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albatmobile · 2 years ago

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The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 8

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for Roy and Jason's child.

𓅪 Rated: M | TW: mentions of alcohol/weed | 10.2k includes: Damian and Jason train you (gray sweatpants, enough said), you hang w roy and Jason while the batfam is out of town and steamy shenanigans w jayroy occur (shotgunning and drunken making-out yall)

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter Eight: I Wanna Be Your Man | ao3 - wattpad

THEN

It calmed down for the most part after the party, with Damian not refusing to let you escape from your promise to learn self-defense.

“At least just the basics until you get them down. After that, I can show you the impressive moves they attempt to illustrate in those pathetic comics of yours.”

You ignored his ever-present cynicism. “Really?!”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. Bruce had us taught by the best in kidnapping defense and retaliation. I know some pretty cool moves.”

He motioned you forward onto the central mat in the manor’s extensive gym.

You laughed at his terminology, “Even if you show me, it won’t matter anyway because you’ll never play superheroes with me.”

“Aw,” he pretended to pout at you, “you’re right. Now come get your ass beat.”

“Whatever,” you huffed but, regardless, stepped toward him to copy his stance.

He bent his knees slightly and you followed suit. “Elevate your heels a bit,” he advised, coming up from behind you to kick lightly at them. This movement forced you to balance on the pads of your feet. “Good,” he said.

You cleared your throat at his unusual praise, pushing down the butterflies that fluttered against your stomach, “Thanks.”

Now was not the time to be getting horny, fucking weirdo. This was about your safety.

“Alright, now that you’ve felt out the stance a bit, I’ll show you a strike.”

He demonstrated where to place your hands in front of your face, bringing his arm across his chest to push in between your chest with enough force to send you tumbling backward.

“Woah!” you exclaimed, managing to catch yourself before you tripped. When you returned to the original stance, you tried to emulate him as best you could, but when you made contact with his chest, he didn’t budge in the slightest. You let out a disappointed sigh and tried again, but to no avail, “How come you didn’t move?”

“You have the strength of a toddler, that’s why. Any other obvious questions you want answered?” When you shot him a deadpan look, he moved on to show you how to make a fist by taking your hands into his and curling them just so. “Watch my legs as I punch.”

You saw them shift in tandem with the movement and replicated it, lifting your heels off the mat just slightly. Then you were off in a flurry of fists and dodges that made you feel like you’d jumped straight from the pages of your favorite comic books and out onto the gym mat.

A particular punch of his had you stumbling back and tripping over a stray weight with a yelp. Damian attempted to catch you, but your leg extended out in a way that ended up tripping him in the process. Damian ended up landing right above you with his weight on his hands that lay on either side of your head.

He tilted his head slightly at your flustered face and leaned in closer.

Your breath unwittingly hitched when his lips seemed to hesitate over yours as if he were contemplating what it’d be like to close the short distance between your mouths and taste your rosy lips.

It’s quiet aside from your faint, overexerted breaths. Time seemed to have frozen you in your position as your widened eyes stared up into Damian’s half-lidded hazel eyes.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he finally broke the silence.

You swallowed lightly as your eyes searched his for any answers, but all you found was thinly aroused contempt.

“I haven’t either.”

You both seemed to have revealed your ace of hearts and, thus, were left in the tension of the aftermath.

He nodded before finishing the lesson like nothing happened. “I’ll be in the showers. They’re open stalls, so I’ll go first. In the meantime, it’s imperative you cool down and stretch.”

He showed you a few good ones before leaving you to your own devices.

Damian was off in the showers and you were bending down into the cobra stretch he’d shown you when Jason found you.

“Why are you working out in that?”

You followed Jason’s eyes as they raked over your revealing sports bra and short workout shorts as you arched off the ground.

“What’s so wrong with it?” you breathed into the stretch, attempting to ignore him. You could hear the water running loudly from the other room and tried to focus on that as you finished your cool down.

He knelt down and tapped your nose, making it impossible to ignore him. “Bit whoreish.”

You gaped at him but recovered quickly enough to impress him, “Leave the fashion policing to Dick, Jay.”

He fake gagged as he stood off to the side to observe you. “Please never call me that again.”

“What?!” you huffed and stood up, realizing you weren’t going to be able to do any cooling down with Jason in the room. “But you let Roy call you that.”

He looked around the gym theatrically before landing on you once again with his mirthful slits of green. “Don’t see Roy in here, soo.”

“So, only Roy can call you Jay,” you started listing off on your fingers, “only you can call me babe and only Roy can call me princess?”

“Something along those lines, yeah,” he responded as if it were obvious.

“Do you just pick random days to be a cunt, or is this just like an everyday thing now?” You eyed him up and down with faux judgment. “Because it seems like it’s an everyday thing.”

“Fuck off and come fight someone who actually knows what they’re doing. How about that?” He tilted his sharp jaw towards the center of the mat and motioned you to follow him. “Show me your stance,” he demanded. You laughed but, nonetheless, followed him to replicate what Damian had shown you. Jason immediately tutted as he looked over your form, “Keep your legs shoulder-width.”

That was the same thing Damian had said, too.

“Why?”

Jason kicked lightly at your feet and you closed the distance between them. “Your legs seem to be your strongest asset.”

“Are you hitting on me?” you joked, but he merely rolled his eyes.

“Anyone can see that you’ve got killer legs, so use them to your advantage.”

You blushed at the off-handed compliment and nodded.

He started moving around you with a cadence that reminded you of a dance and you tried to follow suit but were dragging slightly due to soreness in your legs from your previous sparring with Damian. You did perk up pretty quickly once he threw his shirt off, leaving him in just his grey sweatpants.

Damn, that outline was doing things to you…

You didn’t have much time to appreciate his athletic build before he broke into a sprint your way, tackling you to the ground with a resounding ‘thud.’

“Agh! Jason, what the fuck?” You attempted to lift your arms off the mat, but Jason had you pinned with one hand. “How the fuck is this training me? Get off of me, you fucking fat ass,” you wheezed, pushing at his heavy form, but it was in vain.

“Get me off then, babe.” He shifted his grip as he smirked down at your struggling form. “Find an object, an anchor, in the room and steady your breathing.”

You didn’t have time to catch the innuendo. No, you were too busy squirming below him while attempting to find your anchor and regain a steady air supply to your lungs at the same time.

“You’re too heavy,” you heaved pathetically against the overbearing weight of his chest.

“Try shifting your hips like this,” he offered and used his free hand to tap at the base of your hips where your underwear began. He then lifted off your body with his free hand. “Then move them like you’re bucking.”

He demonstrated how to shift them from side to side while hovering over you single-handedly.

You watched his hips move above your own, but they quickly trailed up his to each of his rippling biceps: one on your hip, the other on the right side of your head.

“Bucking…” you trailed off, watching as he lowered his weight back onto your chest.

“Yeah, just like I showed you,” his breath fanned across your face as he spoke. There was no mistaking how close you guys were with your nose came tip to tip with his.

You thought back to what Damian had said about not having kissed anyone and wondered if it would still be true for you by the end of Jason’s training session.

He seemed expectant, so you shifted from side to side under him, albeit distracted by the intimacy of the position, something he noticed immediately. One look at your distracted gaze and rosy cheeks was all Jason needed to see. He wasted no time in hopping off of you.

You coughed lightly when you sat up and inhaled dramatically to play your arousal off. “Fucking hell, dude,” you winced, rubbing at your ribs where his weight had been predominately on. “What does Alfred feed you guys?”

“You should know. You’re here almost every day, which, I might add, also makes you a fat ass,” he said, reaching out a hand that you accepted easily and he helped you to stand.

“Touche, Todd.”

It was Jason’s turn to leave you in the gym when he heard Roy calling from down the hall. You don’t stay alone for too long, however, as Damian emerges from the showers mere moments later.

You attempted to sneak up behind Damian and attack him using what Jason had just shown you, but he simply yawned and flipped you onto the mat with a heavy thunk.

“Oof!” You had the breath knocked straight out of you. “How did you see me coming?”

“What did I say about obvious questions?” he said your name, not bothering to help you up.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the stark differences between the Wayne boys.

You assumed it was just you and Damian now, so you tried out some of the things you’d noticed while training with Jason. Damian instantly settled into his stance to meet you.

“You really want to try fighting me again? You’re either dumb or have a death wish.”

You giggled with glee. He sounded exactly like some of the comic book characters you kept up with.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He smirked and drew you forward onto the mat once again.

“Fine. I appreciate your enthusiasm, though not much else can be said of those shit punches you keep throwing.” He took the time to show you the proper way to make a fist again and how to follow through with your legs. After that, you were back in the game.

Damian was really playing superheroes with you. No fucking way.

“You should’ve never taught me these moves, Damian. Someday, soon, I’ll overpower you.”

You managed to land a pretty decent hit on his stomach, which he gave you the pleasure of stumbling backward in an exaggerated manner that left you smiling at his theatrics.

He snorted but continued along, “Infidel, I should have you hung for saying something as sacrilegious as that." Then, he returned a barrage of attacks that you eventually managed to dodge after you understood the little patterns within his movements.

“You’re growing predictable.”

“So are you,” he didn’t miss a beat as he swept you off your feet and stood over your head. He pretended to whip out a sword before pointing what would be its imaginary tip at the jugular of your throat. “You’re a pathetic excuse of an adversary. I-”

“No way.”

The two of you simultaneously looked up at Jason’s voice to see him and Roy snickering with an amused Bruce behind them. Damian quickly dropped his arm that was holding the imaginary sword and attempted to flee the room, but the crowd outside the door wouldn’t let him.

“You losers are actually playing make-believe superhero?” Jason had to hold himself up on the wall at what he’d walked in on. “This is actually too good. I don’t think I should’ve seen this,” he cut off any further shit talking to shift and bar Damian from exiting.

“Shut up!” Damian hissed, once again attempting to push past Jason’s bulky form, but it was fruitless with Roy right there behind him.

Bruce had long left you guys to your antics, though it was obvious how glad he'd been that you and Damian were playing if the huge smile on his face was anything to go by.

“You’re definitely never living this down, hellspawn.” Jason made to mess with Damian’s hair. “Though, it is nice to see you act like a kid for once.”

"I'm no kid, Todd." Damian smacked his hand out of his face before he could ruffle his hair again and spat, “Do not mistake that.” He eventually gave up on trying to escape. Instead, he sighed and helped you up from where you lay on the floor, “We’re never doing this again.”

You frowned big before shooting a deadly glare Jason’s way.

“Sorry, babe. We can always role-play later, don't worry that pretty little head of yours.” It sounded more like Roy’s banter than anything, but it still made your body flush all the same.

You hated the control they had over you.

Jason finally relinquished his position in the doorway, finally allowing his youngest brother to pass. Damian didn’t bother with another word as he exited the room like a bull, slamming his bedroom door soon after.

You’d attempted to follow after him, but the locked door coupled with his pissy mood, meant Damian was out for the count. Taking the loss, you doubled back to the showers, knowing if you stood there any longer, you’d only be wasting your breath.

Roy and Jason are still there waiting for you when you come out in leggings and a crop top. “Where’d Damian go? Still holed up in embarrassment?” You shrugged at Jason’s question. “You’re not embarrassed?”

“Hell, no,” you answered honestly. “You guys already know I’m a freak, so why should I care?”

“We do know that, don’t we, Jay?” Roy teasingly wagged his eyebrows at you.

“Shut up,” Jason smacked him.

They shuffled around awkwardly and looked at each other after that.

“What?” you asked somewhat impatiently. It wasn’t like them to act like this.

“We just wanted to check in on you after that thing in the apartment.”

You froze before beginning to pick at the hem of your shorts anxiously, something they both noticed easily.

“Have you talked with your parents about it?”

You lied in a vain attempt to get them to drop it, but they seemed like they already knew you'd try it before you knew yourself. Knowing this, you still lied.

“Yeah."

You hadn’t talked to them since your first day of school when they asked you why the fridge was so empty. At the time, it’d been the first time you’d seen them in two months. You remembered rolling your eyes at their complaint, knowing that once they left, they’d just be gone for a longer amount of time.

“We just don’t want you to be scared to go back," Roy continued on with what Jason didn’t say, trailing off bashfully in a way you’d never heard before, "and that we’re always here for you, you know? You don't have to face it alone. Not when we're here.”

Alone.

How much did they know?

You felt your defenses fly up before you could stop them.

“It’s so like you guys to come back and be randomly friendly like this,” it slipped out before you could stop it, but you stuck with it.

You couldn't help but feel like a toy that they played with when they felt like it. Easily discardable. Why would they care if you felt alone?

“What do you mean?” They appeared genuinely stupefied at the sudden shift.

“What do you mean 'what do I mean?' You guys totally blew Damian and me off at the party, acting like we don’t hang out, too.”

They became sheepish at that. “You’re so young.”

“You should be hanging out with someone your age like Damian, not us,” Jason agreed with the redhead.

You were over it.

You refused to listen to their bullshit any longer and regretted not just saying ‘thank you’ to Roy in the first place.

“Whatever, are we hanging out or not? Damian ditched me, so if I’m sticking around, it'll either be with Bruce and Titus or you two fucks.”

It went unsaid that you really didn’t want to go back to your apartment. This was how you ended up roped into squishing between the two of them on a couch in the game room. After all the physical exertion, it was more of them playing the game and you cuddling them until you fell asleep with your feet in Roy's lap and head tucked against Jason’s.

You’d continue your lessons a few times a week and found that you were getting significantly better each time.

Sometimes Dick would join you with Damian and Jason. Other times, it'd just be Damian or Jason alone in the gym with you. Damian had gone back on his rash statement in the gym with Jason and Roy, electing only to indulge in your superhero fantasy when no one was with you and only after he’d double-checked to be sure.

You weren’t complaining.

•

Toward the middle of the year, it was just you and Jason at the table.

“Where is everyone today?”

Tim hadn’t even been there to greet you at your locker and the only thing Damian had texted you was that he wouldn’t be at school for a day or so.

“Some family vacation thing,” Jason replied simply, not looking up from his book.

You flicked at his book at forced his emerald eyes to meet yours, “So, why didn’t you go then?”

“Something about father-son bonding. Nothing that concerns me, anyway.” He tried to seem unbothered by diving right back to his book, but you could tell something was eating him up.

You frowned, wondering what that meant exactly but switched the subject anyway. “What are you reading this week?”

Jason changed books like Roy changed girlfriends.

“Dickens.”

You scoffed, “You should recommend Tim books. He needs the sleep.”

“Cunt,” he hissed, though his eyes glimmered with mirth.

“Jason!” you gasped in faux offense. “You absolute, fucking Dickens fiend.”

Who knew all of the Wayne’s were such assholes?

Oh, wait, you did.

“You should still come over. You know, even though Damian and Tim won’t be there,” he stuttered out the last part, leaving you to tilt your head at his uncharacteristic behavior. Jason always seemed so sure of himself; it wasn’t like him to act so nervous around you.

You shrugged, not seeing the difference. “I’m there every day basically, so, sure.”

You both smiled at each other as the bell rang.

Jason grabbed both of your trash, throwing it out before coming back to the table to where you and his bag remained. “I’ll meet you after school by your locker.”

“Still no bike?” you called after his retreating form.

He shrugged, turning around while still walking. “Until I ‘learn to behave myself,’” he said around air quotes, “I’ve lost privileges until the New Year, babe.” You knew he had to be quoting Bruce and had to laugh a bit at his accurate impression. He turned back to face the direction he was walking in before you could say anything and sent you off with a tiny salute. “See ya later, kid.”

•

“How are you still this drunk after seven periods?” you questioned a highly intoxicated Roy, who’d shown up to school still drunk from the college party that had apparently happened last night.

Typical Roy. He showed up drunk or high to school at least twice a week, if not more.

It was something you were getting used to, but it concerned you nonetheless. Jason never brought it up thought and you didn’t think you were necessarily close enough to Roy to say anything, so you just kept your mouth shut. That didn't stop you from shaking your head at him when you noticed.

You’d only heard about the party after Roy wouldn’t shut up about being invited. You sighed; obviously, a freshman couldn’t go to a college party, so you were left to take it in through the details Roy dished out.

He wobbled slightly as you walked over the uneven gravel of the Wayne Manor driveway. You and Jason quickly came to his aid and helped stabilize him.

“I wanna go to the next one,” you whined lightly, knowing they’d only object.

Roy just groaned, laying his head on your shoulder while you and Jason continued to support him inside, “Your voice is so annoying right now, princess. I’m sorry to break the unfortunate news to you.”

"Fine then," you quickly dropped your arm from around his waist to let him stumble to the floor, “carry yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” he winced, motioning for you to come back. “Get your angelic vocal cords back over here.”

“How sweet.” You rolled your eyes but, nevertheless, slid your arm back around him to where it rested against the warmth of Jason’s own. “I still think you’re hamming this up just so Jason and I will hug your perverted ass. There’s no way you could’ve managed around that big ass labyrinth of a school on your own for eight hours in this pathetic state.”

“Just call me David Bowie, sweetheart,” he let out an over-exaggerated moan that had you and Jason looking at each other in amusement. “And, so what if I’m a touch-depraved little boy?”

You’d so caught him, but you obliged anyway, knowing his hoe-ass was the furthest thing from touch starved. His connect-the-dot heap of hickeys lingered, never faltering in their angry red color amongst the splatters of freckles across his neck. It was common knowledge that on any given school day, Roy could almost always be found making out with someone in the hallway, up in the projection room, or behind the bleachers at any given point of the day.

Yes, double standards. They exist and they suck.

“Sure you are,” you responded tonelessly. At the same time, you couldn’t exactly complain about the close contact you were currently getting with two of the hottest guys you knew. When you got inside, you noticed how quiet it was. “Is Alfred here?”

"No," Jason pointed in the direction of the stairs with his sharp jaw and you followed, “he’s just out running errands or something.”

“Just the three of us? Suddenly, I’m feeling a lot better,” Roy said through a smirk and straightened up to carry himself up the stairs, leaving you and Jason to huff. “What? It’s not like I’m as heavy as Dumbo over there.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder at Jason’s scowling form.

Instead of rising to the bait, Jason fake gasped, nudging you roughly in jest, “What a rude thing to say to a lady.”

“I hate you both,” you huffed, moving past both of them to stalk off to the library. You didn't need anyone to guide you anymore. No, you were becoming very familiar with the manor and all its inhabitants. You sat down on the couch with Jason while Roy elected to fall to the floor with a loud thud you guys ignored. “And to think I still do your homework for you, Roy,” you teased right back.

“Hey! Jason said it, not me, babe-” He stopped suddenly before wincing at Jason.

Jason was already looking down at him with annoyance. “Thought we talked about that, Harper,” he warned.

Roy ran a sheepish hand through his greasy strawberry locks. “Sorry, Jay,” he then looked at you, “sorry, princess.”

You shrugged, remembering how when you’d trained with Jason, he’d gotten upset with you for using Roy’s nickname on him.

“All good,” Jason sounded content but was still squinting a bit at Roy’s slumped form on the floor. “What’s wrong? I thought you already admitted you were faking it.”

“Yeah, the walking part. Thanks, by the way.” He shot you guys a wicked smirk before grimacing and rubbing at the spot between his eyebrows. “But yeah, I’m still pretty fuckin' hungover.”

“That’s what happens when you do five body shots in a row,” Jason reprimanded.

“Worth it.” Roy covered his eyes with his hand and smiled. “‘Sides, it won’t matter for long if Alfred and your pappy are out.”

“He’s not my dad,” Jason’s tone left no room for argument. Roy instantly backed off without another word.

There it was again.

You looked up from the homework you’d pulled out while they reminisced over the college party they’d gone to and see Jason attempting to look busy doing the same, but his eyes were unfocused.

“Roy, what’s your assignment?” Jason looked at you gratefully and Roy followed your lead in changing the subject.

“We’re doing short stories, so I picked the shortest one.”

You shuffled around excitedly, motioning for him to hand you his laptop. You already knew his password and entered ‘BatmanrulezR0binDr00lz’ with a roll of your eyes.

Taking one look over his paper on Harrison Bergeron, your face squinted up in disgust. “Roy, what is this?” you questioned.

“My genius analysis, ba- princess.” You and Roy looked over to Jason, whose embarrassed gaze quickly forced itself downward at his predictability. “It’s about how being equal isn’t everything people crack it up to be and shit,” the redhead finished.

At his response, you and Jason share a knowing glance.

You scroll through the pages of the text again with brows furrowed together in concentration. “On the surface, for sure, but when you look deeper, it’s about how total control over society is damming and destructive to those not in charge.”

“Total control?” Jason sat up and took the computer from your lap. “Maybe if you were a freshman, you'd think that. Oh, wait.”

You snatched it right back. “Maybe total control wasn’t the best terminology,” you tried again, starting to type, “but unchecked power. Think, in our terms, Batman per say and all the debate that goes on over how much control, er, power he has and who’s there to check it? Same with all of the other superheroes. That might be an interesting angle?” You titled your head innocently at Roy, who merely chuckled at the cute sight.

“Sure, works for me. As long as it sounds like me.” Roy picked himself off the floor and headed toward the door. “Back in a flash.”

Roy gave you a wink and made the Flash’s starting running pose before disappearing out the door. The redhead quickly returned with his pale, freckled arms filled with bottles of alcohol. Meanwhile, you and Jason were still arguing over his paper.

“And then, what of the ending? Is it still about unchecked power? Or is it about how people and love persevere even in the face of totalitarian adversity?”

“If you’re referring to the ending of the TV program, then yes, I could see your point, but,” you pointed to the last paragraphs, “the actual ending goes back to Harrison’s parents and them not remembering that they've witnessed their son die as a result of government brutality. Complete use of parallelism in the beginning scene. Roy, are you writing this down?” You didn’t have the laptop in your hands, so you needed him to capture the information before you forgot what you were saying.

“No, but, woah, you guys need to chill out. If you keep this schtick up, I might start to think you guys actually liked each other,” he said while wiggling his brows and looking between you and his scowling best friend beside you.

“How does that even make sense?” You wrinkled your nose at his nonsense.

All you guys did was argue and pick on each other all the time.

Jason agreed with a passive glance at his nails, “The kid and me? Pass. Besides, the demon child would no sooner sacrifice my soul to the pits of hell.”

“Bit too late for that, eh?” Roy dropped the bottles next to Jason and nudged him on the shoulder to show him something long and brown in his hand that you couldn’t quite see.

Jason laughed, finally surrendering the computer over to you so he could follow Roy out to the balcony, “You write his C-worthy paper then, brat.”

You blushed at the new nickname and just let yourself be confused, realizing this was probably one of those things they wouldn’t explain to you, but it was whatever.

You were used to it at this point.

Hell, if you hadn’t known any better, you might think they were together. However, Roy’s flirtatious nature and Jason’s more reserved one meant there was no way it would ever work.

You finished typing your preliminary notes and outline for Roy before shutting the laptop to see what they were up to outside. As soon as you stepped outside, you smelled the distinctness of fireworks in the chilled air.

“What is that?”

You, of course, knew it was weed, but you didn't know how they were able to be so chill about smoking in Bruce’s house so freely. Sure, he’d been gone a day, but after that? You could practically visualize him coming home with Tim and Damian and following the scent like a bloodhound, knowing exactly what had gone on up here in an instant.

You didn’t want to disappoint him again… but… if you just sat with them… that wouldn’t be too bad, right?

“That’s a blunt,” Roy answered your question as he popped the bottle on the Whistle Pig. “Don’t do drugs.”

“Maybe you should follow your own advice,” you laughed as he chugged directly from the bottle before handing it off to Jason, who did the same. It was an arduous task to sit down while his Adam's apple was bobbing so temptingly when you were so close. Your decision to perch yourself at the end of the lounge chair he was on had clearly been a mistake. “I don’t know how you guys do this shit.”

“It’s easy,” Roy shrugged. “Don’t do drugs,” he repeated again as he hit the blunt and exhaled through his freckled nose.

You laughed at his hypocrisy, “I’ve never smoked before, so I don’t think now would change that, regardless of Bruce being gone or not.” You shivered at the memory of him reprimanding you after the party Jason and Roy had thrown. “ButI won’t say no to a drink.”

“Good to see you without a stick up your ass for once, babe,” Jason said.

“Amen to that,” came Roy’s already tipsy cheer. “Here’s to our good girl!” You blushed but cheersed nonetheless, cringing immediately at the taste. They both laughed, “If you’re not into the whiskey, try this.” He looked around dramatically at the large selection he pulled but apparently wasn’t satisfied. “Hold on,” he said before running downstairs only to return with a blue bottle of wine.

“What is it?”

“Moscato, princess.”

Roy popped off the cork with an extremely dangerous-looking pocket knife, then grabbed a huge, expensive wine glass. You’d had red wine before, but this one was chilled and bubbly looking when he poured it.

You eyed the fizzing liquid suspiciously. “It’s a fucking Tuesday,” you complained mildly but had to admit that the wine was good. You hummed in approval at the sweet taste, “It’s basically just sparkling apple juice.”

You were toast.

“That’s when it’s dangerous, though,” Jason confirmed your worries in such a serious manner that it caused you to face him directly.

You could already feel a pleasant warm bloom in the depths of your stomach and the heat swelling in your cheeks. You could blame it all on the alcohol, sure, though you couldn’t deny the beauty of your company nor anyone that walked around these halls for that matter.

You nodded and began sipping slower as you watched the clouds that passed by. “What were you guys talking about before I came out here?”

“Nothing,” they both said a bit too quickly to be true, then glared at each other.

“Alright then,” you sighed and let them leave you out again.

You couldn’t help but sometimes feel that they didn’t want to hang out with you, but other times, they sought you out. The hot and cold confused you, to say the least. But, hey, at least you were hanging out now... right?

Roy seemed to sense your dampened mood and quickly tried to rectify it, “We were just talking about classes and how, without you two, I probably wouldn’t be passing English. Hell, probably any of my classes, for that matter.”

“Well, glad you keep me around for something.” You pointedly sipped, leaving Roy to wince. You knew he was thinking back to how you voiced similar concerns in the gym all those months ago.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Roy looked at Jason for backup, but Jason remained transfixed in fiddling with his lighter. Roy’s emerald eyes bore into yours with sincerity. “We like you. A lot.”

“Sure have a funny way of showing it," you huffed in annoyance. "One day, you guys want to hang out with me and the next, you guys are ditching and dissing me.”

“First of all, we always diss you, babe,” Jason said, tipping the now-lit blunt in your direction.

“Yeah, and you ditch us too,” Roy pointed out, moving to snatch it from Jason.

You considered both of their points, realizing you were probably just getting in your head.

“Whatever. I hate when you guys are right.”

“Get used to it,” Roy said your last name with a wink that left you rolling your eyes.

You really didn’t know what to talk about and they were extra quiet today. If Jason hadn’t specifically invited you over earlier that day, you definitely would’ve felt like you were intruding on them.

“Isn’t Bruce throwing a gala here next week?”

You’d been careful not to say 'dad,' considering you didn’t want to ruin the mood further, but you’d been curious. All everyone in school had been talking about was the elusive guest list, while others bragged that their parents were included at the top of it.

“Why? You want an invite or something?” Jason offered. He seemed amused that you’d even brought it up in the first place.

“I’m not allowed to go anymore ever since I drunkenly tried to kiss the mayor,” you snorted loudly at Roy’s confession and quickly moved to cover your mouth. “No, you can laugh. It was pretty funny. Brucey was pissed as ever; you’ve seen it. You know when he gets that little view in the left corner of his forehead?” You did know and laughed again. “Exactly.”

His green eyes stood out almost alien-like against the red that now stained the whites of his eyes. You looked at Jason, noting much of the same.

“Roy’s forgetting to mention he almost pissed himself, too.”

“Did not,” Roy argued. At this, he pushed at Jason’s shoulder, knocking him into you. You knocked his shoulder back and he knocked his shoulder back into Roy, who repeated the process all over again until everyone was too busy cracking up to shove anymore.

“What the fuck is wrong with us, Jay?”

“We’re drug-slinging heathens, obviously.”

“Sure, whatever that means,” you waved off Jason's odd response in favor of begging Roy for another drink. He wiggled around the empty bottle before leaving to grab another for you.

“You should really slow down,” Roy cautioned.

You still felt warm, but you honestly felt fine. It really was like juice. The buzz you’d felt earlier had already passed and you knew you’d be fine with another glass or two. Besides, it’s not like anyone was here or home to care, but you did want to remain cautious even if you did trust Jason and Roy.

“I know, I just like how it tastes,” you whined slightly, causing him to smile.

“We weren’t really talking about you when you came out, you know?” Jason sipped at the whiskey whilst looking at you out of the corner of his emerald eyes. “Roy and I just get into shit other people might not understand’s all.”

You giggled, “I knew I felt some tension between the two of you.”

“What?!” Jason exclaimed incredulously, looking frantically behind himself and back into the house to see if Roy had returned, but the coast was clear. “There’s absolutely nothing going on there at all. Roy’s definitely straight.”

You couldn’t tell if Jason was trying to convince you or himself.

“Oh, yeah. For sure,” you agreed, but you knew he saw the knowing glint in your eyes.

You both knew Roy would fuck anything with a pulse; gender be damned.

Even back in the parking lot of the diner, you’d made him flustered when you told Roy and him to stop teasing each other with gay. It was obvious Jason was going through something, but hell, who wasn’t when every direction you looked in was filled with charming, extremely hot men.

It really was a burden, but it was one you didn’t mind bearing.

“Like you know anything,” you merely sipped your drink, leaving him to furrow his brows in annoyance, “I bet you’d tell me you didn’t know Damian liked you or some dumb shit like that. All this being said, who are you to tell me about tension?”

“Damian doesn’t like me.”

Jason seemed like he was ready to facepalm. “Alright, well, now you can’t tell me shit because you’re obviously blind,” he chuckled and shook his head at your cute giggle.

“If you need me to help you with your promposal to Harper in Spring, just let me know. I’ll be sure to keep my calendar open.”

“Calendar open for what?” Roy came back out, causing both of you to stiffen at his entrance. Roy chose to ignore the reaction it in favor of filling your glass back up. Once filled, he grabbed for the blunt in Jason’s hand before sitting back down with a satisfied puff on it.

You recovered quickly to wiggle your brows up and down as you looked between the two of them.

Roy looked like he wanted to kill you. “Oh, sure. You pick up on that, but not-” Jason quickly covered Roy’s mouth with a damning glare. “What?! You didn’t even know what I was gonna say, Jay,” Roy complained against Jason’s hand but made no move to remove it.

That was until...

Jason cringed and withdrew his hand as Roy seemed to lick at it.

They tussled around a bit more, but you ignored them in favor of staring at the blunt. You couldn’t deny that, after a few drinks, you kind of wanted to try it.

“I’m fifteen now,” you mentioned lightly out of nowhere, breaking the roughhousing they'd been in the middle of. “It was my birthday a few weeks ago.”

They were off of each other in an instant. Roy pouted in an overly dramatic manner, though Jason suddenly seemed genuinely upset.

“Princess, why didn’t you tell us?”

Did you really think so little of their friendship?

“Did Damian know?” Jason’s low voice cut through the quiet blanket of chilling air that wafted around the balcony.

“No.” Your face scrunched up at his random question. “Why would that matter, though, when you guys keep secrets from me?” You motioned between the two of them as you brought your glass to your mouth. Literally, Jason had just told you they had their secrets.

“Well, happy belated then,” Roy tried.

Meanwhile, Jason seemed to be in the midst of an internal battle you couldn’t begin to understand.

“Thanks,” you trailed off and motioned for Jason to hand you the blunt. “Now, let me try.”

“Woah, no,” Roy said, smirking as he snatched it out of Jason’s hand, who seemed like he was going to pass it whilst caught up in the haze of his thoughts. “We’re not going to corrupt you even more, especially when you’re already buzzed.”

You felt betrayed by the rosiness on your cheeks. The bright stain was as much alcohol as much as it was hormones.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” Roy mimicked you and snatched the second bottle of Moscato from your hands when you attempted to ignore him in favor of pouring more. “Not that it wouldn’t be fun to see you let your hair down again, but you shouldn’t feel like you have to do this just because we are.”

You pouted. “I love that you’re being responsible and all, for once, might I add,” the redhead huffed, “but I know what I’m doing, Roy. You’re not my dad.”

He winced slightly, making you want to take the last part back.

“Alright, princess,” he finally conceded. Roy wiggled the cork out from where he’d shoved it back into the bottle and over-poured another glass for you without another word.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that,” you apologized, feeling awkward at your sudden outburst. You weren't used to having anyone watch out for you. It made you feel somewhat uncomfortable even though you knew Roy had the best intentions. You were just fucked up, but you didn’t need them to know that. “I just.. I know I can take care of myself, is all.”

He nodded and you knew you’d gotten your point across.

“You smoking then, or what?”

It was a peace offering.

You grinned, taking the blunt he offered you naively.

“Just inhale a bit, actually, here,” Jason advised as he plucked it from your hands to inhale it himself.

“Hey!” you objected when he grabbed it from your grip, but he leaned in and motioned you to do the same. “Uhh.”

He held the smoke in his mouth as he spoke with tiny streams leaking out from the corners of his closed mouth. “Just try to swallow it.” His scarred cheeks remained puffed out as he grabbed the back of your head and brought your lips to his.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……..

You subconsciously pouted your lips to meet his in a kiss, but he merely pried them open with his own chapped ones to slip the smoke he’d been holding in his mouth into yours.

You blushed at the fact he’d been trying to help you inhale and you’d just gone and kissed him. If he noticed, thankfully, he didn’t say anything. That being said, you knew your bright blush gave everything away.

You self-consciously tucked a strand behind your ear, feeling a pressure steadily building from the burning in your lungs. You sputtered into a coughing fit that had you glaring at the two cackling men in front of you. The tears streaming from your face only served to make them laugh harder.

“Oh, jeez,” you said, placing a tentative hand on your head when you felt a slight fog forming that you’d never experienced before. It was like someone had covered your brain with a weighted blanket.

Weird.

You must’ve said it out loud because they both laugh again, but, by then, you were already feeling a bit paranoid that you would somehow get in trouble.

“You guys can’t tell Damian about this. Or Dick,” you hastily tacked on Jason’s sexy cop brother, thinking it’d probably be best he that he didn’t know either. “Got it?”

“You’re the only one who snitches around here, anyway.”

“You try lying to Bruce Wayne’s face, then get back to me,” you said, crossing your arms indignantly at Jason.

“I do it all the time, you’re just weak,” Jason insisted though a quick glance at Roy seemed like he completely agreed with you.

You laughed into your cup, “He looks like he could just rip you in half or some shit but, at the same time, he’s just sort of a himbo.”

Roy chortled at that, “Himbo, I’m gonna use that. So, what does that make Jason?”

“Jason’s like an angsty little Wednesday Adams with a skunk stripe.” At this, your face morphed up into Jason’s typical scowl.

Roy howled, forcing himself to calm down only after what seemed like minutes of rambunctious laughter, “Do me next!”

The two of you were now both full-on dying of laughter at Jason’s unimpressed deadpan.

“You’re just Roy,” you said. “Fucking weird and always horny.”

“Hey, I’ll cheers to that,” he responded with a cheeky, freckled smirk.

You nudged Jason to join in, which he eventually did, albeit with an eye roll, further adding credibility to the characterization you’d given him.

"Please, sir," you said after you finished the rest of your glass and motioned to Roy for more, “may I have some more, please?"

“Fuck you,” Jason shot down your Dickens reference.

You weren’t yet two full bottles in, but you’d practically been chugging the Moscato like juice, leaving your head a bit clouded. A quick glance at Jason and Roy’s lax states told you they were feeling it somewhat, too.

“Y’wannaother hit?”

You looked over at Roy, who was now holding the blunt. In your haze, you half realized you should be pulling down your skirt that had been riding up, but you couldn’t find it in you. Especially not after you noticed both of them eyeing the newly bared skin of your thick thighs. You couldn’t deny you loved the attention.

“Wannaother hit?” Roy tried again.

“What?”

Roy motioned to the blunt in his hand with an amused, clearly tipsy, smile. “Want another hit?” he over-articulated his words this time, leaving you to giggle a bit.

“You gonna assault my mouth too?”

“Ask and you shall receive, princess.” He inhaled and held similar to how Jason did, but this time you knew what to expect.

You got up languidly from the lounge chair, handing Jason your drink in the process before bending over to trap Roy between your arms in his seat.

If they were going to play, so were you.

You kept your eyes slightly open as you tilted your head and met his mouth with pliant lips. He moved easily against your them, scratching slightly as he did due to his chapped lips before finally releasing a steady stream of smoke into your mouth.

Similar to your previous hit, you immediately began coughing, quickly vanquishing whatever confidence you’d built up into the chilling evening wind.

You rubbed at your throat that burned from the inside, retreating back to your seat to quell it with a sip of your drink.

“Fuck, that shit hurts.” Your head felt even more underwater now, but you couldn't deny that you liked it.

“Don’t do drugs,” Roy repeated his catchphrase of the night. You and Jason to both cackled.

You rubbed a bit at your arms, looking longingly inside at the warm library.

“I’m cold.”

“Go inside, then.”

“No,” you answered Jason petulantly.

“I’m gonna tell Dick and Damian you smoked if you start acting like a fucking brat now, babe.”

“Stop calling me a brat,” you pouted with crossed arms. “Besides, I like it,” you gasped, looking underneath your ass to see if you’d somehow sat on Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth. That was the only reasonable explanation for your random bout of babbling, right? At the sight of the empty space, you realized you only had the alcohol to blame.

“Ew,” Jason shoo’ed you away with his hands as if you were a fly, “get the fuck away from me you foul, hormonal cretin.”

“Hey! Don’t talk to Roy like that,” you slurred slightly. “He’s sitting right there, you dumbass.” They both seemed thoroughly amused by your tipsy antics.

Eventually, they put out the blunt, gathered the bottles and headed inside.

Roy immediately took it upon himself to scour through the shelves of books in search of Jason’s hidden novels, insisting he had to have some cringy shit hidden somewhere, but you doubted it. He was definitely just a classics guy in your eyes. Off on your own, you perused each row, never having taken the time to do it before.

You quickly realized, however, that your buzzed state wasn’t necessarily the easiest condition to read in.

“You’d like this quote, you Wilde fiend.” You felt Jason’s warmth sidled up behind you before his voice ever reached you, using your earlier insult from school against you. “‘Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead. The consciousness of loving and being loved brings warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.’”

Your breath was completely caught in your throat by the time he finished the quote.

His eyes danced lazily across the page as if it were merely for show, like he’d already known what words to say without actually needing the text in front of him.

You tilted the book towards you, reading over the scribbled notes Jason had left in there. “I love A Woman of No Importance.”

“Because it’s so fitting?” he taunted you with a wry brow.

“Oh, haha. Hey, what’s this?” Your eyes squinted at the scribbles in the margin next to the quote as you tried to decode through the slight illegibility of Jason’s handwriting. “'Remember for them?'”

“Huh?” Jason’s eyes widened dramatically as he yanked the book from your reach. “That’s old.”

“Old? Like last week, old?” You pointed amusedly to the comment in the same color that he’d dated back to last Monday. “Who’s them?” you repeated your question. “Remember what?”

You’d never seen Jason really pay any mind to any of the girls at school. You'd honestly, at this point, considered him gay and a hopeless romantic for Roy’s unreachable playboy heart.

Speaking of Roy.

“Are you guys making out over here or something?” his gravelly voice traveled through the many rows until it reached the game of tug of war taking place between you and Jason over the Wilde book. “I found a hidden gem!” he singsonged, finally catching sight of the two of you and practically skipped across the remaining distance. “We have a special treat tonight, lady and gentleman.”

“Are you not a gentleman as well, Roy?” You glanced at the book cover and were surprised to see a taboo, Canva-esque book cover and grinned widely at Jason’s nonplussed face.

Classics guy only, your ass.

“Oh, princess. You should know the answer to that by now is no,” he purred. With a wink sent your way, the redhead opened the book dramatically, adjusting invisible glasses further up onto his nose. “Ahem, Jason here has this quote highlighted and underlined.”

“Give me that!” Jason's flailing grip missed Roy, who danced around you for protection.

“But it’s soo steamy, Jay. You wouldn’t want us to miss out on this beautiful piece of literature,” he began to read, leaving Jason absolutely red.

“Roy,” Jason warned again but to no avail.

Jason pushed you out of the way and tackled Roy to the floor, who continued reading the quote, anyway.

“‘For her, an orgasm felt more like a sneeze, certainly not the earthquake her friends described. What would that feel like to be so overwhelmed- OW!” Jason socked Roy in the stomach, but he merely let out a brief groan before continuing, “’as to actually scream?’ Oh, Jay, you absolute dog.”

You wished you hadn’t been so affected by Roy reading that. What was making it all worse was knowing that Jason had highlighted the section in the first place. It also didn’t help that you were still buzzed and slightly high, nor the fact that Jason and Roy were currently toppling over each other on the floor.

They came to a head as Jason had Roy pinned in an inescapable embrace you’d also had the misfortune of experiencing.

Jason, who used the power in his position over Roy, lost focus as he was too busy staring at you combing through the bookshelves to notice that Roy had gotten into prime position. He used the new momentum to knock the raven off with a ferocious thrust of his hips.

Jason quickly followed after him as Roy escaped off in your direction.

You eyed them, half-interested from between the gaps in the books, but continued mulling around to inspect the plethora of titles the library offered.

“I think I have an even better one than Roy’s and I know Jason’s seen the movie,” you walked over to their panting forms on the floor while holding up Call Me by Your Name. “Now, I could read some steamy, peachy shit,” Roy whistled appreciatively from beside you. You looked down to where he’d slumped against you and one of the shelves to stay out of the way of Jason’s half-hearted attacks. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen the movie?”

“It’s a classic,” he said, trying to hide his embarrassment through a curtain of his red hair but had failed miserably.

“It came out in 2017, Roy;” you pointed out, much to his chagrin, “that hardly labels it a classic…”

“Jason made me watch it!” he tried again as Jason tackled him back to the ground. You barely managed to jump out of the way in time, sufficiently managing to avoid becoming a casualty in the attack.

The way they were looking into each other’s eyes, you wouldn’t be surprised if they actually did like each other. From where you stood, it seemed like they were mere seconds away from making out right then and there on the library floor.

“Liar! You wanted to watch it,” Jason retorted quickly, “and you liked the peach scene, fucking homo-oh.” He stared at your disapproving glare and attempted to rectify his insult, but it was too late. “Sorry,” he trailed off awkwardly.

You ignored his apology. “For two guys who regularly call each other gay slurs, you both sure seem pretty cozy.” They stilled. Jason took Roy looking over at you as a chance to buck him off the top again. “It’s okay. I was about to diss you in a quote, anyway,” you cleared your throat and placed your finger on the page you’d been looking for. “‘People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don’t always like who they are.’ So basically, Jason hates himself and hides in books.”

“Sounds about right,” Roy confirmed with a baiting grin.

Jason huffed, snatching the books you and Roy had been holding before either of you could react, “I think we’ve all had enough reading for one day. Besides, I need another drink.”

“Amen to that.” They both wrinkled their faces at your response. “What? I’m not drunk! Drunk people can’t read… Or wait, is it that you can’t read in dreams?” you continued to drunkenly ramble while Jason and Roy steered you toward the cough to sit. “I think I remember reading in a dream once, though, so maybe not that either.” They were both staring at you now. “What?”

“Yeah. You’re good on drinks, doll-face.”

“What’s with all the new nicknames?” you questioned with a pout. “I like ‘babe’ and ‘princess’…”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re gonna act like Jason about these dumb things. It’s just a nickname, babe, princess, doll-face, brat.” The last one seemed pointed, almost like Roy was judging your reaction to being called it.

You squirmed a bit, seeming to confirm whatever suspicions he’d surmised. He bit lightly at his chapped bottom lip, glancing away as if lost in thought.

Soon enough, they began to play a video game on Jason’s computer. You quickly became disinterested when the movement of the camera made you feel like you were going to puke.

You groaned softly as the weight of the evening settled heavily across your body. It was as if the time rushing by had finally caught up to your body. You felt every pounding second as if it now took double the time.

“You good?”

You mumbled something that made them shake their heads.

Your head felt like it was on a rollercoaster. A quick look at Jason and Roy proved that they weren’t sober either, as evidenced by the way they swayed and constantly shifted their weight to stay sitting upright.

You couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

Fuck them.

If they were going to laugh at you, you would do the same for their drunk asses.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow as you stared at the sides of their concentrated, albeit lazy gazes. They were zoned out, half-interestedly playing whatever shooting game Jason had downloaded, but you were getting restless for some reason.

You felt like you needed to do something.

To do them.

They chattered on about stats about whatever gun Roy’d found and continued to do so for the next few minutes, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth that crept along your body the longer you watched.

You needed them.

You bit your lip lightly at the thought and looked at your hands before either could notice the shift. They were both steady and you figured that was a good sign. Your heart and clit both pulsed rapidly at the thought alone of going up to them and taking what you wanted.

Maybe this was the ‘them’ Jason had been referring to. You couldn’t quite disagree. The consciousness of loving and being loved brings warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.

In your drunken haze, you quietly slipped off the couch and onto the floor.

The light that radiated from the computer was the only light on in the room and glowed against Jason and Roy’s faces.

No one had spoken to you in, well, too long, in your opinion.

You were going to change that.

You craved their attention- craved the warmth and dizziness it always left you with.

You must’ve not been as quiet as you thought because soon, they both took notice of you. You hesitated only briefly before crawling languidly across the floor with a mischievous glint in your eye that neither could ignore.

“Woah, princess. What dooya think you're doin'?” Roy slurred slightly as you stretched over Jason’s lap to grab Roy’s face and bring it to yours.

You brought your lips to hover over his, giving him the chance to back down.

“You talk so fucking much, Roy. Can you just shut up for once?” you asked breathlessly, staring into his slitted, iridescent eyes.

He hesitated for only a moment before whispering into the minimal space, “I think I can do that.” It was husky, slightly scratchy, leaving you to smirk at just how affected he was by your presence.

You closed the distance easily, moving your lips against his in an unhurried fashion, savoring each and every searing touch as your lips worked against each other in the most delicious way. The heat you’d felt earlier pounded against your lower stomach, dripping down to stain your underwear with slickness.

You whimpered slightly into the kiss, shifting across Jason’s lap further to get a better angle, but stopped when you felt Jason’s arousal pressing into your lower stomach to gasp.

You reluctantly broke away from Roy’s lips to address a wide-eyed Jason. He swiftly feigned nonchalance, but it was quickly ruined by the way he looked anywhere but down at his lap.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t look anywhere else.

His cock strained thickly against the tightness of his uniform pants. You were confused how he could be hard because of you when all he ever seemed to do was insult you.

“But you hate me…”

“I don’t hate you,” he rasped against the evident arousal in his voice.

That was all the reassurance your submerged mind needed. Without wasting another second, you surged forward to tackle him to the ground where you then straddled him in your drunken haze.

He brought your lips to meet his, cutting off whatever dumb retort you’d been concocting before it could even form. You gasped against his firm lips and quickly tilted your head to a better angle as his tongue flicked languidly against your own. It was sloppy, erotic and doing things to your body you’d never felt before. You rested your forehead against his, staring down at his hazy green eyes riddled with lust that easily matched your own.

He gave you a mere moment to breathe before he pulled you back in for a head-spinning kiss.

You needed more.

You whined when his hands come to rest slightly below the dips of your waist, teasing against the sides of your ass.

“Most guys don’t fancy double-dipping, princess,” Roy chuckled from next to you, drawing your attention briefly, only to be brought back into it by Jason biting teasingly at your lower lip.

You didn’t have time to worry if Roy was actually mad or not, you just moaned louder into your kiss with Jason, arching salaciously against his chest. It was a complete reversal of him crushing you against the mat in the gym all those months ago.

“Doesn’t seem to bother either of you,” you said, breaking away to face Roy to confirm he was joking. The sight that met you assured you that everything was just fine.

Roy was a pathetic, panting mess, not bothering to hide how he palmed himself through his pants as he watched you take charge on top of his best friend.

You whimpered, eyeing him up and down before Jason drew your attention back to him. To reward Roy for being so good, you bent back down slowly into Jason’s chest, arching your back as you did so to give the redhead a good view as you brought Jason’s lips to meet yours once more.

“Show me you don’t hate me,” your voice came out sultrier than you’d meant it, though you blamed it on the liquid courage.

Regardless, they were eating it up.

Or, so you thought.

One moment, Jason was gazing at you with a burning passion and the next, he looked completely constipated. You tilted your head in confusion, opening your mouth to voice it, but before you could, he was already turning away from you to focus on the ceiling above.

“I think we’re all a bit too drunk for this right now.” Your stomach dropped at the blatant rejection, with your face notably falling. He seemed like he wanted to reassure you but was biting his tongue. You shrunk back to sit on his lower stomach and his hands immediately pushed off the floor to right himself, bringing you face to face. “Get off,” it was coarse and choked and you had no choice but to follow his demand.

Even though he said he didn’t hate you, it sure seemed like he hated you. You turned to Roy for support, but he was in a similar state of looking anywhere but at you.

“Sorry.” Your adrenaline was crashing hard. You yawned lightly as you wobbled unsteadily to stand up, only to trip forward, onto the couch with an oof! “I’m sorry,” you whispered as your head pounded in pain.

You didn’t realize your eyes were closed until you're nodding off caused them to flash open, though you only managed to keep them open for a few, measly seconds. Before you knew it, you were resting your head against the back of the couch to quell the pressurized dizziness that was suffocating your brain.

The rest was an inexplicable haze of warbled voices and tunnel vision.

•

You woke up with a heavy blanket on top of you and the light streaming through…?

You looked around at your surroundings blearily as you rubbed at your eyes. You were still in the library.

You groaned as you sat up and nearly knocked over the aspirin that had been placed next to your head and you gratefully took two with the water on the coffee table.

“What the fuck happened?” You sat with your heads in your hands as you tried to recall your last memory of the night, but everything was so hazy.

You remembered the quotes and…

You sat up in an instant. The kissing.

You stood up, searching for Roy and Jason, only to realize you were alone.

Had you actually had the balls to kiss them last night??? No fucking way. You shook your head, not believing for a second anything actually happened. There was no way it hadn’t all just been one hell of a drunk dream.

A quick glance at your phone proved that you were already running six minutes late to homeroom.

Shit.

It was going to be one hell of a day.

•

You didn’t know how Roy did it every day.

Seriously.

You were hungover and all you wanted to do was curl up in a pitch-dark room and hibernate for a week. You winced, rubbing between your temples in an attempt to quell your raging migraine, but it did absolutely nothing. The school's obnoxious fluorescent lights stabbed you in the eyes, leaving you to squint and cover them with your hand the entire first half of the day.

Even art class with Damian was so unbearable that, two minutes into the tutorial, you had to lay your head down. Damian questioned this, but you ignored him, much to his dismay.

You didn’t see Jason or Roy the whole day, but Tim and Damian were both back and quick to tell you that you looked like shit as soon as they caught sight of you.

“Feel like it, too; thanks for that.” Tim patted you on the head in response, which you instantly batted at. “Don’t make me look worse. My hair is the only thing going for me today.”

“Whatever, Booster Gold,” Tim joked. “What have you been up to?”

“Yeah,” Damian gave you a disapproving once over as he said your name. “I’m gone for one night and come back to see you looking like you’ve walked through a tornado.”

You blushed. “Just did homework s'all," you tried to play it off, but you could tell neither were buying it.

“I hope you didn’t go to a party without me.” He analyzed your face as you answered.

All the while, Tim stood off to the side, watching your interaction like he was observing two animals interacting in the wild.

“I promise it was no party,” you shook your head as you willed away the dreams (???), of last night in the library, “just homework.”

“Just homework, then,” he said, though he didn't sound convinced. If anything, Damian sounded hurt. You, however, were more focused on trying to survive the day- not focus on all of this recent jealousy you’d been experiencing from Damian.

“Yup.”

These Wayne boys and Roy were seriously going to be the death of you.

Fuck.

A/N: last lines sum up the entire fic basically lol- so excited for the story to get started! stop by and let me know what ur thinking!

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littlewolf651 · 2 years ago

Note

I did not buy nor I want to play that wizard game. But let me tell you what happened to me today.

I have been helping with Turkey communication efforts to reestablish essential networks so people can coordinate better. Im part of a computer science volunteers team and we have known each other since the pandemic (we got together to help with BLM) This time we have worked non stop, taking turns only to eat and sleep naps till we finally got the main channels we were working on to hold themselves up. We were *tired*, but someone in our team had been trying to keep the morale up speaking about that game, because they have some experience in game dev so while we waited they would give their predictions and expectations about xyz mechanic. Thats not my area but it was refreshing to hear something that was not about the people dying.

When we finally made it, we said our goodbyes and went directly to sleep. I just woke up and saw the tag of the game on tumblr. I was expecting to read about people enjoying stupid animations or maybe the music, but what I have gathered is people sending each other to hell.

Look, fuck JKR, but playing a game made by hundreds of artists and programmers that made at least a decent job for what Im gathering, is not synonym with being a horrible person. And I say this because is more complicated than that, and is dangerous to simplify things so much. Is dangerous to use the same rhetoric of the person you go against. And is so dam exhausting to see people wasting energy in pitch and forks when real problems are right there.

Just be kind. Humans are stupid and like little stupid games. Millionaires are despicable but difficult to take down. We cant control most things, but at least we don’t have to make other people day difficult.

My apologies for writing this. I needed to get it out and your blog seemed more peaceful than most.

I don’t see how stating my opinion on this matter makes my blog less ‘peaceful’. I’m just making my stance on this clear. My tumblr isn’t made to cater to a specific fandom or aesthetic. I like, reblog, and post what I want. I understand wanting people to chill out about it. But a lot of people that are saying that are missing the point of the discourse.

Look, I love gaming. It’s my escape. I literally just finished playing Dishonored: Death of the Outsider and am about to play Subnautica Below Zero. Gaming is great.

However people from both the trans and Jewish communities have explicitly asked people not to condone and play this game, because it’s success ultimately just continues to hurt them in the long run.

If your want to ignore them and play it then go ahead! I’m not gonna stop you or condemn you for it. You don’t have to justify to me why people want to play it. If you wanna ignore the voices of other communities for the sake of your own enjoyment, then fine.

But there are hundreds if not thousands of other video games out there that you can play that don’t have this kind history of routinely hating on other communities.

Besides reviews for the game are pretty mid anyways. I’d rather go play Horizon 2 again.

Anyways, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore so here’s a picture of my cat to cheer people up. Ain’t he cute?

#hogwarts legacy #just because I don’t actively partake in discourse on this profile doesn’t mean I have no opinion on it #the kitty stole my favorite sweater

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angel-inked · 2 years ago

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Silenced Fire, Chapter Five: Thorn in the side

Sorry about no wip yesterday, our drying machine quit and we had to move things out of the way to be able to get the old one out.

Anyway instead of a wip, enjoy another chapter of Silenced Fire.

(Previous, next)

Taglist: @vvkingofgaybisciutsvv @thequeenofthewinter @hecatemoon87 @wandawiccan60 @potter-solomons

Howard cleaned Forrest' cuts, scratches and scrapes. Making sure everything that is supposed to be inside his little brother stayed, well, inside his little brother. Finally Howard straightened his stance "Well Jack, we outta let Forrest tend to his lady friend here" he teased. Forrest didn't retort, he shot his brothers a glare causing them to hurry out of the room more so than they already were. "Just ignore them, there's a reason I'm the brains of this operation" Forrest grumbled. "Oh, they're quite alright. My sister would've done something similar" Rose replied, taking a seat next to him. Forrest felt his breath hitch, he was never the best at socializing. As he said, he's the brains of the operation, he prefers building stills and thinking up new recipes for the brothers to sell, he supposed he was a hand at talking his way out of trouble or a fight, two things that seemed to be one in the same to him anymore. "You okay? You look pretty beat up" Rose asked, cuping Forrest' chin with her hand and carefully tilting his head to get a better look at the freshly cleaned cuts. "Yeah, that's because I did get beat up, you're sister... um helped me" Forrest explained, purposely leaving out the whole Maggie shooting his attacker part. "Well, she was always good with that pistol of her's" Rose replied, staring straight ahead, the look on her face saying she was deep in thought. "Yo.. you know about that?" Forrest questioned. "Yep, Maggie told me herself. I'm not some wimp, ya know?" She smirked. "I.. I didn't think that for a second" Forrest stuttered, noticeably nervous, well, at least he thought it was noticeable. He wasn't actually sure if Rose noticed, she didn't seem to but he figured she wouldn't mention it if she did, after all she was trying to get Forrest to hire her!

"So, what made ya want to take this job?" Forrest asked, remembering this was supposed to be a job interview. "Well, ain't got nothing else to do, besides pretty sure Maggie wants me out of her house anyway" she explained, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. Forrest narrowed his eyes and Rose seemed to notice his confusion "ya know that house that burnt up on the other side of town?" She asked. "That was you?" Forrest exclaimed. "Yep, my fiance bought the house but whoever built the damned thing didn't know much about wiring" Rose replied, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand. "Who's you're fiance? Maybe I know'em" Forrest said quietly, regaining a little if any confidence. "Millard, Millard Nullings" she replied, her bright expression wavering. Forrest knew Millard alright, they sat beside each other in school. He also knew that when the house went up in flames, Millard went up with it "I'm sorry for your loss" Forrest murmured, clearing his throat, not sure what else to say.

"It's alright, I mean it's not but it is what it is" she smiled. They sat in silence, that is until they heard a loud thud and the smashing of glass upstairs. Forrest rushed up the stairs and Rose followed, "Howard? Jack?" Forrest called, cursing Howard internally for taking off with his sweater with his brass knuckles still in the pocket. "We're alright" Jack exclaimed, Forrest rushed towards the sound of his baby brother's voice. Upon opening the door, he found his brothers cleaning up broken glass jars next to a knocked over shelf on the floor. "Howard backed into it" Jack explained. "No, you pushed me" Howard countered. "Did not" Jack spat. "Now both of you just shut up and clean up your mess, I don't wanna be hearin' anymore arguin', alright?" Forrest explained, a stern look was all it took to get the two grown men to silence their bickering.

"I'm sorry you had to see all that" Forrest mumbled, as he and Rose trudged down the last few stairs before landing on the barroom floor. "It's alright, at least nobody's hurt, well, let me rephrase that. Neither of you're brothers are hurt" Rose smiled, making Forrest bite the inside of his bottom lip. "Since we didn't get to talk much, how about you come back tomorrow and I can give you the run down on things" Forrest explained. "Really? Does that mean you want me for the job?" Rose exclaimed, a hopeful expression on her face. "Yep" Forrest nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means to me, I mean I..." she trailed off. "Hey, save you're breath. You don't need to thank me, and I'll make sure those two knuckleheads upstairs don't interrupt us next time" Forrest explained, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Right, I'll see you tomorrow. Come on olive" Rose replied, calling the pit bull that followed along behind her loyally by name. As soon she was out the door, Forrest exhaled sharply and went back up the stairs to his office, he collapsed back into his chair. Why? Why did Rose make it feel like he was suffocating? He wasn't sure. She seemed so.. understanding, even when Howard and Jack made a mess of things. Damned emotions, Forrest thought he did away with those years ago, back when his mom.. well.

"Oh shit" Forrest sighed, running his hands through his slicked back hair. His brothers had been teasing him about his hair that morning, Howard couldn't understand why Forrest put that much effort into his appearance everyday, considering he wore his hat ninety-nine percent of the time. Forrest was meticulous about how he looked and presented himself, his mom had been like that. In 1931, this was what was expected of the women, but for a man, especially one with the background Forrest had, nearly unheard of. But, like with most things in Franklin County, Forrest was the exception, though he didn't much care what other people thought or who looked, he was mostly just trying to please himself. If he thought he looked good, he felt good. He usually was the most put together of the brothers, Jack is very casual and Howard usually looks like he got black out drunk, passed out then woke up and slapped his hat on his head. Howard always looked so thrown together, one time Forrest actually made him clean up because the three brothers were headed past the hills for a shine deliverie, a deliverie that wasn't a dive joint for once, this was one of they're higher paying clients, so Forrest figured that making an impression was a good idea, what he didn't account for was Howard beating the snot out of two police officers who caught the brothers with a four stack of shine filled wooden crates in the back of their truck.

#tom hardy #hope you enjoy #forrest bondurant #lawless #silenced fire

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goat-and-a-pig · 7 months ago

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Chapter 15

“Ouch!” Stud exclaimed. “Hot Belgian waffles! Jeez, kid!” Dipper cleared his throat. “Stud Pilfir, you are under arrest for-” Stud interrupted him. “Whoa, slow down- I can literally hear you spelling my name wrong. It’s P-I-L-F-E-R, not P-I-L-F-I-R.” Dipper frowned. “Oh, really? But the posters…”

“Whoever made your posters is an idiot. Why would I spell it wrong on purpose? I may be dumb, but not that dumb.” Dipper snorted involuntarily, then remembered that Stud was a criminal and not to be trusted. Trust no one. “Nice try,” he sneered. “But you’re still off to prison for-”

“Yeah, yeah, save the story, Horse Boy. I know why you’re after me. Vaguely.” Dipper shuffled around awkwardly. “Oh. Um. Okay.” He realized what Stud had said. “Did- Did you just call me Horse Boy?”

“Um, yeah. So?” Stud yawned. “Sorry, you just woke me up,” he said carelessly. Dipper glared at him. “First of all, do you know how rude and offensive that is? And second, that doesn’t matter because you’re going to jail.” He pulled out some handcuffs. Stud laughed. “Sure kid. Sure.” Dipper was getting angry. Who does he think he is? Royalty or something? “Come on! This way to the castle! Unless you’ve forgotten already?” Sure, Dipper was being petty. But his job was on the line, and if he lost it…

He would never see Mabel again.

Stud snorted. That was the final straw. Dipper began to drag him away by the leg. Stud panicked. He must’ve finally realized Dipper was serious.

Good, he thought. I’m not just some stupid kid who can’t do his job right. And I’m not a threat to be taken lightly. So, um, take that! Ha!

That was when a man with a strange eye and… Dipper counted… Twelve fingers burst in through the woods. What?!?

“Oh, okay! Hope you find it quickly- Woah!” Dipper dropped to a knee at his feet. “Your highness!” He squeaked. Dangit, now is not the time for my stupid voice to do this! He coughed to mask it. “Your highness,” he repeated.

“Huh? Oh no, not another one! I’m not who you think I am- or at least I think so… Anyway, I have amnesia, so, hi! My name is Icarus! And you are…?” Dipper felt foolish. “Oh,” he said. “My name is Ma- Dipper. Dipper Pines. My apologies. I’ve just got to go put this criminal in jail, so I’ll be out of your way. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Icarus looked behind him and said, “Wow, Pines is a really common last name around here, huh?” Dipper looked back at Stud too, who was trying to get away. But he thought he saw a bit of shock on Stud’s face too. “Not so fast.” Dipper gritted his teeth and started moving, but before Dipper could get over there, Icarus rushed to keep talking to him.

“No, wait! Please, you can’t put him in jail! He’s my only chance to find out who I really am- I need him to get into your archives! Please!” Icarus pleaded with him desperately. Sorry pal, I’m desperate too.

Dipper was silent for a moment. “Well, if you let me take him to the dungeons, then I could take you. It’d be more official than this scoundrel taking you to the library, and anyway we both get what we want.”

“But you can’t take him to jail! I don’t know why I feel this way, but you just can’t! He’s like… a brother to me! Or something like that!” Icarus burst out. “I’m sorry, but I have to!” Dipper yelled. “If I don’t, I’ll lose my job! And if I lose my job, I lose-” -my sister. He stopped right on the verge of telling them his family trauma. What has happened to you? Jeez. He took a deep breath, and said, calmer, “It doesn’t matter to you. Do we have a deal or not?”

That was when he heard the noise.

He thought back to when Icarus emerged through the woods, and dropped into a defensive stance. “Found it!” A female-sounding voice exclaimed cheerily. It can’t be, he thought. There’s no way…

A twelve-year-old girl skipped in through the branches, holding a compass triumphantly. Dipper’s mouth dropped open. She dropped the compass.

“Mabel?!?”

#see the light #chapter 15

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madchild-dennis · 2 years ago

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I like to keep my word. So when I said it will be my last post. I meant that shit:

Unfortunately due to events I felt I need to re/overemphasize some things.

Like I said I am NOT friends with Rhona and I'm NOT interested in one until AFTER she and her son are READY to do what God say. Which means her son is going to take up the responsibility God placed on him based on HIS DESIRES and God's plan.

Like I said here:

If Raheem hasn't done what God asks & take up the responsibility. Then I have ABSOLUTELY NO interest in being friends with his mother. As I said in this snippet:

So as I attempted to tell her by starting with the fact that I lost tonns of respect for her and didn't like what she did. The point is I am NOT friends with her. Not interested in it nor will I engage in ANY conversation about ANYTHING UNTIL AFTER Raheem obeys God. I'm NOT changing my mind. As I said, I don't care. AFTER THAT then I'll be on good terms with his mother. I could have done so today if I wanted to. Which would make certain that he's basically mine. NOPE!!! What kind of weak-ass mama's boy is that.

I am NOT going to be with nor MARRY a weakass BOY. I still have a choice.

Even his mother showed more balls and gawl. I absolutely respect it. I mean she planned a whole THING. I'm pretty sure its so that I can get a lil funds and can be accessible to her when she ready to talk. Even I played along to see what she'd do. She did humble herself and put her pride aside. But STILL didn't do what GOD ask. She literally looked like an opportunist. Asking if "I'd NEVER plan to go back to Canada. Not even to visit." I didn't answer because those conversations are reserved for friends. She's NOT one until her son get BALLS, gawls, obey and more. Which I attempted to re-emphasize that stance.

If only he inherited that. NOPE!

Funny story:

While still involved in her lil plan (a day job orchestrated with her friend) after Rhona left. I thought I heard rain. I was just about to ask the next person who approached the area if it was raining. When the person FINALLY came in my clear view (I'm blind & need glasses, so I didn't realize), I saw him the person approaching was Raheem. Mi frighten. Not scared but I was just about to open my mouth 😅😅😅. So I calmed especially after I noticed that he noticed my expression. He made a smirk like he does thinking I'm affected by him. Clueless what I nearly did. Anyway, I calmed and went back to typing this. Which I'm sure he saw too and reason he left in a hurry with his no-balls-self. Well that's if his mom sent him and/or he wanted to. Because he went a different area than he normally would and didn't seem to actually do ANYTHING other than pass me and go upstairs, then back down and gone

Anyways.

While they play their games. Plus try to see if they can contain or shelf me somewhere I'm at reach to them but ONLY when they feel like it. I already have my plans. Where they will NOT have access to me at all. Things are ALREADY in place. So one can plot and plan and the other play chicken till they loose me.

Plus, so fucking what if I get loud. Get fucking over it. You hurt me I am not emotionless. So fucking apologize AT LEAST, if you actually care. If you want me to apologize for things I said, then ask. But it's as simple as THAT!!!

Anyway as I said:

Repeat loudly after me: God is a LIAR #GodisaLIAR

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dutifullytoocloud · 2 years ago

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Album Review

Direction of the Heart (30/10/22)Simple Minds

These thoughts and comments are based on the standard 9 track CD offering. I did not order online instead I opted for going in to the Australian stockist JB HI-Fi like I do for any other artist. As a general rule of purchase in my case at least three songs have to have a bit of prior interest to make a selection. Long gone are the days of just purchasing on an excellent cover whim. On the subject of cover art as I have previously stated along with others that it is rather exceptional to allow one to question what is before you, especially in symbolism and successfully giving a glimpse as to what subject matter the songs are going to represent.

I finally got round to listening the songs in track order. I think the best word to describe this record is “solid”. On a whole it is pretty good. Some songs instantly connect while others are so/so. Honestly, I cannot say that any song had that real goosebump, hairs on the back of the neck etc moment. It seems with age it would be extremely difficult for any song to hit that kind of status these days. I suppose when you are younger everything is a new experience and things seem more amplified. Inevitably memories have a huge impact and some of the songs in your teens are pretty much the blueprint to that special status, hence expectations are very high.

With Directon of the Heart, a sincere effort has been made to try and hit those markers that fans have. Their aim ultimately is to reach as many people as possible, but it is evidently clear that the biggest market is the group of people whom have had some interest in the band at some point in the past. Anyway enough preamble.

Funny enough “Vision Thing” is my daughter’s favourite. Still at an age when what Mum has playing musically in the background of our household isn’t so bad. I know one day with my much elder boys that this will come round full circle one day…..who knows. The insight that the band has given with its press releases is great and inspirational. Music is a coping mechanism and losing a parent is something that is universal. It is a catchy song and a pleasant song for the radio. Instant Simple Minds trademark sound.

First you Jump- I thought the live performance of the song, showed a lot of promise. Its good but its not until after the middle 8/ bridge (if that’s what you call it), the pause and gradual building up, in which Charlie’s guitar heads skywards that the song really lifts off. Dynamics that make it work, fitting in with the theme and subject matter. (Charlie gives you wings?)

Human Traffic- Its not a track I would skip, and I don’t mind the quirky repetition of “only”. It is a true juxtaposition of music and lyrical content which is a common theme in this record. This song in particular does triumph is a positive outcome. Through all mundane and routine schedules life throws at us, there are times when things look up and things to look forward to.

Who Killed the Truth- Now we get to a song that will definitely get lots of repeat playing. Lyrically interesting and staying true to form, it takes the observational stance, much like Empires and Dance. It’s a current issue especially in times of social media and questionable information sources spreading like wildfire hence accelerated but the problem has always existed. I particularly like the guitar delays/ overlays/ effects in this song that provide an exotic sound. This follows through to the next song. Example of how track placement is not an afterthought and this is well executed.

Solstice Kiss intro is all atmosphere and instantly we are taken to the Scottish highlands. If I was asked what song would you recommend to someone who did not know Simple Minds I would say start with this. There is no doubting in my mind that this picks up on the hey day and pinnacle of Simple Minds popularity (Once Upon a time and Street Fighting Years). Depending on size of future live performances this on a grand scale would be an amazing opener. There is plenty of drama, dynamics, atmosphere and romanticism. Ingredients which make this song quintessentially Simple Minds. The choice of instrumentation is interesting and adds to it immensely and the percussion is gorgeous.

These two songs are in my view the high point of the album. Act of Love does not cut it in my view and it’s a skip. I find the backing vocal hum unsuitable. I get the nod to the past, and yes the riff is really good and maybe for the casual listener it would be a point of curiosity to cruise on back to what was out there in the back catalogue, maybe go as far back as Life in a day. It’s a hard one as I have listened to the raw live track from years ago and I actually prefer that a whole lot better.

Natural- this is where things pick up a bit. I really like this. This is where the backing vocals work beautifully. Those backing vocals makes being natural, glamourous. It’s a great sentiment in this song basically accepting oneself as they are. The effects on the guitars are fab, making the sound transcend and transform closer to added keyboard atmospherics. This is not exactly Simple Minds by numbers and I don’t mind that one bit.

Planet Zero-Growing and growing, I really like it and I can understand how fans are very divided on this. The drum fills on this are not run of the mill. Vocals are sinister and lyrics very open to different interpretation- seeking a new Utopia, taking control -leaving a mess behind. Much of what our current Utopia is enduring now, will the same mistakes be made again. Sarah vocals a warning siren. It could even apply to the subject of alienation and aloneness. Let’s set up shop at Planet Zero void of anyone in which one does not have to try and fit in etc. Ambiguity at its best. The verse structure is almost like a nursery rhyme, very happy go lucky but the message it conveys is a stark contrast. Excellent.

Finally Walls came down- its good it’s an excellent song, but its hard to swallow when it’s a song you grew up with. Loved the original from the Call. For nine songs another new offering is better especially if there are plenty ideas lurking in the background.

With more listening Natural and Planet Zero are becoming firm favourites 9/11/22

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pennylaneforthoughts · 3 years ago

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After some thinking, a conversation with my sister-in-law with a psych degree, and a couple of sessions with my godsend of a therapist, I think I've finally put my finger on the thing about Mobius that Loki (and a lot of the fandom tbh) so quickly latched onto like a man dying of thirst at the first sign of water:

Unconditional positive regard.

This concept is at the core of client-centered psychology and basically is a stance that a therapist will take in relation to their client, where they simply accept and support their client as a person, regardless of what they do or say.

My therapist uses this framework with me, and when the Loki series came out, I immediately saw Mobius and was like "holy crap, this man has the exact same energy as Sami what???" And I couldn't for the life of me figure out why until I was talking about it with my sister-in-law and she mentioned unconditional positive regard. And then it clicked.

Mobius radiates unconditional positive regard from the minute he meets Loki in episode 1, and arguably even from the first time we even see him onscreen. He approaches everyone he interacts with using a basic framework of "I see you and care about you as a person, and nothing you do or say can change that," so we immediately get the impression that this man is soft, kind, and shaped like a friend. However, it's most obvious and pointed in his interactions with Loki.

While yes, Mobius' primary objective in episode 1 is to interrogate Loki, it's important to note that it's not an interrogation where Mobius is trying to find proof of guilt for a crime like we'd see in a typical detective procedural. Rather, Mobius is trying to see if this variant of Loki is self aware enough to be able to help him in his hunt for Sylvie. It's fundamentally a test to find out Loki's current place in his emotional and psychological development. It is not maliciously intended, and it is not designed to harm Loki. On the contrary, the intent is clearly to help Loki begin to come to terms with the reality of who he is and the choices he has made.

In fact, the whole time this is happening, Mobius very purposefully strives to foster an environment where Loki knows that A.) Mobius sees him. Truly sees and knows him. B.) Despite knowing what Loki is and what he's done, Mobius loves him and regards him positively, and C.) nothing Loki can do or say will change that positive regard.

Loki, however, is super not used to receiving unconditional positive regard. He has no idea how to respond to it. He feels like it's a trick, like there's another shoe just waiting to drop. I related to him hardcore in this scene because that's exactly how I felt when my therapist presented me with unconditional positive regard for the first time. It's confusing and strange and difficult to believe at first. Especially because it sets the stage for honest self reflection and personal growth that can be incredibly painful.

Loki is not a perfectly innocent person. He has done a lot of really bad things and hurt a lot of people in his life. He has a lot of very deep seated trauma that has informed these actions, but he still made those choices and he needs to take responsibility for them. This is not a fun process. Mobius knows this is actually a really awful, sucky process. But he also knows that change and growth requires two things: acknowledgement that a change needs to be made and the expectation that change can and will occur when properly cultivated. Mobius clearly laying out the reality of Loki's actions and who he is in the Sacred Timeline is the first part of that equation, and his unflappable, unconditional positive regard towards Loki as a person despite knowing that reality cultivates an environment for the second part to flourish.

"By definition, it is essential in any helping relationship to have an anticipation for change. In the counseling relationship, that anticipation presents as Hope—an optimism that something good and positive will develop to bring about constructive change in the client's personality. Thus, unconditional positive regard means that the therapist has and shows overall acceptance of the client by setting aside their own personal opinions and biases. The main factor in unconditional positive regard is the ability to isolate behaviors from the person who displays them." (source)

Mobius is not Loki's therapist, but he does take on a therapeutic role in Loki's life. He shows Loki that he is fully aware of all of Loki's faults and mistakes. He's seen them over and over again and knows them by heart because it's his job. And in the face of all of that he looks at Loki and says that he doesn't see him as a villain. That he likes him anyway and believes that Loki has the potential to help him and what he believes is the cause of good. (Yes the TVA is corrupt, but neither of them know that at this point, and the fact that both Mobius and Loki believe this to be the side of good to varying degrees is important here)

Mobius maintains this regard throughout the series and his subsequent interactions with Loki and when talking about Loki to Ravonna and others, and it's a big part of why Loki so quickly trusts and feels comfortable around Mobius. I know some people say it's unrealistic how fast it was, but it made a lot of sense just based on my experience. I mean, after one (1) session with my therapist, I was 100% ride or die for him, and it was kind of absurd. But the feeling of being seen like that is so potent when you're starved for it, that extreme reactions to it make a lot of sense. And if anyone's starved for unconditional positive regard, it's Loki.

Mobius is only human though, and he's not perfect at this. Over the course of the series, it's clear that Mobius has emotionally invested a lot in his Loki, and he struggles to maintain a professional distance, though he usually is able to keep his head enough to give Loki that positive regard he needs. The only time we see this regard slip is in episode 4 when Mobius is feeling betrayed and jealous. In these moments, Mobius is unable to step back from his feelings enough to get into a headspace where he can separate Loki's actions from who he is. He calls Loki an asshole and a bad friend, and it comes from a place of hurt and jealousy. It's also what drives Loki into a defensive mode we haven't seen since episode 1. He's no longer receiving that unconditional positive regard from Mobius and he feels betrayed. He worries that maybe it was all an act in the first place and Mobius never really cared for him at all. For the first time, Loki feels like Mobius doesn't see the best in him anymore and it hurts.

Mobius' unconditional positive regard was genuine, though, and this is reinforced in the subsequent scenes where we see him act on his instinctual desire to assume the best of Loki and investigate his claims. We see it again when he returns to Loki and he reaffirms both his desire to trust Loki and his belief that Loki can be "whoever, whatever he wants to be, even someone good." At this point, Loki is able to accept it and no longer pushes back against Mobius' belief in Loki's goodness and that he "has within himself vast resources for self-understanding, for altering his self-concept, attitudes, and self-directed behavior." He's grown and begun to see himself in a more realistic and positive light and it's a direct result of the time Mobius has spent cultivating that relationship based on unconditional positive regard.

That's why their relationship feels so comfortable and satisfying. Unconditional positive regard isn't only a therapy principle. It's something everyone craves in a relationship. To be seen as you are, flaws and mistakes and quirks and all is terrifying and mortifying, but when that person then just smiles and says I love you anyway because you are not your mistakes and you are not your flaws and nothing you can ever do or say can change how I feel about you, the relief and joy and comfort is more than worth the discomfort. So I think the idea that Mobius can look at someone as deeply flawed, broken, and jaded as Loki and love him exactly as he is right there and then, eyes wide open and smiling, believing that beneath it all Loki has the potential to be good, gives us hope that someone could do the same for us. I know that's what Lokius does for me, at least. Mobius represents to me the ideal of unconditional positive regard, and having an image of what that looks like in the character of Mobius gives us the opportunity to apply it to ourselves when we may not get it elsewhere in our lives. And I, for one, think that's very sexy of him.

#lokius #wowki #loki #mobius #loki x mobius #mobius my beloved #He is my comfort character and this is why #Also this is low key homework from my therapist bc my attachment to this man has become a literal tool in my therapist's belt #And it's both excellent and embarrassing lmaoooooo

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titularkilljoy · 3 years ago

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sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler

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thrndlngs · 3 years ago

Text

three times shinsou misses the opportunity to kiss you + the one time he seized the moment.

── pairing, shinsou x fem!prohero!reader ── request: x times shinsou wants to kiss fem reader??? pLZ I NEED IT ── author’s note: this was super dope & cute to write. tysm for sending this in. i hope i did this justice and it wasn’t to out of character. also reader has a water quirk & the two of you are in your early twenties. ♡

"'toshi,” you whispered, chest against his as the two of you currently hid from the group of villains. your two agencies had partnered up in attempt to take down a new gang of villains who were transporting drugs from the city to the waters, the two of you were partnered because of how the two of you excelled in your respective agencies, shinsou was sent to aid in your patrols of the waters ── which is why the two of you are currently hiding in a storage closet on a ship.

“shut up.” you don’t take it to heart, you’re sure he means it as nicely as possible - he just lacks a few pages in the ‘vocabulary’ department.

“we need to do something.” you tell him, trying your best to meet his gaze in the tight space (which was nearly impossible because he’s towering over you at the moment). he doesn’t reply, not at first at least, if you looked hard enough you would probably see the gears in his head turning.

“──stop talking, it’s distracting me.”

your mouth quickly shuts, fidgety hands are now at your side, you were starting to get antsy and there was practically little to no room to move around without being heard - or seen for that matter.

“they switch the guards every ten minutes, in the middle of the switch, we run.” the purple haired male explained, taking a peak at the time on his cellphone. the two of you had to endure this for three more minutes. just three more minutes and you would be free.

“three minutes,” you repeated, more to confirm this for yourself. you’re sure you wouldn’t last that long, after all, this was shinsou, the male you’ve had a crush on for quite some time now. how were you expected to last that long?

“──think of it like seven minutes of heaven.”

“we haven’t played that since── “

“yeah, yeah i know, but just think of it like that. don’t think about the closet, just the game.”

you nodded quickly, meeting his gaze as the two of you stood there in silence. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about kissing him. it seemed like the perfect moment - it was just the two of you. if it were the last day on earth, you at least wanted to go out with a bang. you know?

“let me get comfortable, you can do the same after.” you watched as he places either hands besides your head, slouching a bit against the wall so his back could have some sort of support. he nods to you, signaling for you to do the same.

it takes you a moment, the position shinsou is currently in causes your heart to skip just a few beats. were you disappointed in yourself for letting your mind drift.. elsewhere during a mission? for sure. did you care right now? absolutely not.

you cleared your throat, widening your stance and trying to balance the weight in between your legs to help ease some of the weight ── but there wasn’t really much you could do.

“two minutes.”

this had to be the longest three minutes of your life.

“i think i just tasted my own sweat.” he complained. it feels like he’s sweating in places he shouldn’t produce sweat in.

“i feel like a fish out of water,” you added.

“──gonna start passing out if i don’t throw you in the water soon?”

“says the one whose sweating to death.”

“and you’re dehydrated. guess we’re both shit out of luck aren’t we?”

“yeah, but, i think this isn’t the worst way to die.”

he takes another peak at his cellphone, noting that there’s a minute left before the two of you could finally get out of this damn storage closet. “you’ve got a minute to tell me anything worse than dying like this.”

in hindsight ── there’s a lot that could happen in a minute, that’s the only reason you said something to begin with. “alone, i could die in this closet, alone and then you know, it would be lonely.”

“are you serious?”

“oh come on! that’s pretty serious!”

“it ── it really isn’t,” he’s trying to laugh as quietly as possible and you playfully slapped him in his shoulder.

“okay, well, i wouldn’t want to die alone.”

“mhm, scaredy cat.” his smile is infectious and for a moment, he forgets that the two of you are stuck in a storage closet. maybe now would be the perfect time to kiss you, when it’s just the two of you, waiting to make your grand escape, when the two of your are just centimeters apart.

“now’s our chance,” he whispered, straightening himself to get out first just in case. he doesn’t want to act off of impulses. if he kisses you, he wants to make sure it’s because you want him too.

ii.

“good to see you when you’re not acting like a goldfish who just hopped out of it’s bowl.” the familiar voice teased from behind you, hands folded behind his head. if it were anyone else, you might have tripped them.

“──don’t you have to go buy hair dye now or something?”

“no that was after i made sure a fisherman didn’t take you on the way home.”

“is this what do you do on your spare time? think of jokes that revolve around my quirk?”

he rolls his shoulder lazily, leaning against the apartment railing across from your front door. “they come naturally, no extra thinking required.”

“and here i thought all the hair dye went to your brain.”

this wasn’t out of the norm for the two of you, he would make the first jab and then you would follow suit. sometimes, the bickering could go on for hours ── regardless of task at hand (like the time the two of you were trying to detain a villain and shinsou had told the woman you were a water sprite), it’s an old nickname of yours, he had given it to you back at the sports festival when you were kids. you had earned it when you had almost drown mineta because he wouldn’t stop making inappropriate jokes and you had brought the entire water fountain down on him.

as the two of you stood there in silence, you, had your back against your door, hands folded behind you while he stood parallel, arms against his chest he wonders: is this the time he kisses you goodnight?

“d’ya want to come inside? i have leftovers? we could pull an all nighter like we used to do back in the dorms?” there’s a hint of hopefulness in your eyes and he would feel like absolute shit if he declined the offer.

“only because you have food.”

he doesn’t kiss you goodnight then. and he doesn’t kiss you goodnight when you fall asleep on his shoulder after the second horror movie either. if you were anyone else, he would’ve left without a care in the world, but it’s you and you are different.

so he stays and tells himself that tomorrow will be a new day and tomorrow, he can try again.

iii.

“i don’t dance,” shinsou tells you as you so desperately tried to bring him onto the dance floor. it’s a hero’s gala, everyone from your respective classes at U.A. were here, pro heroes from all around the world and some of your old instructors as well ── these aren’t his thing, you know that. you remember his attitude during the first two hours of the third year’s ‘goodbye party’ - not much had changed. he’s taller, a bit more handsomer and smiles more often.

“you do tonight, come on.” while you had dragged him by one hand, the other desperately tried to loosen his tie because it feels like he’s suffocating.

“──you’ll be the death of me woman.” he’s mumbling under his breath, one hand resting in yours as the other found its place at your waist.

“because i asked you to dance? might i say this is on your list of horrible ways to die?” you teased, offering him that infectious smile that makes him go weak in his knees. he hates to admit the pull you have on him ── he might even go as far as saying you might have him wrapped around that finger of yours and you don’t even know it yet.

“if it’s by your hands i would say it’s a merciful death.”

“a merciful death? i’ll keep that in mind.”

“don’t test your luck,” you know he’s only messing with you ──

you’re to busy enjoying the moment to think of some witty comeback. it’s something about the way your hand seems to fit perfectly in his. or how the two of you are able to move in sync without any words spoken in between the two of you that’s driving you insane.

if you would’ve told your past self that you would be slow dancing with the hitoshi shinsou at a hero’s gala while the world around you disappeared you would’ve laughed at the idea. it would’ve seem silly to you ── stupid even. shinsou and you weren’t rivals like you and bakugou were, but, you had always found yourself trying to one up him.

yet here you were, swaying to the slow tune as you managed to snake your arms around his midsection and rest a head against his chest. maybe this was his chance: with the little distance in between the two of you, dim lighting and dressed to the nines. surely, this would be a good memory to relive later down the road wouldn’t it?

but he wanted to savor the moment. so he decides it against it ── despite the ache in his chest.

iv.

"we did it.” shinsou muses, an awkward hand offered in your direction for you to shake. it’s been six months but your agencies had finally shut down the smuggling operation and you could finally take the break you had so desperately needed. you weren’t sure what to do with the outstretched hand, but, you give in anyways, resting your hand in his as he gave it a firm shake.

“pleasure doing business with you.” you tell him, lips curving into a bittersweet smile. teasing, bickering and ‘playful’ sparring aside, you were going to miss him. you were used to patrolling and doing missions on your own but this was different.

“try not to end up on the other side of fishing hook, yeah?” it’s his way of telling you to be careful in shinsou’s teasing nature.

“make sure i’m the one to grant you the merciful death.” please be careful, is what you want to say. though you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud - if you did, it would only confirm that you care about the purple haired pro hero more than you should.

he shakes his head with a laugh, “you’re the only one who gets the satisfaction.”

“it better stay that way ‘toshi.”

he doesn’t know for certain if your agencies would cross paths again. your agency was closer to the waters and he was closer in the city, the chance that you would run into one another again would be slim to none.

he clears his throat for a moment, retreating his hand from yours and placing them at your waist instead. he’s pictured this a thousand times but now that he’s in the moment he couldn’t manage to find the right words. it’s frustrating, really.

“──hi.” you’re holding your breath in anticipation, was this another one of his games? was he going to kiss you? tell you a secret? use his capture weapon and tell you that he’s not letting you go until you admit something embarrassing?

he doesn’t care anymore. doesn’t care if it makes him look like a love sick idiot when he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’s about to do before he dies, he doesn’t care if anyone’s watching or for the wrinkles you’ll cause since you’ve got a fistful of his shirt in a desperate attempt to close whatever little distance the two of you had between you.

you pull away first causing him to pout (which was actually cute but you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that) but you do laugh.

“you know,” he muses, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly, a habit you hadn’t seen in years. “──i didn’t want to let you walk away without something to remember, my little water sprite.”

you rolled your eyes at the choice of nickname but were flattered nonetheless, your own arms finding their way around his neck, “who said i was walking away?”

#shinsou fluff #shinsou x reader #shinsou x you #shinsou x y/n #bnha imagine #bnha drabble #mha drabble #mha imagine #shinsou tbt.#( this is so lame bc i wrote this at 1:43 am while at work JHADKJHDA )#╰ ♡ ✧ ˖ 𝐉𝐀𝐘𝐄 ┊ WRITINGS .

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whetstonefires · 4 years ago

Text

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

#star wars #my writing #obi wan kenobi #fanfic #darth sidious #blows up on dying #it's canon #i feel like this wasn't #quite the intended timeline #but anyway here we are #chairdeath au #i gotta logic things #hoc est meum #i love a fight scene #i wanted to make this one more acrobatic than it is #but logistics intervened

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purityoflust · 3 years ago

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The Smile [Jeff The Killer X Victim!Reader] [PART 2]

Jeff the killer X Victim!

WARNING: Yandere. That's it. Yandere.

I finally decided how I would write part 2 to The Smile, which is my first and most popular post on my account so far. Anyone new who has come to read this, check out my other posts as well if you'd like. I'll post more like this. I also have a Quotev account with more fanfictions.

9/12/20, 3/4 days after the top part: God, AFTER SO LONG, I FINALLY DID IT! Took me days! I'm so sorry if this is a bit lazy, it is a tiny bit rushed by the end but how would you guys feel about a detailed part 3? I'll probably go as far as a part 3 or part 4 for the final part.

The vibrations in your brain felt warm and numbing - almost like when you have a horrible migraine and you can finally feel it subsiding with your eyes closed and your fingers gently holding down onto your eyelids as if you're holding your eyes into place to prevent them from bursting out of your skull. Upon waking up you can feel cold air settling into your skin. You haven't been awake 3 minutes and you already know what you're resting on; an extremely uncomfortable metal table. You've only seen them in movies but this was real.

The sound of a singsong voice just slightly echoing through what seemed like a moderately empty room. You groaned softly as you turned your head to your right, very slowly opening your eyes. Your vision blurred in and out, which, you wanted to rub to clear it out but as you went to lift your wrists, you felt pressure around them.

Something was holding your arms down. This catches your attention, blinking multiple times while turning your head back up straight and attempting to sit up. You were hardly successful with that, struggling while grunting under your breath to pull your hands from under what seemed to be a thick rope. As you pulled harder, you sucked in your stomach out of habit before immediately coming to a halt and choking up in pain.

This whole time you were ignoring the voice that was singing eerily nearby, "You and me, always forever~"

The voice was of a male. Scratchy, shaky. Familiar.

Familiar.

You could feel a string of your heart pop out of place as your breath stopped. That's when you knew something was wrong, but it just doesn't add up. You gulp while your eyeballs vigorously glance around to see where the source was coming from, only to see a figure in a corner. It was doubled over and it was sitting down on a simple wooden chair. Doubling over a...table? An average male figure, nothing unique. Although, the clothing style was unusual. At least what was on the clothes. He wore a fluffy white hoodie and what seemed to be black pants and black-and-white converse. The problem wasn't the outfit, no. His hoodie was spotted and had patterns upon patterns of darkened and more fresh-looking blood splatter. He had long black hair down to his shoulders. And luckily, his back was facing you.

You were dumbfounded. How did you get here, why are you restrained, and why is there a blood covered man near you? Is that even blood? Maybe it's paint or a design? Some people do wear clothes that have different kinds of blood splatter designs on them. Hm. Or he's an actual murderer about to gut you like a fish.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to speak so badly but you just couldn't. As you parted your lips, your throat went dry while your gaze stayed locked onto the bloody male that sat before you. The singing made you shiver as you tried so hard to remember where you could have heard or seen him. Why can't you remember?

The male then turned around to look at you. His singing had come to a gentle halt. Your mouth closed as he did so, your throat going completely dry and your whole body feeling like an ice cube. You were greeted with cold blue eyes. They looked hungry and bloodthirsty, yet they held a warm affection as they looked into your traumatized eyes. It was almost comforting until you saw the rest of his face. His skin was snow white and his lips looked dry. That's when more attention is drawn to his lower jaw. He's smiling. Too big for a normal person.

That's when you realize. He has a large smile carved into his cheeks going from ear to ear while his own lips were curled within a smile as well. And that's when it hits you.

And it hits you hard.

The memories of hours prior start brutally crashing into you, flooding back into your numb brain. All of the realization replaced itself with agonizing anxiety, your heart starting to race at speeds that felt impossible. You could pass out, but something inside you kept you awake. Something about him and about this whole situation was making you dizzy. The male slowly stands and turns his body all the way to face you. He seemed deranged, yet, he had a very relaxed stance and body language.

Uncomfortable silence loomed in the air.

He kept staring at you before slowly taking steps forward. You watch him carefully as your head feels like it's spinning, which you could notice your vision blurring a little bit here and there. The silence is suddenly disturbed with the male speaking up again, choking up in giggles. "Oh my sweet Y/N, you're awake~" He cooed, now standing over you. He leaned himself down and reached his hand to your cheek, gently brushing your skin with his surprisingly soft thumb. He leaned his face closer to yours. The smell of booze, blood, & smoke overwhelmed your nostrils. Yet it didn't seem to bother you that much.

His touch almost kind of made you feel...at ease. Your heart slowed itself and your breathing went back to pace. You felt fine, somewhat, but something in your stomach was still sore. The more you stare at him, the more memories come flooding back. The more memories flooding back, the easier you fit the puzzles together.

"M-my...stomach..--" You stutter out painfully.

In response to this, the male turned his head over to your abdomen and gently rested his other hand onto your bandaged stomach, applying very gentle pressure on it as to not hurt you. It was still slightly painful, causing you to groan under your breath.

"Oh, this...I'm sorry, my sweet butterfly. I had to make sure you wouldn't get away, and you didn't! Don't worry, Jack patched you up, so you'll be just fine!"

You remember now. You remember it all. The chase, your friend, the salty kiss before what you thought was your demise.

You naturally wondered as well; who's Jack?

"Wh-.." You weakly force air out of your throat again to speak, "why am I..tied-?"

"Oh, so you wouldn't be able to get away. I knew you would run away, or struggles, so I had to make sure you wouldn't do that!"

He was right. You would run away and struggle to get out of whatever the hell kind of place you're in. Well, knowing what he looks like. He DID stab you, after all. Who knows what this sicko wants.

He lifts his hand from your stomach and turns back to you, gently placing both of his hands at each side of your face. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So sweet and so innocent. I couldn't keep letting the others eat you up like candy. You're mine and only mine. I need to protect you."

"Wh-who- are you?" You weren't really all too scared for some strange reason now. You were pretty calm. Probably from all of the energy this is draining.

"His name is Jeff." A deep and gruff voice cuts in.

The both of you turn your heads to the door of the room where a tall figure in all black stood. He was about 6"4 wearing heavy boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. His hair was a dark brown though while he wore a mask. The mask was a dark blue with black goo oozing from the eyesockets. He was pretty intimidating even just by standing idly like a character waiting to be loaded in.

"And I'm Jack." He continued, "I'm the one who took care of your wound."

Jack stepped closer, soon standing at the other side of the table. He stood at the left as Jeff stood at the right.

"He wouldn't stop insisting I help."

You just blink, unknowing of what to respond with. He pursed his lips under his dark mask, in his own thought for a moment while staring down at you. You seemed calm enough, and your still pretty fresh injury was gonna hold you back anyway.

"[P]-[Pronoun]'s gonna-!" He attempts to blurt out, only to be stopped by you.

"I won't."

You were untied at your wrists and ankles, allowing yourself to pull your legs up and rest your feet at the top of the table, propping your knees up. It made your stomach feel weird, but it felt kind of nose and felt like it was easing the pain. You wrapped your arms around your knees, looking around the room more. "What is this place?" You ask.

"It's a medical room."

"Huh.." You shrug it off. Your anxiety levels had died down and the more you actually think about it, this isn't the worst thing that's happened. Your life has been pretty fucked up and you have damaged relationships everywhere. Honestly, being around new people and being far away from others sounds not too bad right now. Not like anyone would care anyway.

The next few hours, you're introduced to everyone else at the Mansion. They've been so...unique and honestly, you're surprised some people and beings like them even exist. They were all equally surprised with how little fear you showed.

You actually got along with most of them.

The others have taken a liking to you and hope you hang around longer. Alone in the living room, you, Jeff, Jack, and others sit at the couches and chairs in the living room, chatting away and getting to know them as they get to know you.

You feel Jeff wrap his arms around you and place a gentle kiss on your forehead, making your heart skip a beat.

You found out Jeff has been stalking you for months at a time. Watching your every move, eliminating anyone in the way. Huh, no wonder so many people in your life kept disappearing. You...couldn't bring yourself to be upset or scared, let alone even sad. You felt kind of at ease.

And far from uncomfortable. Someone loved you. Maybe more than they should, but they love you.

You didn't even feel upset at the fact Jeff had murdered that friend earlier. I mean, you just met the guy, so he wasn't even a 'friend'? So you paid no mind to it.

If anything, you really liked the thrill of someone being obsessed with you. A serial killer being so infatuated with you. He could be so protective of you and get rid of anyone you asked him to! There's is an advantage here. You knew he could snap and probably kill you intentionally or unintentionally, but you didn't mind. You really had no one else, technically speaking. No one that really cared. Not as much as he did.

Maybe he isn't so bad.

#Jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #part two #part 2 #yandere #male yandere #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #gender neutral #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #small series

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

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Laundry Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer meet again in the laundry room and decide to have some fun. PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / EPILOGUE Category: Smut 18+ (oral sex- male and female receiving, unprotected penetrative sex, slight exhibitionism?/potential of getting caught, slight degradation) Warnings: sex, language. (As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in warnings. I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 3k

Note: Surprise!! I was going to wait to post this on Saturday but Taylor Swift had me feeling like dropping a surprise, what can I say? 😂 Anyway, I wasn’t going to make another part to Pretty Please, but for one thing, it did way better than I was expecting, so thank you all for your kind comments and tags! And also, @rainsong01 mentioned something that gave me an idea for a laundry room scenario, so you can thank them for this one! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it! Thanks for all the love! 🥰

***

Y/N hated laundry day.

There was nothing more boring to her than loading clothes into the washer, waiting, then loading them into the dryer, waiting, and then folding them and putting them away, not to mention the laundry room was kind of dingy and felt like being in a gross, scary basement.

Thankfully though, years of living in the same building had given Y/N a pretty decent schedule of when the laundry room was empty. It wasn't like she disliked talking to people, but laundry made her cranky enough, and the last thing she wanted was human interaction, making small talk with building residents that acted like they cared to know about everyone else's business.

So it was Friday night, 7 pm, which meant that depending on if she had to work, the only other person in the laundry room would be Olivia from down the hall, someone Y/N had only had a few conversations with, either in the laundry room or on the way out the door.

She walked in, silently thanking the laundry gods after hearing complete and utter silence as she made her way to the washer and dryer to the far left of the room. Then she reached into her pocket and realized she forgot her phone. Cursing, she settled on basking in the silence as she loaded her clothes in the washer one by one, at least grateful that no one would be bothering her with pointless small talk.

Until she heard the door open, as if the laundry gods decided they were angry at her. She tried not to outwardly groan, hoping that whoever it was would just say, "Hello," and leave it at that. Or better yet, not say anything at all and let her do her own thing. So she closed the washer and entered the quarters, knowing that it would be a long ten minutes. She could have went back upstairs to her apartment and waited there if she really wanted to, or grabbed her phone at least, but it felt like it would have been pointless, and so she just hoped it wouldn't be awkward.

Maybe I'll just go walk around the building aimlessly for 10 minutes.

But the laundry gods had other plans, apparently.

"Y/N?"

She turned around and saw none other than Spencer Reid, clutching a large cloth bag, presumably filled with laundry.

"Spencer? Hi," Y/N greeted, a small blush forming on her cheeks. The two of them hadn't really talked since their... escapade about a month ago. Most of the time Spencer was at work, but whenever he was home there hadn't been anymore thin wall scenarios or overhearing something she shouldn't. They'd seen each other in the hallway a few times, winking as they passed, but that was it. Y/N had to wonder if maybe it was just a once-in-a-lifetime thing, being absolutely fucked into oblivion by your neighbor so good that you couldn't walk for two days.

Thinking about it made her cheeks burn hotter, so she cleared her throat and only slightly avoided eye contact. "I thought you did your laundry on Sundays?"

Spencer shrugged, walking over to the machine set next to hers. "Normally I would, but I just got back from work and I needed clean clothes. It's... pretty empty in here right now."

"Oh. Yeah, that's why I do my laundry on Friday nights whenever I can. Everyone's either out or staying in relaxing. Laundry's already boring enough, right, who needs annoying small talk?"

He laughed, opening the washer and putting in some of his clothes. "Touché."

Y/N wasn't really sure what to say after that, so she sat on top of the washer and crossed her legs, swinging them a little as she waited.

"Look, I know you've already given your stance on annoying small talk, but... What are your plans for the weekend?" Spencer asked, and she turned her head to meet his gaze, immediately feeling butterflies in her stomach.

"Um... Not a lot, really. Other than some grocery shopping and a few other small errands, I was going to have dinner with my mom on Sunday for her birthday. We might have to cancel though because she might have to go into work, but we'll see... What about you?"

He shook his head. "I don't have anything planned unless I get called into work either."

"Oh... Well, if you ever feel like having some company, you know where I live," she joked.

Spencer laughed. "I might just have to take you up on that. Things at work have been kind of... stressful."

Despite her better judgement, she smirked. "I seem to recall a similar conversation between the two of us not that long ago, Bud. You're not trying to fuck me again, are you?"

She just couldn't help herself. Admittedly she was a little worried she was too forward, but in the end it paid off, because he turned to look at her, shutting the washer and grabbing quarters from his pocket. "Would it be so wrong of me if I wanted to?"

The low tone of his voice made Y/N clench her legs tighter together, her mind racing with all the things that could happen in the next few days, the next few minutes even... She thought back to the last time he'd fucked her, seeing his face between her legs as he completely unraveled her. She felt herself growing wet at the thought.

"Absolutely not," she finally managed to respond. She hoped he would come over to her in a few long strides, pulling her in and kissing her right there, but instead he simply said, "Hmm," and turned back to his machine, putting in quarters.

He could have been playing games with her again, but she didn't want to take the chance. So she grew bolder and leaned back on her hands, puffing out her chest to the air and tilting her head to the side, letting her hair fall and exposing her neck to him. "Well, we have some time to spare, babe. What do you say we make the most of it?"

She was genuinely surprised to see him blush and freeze in his tracks, fumbling with the last few quarters as he inserted them into the machine and started the timer. "R-right now?"

"Duh," she replied, giggling.

"Somebody could come in... O-or hear us." A twinge of worry dripped from every syllable as he spoke, and though Y/N's first instinct was to apologize for suggesting it and letting it go, she thought better of it after remembering what got them into this situation in the first place.

So she scoffed. "Oh, please. You weren't the least bit worried about someone hearing us before. Y'know... When you promised to fuck me so hard I would scream your name and everyone could hear, and then I did? And besides, even if someone walked in right now, they'd probably just leave and come back later. People probably have sex with each other in here all the time."

"I doubt that, this place is filthy. Hardly the right setting for something so... intimate," he replied more clearly, obviously trying to win this argument. Though, something told Y/N he really was a little bothered about how dirty the laundry room was.

She shook her head. "You and I both know that what we did wasn't intimate. It was downright filthy, so if anything it works perfectly for where we are."

"Y/N, I don't know..." He chewed on his bottom lip and shuffled on his feet, refusing to look at her.

"Well, I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to do, obviously, but... You can trust me. I've been doing my laundry here basically every Friday night since I moved here, and since Olivia is working tonight, she won't be here, and neither will anyone else."

"Well, I showed up, didn't I? Anything could happen."

She sighed, a little tired of arguing but still wanting to win. Her body tingled and practically ached at the sight of him, needing to feel his touch yet again. Maybe it was slightly pathetic, but if there was just the slightest chance that he would fuck her like that again, she had to try her damnedest.

So she had another trick up her sleeve, silently praying to the laundry gods that they would take pity on her and grant her this one thing. "You're right, but don't you think that you coming down here just moments after me was bound to happen? Like after everything we've experienced, we were always meant to have a quickie in the laundry room of our apartment building?"

He genuinely seemed to think about it for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Truthfully I think it's more of a coincidence than anything that we showed up here at the same time."

There's your chance, Y/N, don't fuck it up, she thought to herself, hoping that with the seductive tone in her voice and the puppy dog look in her eye, it would be enough to get her what she wanted. "I was joking. Of course it's a coincidence, I just want you to fuck me."

He only stayed silent, fiddling with his hands and his eyes flicking between her and the floor before he caught her eye. In another attempt to entice him, Y/N batted her eyes and slowly spread her legs wide, scooting back a little so she could rest her heels on the top of the washer. "Don't you want to fuck me into the washing machine, baby?"

That was the last straw, the thing that pushed Spencer over the edge. He whispered, "Fuck it," to himself before striding over to her and cradling her face in his hands, bringing her to him and kissing her hard. She initially yelped at how harsh he was, but after a second she melted into him, leaning forward and bringing him closer.

She tried to wrap her legs around his torso, but he grabbed them by the ankles and kept them spread open, pulling away to look into her eyes. "Keep 'em open, pretty girl." The old nickname made her whimper, just like he knew it would, and his gaze burned into hers hotly for a few seconds before he bent down, kissing her inner thigh just below the hem of her shorts. She sighed as he trailed his lips and tongue along every inch of skin, switching to the other leg and giving it the same attention until he was ready for more.

Rather than pulling off her shorts and underwear, Spencer simply pushed the fabrics aside and immediately licked a long, flat strip up her pussy, to which Y/N sharply inhaled and reached out, grabbing his hair. He explored her just as thoroughly as he had the last time, his fervor unmatched and absolutely intoxicating as he pushed himself closer and closer, practically living between her legs. Due to the short time constraint and fear of getting caught, he didn't waste time teasing her, and he seemed determined to finish before the buzzing of the washer signaled clean clothes.

Naturally though, he couldn't not tease her, so just as she was about to finish with his lips wrapped around her clit, he pulled away and left her breathless and frustrated.

"Really? We're doing this again?" she huffed, pouting.

Spencer unbuckled his belt and raised his eyebrow. "All in due time, sweetheart. Come here."

Unsurprisingly, she did what she was told, jumping off the washer and waiting further instructions. It didn't take long for Spencer to move, only a few seconds passing by before he turned her around and pushed her against the washer, to which she instinctively bent her torso over it. She gripped the sides of it tightly as he ran his hands up her shirt and caressed her back, eventually using one hand to grip her waist and the other to lift her leg up, setting it on the washer. She readjusted, reaching her hands forward to grip the top of it as he slid his hand down her leg and toyed with the fabric of her shorts.

"Listen carefully," he said, causing Y/N's heart to pound harder in her chest. "I'm clean. Are you?"

"Yes," she stated simply, loud and clear, though adding a hint of desperation as to hopefully speed the process along. She knew this communication was important, but damn if she didn't just want to be railed into next week already.

"Birth control?"

She swallowed nervously, hoping it wouldn't change his mind. "I'm not on it."

"Noted," is all he said, before deftly moving her shorts and underwear to the side and slamming into her with no warning. She yelped, leaning her head back as he pounded into her, the cold metal of the washing machine digging into her skin. It was the best kind of painful pleasure, only made better when he gripped her hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanked her to him, deepening his angle inside of her and hitting that sweet spot every time.

"Spencer, I'm..." She could barely breathe, and she loved it, already feeling herself start to unravel.

"Close already, pretty girl?" he purred in her ear, right before pressing a wet kiss to her neck as he craned her head to the side for better access. "Figures... You've always been so easy to please. Such a good, needy little slut for me, huh?"

Y/N groaned at the new name, and it spurred him forward, encouraging him to push them both further into the washing machine as he moved his hips harder. "Please," she gasped, only seconds away from losing herself.

"Tell me what you want," he growled in her ear.

She squeezed her eyes shut and spoke as clearly as she could, not caring how loud she was being. "I wanna cum! Please, Spencer, please!"

"Do it," he grunted, giving her a few more deep, purposeful thrusts to aid in her high. "I got you, pretty girl." That's what did it for her. She yelled out as her body tensed and her walls fluttered around him, everything absolutely burning and blinding until eventually she was spent.

Spencer held himself inside of her for a few seconds, bringing himself closer to the edge before he roughly pulled out and away, leaving Y/N empty and alone. She was tired as hell and completely fucked out, but still she wanted more than anything to help him, ever the needy little slut, as he'd so eloquently called her. So she turned around, peeling herself away from the washing machine and dropping to her knees in front of him, not waiting for him to say anything.

She promptly leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around his cock, wasting no time hollowing her cheeks and setting a fast pace sucking him off. It had somewhat taken him by surprise, but he welcomed it, gathering her hair away from her face and watching as she went to work, practically worshipping the ground he stood on. Eventually she pushed herself all the way forward, allowing him to hit the back of her throat. Instead of pulling back to breathe, she held herself there and gagged, looking up at him with tears in her eyes before removing herself, taking two deep breaths, and going right back to work.

"Look at you," he mused, his voice barely there but with enough volume that allowed Y/N to hear him. "You look so good, pathetic and choking on my cock. Such a good fucking girl, fuck—"

In no time he was gripping her hair tighter and his breathing started to falter. Y/N held herself still as he came in her mouth, most of it hitting the back of her throat and all of it coating her tongue. She moaned around him, blinking tears away and running her hands over his ass until he pulled away from her and let go of her hair.

Standing up, Y/N swallowed most of his cum but purposely let some of it spill out of her mouth and down her chin, to which she used her middle finger to scoop it up and slide it back into her mouth. She kept eye contact with him the whole time, watching as his tongue flicked over his bottom lip before he bit it softly.

Once she was done cleaning herself up, Y/N ran a hand through her hair and smiled. "See, that wasn't bad at all. No trouble."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the only trouble is you. Eavesdropping, making me fuck you in a semi-public place, et cetera..." He laughed as he pulled his pants up and re-adjusted himself as though nothing had happened.

"Don't act like you don't like it," Y/N teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. He laughed against them, pulling her closer by her waist and resting his hands there when she pulled away.

As if to signal the end of their... whatever they were going to call it, Y/N's washer buzzed and she turned around to attend to her laundry. As she transferred the clothes from the washer to the dryer, Spencer came up behind her and brushed the hair away from her neck.

"You know, I wasn't trying to be mean or anything when I... called you a slut. I would never want to be mean to you or anything, and I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable."

Y/N almost laughed, amused again by how dominant he was during sex but then immediately a big 'ol softie once it was over. It was such a fun contrast, and truthfully, as much as she loved his dominant side, she wanted to see more of his softer one. So she turned around to meet him and caressed his cheek, smiling kindly. "I know you don't mean it to be mean. It was hot. And I appreciate you checking up on me, it's sweet. You're sweet."

Before he could say anything, his washer buzzed. So he settled on leaning forward, kissing her cheek, and walking away to do his laundry.

The two of them worked in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company until they realized they both had to wait for the dryer. 20 minutes.

"Round two?" he asked her with a mischievous grin.

Y/N returned it and took a step towards him when the door opened, laundry gods be damned.

"Oh, hey guys!" Olivia from down the hall chirped as she walked in, striding to her own station.

At least they had the rest of the weekend.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid

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