderness. His gaze is currently fixated at the ceiling but an unexpected kiss on the corner of his intake makes him turn his helm back to you.

"What was that for?" He smiles, adjusting both of your positions so that now the two of you are turned to your sides, facing each other with his servos caging you against the warmth of his systems as he looks right into your optics.

"What? I can't show you some love anymore?" You question with a playfulness Grimlock is too familiar with, clear as day with that smile on your faceplates and the lilt of your tone.

"Oh, you." He pulls you in closer, a little more upward so that your optics are in the same level. An idea registers in Grimlock's processor and an almost sly look comes across his face, his optics narrowing at you as his large servos let's go of your frame— Only to hold you by your sides as he kneels on the berth, looming above you with an equally playful look.

"Perhaps I should return the favour, then?"

You know what he means, you can see what he's implying with one look at his face but before you could even begin to muster up a response, the calling bell rang once again with the usual, annoying buzzing sound. Someone's outside your living space and both you & Grimlock frown, so much for an uninterrupted moment.

"Why now?" Grimlock lets out a heavy ex-vent, his grip on your sides immediately loosening as he gets off the berth. The genuine, almost pained disappointment in his tone would've been funny if you didn't share the same sentiment.

"I will go check on it, love." He says with a smile that slightly forced, unable to quench the disappointment of having an intimate moment ruined.

"You sure you don't want me to?" You ask as he stretches, standing up straight. Your own form moves to sit cross-legged in your berth as you make little to no effort in concealing your gaze, staring right as his frame.

"No, no. This is the least I could do for you." He assures with pride, as if this was some sort of sworn duty. It never ceased to amuse you. Grimlock just hopes whoever is at the front door is there for a darn good reason because—

"Grimlock!" Jetfire proclaims with that pompous voice, Grim is surprised. He's usually never one for visits.

"King!" That explains it. His gaze goes lower and he notices the Dinobots standing behind Jetfire, beaming and happy to see him despite the fact that they were in their alt modes. Grimlock... can't lie for the life of him and their presence catches him even more off-guard. He quietly laughs rather nervously but the four young Dinobots don't seem to notice that.

He should've let you answer the door. Curse his chivalry— he loved those four troublemakers more than he cared to admit but he just wanted a moment with you for once!

Maybe another time?

[pellucid-constellations]

angstober (7)

Prompt: "Weakness"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: This is a heavy one. Anywaysss love you <3

angstober masterlist here ♡

~~~

A door hinge creaked somewhere far off. 

Bucky waited. He’d been waiting for hours now, hands tied behind his back, chains digging into the skin of his right wrist. He’d tried ripping them away to no avail. 

Whoever had taken him had been prepared. Had known him and his weaknesses. 

But it didn't matter; the second he got free, their knowledge would mean nothing. Pure fury was fueling his stay, and pure power would fuel his fight to freedom. His fight back home.

A door creaked open, dim light dusting the grime on the solid floors. Footsteps, each carefully measured, echoed as they made their way toward Bucky. It wasn’t until the shine of leather came into his view that Bucky looked up—that he gave his captor the privilege of the rage burned into his expression. 

“You want something from me?” he gritted out, narrowing his eyes at the older man above him. 

The man only shot up a brow. “There are several things I want from you, Sergeant Barnes.” A thick accent held his words together. “But none of which I am sure you will give lightly.” 

Bucky let out a humorless chuckle. “How would you know? Haven’t even tried yet. Just left me sitting here. That your tactic? Isolation? Because I can tell you right now, I’ve waited a lot longer for a lot less.” 

In hindsight, goading the man who held his mercy in his hands wasn’t the most clever move. But Bucky got mouthy when he was angry, even more so when he was sure Hydra had a hand in whatever bullshit he was currently caught up in. 

Looking back, Bucky would take back his words, even if it wouldn’t have helped. 

He knew they wouldn’t have helped. 

The man grabbed Bucky’s chin and craned his neck harshly, putting him inches away from his face. “You will wish it was isolation. I simply needed time to procure what I needed to make you speak.” 

“What do you want to know?” Bucky seethed, roughly turning his face away. He spoke his next words to the floor. “Typically you ask nicely first. Haven’t even tried that.” 

“I do not have time for those theatrics.” 

With a snap of his fingers, the door opened wider. Bucky heard a struggle in the hall—scuffling feet and grunts and muffled words. The man before him rolled his eyes, hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch the door. 

“What, some kind of animal?” Bucky scoffed. “You’ll have to try—” 

Blood ran cold. At that moment, Bucky couldn’t tell whose blood it was. Because his blood, the very same that pumped beneath his skin and warmed him, didn’t feel like his own. His body felt foreign, each limb tightening and then cramping to the point of pain.

This wasn’t his body. 

He wasn’t here. 

You weren’t here. You couldn’t be. 

“No.” His whisper was only a breath. He hadn’t meant to speak. 

Bucky flinched as a cloud clap resonated in the space, followed by a mocking laugh. “Finally something to stop your ridiculous taunts,” the man rejoiced, leaning over to hold his thighs, coming nose-to-nose with Bucky. “I would have brought her in from the start, had I known.” 

Your gaze met his, and Bucky lost it—in his mind, body, being, he came undone. He pulled against the chains harder than before, letting out curse after curse at the man in front of him. He threatened death, torture, and far worse that he wouldn’t be able to follow through on. 

But he would find a way. 

Because your face was already bruised. Your hands were tied together at your hips and he could see the way the rope chafed at your skin. The same skin he had kissed countless times before. It was marred now, and you were in pain. He could hear your muffled sobs beneath the cloth shoved into your mouth, and Bucky promised far worse things than death. 

You weren’t meant for this—to ever feel this way. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” he snarled, his eyes leaving you for a singular moment to direct his rage towards the man. He found you again a second later, not wanting to leave you unguarded. 

It was silly to think his eyes had any power now. 

“Attitudes change so fast in the name of love, do they not?” the man posed, coming around to linger at your side. 

Bucky’s chest rumbled in warning... in anger and frustration and desperation. “Tell me. I’ll give you anything you want. Let her go.” 

The man seemed uninterested in his request, letting a finger track the shape of your cheek. You flinched back, running into the woman that had dragged you in. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Bucky barked out, words punctuated by chains slamming to the floor. 

The hand left your face, only to move to your hair. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut with the heavy intake of your breath. Bucky mourned the loss. Mourned any time before this—before he was the reason you had been hurt. 

There was no going back from this. This was his fault. You were here because of him. 

Unimaginable sorrow fought for dominance in his chest, but he kept the anger burning. It was the only way he’d be able to save you. 

“I find—anecdotally—that there is much less resistance in my…clients when there is a contract up front,” the man hummed. He grabbed the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin. You let out a whimper, and Bucky let out a threat coated in a surging panic. “Shall I spell it out for you, then, Sergeant Barnes?” 

You were thrown to the floor, knees crashing against concrete. You cried harder and Bucky felt all the wrath he’d been kindling die out. Fear replaced it. Unbridled fear. He couldn’t get out of these chains. He pulled and tugged until he was sure the vibranium bent and his skin broke, but nothing budged. 

He couldn’t save you.

“I will tell you anything you want to know,” Bucky pleaded, tone dangerously low, breath coming out in heavy pants. His eyes were glued to the way your chest heaved. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. You know that. That’s why you went after her, isn’t it?” 

The man laughed again, this time a deep, soft disruption in the otherwise stagnant room. “You always were smart for a mindless drone.” 

Hydra. 

The label was meaningless. Everything in Bucky’s world had shifted the moment you were shoved through the door.

There was nothing left of him as you braced your bleeding hands on the same floor he sat. 

When you locked gazes with him—for the last time, Bucky would later remember—it was with finality. Your eyes told him you forgave him. You shook your head like you knew some secret he wasn’t privy to, and he tracked the movement with so much fear lodged in his chest—piercing at his ribs—that it hurt to breathe. 

What had you known? 

What had you heard? 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

“Let her go. I’m—” Words meant nothing to this man. Bucky brought his face up to him, his broken, pleading face as he trembled beneath his next word. “Please.” 

“I do love to hear you beg. But this is for me, as well, Soldat. Who doesn’t love a little torture?” 

Bucky wouldn’t remember the wicked smile the man sent him after his damning words. He would only remember your scream. The panic that ruined him. 

I love you, hold on. Please, hold on. 

I’m so sorry, please.

Stop! Stop hurting her! I can’t—she can’t—

All spoken to unhearing ears. 

His weakness had never been a physical constraint, but from then on, Bucky did not feel strong. 

[lieutenantselnia]

F/o list meme because I miss posting about them but don't have all to much energy for other stuff currently, so memes it is😂 I lowkey wanna do more of these alignment chart memes now (both self ship and others), they're just fun :D

Template by @strawberry-selfships!

[mysteriesmuse]

Obsessed, Devoted, & Utterly Whipped Dipped (?)👀

A/N: thinking about spooky royalty Gomez and Morticia Addams this week and I want me someone as devoted and obsessed with me as they are 😭😭🖤

————

Katsuki Bakugou who loves to make you swoon.

Who is absolutely, totally, completely devoted to you . . . (and whipped for you) . . . I’m talking — frequently walks past you and gathers your hair in one large hand and twirls it around his thick finger just to expose your neck to the chilly air. Likes to duck his head and give a playful nip to your ear as you slap his chest with the back of your hand. Kats who leans back and walks away with a rumbling chucke, but not before giving you a warm apology kiss and then taking the time to fan and brush your hair back to its ethereal state behind your shoulders and tucked behind your ears.

Katsuki who has you pressed against the duvet just pouring melting with adoration all over you. Slow and sensual — only to pause in your undressing and slide down to cup the back of your knee and press wet kisses up and down every inch of your shin and calf — and then your other shin and calf — leaving you feeling all hot n’ bothered but also as light as a feather as he says, “it’s because this part of you doesn’t get enough love.” And you’re left with your toes curling and thighs clenching as he presses his puffy lips up and down every inch — especially every beauty mark.

Katsuki who takes every opportunity he can to whisk you out onto the dance floor. Takes you hand in his and ducks his head so that he stares at you, eyes slightly hidden from his bangs and presses a searing kiss right onto your knuckles that are firmly grasped in the sweaty, clammy, calloused adoration that are his. Who flirtatiously takes you into a dip on the dance floor as your finishing move. He likes having been able to watch you grow more and more comfortable in it, and it’s now as you giggle with your little smile turned upside down that his chest is rumbling with glee as well. He remembers the early days where you’d sheepishly smile with your chin tucked. Nowadays tho, you let yourself grow heavy in his hold and tilt you head all the back until your neck is exposed. And Katsuki can’t help himself but to press The Most “searing-toe-curling-kiss” into the juncture between collarbone and neck — prime real estate for a vampire. And the man is giving gleaming red eyes and a charming smile when you tilt your head back up at him with round eyes. And he’s following you with a boyish shrug as if he didn’t know that giving a good suck to your neck and jugular didn’t turn you on. So you drag him by the collar (bc he never wears a tie) back to the bathroom and immediately attacking him with some of The Messiest mosquito bites Katsuki thinks he’ll ever receive — and he’s never gonna be able to send this shirt off to be properly dry cleaned once he’s buttoned it up and ready to make an exit. Because it’ll be stained from the substantial amount of your dark lipstick smeared across his chest all the way down to the navel.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort (emotional & physical), tending wounds, drinking, apologies, protective!Toji // wc: 2.7k // [ao3] // Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

You’re jolted awake, nearly falling off the couch where you had passed out a few glasses of wine ago. Bleary eyes squint at the oven clock. 2am. There’s another knock on the door, hard and fast. Desperate. You think tiredly to yourself that nothing good ever happens after 2am, and prepare to be proven right as you slouch to the door and press agains the peephole.

The sight you’re met with sobers you like a slap to the face. You haven’t seen the man on your doorstep in six months, and tonight he looks like the most pathetic kind of stray cat, spiky black hair plastered to his forehead with lashes of rain. His strong form is bundled into a jacket, and his hands are pressed to his abdomen like he’s holding himself together. Toji Fushiguro.

You crack open the door and he straightens up quickly, teeth catching on his bottom lip as he bites back a groan. “Hey, doll. Sorry to bother ya so late.”

“Toji, what the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Mind if we talk inside? I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you since…” since he disappeared. You had had an argument one night, the same one you always had about his line of work, but when you woke up the next morning he was gone. Toji doesn’t finish your thought, just smiles weakly.

“That’s fair. Thing is, I got into a lil’ trouble and this was the only place I could think of to go. Just need a minute to clean myself up, and then-“ he sways on his feet, suddenly unstable.

“Toji?”

His next words are slurred and lost. He takes an unsteady step forward and his leg gives out, left knee hitting the concrete floor with a nasty crunch.

You leap forward on instinct, catching his broad shoulders with an impact that knocks the breath out of you. His head lolls onto your shoulder, and you see the whites of his eyes.

“Fucking hell.” You drag him inside with a litany of curses, just managing to prop him up on the floor against your couch. He’s out cold, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and you slump against the wall opposite him. Nothing to do but wait for him to wake up.

A few too many minutes have passed with just your thoughts for company, and you risk leaving him long enough to pour yourself a drink in the kitchen. The liquor burns your throat but steadies your hands, and it dulls the adrenaline in your veins.

You walk back to the living room and wave the bottle under Toji’s nose, figuring the piercing fumes might snap him out of it. Nothing. You stare into the neck of the bottle, wondering dimly if this could be the mother of all nightmares. Your deadbeat ex-boyfriend passing out on your doorstep in the middle of the night. It would certainly fit the bill.

The part of you that isn’t wallowing in liquor-soaked bitterness thinks that he must have come here, of all places, for a reason. Something out there scared him more than the thought of facing you. With a heavy sigh, you scoot closer to him and push open his jacket, examining his body for wounds. Even in unconsciousness, his scarred hands were wrapped protectively around his stomach. You gingerly pull them away, and fall back on your ass with a gasp.

Fushiguro is bleeding badly. The palms of his hands are stained with what’s already dried, fresh blood slicking your fingers where you’d touched his. His t-shirt is transparent where it’s stuck to his skin, the ragged edges of a puncture wound framing a raw, red hole.

Your body reacts faster than your mind, and before you process what you’re seeing you’ve pressed your hands back over the wound with as much pressure as you can muster. You need a dressing, need to make sure there’s nothing else in there, need to disinfect…

“Why the fuck would you pull it out, dumbass?” You’re mumbling, to yourself. It’s one of the first rules you learn if you’re going to run the risk of getting stabbed with something, come on…

“Wasn’t me, doll. Bastard took his knife back when he ran.” The gravelly voice startles you, and you shove down harder on the wound in surprise.

Toji moans in pain, sucking air in through gritted teeth that somehow still form a cocky smile. “Easy, doc. Don’t need you squeezin’ out the blood I got left.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” You switch your hands with his, waiting to let go until you feel him put the same amount of pressure on. “Now can you tell me why you’re bleeding out in my living room?” You try to sound detached, even angry, but your voice wobbles and you know he catches it.

“Thanks for bringing me inside.” His voice is softer, almost embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to faint on ya.” You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He twists his neck until it cracks, and stares at the floor.

“Wasn’t really thinkin’ straight after I killed the guy that put the knife in me. Realized you were the closest place I knew, wasn’t sure I could go any further. I didn’t wanna bother you, doll. Honest.”

You don’t react to the confession of murder. The more shocking thing was that someone got close enough to Toji to stab him in the gut. It’s a plausible enough excuse, you suppose. And it’s hard to hold a grudge for a man who is currently dying on your carpet.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it,” you say gruffly, standing to retrieve a first aid kit. “Let me find something to patch that hole.”

When you return with an armful of gauze you find Toji finishing off the rest of your liquor. He flashes a stupid grin at you, and you start to remember why you hate him.

“That was my last bottle, asshole.”

“Aw c’mon mama, it’s my last meal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the old pet name. “In my dreams, Fushiguro. You’re gonna be fine.” You’re still not confident in that, but don’t bother letting him know. It’s not like it’ll matter if you’re wrong. Your assurance seems to loosen something in him though, and the show of bravado cracks with his voice.

“Yeah?” His broad shoulders slump. “That’s good.” He smiles up at you, eyes bright with the drink, his scar bunching at the corner of his lips. “Knew you’d fix me up.”

You hum as you start to cut away his bloody shirt. “Where the fuck is Shiu, huh? Isn’t your handler supposed to do the handling?”

Toji scoffs. “Don’t need him. He’s not happy with my attempt at an early retirement.”

“Not that early, is it old man?” You tease him mostly to distract him from what you’re doing, half-listening to his words, and thankfully he takes the bait.

“Hmm, you didn’t seem to think I was too old, babydoll. I thought you appreciated my experience.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you gotta tell yourself, pops.” You finish cutting the shirt open and slide it down his arms along with the jacket. “Can you get this off?”

He grunts and slips it off slowly, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. It must hurt like hell, but he doesn’t complain. He sees you watching him and smirks. “Like what ya see?”

“Yeah, Fushiguro. I love a man with a good stab wound.” You won’t give him the satisfaction, but he does look good. His muscles are as defined as you remember them, unexpected hardness on the soft expanse of his body when he moves. He’s tense now, as one is after a near-death experience, and your mouth waters despite yourself at the familiar sight of him. Even injured like this, rain- and liquor-soaked, he’s beautiful.

He’s laughing softly, a pink smudge across his cheeks that isn’t just from drinking. “Did I leave ya speechless?” He relaxes a bit against the back of the couch now that he doesn’t have to move anymore, just the muscles of his forearms standing out as he holds his stomach together.

“Something like that. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?” You take the inch of alcohol left in the bottle and pour it over his wound, biting your lip at his surprised cry.

“What the hell!” He pants, wide-eyed.

“Need to disinfect the wound,” you offer, without apology.

“Know damn well you could’ve been nicer about it,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t have to disappear on me.” The words are out of your mouth before you know it, before you can think of anything else to say, something that doesn’t make you sound like a vindictive, pathetic ex.

He blows out a breath. “Jeez, doll. I guess I deserved that.”

“I did need to disinfect it…”

He holds up one bloody hand to placate you, quickly returning it to his abdomen. “I know. You could have left me outside in the rain. Wouldn’t have been surprised, even.”

“I wouldn’t kill you over it Toji, damn.” You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting the conversation get here. “But why me? Seriously, you’re that mad at Shiu that you couldn’t have him take you to a fuckin’ hospital?”

Toji is quiet for a while before he responds, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “Shiu didn’t know about this job. I’ve been…freelancing. Something like that.”

You frown at him, trying to put the pieces together. “Freelancing how, exactly? You put an ad in the paper? Sexy hitman for hire?”

His mouth twists. “You think I’m sexy, mama?”

Fuck. Did you say that out loud? “Not the point, Fushiguro. What do you mean freelancing?”

He smirks, but lets it go. “I’m tryin’ to get out of the game. Turn over a new leaf. Go straight.”

He’s got to be joking. What he’s saying is unbelievable, but. When you look into his eyes, they’re serious. And you know he wouldn’t give enough of a shit to let himself get hurt this bad on a regular job.

“Why?” You’ve kept working on him as he talks, and finish applying the pressure dressing to his stomach. You wipe a wet cloth over his hands, smearing away the worst of the blood.

He’s quiet again, his pulse ticking in his clenched jaw as he watches you treat him. When you move your hands away from his, his fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back.

“Someone…informed me of the error of my ways.” His sharp canines flash as he smiles at you in the dim light. “Introduced me to an, alternative lifestyle. But I wasn’t too good at following the rules.”

“Toji…”

“Hush, doll. This confession’s been a long time coming. Don’t think I can keep goin’ if ya stop me now.” He looks longingly at the empty liquor bottle. “I understand why you were afraid for me, why my line of work was hurting you. It was selfish of me to want you, selfish to stay, when it was putting you in danger…” his breath hitches and he presses a hand to his stomach again with a pained smile. “Don’t think the blood loss makes this any easier.”

You move closer to him and cup his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over his rough skin. “I’m listening.” Your anger is ebbing away, replaced with something tender and fragile. You’ve never heard Fushiguro be this vulnerable, and you don’t want him to stop.

Toji’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into your touch. “Are ya gonna make me say it, doll?”

“Yeah, I am,” you murmur.

“I know I’m not what you deserve. But I’d give it all up to get just a little bit closer. Be a little bit better for you. I left because…” Toji trails off, and you feel the man tremble under your hand. “You were sleepin’ next to me, all innocent and beautiful, and I couldn’t…” he tries again. “I couldn’t let you tie yourself to a broken down old man like me.”

Toji opens his eyes and looks into yours. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But since then, I’ve done everything I could to be better, be someone worthy of you.” He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But it seems my colleagues don’t take kindly to someone gettin’ out of our line of work.”

Something like pity shows on your face, and Toji talks faster. “I wasn’t planning to come back so soon, I swear. I was gonna take you out someplace nice when I was clean, show you that I could live this life, that I’d changed and that I’d done it for you.”

He reaches up to hold your face, and his calloused palm is softer than you’ve ever felt it. You’re looking at his lips, remembering the heat of them on yours. “Toji, I…”

He pulls his hand away as you lean toward him, the narrowing space between you electrified. The shadows shift across your face as you come closer. Toji suddenly jerks away from you, a look of horror in his eyes as they fix on your cheek.

“Toji? Toji, what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out too high, frantic and defensive. The wine and liquor roil in your gut as nausea climbs up your throat.

He presses himself against the couch, and his voice sounds very far away. “Your face, doll.” He’s shrinking, making himself as small as possible, as if his touch would contaminate you.

You press shaking fingers to your cheek, staring dumbly at the blood that smears them when you pull away. “Toji?” You’ve said nothing but his name for the last minute, each iteration smaller and more confused.

His smile is icy, the soft warmth he had shown you doused completely. “You’ve got my blood on your face. S’like I said. I’ll ruin you.”

You wipe hard at your cheek, leaving it red and stinging. “It’s nothing, Toji. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be! Fuck!” He tries to stand and you cry out, rushing to steady him, but he pushes you away. “This is what I mean!” You can’t tell if the shine in his eyes is from blood loss, liquor, or tears. Toji’s throat burns as he tries to keep you from guessing the latter.

“It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re holding my guts in while I bleed on your carpet. You let me in, hell you carried me in here after I collapsed on your doorstep like a pathetic little stray.”

He’s wobbling on his feet, but manages to keep you at arm’s length. “Someone could’ve followed me here. I could get you killed.” A strained laugh. “I’m a fucking curse, doll. I need to stay the hell away from you.”

A red stain is blossoming on his clean bandages, but he hasn’t noticed yet. “You don’t get to decide for me!” You cry, furious at his arrogance, desperate to keep him here until you know he’ll survive the night.

“What would you decide then, hm?” He points at himself. “This the prize you want? A beat-up old man who kills people for a living? Who comes home with blood on his hands? It’s not always mine, sweetheart.” He’s being mean and you both know it, the venom in his words meant only for himself.

“Maybe it is. So what if it is?” He lets you come closer, leans into your space, drinking in your look of defiance.

“That’s why I get to decide.” He’s pushing past you, heading for the front door, limping with every step. You don’t move to follow him. You press your lips together and curl your hands into fists, fighting to stay still as you watch him stumble, clutching at the wall. He staggers two more steps before he falls hard onto his knees.

You step up beside him, looking down with a sad smile. “I don’t think you’re leaving tonight, Fushiguro.”

He swears at you with his last breath before he loses consciousness.

[liaswritesrobots]

Inspired by @montyuh's asks about terrible soulmates.

"Check his arm." Tarn commanded Vos.

Vos shook his head after examining the mech's arm.

Still no luck. Though he supposed that was a good thing, since he didn't want to be the sparkmate of a dead mech. Still, it's been centuries and he still hasn't found anyone with the name that was written across his arm and he hasn't found anyone with his name on theirs.

He sometimes imagines what kind of bot they are, to have such a strange name for a cybertronian- perhaps they weren't born on Cybertron and instead are a part of a colony off world. He wonders if they're a Decepticon. He hopes they're a Decepticon... or at least a neutral that could be easily swayed into joining the Decepticons. He wonders what colors they've decorated their frame with. And what color their optics are. And if they like music. He hopes they like music. He could sing for them.

He thinks about them far too much some would say. Obsessively checking every bot they off to make sure they aren't the one. Not that he's opposed to murdering his sparkmate if they're an Autobot or defector, but he can't help but feel a tinge of sadness at the thought of the bot made solely for him being his enemy.

He wants to know the euphoria of having his other half by his side. Someone to hold him on those long, lonely nights aboard The Peaceful Tyranny. Someone to protect. To conquer. To playfully tease in the privacy of his habsuit. Someone that loves him.

He sighs, turning to leave the room. Ever since they boarded this Primus awful ship crawling with Autobots he's had this... feeling... that the one he's supposed to meet is here. He wonders if there's a chance they're locked in the holding cells. Some Decepticon prisoner that wandered into these fools' path and found themselves at their mercy.

That wouldn't be so bad. Then he could free them himself. They'd be completely indebted to him then. They'd have no choice but to be by his side and-

He stops in his tracks noticing you standing there with a blaster aimed at him.

Human.

These Autobots and their love for organics... it's disgusting! Letting one of you live amongst them. Disgraceful. What a pathetic little thing, trembling at the sight of him despite your fighting stance. Your little arms can barely hold that blaster up and they're shaking too bad for you to even get a clear sh-

Hold on...

He squints, examining your trembling arms. They're shakey but he swears- he swears he can see the word "Damus" on it. His eyes grow wide and with a swift step he snatches you off the ground causing you to drop your blaster. You scream and struggle and try to hit his hand to make him let go of you but he brings you to his face to examine you.

He raises his other hand and between two digits, violently stretches your arm out causing you to cry out in pain.

Damus

And it looks like the word "Glitch" is faded behind it.

"No." He whispers. "No. No. No! No! NO! NO! NO!" Each no getting louder an more desperate as his grip starts to tighten around you. You manage to yank your arm free from his grip and try to pull yourself up out of his hand.

"Human, what is your name?" His eyes narrow.

"Like I'd tell you!"

Defiance. Even in the face of danger, even within his grasp that could easily end your life you refuse his simple request. He tightens his grip again, causing a sharp pain in you as you gasp and huff for air, "Tell me!" He demands through gritted teeth.

You comply this time and his grip not only loosens, he nearly drops you as he falls to his knees.

This is joke. This has to be. A cruel prank by Primus! There's no way his sparkmate is organic! This is a mistake! You can't be the one that is supposed to love him no matter what. You can't be the one he's wanted to hold and cherish for so long. You can't be the one he's been waiting for all of his life. You can't! You can't!

"Tarn?"

The sound of Tesarus' voice down the hall snaps him back into the moment. He stares down at you trying to pry yourself from his hand so you can escape. He closes his fist around you once more and opens his chest, placing you inside. He uses the wall to help himself back up.

"You ok?" Tess asks, running up beside the mech.

"Yes. I just... I think I need to go outside for a moment. I'll be back soon." Tarn turns away and staggers down the other end of the hall towards an exit

"You want us to put the party on hold for you?"

"No. Kill everyone you find. Do not leave even one spark intact." Tarn reponds.

He just has to clear his head. Some fresh air will do the ventilators good. He'll figure out what to do with you once he can think straight again.

[itzahazbinwriter]

listen i still have writer's block

but the fuck or die IS coming that's what she said

but for now, TWO teases since life is short and so is my attention span. they're divided by a --- line or something.

(i'm lazy)

<33

Being used as collateral in a bet wasn’t your on your afterlife bingo, but here you were. Sitting on the hardwood floor, hands tied in front of you with a gag in your mouth and a glowing collar around your throat. At least they left your vision alone, you thought as you looked around the holding room while whoever bartered for your immortal soul to whoever else. 

As a new sinner, you knew very little about the goings on of Hell and were easy pickings for a demon trying to become an Overlord. Why was your soul important? You couldn’t say, but apparently a few people showed interest and now you were being bartered for. Territory, other souls, you didn’t care what your captor got out of the deal. You just wanted to get off this floor and have something to eat.

It felt like ages before two men - people - demons entered the room. One looked like a shitty mascot for an electronics store and the other looked like he came out of one of your beloved steampunk novels. Blinking up at them, your eyes darted between them as you registered the very obvious tension between the two of them. “Oh, she is pretty cute… I bet Val would love to play with this one. Why don’t you just give up, Alastor? There’s no way you can get her to pick you.” The TV spoke first, fast and modern.

---------------------

Your eyes cracked open as you gasped for breath. It felt like you were on fire; pain licking at every nerve from your head to toe. Your memory failed you as you tried to remember exactly what happened before you fell asleep or passed out or whatever. Taking a shaky breath, you looked around you, hissing at the pain from moving your neck. Good, you were in your room at the hotel. That means Charlie and the others know what’s happening to you… probably. Now, you just had to force your body to sit, you told yourself as you tensed the muscles in your arm to push you into a sitting position.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling.” Alastor’s static-filtered voice startled you, making you jump a little and lose what little progress you’d made in sitting up. Looking over at him, he looked more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen. His eyes darted around the room, not focusing on you for too long and his ears were almost flat against his head, antlers a little larger. “You’ve… ah, how to explain this delicately…” his voice trailed off and even that alerted you something was off. You watched him, focusing on him instead of the pain. “In a very interesting turn of events, you’ve managed to trigger a hotel-wide conundrum. Something you interacted with has set off an unnatural heat and, in turn, you’ve exposed everyone here as well.” 

You didn’t recognize the whining noise that escaped your throat. Alastor’s red eyes snapped to yours and you saw something - conflict, maybe - behind the usual mask he kept up so effortlessly. He opened his mouth to speak again but cut himself off when you adjusted under your comforter and it fell off your bare shoulder; it wasn’t enough to be scandalous but it was enough to reveal that you were wearing little to nothing underneath.