#//i also just collapsed and laughed for a solid

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[dotster001]

When You Escape Him; Savannaclaw

Summary: Yandere Savannaclaw boys x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: yandere, dark content, you don't make it far in two out of three of these, murder (if you think about it for two seconds), no wait there's also actual murder, abuse of power, laugh with me, Ruggie 's cracked, emotional manipulation,

Heartslaybul Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

Every day that took you farther away from the Sunset Savannah was a blessing.  Getting out of the palace had been a miracle. Not alerting a single guard to your exit was a marvel.

Your time in Twisted Wonderland had taught you one thing. You were running out of miracles.

But you only needed one more. Tomorrow, you would leave the hotel with your son before the sun rose. You would slip into the trunk of a car that you'd traded the last of your jewels chains for. The driver would take you over the border, and then you could slip away where the second prince couldn't touch for fear of war.

You were too nervous to sleep. You held your son in your arms, and paced, whispering about the life you could have once you were free from Leona. The child had only been your son for three weeks, but you were going to free you both. Give you both a loving home.

You should sleep. You couldn't guarantee the next time you'd have a bed. And your eyes were so heavy, your mind foggy, but the anxiety pulsing through your veins made you nauseous whenever you tried to lay down.

Your vision was starting to get as foggy as your mind. The walls seemed to be wavering. Perhaps you should sit down.

The first grain of sand that hit you, you snapped completely awake. The walls weren't wavering; they were shimmering and collapsing.

You were lucky you were on the first floor. As fast as you could, you grabbed one of the tshirts you had stolen from Leona, and covered your son's head, pressed him close to your chest, then ran straight into the shimmering sand….

….and straight into a solid mass.

"Gotcha."

You felt a hand grab you by the hair as you heard the now completely sand hotel collapse behind you. You were yanked to the side of the hard mass, as he shouted.

"Tell my brother that I have them. Prepare for cleanup."

"Yes, your highness!" The nervous soldier standing beside Leona stuttered. Now that you weren't pressed straight into Leona, you saw he was surrounded by an entire troupe of soldiers. You watched the one he'd addressed rush off to the crowd on the other side of the pile of sand. You didn't recognize that one. He must have been promoted once the old one was fired.

If Leona didn't kill them, that is.

As you stared at the other crowd of soldiers, you recognized Farena's regal silhouette, feeling nauseous as he nodded at Leona across the way, issuing orders to soldiers who moved to get rid of all evidence of the former hotel.

Leona brought your attention back to him, taking the baby from your arms, and pulling his shirt off the little one's head. He babbled happily, and Leona infinitesimally softened. A face that was usually reserved for you.

"I can't believe you made me do all this work," he muttered, his tone becoming hard again. "You're gonna have to try real hard to make it up to me."

"Why is Farena here?" You whispered. You didn't think poorly of Farena. In fact, a part of you believed that, if you had had the chance, he would have helped you. But here he was, cleaning up Leona's dirty work.

Leona growled, and you snapped your mouth shut.

"The kingdom likes me better when you're with me. Of course he'd make sure I wouldn't lose you."

It was patronizing, like he was explaining something simple to a small child. A child he hated. 

But Leona didn't hate you. Maybe it would be better if he did.

He snatched your wrist, and began walking the three of you towards a car you hadn't noticed before. He opened the car door, and shoved you inside, getting in behind you. Then he handed you your son.

You hesitated to take him, and he grinned.

"I'd hold him now. It's going to be an awfully long time before you can even look at him again."

You knew Ruggie couldn't afford to come find you. Especially when you were hiding in the Queendom of Roses.

So you'd quietly raised your son there. You'd reunited with Ace, and rekindled the friendship you'd lost when Ruggie started to hoard you. You'd fallen in love. Gotten married. He'd adopted your son as his own.

You came home from work one day, and found him lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs.

"Ace!" You screamed, rolling him over and feeling for a pulse. Nothing. You looked for any marks, any sign of an intruder, but nothing. 

Your son. Where was he? He should be at home, he had a project that was due tomorrow. Where was he? 

You stood up and began to run up the stairs, but your body froze, before slowly turning around. And there he was.

"Leona already took our son home, shi hi hi."

Leona. You were so stupid. Of course he'd go to Leona. If anything, the fact it took so long to find you was a shock.

He shoved Ace's body with his foot, your foot moving in time to his, still being trapped in his spell. You used all your muscles to stay upright, nearly falling down the stairs with your lack of balance.

"I always hated him. Loud. Stupid. Couldn't mind his own business," he hummed, looking back up at you. "Did you leave me for him, or did he come later? Doesn't matter. Either way, you've really hurt my feelings."

He paused, his brow furrowing, actually looking angry for the first time. "We're going home, Y/N."

He turned and walked out the door, you following him, until he reached a black car. He turned, placed cuffs on you, then released you from the spell, pulling you into the car.

"I know you missed me, babe," he hummed, moving so he was sitting right next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. "And I would have come sooner, but Leona's an ass. Made me promise to calm down first so that I didn't accidentally hurt you or the boy."

He groaned. "He was probably right. I never thought I'd find a lover, or be a dad, and then both things were gone in a day. He didn't have to wait so long though. I calmed down in the first year."

You thought back to Ace's body at the bottom of the stairs. If that was calm….

"Where's my son?"

He laughed.

"He doesn't get to be your son. Not until you can be my partner again."

"That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair, baby! My entire life has been an unfair shit show. So now it's time to do something for me! It's my turn to get something I want."

His smile came back to his face, and he giggled. The years must not have been kind to his mind.

"Now, if you can prove that you can be a good little spouse, then I'll let you prove you can be a good parent. You also owe Leona. It's thanks to him I could come get you. How are you at secretary work?"

He continued to chat about all the things you had to do to make it up to him and Leona. You don't know when, but at some point silent tears started rolling down your face. 

And Ruggie laughed.

It wasn't until the day he'd brought home your son that you'd even realized what kind of a life you lived now. He never hurt you, physically. But the terror of the outside world he'd instilled in you…

And his family hadn't helped. They'd gifted jack the second floor of their home so that you could start your family, but still remain close to “the pack”. 

His parents stayed with you everyday, while he went out to work with his brothers and sisters. They'd tell you all the stories of how happy they were, how wolf beast men mated for life, how you would also be so so so happy. 

You would always just smile and nod. Even if you thought you were happy, you couldn't hold back the uneasy feeling every time they spoke of "forever".

And as you held your son, and realized you hadn't left the house in three years, you had lost all your connections, and you had a crippling fear fill your stomach whenever Jack wasn't home. And with that realization, came the secondary realization that you'd only begun to live this way, when you moved in with Jack after graduation.

It was the one day you knew everyone, including his parents, would be gone.

So why was it that you were now hiding in an alley, praying that your son wouldn't wake up, and alert a pack of hunting wolves to your presence? You were grateful they weren't real wolves, or they would have smelled you by now. As it was, Jack always mentioned you had such a unique scent that he could find you anywhere. You hoped that was just something he liked to say.

You hadn't seen any of them pass your alley in a while, so you took a shuddering breath, and peaked out into the street. 

It was quiet. But they were nearby. You weighed your options. If you ran, you might get to a safe house, or find a cab, before they could catch you. But they'd definitely hear your steps, and Jack was an incredible runner.

Or you could walk quietly, and hide in alleys here and there. But that would take time. Time where they could find you. Time where a friend of the family could spot you, and call someone.

If you could get somewhere with a pay phone, you could call Vil and explain the situation. You were told he grew up in the area. But if he sided with Jack, he'd lead you on the wrong path, or worse, set his fans to detain you while you waited for Jack to get there.

If you knew Ace's phone number, you knew he'd get you out of there. Yes, you'd get an I told you so speech, but he wouldn't think twice about saving you.

Too bad Jack took your phone and contact book for “your health”.

You heard a soft sigh from the boy in your arms, and looked down in momentary fear. Just sighing. Not awake. Good.

You looked back up, mentally trying to figure out where a phone was, and were met with a pair of glowing gold eyes, staring from across the street.

You ran.

You never really stood a chance, even if you could anywhere compare to Jack's unparalleled abilities, holding a child in your arms made it impossible to win.

You felt his arms wrap around your body and hold you tight.

“It's okay, I've got you. You're safe now.”

You must have really scared him. He didn't usually say so many words at a time.

You let out a sob, and he gently rocked you side to side for a moment, whispering how it was okay, you were safe, he's sorry he wasn't there to protect you.

At some point, he must have gotten his dad's attention, because Mr. Howl was gently prying your son from your arms, so that Jack could scoop you up and carry you home.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny thinks he's done a wonderful job all things considered. His city is safe, no one has died yet, no major injuries, Vlad had screwed off after Danny beat him within an inch of his afterlife (Danny learned that Vlad was a revenant abusing dirty ectoplasm for powers-not a halfa), ect.

Most of his rogues gallery also stopped bothering him once it became clear he was having trouble keeping his increased power in check and was trying hard not to hurt them. Unfortunately there was one who refused to leave him alone. A warrior princess was demanding his hand in marriage as she needed to be married by the summer solstice of next year or the throne would be passed down to her younger sister, who was already married.

It didn't matter how many times he said no, she kept coming back and challenging him for his hand. Each time she came back stronger and with new tactics and weapons to try. He was starting to fear she might actually win one day. That day might be sooner rather than later as her latest scheme was cutting it close.

Deciding that 1. Amity didn't need him anymore if he closed the portals 2. He was probably going to have to leave anyway if he loses and 3. He didn't have a future in this world as Fenton anymore he leads her on a wild goose chase back into the GZ and causes the portals to collapse in on themselves. The princess laughs, thinking he had given up. But no.

Danny put a curse on himself to turn him into a bat for the next year or so, a full month longer than the princess had left to find a spouse. She screams. Appearently she had a phobia of bats, who knew? Anyway he was left alone to fly through the Infinite Realms and find a new home.

He found a new world easily thanks to the natural portals of the IR and crossed though. Immediately being pelted on all sides by freezing cold rain was not what he expected but its what he got as he flew over a sign that proclaimed the city beneath him was called Gotham. The little glowing white bat flew through the night for hours before seeing a fruit bowl laying innocently on a kitchen counter through a window. Whats more it was in some giant manor so the occupants probably wouldn't mind if he ate an orange or two.

Right?

Needless to say a kid around the age of 11 or twelve walked in on him clutching an apple like his life depended on it while furiously munching. The kid looked...excited? He started going on about names and what he would need to care for him. Danny wasn't really listening, he didn't realize how hungry he had been until he started eating. He waited until the kid had looked away to turn himself and his apple invisible. This bothered the kid who looked suspicious but went to look for "the bat" anyway.

Later, while Danny was taking a shower in the kitchen sink to wash off the remains of his meal (I headcanon that Danny is a bit of a neat-freak) some other guy walked in holding an empty coffee mug and wearing eyebags that would put a raccoon to shame. They just stared at eachother for a solid few seconds before Danny started squeeking in rage and covering himself with the washcloth he was using to scrub himself clean. It looked like something out of a cartoon. Tim thought he was hallucinating but why would he hallucinate a glowing white bat with hearts all around it (that part isn't real) taking a shower in the kitchen sink. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something??

The next victim person to spot him was Duke who just stood in his doorway as this glowing white bat rolled an orange down the hallway. He decided this was a problem for the night crew and went to tell them.

Alfred saw a small shock of white fur and heard squeeking. His first thought was 'rat' and he didn't even hesitate. Danny dodged 3 bullets and got the hell out of the kitchen.

The batfam are debating on whether this was a shifter or an meta animal that was experimented on.

[onyourowndaisymae]

when mammon falls in love

content + warnings: mammon x gn!reader, fluffy, just mammon getting rescued from hanging in the stairwell and realizing he's smitten // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.5k

mammon really fucked up this time. most times, he fucks up pretty bad. his greedy fingers snatch and take without discretion and his brain allows it, entranced by the allure of his favorite reward: grimm. he should know better by now than to let his greed get the best of him within the demon lord's castle, but it's just so tempting--

he tried to wander off with priceless treasure. barbatos caught him. lucifer was punishing him. tale as old as time.

hours had passed. his body hung from the ceiling of the stairwell, each miniscule movement making him sway slightly in the air. all the blood had long since gathered in his head, making his brain soggy and useless. his thoughts blurred together into a pile of mush. he wasn't having fun. his head hurt. his arms were tired. lucifer is a bastard. he misses you. if he could muster up the brainpower to count, he'd start counting the stairs on each flight to cure the boredom that came with hours of hanging still. he'd given up on calling for help long ago-- that only seemed to piss lucifer off more, and sometimes encouraged a brother or two that was really fed up with his antics to come spin him and laugh.

the house of lamentation grew bitingly cold at night. his jacket kept him warm enough, but the way his shirt rode up left him shivering in the overwhelming darkness. he could hear the drip of the kitchen's leaky faucet, and... what was that?

shuffling. slow and quiet, like someone who didn't want to be seen. the faintest of lights reached his eyes, like something was around the corner.

"mammon?"

his world is engulfed in a bright light, and mammon flinches away from it. you curse, and that's when he realizes you just shined a flashlight through the darkness and accidentally blinded him. he hears hissed apologies and shuffling as he blinks rapidly, trying to regain his bearings.

"what are ya doin' here?"

"i couldn't sleep thinking about you hanging out here all night," you explain, carefully leaning over the railing to reach for him. he gladly takes your hand and lets you lead his to a solid edge. he grasps at it tightly and tries to restart his body after hours of swinging dormant and bloodless. "so i came to get you. you can sleep in my room for the night."

once he's got a secure hold on the ledge, you begin to tug and pull at the ropes binding him. they're tight, but you persist. when he's finally free enough to save himself, he hears your footsteps scurry up to the next flight and mess with the rope up there.

riiiip!

the rope collapses with a loud groan, and suddenly the pressure on mammon's body loosens. he yanks his body towards the ledge, quickly, before gravity makes him splatter at the bottom of the stairwell. his body flings limply over the railing and he collapses on the smooth floor in a heap. your footsteps, muffled by your socks yet still urgent-- not that mammon would ever admit to memorizing the sound of your footsteps-- get closer and closer until you're by his side. your voice is a gentle coo as you help untangle him from the slack ropes clinging to his torso.

"lucifer told me not to come get you but... you always look so miserable up there."

he slurrs out something akin to a thank you, but you don't let him speak much. his chest is warm as he fumbles to stand. you're an angel. his beautiful, loving savior. his heart thumps in his chest, in part to get his blood flowing again but definitely also because your arms are now wrapped around him, gentle and steady as you help him to his feet.

"shhh, it's okay. c'mon, don't push yourself too hard. you look like shit."

you assist him to your room. he feels like an idiot stumbling down the steps and across the house, but with you he doesn't mind as much. his brain slowly returns to him as his body gets moving. you're in a big sweatshirt and comfy sleep shorts-- fuck, you look pretty cute like that. he can't seem to keep his eyes to himself as you walk him across the house, but you're too concerned with making sure you both get to your room unnoticed to care.

you nudge the door closed with your heel and coax him up onto your bed. even though he can stand just fine now, you don't seem to trust him to remain upright all by himself. when he spreads out on the bed, you begin lecturing him-- firmly, so he knows you're disappointed, but your heart's not behind it. your eyes are soft and forgiving as you look at him.

"-- just," his thoughts finally clear, and he tunes back in to the lecture, "stop... doing stupid shit, okay? i hate seeing you get in trouble like that."

he nods dumbly, but you don't seem convinced.

"i mean it. watching you hang there makes me anxious-- i know you're not gonna fall or anything but i still can't help but worry about you. it makes me sick, mammon. just... come to me before doing something stupid, okay? and i'll talk you out of it."

"okay." his mouth feels like cotton as it forms around the word. he'd agree to whatever you said as long as you keep looking at him like that. this kindness is not out of character for you, but it makes him hot and bothered under the collar.

how long have these feelings been festering inside of him?

before he can even process what you're doing, you pull him into a tight hug. your body is warm against his, situated nicely between his legs as he sits on the edge of your bed. he wraps his arms around you on instinct. he nuzzles his neck into your shoulder and breathes your scent in. you're so you. so unapologetically human, so flawed, yet so wonderful all the same. his arms tighten around you.

he's never had as much fun as he's had when you're in the devildom. whether it be at home in his room or lost in the lights of poker tables and slot machines, as long as you're there, he's feeling unstoppable. he likes passing you notes at RAD and watching your lips curl into that sneaky smile. he hates sharing you with his brothers-- they don't understand you like he does. you have an unshakeable bond, formed by that first pact inked in your skin. you're his human, his best friend, his-

that's the moment that it hits him.

mammon is completely, utterly in love with you.

his face burns at the realization, and he nearly pushes you away when he straightens up suddenly. you blink up at his hurried movement, startled, and ask him what's wrong.

what's wrong? what's wrong? dammit, he's in love with you! his hands tremble as he nervously pulls at his jacket. he hears himself mutter some lame excuse about being tired and shaky after a long night of hanging upside down.

you climb onto your bed and coax him to lay next to you with a soft smile. his limbs feel heavy but his head is swimming through cotton. love. love. he loves you. he loves you when you curl up under the covers and when you lift them up to invite him to join. he loves you when you nuzzle into the sheets and when you lay your head down and when you scooch a little closer so he can feel your heat and--

relax. breathe. mammon's thoughts are racing as fast as his heart and he needs to take a moment before his head explodes all over your bed.

you cuddle closer and he takes a moment to wrap his arms around you. there's a content sigh that leaves your lips. he's smitten.

you, who he babysat in your early days at RAD. you, who tricked him into a pact. you, who defends him from his brothers even when he's wrong, clearly wrong. you, who came to rescue him even though you know it'll probably put you on the receiving end of a lecture.

your breathing steadies out and he can tell you're on your way to sleep. just like that, huh? mammon is having one of the biggest realizations of his life, and there you are, falling asleep. you must feel really safe in his arms to do something like that. his lips find the top of your head and he presses a soft kiss against your hair.

morning will come in a few hours. soon lucifer will notice that mammon's spot is empty, and he'll come searching for him to instill a new punishment. soon the day will begin again and he'll have to give you up, let you out of his arms where the devildom is harsh and unforgiving.

but tonight, you're both here. still, quiet, drifting into unconsciousness while intertwined. tonight, mammon is all alone with the human he's fallen completely, desperately, unequivocally in love with.

taglist for this series: empty

[eirianerisdar]

Top 20 Charlos Moments

Was talking to my twin @wafflesrisa about Charlos during Imola FP1 earlier and I decided to rank the most insane Charlos moments in order - ranked purely on moments that show just how much they're friends, not just teammates

This is just my own preference and it'll be different for everyone, but here a (non-exhaustive) list:

1. Bahrain 2024 crochet chili

"I want to gift this to you. From my fan to me, to you. So you will remember me for the rest of your life." "A chili!!" "For our post Teammate Era." "Ay we are only starting the season!" Carlos: "You will forget [the chili] there." Charles, softly: "No I won't." Also feat. nearly crying in the car afterwards

2. Miami 2024 Water flick

Carlos doesn't even look at the glass in the couple seconds before he flicks the water at Charles. He's looking at Charles and smiling. Charles gets a little overwhelmed with the affection and gets shy (bonus Ferrari team member being us looking at them)

3. Canada cotton ball lean

The cutest moment in this isn't Carlos telling Charles to admit that Carlos won. It's them both Zendaya laughing at each other when Charles gets caught cheating and Charles having this moment looking at the back of Carlos' head where he gets so overwhelmed with affection he collapses his whole weight into Carlos' side. Their caps bonk. It is cute.

4. Zandvoort 2022 headphone exchange -

Carlos, fixing Charles' headphones: "Put them properly eh? I know you very well." Lissie: "NO, YOU GUYS ARE VIBING TO DIFFERENT SONGS." Charles: "WE FOUND LOVE IN THE HOTTEST PLACE -" *C2 wheeze-laugh at each other and exchange headphones by placing them on each other's faces* Lissie: ...

5. Miami 2024 "I know you too well now"

Charles knowing he knew Carlos well enough to speak for him, and Carlos nodding silently in agreement. Then vice versa, Charles then having unshakable faith in Carlos' understanding of himself. Fist bumps. Fondness.

6. The kiss kiss saga: Charles' rayban kiss. 2023 Bracelet kiss kiss. 2023 music challenge kiss.

The first one especially gets me because it's a solid 5 seconds of Charles looking at Carlos, going FRIEND! MY FRIEND! and going *air kiss*

7. 2023 Abu Dhabi waist pinch and DTS Bahrain waist pinch

Waist pinches run in the Sainz family. Charles knows it's Carlos without needing to look by the time Abu Dhabi rolls around

8. 🎵Just the two of us🎵

Do I even need to say anything

9. Bahrain 2022 1-2 podium hug and butt pat

I can't find the video but Charles stepped up to the top step and instantly was like I HAVE TO HUG MY TEAMMATE I AM TOO HAPPY NOT TO HUG MY TEAMMATE AND SHARE THIS WITH HIM

10. Cookie decorating

So much happens in this video. The complete lack of personal space. The comfy sofa. The vocal stims. Twinning. Carlos sings "Dancing in the Moonlight," and Charles whistles it a bit later. Icing to the cheek. Teasing.

11. Zandvoort 2023 catch up

Charles forgetting they did spend the last bit of summer break further away from each other because they spent so much of the first part of summer break not far from each other. Also again. Carlos loves his personal space, Charles also loves Carlos' personal space

12. Carlos: "I'm not going to be here." Charles: *flinches*

13. TELL CHARLES TO COME CLOSE TO ME AND WE CELEBRATE THIS ONE TOGETHER/helmet pats/gentlest hug in parc ferme /podium champagne

I can't find the video of the hug but it's so gentle and Carlos leans his cheek into Charles' and I die

14. Love Honey Sweetie Baby Darling

They just pick up pet names and exchange them like lego

15. OG music challenge squishes/holding hands in OG quiz with wrenches

16. Abu Dhabi 2022 end of season message

Charles was plainly trying to smile for the camera but rightly upset with not having the championship year he wanted, but his smile turned genuine when Carlos hugged him and said Charles at least deserved P2 in Abu Dhabi for the great year he had driving incredibly well

17. Mexico separation anxiety Charles (Edit: posted initially with wrong link, updated now)

18. Zandvoort 2023 fond eye rolls

19. Carlos' 2022 birthday

They're insufferable. Charles' whinging is cute too

20. Carlos looking somft when imagining racing Le Mans with Charles

"With Charles," he says, while his press officer smirks

Feel free to add to this I just went down a wormhole of Charlos feels

[imfinereallyy]

Shared Kisses

for @steddie-week I’m behind on it but I couldn’t resist day 3, and it’s a little late because I fell asleep while writing it, that's how sleep deprived I am haha. prompt: first kiss

“Okay, okay! It's my turn now. Sir Steven, Lady Birdie, tell me, who was your first kiss?” Eddie giggles from his spot on the carpet. He smells like stale menthols and pine; Steve can’t get enough of it. He has to resist from leaning his head into Eddie and taking a breath of him.

Steve is starting to believe he needs his head checked. Again. Wanting to smell one of his friend's necks isn't normal.

Steve is also starting to realize that maybe that is because he wants to be more than friends. God, he is such a loser sometimes.

“Oh, this is unfair! You know the rules state that we can’t ask it back now. Boooo.” Robin chants from her place on the couch, where she hangs upside down. Steve is for once glad they aren’t playing a drinking game; he is sure Robin would have vomited by now otherwise.

“I still think this a weird game to be playing.” Steve dodges the question and nudges Eddie with his knee.

“C’mon Harrington, questions is an absolute solid getting-to-know-you game.” Eddie nudged his knee back.

“Dude we’ve been friends for six months.”

“Yes but there are so many layers I have yet to peel.”

Robin grunts from her upside-down position, Steve can tell all the blood has finally rushed to her head, and she tumbles onto the ground next to them. “Gotta agree with Metal Man here, Steve-o. I’ve known you even longer, and I still don’t know everything. And we are practically connected.

Steve blows air from his lips, “So this is just a ploy to expose all my secrets.”

Steve can tell that Robin, who might as well share a soul with him at this point, can sense how uncomfortable he is beginning to feel. Her teasing softens for a moment. “What if I went first, yeah?”

Steve pauses, “Yeah okay.”

“You got to promise not to make fun of me.”

“Of course, Robs.”

“I make no such promises.” Eddie interrupts but ultimately cuts the tension in the room. Steve kind of feels like it is on purpose, by the way his eyes skim Steve carefully, and the way Robin lets out a loud snort.

“Wasn’t talking to you doofus. I don’t actually respect your opinion of me.”

“Hey!” Eddie protests, but they all know he isn’t really offended.

Robin chuckles lightly, but continues. “It was in middle school, at one of my first girl-boy parties; gross, right? I hate that we called it those. Anyway. They decide to play spin the bottle, and I feel pressure because my only friend at the time is Barb, and she didn’t come and Colleen Walsh is doing it, and she—well, she’s the prettiest, most popular girl in school at the time and I’d be an idiot not to follow along. So we’re playing Spin the Bottle, right? And rounds go by, and it doesn’t land on me, and I’m grateful but Colleen notices. She goads me on to do it, take a spin since it isn’t fair I haven’t kissed anyone. So, wanting to get over being the center of attention, I reach over and spin it, and it lands on—“

“Wait.” Steve stops Robin, realizing she is about to out herself to Eddie on Steve’s behalf. He doesn’t want her to do that but on anything but her own terms. “Are you sure about this, Robs?”

Robin throws her head back and laughs, “Yea, I’m sure dingus. No need to worry. Anyway, you’ll never believe who it lands on.”

Eddie wiggles his eyebrows, “C’mon buck don’t leave us hanging.”

“Tommy Hagan.”

Eddie and Steve both start choking on air while Steve screams, “What!?!”

Eddie collapses on the ground with a dramatic groan, covering his face with his hands and mumbling, “why cruel world?” Robin giggles at his antics.

“You’re telling me it wasn’t….?” Steve trails off, hoping Robin gets the hint.

“That it wasn’t a girl? No dingus, just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean all my experiences are with women. Besides, I was 12; I didn’t realize staring at Colleen’s boobs wasn’t jealousy.”

“Oh, thank god, you know; I thought I was going to have to break the news to you that your gayer than the men’s locker room after a winning game,” Eddie mumbles behind his hands still on the ground.

“Only you would make a sports reference in relation to gayness, Eds. Also, wait, you knew she was lesbian? How did you know? Why are you freaking out then?” Steve rapid fires questions.

Still covered with his hands, “Like seeks like, Harrington. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry, “You’re gay?” He says hopefully.

Eddie finally removes his hands from his face but doesn’t sit up. “Yea, Stevie, thought you knew, honestly. Not like it’s a secret, all of Hawkins talks about it.”

“I try not to listen to the rumor mill.”

A soft smile graces Eddie’s face, “One of the many things I love about you sweetheart.”

Steve tries not to blush, but ultimately fails. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re freaking out about Tommy. Sure, he sucks, but like I reacted that way cause I was friends with him at some point. What’s you’re excuse?”

Finally Eddie sits up with a groan. “Okay, promise not to laugh or freak out?”

Robin and Steve both nod and mumble a little “yea of course”.

Eddie rubs a hand down his face, “Okay, I freaked out because even though it’s not my turn to answer and I don’t have to, well—it’s because. Okay, I’m stalling; it’s because Tommy Hagan was also my first kiss. When I was 15, under the bleachers.”

Robin and Steve are both silent, Eddie looks at them expectantly. “Are you guys going to say anything?”

Robin speaks up first, “I think this is the closest we can get to not freaking out.”

“I think I would prefer that over the freaky twin silence.”

Steve still stays quiet while Robin proceeds to react, “Oh my god Munson! This is the funniest and freakiest thing ever. And not in a freak way you like! This is magnificent, oh my god….” Robin continues to cackle and make fun of Eddie, but Steve tunes it out. He can feel all the blood rush to his ears, blocking out all the sound from the room. Tommy. Tommy. He has kissed both of his best friends, one of which he wants to kiss himself. That just seems unfair to Steve. It hurts Steve, and he doesn’t know why. Actually, he knows precisely why.

“My first kiss was when I was 13,” Steve says abruptly, not making eye contact. The both of them stop their bickering and turn to Steve. They stay silent, as if they know Steve needs it to get through it. He is thankful for them both.

“I was 13, and my parents weren’t home. It had become the usual at this point, but I was sad because it was my birthday, and this was the first birthday they didn’t even send a card. And Tommy decided to come over to cheer me up; this was back, I guess, when he still cared too. And we didn’t do much; I didn’t like to make a big fuss about my birthday even then, but it was a nice night out just before the break of summer. So we decided to stargaze on the roof. And I don’t know how it happened, but one second we’re trying to find the Little Dipper, and the next, Tommy is kissing me. It was nice, honestly. To have someone you care about show you affection. And when he pulled away, I smiled at him, but he just stared. And then—“ Steve swallows thickly before looking up at Eddie and Robin, who both look at him with rapt attention.

“Then his face turns angry, and he punches me. He punches me so hard that I almost fall off the roof. He tells me not to be a queer, and if I told anyone, who would tell everyone what I was. And it seemed unfair, right? Because he kissed me, I only smiled. I haven’t kissed a boy since.”

Suddenly there is an arm around his shoulder, “Stevie….” Eddie tucks Steve’s head into the crook of his neck, and Steve begins to sob.

Robin quietly gets up, “I’m going to make us some tea.” Steve knows she can sense that he needs a moment with Eddie. Steve loves her more than life.

“I’m sorry this is stupid. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Eddie rubs soft circles on his back, “It’s not stupid, honey. He hurt you in more ways than one, and traumatized you from exploring yourself. You have every right to be upset. Thank you for telling us. You didn’t—you didn’t have to. You could have lied, or told us your first kiss with a girl.—“

“Colleen Walsh.” Steve interrupts into Eddie’s neck.

Eddie barks out a laugh, “Of course it was. Anyway, Steve, thank you for sharing. I’m glad you feel safe with us.”

Steve’s tears are no longer. “I always feel safe with you, Eds.” And the Steve finally does the thing he’s been wanting to do all night. He takes a big sniff of Eddie. Steve doesn’t care if it’s weird because he settles a sort of calm in him.

Eddie grips his waist tight, and puts a finger under Steve’s chin, pulling his face close to his own. “Yea, I do? Does that mean you also trust me?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s breath on his lips. He knows it’s probably not good how quickly his mood has changed, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The air between them is electric, and intense. Steve can feel it make his whole body come alive. “Of course I do.”

Eddie leans even closer, “Good. Because I think it’s a damn shame a pretty boy like you hasn’t kissed another boy since.” Then Eddie presses their lips together.

Steve isn’t sure if someone were to ask what his first kiss with Eddie was like if he would be able to answer. It’s indescribable; it’s perfect. But if he is to try, it would be this, soft, slow, deep, and oh so very good. Steve can feel the heat from Eddie’s lips pulsing into his own. Eddie’s hands' grip Steve’s face, angling him deeper as he slides his tongue into his mouth. Steve pulls him closer by his t-shirt. Going crazy off the taste of salt and chocolate that now swipes his tongue.

They both pull back a little breathlessly, hands still gripping each other. They lean their foreheads together, and Steve smiles. He smiles so big his face hurts. And Eddie does the most thing in return,

He smiles back.

The moment is broken, though, when Robin enters the room again with a bowl of popcorn and a loud “Oh thank god, I was sick of the pining. From both of you.”

Eddie sputters while Steve just laughs at her. “I thought you were making tea Birdie?”

Robin sits down next to them again, “Too much work and I was snacky.”

Steve throws popcorn at her head but isn’t upset at all. He leans his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie kisses the top of Steve’s head.

Robin smiles fondly at them. Then her face scrunches up in pain, “Wait, all of our first kisses was Tommy Hagan?”

“Yep.”

“Unfortunately so.”

“God I do not want to give that twerp any more credit in life than I have to. Why are we all like this?”

Steve giggles while Eddie shrugs.

Robin can’t keep a straight face anymore and falls into laughter. “Wait, does this mean we are all bounded by this? I completely unrelated, non-upside down experience?”

Eddie speaks up before Steve, “I believe so, Lady Buckley. A trauma outside of other worlds binds us. We have been bound since before the slain of Vecna.”

Robin shrieks, “Awee, guys! We were always meant to meet then.”

Then Robin tackles the both of them to the ground in a bear hug. Steve’s not even mad that she’s in the middle of Eddie and him.

Because this, right here, is all the love he’ll ever need.

***

I'm behind on steddie week, but I want to throw my hat in the ring. Have a written a first kiss thing before? Yes I have. But I can’t resist. Thank for the read, love this community so much.

[webslingingslasher]

i woke up mad at peter today <3 he's getting the cold shoulder but trouble and ethan are getting showered in love💋 mwah my babies

you didn’t respond to peter’s good morning text. you usually do, but he assumes you over slept or had a busy morning and there’s nothing in his head to suggest otherwise. that was until he tried to greet you with a kiss and you pushed his face away with the glare of a thousand suns.

‘good morning, trouble.’ when he leaned in, your fingers made contact on his chin, forcing him away from you. peter wants to bang his head into a wall, it’s never easy.

peter looked up to the sky and spoke exuberantly, ‘why? why are you mad at me?’ you think you have a good reason. ‘i woke up mad at you today.’

‘oh, fuck this.’ peter walks away, slowly, just enough to make a few steps before he knew you’d be calling out. except you don’t, you really are mad. peter stomps back up to your side.

‘you really are mad at me.’

you sneer down at him, he’s never seen you so dismissive towards him. ‘you cheated on me. i hate you.’

peter raises his hands calmly, he’s trying not to poke the bear. he’s instantly sweaty, he’s looking at you like he’s about to diffuse a bomb.

‘woah. that’s a fair claim and we should definitely expand on it, but before we do, i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

it doesn’t work, you look even more pissed. ‘you did. you fucking cheater. i saw it with my own eyes. i hate you.’

peter swears his heart just shattered.

‘hey, trouble. i’m sorry, i’m really sorry i did something to hurt you like that, but i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

‘i saw it! you were all over her! and you kept making her fucking laugh and it’s all i can hear in my head!’ peter feels like he’s going insane, he can’t remember where he would’ve had not only the gall to cheat, but to do it with you in the same area.

‘who? when?’

you stare at him like he’s stupid, for a second he’s questioning if he really did cheat. ‘last night, peter.’ he has a solid alibi. he wasn’t with you.

‘i cheated on you last night?’

your arms cross over your chest, you snap at him. ‘yes.’

peter’s just trying to get the facts straight. ‘and you caught me with her?’ you try and speed him up, ‘yes, peter.’

one more time, ‘you swear this was last night?’ you roll your eyes, ‘oh my god, yes!’

‘right, right. solid argument, trouble, but, uh… i wasn’t with you last night.’

you’re just as defiant, peter’s excuse meant nothing. ‘no, you were.’

peter furrows his eyebrows, ‘no, i wasn’t.’ maybe you had gone crazy, he wonders if there was a gas leak in your dorm overnight.

‘alright then, where? where did i cheat on you?’

you look away from him, the idea makes you want to hurl. ‘in my dream. it was fucking disgusting and i hate you for it.’

peter feels like he could collapse, you held him on the edge of his seat, punishing him for something he didn’t do just to tell him it was all make believe. he wanted to pinch you and kiss you at the same time.

a smile spreads across his face, ‘oh, thank god. you really had me stressing there for a second.’ for the second time, you dodge his kiss.

‘i told you, i’m mad at you.’

‘but i didn’t cheat.’

you laugh like he thinks he got away with something, ‘sure as shit looked like you, sounded like you, felt like you.’

peter nods, ‘oh, i’m sure it did. but it wasn’t me, me. you know me, you know i wouldn’t do that.’ you sigh, ‘yeah, well, i also thought dream peter wouldn’t do that to me either.’

‘i’m sorry dream peter cheated, i can beat him up if you want.’

you smile wide, there’s no reason for such violence. you pat his arm and push up to kiss his cheek. ‘aw, thanks, petey. but, there’s no need. i already killed him.’

peter gives a faulty smile, he believes you a thousand percent and the look on your face tells him it was bloody. ‘that’s… great. so happy for you.’

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

om gosh just- alister getting into some trouble with some mean people but then, out of no where- a odd looking & powerful Zoroark (Hisuian) comes out to protect them! and they're badass! they got one eye damaged, their body is littered in scars and maybe a arm is missing? they been through some tough stuff but they see Allister as one of their children. and surely, allister has them on their team now? also, what would the other gym leaders think of his new pal?

"How does a kid like him get a gym leader position?"

"It should've been me, I have way better ghost types!"

"And he's always wearing that creepy mask. What's he hiding from us?"

Allister could feel his heart hammering in his chest every minute he was out in public. All he wanted to do was take a quiet walk through the Slumbering Weald and not draw too much attention to himself.

He really didn't want to be seen by anyone right now.

It's already been a bad enough day for him; the last thing he needed were cameras and phones being shoved into his face--he's gotten enough of that during today's interview.

He was asked how he felt about Victor/Gloria defeating him in the championship tournament, and he didn't have a solid answer. He only found himself getting upset over the whole thing again.

Even though Leon always told him to take his defeats in stride..it was still hard.

So he cut the interview short and ran away, making it clear he wanted to be alone without the company of bodyguards.

Why would he need them when he had Pokémon like Gengar? They're the only ones who really understood him. They never gave him weird looks for talking to the dead.

Yet he suddenly began to second-guess his decision, considering he now had no shelter from the comments of passerbys.

They doubted him all because he was the youngest of the gym leaders and wasn't as confident as the rest of them..and it wasn't right. They didn't know him like the others did.

He worked so hard to get to where he is now....not to be heckled and ridiculed for just being a kid.

Luckily, the Slumbering Weald was rather quiet at this hour-

"Use Thief!"

A flash of black and orange suddenly dashed in front of Allister, causing him to help as he stumbled forwards and collapsed to his knees, scraping them hard into the stone. The shock of the surprise attack led to his mask falling off and clattering to the ground.

Before he could reach for it, a Thievul snatched it up in its jaws, darting back to someone who was whistling for it.

He looked up, a hand over his face as he stared at the duo who attacked him: a teenaged trainer boring a smug grin, and their dark type by their side, holding his mask hostage.

And they weren't alone, as another trainer showed up with their Obstagoon, who took the mask from Thievul and wore it on its own face as mockery, laughing.

"You better give that back!" He cried out, horrified and angry. "Y-You two don't know..who you're messing with.."

"I think we already know." The Thievul's trainer sneered cruelly. "You're just a weak little kid. Did you know that you're the most unpopular gym leader in this week's poll?" They waved around their rotomphone

"..I-I don't care about popularity.."

"Pssh. That's a bloody lie if I've ever heard one." Obstagoon's trainer huffed. "Ya really showed your fans how selfish you actually are. Ya wouldn't stick around for autographs and just ran off...how do ya think Leon and the rest of 'em will feel when they hear about that?"

"Stop it..please." Allister begged, his hand grasping Gengar's dusk ball in preparation.

"I doubt they'd want someone like you representin' the-"

"VUL!!"

Out of nowhere, a blast of dark purplish energy careened into Theivul, causing it to slam into the nearest tree and flop to the ground like a ragdoll. Its trainer looked bewildered, confused as to where that shot came from.

Then a blur of white appeared and snatched the mask straight out of Obstagoon's hands, much to its shock as it looked all around...unable to see who it was.

But soon they all heard a spine-chilling howl, spinning their heads to find out that the source was you.

A white Zoroark standing in the fog.

Yet while you certainly looked like one, your hair was drastically different compared to the usual tied-back look of normal Zoroarks. Instead, it appeared as long shaggy wisps with red streaks waving all over the place and covering one of your eyes.

Not only that, but your whole body looked as though it's been through the toughest of battles: scars littered your torso, some patches of fur were entirely missing, and--to Allister's shock and sadness--you only had one arm. The other was nothing more than a stump.

Even so, you weren't backing down as you stalked towards him, the bullies, and their Pokémon, teeth gnashed in anticipation.

Thievul and Obstagoon both took up protective stances, ready to attack on their trainers' commands.

Except..

No commands were uttered for a few long moments, and they looked back to see the sheer horror plastered on each of the humans' faces.

"I-It's...a...a....IT'S A ZOMBIE!!!" Thievul's trainer shrieked, forcing their fox partner back into its ball. "So the rumors are true..y-you really CAN summon the dead!!"

"...huh..?" Allister blinked in immense confusion.

He didn't summon you..

"W-We were just kiddin'. You're great!! You're worthy of wearin' that ghost badge!!" The other stammered, recalling Obstagoon. "We won't bother ya..e-ever again...just...."

They took one look at you, and as you growled lowly, the two trainers screamed and ran away.

"WAAAAAAHHH!!!!"

"DON'T EAT OUR BRAINS!!!"

After their voices faded and Allister watched them disappear for good, he looked back up at you in wonder. No longer was he covering his face, so you could see his eyes practically sparkling.

"They were wrong." He whispered. "You're no zombie. You're...the Hisuian Zoroark I've read about."

Of course you were. He's heard about this variant from what he believed were just myths of the Hisui region that existed long before Sinnoh. From what he knew about them, and judging by your current appearance...the agony you suffered in life was also reflected in your death.

Had he not been a ghost trainer with such a unique connection to the type, he would've thought you were a zombie, too.

As your gaze pierced through his soul, he remained on the ground, feeling as though he got hit by a frozen status effect. He didn't dare to move, knowing that a Hisuian Zoroark's anger was not to be trifled with.

Perhaps you saw him as just another human to take your rage out on.

For you likely held the same grudge as all the others of your kind...

One that was bitter, eternal, and cold as the frost that took your life after you've spent all your energy and hatred in battle; your scars and lost arm were simply the products of you flinging yourself into vicious fights with humans and Pokémon alike--no self-preservation instincts to be found.

Allister had no clue what you were thinking, but as you suddenly crouched down in front of him, he flinched back, arms shielding his face in fear of what you might do.

"Zo...."

"..wh-what..?" Uncovering his face, he was stunned to see something familiar in your grasp being handed over to him:

His own mask.

Of course. He forgot you swiped it from that mean Obstagoon earlier.

Yet he didn't take it back right away, instead looking up at you and seeing nothing but warmth in your eyes. He noticed the one covered by your hair was blind, given the milky look and the deep scar that went through it.

Despite seeing how you've suffered countless hardships, likely endured an agonizing death, and came back out of pure spite and hatred for humans...

You reached deep into your cold, dead heart and rediscovered strength and kindness--both of which you used to protect this young ghost trainer when he needed it most.

You knew he wasn't like those who exiled you.

No.

He was a friend.

He reminded you of all your children back at home: the Zoruas who followed you in life, death, and the after..fearful of what they've become, but feeling safe when you were around.

You couldn't reach them anymore, yet you wanted to protect someone. Anyone.

And you found Allister.

A small sniffle and whimper snapped you out of your thoughts, noticing the tears rolling down the young boy's face. You frowned a little, looking down at the mask.

Was this not his?

"D-Don't worry, I'm....so happy, Z-Zoroark..thank you.." He whispered shakily, smiling as he took it back, putting it on to hide the rest of his tears. "I..d-don't know how you got here, but you saved me. You put those bullies in their place. Nobody takes me seriously as a ghost type gym leader..much less a trainer..but you do, don't you?"

"Ark-ark.." Nodding, your gaze went to the dusk ball clipped to his belt, and you tapped on it with a rugged claw.

At first, he flinched at the sudden motion, before realizing you just wanted to see the pokeball. "Oh, this? I-It's a dusk ball..a version of a pokeball that helps me catch Pokémon at night. Or in caves.." He showed it to you, allowing you to sniff it curiously-

Only to accidentally boop your nose against the button, causing it to open and capture you.

At first Allister panicked, dropping the dusk ball to the ground as he watched it shake several times, scared out of his mind.

A million thoughts were running through his head right now:

Was it going to break?

Were you going to be angry?

Did you want to be captured?

What if-

*click*

'Huh...?' Bewildered, he looked down to see that the accidental catch was successful. And he picked up the dusk ball, opening it and letting you back out, expecting you to be enraged.

Yet..you seemed content.

You looked surprised, sure, but you soon smiled upon seeing him and nodded your head.

Indeed, you wished to become his partner Pokémon.

"O-Okay..I guess you're coming with me from now on." Allister quietly laughed, brimming with joy on the inside. "But first you should meet Gengar. I think..you two will get along well."

"Zor...ark, ark!"

[mackjlee9]

|Part 2|Leon Kennedy x Male!Reader [?]

Warning; I struggled with this one so- I apologize in advance! I was thinking between Vendetta!Leon or Death Island!Leon, so either one is fine. 3.2k words.

Masterlist.

«««

Resident Evil 4

With ragged and rapid breaths, (M/n) collapsed inside the lift hoping the wooden roof of it would work as some sort of barrier, but even without it, (M/n) had already given up on making it out the island alive. He hates that he wasn't able to keep his promise, but at least... He knew he would remain a part of Leon's life, even with him gone.

He sighed, hearing the explosions going off everywhere, watching pieces of the mountains fall to the bottom of the ocean, and feeling the heat of the fire despite not being extremely close to any.

(M/n) stayed conscious for as long as he could, observing how his body was consumed by those black veins, and he sighed again, a long, drawn-out sigh as he thought of Leon. His eyes, his hair, his smile, his laugh, his voice... His lips.

His sight started getting blurry and his eyes stung with tears at the image of Leon in his mind, making him close his eyes, feeling those warm teardrops falling down his face.

"Goodbye, Leon..." Now that he said it, the knot in his throat got tighter, and he just let the tears freely make their way down, his body shaking with every sob that left him, his fists closing as he took in his reality, his final moments before everything turned black.

//////

Hours later, a few rescue helicopters find their way to the island, barely anything of it left standing above the waterline, collapsed on itself.

These people had been assigned there just to make sure the evidence had been destroyed, and that's where the land team comes in. All of them are walking around wearing suits and masks as a way to prevent any kind of direct contact with la plaga or any other virus that could linger in the air, they take careful steps where the ground feels more solid and stable, moving away pieces of rubble from the buildings that blocked their paths, kicking some small rocks that they found bothersome.

The more they walked in, the more things were found. Including bodies. Many of them actually, and most of them were unidentified corpses, with signs of bullet holes in their rotting bodies, leading them to assume this was Agent Kennedy's doing.

There were finding most of the buildings destroyed, the floor that hold them up had caved in and now they were submerged, and they were unable to go anywhere inside them, with the top of the mountain collapsed and chunks of it burying them further. They were about to leave when there was nothing useful and everything seemed to be gone, when one of the men that had wandered off on his own recognized one of the bodies.

"Captain! I found something!" He called through their radio, and the captain stopped before any other men could head over.

"What did you find, kid?" The man asked with severity, he was tired and wanted to leave, so he wasn't in the best mood to deal with any kind of "funny business".

"I found Lieutenant Colonel (L/n)!" He hurried to explain, kneeling and pressing his fingers on the male's pulse. It was there. "He's still alive!" He exclaimed before his superior told them what everyone already knew.

(M/n) was dead. He died saving Agent Kennedy, they were informed of that... But also ordered to bring his body in case they found him. Be able to give him and proper burial and say their final goodbye to the men that helped rescue the President's daughter, they weren't expecting that he would survive such an explosion.

But the moment they ran to where he was found, they understood why. Four foreign claw-like appendages had spurted out of his back, the flesh pulsing and twitching, black veins throbbing all over (M/n)'s skin.

For a moment they were scared of getting closer to him, but the way the claws were struggling to get him out and failing made the youngest of them run toward him, holding onto the slimy claw and pulling, groaning at the strength he had to use to move him barely an inch.

"Come on...! Come on!" He yelled whilst getting a better stance, "I won't...! Abandon you here, Lieutenant...!" The kid's will shook other soldiers that had served under (M/n)'s command or had the pleasure to meet the man, and they ran to help him.

They carried (M/n) on their way to the helicopter, meeting with the medic unit as they brought out a stretcher so they could carry him easier into the chopper and back to safety. But they couldn't help but think about what would actually happen to him when others see the appendages that grew on his back...

He would be safe, but he won't be treated like a human anymore. Only like a test subject. Like they've seen had happened to other infected soldiers.

The whole team got back onboard, and the medics hurried to stabilize (M/n) enough for him to receive a more adequate treatment.

Their captain turns on his radio to inform them of the situation, they had explored the remains of the island, made sure evidence was destroyed, and how they had found Lieutenant Colonel... Alive. But barely, explaining how (M/n) was in critical condition, holding a thin thread as he fought to stay alive, but left out the changes that occurred to his body. He didn't want to deal with that for now.

//////

Rushing through the halls of their base, they took (M/n) to the hospital room they had, equipped with anything (M/n) could need to make sure he stays alive.

While the doctors rushed around to get everything they needed when a man in a suit walked in. He looked at (M/n)'s body laying on the hospital bed, the claws coming out from within him catching his attention.

"Take him to the laboratory for testing once you make sure he's alive," he said, his voice not wavering even for a moment and the doctors looked at each other before nodding at the orders they received.

Everyone watched as he left, in complete silence they observed him walk out, but they still had stuff to do and a life to save.

A few of them had discussed the removal of the claws on his back, but before that, they had to do a full body scan of him to be able to see if the surgical removal was possible. And it didn't seem like they could.

All four of them were working as an extension of his spinal cord, and the parasite was still moving inside him, very slightly, twitching around and curling on itself, it appeared... To be dying.

For now, they just made sure (M/n) survived, only to later be used as a test subject.

It didn't sit right with either of them, but they had orders.

//////

When (M/n) finally woke up, he was surrounded by machines, locked in a completely white room that didn't have anything other than a metal door and a one-way mirror. He wasn't stupid, he knew where he was or had an idea of the facility he was being kept in.

He had never liked being on the other side of the mirror, observing an infected patient, a friend, or even a family member, and now he was the subject.

That was something he always feared, but it didn't make him as scared as the thought of losing Leon... Speaking of...

Where could he be?

The people in the monitoring room got a reading of (M/n)'s heart picking up, signaling he was awake, and soon, one of them rushed to his room, followed by armed guards, clipboard in their hands, ready to write anything that (M/n) could tell them or they could notice about him.

But it was useless.

Despite the physical changes he had gone through and being awake, he never responded, still as a rock, completely unresponsive to anything external from his own mind. He was lost. Whether it was temporary or permanent, they didn't know, the only they could do was wait for a signal of human behavior.

And just like that, years flew by, but it's not like (M/n) knew how long it's been since he woke up. He never responded to any questions or external stimulation used to get a reaction, he never moved aside from the automatic body movement like breathing and blinking. (M/n) didn't even sleep either, the first week they had monitored when he woke after six months he had spent the whole week awake, so it resulted in them giving him sleeping medicine through his IV.

He somehow ate, but no one was sure why or how, but one of the appendages had a mouth far behind the claw, and they weren't sure if it was moving on its own controlled by la plaga, or if (M/n) was doing that.

But the truth is, (M/n) didn't know either, he had moments where he was somehow conscious and then he was gone for long periods of time. Many had wondered why this happened, and someone had decided on checking the state of the parasite.

It was dead. Everyone knew that, but (M/n) should be somehow aware of his surroundings, nothing they had tried worked to "wake him up".

They discovered that, not only had the parasite died inside him, but while they had been waiting for it to shrink or shrivel up, it had expanded, and it managed to fuse itself with (M/n)'s spine and skull, as if it was still trying to control (M/n) during its last moment, and even after it died it refused to let go of its host. Removing it was impossible before and it was even worse now.

Many had given up on helping him, but someone was interested in his case and wanted to help an old friend back to life.

While scientists and doctors tried their best, (M/n) has short periods of lucidity he just sees flashes here and there, people going in an out of the room, talking and yelling, the feeling of foreign substances being injected into his blood, but he's not entirely sure what's happening, and when he starts to panic at not being able to understand what's occurring to him, his mind takes him to Leon and he's calm again. He's sure he has never thought of him more than he has done for as long as he stayed there.

He just wants to see him, or at least know that he's okay. That he's still alive.

Even if there was nothing he could do in this room where he was monitored 24/7 with specialized equipment to treat and investigate his case. One of the rarest cases of infection.

And of course, one of his close friends had found out about his current situation.

Rebecca had stumbled into this laboratory room he was kept in after six years of his "death" and for years she has tried doing everything she could, and even if a cure wouldn't fix the damage to his nerve system it could someone give him his consciousness and motor control back.

Of course, her superiors had other motives and those were getting more information about las plagas, despite what Leon had told them and what Tricell had done to it. But when ten years had passed since the day (M/n) was found, the hope she had vanished. And she couldn't keep the secret from Leon either.

Every time Rebecca sees (M/n)'s state, she remembers all the times Leon had talked about him, always with a sad look in his eyes, and yet, they were full of love for him.

She had done everything everyone had already tried a handful of times, holding more determination than others to help him, because it would only hurt Leon more to see him like that, but after being a test subject to many scientists and doctors for a decade, if a treatment or a cure hadn't been found by now, the chances of finding one later were even lesser than she previously thought.

So deciding this was something Leon had to know after years of keeping it a secret, Rebecca stood outside of the facility, waiting patiently for the roaring of Leon's bike, and after twenty minutes of anxious waiting, there it was. Leon arrived in his red Ducati and got off, showing a small smile toward the brunette who tried to smile back but couldn't, and Leon realized.

With a frown on his brow, he walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" She took a deep breath and looked up, staring into Leon's blue eyes, full of concern for her.

"You remember why I called you here, right?" Feeling more confused, Leon nodded, watching her sigh and turn around, "Follow me."

Well, Leon was certainly weirded out by this, she wanted to show him something... What could be so important to cause this behavior in her? Although he'll rather not come to conclusions on his own.

Walking around a laboratory facility always had him on edge, especially when he was aware of the things that were in it, but being with Rebecca made him feel more at ease about the place he was currently walking into. He followed Rebecca down many halls and down the elevator, where he tried to come up with something to say, but the tension made him unable to, so he kept quiet, taking steps behind her as she approached a door labeled "R.Chambers" so clearly it was her office.

All the equipment he saw there made him question what it was for, but some X-rays on the board caught his attention. Front and side view of someone's torso, specifically their spine. A weird fusion of a parasite on the spine and skull of the patient, and placed on a nearby table was a picture that showed the person's back, the claw appendages they had brought grotesque memories of Spain, of Saddler, of Ashley, of Luis and... Of (M/n).

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" He turned toward Rebecca, who glanced over her shoulder as she input the code on the automatic secured door.

"Not exactly..." The door opened, but there wasn't a light on that could make anything visible inside it, and from where he was, Leon could only see the heart monitor attached to whoever was in that room, "The day you and Ashley escaped the island, a rescue and research team arrived at what was left of it, to... Make sure there was no lingering evidence of la plaga," Leon remained quiet, but his frown got deeper, the gears in his brain moving frantically as he processed every word Rebecca was saying, "Everyone had their orders-"

"What are you trying to say, Becca?" He said in a rather harsh voice, and she reached her hand to the panel, where she could control the lights in the room.

"The rescue team found a survivor among the remains of the island," she pushed the green button at the bottom of the panel, and the lights started turning on one by one, as if making fun of him, "They found (M/n) alive."

That was all he needed to hear to run toward the opened door, stopping in place when he witness what had become of (M/n). He was connected to all sorts of machines, his heartbeat slow and steady, his body completely immovable. He didn't look alive at all. But the claws coming from his back that were slowly moving against the restraints around them told him that he actually was alive.

"After all these years..." Rebecca placed her hand on Leon's shoulder, like he had done before entering the facility, and her eyes glanced from (M/n) to Leon over and over again.

"He has remained unresponsive for the past ten years, and I took his case fours years ago, trying to find a way to bring him back to normal but... Nothing worked," Leon decided to not comment on the fact that she knew (M/n) was alive for so long, but he couldn't blame her for not telling him, only recently they had gone back to being in contact, "I've been informed that... He will be disconnected from the life support that keeps him alive for now, so I-... I had to let you see him one more time."

Rebecca felt a knot in her throat as she watched the tears falling down Leon's face, and she blinked her own tears away.

"I will leave you with him for a while..."

Rebecca walked out and the door closed behind her, she sat down on her desk and watched for a moment as Leon slowly approached (M/n), before looking away and she tried to distract herself.

Leon stood next to (M/n)'s bed, unsure of what he should do, but there was only one thing he wanted to do at that moment. Hug him. He wanted to hug him and cry in his arms, like the old times when he was still a rookie in the academy, where he met (M/n) and fell in love with him.

"(M/n)..." He whispered and leaned down to wrap his arms around him, and his ears picked up the sound of his heart monitor going crazy, the claws on his back wriggling erratically. Both Leon and Rebecca worried for a moment, but Rebecca saw something that had never happened before.

(M/n) moved his head back, blinking a few times and looking around the room he was in, before he felt the familiar feeling of Leon's warmth, leaning against him and sighing in contentment.

"Hey, Leon..." This was the first time he had spoken since he was practically brought back to life, and Rebecca almost couldn't believe it. She tried to think of a logical explanation, there had to be a reason as to why now, so suddenly, he was able to act as if a decade hasn't gone by to him.

But maybe... He just needed some sort of closure, knowing that Leon was okay. The loud and rapid beeping of his heart monitor reminded her of all those days when (M/n)'s heart rate would suddenly go crazy, and yet he wasn't reacting at all, it was almost fairytale-like to think that all he needed was Leon.

But not to (M/n), who was only able to think about him and miss him, everything had been like a dream to him, as if he was in a constant loop, trapped in his mind, as if... La plaga had done this to him.

But he couldn't think of that right now, not when he felt Leon's hot tears wetting his neck and shoulder, his body trembling as his sobs echoed in the room. (M/n)'s arms slowly lift up, wrapping around Leon's waist, stroking his back to reassure him that he was there.

That he was still alive.

++++

Tag list; @jnyuan, @soulsnipr, @sw1tch3roo, @iwanttittes, @bigdickbruce, @burningglitterphantom, @doomdragon999, let me know if you didn't wanna be tagged and I'll remove it!

[ginabaker1666]

You Go To My Head

Beat Me, Daddy, Eight To The Bar: Part One

Everett Blakely x Valencia DiRosano (OC)

She's an American Red Cross Clubmobile girl, and he's the Flyboy with the Lucky Strike tucked behind his ear. Fate has a funny way of intervening- and Fate's name just happens to be Curt Biddick.

Follow along with the Eight To The Bar Playlist

When Captain Everett Blakely landed Just-A-Snappin on the Thorpe Abbotts airfield, he knew two things. The first, was that it had been a fucking haul from Greenland. All he wanted was a drink, and to collapse into whatever the base was passing off as a bed. The second, was that the pretty brunette with the striking green eyes offering him a choice of coffee or whiskey upon entry to the Interrogation Hut, was someone he wanted to know. 

Valencia DiRosano. Val, for short, was a Red Cross Clubmobile girl who also moonlighted as a secretary for Chick Harding when he needed someone to take notes or type up his reports with a little extra speed. She was kind, but a real New Yorker with the mouth to back it up; so it came as no surprise to him when he found her laughing at the bar with Curt Biddick. Childhood friends, he had come to learn on the morning of their first mission. He had watched, amused, as Biddick jumped into the Clubmobile and attempted to fix his own coffee, but not before Val gave him a hearty shove out the back door and onto solid ground. 

“You’ve been here less than a week, Curt. Do I have to write your Mother already?”

“Aw come on Val!” He was holding a carafe of the coffee in one hand, leaning back inside the Red Cross truck. “We’ve been friends since the sandbox, doll face! Please!”  

“Curt, you step back on this truck and you’ll be in the med bay before you even see the inside of your plane.” She scowled, green eyes narrowed at him as she snatched the carafe from his hand. 

“Killjoy.” He sighed, winking up at her as she handed him a cup of coffee, no doubt, fixed the way he liked it. 

Blakely was shaking his head as he approached the Clubmobile, smiling up at Val as she offered him coffee that he didn’t hesitate to accept. She was always armed with a smile, and some days he felt she saved one especially for him, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that. 

“He’s a pain in my ass.” She had offered by way of greeting that morning. 

“Dickie would probably sympathize with you, ma’am.” He grinned, hazel eyes fixed on her own green. 

“Oh, don’t I know it,” she shook her head. “And you can call me Val, Captain.”

“Then it’s only fair if you drop the formalities as well.” A teasing lilt to his reply. 

She shook her head at him, but leaned forward towards him, her torso now fully outside the open hatch she was serving the Airmen from. 

She’d be lying to herself if said she hadn’t been attracted to him since the minute she saw him. Striking hazel eyes, a finely trimmed mustache over his upper lip, and perfectly styled hair. The latter two seemed to be a requirement for Flyboy’s, she had noted. And he always had a cigarette tucked behind his ear should he need it. 

Pinching a donut between two fingers, she allowed her face to get just a bit closer to his, before she offered it to him with a wink. 

“Safe flight, Captain Blakely.”

“Val.” He grinned, plucking the offered snack from between her red manicured nails, before tipping his crush cap at her and heading towards the truck where his crew was waiting. 

Dougie already liked to give him a hard time whenever he was caught ogling her at the Silver Wings Club from across the room. He no doubt had seen the exchange between the pair, because when Everett slid into the spot next to him on the truck, the bombardier wasted no time in letting him have it. 

“You two set a date yet?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’m your best friend,” Douglass elbowed him. “I’m supposed to be a pain in your ass.”

“Lucky me.” Blakely groaned, taking a sip of his coffee. 

He wouldn’t tell anyone, but it was the best damn cup of coffee he’d had in months and he was sure it had everything to do with the woman who had made it for him. 

When he returned from that first mission, Bremen, she was waiting in the Interrogation Hut just like the day he had first descended on the air field. Armed with coffee and whiskey, she spotted him as soon as he came through the door. He wasn’t sure, but he could swear the smile on her face that she was offering to all the boys stretched just a bit wider when she clocked him. 

“Captain.” 

“Val.” He grinned, fingers sliding around the rim of the whiskey glass she was holding out to him. 

“Nice to see you safely on the ground.” 

“Well, it’s nice to be on the ground again.” 

Douglass was behind him, pushing him along to their designated area so that they could get this part over with as quickly as possible. It was one thing to be up there getting hammered with flak while praying for your life, but to have to relive it so that The Brass could get all the details straight, was the worst possible version of deja vu. 

“Right, I need to uhh…”

“No, of course,” She nodded, picking up one of the coffees and handing it to Buck Cleven who had just walked in with John Egan. The Major looked positively rattled, and when she went to offer him a whiskey instead, Major Egan intercepted it for himself.

“He doesn’t drink.” Blakely whispered to her, answering the silent question on the tip of her tongue. 

Val nodded in understanding before offering both Major’s a smile, watching as they moved further into the room. Then she turned back to Everett, giving him a gentle nudge towards where the rest of his crew was currently sitting. 

“Go on, I’ll see you later. I’ve got to clean up here.” She had smiled at him as she began moving around the room to pick up the empty glasses. 

“Blakely!” It was Colonel Harding, and he was standing in that way he often did, with his hands planted on his hips, and eyes narrowed in his direction. 

Quickly shaking himself from his fog, he moved towards the empty chair next to Douglass, silently begging his friend not to say a word. At least not with the rest of their crew around. 

They had been in Interrogation longer than he wanted to be there; the mission had been scrubbed, and Harding had wanted all the details. The how, why and when. But it was never the who that they focused on for too long. The who being the fellas who had died up there, whose blood was currently being washed out of the inside of the forts that made it back. Whos mothers didn’t know it yet, but were going to receive a letter from Major John Egan expressing his deepest sympathies for the loss of their son. His fort had been lucky, making it back to Thorpe Abbotts in one piece, and while he wanted to take the time to acknowledge that, he knew that his mind wouldn't let him. He would have to acknowledge the lost, and the broken pieces of this first flight before he could move on. 

Leaving the Equipment Hut, he found Curt exiting the base Hospital. The stocky, former Brooklyn boxer looked slightly stunned, and when Everett made eye contact, the pilot gave a nod, before changing course to walk alongside him. 

“You good?” Blakely spoke first, eyes cutting to the hospital they had just left in their rear view. 

“Yea, wanted to check on Dickie.” 

Dickie would have normally been in the co-pilot seat next to Biddick, but with Major Cleven riding with Biddick’s crew on this flight, Dickie had been down in the tail gun. 

“What happened up there?”

“Frostbite,” Curt sighed. “Grabbed the tail gun without gloves on.”

“Jesus, he alright?”

“Smokey said it ain’t too bad, but could be a few weeks before he’s back in the seat.”

“Well, better frostbitten than dead I suppose.”

“Yea…” Curt trailed off. “How ‘bout you boys? Yous all make it back in one piece?”

“For the most part, physically at least.”

“Yea, I hear that.”

They walked silently towards the Officers Hut, the only thing on Blakely’s mind at the moment; a hot shower and change of clothes. He supposed that most of the fellas would make their way to the Silver Wings Club later in the evening, so long as the red light stayed the hell off and let them be. He hoped he wouldn't have to see it blinking again this week, but this was war, and it just didn’t sound promising. 

Just as he was about to pull the door open to their nissen hut, Curt stopped him, hand pushing the door closed and forcing them both to stop walking. 

“French 75.”

“You asking me to buy you a drink, Curt?” He raised an eyebrow at the shorter man. 

“Val’s drink is a French 75.” 

“I’m almost afraid to ask…”

“I ain’t blind.” Curt shook his head. 

“I thought maybe Dougie tipped you off.”

“Oh, he did,” Curt winked, and Blakely couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh. “But I also seen yous two by the Clubmobile this morning, and she almost sent poor Tattie flyin to give you a drink back there.”

“How come you uh…how come you and her never got together?”

“Nah, I love her to pieces but not like that.” 

 He nodded, understanding exactly what Curt meant when he said that. 

“Okay then…”

“B’sides, you heard her. I’m a pain in her ass.”  Curt grinned wildly, and Blakely could see that he was proud to be Val’s very own pain in the ass. It was the same type of smile that Douglass gave him when he bestowed him with the very same compliment. 

“Yea, she did mention that.” He shook his head. 

“C’mon, let's go, I stink of fuel.” 

By the time the band was playing, the Silver Wings Officers Club was filled with Airmen, and a mix of Red Cross and local women who had been invited by some of the pilots and crew. It was a hearty blend of people, and it wasn’t long before the dance floor was filled with couples. 

Val was sitting with Helen and Tattie, the trio partaking in their favorite activity when they weren’t working: people watching. Discreetly, from behind their martini glasses, they would observe the goings on of the club, and who was doing what. It was also a subtle way for them to learn a little more about the men so that they could chat to them as they left for a mission. 

“Wait, but she was seeing Egan last week!” Tattie spoke in a hushed voice. Even with the band playing, she didn’t want anyone hearing her. They were currently fixed on a local East Anglia girl who had been seen around the club before, most recently with Major Egan, but none of the women could remember her name. 

“I guess she’s seeing Dye now.” Val sniggered from behind her drink. 

“I heard he had the clap.” Helen chimed in. 

“Egan!?” Val’s eyes went wide. 

“No, Dye.”

“No! From who!” 

“I don’t know who gave it to him!” Helen rolled her eyes. 

“Not who gave it to him,” Tattie sighed. “Who did you hear it from?”

“Funny enough, John Egan.”

“I wonder how true it is, then,” Val shook her head, taking a sip of her drink. “He’s probably just sore over losing her to Dye.” 

“Well, Flyboy’s are like that.” 

“Not all Flyboy’s are filthy, Tattie.” Helen groaned. 

“No, you’re right,” Tattie grinned. “Val’s seems like a gentleman.”

Helen and Tattie were both bearing bright grins in her direction, and all she could do was roll her eyes as she drained the last of her drink. 

“You two are incorrigible.”

“So you weren’t flirting with Captain Blakely this morning? Helen leaned across the table at her.

“I was doing my job.”

“And this afternoon, in Interrogation, was your job to almost mow me down to get to him? Tattie raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You were in my way, Tat…”

“Well then,” She grinned. “If he’s not your Flyboy, then I don’t know why he’s making his way over here with a drink in each hand.”

When she looked over to where Tattie’s gaze was focused, sure enough, there was Captain Everett Blakely, striding across the room towards their table, with a martini glass in one hand, and his whiskey in the other. She couldn’t very well hide the smile on her face as he approached, and knew that when she finally retreated to the women’s hut later that night, both Helen and Tattie would be there to pull every detail from her before they fell into their own beds. 

“Ladies,” Blakely grinned, gaze landing on both of Val’s companions, before finally settling on her. “Val.” 

“Captain Blakely.” She grinned, their game of formalities causing him to roll his eyes with a smile. 

“Are we still doing that?” He asked. “This is hardly a formal setting.”

“Everett…” She allowed his first name to slip past her lips just the once, and watched as his eyes lit up at hearing her say it. “Are you drinking for two tonight?”

“Do you think so little of me that I would?”

“Oh, so that one’s for Douglass?” She teased. 

“Actually, it’s for you. French 75, right?” He offered her the martini glass in his left hand, their fingers brushing as she accepted it from him. Just like they had that afternoon as she handed him his whiskey. She couldn’t help it. She could feel her cheeks warming up at the simple gesture and hoped that her rouge would hide it. She wasn’t sure she’d be that lucky, however, as his warm gaze was trained entirely on her. 

“And who told you that?” 

“Let’s just call them a reliable source.” He nodded, lifting his own glass to his lips, though she didn’t miss his grin. 

She’d barely noticed Tattie and Helen slipping away from the table, the former immediately snatched up by James Douglass for a dance, while Helen; well, she wasn’t sure where she disappeared off to. Had her friends given her up that easily to him? Surely it hadn’t been Curt; he was everything a protective big brother should be, minus the bloodline. She couldn’t imagine her childhood friend willingly offering up any sort of information to a potential suitor. She knew better than anyone what he was like back home any time they had doubled with his flavor of the month and someone she met that wasn’t entirely turned off by her friendship with another man. 

She’d resolve to find out who the reliable source was, but for now, she was intent on enjoying the company of the man who still stood in front of her. 

“Would you like to join me?” She looked up at him through her lashes, red lips stretched wide with a smile just for him. 

“I’d love to,” he returned the smile, and with a grace she hadn’t known a man to possess, ever, slid into the seat to her left. “Besides, what kind of person would I be if I left you here alone?”

“Not a very good one, I suppose.” 

“Exactly, and my mother raised a gentleman.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank her then,” Val teased from behind her glass. “There are so few of you left.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then, to be a gentleman worthy of your time.”

“You’re a flirt, Captain Blakely.”

“Are we back to the formalities?” He sighed, arms outstretched on the table in front of him, body slightly slouched in his seat. 

“I’m only joking,” her hand fell to his arm, and she couldn’t help but admire the ropes of muscle she felt beneath the fabric of his uniform jacket. “But you are a flirt.”

“Do you see me flirting with anyone else here?” 

That had her caught in his gaze, so much so that she barely noticed Curt striding into the room, and Helen intercepting him at the bar. She was sure that had he noticed her, he’d have skidded over to her and Blakely in such a state, demanding a dance with his best friend, that it would leave the Captain stunned and so put off, he’d never speak to her again. 

“Val?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” shaking her head to dismiss the thoughts, she focused back on Everett, and how her hand was still resting on his forearm. “I promise it’s not you.”

His gaze softened, his head immediately turning from her to survey the room, trying to pinpoint exactly what, or who, had caused her the momentary distress. 

“There’s someone in here you're trying to avoid.” He didn’t question it, so much as come out with it directly. 

“Not avoid, per say…” she sighed. “But, I’m enjoying your company, and Curt just walked in and he has a habit of, well…”

“Being Curt?” He supplied a helpful smile. 

“Driving away any man I’m interested in.” She had said the last part so quietly, head ducked down, that he strained to hear it. 

“What was that?” His thumb and index finger gently cradled her chin, lifting her face back up towards him. His eyes were boring into her, hazel locked on green, and she couldn’t pull herself away even if she wanted to. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Curt and I grew up together.”

“Yea, I heard it mentioned once or twice.”

“Our mom’s got close when we were kids; we lived in the same building growing up, and they’d usually toss us in the sandbox or let us run around the garden while they gossiped. So, Curt and I became like siblings.”

“Go on…”

“And like all good siblings, and in true big brother fashion, he likes to embarrass me in front of anyone I’m with.”

“Well, I’m not deterred by Curt Biddick.” He grinned, giving her jaw a gentle pinch with his two fingers before pulling back.

“It’s why I stick to the formalities with you…”

“Well, if it’s not too bold of an ask; unless you really need to, I’d prefer you call me Everett. Or Ev. Whichever suits you.”

“Okay…” 

“Now, can I be bold once more?” He was trying to get her to crack another dazzling smile, and he’d be damned if the night ended before he succeeded. 

“You’re pushing your luck, Everett.” 

“There she is,” he grinned. “Could I have this dance?”

“I’d love nothing more.” She smiled, watching as he stood before gently taking her hands to guide her from her chair. 

Drinks forgotten for the time being, Valencia allowed Captain Everett Blakely to lead her out onto the crowded dance floor. When he found a suitable spot, he gently twirled her before pulling her body close to his. His hands were warm, but not overly so, and she found that as one rested gently on the small of her back and the other held hers, that it was a comforting feeling she had been missing for quite some time. Not even dancing with Curt made her feel so at ease, and that normally would have worried her. Something about Everett Blakely and his warm hazel eyes pulled her in, and made her want to stay in his embrace for as long as possible. As he swayed them gently, his warm breath fanning across her cheek caused her to look up, her head lifting from where she was resting it on his shoulder, her gaze meeting his.

“Hell of a song.” He spoke softly, words just for them to hear. 

She hadn’t noticed what the band was playing until he said it, the tune of You Go To My Head filling the club. 

“Appropriate, don’t you think?” 

“Absolutely,” his hand resting on her back pulled her just that much closer, the pins on his uniform catching on the button of her Red Cross jacket, but neither seemed to mind. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since I landed last week.”

“Is that so?” Her hand that had been resting gently on his shoulder had somehow wrapped around him, her fingers finding a home in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Think you might like to stay there a while longer?” 

“Just a while?”

“As long as you like, sweetheart. I want to know everything about you.” 

“Well, I’d say you’re off to a good start.” She whispered, her head moving back to his shoulder as the band moved into another song. Neither making any effort to part. 

Neither of them saw it, but Curt was watching from the bar with a proud grin on his face. 

Part Two

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Blakely & Val, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

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[macbooth]

full of childish whimsy in a hostile fashion tonight so here’s every shakespeare clown i can think of and whether or not i think i’d beat them in a fight

(i do not mean fools i mean clowns. they do not need to be the secret genius of the play. if they are stupid in every way shape or form i am including them here)

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) No chance. Bro’s got that magic and ALSO has a big strong scary fairy king as his bear, like, do not separate them. If I even tried throwing hands at this cunt I’d get torn to shreds and used as glitter dude, I’d be over. 0/10

Nick Bottom (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) I could but I’d feel bad. I also think he’d put up a really solid fight. Like this is out of donkey form, bro was a physical worker. Like I reckon I could win a fight with some of the tradies I’ve seen but I don’t think it’d be easy. Also he’s just really dumb so I would feel a little bad. Donkey form though, I’m running away. Scary as shit. I am afraid of horses though. 6.5/10

Touchstone (As You Like It) Absolutely I could beat the shit out of this man. I hate him so much. Full of hostility towards this fucker. His clothes aren’t even subtle I could find this bitch in the forest no time and hunt him down and rip him to shreds, fuckin court jester doesn’t even have the roughness of the country on his side. 9/10 (-1 point cause he definitely fights dirty but I just hate him so much I’d win)

Jaques (As You Like It) First off he’s absolutely a clown. Second off I’ve played him before so my word is gospel. Third off bro has no fucking chance against me. He’s a podcast bro who thinks I don’t know that Tame Impala is one dude. I’d ask him why we can’t print more money and he would explode instantly and it would be the funniest thing he did with his life. 10/10

Audrey & Corin (As You Like It) I’m lumping these two together cause in the show I did they were one character (and I also played them). I wouldn’t even want to fight these two. And even if I wanted to Audrey would absolutely be able to beat the shit out of me and I would thank her. Our setting was in semi-modern country Australia, that girl would have a shotgun. 2/10

Autolycus (Winter’s Tale) Just like Jaques to me. He might be a little bit harder because he’d change costume and I’d get confused because I have no object permanence but other than that what has he got. Bitterness? Resentment? Bitch so did I when I was 15 grow up experience love. 8/10

Falstaff (Henry IV parts 1 & 2, Merry Wives of Windsor) I don’t actually know about this one but he is very punchable. I feel like he’d let me punch him and I think one punch would be enough for me. I think that would satisfy my urge to punch him. He may be a knight but let’s be honest he’s shit at it so I stand by this. 4/10 (just cause I don’t really give a shit)

The Dromios (Comedy of Errors) I absolutely could beat them in a fight but I would feel So Bad. You see how they’re literally already treated in the play, I wanna give them a break. That being said they’re both kinda dicks but they’re going through it already so I’d wanna give them a breather. I would win though, even if they both were attacking at once. 7/10

Launcelot Gobbo (Merchant of Venice) He’s such a prick but I would be laughing too hard at his name to fight him. Bro’s name is Gobbo. Bro’s name is basically Gobby. Imagine being named Blowjob. I would lose my mind. I would laugh so so hard I would collapse. My heart would fail. Biggest L name out there bro. Launcelot Gobbo oh my god. 3/10

Launce (Two Gentlemen of Verona)  Nah man he has an attack dog. I don’t care what breed of dog Crab is in a production I fully believe he would kill for Launce, that’s just their dynamic. I understand them better than anyone else (I have a dog). Also he’s already working for Proteus, is that not punishment enough? 4/10

Speed (Two Gentlemen of Verona) I mean I definitely could fight him. I don’t imagine he’s got much fighting experience. But once again, he has to deal with Valentine which does feel like it would be cruel to inflict more onto him. Like Valentine’s not as bad as Proteus but fuck is he stupid. Also if I accidentally flubbed a punch Speed could absolutely tear me a new asshole with his words and I would sob and cry and literally never recover. 4/10

The Porter (Macbeth) Fuck no. Bro definitely has a knife on him at all times. I can’t explain why I think this I just do. He works night shift, he definitely doesn’t get paid enough for his dog shit job, he would absolutely try to stab me just to spice up his evening without me starting a fight. 1/10

Trinculo (Tempest) Yes. Sorry, you’re Russell Brand? L. I could kick your ass. And he’s like drunk for half the show, and almost fucked a fish. I doubt his judgement is good enough to say the alphabet backwards let alone dodge a punch. He couldn’t even get Caliban to kick my ass (who definitely could by the way) cause Caliban fucking hates him. Bro, failwife to Stephano should pay more. But it doesn’t. 8.5/10

Dogberry (Much Ado About Nothing) Without Verges? Yes. With Verges? No way. Those two are a power couple in the dumbest possible way. He would absolutely try to get me arrested though but I simply would not go to prison. What’s he gonna do? Send me to prison? I’m already not going. 7/10

Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet) No chance. Unless Romeo fucked up so bad like he did in the actual play, I would have no chance against this dude. I wouldn’t even want to even if I could. I’m a Benvolio stan first and foremost and a person second you think I’d wanna fight his bestie? Only exception is if it was an actual fight club and not just a pure fight out of hatred. I feel like Mercutio could give Brad Pitt Fight Club Realness, outfits included.  I would still lose though. 2.5/10

Don Adriano De Armado (Love’s Labour’s Lost) I reckon I could wreck this dude’s shit. You know that gif where the fuckin dude is doing all these cool sword moves and then he just gets shot? You know the one. I forgot where it’s from but you know the one. That would be this fight. Armado would bust out his flair, his razzle dazzle, his pizzaz, and I would just deck him I think. That’s the power you need in this world, I think. Power of fist to face. Peace and love. <3 8/10

Costard (Love’s Labour’s Lost) I do not think Costard would realise he was being fought even as he was actively getting hit in the face. I know how to say honorificabilitudinitatibus, he doesn’t even have that against me. Bro couldn’t even confuse me with that, I learnt that, like an adult. Anyway yeah I’d kick his ass. 9/10

Holofernes & Sir Nathaniel (Love’s Labour’s Lost) This is the same man to me. I would destroy them both. Fuckin nerds. Flowery ass language nerds. I support gay rights and gay wrongs but the only reason I couldn’t fight those two gay muppets who heckle is cause they’re too far away (in a theatre booth), these two gay muppets who heckle are right in front of me. I’d kick their tweed cladded asses. 10/10

Jaquenetta (Love’s Labour’s Lost) She is just like Audrey to me. I could never bring myself to hurt her. Also she’s pregnant and I feel like it’s fucked up to hit a pregnant woman just for fun. Also she could absolutely wreck my shit. Please wreck my shit Jaquenetta. 0.5/10

Moth (Love’s Labour’s Lost) This little fucker should be an INSTANT knock out but I just know this fucker bites. He’s a shit talking 8 year old? Oh he plays wolves on the playground, I just know it. He plays wolves and he’s definitely been suspended for it, I just know it in my heart. Sure, I could kick him, but he would grab hold of my foot and try to rip it off. We would shake hands and agree to part ways, having met our match. He, who plays wolves, and me, who played fairies, leave the fight with our heads high and respect in our hearts. I am kidding of course but I do think we would tie. 5/10

Lear’s Fool (King Lear) There’s already so much fighting going on, I don’t even think they’d notice if I just started kicking this dude. Not only could I fight him and win, I think I’d get away with it too. I’d win not only physically but socially too. What’s he gonna do? Tell his boss? Bro he’s preoccupied with his whole kingdom crumbling, grow up. 9/10

Lavatch (All’s Well That Ends Well) This is more meta but my hatred of this play would fuel me here. I would fight literally anyone in this play if given the chance, not a joke. I would get in the ring with literally anyone from this play, but honestly, out of them all I weirdly respect Lavatch the most, maybe because he at least knows that he’s a cunt, unlike literally everyone else who Just Suck. I do think he’s probably scrappy though, so I wouldn’t leave unscathed. I also think if he got the upper hand he would be so so awful about it, so I’d really have to fight. 6/10

Sir Toby Belch & Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Twelfth Night)  Andrew is canonically bad at fighting, and honestly I do not believe Toby would be any better. Love both of these guys but if I had to fight them both at once I think I would be able to just move out of the way and they’d bonk each other on the head like a cartoon. They’re just silly guys. 9/10

Maria (Twelfth Night) Every woman clown could beat my ass. Audrey, Jaquenetta, Maria, they are all so special to me and would all also fucking destroy me. Maria especially cause I just know she is full of hate. You don’t hatch a plan like the Malvolio plan unless there’s something deeply worrying about you. She’s a Scorpio to me. <3 I do love her, she’d demolish me. 0/10

Feste (Twelfth Night) Would actually kill me. -5/10

I know I’ve definitely missed some but uhhh don’t expect me to remember every clown even if I’m neurodivergent about these plays please. <3

[salstray]

An Arrangement ((Ghost x Reader))

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Warnings: 18+ Content, NSFW, Smut, p in v, AFAB reader, established situationship, very little plot, also my first time writing x reader smut so let me know if its ass k thanks

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Summary: Ghost and Reader are co workers, of sorts. You work under Laswell, helping with intel and information while the boys are in the field. During the months you work with Ghost, you and him figure out an... arrangment that helps you both relax a little in the midst of all the chaos of war. When the job comes to an end, you give Ghost a letter and a choice. End it here or extend the stress relief beyond work. You get your answer when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.

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Note: As I said before, first time writing x reader smut.... or really any smut at all! Usually I get to blushy and ashamed when I get to this point in a work, but this one wormed its way out into the pages anyway! Tell me if it sucks, K? Rad. Thank you!

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    The letter is so professional, so clinical, it almost makes him laugh. 

     Your slanted handwriting against perfectly lined paper, calling this whole thing an 'arrangement' between the two of you. Like it was a trade deal or a transaction and not like he'd been fucking you stupid every time he got you alone. It was all for secrecy, he understood that, but it was still funny. 

     At the bottom of it all, the clipped and emotionless words and flowing business speak, was your address and your phone number. 

     In case you'd be interested in a continuation, it said. Ending in your name. Just the first one. The only hint anyone would have that this was anything other than work, should any unwanted eyes find their way onto this page. They wouldn't, Ghost was far too careful to let that happen, but still. The only slip you’d made.

-

     It takes a surprising amount of courage to end up at your door. More, he feels, then it takes to stare down the barrel of a gun.

      The apartment building is smaller than what he would have expected from someone with your salary, but he wasn't one to judge. His own flat was barely more than a shoebox. Just enough space to keep the walls from closing in when he stared at them too hard and enough to hold what few possessions he had to his name.

     He's not sure if you'll be awake when he finally knocks. One glance at his phone tells him that much. Ghost had decided not to text you before he showed up, either. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. A trapdoor in his walls that he wasn't willing to address just yet. Or open.

     When you appear through the doorway, he nearly collapses on the spot.

     Your in a fucking skirt.

     Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a shock but in all the months you'd worked together you'd always dressed practically, more or less. The leggings you favored would probably be considered less, but it was always trousers of some sort. Dress pants, a button down shirt, hair pulled back. Ready at a moment's notice, as you needed to be to survive in this life. A perfect mirror of Laswell. The person you worked under and the reason you two had met in the first place.

     But here? Now? In your own home with the only danger being bad TV and loud neighbors you looked so much different. 

     You favored black in your style, something that drew Ghost in, something Johnny would relentlessly tease him about, and it showed even outside of work. The skirt was that color. Solid black, flowing gently around your thighs, topped with a simple forest green tank top with thin straps and no bra. Your hair was loose and your glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving your eyes wide and shining.

     The way you gasped snapped his gaze from your body, your thighs and your hips, up to your face.

     "Simon?" You ask softly, like you weren't sure it was really him. Like you expected anyone else to show up in the dead of night with a skull print balaclava covering their face.

     "Evenin', love." 

     You curl in on yourself. Bashful. Shy. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, hands tucked up by your breasts. The way you always looked when he approached you with sinful intentions. 

     Heat pooled low in Ghost’s stomach as he leaned forward, his hands tucked away in his pockets, his eyes dark and heavy. 

     "Gonna invite me in?" He breathes, knowing damn well what his voice does to you when he speaks like that. The reaction in you was instant. The rapid blinks, the shaking breath. The little nod as you took a few steps back, opening the door wider to let his massive form through the frame. He steps inside slowly. Letting his eyes roam the walls and furniture. Cataloging every little knickknack and art piece and surface he'll be able to bend you over once he finally puts his hands on you.

     Your voice draws his gaze back to you.

     "I… I didn't think you'd show up," you say, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like this was planned and not simply offered a few weeks ago with no reply given. 

     He doesn't give you one now, either. Instead he takes a step closer to you. Closing the distance in one swift motion, causing you to press your spine into the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You're blinking again, trying to gather your thoughts as his hands settle on your waist, palms warm and fingers strong. Ghost’s digits press into your flesh as he hums and leans back, clearly enraptured by the outfit you chose for your quiet night in. 

     "Look good in this," he mutters. His right hand shifts, sliding lower over your thigh, just enough to slip under the skirt and start a slow, teasing trail back up to your leg. 

     "Y-you think?" You ask, biting your bottom lip when his hooded eyes meet yours. 

    "Yeah." His fingers slip up and behind you, pulling you forward, chest flush against his with his hand now cupping your ass. "I do. Think you should wear it more often." 

     He feels the shiver that rolls up your spine as he speaks. Smirks when your hands reach up to grab at his jacket. Pulls the hand still on your waist away just long enough to push back his hood and tug up the end of his mask. He settles it on your shoulder instead of your hip, however, and slides it up along your neck and into your hair, taking a fistfull and using it to tug your head back.

     Your breathless gasp makes him rumble low in his chest. Something between a growl, a hum, and a grunt. Ghost leans forward, his tongue slipping through his lips and marking a wet trail up your pulse. 

     The little whine you let out makes him shudder and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as his mouth reaches your jaw. 

     He'd never tell you, never admit it, but he missed this. Missed you. Your reactions, your sounds, the taste and feel of your skin. He'd been in this apartment for less than five minutes and already felt like he was gonna split apart at the seams if he didn't have his cock buried in you in the next two. 

     The next breath he takes is punctuated by a groan and he uses the hand on your ass to lift you off your feet. He lets the other take hold of your thigh to keep you steady as you make a noise of surprise and wrap your legs around his hips.

     "Bed. Where?" Is all he says, his lips parted and panting against your cheek as he speaks. 

     Moments later your back is hitting the mattress. Ghost is already reaching under the skirt by the time you push yourself up onto your elbows, yanking away your panties and tossing them somewhere into the room. He crawls over you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting them into the air so your skirt flops up against your stomach, revealing your newly naked sex to him. 

     He groans again, low and slow, head tilting as his right hand slips away from your leg and down towards the slick heat that had been torturing you for hours.

     "So wet already?" He teases. Ghost chuckles when his touch makes you jerk, his fingers just barely grazing your clit and making you whimper.

     "I…," your gaze slips away from him, your flushed cheeks only getting hotter as you confess, "I've been… thinking about you… all day." A startled cry leaves you when he plunges two fingers in without warning. There was no resistance at all. Just a loud, wet noise as he slowly drags them back out and presses in again.

     "Aww… thinkin' bout me? How sweet," he purrs, leaning in close to watch your face twist with pleasure. "To think that's all it takes to get you so worked up." Your eyes, which had twisted shut at the pleasurable stretch of his fingers, peel open just a bit to look at him. Plead with him. Beg him silently for more.

     Luckily he's always been able to read you like a book. That's what led to this arraignment in the first place. 

     "Want more, love?" You whimper, nodding weakly. "Want my cock?" 

     "Y-yes." 

     "Yes what, sweetheart?" 

     "Yes, sir."

     You didn't take orders from him. He wasn't your superior in the field and, in all honesty, he was totally fine with that. There was no way he'd be able to keep focus with that sweet voice calling out to him. All it would take was one little 'sir' over the comms and he'd be done for. That's why he made you use it here. Where only he could hear it. 

     Both of his hands leave your body and you'd have protested if you didn't push yourself up farther to watch him work at his belt. In one fluid motion it joins your panties across the room and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide the moan that draws out of you. The sight of his dick, fully hard and already leaking, pulls another free. One you don't hide from him. 

     Ghost crawls over you again, tucking his thumbs into the straps of your tank top and pulling them down your shoulders. He tugs just far enough for your breasts to be freed. Another shiver rolls through you when he licks his lips. 

     "Simon," you whimper, reaching up to dig your fingers into his biceps. "Please." His newly shining mouth twitches into a smirk and he tilts his head for a moment, brows raising with the motion.

     "Since you asked so nicely." 

     You'd hate how cocky he acted if he wasn't so fucking attractive and if his actual cock wasn't pushing into you. 

     Your eyes flutter shut again as you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the solid heat of him fills you. Ghost takes the opportunity to slide his arms under you and pull you close, his face hidden in your shoulder, his breathing short and shallow as you stretch around him. It takes a few careful thrusts to get him all the way inside. Slow drags a few inches back, then a steady roll of his hips until his pelvis is pressed against yours. 

     "Ffffffuck, sweetheart… fuckin' hell-" 

     He only gives you a few short seconds before he's thrusting. Filling the room with the harsh slap of his skin on yours, the wet squish of your slick, and the echoing moans you can no longer contain. 

     "Si-Simon! Fu-ahhh! Fuck!" 

     He's not quiet either, to your surprise. In the past, you'd both been at risk of being caught. On base, hidden between paper thin walls, surrounded by other soldiers. Ghost's self control was honestly impressive, but he had to silence you in anyway he could. Either with his mouth on yours, his fingers down your throat, or just his palm slapped over your lips.

     Yet here, in your own home, he's just as bad as you. Moaning freely, cursing and whining along with you, groaning deeply as he sucks at the soft skin of your throat. His teeth sink into your flesh and you clench around him, making him pull away with a gasp. 

     "Ffuuu… fuck… like that, do you?" He leans forward again, lower than before, leaving a harsh red mark over your collarbone. 

    One of his arms wiggles free from under you and his fingers appear at your clit, making you nearly sob at the sudden friction. Before you know it your panting and moaning, nearly falling to pieces as heat coils in your abdomen, threatening to toss you over the cliff and straight into oblivion. 

     You grunt, gasp, curl your legs up around Ghost's waist, then throw your head back with a hoarse cry, eyes shut tight as you cum. 

     Ghost only stops for a handful of seconds. Long enough to lean himself back on his knees with a grunt, his hands taking hold of your hips. Then, before you've even come back down to earth, he's fucking you again. Deep, hard strokes that have your already muddy thoughts washing away in bliss. 

     Your orgasm drags on and on as he chases his own high, leaving you a weak, whimpering mess as he manhandles you back into his thrusts. Not much later, he's curling over you again, his eyes clenched shut and lips parted. He rolls his his again, two, three more times. Then his shoulders shake and he moans lowly, his face suddenly slack with relief. You finally fall limp a few trembling seconds later. Utterly boneless beneath him. 

     The pair of you stay there for a while. 

     Ghost lets himself lean into you, laying mostly on his side, still buried to the hilt in the mess you both made. One of his arms found its way under you again, holding you close to his chest as he breathes slowly and evenly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was asleep. But you did know better and you grunted softly as you tried to shift your legs.

     "Alright, love?" He calls softly, his head raising just enough to look at you through the darkness. He hadn't turned the light on when he'd carried you in here. It would have wasted time.

     "Y-yeah… feel like jelly…" you say, still sounding and feeling breathless. You swallow, throat dry, and twist in his grasp, making him groan quietly as his soft cock finally slips free of you. 

     He twists as well, moving you until you're curling against his chest, sweaty and sticky and satisfied.  

     "Gonna be able to make it to round two?" He asks teasingly. 

     You groan. "There's gonna be more?" It's playful. You know perfectly well how much it takes to satiate him. Ghost chuckles and you can't fight back the grin that bunches your cheeks in response. 

     "I just got here, sweetheart. Maybe if you hadn't worn a skirt…"

     "Maybe if you'd given me a warning I could have changed." You wouldn't have, both of you know that. "My number was on that page too, Riley. Use it next time." 

     You couldn't see the way his jaw clenched when you said that. The way his eyes shifted through the shadows, wondering… thinking… considering the consequences. 

     Luckily, your hand trailing down his chest, over his jacket, pushes thoughts ever present fears away. 

     "You should take this off." 

     "You just wanna see my tits." He speaks before he thinks and it makes you laugh. A full, bright laugh that he's never heard from you before. Not that there's much place for laughter when he's got a gun in his hands and you've got lives on the line.

     It makes him smile. Just a little. Not where you can see. The sultry smirks and teasing grins were easy, this kind of smile was different. Softer. It's gone as you tilt your head back to beam at him, not a single worry behind your eyes.

     "Well, you saw mine. It's only fair."

~

[riotwritesthings]

Crushing Comfort

WinterIron, T, 500 - Avengers Academy, fluff, a touch of insecure!Bucky

Tony needs some comfort, he just forgot one minor detail

you may notice, this is not the AvAc!Tony thing I've been talking about on the ol' tumblr. That's still happening. But I can never resist making a cute tumblr post about my boys, so here's this also.

~

Bucky looks up when the elevator dings, a smile already growing on his face. Tony’s expression is dark as he steps out though, squeezing his way between the doors before they’re fully open and then making a beeline straight for his bedroom.

After a second of indecision, Bucky pushes himself to his feet and follows him. He finds Tony collapsed face down on his massive bed, and Bucky considers him for a moment.

A couple of weeks ago, Bucky would have assumed Tony forgot that they were supposed to get dinner, and he’d silently slink out of the tower feeling insecure and crestfallen.

By now though, he’s pretty damn sure that Tony is just being dramatic.

”You okay, sugar?“ Bucky asks, a smile barely tugging at his lips as he tries to shove down the vicious little voice in the back of his head whispering that Tony doesn’t want him here.

”My day has been bad,“ Tony says heavily, rolling over onto his back with a truly impressive flailing of limbs. Once he’s sprawled out and staring at the ceiling, he sighs loudly again before holding both of his arms up in the air and announcing, ”I require snuggles.“

”I’m on it,“ Bucky says with a soft huff of laughter, warmth swelling so huge in his chest that it’s almost hard to breathe around. Take that, mean little voice in his head, Tony very much does want him here.

He crosses the room in a couple of steps and climbs up onto his knees on the huge bed, carefully positioning himself. Then he collapses down on top of Tony, knocking all the air out of the smaller boy in an audible rush of air.

”Oof,“ Tony groans, his hands landing on Bucky’s sides and patting frantically, ”holy shit, how did I forget how heavy you are?“

“What are you trying to say?” Bucky asks, lifting himself just enough to pout down at Tony.

“I’m saying that you are a solid brick house of a man, and you are crushing me.“

”This is what you wanted,“ Bucky reminds him with a grin, collapsing down on top of him again.

”Not like this, I wanted comfort,” Tony wheezes dramatically, “I want to live.”

”Shh, I’m comforting you,“ Bucky says, tucking his chin on top of Tony’s head and covering him entirely.

”You’re crushing me,“ Tony gasps out, even though Bucky is making sure he’s still holding himself up a little, that he can still feel the full swell of Tony’s chest beneath him.

”Is it comforting?“ Bucky asks, fighting down a laugh.

”No,“ Tony says, but he’s laughing too and tugging at Bucky’s jacket playfully now.

Bucky hums thoughtfully, and then lowers himself down onto Tony a tiny bit more as he says, ”Well, give it a minute.“

Tony laughs harder, his face tucked into the hollow of Bucky’s throat and his arms winding around Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer.

After another second Bucky rolls onto his side, taking Tony with him and smiling doplily when Tony instantly snuggles in closer against his chest. “Wanna tell me about your day?” he asks, running his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Not yet,” Tony replies, and then lets out a contented sigh, “I just need a bit more comfort first.”

“You got it sugar,” Bucky says, and then rolls on top of him again while Tony laughs.

[k0yaz]

can u write for denji? 🥺 maybe smthing with fluff in the beginning like an ice cream date or fireworks show or smthing and then ends in a one shot?

breathtaking

Pairing(s): denji x fem!reader

CW: fem reader, established relationship, detailed soft kissing idk?? nothing really just fluff

A/N: also before anyone starts whining about the fact that “they didn’t say the reader gender!!!” Trust me I know they requested fem reader.

“Denji…Denji. Sweetheart, wake up.”

Denji’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of your soft voice, looking over lazily at your calm expression. He stretched his arms out, parting his lips to let out a loud yawn before collapsing his head back onto your shoulder.

You giggled at your boyfriend’s drowsy demeanor as you poked his cheek with your pointer finger quickly, causing him to jolt up almost immediately. Denji’s gaze flickered over to you with heavy lidded eyes before whining slightly.

“But I’m sleepy…and the ice cream line is taking forever!”

Denji drawled in a baby like voice, running his fingers through his scruffy blonde locks.

You smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, circling your thumb on the ruffled fabric of his shirt. He glanced back at you, his expression still disappointed from the massive line.

Before you could comfort him, a bright and colorful van idly remained parked with a much shorter line, and to your relief, a large display of an ice cream container in the corner.

Thank god, this adorable idiot will calm down now.

You nudged Denji’s shoulder as he looked over at you with his eyes slightly squinted from the breeze against his face.

“Huh? What is it, love?”

He asked, looking down at you with his crimson pupils dilated like a puppy.

Not even a second later, you were simply heaving a sigh and smiling, with your hand pressed against your forehead, creasing it slightly as your boyfriend almost squealed from happiness.

“Finally-! Oh my god babe, I think you’re a magician!”

Denji laughed cheerfully, before brushing his rough hand against your own. He took your palm in his, squeezing tightly with both of your fingers interlocked. Within seconds, you felt arm being stretched forward as Denji pulled you quickly to the ice cream truck.

Your heart fluttered upon seeing his childish antics, following his lead before skidding to a halt at the foot of the truck.

After you both had gotten your ice cream, you peacefully sat shoulder to shoulder at the bench with Denji, enjoying the flavor of the treat as the serene atmosphere paired with the comforting silence allowed you to examine his gorgeous features.

His sleepy crimson eyes, his scruffy blonde hair flowing slightly in the wind, his pointy teeth…

No, everything was breathtaking about your boyfriend.

You were snapped out of your trance when his head spun over to you, giving you a confused glance.

“Sweetheart? Is everything okay?”

Denji asked with a inquisitive tone. A smudge of vanilla ice cream was situated on his cheek, which he seemed to be completely unaware of as he continued to stare at you for answers.

Without thinking, you instinctively leaned in and pressed your lips against his cheek, licking away the ice cream stain as you felt the gradual heat on your lips. When your eyes opened, your pupils widened at the sight of Denji’s skin obtaining a more reddish hue.

You immediately pulled away while Denji sat there with his face as red as a tomato, and his body completely tensed up. It took a solid 10 seconds for you to let what you just did sink in.

What the fuck is wrong with me-? You thought to yourself in the current awkward moment you put yourself into.

“U-Uh Denji- dear- I didn’t-“

A warm, soft sensation pressed against your lips before you could finish your sentence.

Denji’s lips locked against yours, engulfing all of your senses in a warm and fuzzy feeling as you kissed back passionately. Your left hand made its way behind his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and your eyes closing with your lips pressing further up against his.

The kiss lasted almost an eternity, as the soft glint of the moon shone on your skin, while Denji’s hands were situated on your shoulders firmly.

Suddenly, you jolted backwards upon hearing a loud bang ring throughout the area, looking around frantically for what startled you.

The explosion crackled loudly once again, which caught your attention in the corner of your eye.

A firework.

Within moments, you and Denji stared up at the night sky as colorful explosions were scattered across the clearing. The flickering colors reflected in both yours and Denji’s eyes while you both were completely mesmerized by the fireworks.

You suddenly heard Denji’s voice quietly murmur under his breath.

“The next one may be for us..”

A large group of bright red fireworks shot into the sky, exploding in the shape of a heart and causing Denji to tightly hug your arm before whispering in a romantic tone of voice.

“I knew that they’d show how much I love you…”

[lululandd]

antics; (iii.)

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: fluff, comedy, i put roach in specgru

note: thankyou jagga for the prank idea :3 (also on AO3)

summary: simon pranks reader back (again) + everyone else

part i. | part ii. | part iii.

His ‘actual’ revenge came weeks later when he showed up at your door with groceries in his arms.

He walks in like he owns the place, Meese following him excitedly and impatiently plopping down, showing his belly near his feet every few steps he walks into your home.

Putting down his groceries on the counter next to the fridge, he excitedly rummaged in it, “These were on sale.” He triumphantly showed you a can of wet food.

You recognise them as the expensive kind with real chunks of meat and fancy oils and added vitamins that you only buy for Meese on his little kitty birthday.

Simon waved the little can around tantalisingly, making Meese’s eyes go all large and round and shiny. The little fella’s tail shot up and he swished it about, anticipating whatever he thought it was.

“Can I give this to him now?” He politely asks, looking at you expectantly.

Glancing at the clock, you see it’s only fifteen minutes away from his normal feeding time, so you guess why not. “Sure, go ahead.” You walk over to pick up Meese’s bowl and rinse it with water before drying it and putting it on the counter by him.

Knowing what his bowl being taken away usually means, Meese glued himself onto Simon’s legs and rubbed his head on his calf lovingly. Little traitor.

He looked down at him and smiled before setting his eyes on the can and popping it open. He promptly scrunched his nose. “Smells rank. Like old beef and mouldy beans.”

You held your laugh, “Well I don’t usually put my face that close to cat food.”

“You sure this is good for them?” He turned towards you fully, his nose wrinkling as he took another good solid whiff at it. His eyes are gonna water if he keeps being that close to the open can.

Nodding, you push Meese’s bowl closer towards him so he doesn’t have to smell it any longer. You grabbed a spoon off the dishrack and handed it to him.

He scoops a little dollop of wet cat food, and to your utmost horror he puts it in his mouth and starts chewing.

Gasping and grabbing whatever you can of him, you scrambled to stop him from chewing and swallowing. “Simon what in christ FUCK are you fuckING DOING???”

At this point Meese had backed off of you two and stared from a safe distance.

The man had the audacity to look wholly unbothered at the situation. “What? gotta make sure it tastes allright before I give it to the cat.” he shrugged you off, “Did the same thing with the salmon.”

“Yeah but that’s salmon the fish, this is catfood the cat…food!!”

He burst into laughter, coughing midway as he choked on his own spit. As he walked away to grab a glass of water, you peered into the can with a chunk missing.

Why is it pinkish white instead of shit brown like usua—

You leaned closer to the open can to confirm your suspicions, “Simon…you did fucking not just eat canned chicken straight from the bloody fucking can for a prank.”

The man choked mid sip, spitting the water back into the glass, with some dribbling down his chin.

Oh this man will be the death of you. 

His fit of laughter started again, placing a hand on the kitchen table before collapsing on a chair, hunched over with his hands on his stomach.

Thirty minutes and a full Meese later, Simon still giggles to himself from time to time as he sits on your sofa with your traitor of a cat purring up a storm on his lap. It’s a little scary how small Meese looks compared to him.

“Shoulda seen your face.” He smugly told you as he giggled to himself again.

Before the whole Meese ordeal, you’ve known Simon as the scary neighbour that doesn’t talk to anyone and everyone is scared of. But now here he is, comfortably lounging on your sofa while your cat lounges on him. You glance up from your phone from time to time to see the cosy scene, making you smile in return. It’s now hard to imagine he’s the same grumpy neighbour that you used to worry about.

You know nothing about this man; you don’t know what’s going on in his other aspects of life, you don’t even know where he works, but you know with certainty that you want him to smile and laugh as often as he can. And with this back and forth on the pranking, you think you know how to make that happen.

“Where are you going?” He called out as soon as you stood up.

You turned your head in confusion, “I’m… getting my laptop.”

“Okay.”

Grabbing your laptop and mouse from your study, you get to work immediately. Meese, seeing a better source for warmth, moves from Simon’s lap and twists his way onto the bottom of your laptop. Your phone lights up with a message sometime later, and seeing who it's from makes you look up at the man sitting in front of you, who’s currently busy scrolling on his own phone.

Opening the message, it was a picture of you working with Meese’s unhinged, pulled back face showing up on the space underneath the laptop and in between your crossed legs. When you looked up at him he was already looking at you, making you smile in the process. 

“Hope you didn’t mind the pic.”

You shook your head, and closed your laptop in a hurry when he stood and walked over.

He recoiled a bit at your action, but paid no mind and excused himself because he had to go back to his own place. Meese tried so hard to make him stay but in the end the man has his own space and can’t hang out at your place all the time.

Finishing your little project that night, you went to the printing place two blocks away the next day to make your vision a reality. It came out better than expected, looking official and all that shit.

You almost ran back to his place, the cheshire grin apparent on your features the whole way. He opened the door almost immediately after the first knock, which adds to your excitement.

Eyeing your arms, and the floor, he seems to be looking for Meese, which you don’t blame. His whole interaction with you revolved around him since the beginning. His eyes narrow as his lips purse.

Raising your arms in mock surrender, you assure him you’re not here to pull a prank right now. “I wanna show you something.”

“Sure.” He answered as he still looked around suspiciously, “Out there on in here?”

You peered into his place, and he took it as an answer, moving away from the door to make space for you. His corner flat feels comically small for a man of his stature and size. Not realising it yet but your subconscious noted the lack of decoration and colour in his living space. Carefully fishing the freshly printed stickers from inside your bag, you handed it to him.

He stared at the warm sheet in his hand, six rectangular stickers with a silhouette of a person’s side profile and a sideways Wi-Fi symbol coming out of their mouth with the words “Voice Activated” written underneath it. Another half dozen stickers below it have two hands on them, saying “Clap Activated”. He looked at you in half confusion and understanding.

Your smile broadened, “They’re for your co-workers. You can put them on coffee machines or faucets or the printer or whatever appliance you have at work.”

He ran his hand over his face, a dark chuckle emerging from the back of his throat. “This could get me fired.”

Hearing his words, your smile faded a little bit.

Looking up from the stickers, his smile broadened. “I love it.”

—

Ghost knows he shouldn’t be feeling this giddy for such a silly little prank that his neighbour suggested but he couldn’t help it. His cold and stoic demeanour had been chipped away little by little by that stupid little cat of hers, and in tandem, the woman herself. It bled into his work persona, his mind wanders back home more often than he should.

He saw Soap walk into the break room, reflexively making him try to look more relaxed and less suspicious; whatever that means.

The Scot tilted his head at the coffee maker he knew he'd seen before—he should, he just switched coffee machines with the other break room across the base—but with the words “Voice Activated” now stuck on it.

He looked around and at this point everyone in the breakroom was in on the joke, since some of them had fallen for it or they witnessed the chaos, and now stayed to see who’d be the next victim. 

“The fuck am a supposed ta say tae the damn thing?” He said loudly as he puts a cup underneath. “Start?”

Everyone tries so hard to keep their composure but some have already started giggling and Simon wants to strangle them. Keep it down. This is Soap. This is gonna get stupid any second now. Don’t blow it.

“Aw come oan. Coffee? Go?” He turned around at some sargeants, “Aye lads what tae fuck didja say to it to make it go?”

The closest sergeant to him showed her drink to him, “I made tea, dunno.”

He turned his attention to the damn machine again, “Turn oan.” He commanded, and as he was looking for a button to push, Gaz came into the picture.

Yes.

“What’s going on, Soap?” He greeted, picking up a cup and reaching for a tea bag.

Soap pointed at the Voice Activated sticker and Gaz surreptitiously turned his head around to look for someone, and when he saw him, he smirked. “Maybe we need to say it louder?”

Ghost thanks his double mask because he’s mad grinning right now. It’s a shame Gaz gets paired with Price so often, because he knows they would get along so well. Maybe better than him and Johnny, if he may be crass. He swears it’s like Gaz can read his mind sometimes.

“START!” At this point Soap is just one octave away from actually screaming his lungs out and the soldiers in the break room have lost their composure and started laughing at him, he and Gaz included.

Leaving the break room was his only option right now, as Soap had started trudging towards him, hot coffee in hand. As he power walked out, laughter barely hidden, he wished you were here to see all this unfold.

The opportunity came a whole week later, when he learned of SpecGru and KorTac’s practise match. Roach was with him this time, since it was he that told him about the practise match and it was him that talked him out of pranking their captain and doing it to KorTac operators instead. He placed the Clap Activated sticker in KorTac’s break room, taping over the light switch with duct tape.

Poor König was the one to enter the breakroom first, marvelling at the sign and then up at the lamp fixture before clapping.

The gloved clap produced a pathetic muffled sound, which the Austrian realised wouldn't be loud enough to be picked up by the sensors. The rest of his teammates walked in—first Horangi, followed by Graves, Nikto, and Mace—as he took his gloves off.

“Watcha doin’ big guy?” Graves walked closer, putting his hand out to hold König’s gloves.

The bigger man refused, instead squishing the gloves between his torso and his elbow. “Clap lights.” He answered as he clapped twice.

The light stayed off.

Graves joined in, stuffing his gloves in his back pocket. “Damn these are shitty lights. Built one in middle school for a project, they were so sensitive, any loud noise could activate them.”

Mace spoke up, “Did it turn on and off when you fuck?”

They all stared at him, “I was thirteen, man, what the hell. It did trigger when i slammed doors tho.”

Ghost doesn’t think he’s had this much fun since he joined the 141. The simpleness of the prank, the harmlessness of the whole ordeal. It didn’t escape his mind that a bunch of soldiers are the perfect people to use such pranks on. If they were office workers, they would not be so hands on, Graves would’ve given up the second his clap didn’t activate the lights and called the janitor or the building’s management. But here? as a soldier? He made König grab a chair to make sure the bulb isn’t loose before clapping again.

Everyone else had joined in, taking their gloves off, barking out orders, brainstorming ideas, all whilst clapping in-between, as Ghost and Roach tried their hardest to not make any sound during the whole ordeal. It all eventually went to moot when the lights turned on seemingly all by itself and Roach gasped in surprise, showing their position with his phone camera pointing right at them. They were too focused on Graves and König to realise Horangi had peeled the tape off the switch and manually turned it on.

They don’t know it yet, but this would be the start of the prank war between SpecGru and KorTac.

—

When you see Simon a couple of weeks later, he uncharacteristically shows you his phone when you were chilling together in his apartment—with Meese sniffing around his place, checking out his new cat scratcher—accompanied by tea and cookies.

“Don’t swipe.” He warned as he handed you his phone.

It’s an older model phone, you don’t recognise which, but from the cracked screen protector, yellowing case, and warmth of the phone, you would guess it was a couple years old by now. “Will I see dick, or..?” You teased as you looked up at him.

He didn’t answer, so you focused on the phone in your hand. you can tell it’s smaller than your phone, which is funny. The screen shows a paused video of what looks to be a darkened empty room.

“Got one of the pranks on camera.” He said as you looked at him before pressing play.

You looked at the edge of the phone where the duration of the video sits, and yelled at him, “The video is HOW long?????”

[indigosabyss]

Unexpected Baggage Pt 4

They had scarcely been fished out of the ocean and given towels to dry themselves off when Charles was already herding Erik towards Raven.

"This is my sister." He explained quickly, as the two sized each other up. She's like us, he added mentally, sensing Erik's defensiveness.

Erik pinned him with a look, "Is that your only trick?" He asked. 

Charles shrugged, "More or less, I can read people's thoughts."

He didn't spend much time dwelling on the more malicious uses for his abilities.

Erik continued looking at him with a considering look, gears turning in his head.

Before he could give into his urge to look deeper than just vague impressions, Erik asked him outright, "Is there a range? For how far you can read a person?"

"Uh, well, I never tried to experiment much, but I'd say a mile? Maybe??" He hazarded to guess, unsure what Erik meant by the question.

"Why're you asking?" Raven asked bluntly.

Erik looked at her again, "I need help finding someone."

Charles licked his lips, "Well, in that case, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I know what you'll do to the unlucky fellow when you find them."

Erik huffed a laugh, "I'm not going to kill them. I know how to find my targets by myself. This is a favor to someone else."

"Someone not hellbent on vengeance?" Charles asked. Somehow he doubted Erik socialized much outside of that circle.

"Yes." Erik agreed emphatically, "She's waiting on the docks and needs help from someone like you. I'll introduce you when we get back to shore."

Raven and Charles looked at each other, and Raven shrugged in whats-the-harm way.

[this got longer than expected, so the rest is under the cut]

Back on shore, Charles convinced their CIA escort to let them slip away from the hubbub, letting Erik lead the way towards the dark containers.

"She's around here somewhere." Erik assured them distractedly, cupping his hands around his mouth, "Kamala!"

A consciousness nearby sparked in recognition at the call. Charles turned at the right time to see a person walking up to them.

On first look, she was a young girl, perhaps in her mid teens, and on the shorter side if that. She was also radiating amusement.

"Hey, Erik." She said between laughs, "I saw the Coast Guard got called in. What happened to me being a liability?"

"The Coast Guard wasn't my fault." Erik told her crisply, "And you would have alerted them faster if you came with me."

"Alright, Mr 'I Am The Night, I Am Vengeance'." She put on a growly voice before collapsing into peels of laughter.

"I never said that." Erik ducked away to clarify to Charles, before shaking his head at her, "I brought these people to help you find your friend, but if you're just going to laugh at me-"

"Wait, really?" The girl gravitated towards them, hopping slightly in place, "Hi! How're you planning to do that? Why's Erik trusting you with this? What're your names? I'm Kamala Khan, by the way."

"Raven." She was grinning as she shook the new girl's hand.

"Charles Xavier." He repeated the greeting, "And Erik has been very accommodating of us because we all have a commonality."

Kamala squinted at them, "You all... hate Shaw." She guessed.

"No." Though goodness knew the man deserved to be hated, with what he saw in Erik's mind, "We all have a mutation in our genes which allows us incredible powers."

There was a faraway look in Kamala's eyes as she muttered, "Holy shit. Bruno was right?"

"Kamala has powers too." Erik cut in, "There's a lot going on with her except that, too, but she's a mutant."

"Oh?" Raven cocked her head, "What can you do?"

Kamala beamed, and held up her right hand into a fist.

A layer of purple light began to flow over the hand, fluid for barely a moment before it was crystallizing into a brightly glowing solid. A translucent shell under which he could still see the normal flesh and blood.

But it didn't end there.

The glowing fist began to expand, until it was about the size of a bowling ball. Kamala frowned in concentration as she opened the fist, flexing each finger, before stretching it forward to poke Charles.

The construct was a sharp contrast of warm and cold, and the contact was surprisingly solid, sending him stumbling back an inch.

Raven let out a shocked laugh, "That's a good trick."

Kamala beamed again. Literally, this time. The purplish glow had formed a halo around her face. 

For the last eighteen years, Raven had been his only proof that there were others like him in the world. That mutants weren't a far off hypothetical. And now in short order Charles had found five others, two of which were on his side.

It was a heady feeling.