#hes so real for drawing his gun whenever someone tries to make him take off the spacesuit. he has every right to keep that thang on forevers

[myherofanfictionacademy]

Omegaverse Headcanons

Gender Neutral reader

Bakugo:

Bakugo’s scent is a mixture of cinnamon and caramel, with just a little bit of smokiness.

He’s more aggressive when his primal instincts take over, especially when it’s over an omega.

Many betas and other alphas try to court him, but he only sees himself being with an omega. He prefers their sweetness.

He has a hard time finding someone to court since most omegas get overwhelmed by his aggressiveness.

When Bakugo finally comes across you, it surprises him that you simply laugh at his behavior, even going as far as offering him some sweets.

He thinks he’s smooth when it comes to secretly scenting you, trying to lure you into his trap of falling for him.

You just think it’s silly, but let him think that it’s working, eventually starting a courtship with him.

Bakugo gladly accepts the bracelet, and makes you a necklace in return.

Kirishima:

Kirishima’s scent is crisp apple, and a little earthy.

He’s not aggressive at all, unless someone is making an omega uncomfortable, or hurting them in some way.

When Kirishima sees how uncomfortable you are as an alpha tries to force you to accept a courting gift, he jumps in to help you.

The way you looked up at him with awe and profusely thanked him made his heart skip a few beats.

Kirishima knew that he wanted to court you, but he wanted to start out by simply getting to know you.

You felt extremely safe around him, so you were always found right by his side.

He is the one to make the first move in starting a courtship, gifting you a sculpture made from rock.

You give him a watch that you had made with the help of your grandfather.

Denki:

Denki’s scent is fruity, and the smell of rain.

He’s not aggressive unless he gets taunted too much.

He isn’t very good at interacting with omegas as they made his instincts go into hyperdrive.

Denki is surprised when he finds out that you are an omega as you make him feel more calm than alert for your safety.

He did like it though, so he was quick in coming up with a plan to court you.

Denki watches closely to find out your likes and dislikes, leading him to give you a giant stuffed animal he made and scented.

You accept it and gift him with a charm that you made of one of his favorite characters.

Midoriya:

Midoriya’s scent is strawberry.

He is very good at staying calm, unless he sees someone in trouble/distress, which causes his instincts to come out more.

He bumps into a child while on patrol, only to find you, her babysitter, a few minutes later.

With the girl falling asleep in his arms, you ask Midoriya if he can carry her home, since she’s finally asleep after hours of you trying to get her to nap.

After that, Midoriya finds himself spending time with you, his inner alpha going crazy to court you.

He courts you by writing a letter, since it’s easier for him to get everything out on paper rather than saying it.

You give him a bracelet that has some charms of All Might on it.

Todoroki:

Todoroki’s scent is sweet and lemony.

Nothing really aggravates him, but he won’t hesitate to defend someone, especially when they can’t defend themselves.

There are plenty of people, alphas, betas, and omegas, who try to court him, but he just isn’t interested in them. He wants to experience real love.

When you enter Todoroki's life, you’re just another person in his friend group, but over time he feels something change.

He begins to feel the need to be around you more, and have more of your comforting touch, especially when you play with his hair.

When you write him a letter as a courting gift, he accepts it, giving you a special stone somehow made of fire and ice.

Tamaki:

Tamaki’s scent is blueberry.

He is not aggressive at all, unless he absolutely has to be.

No one seems to find any interest in him due to his timid nature, so he loses hope of ever finding someone to court.

You change that when you pick him, out of everyone, to be partners during a project.

Tamaki clings to you whenever he feels nervous, but you don’t mind at all, even making yourself available whenever he needs to go somewhere with a large crowd.

You know you’ll have to start the courting process, so you make an octopus charm for him.

He accepts it, and, although he feels like he might pass out from happiness, he manages to make you an octopus plush.

Hawks:

Hawk’s scent is the natural outdoors smell, and rain.

He can be very aggressive, but keeps a level head most of the time.

A lot of alphas throw themselves at Hawks, but he denies to start a courtship with any of them.

He ends up having to catch you during a villain attack since he accidentally causes you to get thrown off of a roof.

Unlike the typical reaction that he usually gets, you hit him for causing the accident to happen in the first place.

After that, Hawks constantly bugs you, in which he gets the same result of you ignoring him, but he just can’t stay away.

After some time, he gives you a necklace as a courting gift.

To his surprise, you accept and give him a drawing you made of him.

Aizawa:

Aizawa’s scent is Lavender.

He is good at hiding his aggressive nature, but it still comes out every once in a while.

He has known that a new nurse would be joining UA, but he never expected it to impact him.

When you entered the office to help patch him up, he became uncharacteristically flustered, causing a slight blush on his cheeks.

He would often visit your office to spend time with you, and to scent you so that others would know to stay away.

He wants to wait for you to court him.

When you approach him with a cat plushy for him to scent for you, he is more than willing to do so.

Aizawa, in return, gives you a ring.

Dabi:

Dabi’s scent smells like a campfire.

He doesn’t even try to hide his aggression, causing omegas to steer clear of him.

When he is walking down an alleyway, Dabi bumps into you.

He attempts to rob you, in which you simply move around him, and when he goes for his gun it is now in your hands.

You smile at him before throwing it back to him, making a snide remark.

Dabi can’t believe you’re an omega, but he finds himself drawn towards you nonetheless.

There are no courting gifts. It’s just an unspoken fact that you are his and he is yours, so there’s no need for any material things when there are plenty of emotions.

[spencersawkward]

*concussions and confessions//spencer reid*

summary: a near-death experience encourages Spencer to admit his feelings for his best friend, even at the risk of ruining their relationship.

pairing: Fem!Reader/Spencer

content warnings: oh boy there’s a lot. i’ll start with the nonsexual ones-- choking (again, not sexual), blunt force, violence, some angst. ok time for the fun ones-- unprotected penetrative sex, masturbation, sex dream, oral (male receiving), slight dirty talk, creampie. lmk if there are more that i missed! 

word count: 5.4k

A/N: hi omg so i actually combined two requests for this bc i loved the concepts and i didn't wanna do one and not the other. i hope i do both of these justice hehe thanks for sending them! also sorry if the unsub scene sucks-- i don’t usually write that way, so i tried my best. 

request(s): omg if you need ideas for baby spence can you do a one shot where he's the girls best friend (she's not in the bau) and they are in love but neither of them admit it and he is really hurt in a case or almost dies or something traumatic and only when he gets back they confess their love... and then have sex 😏 ive been thinking about this concept alot 😌

can’t stop thinking about baby spencer (like s2-s4) & his girl best friend losing their virginity to each other... can you write a one shot on this please?

masterlist

"when are you coming back?" you ask over the line. you're lying on your bed, legs in the air while you talk to your best friend. it's been a long day for you, but a longer day for him. it's always a longer day for him. 

"you know that I don't know the answer to that question." Spencer's voice is soft as he attempts to keep quiet. he's two hours ahead and, despite the fact that you're both night owls, the person he's rooming with tonight isn't. 

"I know, but there's this Korean film festival that starts tomorrow and I was hoping you would be here to translate for me." you examine your nails while you talk. Spencer lets out a disappointed sigh. 

it's only been a few days since he left, but it's been a week since you last saw him and it feels like a long time. whenever he's not at work, you two are joined at the hip. ever since you first met a few years back at a poetry convention in DC, it feels like he's the only person who understands you. which is weird, because you couldn't be more different as individuals. 

"you should bring one of your other friends." 

"bold of you to assume I have other friends." you joke. Spencer chuckles to himself and your heart flutters. you love his laugh more than anything in the world. 

"I thought that was just me." he says. 

"oh, it is just you," you reply flatly. "I was trying to make you feel better."

you can practically feel Spencer smiling through the phone. although you tease him pretty frequently, he's sometimes able to get in his own shots. it's what makes your friendship interesting.

"hey," you add before he can say anything more. "how's the case going?" 

Spence starts to detail the whole thing, and you listen intently, the timbre and smoothness of his voice comforting you as you slip beneath the covers of your bed. you like the way he enunciates his words, his strange manner of speaking, because it lulls you to sleep. 

you know he's talking about horrible things, but something about the sound comforts you deeply. when he's not around, you're wishing you had it bottled up. 

he lays out their profile as it stands, and you fall silent. it's getting pretty late and you have to be up early for work tomorrow, so it would be a good idea to get some real rest. plus, Spencer needs to sleep, too-- even though he probably won't. 

you remember times when he'd call you at three in the morning, his mind whirring as he played chess against himself and asked if you wanted to hang out so he could teach you how. you hate chess, but of course you said yes; you'd been head over heels with him since your first conversation.

eventually, you feel yourself start to drift off. you don't even really know what he's saying; all of it blends together until you're laying there, one cheek pressed to the pillow and the receiver against the other. 

"Y/N?" he says your name abruptly and your eyes, which have been slowly drawing shut this whole time, fly open. 

"yeah?" 

"go to bed."

"what? no, I'll wait until you're done." you shift. 

"I could hear your breathing change." 

"then why didn't you just hang up?" you giggle. he goes silent for a moment and you wonder if he cut out, but then he responds. 

"I wanted to say goodnight." 

it's like a cage of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach. you wrinkle your nose as you get nervous. god, you miss him. things would be so much better if he was back. not like he'd be in your bed even if he was, though.  

"then say goodnight." you prod. he lets out an awkward little sound. 

"now I can't because you made it weird." 

"how did I make it weird?" 

"I don't know, you just did." he's so clumsy, your face heats up. you want to keep talking like this until morning.

"goodnight, Spence," the words sound reluctant, but you try to cover it up by teasing him further. "see, was that so bad?" 

"oh my god, Y/N--" he tries to sound exasperated. 

"no goodnight back?" you raise an eyebrow even though he can't see you right now.  

a lengthy silence again. "goodnight."

"that's what I thought." before he can protest, you end the call, settle into the covers. moonlight beams on the walls of your apartment, and you start to think about your best friend. about all the nights spent curled up on his couch with two bowls of popcorn, his ramblings about how much he loves his job and him asking about yours. 

he's a great listener. every time you talk, he nods along like he's hanging off every word. it's nice to feel heard that way, to have someone care. and he's fun to hang out with, too. you've met his team before and they all talk about how hard it is to get him to go out, but they don't see the same side of him that you do. 

Spencer is nerdy and cute and kind and sensitive. he makes you feel special. he's everything that you've ever wanted in a person. but it's not like it would matter, anyway. he hasn't really shown interest in any girls-- much less you. even if he did, you're scared of ruining the friendship. 

the fallout of not having him around at all... it would destroy you. and something, even if it's torturous, is better than nothing. 

which is why, as you sit there and remember being around him, your fingertips creep below the comforter. a familiar routine, they move over your stomach, until they reach the waistband of your panties. for a moment, you hesitate. it's wrong. he's your best friend. but he doesn't need to know that this is how you handle the ache he puts between your legs. 

as your index finger slides down your slit, you feel the wetness already forming. Spencer's hands, his mouth. the thought of his lips pressed to yours while he fucks you, holding your body like it's delicate. 

you don't know exactly how it would feel because you've never had sex, but you want to find out with him. he's never done it, either. you don't care; all you need is to have him inside of you, to see how he looks when he's on the edge. 

your mind wanders to the image of him parting your legs and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. the sensation of him filling you up. falling apart. 

you slide a finger inside, gasping at the way your walls tighten and your imagination runs wild. that tongue, lapping and making you squirm, your fingers twisted in his soft hair. he's so sweet; his attentiveness would make your legs shake. you want to look into his eyes while he does it. 

you add a second finger, curl them and brush over the most sensitive part. the pressure of his hips grinding into yours. your body curves up at the way you start to finger yourself, the other hand stimulating your clit. it's almost overwhelming, the way his name tumbles from your lips over and over. 

you've never wanted someone so badly in your life; he belongs in your bloodstream. the sounds he would make in your ear before finally cumming and collapsing on top of you, spent. you want to tire him out and then do it all over again. 

you're greedy on the edge, indulging in every single image of him you can conjure up, every dirty thing you'd say. finally, you feel yourself fall, the orgasm intense as you bite back groans of pleasure and work through the high. it's amazing. 

you sit there, panting, feeling your heart beat in your chest. some things can't leave your head, they're so sinful. and the worst part is that you don't regret it in the slightest. 

...

Spencer can feel his pulse practically leaping against his throat as he makes his way through the empty warehouse. he should have waited for backup; he knows he should have, but it's too late now to go back and change things. 

he clutches his gun, pointing it in front of him while his eyes flicker wildly across the space. he's moving between enormous aisles stuffed with crates, not knowing who else is around. they said the unsub brought his newest victim here-- Spencer came first because was closest to the site-- but he hears nothing aside from the uneven rhythm of his own breath. 

every step is careful. he's thinking about how close the rest of the team must be. based on their distance from the station, they should arrive within six minutes-- but that doesn't account for the time it takes to put on their bulletproof vests, to get to their cars. 

truthfully, he doesn't know if he's going to have to do this on his own. and that scares him the most. 

there's no point in worrying. he swallows the lump in his throat and presses his back to one of the crates. there's a scraping noise a ways off that causes him to freeze. because of the echoes of the warehouse, the origin is indiscernible. he doesn't breathe, eyes darting between each of the openings into the aisle. 

after a minute of pure silence, he peels himself away and turns to head back out. 

and that's when the sound of wood cracking against bone startles him; he hears it before he feels it, but it's obvious when he crumples to the floor. like knife points pressing into his brain at all angles, the shooting agony in his skull. 

he starts to clutch at his head, only to be yanked off the ground by a meaty hand and thrown against the side of a crate. 

"fucking feds." the guy is enormous. gargantuan. he keeps his arm across Reid's throat, pressing down enough to restrict his airway. but Spencer can't even concentrate on the guy's face further than its rough outlines. his vision is going in and out, fuzzy at the edges from the blow to his head. 

he definitely has a concussion. 

"I..." he trails off. the huge FBI logo on his vest is a dead giveaway. 

"all alone?" the unsub has breath like rotten fish, spits each word into his face. "I won't even need my gun." 

Spencer's head lolls to the side and he catches sight of his own weapon lying helplessly a few feet away. there's no way he could get to it in time, even if he got out of this guy's chokehold. 

he tries to think of a way to talk himself out of this; after all, their profile said he'd be more susceptible to negotiation, but that's kind of hard to do with someone's forearm slammed against your trachea. he presses harder and Spencer sees stars. his glasses hang almost off the bridge of his nose, centimeters from falling to the floor. 

he starts to realize that he's going to die, defenseless and alone, in a warehouse. at the hands of a man who kills women because his Viagra doesn't work. but this doesn't incite the kind of panic Spencer always predicted he'd feel. the lack of oxygen in his brain causes him to go delirious. 

he misses home. his mom and his old house, even though things were hard. he misses Y/N, his team members. he wishes his team was here; he should have waited for them. he should have told Y/N how he feels. now she's never going to know. 

Reid is so out of it, he doesn't even notice the pressure being relieved from his throat until he collapses on the ground. the unsub falls, too, his cheek smashed by the force of the abandoned wooden plank. 

it's hard to tell what's happening until Reid lifts his head to see Morgan standing above him, preparing to handcuff the criminal.

"kid," Spencer never thought he'd be so glad to hear his voice. "what happened?"

...

you practically crash into Spencer's apartment the next evening, flinging your body through the front door with your spare key. 

"Spence?" you call out from the entryway. everything still looks the same, but when his colleague, Penelope, called you today to tell you that Reid had gotten a concussion after a run-in with an unsub, you rushed here as soon as you could. 

"in here." he calls from his bedroom. you don't hesitate, your feet carrying you there. you've been anxious all day; he didn't call last night or even text like usual. you were on the verge of panicking when Penelope called. 

of course, you knew that was the risk with Spencer. he knew the risk, too. his life would always be in the balance when it came to the cases, but he'd gone through so many at this point, you weren't thinking about it. if you did, you wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. 

when you walk in, the first thing you see is Spencer laying in bed in his silk pjs. there's a stack of unread books on his bedside table. his glasses sit on top. he's just laying there with his eyes closed. 

"oh my god." you mutter, dropping your bag on the floor and walking over. he opens his eyes with a slight smile. there's a purple bruise forming across his throat, light but definitely there.  

"hi." 

"what the fuck happened?" you ask the question you've been wondering the whole way here. 

"he hit me with a plank." Spencer explains, the phrase coming out like he's still confused about it. "I'm fine, just a mild concussion and a bruise because he choked me." 

you take a second to assess if he actually means that he's okay, or if he's trying not to worry you. he stares at your expression for a second. 

"Y/N, I'm really fine." 

"you don't look fine." you gesture to the fact that he's laying in bed. 

"my body is sore, but nothing's wrong with me. I just can't look at screens or read." this last part makes him much more melancholy, it seems. you reach down and ruffle his hair playfully. 

"sounds like a nightmare." 

"it is." he cracks up. 

"I'm glad you're okay." you sigh. your heart rate has slowed to a reasonable pace now that you know he's fine. Spencer gives a ghost of a smile, and when he pats the empty spot on the bed beside him, you kick off your shoes and climb over his body to sit down. "so... did you guys get him?" 

"the unsub?" he turns his head to look at you. something is in his eyes that you can't read. "yeah, he's in custody. we saved the girl he abducted, too." 

"well, aren't you a hero?" you grin, pinching his arm. 

"ow!" he flinches. "don't hurt the patient."

"oh, so now you're injured?" you giggle softly. his smile fades a bit, gaze trailing from your face to your legs. it isn't lustful or anything, more like he's taking in your existence. it still makes your heart flutter. 

"I wasn't really a hero, anyway," he sighs. "I got knocked down before I even found her." 

"oof." you wince. 

"yeah, it's sort of embarrassing. I went in by myself and--"

"you went by yourself?" you clarify, turning to face him. of course he did. 

"yeah." he avoids your gaze. 

"Spencer, I work in a stationery shop and I know you're supposed to wait for backup." you deadpan. he snorts, staring straight ahead at the wall. his hair is flat in the back from where he's been resting it against the headboard. 

"he would have hurt her if I had waited." he explains. your heart softens a bit at this. you know Spencer has a problem with saving people; sometimes he doesn't think things through. but you know that it's only because he cares. 

you smile gently, appreciating what a beautiful person he is. you don't understand how other people don't see him how you do. your hand reaches for his suddenly, and you find yourself snuggling into his shoulder. 

Spencer doesn't usually like touch, but he welcomes this, dropping his own head to rest on top of yours while you both stare at the wall. his silence feels heavy, more than it usually does, and you wonder what he's thinking. 

"I'm really glad you're okay, Spencer." your tone is low, like it's a secret. 

"you already said that." 

"shut up." 

"you care about me." he sing-songs with a smile, and you know he means it in a friendly way, but you don't care. it brings warmth to your cheeks. 

"whatever. you care about me, too." 

he lets out a slight chuckle. "when I started to black out, I thought of you." 

your heart leaps, even though the reason is pretty dark. "oh, yeah?"

"mhmm." he hums. 

"nobody's ever told me that they thought of me in their last moments of life before." you tease. there are so many things you'd like to say, but know you can't. he smells like himself and coffee beans, his skin warm beneath the silk of his pajamas. 

"I'd hope not."

"anything in particular?" you wonder aloud. 

"what?" you feel him tense beneath you, and that's how you know there's something he's not telling you. 

"were you thinking about anything in particular?" 

"someone's full of themselves." he jokes. you smack his arm.  

"humor me." more than anything, you want to hear his thoughts. you know you're reaching, but you don't care. 

"just..." he pauses, the next words coming out almost too quietly to hear. "things I never got to say to you." 

"like?" now you're intrigued. 

"no way." he laughs and you groan, turning and realizing that you've both sunk deeper onto the bed and are now practically lying down. 

"c'mon," you prod. you've flipped onto your side while you watch him, his eyes directed at the ceiling. "what if you'd actually died?" 

Spencer gives you a look, and you wish you could snap a picture of his face. the gentle features, the warmth in his eyes. he stares at you differently than before, and it makes your stomach flip again. "I, um." 

you start to trace your index absently down his forearm, where his sleeve has incidentally gotten rolled up. his skin is soft. you know that this isn't a friendly thing to do, but something inside you craves his touch right now. you almost lost him; you can't imagine how horrible that would be. 

"I wanted to say that I--" he gulps, muscles in his shoulder tight beneath your cheek. "well, I care about you, and I... I really love you." 

it's not the first time he's said it, obviously in a platonic sense. what affects you is that he's acting like it's a big deal. 

"I love you too, Spence." you smile softly. his chest rises and falls faster, his face tensed. 

"no, I mean--" he turns onto his side, using the action to distract from his own nervousness. he holds your gaze and you forget how to breathe as he speaks. every syllable is serious, but you note his fingers fidgeting at his side. "I'm in love with you." 

it's like all the air in the room has been sucked out. you swallow, unsure of how to react at first. you don't believe what you're hearing, simply because it doesn't make sense. you've been friends for a while, now, but Spencer has never made a move to ask you out or acted like he wanted anything more. 

your heart swells. 

"you're in love with me?" the words even feel surreal on your tongue. he takes it as rejection.

"I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry." Spencer rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, his expression turning to a cringe. he's about to sit up to hide the red in his cheeks, but you pull him back down by the shoulder. 

"not so fast, crazy boy." the corners of your mouth are turning up into a grin. you can't help it; every nerve in your body is alive. Spencer loves you. he feels the same way. 

when he sinks back down onto the mattress and sighs, preparing to say something that rescinds the statement to erase any awkwardness, you grab his face and turn it to yours. you don't kiss him, only force him to look. 

"I'm in love with you, too." 

his eyebrows fly up in surprise. "r-really?"

"yes." you nod. 

he takes a second to process this. you see about five different expressions pass over his face, each one reminding you of how earnest he is. and it's absolutely adorable. 

"well, that's good, isn't it?" he clarifies. you pretend to think on it. 

"I'd say so, yeah." 

he smiles. a genuine, rare one that makes your veins feel as if they're full of glitter. you're on Cloud 9. 

"can I kiss you?" you ask him quietly. he seems surprised at this, too, like he never thought you'd want that, but then nods eagerly. 

you close the gap between you on the bed, holding his jaw in one hand while the other rests on his forearm. your lips meet softly at first. he's cautious, scared of pushing you away. he hasn't kissed many people before. but he's good at it, letting you take the lead. 

there's no way to adequately describe kissing Spencer. every bone in your body turns to mush, immediately craving more contact. you slide your tongue across his full bottom lip, and he lets you in. his affection is the most loved you've ever felt. because sure, you haven't had sex, but you've kissed people before. 

never like this. 

one of his hands goes up to wrap around your forearm tenderly before he shifts to lie on his side. you wrap around each other, turning the kiss into a full-body embrace as you breathe in. you want more. your leg swings over his torso so you can pull yourself closer, and he groans into your mouth when your pelvis presses against his. 

the kiss gets more heated, his hands carefully but hungrily traveling down the curve of your waist. you flip so that you're straddling him without breaking any contact. 

you don't really think about the way your hips begin to rock against his, your pussy involuntarily working for friction. there are so many happy chemicals in your brain right now, you giggle against his mouth when his body bucks up into yours. he groans. 

"Y/N..." he breathes softly. his hands move from your waist to your thighs, afraid to dig his fingertips in. 

"what?" you sigh, licking over his bottom lip again. he moans at the way you keep grinding on his erection. 

"I wanna--" his eyelashes flutter when he gasps. "I wanna touch you." 

"do it." your palm is resting tenderly against his cheek. he responds by finally holding you down, sliding his body up a bit to grind against your center. you whine. "touch whatever you want, Spencer." 

his cock twitches in his pants and you push the hem of his shirt up while he uses one hand to massage your tits. the voracious, curious nature of his attention makes you sigh, touching his stomach. he feels perfect beneath you. 

soon you're grabbing at each other without any regard for grace. he's so horny, he's pawing at whatever he can while you do the same to him. the kissing gives way to straight panting while you look at each other. 

"can I suck your dick?" you whisper. Spencer's eyes widen. you've never seen him nod so fast. 

you press your mouth to his one more time before inching down his body, sucking on his clavicle, then his stomach. careful to avoid the purple marks on his neck. he watches you intently, memorizing the details of this moment for later. when you reach the waistband of his pants, you peek up. he strains against the material. 

your mouth drops open and you draw your tongue over the clothed bulge, maintaining eye contact. Spencer throws his head back. his voice is high. "oh my god, oh my god." 

you smirk, licking it again. he clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna c-cum if you don't--" he tries for words, but he's mewling and moving against your mouth. you pull at his pants, hooking your fingers in his boxers and bringing them down, too. 

Spencer bucks into the air when his cock hits his stomach. it's big, precum leaking helplessly out of the tip while he whines. you want him now. 

"wow." you smile. he stares at you, tensing his stomach as you wrap your hand around his length. he's trying to keep quiet, but as soon as you spit on it and start to pump him, his head falls back into the pillow. 

you draw your tongue up the underside, paying special attention to the veins, reveling in his reactions. he looks like he's ascending to heaven when you start to suck on the first couple inches.  

"o-oh, fuck..." he keeps moving his hips off the bed for more, so you sink down further onto him, hollowing your cheeks and moaning. "Y/N..." 

you groan in response, feeling yourself get wetter with every sound he makes. you can't believe this is happening, the way he threads his fingers loosely through your hair in an attempt to touch more of you.

he tries to keep his eyes open while you suck, but they squint with pleasure. he's a mess for you, shuddering gently when you take nearly all of him into your mouth. 

before he can cum, you pull your mouth off of him with a satisfying pop. Spencer moans. 

"was that okay?" you ask carefully. this is the extent of your sexual experience, and you want to do more with him, but you aren't sure how he feels. your best friend stares back at you like you've turned his world upside down. 

"y-yeah," he replies. his face is flushed. "definitely okay."

he's throbbing, occasionally twitching against his stomach as he waits for more stimulation. you eye him carefully. 

"what do you feel comfortable doing?" your voice is smooth. "we can stop now, if you'd like." 

"I--" he chokes on the word. "I don't wanna stop." 

"do you want to have sex?" you ask. Spencer bites his lip, whines. 

"mhmm." 

"I wanna do that, too," you breathe out, straightening up and pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, before getting to work on your shorts. you know you're practically dripping. he's been more vocal, but you feel like you're going to implode from the desire. "but I need to tell you something." 

"what?" he tugs your arm, coaxing you back to him and touching you greedily. you giggle as you kick your shorts and panties off somewhere in the room. both of you move like awkward teenagers. 

"I'm a virgin." you say. 

Spencer frowns. "really?" 

"yeah," you lick your lips. "so you need to be careful." 

"o-of course." he blushes, getting nervous again. "you know I'm a virgin too, right?"

"I know." you smile. he returns it sweetly, and the commotion of your bodies slows for a moment. you're so happy, you could cry. 

"what?" he breaks the comfortable silence. 

"I'm excited," you shrug. he's got his hands on your waist, rubbing his fingertips over your skin. then you remember something. "wait, are you allowed to have sex with your... injury?" 

"it's fine." he reaches up and kisses your throat with an urgency. 

"did the doctor say that?" your eyes roll while he sucks on your neck. he groans and pulls down on your waist so that your stomach presses against his cock. he ruts. 

"second opinion from me." he pants. you tap his cheek playfully, move up his body until your core brushes him. he whimpers when you reach between your bodies and grip his length in your hands. 

"you ready?" your voice is low. Spencer squeezes your thighs, eyes moving between your tits and your face. 

"yes." he sighs. you position it, slicking him in your pussy while he wraps an arm around your waist and moans for more. your chests are pressed together, looking into each other's eyes while you slide him into you. 

you have to go slow, the intrusion causing your jaw to drop. you don't breathe. he's got his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  

"Spencer." you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest when he's fully inside of you. his fingers rub patiently over your back. 

"are you okay?" his voice is laced with a moan, trying to resist thrusting. 

"yeah, just a second." you wiggle a little bit to test the boundaries. it hurts, but it also feels good. your clit is begging for more pressure, so you start to roll your hips. Reid moans loudly. 

"Y/N..." he whimpers. "don't stop." 

"you want more?" the need in his voice makes you hornier, and you increase the pace, despite the slight pain. you're so wet, he slides in and out without much effort. 

"so-- much more." he's gasping, hands on your thighs as he watches your naked body writhe on top of him. he's never been more aroused in his life, spurred on by your scent and form and the tightness that keeps clenching around his cock.

he understands why people love sex so much, now. he wants it every day, wants to fuck you in every position and pleasure you. the sounds you release in his ear, whines and praises, he would do anything for more. walk to the ends of the earth to feel you cum on his cock. 

his hand finds your ass, squeezes it. 

"this feel good, Spence? fucking your best friend?" you talk dirty and he twitches. you're always so sweet, the words coming out of your mouth for him are going to send the genius into a tailspin. 

"mhmm," he holds you down so that he can thrust up. speaking at all is a struggle with the way he's feeling. "perfect." 

you start to say something else, but he hits a certain angle and you let out a quiet yelp, hips jumping at the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum." 

Spencer gets a rush of relief because it's taking everything in him right now not to absolutely lose it inside your pussy. he's hanging on by a thread. "me, too." 

you use your position on top to stimulate yourself. both of you chase your orgasms roughly, the rhythm you created degenerating into clawing excitement. 

"cum inside me, Spencer." you beg him. it sounds like you would do anything to feel it, that sensation that you've never experience but have always imagined. and Spencer, his own head foggy with ecstasy, nods and opens his mouth to let out a loud groan. 

"Y/N, fuck fuck fuck-- I'm--" he shoots his load inside of you, rutting wildly and letting his head drop onto the pillow while he pants. you can feel it. strange, lovely jolts of his seed spreading. your hands, which have been resting on his shoulders, tighten and you reach your climax. you flutter around him, both of you still moving to ease the intensity of the high. 

it's remarkable. you're crying out, having the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. you never thought your first time would be like this. but you're glad it is, muscles tightening and releasing with the mixture of emotions. 

you collapse fully, him still inside. 

neither of you speaks. his heartbeat thuds against your ear, and you hold onto him like letting go would be the end of the world. you can't believe you could have lost him. you don't want to think about it. 

"sorry I came so fast." Spencer apologizes breathlessly. you can feel his cum dripping down your entrance when he slides out. 

"I don't care." you mumble. both of you stay there for a while, his heartbeat changing to a pace that reminds you of genuine excitement. like a hummingbird. 

"we can try again, sometime." he offers. you lift your head to rest your chin on his chest. his skin is flushed, pupils dilated, hair messy. such a pretty boy. 

"we should try multiple times." 

he gives you a cheerful smile, and everything starts to fall into place. you took each other's virginity. "Y/N?" 

he likes to say your name, and you love to hear it. "yes?" 

"are we dating?" the bluntness of the question makes you giggle. you don't hesitate. 

"yeah." 

“good.”

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm @xoxomgg​ 

[jaxxandcomet]

the only thing I don't want to burn - JJ Maybank x reader

in which a boy tells a girl that he is real and the things that haunt her, no matter how realistic, aren't.

word count : 2600

trigger warnings : blood, paranoia, self harm, burning ( as a form of self harm ), schizophrenia, love haha, swearing

requested : no but they are open!

this one's rough buttercups, but I love angst and this was a good thing to get out emotions on !

gif credit : @outerbankspov

You were never alone. You stood in lines in the school cafeteria and tried to ignore the voices circling around outside, both the real ones and the ones made up by your mind. You laid on the HMS Pogue and soaked up the sunlight and tried to shake the feeling of someone choking you or of someone plugging your ears.

Pill 1

This pill was light blue, but it reminded you nothing of the sky. You held it in your fingers, trying to hold enough water in your mouth so you could swallow it. You’d read the orange bottle it came in, the bottle that your doctor had prescribed, and told yourself it would work. That it had to work. But the people standing around you told you it wouldn’t. Just like how they told you to kill yourself or cut yourself or how they took your thoughts away from you.

You swallowed it and blinked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t taken a shower in days - the last time you did spiders crawled up from the drains and screamed in your ears. You looked down at your arms and still saw the scratches you’d given yourself to get the spiders off of you - even though they were made up by your mind.

The figures behind you that you’d come to know well stared you down, still chirping. You could see their reflections in the mirror, tainted.

“Come on y/n.” The boy with the red hair told you. “This isn’t going to work. I will be with you forever. We love each other, don’t we?”

“Y/n, why would you ever think that you could get rid of us? We love you more then JJ or the Pogues ever could. Listen to us. We do everything for you!” The girl said. The Haunter’s always told you lies, and you always believed them.

You sat on the floor for the amount of time it said it would take the pill to kick in. You waited for their voices to go away, for their darkness to stop tainting your eyes, but they never did.

You got up and left your bathroom, the Haunter’s following you down the hallway to your bedroom. Your parents were gone, and your middle-class home was silent. It seemed to you as though they were always gone. It was only the Haunter’s that were ever really with you.

You didn’t turn on the light when you walked inside and shut the door to your room, and you prayed it would stop the Haunter’s from turning your vision. Of course, their whispers could never be silenced. You crawled into bed and screamed when you felt a warm lump at the end of it.

“Fuck, y/n! It’s just me! I’m not going to hurt you!” A voice told you, and for a second you believed it was one of the Haunter’s still trying to configure your mind. They would always be trying, you reminded yourself. At least at this rate.

“God dammit JJ, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You felt a hand on your foot, so warm that you were sure you were making it up. It was gone a second later. “You are freezing! Get under the blankets before you go hypothematic.”

“Before I get hypothermia, you mean.” You corrected, trying to focus on the texture of the blankets as you crawled under them. You felt JJ lay down a second later, right next to you, a mess of blankets separating your skin.

“Thematic, thermia. Potato, tomato. Same thing.” JJ said and you could smell weed and salt on his skin. The last thing you remembered smelling was your own blood.

You tried to laugh but only hollowness sounded.

“Are you okay? You seem weird.”

“Wow. Thanks. I’m a weird person.” The word almost choked you. You felt your mouth dry. You were weird. That’s why you could never tell him. He would leave, and hate you, and that would feel worse then waterever the Haunter’s said about him now.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you just seem not yourself.” He spoke quietly, and you closed your eyes and focused on keeping your hands on your stomach so as they wouldn’t try to plug your ears. The Haunter’s were shouting at each other at the foot of your bed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, JJ, just tired. I’m going to try and sleep. You can stay if you want.”

After the words slipped out of your throat, an encore of anger blasted from your feet. The Haunter’s screamed at you.

“No! What are you thinking! We are here, you do not need him. He is nothing compared to us. You love us and you know that he will never love you.” They told you. You tried your hardest not to believe them.

“You need your sleep. I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Goodnight.” He crawled over you and left via your window, which you quickly closed, preparing yourself for what the Haunter’s would tell you next.

They weren’t telling you, they were shrieking at you. “You love us! How could you ever replace us with him! You need to hurt yourself! What in the world were you thinking!”

You tried not to believe them. But this was the slipping point, and open air was soon under your feet. You got up, and walked to the living room, where you grabbed the lighter from above the fire. You sat back down at the edge of the bed, and lit the flame apon your wrists.

Pill 2

This pill was orange, and it felt heavy in your fingertips. The Chateau bathroom stood around you, and you popped the pill in your mouth before replacing your hands to where they lay on the bowl of the sink. You’d become an expert in the past four months of swallowing pills without water, and since you’d tried several other types of pills, you’d also become very good at reading the orange bottles. This pill had the strongest dosage, and was the one of the market that seemed to work best for severe cases of your ‘condition’. At least that was how your doctor put it, when she handed you the bottle with a smile.

It didn’t seem like just a condition to you or the Haunter’s, but they’d been ghosts for the past day, and on days where they went half-away, you tried to make the most of it.

You walked out of the bathroom and sat down on the porch with the rest of Pogues. Pope, who sat next to you on the couch, was drawing a route on a map for a day trip they were planning. Kiara offered you a beer and you shook your head.

“Come on, dude! I haven’t seen you drink anything in like four fucking months. Loosen up a little bit.” She said, taking a swig of her own beer.

“Don’t fucking pressure her like that Ki!” JJ said from his spot on the side of the railing.

“Says you!” John B shook his head as JJ pretended to punch him. Sarah, who was sitting next to JB, turned and ran her eyes over you.

“Are you okay, y/n?” She asked lightly, laying a hand on your jean covered leg. JJ turned his head quickly and nodded.

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” his eyes glazed over your body. You’d lost weight and replaced tighter clothes with baggier ones. His face paused when looking at your own, noticing the bags under your eyes.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I hope I’m not too much of an eye soar.” Pope laughed at your remark.

“You will never be,” JJ looked away, holding up his blunt to his mouth.

You sat next to Pope and tried to look away from the Haunter’s, who were slowly getting louder in your ears and darker to your eyes. Before you knew, they were laughing and calling you names and pretending to shoot you with their guns and you couldn’t take it. You got up slowly and fumbled down the steps, a head rush pounding into your skull.

“Y/n? Y/n?” JJ got up quickly and ran down the steps behind you, seeing you drag yourself to the street so as you could walk home.

You turned around slowly and smiled lightly, trying to put away the Haunter’s remarks for you to shoot yourself. You gripped your sleeve tighter, praying he didn’t see the burn marks on your arms. They never healed for more than twelve hours.

“What’s up? I can walk you home if you want to go. You don’t look okay.” You could hear the worry laced into his voice.

“I’m good, JJ. Just got a little headache and want to go home and try to sleep. I’ll see you soon, okay. Don’t worry about me.” Before he could respond, you walked away and down the street.

Pill 3

This pill was red. It stuck to your tongue when you swallowed it, and you felt as though it may never hit your stomach. None of the pills ever helped. Some made the Haunter’s worse. None of them made them fade.

The sun beat down on your skin, and you pulled your long sleeve down over the scars on your wrists, and now arms. You could feel the sway of the HMS hunderneth you and the wind muffled the Haunter’s whispers, at least for a few minutes.

You didn’t pay attention to the conversation the rest of the Pogues were having, and focused only on how good the flame would feel when you got home. The Haunter’s were right that warmth helped.

That night, you sat on your downstairs porch huddled around the outside fireplace, surrounded by the Haunter’s. Their voices rang into your skull, and the only thing you could do to distract your mind from them was to pull up your sleeve and hold it over the open flame. Whenever you pulled your arm out of the glow, they would shout at you to put it back in. So you complied. It was the only thing that made them happy.

Your eyes lost themselves inside of the orange fluorescence, and you didn’t hear the twigs snap next to you or the gasp that sounded. The only thing you could feel was when someone pushed your chair backwards and you landed on the concrete.

“Shit! Oh my god. What in the fucking world were you doing,Y/n!” It took you a second to place JJ’s voice in your mind, and you tried to pull down your sleeve, but it was too late. You felt him pull you upright and drag the chair away from the fire pit.

“Your arm was on fire. It’s burned! Why were you holding your hand in the fucking fire!” With each word he said, your breathing quickened. This was normally the part you hated the most. The withdrawal from the flame. The Haunter’s shrieked in your ears and you could see them dancing in the light in front of you.

You peered down at your arm and screamed, and before you could do anything JJ had picked you up and pulled you through the French door’s of your house and onto your couch. You pushed yourself away from him, holding your hands up in front of your eyes, peering at them as though they weren’t your own.

“Y/n! I need to know what you were doing! I need to know if you are okay! Why aren’t you looking at me? Nothing’s over there. Stop! I need you to answer me!”

“JJ?” You asked faintly and glanced over at him for a second. A tear slipped down his cheek, and you could tell he wanted to touch you, but didn’t want to hurt you. “I need you to leave.” Your voice was quiet. You still could protect yourself. JJ didn’t have to know about the Haunter’s.

“I’m not going to leave you, Y/n. You were hurting yourself, and I need to know why. I need to know if this is related to why you’ve been acting weird. I need to know if you are okay.” He was sure in his tone and you understood that you wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of this. He’d seen your arm in the flame.

The Haunter’s had followed you both into the house and were trying to coax you back out of to the flame. Your eyes flickered between them and JJ, and they were all getting louder. You couldn’t hear your own breathing.

“SHUT UP! FUCKING PLEASE SHUT UP!” You screeched and your arms and legs shook. “Please. I don’t want to go out there again. I don’t want to hurt myself. Please stop trying to make me. Please. Please.” The tears glided down your cheeks as you shut your eyes. You trembled and kept repeating the word to yourself. “Please. Please. Please. I don’t want to hurt myself.”

When you stopped, the Haunter’s had quieted themselves and JJ was there and watching you.

“Y/n?” JJ took you in softly. “Please tell me what just happened.”

Still shaking hard, and glancing around to make sure the Haunter’s didn’t return, you opened your mouth. “I’m so sorry JJ. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I need to know why you were hurting yourself and what just happened. I want you to be okay, Y/n. I might be able to help.”

You let out a breath, quivering. “I see things, and I hear things. And they tell me bad things. They tell me to hurt myself, and to kill myself. They never leave me alone. They want me to die. They make me believe I want to die. The doctor calls it schizophrenia. I call it my own death sentence.” Your words slipped from your throat. JJ didn’t pull away, instead, he lay a hand on your thigh and ran a finger through your hair.

“Are they talking right now?” He whispered, and you nodded, tears creating a damp spot on your shirt. He nodded back, and held your fingertips against his own. “I need you to listen to only my voice, y/n. Focus on my voice. I know it's hard, but you have to.

“I’m so thankful you told me. I was so worried about you. I still am. But I can try to help you now. You aren’t alone anymore. You will always be importa-” JJ’s voice faded and you looked over away from his eyes at the Haunter’s, who were starting to reappear.

“I’m right here, Y/n. Look at me, I’m right here.” He touched the sides of your face and positioned your eyes so they stared into his own.

“You will always be important to me. I’m willing to fight with you. I love you so much, and you can’t let them tell you differently.”

“I don’t even know if you are real, JJ. I can’t tell anymore. I want to believe you, I promise. But it’s really hard.”

JJ lead your hands to his sides, where his hips met his body, and then to his stomach and abs, and to his shoulders, and around to the sides of his face. “I”m real. I’m right here, and I’m real. I know it's hard to believe me. I understand. But for me, you need to. I can’t lose the only thing that I don’t want to burn. I’m real. And I’m here for you.”

[imagineyourworld-old]

NSFW Alphabet with Wolffe

Wolffe x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mentions of injuries

-------

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

After sex Wolffe is a puppy (sorry for the pun). He makes sure that you’re alright, gets you a glass of water and urges you to pee afterwards (he knows it is important for your health down there). If the two of you are not too tired he just loves taking a bath with you, just holding you close, shampooing your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Wolffe loves your lips! How soft they are against his, how pink and plush they look after kissing or when he bites them (he also adores when you bite them when you’re nervous or thinking), the marks they leave on him and how good they feel on every single part of his body. 

As for himself, I feel like Wolffe would be proud of his arms/shoulders, especially whenever he gets to hold you close he loves knowing that he is strong enough to protect you (even if you don’t need him to) or carry you to the bedroom when you’re in the mood. 

C = Cum  (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Whether he has pulled out and spread his seed on them or some of it tickled out of you, Wolffe loves seeing your thighs covered in his cum. And he loves licking it off of them. 

And as mentioned before he loves your lips, so seeing even just a single drop of his cum on them is a close second favourite. 

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wolffe would love to watch you touch yourself to the thought of him. You’ve told him that you’ve done it before, but at that moment he was too surprised to go further into the topic. One day though, he promises himself, he will ask you if he can watch. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not crazy experienced, but he knows what he’s doing. Wolffe is a very closed off and private person, so he doesn’t just jump into bed with anyone, but there have been times (before you were together of course) where he went home with someone after a night out.

F = Favourite position (This goes without saying)

Wolffe’s not picky, he’s fine with whatever feels best for you. But oh boy does he get off on seeing the expressions on your face when he’s deep inside you, so basically any position in which he can see your face (and kiss your lips) is his favourite. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc)

He is a pretty serious person in general, so he’s not exactly goofy in bed, but that doesn’t mean he is opposed to laughing every now and then. The first time you laughed, however, had him feeling incredibly insecure until you explained that you weren’t laughing at him. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc)

Wolffe is a pretty tidy guy, so he keeps his hair groomed, but not entirely shaved off. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

It may be surprising, but during sex Wolffe can be a real romantic. He wants to make sure that you’re feeling fine, that you’re taken care of and your pleasure always comes first. But even though it’s rare, sometimes he can be rough and have his way with you (as long as you agree of course), but as soon as he’s finished he’ll take care of your needs. 

J = Jack off (Mastrubation headcanon)

Before he met you Wolffe just didn’t understand the appeal of mastrubating. But now, when he thinks of you, he sometimes can’t help but sneak off to his private quarters or the shower and get off to the thought of you. 

There was this one time you sent him a spicy holo and let’s just say he spent some time alone after that. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

One word: Cockwarming. Some days he enjoys having you so close, being one with you and knowing that you only do this for him and no one else. Some days he likes to tease you, make you all hot and bothered by giving you the bare minimum, but keeping you stuffed full of him all the same.  

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Since Wolffe is a pretty private person it should come as no surprise that he prefers the privacy of your bedroom, he’s fine with your living room as well, but the bedroom simply gives the two of you more space and a comfier setting. 

He’d never say no to taking you back to his room (let’s just say he has a private room, ok?), but prefers your place, because there he feels completely off duty and there his brothers or general won’t interrupt whatever you get up to. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on? What gets them going?)

Quite a few things, actually. Let’s just make a list, shall we? 

Since he loves your lips seeing you wearing a new or bright shade of lipstick, using a straw, licking or biting your lips or anything else that draws attention to your lips has him hooked. 

Catching a glimpse at hickies he left on you just make him want to do it (and you) all over again.

Soft kisses to his collarbone or the place where his neck meets his shoulder always leave him wanting more. 

Seeing you in either lingerie or his blacks usually has him half hard from the sight alone.   

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While he loves leaving hickies everywhere, Wolffe would never leave any other kind of mark on you. He might be projecting a bit, but he remembers the pain when he lost his eye and got his scar, and is sometimes still self conscious about it, so he would hate leaving even the slightest scratch or bite mark. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills, etc)

Wolffe enjoys both giving and receiving, but gun to his head he would have to say he prefers receiving. Not only because he gets to see your lips, swollen from kissing and him biting them, wrapped around his cock, but also because he gets to lick the last drops of his cum off your lips and taste himself on your tongue. 

But when it comes to giving he is so skilled, it’s ridiculous. If asked you’d say he is even better with his tongue and fingers than he is with his dick. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc)

His life is hectic, so when the two of you have time he tries his best to make use of that time with soft and slow love making. Wolffe enjoys touching and kissing every part of your body, teasing you and committing every part of you to memory for when you have to part ways again. 

Some days, though, when he is especially stressed or needy or you have been teasing him a bit too much, Wolffe wastes no time getting both himself and you off. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc)

He’s not a big fan, but sometimes there is just no other way. Maybe you have been teasing him too much, maybe you haven’t gotten alone time for a while, maybe he just needs to know that you’re there and you’re his for a moment.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc)

Here we need to differentiate: While Wolffe is down to experimenting and finding new ways to pleasure you (and for you to find new ways to pleasure him), but he’s not a risk taker. Anything that might get you hurt or end up in the two of you getting caught in the act is off the table. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last)

Not exceptional, but not disappointing either. He can usually go for two, maybe three, rounds in a row, and know how to make them last. If you’re planning on a long night however, he’ll have to take some breaks, during which he’ll put his hands and tongue to good use, so you’re not complaining. 

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner of themselves?)

He’s not a fan, but not opposed either. 

So far you haven’t used any toys in your love making, but he knows you use them when he’s not around, which makes him kinda curious. He won’t bring the topic up unless you do though, and that has nothing to do with the fact that he might be a slight bit scared, nothing at all. 

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Wolffe never teases you in public, but once the two of you are behind closed doors he constantly has his hands on you, sometimes he just wants to cuddle, but sometimes he wants to get you riled up. Maybe he whispers something in your ear, his husky voice making even the most innocent words sound dirty, maybe he lets his hands roam your body and squeeze your boobs or thighs, maybe he even slips his hand inside your trousers, whatever he chooses to do that day, you know you’ll end up in the bedroom. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

While he’s usually pretty quiet he lets out soft whimpers whenever you hit a sweet spot. And on the rare occasion that he is frustrated, either because you won’t do as he says or you won’t let him do what he wants, he actually growls, much like the animal he named himself after. 

W = Wild card (Random headcanon for the character)

Wolffe is usually a dom, but on the rare occasion the two of you decide to switch it up he’s the whiniest, most impatient sub there is. Since he usually cannot refuse any orders in his day to day life he loves disobeying you to the point where it can be frustrating and you’re close to giving up and letting him take over. He won’t let it go that far, however, because even though he’d never admit it (at least not while sober) he loves it when you take control and do as you please. 

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s a soldier, so he’s strong and muscular. 

Down there Wolffe is long, but not exactly longer than average. He is quite thick though, so when he’s inside you he really stretches you out. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Wolffe’s sex drive is not crazy high, which he is glad of since there’s a war going on and you can’t just jump at each other whenever one of you feels like it. But there are a few rare days when he feels like he’d go crazy if he can’t have you right that moment. 

-------

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No matter how tired Wolffe is, he always makes sure you’re alright before he even thinks about sleeping. Once you are taken care of, and preferably laying in his arms, however, he falls right asleep. Wolffe doesn’t get much sleep and he never sleeps better than with you in his arms. 

I’ve wanted to write an NSFW alphabet for quite a while now, because I feel like it’s a good entry point to writing smut, but most of the characters I wanted to write for already have hundreds of these, so when I couldn’t find one for Wolffe I knew my time had come. 

As I said, this is my first time writing smut and also my first time writing for Wolffe, so please excuse any mistakes. 

[tf2-hellhole]

hello! I hope this hasn't been requested before but, can you write some lovesick headcanons for the mercs? i'm talking totally head over heels, just absolutely immobilized by their feelings type of lovesick. How would they handle themselves? thank you so much ><

Sorry I wrote a whole essay lmao. I assumed that the the reader and the merc are already together in this. Also sorry, I didn’t really know how to write lovesick mercs so this kinda just ended up being how their behaviors change once they become lovesick.

Scout:

Is always trying so, so hard to impress you. He always shows off when you’re around; if he’s on the battlefield, he’ll say “Hey toots, watch this!” And will show off his speed or his aim. He’ll always come back and be all, “Damn, it must be amazing having an awesome boyfriend.”

He’s always bringing you food. When he buys food, he’ll offer to share it with you. If you say no, he’ll just shrug and say “Your loss.” He never, ever shares his food with anyone other than who he’s interested in, so as silly as it sounds, sharing his food with you shows he loves you.

He can be a little clingy sometimes, but he tries to cover it up, especially around the other mercs. He always has to come greet you if you show up after being away for more than an hour, usually with an arm slung over your shoulders and sometimes a quick smooch.

He’s always flustered by you giving him affection. Even something like holding his hand or giving him a quick peck on the cheek makes him turn bright red. In private, he’s always trying to get affection from you, and he can’t live without it. He’s always trying to hug, spoon, or cuddle you, every chance he gets.

He becomes a little more protective of you. In public, he’s always ready to tell someone to go screw themselves if they get friendly with you. He won’t hesitate to punch anyone who touches you.

The reason he loves you so much is because you treat him correctly. All of his relationships in the past have been purely sexual, even if he did want a real relationship with the girl. He can’t believe he has someone who loves him and takes care of him and doesn’t demand sex or complain all of the time. Sometimes, he asks himself how he scored someone as amazing as you.

Soldier:

He becomes very protective of you, though he’s not at all restrictive. He allows you to go anywhere or do anything you want and fully trusts you, but he’ll always ask if you’d like him to come with you for protection if he isn’t already coming with you and offers you weapons to defend yourself with.

You’re one of the only people who are allowed to touch his raccoons, the others being Demo and Engie. He doesn’t trust most people with his raccoons believing they’ll try to take or eat his pets, but he completely trusts you with them. He’ll often ask if you’d like to hold or feed one. Surprisingly, the raccoons are completely docile around you and act like weird, mute dogs. The raccoons hate everyone else, including Soldier. Highkey cries when he sees how well his raccoons behave with you.

He trusts you to know that he was never actually in the military. When he tells you, you know he trusts you more than anyone on the planet and he’s at the point where he would absolutely take bullets for you without any hesitation.

You’re the only person who can get him to behave. Usually, he won’t listen to anyone except Ms. Pauling, and even for her, he won’t do anything he doesn’t like unless he absolutely has to. But for you, he’d do anything without hesitation. That doesn’t mean he won’t voice his opinions if he doesn’t like what you’re telling him to do.

The reason he loves you so much is that you accept his strange behaviors. Most people are rude to him and often make fun of him, even to his face. But you treat him normally, while accommodating his eccentricities. Even though he won’t say it, he appreciates that you respect his strange interests and behaviors and still love him.

Pyro:

Pyro wants to spend tons of time with you. They want to show you their newest crafts and creations and do all sorts of fun things together. It gets to the point that they can be a little clingy, but if you explain how you feel about it, they’ll quickly back off with no hard feelings.

You get lots of hugs, cuddles, and nuzzles. Pyro loves to receive and give physical affection, so it’s often how they show how much they love you. Quick hugs and nuzzles are often how Pyro greets you, often accompanied with tons of giggling. They also love to cuddle with you when the two of you have any free time.

Whenever Pyro makes any treats (they love baking and making candy), you’re always the first person who gets to taste it. The first few times they tasted horrendous, but after a little while Pyro got really good at making it. Scout always tries to get the first taste, but Pyro is always there to slap his hand away and scold him, even when he sneaks into the kitchen.

Pyro gives you tons and tons of gifts. They’re often drawings of you two together, and the aforementioned sweets. Though of course, due to their hallucinations, gifts sometimes are something freaky like an arm. But most of the time, they’re very sweet gifts accompanied with a quick hug or kiss if their mask is off.

The reason they love you so deeply is the same reason Soldier loves his S/O; because you treat Pyro as normal, while taking care of all of Pyro’s eccentricities and problems. You don’t treat Pyro like they’re just a scary maniac, you treat them like a person. But, you also don’t discourage Pyro’s stranger behaviors. You just accept them just how they are and they deeply appreciate that.

Demo:

He’s a very physically affectionate man, so hugs and kisses are a regular thing, especially as a greeting, but he’s never clingy or physically demanding. He loves to kiss your cheeks or temples or put a arm around your waist, but most of the time he just holds your hand. If he’s been away from you for more than a day, he always excitedly greets you by wrapping you in a bear hug and giving you a big kiss.

He looooooves going to new places or adventuring with you. He’d love to take you back to Scotland and show you his favorite places and some national events, but he’d equally love to go to where you’re from, even if the place you’re from is near or in Scotland. If your culture means a lot to you, he’d love for you to tell him about it, and he could listen to you for hours. He’s mentally taking notes of your favorite parts of the culture, such as events or food, so he can do something for you.

You discover that he’s actually a very supportive person and an excellent listener. If you ever need to rant about something making you upset, he’ll pull you onto his lap and ask you to tell him about it. He’s actually pretty good at giving you advice.

The reason you mean so much to him is because you’re his rock. He’s a man who’s always had to deal with his demons by himself. However, he was too weak to fight them, which is why he turned to alcohol. But you supported him, spoke to him about his problems, and encouraged him. You were able to make him feel better about his mistakes and his appearance. You’re even the reason he cuts back on drinking (he doesn’t stop, but he’s no longer drunk 100% of the time). The fact that you care about his emotions and well-being when no one else did always gets him a little emotional.

Heavy:

Even though he obviously doesn’t see you as a sibling, he can’t help but activate his protective big bro instinct. He always discourages you from doing anything risky or dangerous, and will focus a lot more on protecting you, especially if you’re a fellow merc. He prefers for you at least to be in the same room as him so he can watch over you. But he still respects your independence and doesn’t tell you not to go somewhere unless he’s 100% convinced there’s a real danger.

Every once in a while, he likes to make food from his homeland/childhood, though he shares it with nobody, not even Medic unless he’s in a really good mood. But he always asks you to taste his latest meal. It’s not often you see him so happy, but he loves sharing something that means so much to him with you. He’s beaming if you completely clear your plate or bowl.

You are the only other person allowed to touch his guns. You were actually surprised by this. You aren’t allowed to USE his guns, but he doesn’t have a problem with you touching them. He makes sure to watch carefully when you do, though, so you don’t damage it accidentally.

He loves you so much because of the emotional intimacy and trust you share. Trust is something he values deeply, and he doesn’t give his trust easily. But you were kind and honest and obviously trusted him, so he began to trust you. Once you two started dating, he opened up more about all the horrible things he’s been through, and instead of being disgusted by his actions, you said you were sorry he’s suffered so much. The fact that the world, which he always knew was cold and unforgiving, had produced someone so forgiving and kind like you, always has and always will baffle him.

Engie:

He loves to take you on cute domestic dates. This was already the case when you two were still only dating, but he amped it up once he really fell in love. He’ll spend more time away from the lab so he can spend more time with you. He loves little dates like cuddling up with a movie, making dinner together, or going into a nicer town for a walk in the park. He especially loves to bring you little gifts for a date, which usually is something sweet, cute, and simple like a bouquet, even if you’re super masculine.

You’re the only person other than Medic that he trusts around his sentries or his lab. Of course, he doesn’t allow you to work on them, even if you’re also an engineer, as he doesn’t want the sentry to be damaged or you to get hurt. But if you promise to be careful, you’ll be allowed in while he’s there with you.

When you two were only dating, he had a couple little nicknames for you, like Sweetheart. But now he lays on as many as he can think of, and of course they all sound amazing in his cute accent. He loves to use nicknames like Sugar, Honeybee, Darlin’, Baby, and Cutie/Handsome/Gorgeous, and that’s only a fraction of the nicknames he uses for you. He doesn’t hesitate to use them in front of others, too.

Engie doesn’t love you for any particularly deep or significant reason; he just loves your personality, your mannerisms, and your beliefs. He’s a man who lives for the domestic part of a relationship, so he tends to feel hopelessly in love when you two spend time together like he’s a normal man, not a full-time mercenary. He just loves having you in his life, and with the life he lives he’s honestly surprised he was able to find himself with someone like you, even if you’re a fellow merc.

Medic:

He surprises you with how much he cares about you and your feelings. To everyone else, he’s a very selfish person who only cares about himself and his experiments. And while he was a little more considerate of you when you were only dating, you still acknowledged this in your mind. But after he fell in love, he’s always asking you how you are and cares deeply about how you are feeling, physically and mentally. It honestly really surprised you.

You are the only other person on the whole planet who is allowed to pet Archimedes; he deems you worthy and competent enough. He loves showing his birds to you and having you help him care for them, though he does get a little jealous if his birds steal your attention away from him.

Medic is an attention-seeking baby and loves when you spend time with him or do things with him, but he usually isn’t very demanding unless he’s really stressed and needs comfort. He likes to pull you away to talk to you or ask you to relax with him, and he tends to pout if you say you can’t.

Medic loves you so much because you embrace his eccentricities. He loves that he can do whatever he wants and you don’t care as long as he’s not putting himself in danger (though he sometimes does intentionally, as he loves to be fussed over/given attention). You encourage him and appreciate his enthusiasm, even if you’re grossed out by his unique occupation. But he really loves that you love him despite how weird he can be. He can sit with you and tell you about his latest experiment or talk with Archimedes and you’ll just watch or listen like he’s completely normal. He loves not being treated like he’s nuts or creepy.

Sniper:

He starts to really open up about the impact all of the bad events in his life has put on him. He’ll ask if you’re comfortable with him sharing about it, and if you say yes, he’ll sit you down and tell you about everything he’s been through. A lot of bottled up emotion comes out and he needs a lot of hugging, cuddling, kind words, and kisses. Once he opens up about this, you know that this man would trust you with his life without question.

He becomes a little needy when it comes to physical affection. It doesn’t show in public, so it’s not annoying, but has to be touching you most of the time when you’re alone with him. He loves hugging you from behind and burying his face in your neck, or pulling you onto his lap to press a deep kiss to your lips, but he also lives for all of the smaller touches, like handholding or pecks on the cheek. He’s always been touch-starved, so having you to cuddle close to whenever he needs touch is amazing for him. You’re like a security blanket for him sometimes.

He’ll want to take you out to explore with him. He already did when you two were just dating, but now he wants to show you the places he really loves or mean a lot to him, like places his parents took him. He’ll spend a little while telling you about the things he did with his parents, but he spends most of the time trying to create new memories with you.

Sniper cares so deeply about you because you treat him with kindness. This man has had such a harsh, pain-filled life that he was certain he’d never by truly happy. Just like Heavy, he thought the world was cruel and cold, so he was surprised to find a person who so genuinely cared about him and wanted to make him happy. He’s so grateful to have someone so good in his life, and he’d do anything for you.

Spy:

He starts to like your more personal, domestic moments together. When you two were only dating, he preferred extravagant and expensive dates, as he was trying to impress you. But he started to realize he loved when you’d just spend time together like a normal couple, like cuddling up with a movie or making food together. It allowed him to relax and focus more on sharing an intimate moment with you rather than impressing you. It let him be more himself rather than the fake personality he’s created, and it makes him realize how exhausted he is with acting this way. Any moment when he can chill, be himself, and spend time with you is always his favorite moment of the day.

As weird as it sounds, his compliments change. At first his compliments are exactly what you’d expect from a Casanova like him. Very smooth but expected compliments about how lovely you look, often accompanied with a kiss on the hand. But once he’s truly in love with you, his compliments are much more heartfelt. He compliments all the things he truly loves about you, like maybe the colors of your eyes or the feeling of your hair. They always come with a warm smile rather than a confident smirk, and often a kiss on the cheek or forehead too. He always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful and amazing thing in the world.

It takes a lot to get Spy to be head over heels. But, it can be done if he begins to trust you and you show him you completely trust him with personal stuff like your origin or your feelings. It’s that mutual trust (or at least the beginning of it) that makes him fall in love with you, and actually completely and fully trust you. After that, he’d be willing to give up his identity, his reputation, or even his life for you.

[mari-lair]

Norray halloween week Day 1: Ghosts!

If curious, below are some random info about this Teacher/ghost AU

Ray got a gun and he can use it. The ghost gun isn’t able to touch, much less physically hurt anyone, but it replicate the sound of a real gun, which contributed a lot to how low priced his haunted house rent has become. It nearly gave Norman a heart attack the first time he heard it.

After being dead for a while, Ray learned how to turn visible and invisible at will and play around small objects such as paper, shoes and butcher knives. He can control up to 4 small objects at a time or something relativaly heavy like a chair if he really concentrate. The more he got the hang of controling and moving small objects the lower his house rent become, rarely getting aggressive but still able to physically hurt people. On All Hallows Eve he can posses people’s bodies and get out of the house he haunts, but he always ends up back to his empty ‘home’ when the night is over.

Ray is an incredibly fast learner. Just by observing the people that visits his house, he learned a decent amount of modern english and understand the basics of how tecnology is a  thing now -he wished this advanced tecnology was invented when he was alive. It would make the of lack of food and nutrients less of a deadly nightmare in open sea.

As a pirate, Ray used to be the one in charge of doing most of the bloody work and take the night watch, protecting his captain’s back from both outside and inside forces. He was constantly alert, borderline paranoic. But as the years in death passed, he grew more calm, very patient. He usually don’t mind new people in his house, happy to learn more modern english and befriend the guests willing to tolerate him. If a new guest cross a line however,  Ray will do his best to scare them away. Hurt them or kill them by manipulating knives if he sees fit.

It’s very rare for adults to see Ray as anything other than a nonsense they have no energy to deal with or a warning sign for their crumbling lives, so he usually hang around kids. The childish company mellows him with time.

Ray is from a time where death was common and getting hurt was inevitable so what people consider pretty serious is something Ray considers mild “Why are you being so dramatic about seeing some bone? Be grateful your hand is still attached to your wrist after you slaped your daughter. If it wasn’t for her wishes you wouldn’t have legs to run away.”

Norman is considered a genius and have countless prizes under his belt. He wanted to go to the moon when he was a kid but because of his weak health, he knew he would not be acepted in the space program. He decided teaching was the next best thing later on, accepted as a teacher in a prestigious school while still young. He enjoys and understand all subjects but love history the most, unable to deny it was hard and frustrating to teach a whole class of teens at times but still liking his job. Having one student that was genuinaly interested in his class was more than enough to make his day.

When Norman first started teaching, he felt more responsable than he had his whole life. It wasn’t a bad feeling per see, but it made him anxious so he called his little sister Cherry once a week to ask her questions about her teachers and make sure he was doing a good job.

Norman may not be the funniest of teacher but he’s still a favorite for his palpable cares for his students. He does not make the subject easier than is requested but he put a lot of effort into making people enjoy their world history, teaching with passion and seriously answering any questions, no matter how silly or joking it sounds. He’s understanding and try his best to help those with dificulty with the subject, always giving people second chances, having lost countless nights of sleep correcting re-writen essays after deadlines and turning his test questions into podcasts for students with adhd, aware the big historical excerpts are fundamental for answering the test but too hard to focus, specially with limited time.

The lambda crew are problem children. Norman went the extra mile to save Barbara and Zazie from failing classes even outside history and left Vincent startruck with his wide knowladge about not only world history but a ton of subjects he could be teaching too if he wasn’t overworking himself. Norman is both happy to inspire the squad to study hard and also very awkward by their blind admiration.

The teacher had a firm “ghost don’t exist”  mentality, which is one of the reasons he brought the haunted house in the first place. He had chalked Ray up as an halucination from his sleep deprived brain, having the rotten luck of buying the house right after a bad guest owned. The ghost got more annoyed than usual from things as insignificant as Norman keeping the lights on for too long, putting music Ray doesn’t vibe with, or just acting unfairly cute, to more personal matters such as Norman studying about Ray and his family lives. They used to have a distant and bad relationship but once Ray noticed Norman had only admiration for history, being genuinaly kind when trying to talk instead of mocking his existence, Ray apologised. Norman was still wary at first but they quickly hit off, enjoying to learn what the other had to offer and matching in wits.

When Norman catch a fever or a bad cold Ray gets wary. He know, on some level, that medicine have evolved a lot, but he remenbers way too clearly how serious even the weakest of diseases could get if not imediatly treated.  He always stick by Norman’s side when the teacher sneezes, not taking his eyes off him. Usually Norman keep working when he catch a cold, so Ray learned to float Norman’s grading papers out of his reach when coughing joined his sneezes. Floating a paper is enough to get Norman to take a break most of the time, but if the get stubborn Ray will stop playing nice. Just lower his voice to comander mode and order “Rest. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.” and Norman does what he’s told, it’s very unconfortable to have a gun in the face and he does feel very tired.

When Norman is seriously sick, not just coughing but stuck to his bed. Ray freak out and fear for his life. When it reached this level, most of his crewmates died or had to be thrown in the sea to not infect other. Yes Ray know it’s not as bad anymore, but even when he observed guests, they rarely got sick, and when it got bad they where taken to a doctor. Norman lives alone so he got no one to feed him and bring him blankets or take him to the doctor if he lies for hours in bed. Ray was all the help he would get and he is fucking dead, he can’t measure his temperature or take care of him properly. Ray does tries his best though. He concentrated a lot to float heavy blankets and pillows towards Norman. Imediatly fetching any pills asked of him and doing his best to make him tea. It isn’t tasty, but Norman still appreciates his care.

Ray is the first to fall in love, he think “If only I could  kiss this fool and hug him, I would do it on the daily. I wish he was alive back then... He would love meeting Emma...” at least once a week but a big part of him is just “Forget scurvy! Norman would die of cold or malnutricion before he reached 10. Thank god the helpless bastard took his sweet time to be born.”

Ray cannot touch any eletronics, he can’t even come close without phones, computers, and tvs turning to statics, so Norman buys an illustrated book about the Red Mane Pirates for Ray to see his crew again. He know is not perfect but is the best he can offer whenever Ray expresses missing his family.

They read together. Norman occasionally teaching a new word to his ghost and Ray correcting any historical inacuracy. It’s fun.

Norman finds an illustration of an alive Ray sleeping in the mast waaay too beautiful. Ray snort at the romantized draw, disolving into laughter by how Norman failed to hide his blush.

It became a habit to read history books together and tease each other. More often then not, it lead to a history class and way to much sass on both ends.

“Wait, so there really was a world war? I heard about it from old guests but I thought they were exagerating when they called world war! And what do you mean 2? There was a second one??”

“How did miss the second one? It was HUGE, quite horribl-”

“You were not even alive when it happened.”                                        

“Tecnically, you weren’t either Ray-” 

Ray is a bit scared of how attached he got to Norman, knowing eventually the man would die. He hopes it will take a long time, and that once he had a painless death, he will become a ghost too, but he doesn’t really believe Norman will ever turn into a ghost. Ray knows not everyone that dies became a ghost. Since someone as compassionable as Emma -even if she was forced to have blood and dirty choises on her hand to survive the merciless seas- was not cursed to became a ghost, he was confident someone as kind as Norman would dissapear from Ray’s afterlife once he died too.

More of this AU here

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And since you reached the end of this text wall. You can have this bonus Norman being awkward/excited about their growing friendship.

[hellpmeimobsessed]

Laser Tag With The Crew (And Some Guests) Of: DS9

Ben and Jake team up so Ben can teach Jake how to shoot, get behind cover, etc. And they collectively get their asses handed to them but Ben insists he teaches him.

Nog eventually manages to steal Jake away and they find a loose panel and camp there; they're disqualified after Odo finds them because he turned into a mouse so he can keep an eye on things and Odo finds Nog's range on his gun is tampered with so there's no limit to how far away he can shoot someone, even through walls.

Odo hides by transforming into multiple things like the panels in the room (if you could see it in the light, it appears slightly thicker then the ones beside it) and small animals to make sure no one's cheating or doing anything dangerous like using a real phaser, or so no one camps. He comes out of hiding only to shoot Quark and Kira.

Jake actually learns quite a bit, both while in the game and outside of it; he catches onto people's patterns and habits and memorizes them for next game.

Julian and Garak get way too into it, with Julian dramatically telling people to 'hold on!' and 'don't you quit on me!'. Jadzia and Kira die of laughter when he does.

Garak 'watches Julian back' to make sure 'the patient gets out safely, and so do you', also makes jokes like 'I think you might have to amputate, doctor, that wound doesn't look good' and 'it's no use, we have to go!' to which Julian pretends to make a fuss like 'I won't leave them!' It's fantastic to watch unfold.

Dukat gets ganged up on by everyone; he has to pass through an intersection and everyone jumps out and tags him all at once; Damar also secretly shot him from behind when he was forcibly teamed up with Dukat. He'll never know, his entire suit vibrated because of all the hits. He swears revenge on everyone and never gets it.

Jadzia kicks names and takes ass, and hits everyone at least once, and she only got tagged out thrice; once by Ben, secondly by Garak who was 'protecting' Julian, and finally by Damar.

Kira goes full commando and wears black to the occasion. When questioned by Dukat who's funeral she was attending, she swiftly replies 'I haven't decided yet, it's most likely yours though.'. Dukat spends the entirety terrified she'll actually kill him and forces Damar to team up with him because 'he's of higher rank'.

Damar, at first, goes alone and finds a couple good spots to ambush from, until Dukat joins him; he never tells Dukat the spots and only uses them once he's free of Dukat and kicks half of the crew's ass and is extremely observant of everyone's tactics, habits and spots.

Quark at first tries to exploit the crew by setting up a drinks stand outside of bounds and hiking his prices, but after it doesn't work he says screw it and joins in. Whenever someone gets him cornered he pulls a whole 'come on, I'm just a little guy, what could I possibly do to you? I'm just trying to have fun, same as you!' except he actually has a very quick draw, it even surprises Odo when he catches Quark buying people out not to shoot him and letting him shoot them so he has a higher score.

Rom rigs anyone who'll pay him and Quark's guns so they can shoot through the walls or auto-fire when they're aimed at a sensor and rigs his own sensors so even if he gets hit it doesn't register.

Weyoun joins with his Jem'hadar and immediately gets turned on and struck out, after they've gotten that out of they're system, he's absolutely persistent and keeps coming back swearing he's gotten better with his aim, or less skittish. He never does, but he always has fun.

Keevan convinces his Jem'hadar to give him a boost onto the barriers of the labyrinth and far too late do they realize he's out of range for the laser guns and he calmly sits out the entire round taking a nap on the barrier until Odo knocks him off and disqualifies him and puts him on the bench.

[write-orflight]

Like Real People Do. Chapter 4

*Gif not mine*

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Rating: M, eventually will be smut.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Sexual themes, talk about sex (not NSFW though), fainting, reader just being thirsty in general. 

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N We’re getting into the main crux of the story now! Message to be added to the taglist. thanks for reading! Much love, Cia

                Chapter 4: Why were you digging?  

Months pass and the early spring turns into hot humid D.C summer. You were never a big fan of the summer, you preferred the colder months despite the bad memories you had associated with them. 

Things changed and some things stayed the exact same. You caught bad guys, which was typical, you actually ended up getting tackled by a drunk Unsub once which results in you being out of the field with a broken arm for four weeks. You found a cat in an alley digging through the trash near your apartment one day when you were walking home. You left food out for him since until one day he decided to come up to you. And now you have a cat you affectionately named Garbage. 

You and Ethan (the guy from the bar) had a “situation-ship”, as Garcia liked to call it for about a month and a half. In your opinion, there was no situation-ship, you guys had mediocre sex until he wanted more and was upset you “worked too much”. So when he “broke up” with you, you weren’t really upset. Your heart wasn’t in it anyway. 

You and Spencer never talked about that night at the bar. In fact, you hardly talked at all. Your Saturday’s together stopped, you had no excuse to see each other now you were finished with school. Now that there was no thesis, there was no thesis for him to help with. 

That didn’t stop Spencer from occupying the space in your head rent-free though. You couldn’t help yourself, he was always in the forefront of your mind and frankly it was starting to affect how you worked. It was a paperwork day and everyone was working silently, merely coexisting and since there was nothing really going on your mind couldn’t help but wander. Spencer was sitting across you reading case files, taking occasional notes in a legal pad next to him. Your eyes instantly went to his hands as he traced it down the page as he often did when he was reading. You studied them for a while, long slender fingers resting on massive palms. You never thought you were someone who’d be attracted to hands but the amount of times you thought about them on particularly lonely nights, specifically the things he could do with them. 

Yea, it was enough to make you a cheirophile. 

You went back to watching him when suddenly one of the aforementioned hands were waving in your face. 

“Y/N” he said. “I’ve been calling your name for 3 minutes.” 

“I’m sorry, Spen.” You flush instantly at being caught. “What did you need?” 

“I asked if you had a red pen I could borrow?” 

“Yea.” You rummaged through your drawer, producing the pen in question. His hand brushes yours as he grabs it, you try very hard not to shiver at the contact but you couldn’t help it. “Keep it.” you say. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He says. “You’ve been extremely out of it lately.”

He was right, you have been out of it lately. Spencer was putting you out of it. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night at the bar and your almost kiss. Since then, it was like he was trying to constantly bring your attention to his mouth, whether it was by his habit of stealing lollies from Garcia’s office or the constant biting and licking of his lips whenever he was deep in thought. They had seared their way into your frontal lobe without permission. 

Working with him had become exceptionally hard and an unwelcome distraction, especially out in the field. Last month, the two of you had gone undercover in a nightclub, an unsub had been murdering young couples who were overly affectionate in public, so you had to spend the night practically wrapped around the man you had an insane crush on, breathing in his scent. You sipped your “cocktail” (it was just cranberry juice) as Spencer kept his arm steady around your waist. Eventually, you hear Emily in the earpiece you were wearing. 

“You’ve gotta do more guys if we’re going to draw him out.” She says. 

“Yea and loosen up. If  you guys look uncomfortable, no ones going to believe you’re a couple.” Morgan adds. 

You and Spencer look at each other for a beat.  

“If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll tell me right?” He whispers to you. You nod instantly. Suddenly Spencer’s arm is tighter around you, pulling you flush to his body. He dips down attaching his lips to your neck and jawline. You gasp, you had not been expecting that at all, you clutch your drink harder other hand moving to his side. He pulls you in tighter somehow, suddenly you feel his hand move downward until he is palming your ass, you bite your lip to keep your composure but his lips suddenly meet that spot behind your earlobe that he couldn’t have possibly known about prior. A quiet moan unintentionally rips through you and you could’ve sworn you felt his fingers twitch, squeezing your ass slightly. Emily and Morgan were right, the Unsub did approach you guys shortly after that and led you into the alley like he did so many couples before only to be met by your badges and guns. 

Then there was the time a couple of months ago when you and Reid had gone to interview a child psychiatrist and discovered that he was a molester. Spencer had been livid talking to the man, making threats that honestly should've been promises to throw the man in jail. You had never seen Spencer angry or at the very least this angry, and for some reason that turned you on beyond belief. 

You decided to close that can of worms and save it for another day. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” You say, smiling tightly at him turning back to your stack of files. You couldn’t be mad at Spencer for your inability to keep it in your pants while you were working. So that’s what you did, worked and tried to avoid Spencer as much as you could. And if that night from the club replayed in your head often while you were alone in your bed that night like many nights before, it was no one’s business but your own. 

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

In the morning, you woke to the sound of construction equipment being used next to your apartment. D.C’s already so dense. What more could they be building?   You thought as you got up to make yourself a much needed cup of coffee. 

Now without your schoolwork or  standing date with Spencer, Saturdays always felt too long. You drank your coffee, read a book, watched some TV and when you looked at the time it was still only noon. You sighed heavily before getting up to get changed. The weather was nice, you hoped a jog would at the very least tire you out so you could waste a couple hours napping. 

So off you went, down the path of a nearby park. You had been jogging for about 30 minutes when you see a familiar shape in the distance. As you get closer you notice it’s exactly who you wanted it to be. 

“Hey, Spen!” You say excitedly as you slow to a stop in front of him. He looks up from the book he was reading on the bench. He smiles once he sees you. “Y/N, Hey.” He says. 

“What’re you doing in the park alone?” You ask. 

He lifts up his book. “I just came to read, thought a change of scenery would do me better than sitting around my apartment.” He says 

“Same here. Now that I finished school, it feels like I have too much time in the day. Now it just feels like I’m doing stuff just to keep myself busy, hence the jogging.” You say lifting your leg slightly, pointing out the running shoes you were wearing. You felt his eyes slowly trail up your bare legs, taking in your form slowly and diligently as if he thought he would forget it all the second he blinked. His eyes finally stopped at yours and you released the breath you didn’t know you holding. 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your book. I’ve still got 2 miles to go.” You say, as you start to jog away, you hear Spencer call out to you. You stop and turn back. “Yea?” you ask. 

“Umm…” He says trailing off before taking a breath. “I’m going to see a movie later, I was hoping maybe you’d wanna come? It’s in french, but I can whisper-translate for you.” He says. 

“Yea sure, I’m doing anything else.” You say, a little too excitedly. Calm down, Y/N, he didn’t even say it was a date. You think to yourself. “What time should I meet you there?” 

“7?” He says. 

“Great! See you at 7, Reid!” You say before jogging away. 

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

You leave your house around 6:45, after spending about an hour and a half trying to find something to wear. Since it wasn’t a date, or since he didn't say it was one, you opted for something casual. A pair of comfortable jean shorts and your favorite band’s t-shirt. You did light makeup, and after an inspection in the mirror you decided you looked the right amount of cute and comfortable. 

Spencer was waiting outside the theater when you arrived. He was dressed casually too, a blazer over a simple t-shirt, cuffed jeans and converse. He smiles brightly at you as you walk up to join him. 

He insists on paying for the movie and you have to fight him to get him to let you at least pay for snacks but soon you are seated in the almost empty theater together. 

He moves close to you as the movie starts, whispering translations in your ear. At some point halfway through the movie, his arm ends up around your back as he continues to translate, your hand falls instinctively to his thigh. 

The movie ends eventually, and the two of you begin to walk outside together. You know a really good ice cream place that’s not a far walk from the theatre so you suggest going Spencer instantly says yes. You guys walk in silence for a while before you open your mouth to say something. 

“Can I confess something to you?” You ask him. 

He turns and looks at you. “Yea, what is it?” 

“Je parle quatre langues, dont une est le français.” (I speak four languages, one of which is french.) You say. 

He looks at you incredulously. “Pourquoi m'avez-vous laissé traduire le film entier pour vous?” (Why did you let me translate the entire movie for you?) He asks 

“Tu veux dire, pourquoi t'ai-je laissé chuchoter à mon oreille pendant deux heures d'affilée?” (You mean, Why did I let you whisper in my ear for two hours straight?) You smile flirtatiously at him. “Je suis sûr que tu peux comprendre celui-là.” (I'm sure you can figure that one out) You nudge him with your arm. “Come on, I believe you owe me ice cream.” 

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

You and Spencer, deciding you don’t want the night to end just yet,  take your ice cream and walk to a park. You lick lazily at the cone you opted for opposed to the cup he got. You guys seem to try and catch up on everything the two of you had done since your last coffee shop visit. He tells you about the books and Doctor’s journals he’s read. You explain to him the entire plot of the latest season of Drag race. You talk and talk and talk, to the point you don’t even realize it’s getting late. 

“It’s late.” he says, “We should head back.” 

And so you do, the two of you walk back to your cars parked near the movie theatre in semi-silence. As the two of you approach your driver door, you turn to look at each other. 

“This was fun, to hang out, I mean.” You say. 

“Yea, it was.” He adds. “I’d like to do it more, if you don’t mind.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’d love that.” you say. 

He takes a step closer to you and you do the same. This was it, he was finally going to kiss you. He looks down at your lips and up to your eyes again as if searching for the approval you give a quick tiny nod. He smiles, moving a hand to the side of your head leaning into you--

Your phone rings. He takes a step back. 

Moment ruined.   

You look at your caller ID. “It’s Hotch.” you say, he nods at you while you answer the phone “Y/L/N” you say. 

“Y/N/N, you need to meet me at the office. Right now.” He says. 

“Why sir? Is there a case?” You ask. 

“No case.” He says. “Gabriel Ferguson’s date has been set.” 

That name. 

You tried everyday to forget that name. 

The name of the man who took your family. 

Your innocence. 

Your way of life. 

Gabriel Ferguson. 

The Beechwood Killer. 

You freeze. Spencer is watching you, concerned now. “W-Why do you need me to come in for that?” You stutter. 

“Because… he’s refusing to tell us where he dumped the first bodies.” Hotch pauses. “Until he speaks to you.” 

You drop your phone. 

The last thing you hear is Spencer calling out to you while everything fades to black.

Taglist: @haylaansmi​     @yoruebeautiful​ @kianagilder-blog​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black​ @baby-banana​ @drreidshands​ @blameitonthenight21​ @slyskyeey​ @liaabsurd​ @di-essere-amato​

[cauldronofmorning]

Okay so.... I've encountered your tags about "the talking scene between trapper and hawk in dr pierce and dr hyde the stuttering the grabbing the not blinking how another of hawk's coping methods has bitten the dust#trapper being soft parental but annoyed and how he needs to check out while hawkeye needs to save the entire world"... if you have time, Go off! I would love that 2000 word essay and your opinions.

It’s a bit of a mess and would probably get a C- if I handed it in, but! Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde and how it shows the difference between Hawkeye’s and Trapper’s coping methods.

Context! Alan Alda wrote the episode, mental health is important to him (not to psychoanalyze an actor, but he had depression before the show and his mom was schizophrenic) and there’s a quote on how Hawkeye didn’t actually change much in the eleven years, just had his coping methods beaten down.

So throughout season one, Hawkeye and Trapper have mostly been ignoring the trauma of a war. Hawkeye naturally ended a movie with a speech about propaganda (Yankee Doodle Doctor) and Tommy tells them (Sometimes You Hear The Bullet) about a kid who should have been the blonde hero in a war movie actually dying and not hearing a bullet, forcing them to actually quietly think about it. But for the most part, they can distract themselves with booze, pranks and women, and Hawkeye can still draw a straight line between his tenuous sanity pre-war and the place he’s in.

There’s also two important episodes in season two before Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, that make the war more personal for both of them. The first is Radar’s Report, where a scared prisoner contaminates Trapper’s patient by knocking the blood over. Trapper’s sulkier throughout the episode, obsessed with how it could have been okay if it weren’t for that incident, and less indulging of Hawkeye’s girl of the week problem. His patient doesn’t make it, and he makes a beeline to the POW’s tent, maybe would have killed him if Hawkeye hadn’t bought him back to reality. “That’s not what we’re about.”

The second is For The Good Of The Outfit. This one has a village bombed by American military and Hawkeye/Trapper run afoul of previously decent sounding generals trying to shut them up from talking about it, including passive aggressive threats to send them to the front, and specifically to Hawkeye, intercepting letters to his dad. It’s okay by the end of the episode, but he’s still livid when he finds this out.

In comes Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde. The episode starts with Hawkeye already slightly dissociated from a long shift, thinking it hasn’t ended, and Trapper having to gently take him by the arm and guiding him out of the OR, telling him he was taking the chest cases “like he was their only hope”. Hawkeye wanting to save everyone keeps popping up throughout the episode; here, when he’s stumbling into Henry and his ego filtered through deprivation making him think he’s the only one who can do chest cases, the scene I’m getting to, and the end where Trapper and Henry sum him up.

As much as Trapper is “let’s get drunk to deal, okay?” kind of comfort in comparison to BJ who can actually talk about emotions, if not necessarily knowing the best way to deal with them (Hawkeye has a type and it’s repressed blondes), he’s soft with Hawkeye – gentle touches, firmly telling him to go to sleep, indulging that chopper noise is just thunder – until he figures the best way to get his friend to rest is to sedate him behind his back.

The thing with Trapper is that while he might be a bad husband, cheating on his wife with no shame (but he keeps bringing up that Hawkeye is more perverted so that might make it easier for him to deal with, see the couple of times he glares at Hawk for flirting with Henry/a male patient, Divided We Stand, The Trial Of Henry Blake, Check Up, Life With Father, Adam’s Ribs), he’s a good father who ran into a minefield for Kim and tried to go AWOL for Cathy and Becky. That’s not to say he always treats Hawkeye like a child, that would be weird considering how much flirting they do, but when the other man is manic or badly affected, Trapper’s first instinct is to be parental.

After Hawkeye in his doubletalky way admits to Radar he’s compulsive and psychotic (sidenote:  his symptoms of strong emotions, not being able to think clearly and too many spirals to name actually bear that diagnosis out, instead of just using the word when one thinks another is behaving badly), he wanders around the camp like a ghost, making notes about corpsmen with guns and nurses checking patients in post-op.

As Hawkeye often does, whenever he finds something out, or thinks he has in this instance, he has to tell his live-in boyfriend of the season immediately, and if he can’t sleep then neither can anyone else. He sits on Trapper’s bed, extremely close and not blinking, and jostles him awake. Already Trapper’s slightly panicky, as no matter what he says about being the mellow one, any time there’s shouting or loud noise in the swamp, he always wakes up with a start. Even when he sees it’s Hawkeye it takes him a few seconds to process and get back into his role.

Hawkeye’s very sad and very quiet. For the past seven minutes, even though he’s dissociated, exhausted and not doing well, he’s still trying to do his normal thing of turning his anger sideways and being snarky or being a clown bottom for the gaggle of nurses. Going back to one of Trapper’s good qualities is that he’s a decent parent, Hawkeye can regress emotionally into being like a ten year old (incidentally, the age when he had the most trauma pre-Korea, with Billy, his mom dying, guilt over not wanting dad to remarry and at some point losing his virginity), both for funny like in Picture This and for sadness.

So he’s finally noticed that he’s in a war zone and he’s too tired to make jokes about it or distract himself from it. Trapper already sounds frustrated but still listens, telling him to go bed before he drives himself crazy. There’s been a few takes that Trapper would get sick of later Hawkeye, and given how much they really can’t talk to each other that often, even just a mention of Hawkeye’s will when he has to go to the front makes Trapper shut down and Hawkeye cover with a joke, that’s probably true. They’re both messes, but for now Trapper can give Hawkeye someone to lean on.

“If I thought I could stop it just by going to sleep, don’t you think I would try?” Hawkeye does a twitch of the head, still unblinking, and that’s just really asking Trapper to understand and take him seriously. Also the wording, he’s not saying he can stop thinking about it just by going to sleep, or stop feeling anything just by closing his eyes, although both of those are implied. He makes it very clear later on (Letters, Preventive Medicine, Blood Brothers) that he feels like he’s as bad as the war – god and martyr complex combined – and if he can’t fight against/blame everything on that then it’s time for some self loathing.

Trapper does actually pay attention and gives him some advice. Definitely not great advice, but advice nonetheless, to close his eyes when things get unbearable, and to keep checking out when it keeps happening. This can’t work for Hawkeye, who’s had a guilt complex ever since he was a child, but it’s how Trapper copes. The next episode when Kim’s mother turns up for the boy, after a time of being actually open, he goes right to dismissive snark. Plus in season three’s Mad Dogs and Servicemen, another one on how differently Trapper and Hawkeye deal with things, he shrugs that he pretends he’s not there all day along.

Hawkeye’s stuttering a bit at this point. Words are important to him, it’s why you should probably leave him a note even if you’re a man who 1) wants to forget about Korea as soon as he arrives in Boston but won’t 2) wants desperately to believe he’s straight but isn’t 3) cares through physical touch and can’t think of what to say for seventy two hours. Wordplay is important to him too, and he admits to Sidney in the finale that his brain thinks too fast. Obviously exhaustion is going to put his brain and mouth out of sync, and considering how he sounds like he’s going to cry in the mess tent when he can’t even get words out to Frank Burns, it makes him all that more helpless.

“Somebody, and it wasn’t you or me, started this war.” It’s the “whoever the them, we were always us” of it all. It’ll be more important in the third season, and what happens in Welcome To Korea, but Hawkeye has taken it for granted that he and Trapper will stay co-dependent no matter what happens or who they come up against or how their time is running out. Much how he probably didn’t tell Trapper about the abandonment trauma he’s suffered before, Trapper always reassures him to come back soon, or no charge for leaning on him, or it isn’t a Christmas goodbye, and doesn’t want to share real feelings.

Beyond that scene, with Hawkeye dragging himself off to be a hero, assume that everyone who tries to take care of him really just wants to sleep with him, and cry while singing, Trapper tries to sedate him while he’s not looking. He’s tried being parental, he’s tried the repression advice, it’s time to be passive aggressive for Hawkeye’s own good. Or what he thinks is Hawkeye’s own good. It’s not especially great on Trapper’s part, but a similar thing happens reversed in Mail Call, where a drunk Trapper tries to go AWOL and as soon as he’s distracted laughing at Frank, Hawkeye locks his bag away so Trapper won’t be tempted again. Both of them are repressed messes who can’t really talk to each other.

When that sedation attempt ends up in Frank falling over, Trapper goes to Henry to be the worried macho boyfriend. Like with the only comedic dancing allowed and not the time in Officers Only when a genuine offer gets turned down, being protective over Hawkeye where he can hear can only happen when it’s for fun/likely no real danger.

At the end, Trapper and Henry sit by Hawkeye’s bed when he’s finally asleep and talk about him. Kindly, but they know he’s unstable with a hero complex. Like Mulcahy said in season eleven, the camp has a lot of experience with not dealing with reality, and even Trapper says in Iron Guts Kelly that one man’s reality is another man’s fantasy. Nobody has the capability to talk about this yet, and Sidney and Hawkeye only really become friends in O.R. Hawkeye will wake up and he and Trapper will pretend this never happened.

When Adam’s Ribs comes around, and Hawkeye has a manic episode over needing to eat something that isn’t liver or fish, Trapper and Henry are again the ones looking after him, comparing him to their kids and Trapper in the background both snarking over Hawkeye’s slippage in sanity and looking out for him. It’s not as quite high stakes as Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, but they’re still worried about him.

To end this out, Trapper and Hawkeye and mental health is a fun thing to look at. Neither of them are particularly emotionally intelligent yet, Hawkeye just kind of a self absorbed mess and Trapper finding it easier to be a reassuring rock and keep his own struggling to himself, and they keep things from each other while also taking past each other, but they comfort each other with jokes and distractions that only they can understand. The repressed clowns are trying, even if it does all end with a borrowed kiss and only just barely missing each other.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Gravity

He’s 6 years old and Dat is pushing him off the ledge, laughing in his ear as he swings over to Dya, and when he reaches the other edge, she picks him up and hugs him and says not even gravity can hold you down, my little robin.

He’s 8 years old and about to perform for the first time, the excitement and nervousness threading together in his blood, and Pop Haly pats him on the shoulder and gives him a smile, not the fake one he used for the crowd but the real one that he tries so hard to copy because it makes him feel warm and happy, and he says, you’ve got this kiddo, gravity’s got nothing on a Grayson.

He’s 9 years old and trying to brighten up the stifling silence of the Manor the only way he knows how, by swinging and jumping and being as lively as he can to make up for the deadness of the walls, and he’s hanging from the chandelier because who knew they could support so much weight?, and from underneath Alfred calls up I do wish you would pretend the laws of gravity existed, Master Richard.

He’s 10 years old and fighting crime, a proud ray of sunlight flitting around the darkness of the bat, and a thug’s got a gun pointed at Bruce’s head, not the flashy kind in the movies but the real kind from the military, so before Bruce can react, he flips up onto the man’s shoulders and swings around his arms, forcing the gun to the ground, before jumping back up on a fire escape so Batman can take him down, and Bruce looks up at him with a softened grimace that he knows is secretly a smile and says I guess ignoring gravity works in our favor, right Robin?

He’s 11 years old and in the Watchtower meeting the Justice League for the first time, perched on Bruce’s shoulders, and when Hal Jordan asks whether or not a kid can even survive as a vigilante, let alone win fights, he twirls up into the air, back-flipping off a wall before spring-boarding into Hal’s chest, then swiping his legs out from underneath him before Hal can even blink, and when he returns to Bruce’s shoulders, he beams with pride when he hears Barry ask, does gravity not affect the kid at all?

He’s 13 years old and laughing harder than he has in ages, showing off his skills on the silk for an awestruck Wally, because there’s a new kid superhero and he’s already decided he wants to be Wally’s best friend and he wants to impress him, so he makes his drops as dramatic as he can and he makes his knee holds look effortless and tries to be as graceful as Dya was on the silk, and he knows it’s worth it when Wally lets out a breathless Dude, it’s like you’re ignoring gravity on purpose that is SO COOL!!

He’s 17 years old and perched on a ledge up in Titans tower, thinking of last night when Kori had pressed him into the bed and wondering why a small part in the back of his mind wished he was watching movies and eating pizza with Wally instead, but he dismisses those thoughts and puts on a smile when Kori floats up to him and says it seems we both cannot be held back by gravity.

He’s 18 years old and on the mat, training with Jason, because yes he was beyond angry at Bruce and yes, he was bitter there was a new kid taking his name, but damn if that didn’t stop him from trying to teach the kid how to stay alive because he knows firsthand what this life does to people and what living with Bruce does to people, so he shows Jason how to kick someone while coming out of a backflip purely out of obligation and ignores the little twinge of fondness in his heart whenever Jason says you’re fuckin’ forgetting about gravity, dude.

He’s 20 years old and trying to look at Tim without seeing Jason and it’s hard, it’s so hard, but bit by bit, the kid worms his way into Dick’s heart, (and him saving Bruce from himself doesn’t hurt), until they’re at the point where they’re hanging out and Dick only feels vaguely guilty for enjoying his company, so he busts out some old tricks that he used to do with the Titans, and gives Tim a sun-lit smile when he says okay, technically I know how you did that but also it looks like gravity just doesn’t affect you how the in the world did you do that-

He’s 22 years old and quietly trying to coax Cass from her room, because she hasn’t left it in a week and a half and he doesn’t know how else to connect to her, how else to get her to open up, when he remembers the light in the audience’s eyes when he used to perform, mirrored in Wally’s eyes when he did a routine just for him, so he goes into the dimly lit bedroom and asks Cass if she wants to see a trick, and when she hesitantly nods, he does a triple backflip and laughs when her eyes widen and she signs I did not know you could defy gravity.

He’s 23 years old and crushed by the weight on his shoulders, constantly two seconds away from breaking down completely because Bruce is dead and Tim’s off on a wild goose chase that will get him killed and Jason’s back but he’s different, angrier than he ever was and on a murdering rampage and refusing to speak to anyone, and Cass is in Tokyo trying to venture out on her own, so he’s shouldering all of Bruce’s responsibilities to the city and to the Justice League and to the world and on top of all that, Bruce has a son, a rude, lonely, touch-starved assassin of a son that he can’t think of anything to do with but make him Robin, except Damian is rejecting his advances of kinship, too stubborn to learn anything he tries to teach him, so he stays on that brink of exhaustion about to fall over the cliff, but every time he flies and flips through the air, weightless, if only for a moment, Damain draws him back from the edge with a glimpse of wonder concealed behind his eyes and a somewhat envious not all of us flaunt the rules of physics in gravity’s face every other day, Grayson.

He’s 25 years old and happy, truly happy for the first time in a long while because Bruce is back and Jason’s formed a sort of tentative peace with the family and is living with Roy and Kori and he trusts them to look after him, and Tim’s back as Red Robin, the bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders getting a little lighter every week he spends with Kon, Bart, and Cassie, and Cass has befriended Steph, and Damian’s given up the League of Assassins for his family, and he’s becoming kinder and opening up more every day, and his family is all here together, so in the Batcave, he goes to the lyra and silk set Bruce had installed when he was a kid, and he just plays for a long time, the feeling of flying through the air a blessing again rather than a curse, and from his wineglass hang on the lyra he can see Tim at the computer with Bruce and Damian and Cass sparring, and he knows Jason dropped by for tea with Alfred yesterday, so when Bruce looks up at him and says gravity never did affect you all that much, did it, Dick? he lets loose the most warm, golden, sun-filled laugh that he can.

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Dazai/Reader piece for the lovely @ramannnn​. It’s been a very Dazai-centric few days, but... I think it fits the theme well, considering how *controlling* I got to make him, here. I can only hope everyone else is having as much fun as he is, honestly. 

TW: Dub-Con, Explicit Material, Groping/Rough Sex, Gun Violence, Blood, Death, and Slight Emotional/Physical Abuse. 

Word Count: 5.2k

Dazai still wasn’t used to it, he guessed.

Relationships were a foreign concept to him, intimacy as alien as an unknown creature and affection just as strange. Hell, gestures as simple as holding hands made him flinch and pull back, even when he knew it was only you, the girlfriend who could main him about as brutally as a house-cat. It’d taken him two months to get used to cuddling, another three weeks to actually initiate a session, and he still had to think over his actions strategically while going in for a kiss, if only to keep from embarrassing himself. You were patient with him, sickeningly so, smiling and letting it go whenever he failed to reciprocate, always asking before trying something new. You didn’t have to be told that this was his first relationship, his first real relationship, and you didn’t make him say it. It was something Dazai loved about you, why he’d bothered with making himself seem vulnerable in the first place.

The feelings were new, too. You could still make his heart skip a beat by looking at him the right way, the air around you always too thin, his head in a constant state of spinning, regardless of how composed he presented himself as. It was embarrassing, at first, a lovesick spell more fitting of someone Atsushi’s age than his own, but you were great about that, too. Dazai was neglected when it came to love, simultaneously chasing after your approval and refusing to accept it, but you nursed him on small displays and gentle touches until he could stomach entire dates. He wondered if you knew you were doing it, sometimes, if you’d been conscious of the effect you had on him. Stuck on the thought, Dazai let his attention stray from the case-file in front of him, thankful he’d taken it down to Uzumaki before starting.

It would’ve been a pain to walk down from the Agency every time he thought of you, considering how often his paranoia tended to flare up. Kunikida never seemed pleased by the honest reasons behind his absence, either.

He relaxed as soon as he found you, helping a customer at the end of the cafe’s bar. It was only natural that you worked so close to him, managing to infiltrate your way into the fringes of Dazai’s life. He liked being able to find you, too, even if he was rarely in the office most days. Seeing you was like a tranquilizer to him, a narcotic, Dazai getting… twitchy whenever you weren’t around. Still, he couldn’t help but wince when he got a better look at the person you were chatting with, the conversation having gone on too long for you to only be taking his order. The jealousy was fresh every time he felt it, restored and more powerful than any time before, blunt nails soon tearing through the thin folder as he watched you close your eyes and laugh at something the man said.

You shouldn’t be doing that. He didn’t like it when you did that.

Without a hint of hesitation, he pushed himself up, not thinking as he moved towards you. Your attention from the interaction at hand didn’t waver, letting Dazai approach without notice, his arms wrapping around your waist and earning a small yelp, quickly covered up by a breathy giggle. Reflexively, you leaned into him, not looking away from the customer. You two had gone through this too many times for that.

“I’m sorry… he can be clingy sometimes,” You said, the remark equal parts an excuse and a tease. He felt you make a weak attempt to pry him off, an elbow jabbing at his rib cage, but Dazai only buried his head in the crook of your neck, letting his teeth graze over your skin as you sighed, exasperated. “Will that be all, sir? I can get you something on the house for the interruption.”

Dazai perked up just enough to stare at your customer through his bangs, narrowing his eyes just enough to get his point across. Whether or not he noticed, Dazai wasn’t sure, but the man squirmed nervously, gaze dropping to the floor as he fiddled with the lid of his cup, the disposable kind. Good. It meant the bastard wouldn’t be staying very long. “I… I should be going,” He mumbled, half-heartedly throwing a few bills on the countertop. “See you tomorrow, (Y/n).”

He didn’t speak until the man had gotten up, forgetting his drink as he headed towards the door. Even then, Dazai found a tender spot on your neck and bit down before you realized what he was doing, his teeth managing to sink in enough to leave a mark, only separating when you shoved him back. You were scowling when you turned to face him, barely suppressing a grin, trying to look hurt as you rubbed at the forming bruise. “You a real creep, you know that? I’m going to get fired one of these days, and all because you keep harassing my regulars.”

“Wonderful,” Dazai replied, pausing to peck at your lips. It was a hasty kiss, but there would be more later. He’d make sure of that. “You can be my adorable little housewife, and I’ll be the loving husband you brag about ever time you see your old coworkers. That sounds dreamy, doesn’t it?” He sighed loudly, overdramatically, closing his eyes and slumping against your chest. “Why don’t you quit now, sooner than later? We’ll get married this afternoon, I’ll invite Chuuya to the ceremony, and you’ll be a widow by the time the sun rises! It’s better not to draw these things out.”

“Oh, no, you’re not allowed to die after you trick me into marrying you. Chuuya or no Chuuya.” It was tentative, but soon enough, you were carding through his hair, feeding into his neediness. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

Dazai pursed his lips, thinking before answering. “Tomorrow. The Agency’s trying to drain me dry, this week. Will dinner and a movie be enough to buy your forgiveness?”

You took the news with a sober nod, but he didn’t miss the heat that rose to your cheeks, the red tint you suddenly couldn’t hide. “I want… something else, too,” You admitted, the confession not needing an explanation. Your ‘purity’, for lack of a better way to put it, was something Dazai was well aware of, and it made sense. You were as innocent as they came, doe-eyed and naive, even if you tried to hide it. Just asking to be defiled, really. He couldn’t help himself, his hold on you tightening ever-so-slightly, clueing you in much too soon. “You’re a pervert.” With a huff, you crossed your arms, wedging a barrier between you and the offending aggressor, despite said aggressor’s complaints. “Don’t make me regret it, I’m doing this because I love you. I don’t want it to turn out like--”

“It won’t.” He was quick to reassure you, knowing just the right way to cup your cheek, straightening his back and meeting your eyes in a way that always made you more agreeable. This time was no exception, a shy simper returning as you melted into the support. “And you won’t regret it, either. I promise.”

There was a short silence, his words rolling over in your head. Your answer was a painstakingly slow one, but the bright, beaming smile that accompanied the wait more than worth it.

“I trust you, Dazai.”

~

Yuri. That was what the man went by. Dazai hadn’t bothered with a surname.

A warehouse worker, night-shift. He’d stop by Uzumaki before every shift for a black coffee, and he’d always ask for you, leaving without making a purchase if he couldn’t get his favorite barista. He didn’t have friends, his family lived overseas, and from what Dazai could tell, he was a coward no one would miss when he finally bit the bullet. If anything, Dazai was doing the leech a favor. He was doing you a favor.

The fewer inconveniences you had, the better.

The less competition he had, the better.

‘Yuri’ was already trembling by the time Dazai’s pistol had been drawn, the barrel forced into his mouth when he tried to scream. It hadn’t done much to muffle the sound, but the sharp click of the weapon’s safety switching off had his breath hitching, any sounds turning into high-pitched squeaks and cries when he realized exactly what kind of situation this was. Dazai wasn’t sure how he hadn’t caught on earlier. Hidden between packed-together buildings, the sky dark and the city fast asleep… not much good can come under those conditions, but luckily, ‘good’ was the last thing Dazai had in mind.

“I don’t want to kill you.” Some of the tensions in Yuri’s shoulders dissolved, a mistake quickly corrected by a tap of the front-sight against the roof of his mouth, Dazai’s finger sliding onto the trigger. “It doesn’t matter to me, whether you live or die. I’d let you go, if I had a choice. It’s less clean-up.”

Yuri tensed up, glancing at Dazai’s hand, at the grip of the Desert Eagle currently half-way down his throat. As if to ask what the catch was. 

He obliged swiftly.

“It doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t like people touching things that don’t belong to them,” He explained, not bothering to keep the venom out of his voice. “And you’ve been doing just that, haven’t you? Coming into a place you don’t belong, talking to someone who’s not yours, and acting like you have the right to step onto someone else’s territory. It’s disgusting. I should’ve ended your pathetic life months ago. You’re just lucky I’m so nice.”

In a confident, practiced movement, he brought the Desert Eagle out of Yuri’s mouth, letting the worn metal scrape against his lips, tearing at the thin skin. Before Yuri could move, the muzzle was shoved into his solar plexus, bruising the underside of his ribs. “Talk,” Dazai commanded, shoving his free hand into his coat’s pocket. “Make me believe you won’t fuck-up again.”

Opening his mouth, Yuri stuttered incoherently, swallowing and mumbling and getting on Dazai’s nerves before spitting out something intelligent. “I… I’m sorry! (Y/n) is nice, we’re friends, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend!”

“You’re friends, or you didn’t know she was taken?” Dazai paused, raising an eyebrow. “I’d keep my story straight, if I were you. Considering the stakes and all.”

“I’m sorry!” He was yelling, now, eyes shut and voice shaking. There was an attempt to grab the handgun, but Dazai was able to discharge his attempts at bravery with a sharp thrust and a sigh, the ordeal turning out to be much duller than Dazai thought it would be. “I won’t go near her, I swear! Just… just let me go, and you’ll never see me again. I won’t even think about your girl. You two can have your weird-ass romance, I won’t be a problem!”

Dazai smiled, unable to stop himself. “You’re not a negotiator, are you, Yuri?”

Yuri only shook his head, daring to open his eyes, almost relieved at the slight softness in Dazai’s tone. That might’ve been what did it. He was moving before he realized it, slamming the grip into Yuri cheek with the force of a grown man’s weight, the suddenness and the power behind the blow knocking him to the ground, Yuri hardly even tried to push himself up. He made the mistake of looking back at Dazai, of wasting those precious seconds, but their eyes never met. His silencer muffled the gunshots, muted ticks the only sound to signal the end of Yuri’s life. There wasn’t a scream, no fighting or struggling or pleading, just a labored breath and a splatter of blood on Dazai’s shoes.

Still, that didn’t stop Dazai from emptying the rest of his magazine into Yuri’s head. If only to save such a pitiful creature the pain of having to go on for another hour.

~

You didn’t think you’d ever been this nervous before.

Calming down was a fruitless effort. You’d tried to tell yourself that you were an adult, that Dazai loved you and didn’t care, but… just the thought had you buzzing. It was a palpable anxiety, something that had you walking unevenly and dropping mugs while you cleaned them and laughing when anyone said anything because everything was funny. Your coworkers took notice, but they were dissuaded with an excuse and a few comments about an ‘off-mood’, and luckily, your regulars hadn’t been around enough lately to witness your odd behavior.

They hadn’t been around at all lately, really. You made a mental note of that. You’d have to check in on them, soon, if you remembered to. It was hard not to worry, considering how many frequent visitors had disappeared so abruptly, recently.

Still, Dazai was a source of comfort. You were a timid person, closed-off despite how badly you tried not to be, but you really did love Dazai. He was persistent, consistent, and just as unused to affection as you were, albeit on the opposite side of the spectrum. That might’ve been why you trusted him so much. He was like you, in a way, but so different at the same time. Just as closed-off, but with all the confidence you lacked.

Without thinking, you let your mouth fall open, mumbling the first thing that came to mind. “Thank you.”

Dazai hummed as he glanced over his shoulder, sending you a questioning look as he unlocked the entrance to his flat. It took him a second to understand, but you didn’t have the nerve to explain yourself, letting Dazai come to his own conclusion. It must’ve been a good one, though, judging by the way he pulled you a little closer as the door fell open, kissing your temple and tugging you through the threshold. “Don’t thank me yet,” He chuckled, softly. “We’re just getting to the fun part.”

You didn’t have time to ask what he meant. As soon as you’d stepped into his apartment, his mouth was on yours, the kiss as overeager as it was underplanned. No attempt was made to ease you into it, no trace of reluctance or consideration, only his arms wrapping around your midriff and your back hitting the wall, crashing into it as he found the first available surface to pin you to. Keeping up with him was a futile effort, but you tried anyway, pushing your lips against his and nipping at the tip of his tongue playfully when he tried to deepen the gesture. You could feel it as he smirked, pulling away and focusing his kisses on your jaw, hands falling to your thighs and lifting you off the ground without a trace of effort. It was easy to forget how strong he was, but as Dazai slotted himself against you, far closer than you’d ever let anyone else get, it slipped your mind to tease him about it, too.

Instead, you let out a cracked laugh, one that turned into a small whimper as his teeth brushed against your jugular. “It… this feels kinda sudden, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” He said, before choosing a spot and biting. This wasn’t your first hickey, this wasn’t the first hickey he’d given you, but this was the first time Dazai’d been so violent about it, sucking viciously until a purple, bruised mark covered the area. Hot, open-mouthed kisses traveled downward, each a little more primal than the last, only pausing when he hit the unwelcoming fabric of your shirt, the annoyance eliciting something near a growl. He dropped you in a heartbeat, leaving you to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to him as he all-but tore at the offending clothing, not seeming to care what he ripped. “You wanted this, too. It’s a natural progression.”

A natural progression. That’s what it was, a natural progression.

This was the next step.

So, you didn’t complain as your shirt fell away, his coat dropping to the floor not long after. Your whimpers and yelps turned to low, muffled moans as he went on, the pain fading into a light sting. You pulled at his collar, too, beginning to undo the first button with one hand while the other remained uselessly draped over his shoulders, but if Dazai noticed your work, he didn’t see it necessary to show it. He occupied himself with pushing up your skirt, letting it pool around your hips as he groped at whatever he could reach, only growing more aggressive as you writhed against him. It was only as he slipped a finger under the edge of your panties that you spoke up.

“Bed.” Your voice cracked, the whisper coming out helplessly. “Please, Dazai.”

Again, he didn’t waste time. You were pulled wall from the wall one moment and thrown onto a plush surface the next, the terrain suddenly strange, unfamiliar. You couldn’t help but freeze-up, but Dazai wasn’t hit by the same affliction, kneeling between your legs and continuing where he’d left off. Your panties were discarded in a matter of seconds, leaving you partially dressed and unprepared when thin fingers started to run over the length of your slit, his thumb hardly making contact with your clit, testing the waters. He slid two digits in as soon as he decided your wet enough, pausing for a moment.

“You’ve touched yourself, haven’t you?” The question is punctuated by a curl, his fingertips rubbing against slick walls. The stretch made you want to whine, but you bit your lip instead, nodding as he scissored you open. You balled your fists around the sheets, closing your eyes as Dazai moved lower. “Naughty girl. You won’t be allowed to do that, anymore.”

Before you could wonder what he was doing, his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just harshly enough to have you grinding against his face. Your thighs went stiff, then twitched, attempting to clench around Dazai’s head, but he held them open easily, his other arm too busy finger-fucking you to do much else. You almost got used to it, almost, but the moment Dazai’s fingers hit something spongy and soft, your composure was done-for. Pressure pressed down on your chest, the air choking you, but Dazai never let-up, never relaxing, not until you were clenching and squealing, slicking building up and flowing over his fingers, Dazai only slowing down to pull out.

You thought he would kiss you, or smile, or say something.

Instead, he began to undress.

You watch in anticipation as a layer fell to the floor, then another, a sensation between excitement and dread forming a tight ball in your throat. This wasn’t how you pictured it happening. This wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. It was supposed to be more… romantic, less passionate and more loving. You thought it’d feel more loving. This wasn’t how you pictured it, but you couldn’t make yourself say something.

So, you laid back and shut your eyes again. You hoped he would notice.

The kiss came too late, but you accepted it nonetheless, running your hands through his hair as his lips brushed against yours. It was conciliatory, if anything, simultaneously more apologetic than it should've been but less than it needed to be, for whatever reason. “Don’t worry,” He reassured, lining himself up with your entrance. “I’ll be gentle.”

But he wasn’t. As soon as he was inside you, all pretenses of self-control abandoned him, Dazai bucking into your wildly and forcefully. The ache was worse, eliciting something near a sob, but it was all you could do to hold onto him and let it happen. His hips rolled against yours without any regard for the way his cock couldn’t fit inside of you, determined to go deeper, faster, harder with every movement. You found yourself burying your face in his chest unconsciously, grabbing anything you could reach, just trying to find a center before Dazai ripped you away from it, again. Distantly, you could hear the bed creaking, wet sounds echoing off the walls, but his voice was close enough to overtake it all.

“Mine, mine,” He repeated, the single word turning into a mantra. The head of his cock pushes against your cervix, Dazai intent on fitting you to his shape or tearing you open in the process. “None of them can have you. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

You tried to speak, but the sound was cracked, hollow. “I don’t--”

“None of them can have you.” He pushed himself away from you, fucking into your with twice the strength and half the consideration. Still, a coil forms in the pit of your stomach, something tense and hazy taking root in your mind and refusing to leave. Something you didn’t know if you liked. “Say it. You belong to me.”

You obeyed. You weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t. “I-I only… I only belong to you!”

Your orgasm was less earned and more torn from you, crashing down with the same delicacy of the man who’d caused it. It was suffocating, euphoric, the world going white as you forgot how to inhale, Dazai’s mouth slotting itself against yours. So enraptured in holding you, he hardly remembered to pull out, your cunt clamping down on him like a vice. Still, you felt it as cum splattered across your thighs, warm and sticky, as repulsive as it was disgustingly comforting.

Neither of you said anything, heavy pants and enduring whines monopolizing the conversation. But, after a long minute, Dazai’s attention re-focused, his eyes meeting yours and a small grin spreading across his features. His hand came up to cup your cheek and willingly, you melted into it, relaxing as he wiped the stray tears from your skin.

You only smiled back, wondering when you’d started crying.

~

“I’m just worried about you.”

You could’ve groaned at the familiar sentiment, hardly gathering the energy to glance up from the order you were punching into the register. Lucy was a new recruit, still green around the edges and not quite a skilled communicator, but you could appreciate her for what she was… most days. It was just the two of you on staff, at the moment, only a handful of customers in the cafe at such an ungodly time in the morning, leaving her with plenty of time to voice her oh-so-persistent concerns. It was sweet, honestly, a newer girl becoming so protective of her coworkers so quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel the same way, even if the age gap between you two was barely two years long. She wanted the best for you, and you for her.

So, you let her go on.

“Osamu’s not a nice guy.” Her voice was impassioned, just as genuine as the muffled curses she let out as a few drops of steamed milk spilled over the side of the cappuccino she was working on. “You should hear the stories Atsushi tells about him, they’re not… they’re not good. It’s hard to listen, sometimes. Especially when it’s so easy to tell he’s got the poor boy wrapped around his finger.”

“I’d hate to say it, but ‘they’re not good’ isn’t exactly compelling evidence,” You reasoned, biting the inside of your cheek. Your legs were still sore, your back aching, but you ignored the pain. That was normal, wasn’t it? For the first time, at least. “He’s a hard man to warm up to. It took me a while, too, but he’s really not as bad as he seems. Playful, but nice. With me, at least.”

Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “It’s the way he looks at you. I don’t like it,” She explained, a little too bluntly for the comment not to irk you. “Sometimes he’ll just sit and stare at you, and it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. He’s always asking the other girls which regulars you’re talking to, or for a copy of your schedule, and he gets so rude when we refuse. It’s not playful, it’s obsessive. Like he doesn’t trust you.”

You hoped she didn’t notice the way you frowned at her last comment. “He… he asks about my regulars?”

“Oh, all the time.” The words were too tired to be rehearsed. Not angry, annoyed. Like she was used to it. “A few of us slip up, occasionally, but nobody ever tells him anything. That doesn’t stop him from tryin’, though, nearly every time you’re not working. He tries to say it’s for the Agency, like half our customers aren’t detectives.”

Now, that got you to pause, your fingers slipping as you tried to focus on the task at hand. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Please let me know if he does it again.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” She mumbled, stopping to wave her free hand in some abstract, dismissive gesture. “Trust me. Or talk to him, do something. I just don’t want to see you cry over someone like him.”

It was hard not to smile, to thank her, even if you weren’t sure how you felt just yet. It would’ve been a lie to say you’d never had your doubts, but hearing someone else voice them was an entirely new experience, one you couldn’t say you were used to. You wanted to say that, you wanted to tell Lucy how much you appreciated her, you wanted to ask if there were supposed to be bruises on your hips, but as soon as the words made it to your tongue, they were swallowed back down, your mouth refusing to let them escape. It felt wrong, but staying quiet felt terrible.

You did the best you could, considering.

“You don’t have to answer, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. “Do the people you love ever start to scare you?”

For a second, she didn’t respond. She pursed her lips, something between surprise and concern coming across her expression, both emotions disappearing in an instant. A reply came eventually, tender and reassuring, but you had your answer the moment she failed to meet your eyes.

You needed to talk to Dazai.

~

Dumbfounded didn’t seem like the right word.

Shock would’ve been better, maybe. Dazai didn’t know how to react, flinching and laughing half-heartedly, the two acts mixing into something painful to see. He only grew more sure of your discomfort as you looked away, keeping your eyes on his walls or his rug or anything but the man who owned them, despite failing to pull away as he moved a little closer, closing the space between you. It wasn’t hard, the furniture in Dazai’s apartment as sparse as it was scattered, the loveseat no exclusion to his rule. He still hadn’t adjusted to having guests, even with all the time you’d spent together.

“Could… could you run that by me again?” He asked, the question more a whisper than a demand. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I just think it would be a good idea if we… took a break.” You were nothing short of meek, defenseless, curling into yourself as you spoke. “You haven’t been acting like yourself, lately, and everyone seems so worried about me. I don’t really think--”

“It’s those girls, isn’t it?” Dazai didn’t try to ease you into it, he couldn’t ease you into it, he was too angry to ease himself into it. That what it was, anger. Dark, ugly anger, potent enough to make him pull you closer, a hand on your knee and the other around your hips, refusing to budge when you nudged at his arm. “I knew they were against me, against us. You can’t trust anything they say, especially if it’s about me. They don’t want you to be happy--”

You cut him off abruptly, catching Dazai off-guard. Even if your actions didn’t reflect your violent tone. “They don’t want me to be with someone who can’t stand making me happy,” You retorted, digging your nails into his arm, this attempt to distance him more sincere than the last. “You don’t have to pretend you care about me, anymore, I get it. I’m some… thing, to you, that’s why you’re always checking in on me, why you’re always acting like I can’t handle myself. It’s fine, or, it was fine, I mean.” You sighed, shaking your head. Confliction wasn’t a good look for you, Dazai realized. He didn’t like that look on you. “I don’t want to do this anymore. You got my virginity, you win. I just want to go home, Dazai.”

He was silent, for a moment, as motionless as he was stiff. “You can’t do that.”

“I don’t care.” This time, you tried to get up, to pull yourself away from him, only gritting your teeth when he dragged you back down. “Let me go. I’ll call the police, if I have to.”

“And I’ll break your fingers before you can find a phone.”

You snapped around, but you didn’t have time to respond, not before you were thrown against the couch-cushions, Dazai straddling you reflexively, acting on instinct. He didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t lose you, not after how far you’d come, how beautifully you’d opened up for him. You fought back, weak and misguided, but Dazai only had to shift his weight onto your diaphragm to stifle your rebellion, the hands soon wrapped around your neck more of a flourish than a safety-measure. You tried to grab at his wrists, but the resistance wasn’t forceful.

Still, Dazai tightened his hold, pressing up into the bottom of your chin. If only to hear that whimper he doubted you show him willingly, anytime soon.

“I thought this might happen. Chuuya used to call me crazy for planning ahead, but this always happens.” His laugh was genuine, this time, light and airy and genuine. Dazai could feel you go still under him, your stare burning holes through his skin, but he didn’t care. What you were feeling was secondary, as long as you were directing those feelings towards him. “People get inside your head, and they turn you against me. It doesn’t matter how many parasites I get rid of, there’s always a dozen there to take their place. You know how annoying that is, don’t you?”

This time, you were the speechless one, swallowing thickly before answering. “You’re insane--”

“There’s only one thing left to do, when keeping the bugs away doesn’t seem to help.” The smile that spread across his lips must’ve been wicked, because you began to struggle once again, kicking and thrashing and fighting, but Dazai was far from caring. He bent down slowly, letting you bite at his lips, not caring when blood was drawn. The metallic taste spread across your lips as he kissed you, only making him all the more keen to remind you why you belong to him, in the first place.

“I’ll just have to keep you away from all those bad influences, won’t I?”

[martuzzio]

To that one anon who sent me a lovely ask about how I would incorporate the MCC twitch games into this au (whose ask I deleted on accident): this is for you.

Iskall has had three main homes throughout his life: The Hermit Craft, the Hunt, and the Arena. All three homes have taught him different lessons to live by. Despite only living with the hermits for a few years out of his three dcades of life, the Hermit Craft has taught him a lot. Some of these things include joys like beds, regular meals, and friends. His friends teach him every day that there is much more to life than doing your job effectively and efficiently. There is more to the universe than subverting people that cannot be trusted.

The Hunt is the home Iskall has known for the longest out of the three. It is whenever he has a new hit, a new target to pursue. The next victim of the machine. This home is what eventually broke him, but it has also taught him a lot. It has taught him to value himself over everyone else in the room when needed. To examine someone from afar and learn everything he needs to know in a few moments. To take aim and shoot without blinking, without feeling. To complete what is asked of him – but only if the price is right.

The final home Iskall knows is the Arena. The Arena taught him one thing: how to survive. He has not been in this home for a long time. Until now.

Iskall sits in a dimly lit room with False, Wels, and Etho and listens to the thunderous roar of the crowd outside. He got a glimpse of the stadium before entering the waiting room and the size took even him by surprise. It’s a big one – the stadium looks like it could comfortably fit at least two million people, but the actual crowd size could be anywhere up to five. Who knows how many individuals the MCC people managed to squeeze into the arena this time. They know the participants are big names, so it makes sense that they would sell as many tickets as possible.

The MCC (which stands for something that Iskall can’t be bothered to remember) is a small and peculiar planet located deep within the anarchy sector of the universe. It is covered completely in metal and hosts far too many illegal activities to count. The most popular of these activities are the fighting competitions held in the hundred or so arenas scattered across the planet’s surface. The largest of these stadiums is where Iskall and his friends are currently waiting to compete.

When Xisuma announced to the crew over dinner that the ship was going to drop by the MCC in a week, Iskall was glad he wasn’t the only visibly confused person. Apparently the end goal is to attend a conference with the MCC leaders to gain more protection when traveling in the anarchy sector. The catch, however, is that in order to have the conference, some of the hermits need to participate in a non-lethal arena competition to hype up the planet’s visitors and bring in money for the leaders. Iskall gladly agreed to participate, eager to see what MCC arena matches are like when they aren’t to the death.

Back in the waiting room, Iskall is startled out of his thoughts by False’s swear when her knife slips from the whetstone. “That’s the third time I’ve almost nicked the blade.” She mutters when she notices Iskall looking over. “I should’ve just brought my plasma blade. It would’ve been less of a hassle.”

“But the real deal is so much better.” Wels interjects from across the room. From his own grip on his sword, Iskall figures that he’s trying hard to not ruin his blade on his own arena-supplied whetstone. “It’s all about the weight of the piece that makes it worthwhile. I can’t imagine fighting someone with a knife that weighs as much as a wooden spoon.”

False huffs a laugh, causing her glowing blue eyes to crinkle in the dusty light. “You’re in no position to form an argument because you’ve never tried any option other than your sword.”

Wels beams and shrugs one shoulder. “What can I say, you got me there.”

“The lighter blades have their own perks.” Etho adds conversationally. He’s perched precariously on top of a barrel in the corner of the room, fingers flying over his left gauntlet’s screen as he most likely plays that Hermit trading card game. “When they’re really light, it’s easier to carry as many as you want under your clothes.”

Iskall squints at his mysterious friend. “That sounds ominous.” Etho simply glances up and winks at him, drawing a grin to Iskall’s face.

“I like them because a lighter blade helps me to focus on the arms working the gun.” False supplies. “When I’m using blades and guns at the same time, having one set of arms as the dominant pair works out better. But that’s just me, though.” she continues and gestures to Wels’ sword. “When you can only fight with one weapon at a time, I feel like the best option to choose is the one you’re most comfortable with.”

Wels beams again at False but soon groans in expression when Etho replies with, “So that just means you need to become comfortable with all weapons.” When Wels stands up and pokes his sword in the direction of the barrel, Etho shrinks back and raises his hands, leaving his game momentarily forgotten. “Hey, hey! I’m right, you know! You’re just mean!”

Iskall doubles over in laughter at that. He’s so glad that these three are the ones that volunteered to participate in the arena competition with him. Not to discount any of his other friends, but the four of them are probably the best fighters on the whole hermit team. Or at least the best possible team of four. False is an absolute beast in battle, both real and practice. Her two sets of arms are a beauty to behold when she’s aiming a gun at one enemy while stabbing another at the same time. Then there’s Wels, who uses traditional techniques to make a statement. His confident movements and unwavering personality comforts Iskall on the battlefield. Lastly, there’s Etho, whose expert skill in thousands of weapons and techniques always results in a good time. His very presence seems to bring chaos. Iskall assumes it’s just because he’s Etho.

False reaches over with one of her unoccupied arms and flicks Iskall’s helmet visor. “Stop laughing so much.” She scolds. “You’re going to get a stomachache before we even start the match.”

Iskall curbs his laughter as Wels and Etho go “awww” in the background. Before Iskall has the chance to shoot a retort back, a clanging noise sounds out form outside the waiting room. He looks over to the door just in time to watch it wrench open with a screech.

“Good news, hermits!” A small android, as metallic as the rest of the planet, shrieks. Their pincer-like hands flutter in a way that makes Iskall think of Mumbo. “You’re up next! Ready your weapons now because the gate’s going to raise in less than a minute!” With that, the android reaches into the room and yanks the door back shut with a loud screech.

After a moment to process what just happened, Iskall claps his hands together and leisurely pushes off the bench. “Time to end that game, Etho.” He says with a falsely pained expression. Etho blinks sadly and shuts his gauntlet screen off with a swipe. He slides off of his barrel and pats around his body to probably double check his thirty or so different weapons hidden in mysterious places.

False sets the whetstone aside and rolls her two sets of arms back in their shoulder sockets. She smiles at the men in the room, throwing her blade into the air and catching it without looking. “Ready, boys?” She asks, wiggling an eyebrow for emphasis.

Wels laughs back and readies his own blade. “As ready as we’ll ever be. Remember, no killing anyone out there, alright?”

Iskall sees the other two nod and realizes that yes, this is an arena event where he cannot kill anyone. It’s a shock that hits him much later than he expected it would. At least it hit him before he was in actual battle, though, so he counts it as a small blessing. “Gotcha.” He says in response, facing the large gate on the arena side of the room and checking the grip on his gun one last time. False notices and checks the grip on her own gun as well.

The four of them are startled when the door slams open again behind them. “Time to fight!” The same android screams in the doorway. They smack one of their pincer hands onto a button on their forearm and the room’s gate starts slowly creaking open. The door slams shut again without another word.

The four hermits meet gazes for a moment, then shrug. They then all face the gate, which by now has thudded into place, fully open. Bright sunlight shines into the room and an unseen announcer thunders out a short intro for the team. The crowd thunders back.

“Let’s go, boys.” False says, and strides out into the area, head held high. Etho and Wels soon follow. As Iskall steps through the door and the crowd’s thunder turns into a roar, he grins, rolls his shoulders back, and raises a hand to greet his old home.

[vercopaanir]

Teach Me to Fly

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: Making space for yourself aboard the Razor Crest, the child enlists you to break an unspoken rule that leads to something new.

Rating: E for everyone!

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: None!

Notes: God, I didn’t intend for this series to be such a slow-burn, but it is what it is. C’est la vie! I appreciate feedback. Please forgive me if I’ve misrepresented something from Star Wars canon, I am not an expert. Also on AO3.

Keep Up | Go to Sleep | Teach Me to Fly | (later in series) Don’t Go Far

Traveling through the stars didn’t feel quite as mystical as you’d dreamed of when you heard of people going off-world. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see it for yourself, but other than the occasional shimmy and shake of the engines, the Mandalorian was an incredibly talented pilot who flew his ship with steady hands. It hardly felt different than being on solid ground.

That wasn’t due to the integrity of the Razor Crest, either. In the two weeks you had been aboard, you’d overheard him muttering quiet curses in another language any time something broke, fell off, or rattled somewhere in the ship’s engines. He would disappear into a crawl space in the floor or wall for a few hours, and you would wait nearby in case he needed help, keeping the child firmly encased in your arms.

He never did. Or, at least, he never asked for it.

It had taken you a full week to grow accustomed to the ship. You took your time, using both hands, exploring every nook, crevice, and corner of the hull. He didn’t forbid you from following him up the ladder, but you hadn’t been invited, either. So, you kept your exploring on the lower floor. It turned your hands cold and stiff until they shook, feeling the metal structure around you, but you created the map in your mind. There was a refresher, a rather large locker that you weren’t sure of the contents, the bunk you slept in, and then...further into the hull.

“Don’t,” the Mandalorian told you one day, as you started to step towards a colder corner of the hull near the back. You stopped, tilting your head towards him curiously. “Don’t touch anything down there.”

You considered the warning, the baby holding onto the hem of your robe near your feet. “Alright,” you murmured carefully, turning back. You stepped back towards his voice, where he was standing near the ladder that led up to the upper deck. The child chased the trailing fabric of your robe. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. You weren’t sure if you would have believed him, or taken him seriously if he had. The truth was a bit gruesome to someone like you-someone who had only ever lived in such a small corner of the galaxy. 

That night, you sat up with your back against the metal wall of the bunk, your knees drawn to your chest, and you stared straight at that dark, cold side of the ship. You couldn’t see the carbonite freezer he’d told you about, or the hanging encasements of his bounties. At first, the idea of people frozen in pain and fear left you feeling sick. 

But the more you considered it, you felt less unsettled you were, and more respectful you became. 

Living a life as a slave indentured you to an order of things. You’d seen the best and worst of most living creatures, and it was not hard to imagine the cantina owner hanging up on the rack. It wasn’t hard to envision the imperial officer who’d taken you from your home, slaughtering your village, your parents. For the first time in your life, you were seeing the bad things that could happen to bad people.

When you fell asleep, you dreamed of the Mandalorian hunting for the man who took your eyesight and drowning him in carbonite. You dreamt of him in the dark, rather than yourself, and you woke up more rested than you could remember being.

The Mandalorian found consistent work, but he never told you what planet you were on or where you were going next. Your curiosity was piqued, but you felt too timid to ask more about it. So far, neither of you interacted beyond what the child needed, and you were, in a small way, grateful. It took you days to accept you were no longer under someone’s thumb. Every time you brushed the back of your neck and felt the thin, healed flesh that had once held the transmitter, you felt dizzy. It didn’t feel real.

At least, not until the Mandalorian found you to give you a payment from some of his work. The credits were kept in a small money pouch, and you stared stupidly up at him as you held it like it was a detonator. You tried to thank him, but he simply spun on his heel and walked away before you could manage the words.

Such was the basis of your interactions. So whenever the Razor Crest landed, you gathered the baby up into your arms and stepped out into the hull, listening to the armored warrior descend down the ladder before he opened that mysterious locker. 

Your questions and interest grew each time over this routine, and finally, you couldn’t keep quiet. You stepped closer, setting the child down near your feet. “What are you doing?” you asked softly, tilting your head towards the light that came from the locker that was open before him. It caused his beskar to gleam, and you admired how it must have been polished.

His helmet turned toward you, and for a moment you were both still, staring at each other. The dim light from the locker illuminated enough that you could make out his shape, and you felt brave enough to take another step closer, leaning against the locker’s door. Would he push you away? Tell you to go back to your place? You didn’t need to be in the way, after all. You felt a sudden wave of reticence press down on your shoulders, but you resisted the submissive response.

“Tools of the trade.” His voice was even and low, but it held a lightness, too. 

Your stomach settled, and your shoulders relaxed. You tried to recall what little you knew of the creed of the Mandalore, and you felt your cheeks flush from your naivety. You asked, “Mandalorians use tools?”

A quiet noise came through the modulator of his helmet. It could have been a small, breathy chuckle, or even a fond sigh. He shook his head once before seeming to make a decision and reaching into the locker. He brought out something before turning towards you. 

“Here.”

Frowning, you reach out and recoil instantly at the feeling of icy metal, but his gloved fingers catch the delicate bones of your wrist. “Don’t-” you freeze, letting him draw your fingers back to the gun he holds. “Don’t be afraid.”

You swallow, taking the tips of your fingers and drawing it over the well oiled steel. Some kind of handgun, you think, hovering over the muzzle before tracing back down the barrel to the grip. He held it still as you studied it, the tension leaving you the more comfortable you became with shape. The cold dissipated the more your skin warmed it, and you tilted your head. “What kind of weapon is this?”

“A WESTAR-35 blaster pistol.”

You had never touched a gun before, never handled any weapon. The solid finality of it made you feel weak and flimsy, and you curled your fingers away from it and towards yourself. “Is it...your...favorite?” you struggled with asking, the words sounding stupid to you.

The Mandalorian seemed to consider your question, turning the blaster over between his hands before you heard him holster it at his hip. “It’s essential. Reliable.”

“How so?”

This was the most you’d ever spoken to each other, and even though it was out of your realm of knowledge, you were desperate to hear him speak more. You were desperate to talk with him more. You suddenly didn’t want to break the tenuous thread between you, finding his presence more comforting than you thought possible. It was an odd sensation for you, finding comfort in a stranger. You waited for annoyance to overcome him, irritation to cloud his demeanor or color his voice.

It didn’t.

“They can fire underwater. Sand, snow, dirt-nothing jams the machinery. Impassable to an enemy.”

The words made you shiver, but your lips twitched upward. “Like you.”

His helmet turned toward you again, regarding you. “This is the way.”

A slight tug at your ankle reminded you the child was at your feet, and you leaned down to pick him up. He cooed as he gazed up at the Mandalorian, and the bounty hunter’s gloved hand reached out to pet the small child between his ears. 

You followed him to the hatch, letting the hum of the lowering ramp fade before you asked, “Will you be gone long?”

He paused at that, a question you had never asked before. You wondered if he was so unused to talking with another organic life that it threw him off each time. You couldn’t blame him-no one spoke to you much either, before he brought you along in his ship. 

“I wouldn’t wait up,” the Mandalorian said, and you thought he might be happy. At least a little.

“Not much else to do,” you murmured, looking toward the child in your arms as he tugged your hair for attention. “For either of us.”

Warm air from outside ruffled your robe and dress, but the sunshine outside made you yearn to follow. The Mandalorian hesitated, swaying between descending the ramp and staying on the ship. Your eyes moved from beyond the world outside the Razor Crest back to his form, blinking inquisitively.

“D-Did I say something wrong?”

The Mandalorian shook his head then, stepping out of the ship and walking down the ramp. You sighed softly, hearing the door begin to close. You shifted the baby in your arms as he cuddled closer, his naptime nearing. You felt an odd sensation, a tugging in your chest to say something, to call out after him, but you had no idea what you would say. 

What did one say to a deadly warrior whose body count surpassed anyone else’s years?

“Be careful.”

He had a tendency towards hesitation when you spoke to him, and the slight pause in his stride as he walked away was no exception. You could hear it in the rhythm of his boots. You felt a small, self-deprecating smile tug at your mouth, and you reached out to the familiar electrical box that housed the buttons that controlled the ramp. You closed it, sealing you and the child in the safety of the ship, and let the sudden silence overcome you.

The baby was still tugging at your hair, and you sighed, stealing his little hand and kissing it fondly. His big eyes blinked up at you, and you gently butted your forehead against his. “Alright, let’s get you some food.” 

This was, arguably, the most difficult time. When the Mandalorian went off for work, the quiet and dark of the ship crept in on you until you thought you might lose your mind. The child, tugging at your ankle or babbling happily up at you from your lap was good company, to be sure, but it didn’t make up for your lack of occupation. Without toys, the child seemed just as restless as you were. You could keep him distracted with stories, simple ones you remembered from your childhood, but that only lasted so long before the little one was toddling off to find something else to get into. 

After finding him a small dehydrated meal in one of the crates, you suddenly realized you’d never known where the child sleeps. Usually, the Mandalorian would gather the baby from you every night and ascend up the ladder, or he’d collect him for a nap while the ship was on autopilot. You supposed the child could sleep in your bunk, and as you decide on this, you reach over to lift him up only to find him missing.

“W-Where did you go?” Your voice raises octaves higher, fumbling around the small corner you two had been occupying. Your hands frantically search for any sign of the baby, but a gurgling giggle from across the hull makes you perk up. “Oh! You little-!”

There’s laughter in your voice even as relief washes over you, and you clamber up to gather him in your arms. He tugs at your sleeve, grunting as if trying to direct you, but all that’s forward is the ladder.

“You want to go up there?” An answering coo makes you sigh. What could be the harm? “Alright. But you’re going to be napping, not playing.”

The baby fits in the bend of your elbow, and you’re able to shoulder your way up the narrow ladder onto the upper deck. It’s shadowed in darkness, and you fumble for a switch that might light the passageway, huffing in irritation. You supposed his helmet must have some kind of night vision specification, but did the Mandalorian really need everything so  dark ?

Your fingers tripped over a panel of buttons, and a sudden whisper of metal opened a set of doors nearby. Instantly, the passageway was flooded with natural light.

Sucking in a breath, you hesitated before stepping inside, your sight lighting up more than it had since before boarding the Razor Crest. 

The cockpit featured observational windows that bled the outside world in, and you blinked at the brightness, not unlike some deep-sea dwelling creature underexposed to the above world. The baby wiggled happily in your arms and continued to tug you forward. When he seemed to discover you responded to his silent pleas, he led you to one of the co-pilot seats where you found a makeshift cradle. 

“Oh. So you sleep here?” You feel the inside of the small space, finding it insulated and padded with something downy and plush. There’s a heavy blanket inside that you suspect was upcycled from another use, but the baby pulls it happily on top of himself. You can make out his two big eyes blinking from underneath, ears tucked down, and you hear him yawn. 

The scent of the cockpit hits you as soon as your mind begins to drift back to your surroundings. It doesn’t smell as metallic up here, you decide. There’s a wintry, sharp scent like trees, clean fabric and a layer of oil that comes from well preserved steel. Some of the switches on the control panel glow in front of you, and you can make out various colors from the sunlight dappling through the windows above. 

You sit carefully in the pilot’s seat, feeling uneasy leaving the child alone up here by himself. That’s the last thing you would want to deal with, you decide, imagining the ship suddenly lurching off while the little beastie played with the thrusters and dials unattended. You’re sure the Mandalorian would drop you off at the nearest port, and you wouldn’t be able to blame him.

As you languish in the streams of light, you realize the peaceful quiet outside the ship. You can hear the wind blowing, faint sounds of leaves, and the child’s quiet breathing behind you. It lulls you into security, and soon your own posture-usually perfectly, unfailingly straight-slumps back as you, too, fall asleep. Kuiil’s words of rest in safety echo in your mind.

When you wake up, it’s violent and sudden. There is someone there, and you lurch forward at the undeniable presence looming nearby. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” the Mandalorian’s voice says, his gloved hand resting on your arm. Your heart is thundering in your chest, eyes wildly searching for any sign of something wrong. The light is nearly gone now, save for the silvery glow of the stars, but as pretty as it is, you still feel as if you need to fight or flee. The child sits in your lap, staring up at you and cooing as he plays with the ends of a few locks of your hair, and his guardian is still looking you over. “Are you alright?”

You turn your face towards the Mandalorian. He’s knelt down by the pilot’s chair, where you still sat, and you take a few moments to assess yourself. You bring one hand up to the baby’s ear, gently stroking the little creature to reassure both of you that it’s alright.

“I didn’t mean to sleep,” you finally whisper, feeling suddenly miserable. The chair has left your back aching, your temples tight where tension is turning your neck stiff. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even...hear the hatch…”

“I tried to be quiet. It’s late.” There was another pause. “I told you not to wait up.” 

You take a moment to gather yourself, frowning gently at the discomfort of sitting for so long. It felt like all you’d done since boarding his ship was sleep, but...you had never slept so well, either. Even now, waking up discombobulated and tense, it was better than any of the nights spent in the cantina’s bunks, huddled on a sparse cot or on the floor with a sheet for a blanket and no pillow.

“Did you get what you came for?” you ask, tilting your head toward him. You could make out the faint shadow of his helmet, kneeling near your legs. “The bounty, I mean.”

“Put up a chase. I would’ve been back sooner, otherwise.”

His voice was a low, raspy baritone, and you wondered if he found it uncomfortable to speak after going so long without. You knew you did, at least. 

“I’m glad you were successful, then.” You slowly stand up, hissing as blood rushes back to your feet and your back seems to creak. The Mandalorian lifts the child from your arms as you stretch, and you rub your lower back with gentle fingers to chase the discomfort away. “I should do more to keep me from being idle.”

“You do plenty with this little womp rat,” he says, lifting the child up a bit higher. The baby giggles in response, and you smile at the sweet sound. 

“I could-” You pause, biting your lip. You’re aware of when he turns to face you, and you take a deep breath against the intimidation you feel bubbling to the surface. “I could do more. Be more useful, I mean.”

The silence between you is heavy with hesitation, and you can only imagine what he must be thinking. You try to hope he isn’t doubting you just because of your inability to see. The thought alone brings ire in your breast, and you flex your fingers at your sides, ready to defend yourself.

“Sit back down,” he murmurs, turning the pilot’s chair so it bumps the back of your knees. Your eyebrows fly up, and without question, you gingerly perch on the edge of the seat, feeling your heart flutter when he steps closer again. A breeze of scent-the smell of trees and outdoors, clean fabric and steel brushes your face. “Have you ever flown before?”

The question is absurd, but his lack of doubt is also...incredible. You’re not sure if it’s stupid or dignified. Your throat tightens and you don’t trust your voice to remain steady so you simply shake your head. 

“Right. Hold this,” he says, dropping the child into your lap without ceremony. You blink, securing the wiggling baby between your arms, and watch as he leans over the control panel. “I don’t think I can teach you how to fully fly a ship, but maybe...take off and landing aren’t complicated. You only need to know the controls for the propulsion and thrusters. The landing program does the rest.” 

Your heart begins to beat wildly, and you lean forward as he takes the next few hours explaining what every module, button, switch, and handle on the panel in front of you does. You take your time, feeling everything after he names it so you can commit it to memory. When your fingers brush over a red communications link, you sigh, “It’d be easier if they were all lit.”

There’s a brief pause, and you can hear his intake of breath through the modulator. The more you hear him speak, the more you decide you enjoy the sound of his voice. “It would?”

“Yes.” The child begins to squirm in your lap, trying to reach for a metal top that’s attached to a switch. You shift the child in your lap so he can see what his guardian is doing, and he moves to the other side of the chair while you speak. “I can make out shadows and some color and shapes when there’s enough light. It’s distorted at best, but it’s not total darkness. Not unless there’s light.”

The Mandalorian is quiet, and your eyes track his movements as he unscrews something on the control panel. He leans closer to your side, and you see him drop something into the child’s eagerly outstretched hand. 

“What’s that?”

“His favorite toy. There’s a button, here,” he says, moving quickly from the topic to kneel down again. “Under the panel. It lights the controls, but I don’t use it.” 

“Show me, please?” you ask, holding a hand out, palm up.

The Mandalorian takes your hand, cupping your knuckles and leading your fingers to the bulky nodule just beneath the lip of the panel. His finger lines up over yours, and he shows you how to press it with a little more force than the others. Suddenly, hundreds of lights that were previously dark flicker to life before you. The baby gurgles in delight around the toy half shoved in his mouth.

You spend a moment, looking at the glowing, slightly blurry controls, and you feel your eyes begin to sting. You’d never been trusted with something like this before, something so complex and skill-based. It was a far cry from cleaning dirty glasses and serving watered down liquor. 

Your companion takes a deep breath and leans his forearm on the back of your chair. “Does this help?” he asks, voice almost too soft for the modulator to pick up.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you wipe it away quickly. “Y-Yes. Show me how-how to take off, now,” you say, not asking so much as demanding with a childish eagerness.

The Mandalorian is a good teacher. 

In fact, he’s an excellent teacher. 

His voice is direct and patient, and he allows you to ask questions and make comments that don’t make you feel inferior. He stands over you, not hovering as much as observing, and you find consolation in his presence. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t treat you as if you’re made of glass, or because he’s not worried you’ll mess something up. Whatever the reason for his trust, you’re grateful for it, finding yourself smiling when you go through the motions of landing and he praises, “Good. Very good.”

The child begins tugging at your sleeve, and you realize it’s past time for him to be fed. As you start to get up, a gentle hand touches your shoulder. “Stay. I’ll bring it to you. Keep practicing.”

But he didn’t. He brought food for the child and yourself.

He set the plate of cold meat, bread, and cheese on the armrest, and you blink in surprise, looking up at his shadow. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

The Mandalorian was using an oiled cloth to wipe down the controls, not glancing at you as he worked. He points out, “You do it for me every day.”

“Yes, but-”

“Let’s practice take-off, now. It’s more in-depth.”

You sit back in the chair, letting the child pick what he wanted off the plate and nibbling on what was left, listening intently as the Mandalorian described different procedures and the pre-flight check-list. Something warm was building in your chest, slow and fervent, and every time his helmet tilted back to look at you, it deepened. You had never been valued before, cared for or thought of as more than a means to an end. And these feelings-they hurt, like the first breath of air you take after being submerged in water for far too long, but they felt sweet, too.

-

Taglist: @lavenderl3mons​ @itzagoodthing​ @letaliabane 

If I forgot someone, please message me and let me know you want to be added. :)

[scullysexual]

{untitled post col fic: 2}

Chapter 1 link here. Ao3 link here.

Still working on a title for this. So this has become a thing that looks like it’s going to be regularly updated. There’s no posting schedule rn, I’m just posting whenever. Currently I’m eager to write this so chances are it’ll be posted on random days.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface​ Let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

- - - 

Chapter Two.

Sunlight streams down through the bars, across her face. She tries to block the light with an arm but it’s useless. The cement ground is hard and her other arm aches with laying on it all night.

It wasn’t the first time Scully had found herself in The Box and it wouldn’t be the last.

Scully stretches, her body just about fitting the length of the small room, and pushes herself to sit up. Morning has arrived and she won’t have to wait long for somebody to unlock the doors. She’s been in here before, she knows the drill.

In the meantime, she shakes her arm back to life and wonders when it will be time to move on from this place.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The red clone forcefully yanks her out of the van by the chain between her handcuffs. The metal cuts against her skin and Scully bites her tongue so as not to yell out. Once upon a time, she was putting the handcuffs on.

Having been stuck in darkness for what feels like forever, the sun is too bright and Scully finds herself having to squint.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” the red one tells her before pushing her into the line. She stumbles slightly but quickly regains her balance, throwing daggers towards the back of the clone’s head.

With her eyes adjusted, it doesn’t take Scully long to realise where she is. There’s a drop in her stomach as she stares up at her prison. They can build a new building but the fencing and grass have all relatively stayed the same. This was once the spot The White House sat.

She’s home. She’s walked past this street, this area, multiple times. Her apartment not too far away.

It becomes too much, to be standing here like she is, anxious and afraid of what to come but she will not cry, she won’t give them that.

There’s a thought to run. It was possible. Only her hands are cuffed together, her feet free. Adrenaline will make her run faster and she knows her way around this city probably better than the clones do.

But no. Her eyes catch the guards that stand around, their hands glued to their machine guns. She might be able to run fast but not faster than they can pull the trigger.

“Are these the new ones?”

A man’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Scully looks to the front to see a man with a long face and pointy chin, his hair a yellow colour of blonde. For the most part he looks human but Scully can see the slightly larger orbital cavity.

One of them. The colonists Mulder used to talk about, that she never believed existed- that nobody believed existed- standing before her.

“They are, sir,” the blue clone pipes up. “Most of them were found hiding in the Outskirts.”

The Colonist makes his way down the line, seeming to check each woman out. When he reaches Scully he stops and Scully doesn’t have the nerve to look him in the eye anymore.

“You were supposed to bring them to me unharmed,” the Colonist shouts, sounding furious.

“We had no option but to, sir,” the red one explains. With the Colonist looking away, Scully grins, he doesn’t sound so sure of himself now. “She forced us to.”

Her grin falls quickly when the Colonist turns back to her. His hand brushes against the bruise.

“We’ll get that looked at,” he says calmly and soothingly.

And maybe it was his hand touching her that had bile rising in her throat. Or maybe because she was scared and alone and feeling that fire slowly begin to fade out that makes her bat the Colonist’s hand away and cry out.

“Don’t touch me!”

She can almost hear everyone hold their breath. The Colonist’s grey eyes turn to cold ice. Out of nowhere something heavy collides with her ribs and abdomen. A cracked rib surely as Scully falls to the ground, her torso screaming in agony, those tears she promised she wouldn’t give them coming to her eyes as she splutters and coughs.

“And let that be a lesson to you all!” she hears the Colonist shout.

Scully stays laying on the ground, clutching her ribs, trying to calm herself. She’ll kill him, she thinks. She’ll kill them all.

“Take them inside,” the Colonist instructs. “Prepare them for the Initiation Ceremony.”

There’s a trample of feet moving. Scully knows she should get up, to follow them, but if they just left her here to die she wouldn’t fight it.

“What about this one?” one of the clones ask.

“Take her to the hospital.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Spirits were high. One of the girls was pregnant and that meant the community had a reason to celebrate.

Mulder learned quickly that being part of the Higher didn’t really mean much. He got a nice house and wasn’t a slave but the real power still resided with the colonists.

He was told they run the facilities that train the new slaves before they’re sold for auction next month. He had bought Chloe, of course. In a race against another potential buyer, Mulder had almost spent a year’s allowance on her for fear she would end up with the slimy bastard who’s reputation for owning most of the girls put on sale just so he could brutally mutilate and abuse those who didn’t give him results in the first month sent shivers down Mulder’s spine. He had won the girl and after two months with no results, it was lucky he had too.

A new month was approaching and a new auction along with it. Most of the girls auctioned off came from the facility but if a Higher grew tired of the slave they had, if she had given them a child and they wanted no more, she too would be in the mix. Every month for the past four months Mulder had gone to the auction in the hopes that maybe she would be there but it hadn’t been the case and he was beginning to lose hope she was even in California.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Motels and bars had become a rarity in the world now, however the odd one still stood, mainly to serve the Colonists or hybrids who might have to travel. They were dangerous for a simple human to visit, he and Scully would often avoid them for fear of capture but right now they were the best place to head if they wanted information.

Concealed by a hood, in a booth furthest to the corner, the few people occupying the bar pay him no attention. Skinner sits beside him, a beer in front of him, and when he takes a sip, his face contorts in disgust.

“Tastes like shit,” the man says, pushing the beer away.

“Keep drinking it anyway,” says Mulder. They didn’t want to draw suspicion to themselves after all.

The door to the bar opens and a weasel little man wanders in. He throws a nervous look to a man nearest the door- someone Mulder immediately recognised to be a Colonist- before his eyes dart around, landing on Mulder’s.

The little man makes a beeline for their booth, sitting himself down opposite Mulder.

“You’re Mulder, right?” the man asks.

Mulder refuses to clarify, asking, “What have you got?”

“I was told you were looking for someone called Scully.”

Mulder’s heart clenches in his chest. After all these years of searching is he really going to find what he’s looking for in one man.

“What do you know?” Skinner asks.

“Just that she gets auctioned a lot,” the man says. He keeps his voice low, his eyes constantly wandering over to the others in the bar. “That she’s trouble.”

Mulder fights to keep the grin from appearing on his face, he would expect no less from his Scully.

“Do you know where she is?”

With a clear glance towards the Colonist closest to the door, Mulder’s informant shifts forward.

“There are rumours she’s in California.”

Mulder bashes his fist on the table causing the drinks to spill and the man to jump in his seat.

“Rumours?!” Mulder shouts. A few people look their way before going back to their business. His voice quieter this time, Mulder asks, “All you can give me is rumours?”

The man is pale, scared and nervous.

“That’s- that’s all I know,” he splutters.

Clenching his jaw, Mulder sits back in his seat and shakes his head.

The door opens to enter a newcomer and the man’s face looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more,” the man says. He’s quickly standing from his seat. “Cali,” he says again as he backs away from the booth. “Go to Cali.”

Mulder was pissed. All these years and still no closer.

“I’m not following rumours,” he declares.

“You might not have a choice,” Skinner says, Mulder’s voice of reason since the disappearance of Scully. His sanity. “It’s been five years and this is the closest we’ve came. We have a location.”

Skinner was right. It may just be a rumour but it was the first utter of a location and rumours have some truth to them.

So Mulder nods, a new plan formulating in his mind. California his new destination.

“Cali,” he says agreeing. “We just have to get there.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The door is unlocked and Edie stands in the doorway. She’s younger than Scully yet her hybrid-status puts her much higher position than Scully will ever be. Not that Edie sees that. Babysitting future human sex slaves was never her end goal.

“Learnt your lesson?” Edie asks.

A question she asks every time Scully ends up in The Box and each time Scully nods. They both know full well that by next time, Scully will be back in this box.

“Pack up your stuff,” Edie says as Scully climbs out the room. “You’re leaving.”

Her month is up already, Scully thinks. She hadn’t been keeping track. Days and months didn’t work like they used too, Scully doesn’t even think they call it 2002 anymore.

But this was it, she was leaving the prison. Her face scarred and her clothes consisting a multiple grey dresses. She wonders who long of a life she has left before they realise her body cannot build babies.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Goin’ Soft

Another thing from my sharingan!Daryl writings. Includes Greenes and some byakugan.

- - -

The Greenes were something. Daryl didn’t quite know what to make of them, mostly because he’d never met folk with byakugan before, had only gotten second-hand tall tales. Bedtime stories from Mom, less story and more recounting from days gone when there was a lot more of everything (undeveloped land to hunt on, game to hunt, food to go around, eyes that could do more than just look and play mind games). Slurs from the old man, a racist at heart; slurs and ramblings both from Merle, running into all manner of folk in the marines.

Daryl knew better than to trust his folk about certain things. Mom had liked to think about days long past, enough that she hadn’t seen the fire right in front of her when it killed her. The old man was a nasty waste long gone now, didn’t know nothing where it counted.

And Merle was Merle—and that was enough for Daryl not to take his word as gospel.

Still, it unnerved him that the Greenes were so opposite from what he’d expected. They were kind, for one thing, and the farmhouse—gone, up in flames now—hadn’t been lavish. Clean, but not spotless. The food had been humbling, dirt cheap because it came from the dirt outside their door or the simple grocery store or farmer’s market. Fanciest food they’d ever eaten was probably dessert or pickled, maybe something Hershel’s eldest brought back from college.

Maybe that they weren’t pure had something to do with it. Hershel’s first wife hadn’t had anything special about her eyes; it was obvious in their first girl, blue-eyed and brown-haired and without a lick of anything more obvious at first glance (she had brains she put to use, eyes that weren’t the near-perfect field of the byakugan but still a damn sight better than normal when the blue washed temporary white). Hershel’s second wife had clearly had the eyes to match the vet, because the younger girl had only eyes white as the moon.

They were taking to the new world better, now that the farm was gone. Not that the whole thing burning down was good—not that they’d have gotten far living there that much longer—but it didn’t give them any baggage either, mental or real. Were leaving behind ash and crisps, not the home they’d grown up in.

They rolled up their sleeves and scavenged for supplies and got fires going. They pitched tents, threading the barest line of chakra through the poles so they could see through the nylon; a neat trick, especially useful if they were unfortunate enough to set up camp later in the day. Hershel and Maggie, his eldest, picked up watches, more useful than anyone else with the power to see well past the fire’s reach. Most of the time they sat, hands in their laps or idle; grabbing a gun or knife was more telling than a warning.

The youngest wasn’t allowed, a kid and not, older than Carl but not grown. Beth offered, but the rest of the group declined. Too young, too fragile, Daryl guessed they thought her. He picked up on her fussing, her huffs when she was turned down, her wilting shoulders, and knew she’d do something stupid to prove herself eventually.

Didn’t matter your blood, your tricks—everyone with something to prove usually tried.

- - -

Daryl knew she would follow him soon as he left camp. He ignored her chakra—unruly and immature, shaking when she tripped, flaring in panic whenever he stopped to check tracks thinking she’d been caught (she was, just didn’t know it yet)—in favor of trying to catch their dinner for the night. Something to go with the canned goods they lucked out on from that overturned semi.

He was maybe a mile out when Daryl decided he’d had enough of playing pretend. They were far out enough that she couldn’t act like she wasn’t following him, but not too far that he if made her go back he’d worry about her getting lost on the way.

Girl was sheltered, obviously, but had to know her way around her own eyes, could see far enough in every direction to figure it out.

Well, he could find that out now, couldn’t he?

A trick of his own he’d kept to himself till now, because girls liked to chat and Beth would probably tell someone, he shouldered his crossbow and pulled the strap snug, worked chakra into his hands and feet, and clambered up the bark of a nice fat tree. He huddled with his knees drawn to his chest on a branch too sturdy to waver. He’d see how hopeless the girl really was—no way she wouldn’t be able to see him here. He wouldn’t even bother with a mediocre genjutsu to hide himself.

A few moments of stillness crumpled into stumbling and huffing that sounded like the dead, and would have had a bolt or kunai primed to sink into their eye had Daryl not known what was coming through the trees.

Stupid kid, Daryl realized when he caught sight of her, and had to blink back the ebb of chakra that wanted to spring his sharingan to life in an angry, downright livid pulse. Her byakugan wasn’t even out.

Beth did wake it once she realized she wasn’t tripping after him anymore. From his perch Daryl watched the veins snake around her face, her concentration taking over the rest of her as she went completely still. It occurred to Daryl that if she needed to concentrate this much on her eyes, that she couldn’t move at all, she likely hadn’t been using them when she’d been following. Christ, she was going to get herself killed.

She was right under his branch, nearly, and that forced Daryl to keep at bay another angry surge to his eyes. She couldn’t even sense him. She hadn’t seen him right over her. He could probably drop down right behind her, not even in her crevice of a blind spot, and she still wouldn’t.

Fuckin’ unbelievable.

Daryl rose on his branch, just enough to move. He fed chakra into his feet and fell forward, extra to reach through his boots, sticking to the bark by his soles to hang upside down right behind her. Beth didn’t even startle, just went right on glaring ahead. Daryl thought briefly about letting his sharingan loose, just to scare her good, then figured she’d scare bad enough once she turned around and found him. Not like he was known for being welcoming and warm on his own.

It didn’t take long. Beth wilted, and he caught the veins on the side of her head relax. Daryl didn’t doubt it was less out of defeat and more she just plain lacked the endurance. She turned, probably thinking to make her way back to camp, and promptly tripped back on her ass when she damn near walked into him.

Daryl drowned out her wail with a barely contained, “The hell you doin’ out here, girl?”

He let her get to her feet on her own (could do something for herself for once) while he unstuck himself from the tree, twisted in the air, and landed on his feet. He grimaced at the shock that rolled up his spine—too old for that shit now—and easily dropped it into a glare as Beth whacked dirt off her jeans and scowled up at him.

“I thought you needed an extra set of eyes.”

Good Lord, she was serious.

“Ya couldn’t even see me,” he seethed. “Couldn’t even sense me. Hell you got those eyes for if you can’t use ‘em?”

“I can use ‘em just fine! Daddy taught me the basics.”

Of course, when they didn’t have to worry about the dead up and walking. Daryl doubted the old man had let her step foot off the property since martial law dissolved into chaos. Hell, out of the house.

“Your daddy teach you not to go following strangers in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse?”

“You ain’t a stranger, Daryl,” she scoffed, and if it wasn’t for the tilt of her head to go with Daryl probably would’ve missed entirely the roll of her eyes. Not like her irises and pupils were easy to see.

He needed a minute to breathe, so he turned on his heels and put some distance between them. Good Lord, teenagers.

“I can take care a’ myself.”

Daryl growled then, swore and spit, and whirled. He stalked right up to her, letting his sharingan come out at last. Chakra fumed with his anger. Beth flinched back, had probably never seen one up close but sure as shit knew what it meant. Good.

The veins in her face twitched but didn’t have the energy to stick around. Not that it was useful against him. Unless she knew how to fuck with his chakra points, which he doubted—and that made him even madder. Girl couldn’t see, didn’t even know how to defend herself.

She couldn’t handle being looked at like that, clearly. “I just... wanted to help...”

“Whip ‘em out then,” Daryl ordered. He didn’t dare tip chakra into his words. He doubted she knew how to break out of a genjutsu, had even experienced one. That was more bullshit he didn’t want to deal with.

“Well... I—”

“Said ta show ‘em, girl,” he rumbled, drawing himself up so he could look down at her even more than he already was.

Beth tried, at least. She stilled, like she had when he’d been watching from the tree. But no veins rose up around her eyes, she didn’t look like she was seeing the world any different, any better. Finally she quit trying, doubling over like she’d run a mile, panting. Daryl watched the excess chakra slink away from her eyes, and blinked his own blue again—hard to do, his anger wanting them to stay.

“Yer an idiot,” Daryl snorted. “And we’re going back. Can tell everybody why we don’t got dinner.”

Girl went quiet at that, thank fuck, and Daryl led the way back. They had dinner, just nothing freshly killed; Daryl happily let her take the blame for why they were only eating lukewarm beans.

- - -

Contrary to Beth’s complaints, she could be grounded, even during the end of the world. Good. Daryl didn’t need to worry about her following him again when he went out. He did have a limit to what he could do, he might have good eyes but he wasn’t all-seeing. All it took was one run-in with the dead and the girl was gone.

Carol took his plate from him after dinner. She was keen when it came to folks (he didn’t like to think it came from survival before the world ended) and noticed the youngest Greene had looked jittery when she passed him his fixed plate. Worried he’d chew her out for not enough beets, maybe, or just for being in his presence.

Maybe he’d been too loud with her.

“She just wants to help, you know,” Carol told him when he wrestled the plate back, took half the stack she’d collected from the rest.

“Wants to get bit,” he grunted as they walked over to the wash basin in the back of one of the trunks.

“Did it ever cross your mind," Carol suggested, tone just shy of wry but enough to let Daryl know he’d be doing what she asked anyway, "that helping her might keep her safe?”

His excuse came quick: “Don’t got the same eyes.”

It wasn’t even an excuse; just because they happened to have a hell of an upgrade if they fed chakra to their skulls, didn’t mean it worked the same. Training, especially, which was what the girl needed most. Even if the training was the same, no fucking way he’d do it. The three tomoe Daryl had earned over the years, none of them gotten lightly, came at a price. He didn’t know how to coax progress that wasn’t hollering or worse.

“You don’t just use your eyes, do you?” Carol asked, and he was stuck there—the pointed look she threw at his kunai wasn’t needed.

Two weeks later, when he was sure Beth’s grounding was long behind her, he made sure to take watch with Hershel. With both of them keeping an eye out (on chakra for what was living, shambling husks for what wasn’t) on top of the hill they’d set up camp beneath, the group couldn’t be safer.

“I’d hoped my Bethie wouldn’t need to know certain things,” he started before Daryl could. “But I’d be a fool to hold on to that hope. Especially when it’s obvious she’s taken to... exploring.”

“She couldn’t walk and see at the same time,” Daryl pointed out, careful not to sound accusing. Families with doujutsu had customs, manners, and they varied between ability and family. He didn’t want to be stepping on toes if this was something the girl ought to be able to do but couldn’t. Shame was a hell of a thing. So was wanting to cull weak links, though he had the feeling Hershel wasn’t like that.

“Her mother had good eyes. Strong eyes. But,” Hershel said, “she came from a family that valued, over all else, strength. What her mother had was trained for, not a birthright, and she made me promise we wouldn’t put that on Beth.”

Hershel swung his head west, then. Daryl couldn’t see it, not yet, but pulled his kunai anyway. There was something to using it, a feeling that felt right more than using any gun. Daryl felt it when he used his bow, but more when he used this. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe he was just old-fashioned. Maybe because, like his arrows, they were easy to make (wooden ones, at least) and being able to make more of something that could help put food on the table was invaluable.

Or maybe because the set he had now was a gift, one of the very few he’d gotten in his miserable life.

Daryl never quite got over how wrong the walkers felt. Empty, no streams of chakra flowing, coursing, or even stuttering. Anything would’ve made them easier to be around—not that he planned on sticking around the dead for long.

Long enough to put them down, like now.

The walker, torn dress pulled down by the mud, shoeless, hair a nest, went down like her strings had been cut. Daryl picked his way down the hill, pulled the kunai from her eye, and wiped it clean on his thigh. Hershel was looking past him, veins bulging, when Daryl hiked back up, but he didn’t gesture for Daryl to ready another throw.

They were quiet for a while. Daryl liked that about taking watch with Hershel. Then, out of the blue:

“She looked like her.”

Daryl didn’t need to ask what he’d meant; he’d been thinking it too, had hoped Hershel wasn’t. But the man was smart, had a brain to match those eyes.

“Don’t gotta end up that way,” Daryl shrugged, quiet. Promises were dangerous, but so was the rest of the world.

Goin’ soft, that Merle-like voice that liked to come around, every now and then, taunted.

Yeah, well, fuck ‘em.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Red Dead Cupid: Friends in Arms

Hello @katerix I’m your Red Dead cupid! I chose your request for Landon Ricketts x f!Reader being best friends, passing time\chilling together, when not busy maintaining an order around. I hope you like it! @rdr-secret-cupid​

I also chose a bit of a different writing POV, just trying something a little different. 

I lean back in my chair, the heat washing over me. It isn’t really much of a bother anymore, I’m long used to the unforgiving sun. It’s a requirement when you live down in Mexico. I take one last drag from my cigarette and then throw it down, pressing it out with my boot. On my left is the small table with my shot glass of whiskey, the chair on the other side empty but expectant for its usual occupant. 

After a moment of watching a hawk lazily circle on the air currents, the chair creaks. I look over and see my most trusted companion and lifelong friend. Landon Ricketts. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and yes it is the famed Landon Ricketts, the fastest draw in the West and famed gunslinger. 

He sighs heavily and drinks his shot of whiskey, grimacing at the burn. He looks worn out, but he always looks that way. After all, he hasn’t had a quiet life until recently, if you can really call his life now quiet. I do though, but that may be because I was with him a decent amount of the time he was living wild in the deserts of America. 

“Them Gutierrez boys giving you trouble again?” I ask as he leans back, pulling out a cigarette. 

“When aren’t they?” he says in his gruff voice. 

“I’m surprised you’ve been as patient with them as you have been,” I comment. 

“I’m tired of those days, y/n. And I’ve told you, I wanna give that nonsense up, try for something different. But, guess even in a different country, I can’t escape my past.” 

I sigh, knowing what he means. As a teenager, Landon found me as a wild orphan, threatening anyone and challenging absolutely everyone to a gunfight. It was a dark time for me. I’d lost my family and through the anger that rose from my grief, I tried taking it out on everyone around me. Landon came through town, and how could I not challenge him? The most famous gunslinger. 

I still remember the way he looked at me when I threatened him. He just laughed and turned his back to me, so I shot him. Or tried to. I was a real bad shot and my bullet whizzed right past him. But he turned back to me. Guess I made some kind of impression on him, because after that, he took me in. Taught me how to shoot and fight. 

We ran together for a few years after that, became just as close as two gunslingers could. It wasn’t unusual for people back then to confuse him as my father, which sometimes we played along with if we were robbing someone. But the truth was it bothered me. Landon was never a father figure to me, but he was my friend. He was the only person who recognized my anger in my youth as a plea for help. I trusted him more than anyone. 

In my late twenties, I ended up drifting off from Landon. Not on purpose, but he was always on the move. He had to be with his notoriety. At one point, I didn’t see him for so long I just sort of made my own way and fell into a gang of outlaws. Having a dirty history myself, I fit right in. The leader, Dutch, was a good man at first, but he ended up going crazy when the gang fell apart through a series of tragedies. By that point though, I’d already fallen in love and married his right hand man Arthur Morgan. 

I loved Arthur, more than anything. He was one of the few members in that gang who knew my past with Landon, but he kept my secret. I didn’t tell anyone about Landon because I didn’t always appreciate his fame. Whenever anyone found out I ran with him, they’d bombard me with questions about him. It was always about him. Arthur understood, and he didn’t talk or ask about him much.

But then, Arthur died in 1899 of tuberculosis. His death crushed me. Dutch was so far gone in his madness that I just ended up leaving. Besides, the gang was finished by that point anyways, sometimes I’m amazed I didn’t end up getting killed in the process. I was so lost though when Arthur passed, I don’t remember much from after that period. I buried him and then I remember I stayed near his grave for a long time. 

A couple of months passed after Arthur’s passing. I was still lost in my grief, living near his grave. One day, Landon showed up in the cabin I was living in. He said nothing but he threw down a newspaper at my feet. The top article was about my gang that fell apart. 

“How did you know?” I asked. 

“Because I know you,” Landon said. “I may not have been around much, but I know you. You think I didn’t know about your marriage to Arthur? When I read about him, I knew I needed to find you. I’m very sorry for your loss, y/n.” 

Landon was the first person to comfort you about Arthur. I didn’t want to live like this anymore, in my solitude and kept company by nothing aside from my grief. Although I was still shattered, I considered going with Landon, but I told him I didn’t want to live the wild life of an outlaw anymore. 

“I’ve done that already,” I said, “I don’t wanna do it anymore. It leads to nothing but pain.” 

Landon agreed and said he wanted to do the same. He was also tired of the life, of any man who had even a sliver of confidence challenging him to a duel. He wanted to help people, to make some peace out of the violence he’d sewn. 

So after that, I went with him down southwest. At first, we tried settling in places like Armadillo and Tumbleweed. But Landon’s fame followed him and he couldn’t escape the life he was trying to leave behind. That was when I decided that maybe it would be better to go down to Mexico. After all, everywhere I went reminded me of my husband. I just wanted to escape the memories, not because I regretted my marriage, but because I just wanted relief from my pain. 

Landon agreed to the idea of Mexico, so a few years ago we settled down in the town of Chuparosa. It was a fairly wild town, overrun with gangs and troublemakers. It took some time, but we got it tamed. It was Landon’s idea to sort of make ourselves the equivalent of sheriffs, as the town lacked any real form of law. I half-heartedly agreed, even though being a peacekeeper was the opposite of what I used to do and the kind of person I used to run from. 

But even down here, Landon was chased by his past. Sometimes a vigilante would come, having heard of Landon’s presence and would try to take him on. Luckily those types of men were few and far between.  Every once in a while, one of the gangs we’d chased out would come back and try to cause trouble. But we were more than a match for them. The Gutierrez brothers were the last to not get the hint, until today. 

Landon puts out his cigarette. Just as I’m about to say something, a young woman comes running up to him. I recognize her of course, Luisa Fortuna. A fiery member, and an enthusiastic member of the rebellion going on in Mexico. She’s breathing excitedly. 

“Ricketts! The Guiterrez brothers. They’re back!” 

Landon sighs and leans forward. He checks his pistol before reholstering it. “How long before I end up having to shoot these fools?” he says and stands up. I follow him, telling myself I can help if things get out of hand. Truth is though I just want to see these idiots get what they're owed. They’ve been a problem for too long and getting far too confident.

Just as we’re rounding the corner to the main street, I hear a familiar voice, taunting someone. That voice… it brings the dull pain I’ve sat on for ten years. I jog past Landon and find on the main street one of the Gutierrez brothers facing someone I haven’t seen since my gang fell apart. He’s grown older and he looks far more serious than I’ve ever seen him, but there’s no denying who he is: John Marston. 

As Landon joins your side, John and the Gutierrez brother suddenly draw their weapons and shoot. John’s bullet finds its mark, but the other Gutierrez brothers pull out their guns to avenge their fallen brother. However they’re no match for John. Not that I’m surprised. He learned from some of the best gunslingers. I think the only person who had a better education in shooting is myself thanks to Landon. 

When the last brother falls, Landon saunters forward as John holsters his gun. “I must admit, I’m impressed. Not many men would take on all the Gutierrez brothers and even fewer who could have taken them all down.” 

“Who are you?” John asks, his eyes mean. It’s a bit strange, he always had a light in his eyes. Then again, I haven’t seen him since Arthur died after he sacrificed himself to the Pinkertons to save me and John. I guess it’s really no surprise that he’s changed too since then. 

“Landon Ricketts. This is my town, I been trying to keep these boys under control, obviously not well. But now I’m curious. A fella like you who can take all of them down without hardly blinking an eye, I gotta ask. What you doin’ all the way down here?” 

“I’m lookin’ for… some old friends of mine. One of ‘em came running down here and I think he’s met up with the other.” 

This strikes me. He must be looking for me, but how did he hear I was down here? I walk out of the shadows of the building and look hard at him. John’s eyes widen. 

“Y/n? What you doin’ down here?” 

“Thought you said you was lookin’ for some old friends. I assumed you meant me.” 

He shuffles his feet a bit. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t even know you were down here.” 

Landon turns to me. “You know this man?” 

I nod. “Yes. He was my husband’s brother. I thought you were dead, John.” 

Over the next few hours, the three of us sit at the saloon and talk. I tell John about my relationship to Landon and why I came down here with him after that whole mess with the gang. John then discloses his past, how he tried to come clean of his outlaw days. He and Abigail ran a ranch outside of Blackwater, but then the Pinkertons, in their determination to get Dutch, took his family hostage in order to get John to hunt down his former gang members. 

When John tells me this, I feel a plummet in my stomach. I lean forward and look at him, daring him. “So these Pinkertons want you to kill your old gang members. That mean you’re gonna kill me?” 

John looks at you, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’m not sure the Pinkertons even know you’re down here. I assumed you died shortly after Arthur…”

Landon looks between the two of us but doesn’t interrupt. He knows I need to settle this myself. Landon has never been a man to fight my battles for me. It’s proven a frustration in the past, but at this moment, it’s appreciated. 

“Then John, I don’t know how much I can be of help to you. I ain’t giving those bastards a reason to kill me. If they’re going after Javier and Bill just for their associations with Dutch, they’ll definitely want me dead too. I was married to Dutch’s right hand man, after all.” 

Landon turns to me. “I think you’re making a mistake, y/n.” 

I turn to refute him, but he cuts me off. “You’ve been wasting away with me these past ten years. I haven’t wanted to say it, but whatever happened with that gang broke you. I don’t know what this Arthur Morgan was like, but I’m guessing he didn’t give his life up for you and his brother to see you live like this.” 

“He also hated revenge. Always said it was a fool’s game. I’m not killing Bill and Javier.” 

“You don’t have to,” John says. “I’ll do the killing, but it would sure be helpful if I had you by my side.”

I sigh. Landon’s right, Arthur wouldn’t want me to let John go alone. Not after everything he gave up for us both to live. However I’m sure that the end of this journey will end in one way: my death. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad though. After all, Landon’s right. I’ve been wasting away in liquor and grief down here. I stopped living a long time ago. 

I throw back my shot of tequila. “Alright, John. I’ll help you find Javier and Bill.”

I glance over at Landon and see he’s smiling. Now that I think about it, he’s never wanted this life for me. He used to say I had a fire that could not be doused. He must have known that this life, sitting in this hot, boring town and watching my life go on without me was never for me. That’s why he never searched for me while I was with the gang. I was doing what made me happy.

As I think about it, I realize now how much I’ve missed that life. Running wild and free. No it was never easy, but it was me. Living in this town as a sheriff is not what I want to do. I’m not cut out for it. I realize that John is giving me an opportunity to do what I’m meant to do. Sure, it won’t bring back the glory days from the gang, but it’s the next best thing. And if I die doing it, it’d be better than dying here, old and wishing I could have done things differently. 

Finally resolved, I stand up. “Okay, John. Let’s go find these bastards and get your family back.”