#And he's so so absurdly grateful that someone did it FINALLY

[tswwwit]

Hey man me again, it’s nearly 3am and i was curious. What would theoretically happen if someone (say a human bully, or a lesser uninformed demon or smthn of the sort) were to put down and talk absolute shit about Dipper with the anticipation of Bill joining in and/or being impressed and agreeing cause here’s this super cool and sexy guy surely he also thinks Dipper’s a useless freak right? How would Bill take this kinda confrontation about his husband? Would his reaction vary depending on wether or not Dipper was there? (I lowkey think it would but I’m just a worm in a bait bucket uk) (also sorry this comes across like a fucking critical thinking question from a middle school textbook)

At best someone talking shit about Dipper gets a long lecture about all the reasons Dipper is way, way cooler than them! And some broken bones. That's Bill's husband, he picked a great partner, and he is not going to pretend otherwise for someone else's ego.

The rant's absent if Dipper's around, but frankly? It'd be better for the bully/demon if Dipper was around to hear someone dissing him to Bill. In that Bill would refrain from the most gruesome acts within his mortal's sight.

Though if they're smart, they'll notice the way Bill's looking at them, and take that brief amount of time to run.

#answers #Bill's less verbose about all of Dipper's positive traits within his hearing range #But then the same goes for Dipper #They don't often talk each other up within earshot #Dipper because fuck knows Bill's ego doesn't need more feeding #And Bill because he doesn't wanna look 'soft' #Yeah Bill. That's going Great for you isn't it #Considering the way you stomped on that bully's foot so hard his metatarsals shattered #Just because he tried to make a snide comment about Dipper to this 'cool guy' #Assuming that Bill would agree #Dipper has not missed the treatment of people talking shit about him #Perhaps sometime one of his former bullies pulled some crap. Typically bully stuff. Dipper got very tense and upset. #Only to watch Bill immediately shut that shit down with a quickness and vicious glee #And perhaps a splattering of blood #Bill gets kissed stupid afterwards for reasons *he* can't discern #But Dipper's wanted to do that. Do a Revenge. Resisted for moral reasons; gritted his teeth and tried to be the Better Person #And he's so so absurdly grateful that someone did it FINALLY #That there WAS Revenge and he didn't have to get his hands dirty #Dipper didn't have to muster the courage. Bill didn't even hesitate #And it was SO poetically delivered that Dipper has to mentally salute Bill for his ability for creative nastiness #Bill figures out WHY eventually. And then is very smug about it. #But in the moment he's just oh wow!! hey there!!! Didn't expect THAT from Dipper; usually he hates something so very plainly cruel #Don't catch Bill complaining; he's already trying to compile a list of targets that'll get this reaction again

[scribble-games]

tw - body checking

In the high-rise apartment in Berlin, Angel steps out of the shower, steam swirling around him. He takes his time drying off with one of the absurdly plush towels. He rubs his hand through his hair, trying to judge its condition. The bleach is the fourth colour change in under six months; he isn't sure how much more it will take.

He uses the towel to wipe condensation from the mirror, then drops it to the floor as he turns his attention to his reflection. His gaze travels over his own naked form with the passionless, critical eye of someone judging livestock. Muscle definition, proportion, body fat - his exercise routines are intense, but improvements can always be made. For now, though, the view meets with his approval.

Dressed, he moves cautiously through to the kitchen - cautious, because the guy is still here, and has made himself coffee without asking. The cupboard door is still open, the french press left stranded on the clean white countertop.

Karl - no, it was Karsten; Angel grits his teeth in momentary annoyance at the error. Remembering names is important, even if the people they belong to are not. Karsten has mousy hair and a pleasant physique and is at least five cm shorter than his Grindr profile suggests. He'd been decent enough in bed, but now his presence grates on Angel's nerves like a wrong note in a song.

Angel had half been hoping he would have left in the time it took Angel to shower, but so few people are decently pragmatic. Not unexpected, but it chafes, having to slap on the mask of civility even for long enough to get rid of him, with all the appropriate smiling and talk of important appointments, and the lie of 'maybe we'll do this again some time'. He's not in the mood for socialising; there are more interesting things to turn his mind towards.

Alone again, Angel closes the cupboard door and puts the coffee things into the sink, where they are less of an offense to the stark white lines of the kitchen. Then he goes to the safe, where he always puts his various phones when there are strangers in the apartment, and takes out the 'work' phone.

He sinks into the buttery leather of the couch as he scrolls through the irritatingly few files he's been sent. He decides on one, casts it up to the widescreen, and rests his chin on his hands as he watches intently.

The security footage shows a fight, two on one. The two are not worth consideration; Angel's attention is focused solely on the one. He follows every blow, noting the mix of martial arts, the moves ripped straight from the textbook and the ones taken from the street. He observes their footwork, the speed and confidence with which each move flows into the next.

He looks for weaknesses.

Do they put more weight on their right foot than their left? Did they overextend on that punch? Is that a lapse of awareness - ah no, a feint, nicely played. There, an over-rotation does leave their left side open for a fraction of a second. They recover quickly, their opponent - fucking amateur - not noticing the lapse. He plays that part again, again, again, then moves on. Now he's sitting forwards in his seat, eyes still trained on the screen. He nods in professional approval when they grab an abandoned janitor's mop to use as an improvised weapon. And then the final blow, a beautifully executed kick, no wasted movement.

The figure on screen stands there for a second, the only movement their shoulders heaving with exertion. Then they straighten, toss their head in a gesture so deliciously haughty that he finds himself smiling at it. They glance towards the camera, head towards it, reach up, and the footage stops there.

Angel rewinds to the point where their face is clear in the centre of the screen. He sits back. How many fights have you won? he wonders. How many lost? How long did it take you to get to this level? Was your training like mine? So many questions that can't be answered by the scant data DIABLO can provide, that could never be enough because he wants to know everything.

The phone rings, startling him. Azazel.

When he accepts the call and opens his mouth for greeting or complaint, he is cut off by the uncharacteristically curt voice. "It's started. Drop whatever you're doing; I need you here now."

And before he can respond, Azazel hangs up on him. Hangs up on him! For a good second or two, Angel's more shocked by that than the actual content of the message. When the significance hits him, he curses softly under his breath - but the tone is more excitement then anything else. As he's heading towards the bedroom to grab his bag, he hesitates in the doorway, looking back at the face frozen on the screen, and he grins.

#angel's having a normal one :) #i was very tempted to throw in an american psycho style skincare routine #i should give this pre-crossfire series a special tag #character: angel

[chibitantei]

And it just don't stop. I'm serious, this is absurdly long.

Rank 9, or this might be one of the few times Naoto says so much about herself.

This is the rank where you learn the mysterious man is Yakushiji and that the whole thing was a plot orchestrated by Naoto's grandfather.

This section's more about Yakushiji than Naoto, but being a Naoto enjoyer means you think too much about things that don't matter. Now that we know he's the mysterious man, there's a bit we learn about him.

As I've mentioned more than once, he calls her "Naoto-sama". This could just be a way to distinguish her from her grandfather, who is probably called "Shirogane-sama", but that only really applies when the two of them are in the same room. Naoto doesn't strike me as someone who lets anyone use her given name, so the fact that he refers to her as such while they're in a moderately public location must mean she's comfortable with him doing so. If we look at what a translation of Naoto's section in the Persona 4 Club book says:

He has served three generations; my grandfather, my father and I, so he's practically a family member now. When my father, who was supposed to become the fifth generation head of the family, died with my mother in an accident, it was Yakushiji-san who was there with me. Since then, he has been worrying over me, so I'm really grateful to him. ...However, lately he has been worrying too much. Yakushiji-san is a lot younger than my grandfather, so if it's possible, I would like him to continue looking after me.

(No scans of this section were shown, so I don't know if the book actually calls her father the fifth gen or not, but it doesn't change the paragraph.)

This paragraph is from Naoto's perspective, showing that she sees him as family, and in turn, Yakushiji cares about her a great deal. Even without it, you can see hints of this relationship from the fact that he's in Inaba. Naoto's grandfather may be the mastermind behind it, but Yakushiji is playing the part of the phantom thief.

You can argue he only went along with it because Naoto's grandfather is his boss, but it wouldn't explain why he kinda vaguely traumadumps in Naoto's stead. It shows he's noticed the same things her grandfather did, and of course he would, if he's been with the Shiroganes for this long. If he weren't here, I'd imagine Naoto would continue to gloss over it because it's totally not that important.

But this is Naoto's silly case, so he bows out of the picture, but not before leaving her with the final challenge.

I did what you can't stand to at a place you'd be fond of. But underneath, rather than inside.

If you paid attention during Naoto's Social Link, the answers are quite obvious. Choose the correct options, ("Somewhere high." and "Throwing things away?"), and she's a little surprised, but definitely happy that you listened. There's no change in dialogue if you romance her or not, but as I'm biased, it's sweeter if you did.

That being said, if you pick the other options, you can learn a little bit about her. She doesn't especially like bright places, she's not good at exercising and she's... never tried cooking...? Yeah, someone needs to give her real food instead of instant noodles and convenience store meals. God.

Naoto being cheerful and a little embarrassed that you remember is a little sad when you remember how she had no friends growing up. How many times do you think Naoto's talked to people, only for them to clearly not care, pick on her or simply get things wrong about her? She must have tried to make friends, then gave up when nobody cared and treated her like an outsider. With Yu, this is the first time someone has paid attention to what she's said.

And I don't mean when she's in detective mode. Whether the police want to or not, they have to listen to what she says about the case. Sure, they can disregard the information and ignore her (see her dismissal from the Inaba case), but it's about work, not about herself. It hurts to be dismissed and ignored, but Naoto's not putting herself out there when she's working.

Seeing someone, besides family, care about Naoto and not just Detective Shirogane is a first, and it's no surprise she feels this way.

After answering, Naoto takes Yu to the hill. Taped to the bottom of the trash can is another one of Naoto's seven detective tools, which happens to be a pocketbook.

I said in the rank 7 post how there was an awkward distance between Naoto and her grandfather, and now would be the time to explain why.

As you can see, he told Naoto this lesson in a very roundabout way, which makes you wonder why he didn't talk to her directly. When you look at this and how Naoto decided to get kidnapped instead of talking to the team, saying things in a roundabout manner might be a Shirogane family trait.

It feels like a weird move on his part, but if there's anything to know about Naoto, it's that she's obscenely stubborn, and that fact is why her grandfather wasn't direct with her. In the early ranks, we see how dismissive she was, chalking it up to a prank and something not worth her time. If not for Yu, she wouldn't have given this a second thought.

If he told her directly that she lost sight of herself, she wouldn't have listened or ignored his concerns. It's possible he had told her directly about what he noticed, not just with losing herself, but other things, like that negative IQ level plan to disguise herself as a guy.

From this section, the most obvious part is the explanation for her workaholic nature.

Besides the fact that she does want to bring the truth to light, she expected herself to deliver results that were perfect, and the best (and only) example of this we have is the Inaba case. When the police gave her the boot, she was obviously distressed. Not only was it clear to her that there was more to be done, but they pushed that off in favor of bring the case to a close, and more importantly, leaving it imperfectly closed.

Naoto is used to being dismissed, but this case was probably a first for her in different ways.

The most obvious is that her involvement didn't end perfectly. There's still a thread, but the police would rather close it than explore it fully. Naoto fought hard to keep it open, but as we can see, it didn't work out and she got booted. When you have to gather clues to find her, one of the officers recalls that she'd spend hours looking through files. She did practically everything she could to find a way to convince them, even after it was officially concluded, and her last resort was to make herself bait for the culprit, a move I doubt she would have pulled if the police listened.

This is probably the first case that has taken her so long. It doesn't feel like it, especially if she came in around May and the case is closed around August. But we have to remember her interview on TV, where the anchor states that she's solved 24 cases already. We have no idea what these cases are or what the mysterious "16 of them" are specified to be, but that's obviously a lot when we look at her age. If she's 16 (barely when you first see her), we can assume naturally assume she doesn't have a decade's worth experience under her belt. She must have gone through these pretty quick in order to rack up so many. The fact that she's struggled on this, at least to her, reads as she's doing something wrong.

And this is the first magical mystery murder case she's taken so yeah, that's a first.

This was a long winded way of me saying Naoto believed she had to be perfect in order for everyone to accept and need her. I already mentioned the family honor thing in Rank 4, so I'll try to avoid repeating myself here, but Naoto expected nothing but perfect results, out of fear that it would reflect poorly on her family, as well as just being a perfectionist. From a young age, I'm sure she was keenly aware that every move she'd make, her posturing, etc. would be under scrutiny by clients, people she worked with, and her grandfather's contacts. This burden would be alleviated if her parents were around and help her ease into the role of next family head over the course of multiple years, but they're dead. When people have and put so many expectations on her (have I mentioned she's probably grieving over her parents being dead), there is an insane pressure for her to live up to it and other descriptions like 'genius', 'prodigy', 'next family head', etc.

From what I've said, you can probably guess that Naoto didn't view herself as an adequate inheritor to her family's name. She took so many cases because she felt like what she did wasn't enough. Just one more and maybe, they'd accept her. And then another. And another.

To make the process of finally living up to those expectations easier, she discarded the 'unnecessary' parts. Childish whimsy and wonder is so overrated, what's more important is solving as many as she can in order to be seen as this genius detective and to make her family proud.

Her grandfather obviously didn't see her as a disappointment or as someone so inadequate. He probably tried to tell her, but Naoto is stubborn. On her end, Naoto didn't want to burden her grandfather with her trivial problems because they'd be resolved eventually or it was okay to ignore. Unfortunately for her, people aren't perfect and they never will be. She could try to hide her worries all she wanted but her grandfather could tell something was wrong. She never would admit that in front of him, though.

As silly as it is, the indirect method of reminding Naoto about why she wanted to become a detective opens her eyes. We don't know what's inside the pocketbook besides the things she'd forgotten, but this childish little case, seeing her childish tools, it brings her back to the days where she didn't care about living up to expectations or being perfect. She was just herself.

I mentioned in the Rank 5 post that Naoto being so ready to brush this case off was sad, and this is why. This case helps Naoto find the reason she was so passionate about becoming a detective in the first place. Over the years, this passion twisted into something else, perhaps a chore, some kind of obligation she needed to do to live up to the family name. It wasn't completely gone, but Naoto didn't realize what happened until this case.

Along with remembering why she wanted to be a detective, she finds people who will accept her for who she is. Not only that, but they also want her to stick around. All the times where the IT wanted to hang out with Naoto should be proof enough of this. Yeah, she's stubborn and a jerk and a little insensitive and drops a whole list of her flaws, but they consider her an invaluable member of the team, but more importantly, a friend.

Here, she finally admits what she's known all along, but didn't want to think deeply about. That she was only running from herself.

This case is also a message from her grandfather that she's more than capable of being the detective she always wanted to be, and more than enough to be the next family head. If he wanted to, he could have found another guy, have Naoto marry him and this new guy would be the next Shirogane head, but he obviously didn't think about that once.

So Naoto finally realizes that it's okay if she doesn't know who she is yet, or if she isn't perfect. There's value in being herself, and that's all that matters.

In her friendship route she tacks on two lines at the end.

Yeah, the estate isn't in Inaba I guess.

But that's lame so we're going to look at the romance route now. She finally has an answer to the confession!

Persona romances are so shallow but Naoto is truly best girl and I accept no criticism whatsoever.

I can tell bestie, I can tell.

#Dossier: About Naoto #take this away from me

[automatismoateo]

Several days after a head-on collision, I now realize I am an atheist via /r/atheism

Several days after a head-on collision, I now realize I am an atheist

A few days ago I was driving home from a job site in my truck (thankfully) on a two-lane road. A guy who was approaching the opposite direction cut into my lane and caused us to have a head-on collision. His passenger told him to turn into the parking lot and he took the direction literally at that very second rather than first judging on-coming traffic (me). I burned rubber, crushed the front of his car and ended up halfway in a ditch.

As soon as I confirmed my head was still attached to my neck I threw open my door and was cursing up a storm that he was a lucky sonofabitch that my kid wasn't with me, etc. But when he got out I realized he was only a kid himself (16 years old)- not high or a drunk. The atmosphere did a 180 from me losing my cool to making sure he and his passenger were physically fine as well. He was sobbing about his mistake and the fury in me just... deflated entirely.

Suddenly, I was doing everything in my power to assure him that it was only a mistake. I apologized for all of the nasty shit I shouted when I was looking for a fight, gave him a hug and spent the latter half of the whole ordeal giving him a pep talk and making certain he knew I did not hate him. This kid knew how badly he fucked up and was scared to death about the entire thing (sobbing "I am so sorry" over and over) and I was not about to pile it on him, too. Insurance could take care of the nitty gritty; I just wanted him to walk away knowing I, as a parent, forgave him the moment I saw him exit his car.

I have lost no sleep and very little of my routine has been impacted. I still have a slightly stiff shoulder but no bruises, no pain, and my family is fine. They weren't there and I am grateful they did not see the state of the vehicles because it looks more frightening than the incident actually was.

But a woman at the scene said something that instantly pissed me off as I was lugging my toolbox and receipt book out of my truck so it could be towed:

"We were praying for you!"

My hackles rose up. During the moment I managed to keep my cool and did not acknowledge it like I could not hear her. But I keep hearing that one sentence rattling around in my head and every single time I think about it I keep getting pissed off. I could not put my finger on exactly why until today when I realized, at no point, was God or heaven or plea for safety ever on my mind at any point during the entire incident or aftermath. I never thought "God/Jesus help me" or "I hope I go to heaven" or even "Goddamnit".

And why was it so easy for me to just forgive the kid but Christians claim god had to send his son to die on the behalf of sinners. Why the fuck would I ever send my daughter to be tortured and nailed to a cross just to be 'able' to forgive someone. According to Christians, God "made" us. How is it I was able to forgive someone I did not even "create" without all the hoops but God and Jesus had to do a bloody tango and, even then, the forgiveness still requires groveling for it first?

On a personal level I have always been skeptical of religious claims. I suppose I considered myself 'undecided'. I did not bother with religion myself and was only aggravated with evangelicals and their homophobia and hypocrisy.

But with that stupid sentence rolling around in my head, spoken with the best intentions I am sure, I have been thinking "Praying for me? Praying after the fact, knowing you could see everybody was already safe and going home to their own beds tonight? What an absurdly easy way to claim some active participation for yourself and your God with no actual effort involved..."

It is no different that the other thousands of times I have been irritated by useless platitudes. But this time felt different and I think it is because I finally have the word to describe my position on the existence of gods: atheist. I do not believe in a god. I did not feel it necessary. The universe has order unto itself. Vehicular accidents are a normal occurrence and correspond to the described physical laws. Sometimes they are deadly. Sometimes they are not.

I see no gods in any of it.

I also feel strangely at peace about it, too. I don't know how common that is but it is as if all the puzzle pieces have fallen into place. This is a world in a universe that exists. I cannot honestly claim to know anything beyond that and I do not know how anybody else's "knowledge" or "feeling" that a god exists trumps my own feeling that there is not one.

I hope that makes sense. Anyway. Hi ya'll.

Submitted November 07, 2022 at 11:08PM by SZRothrock (From Reddit https://ift.tt/AHQlM63)

#reddit

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

A Family Affair

Slasher AU CannibalFamily!EraserMicxReader

We’re going with the “strange family that lives outside of a small town” trope. After a few deliveries to the Aizawa household you get pulled in to an affair you never wanted to be a part of. 

Spooky season is upon us and I’ve already begun watching too many horror movies.  This fic will definitely be a two parter

Super Dark Content Warning!!! Literally do not read if you have any reservation and definitely no minors!

TW: cannibal themes, mentions of murder, mentions of corpse mutilation, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships

Part 2 is gonna include more of this and the smut

Growing up you were grateful for living in a small town. You didn't really relate to the coming-of-age stories told in the movies where the small town girl runs off to the big city for a whirlwind romance and a chance at some "big break." To you, small town life was more picturesque than any overcrowded city. You knew your neighbors, and watched a lot of their families grow and change throughout the years. A small town allows you to become a regular at several businesses, including the coffee shop and your favorite diner downtown. Going away to college was tough even though you didn't go far. The nearest city - a little over 40 miles away - had a great college with a program you were really interested in pursuing.

You went home every break and picked up delivery jobs at one of the local restaurants. It was winter break of your last year in college when you first delivered to the Aizawa residence. In all your years at the restaurant they never ordered delivery, one of the two men would always place an order for pick up. The thing about small town stereotypes is that small towns tend to self-impose said stereotypes. The Aizawa's were that family. The one that everyone whispered when they came to town and children would tell horror stories about during Halloween. They were the weird family that lived just past the outskirts of town.

You weren't entirely sure what either of the two men did. Everyone speculated that Mr. Aizawa was some sort of mountain-man-feral type and maybe did some mechanic work for the folks that tend to live in between towns. His husband, Mr. Yamada seemed like the stay at home trophy husband but you heard he did some sort of conspiracy podcast. They had children - reportedly, but no one has really met them - and other family members that live similarly further out into the middle of nowhere. The drive was absurdly long but they were loyal customers and the owners didn't want to turn their request down. Your boss handed you a chunk of bills to fill up your tank before heading out. That's no place you'd want to get stranded, he told you.

The paved road got worse the further you got from town. Forty-five minutes later you were pulling down the dirt road that led to the illuminated Aizawa home. A wall of cold air slammed in to you when you opened your car door and you grumbled about leaving your gloves at home. There was no doorbell, so knocked and did that awkward please-don't-let-me-freeze dance while you waited. Two unfamiliar faces opened the door, an apathetic looking teen and an adorable little girl. Must be their children. The older one called out for his dad before taking one of the bags you held and disappearing into the home. You looked down awkwardly and wave at the girl. She smiled shyly and reached out for the other bag.

"Are you sure?" You asked her, "It's a little heavy."

She nodded.

"Okay, but use two hands," You passed her the bag. "Oh jeez, you're strong. Don't tell your brother, but I think this is the heavier bag."

You smiled when she giggled and ran off.

Mr. Aizawa appeared in the door, "How much do we owe?"

He was just as terrifying up close and for a split second your mind went blank while your basic instincts were begging you go back to the car. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking irritated at your falter.

"Uh - forty-two."

He pulled counted out a chunk of bills and then you were off. You didn't even count the amount until you parked. Forty-two with a forty-dollar tip. They may be odd but apparently they're loaded. You didn't think much of it until the following week when you were heading back to their house with another delivery. You wished that they would order earlier but at least you could hope for another generous tip. You were taken aback when the little girl answered the door by herself, jumping up and down with excitement.

Was she old enough to answer the door by herself?

"Papa," She yelled. "The lady is here!"

She turned her attention back to you with a huge grin, "Shinsou got sore that you told me I'm the stronger one."

Before you could respond to her the other man, Mr. Yamada, bounced around the corner, "Eri, what have we told you about the door? Oh no, you must be freezing come stand inside while I go get your payment. Forty-two right?"

You wanted to protest, feeling uneasy in their entryway but the little girl tugged you by the delivery bags. So you stood there quietly while she ran back in forth so she could unload the delivery for you. Shinsou peered around the corner so you gave a small wave. Then it was just you and Eri once again. In the background you could hear Yamada asking his husband where the wallet went.

"I like your shirt," You smiled, trying to fill the silence.

"I wanted a Pegasus shirt but this was the only one my daddy could find."

"Well I think unicorns are pretty cool too."

You use to babysit for some of the families in town, no part of you could imagine doing that all the way out here.

The blonde rejoined you, giving you another lush payment. You heard the little girl whine about you leaving so quickly until her father appeased her by saying you'd be back.

Something about that rubbed you the wrong way; but you were back like clockwork the next week with their usual delivery. Once again you were brought inside while they went to get your payment. But on your fourth and what should have been your final delivery of the winter break you noticed something was off when you parked. Their truck was missing from its usual spot. Strange but they probably just moved it somewhere else on the property. You had become accustom Eri running to answer the door and telling you wait for her parents in the entrance of the house. You became suspicious after she had run back and forth to take the food to the kitchen.

"Eri, where are your parents? Or Shinsou?"

The little girl's response was nonchalant, "They had to go out, one of our cattle got out. But they gave me the money."

You stuffed the money into your jacket; payment was the issue here. In the back of your mind you though about how you never saw any cattle on your deliveries. A child her age shouldn’t be left alone.

"Oh, well, can I hang out with you while we wait for them to come back?"

The little girl lit up as she pulled you to the living room. There was a kid's movie playing on the TV and she had a coloring book out. Eri divide up her crayons and tore out a page for you to join her. You kept looking to the window, waiting for the truck to pull up.

Suddenly there was banging at the door, which elicited a cry from Eri. You reached into your pocket only finding the crumpled bills. Shit, your stomach dropped. You left your phone in your car. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick delivery. The noise stopped, only for a moment, before resuming.

"Eri, sweetie," You whispered to the stunned little girl. "Do your parents have a phone here?"

She shook her head.

A man’s voice tore through the door, "Let me in dammit, you have to let me in before they come back."

You held your finger to your lip, and Eri nodded, repeating the gesture. The living room light was on and you realized that if he came to the side of the house you'd be seen through the window, but turning out the light would draw attention. Maybe he was bluffing, maybe he didn't know if anyone was inside and turning off the light would signal your presence. You pointed to the kitchen, where the lights were off and the two of you tip toed to the safety of darkness.

"Eri, honey, can you go sit in the pantry for me and be really, really quiet? I'll be right out here and don't come out until I come to get you okay?"

She looked hesitant and tearful but you were surprised at her level of composure for a kid. Finally she complied. Once the pantry door was closed you began rummaging through the drawers, looking for something that could inflict the most damage. A meat tenderizer could work. The banging continued and you swore you hear wood beginning to splinter. Your grip tightened with every bang. Finally the door gave way and a man stumbled through the splintered wood. He stopped when he saw you holding the cleaver.

He was dirty, without shoes or a shirt and his skin was red from the cold.

You hoped your voice wouldn’t crack, "You need to leave-"

"Monsters, monsters," he blabbed. "They're gonna come back and we gotta go."

You decided to bluff, "Get out of here, I already called the cops."

"Good, good, good," He mumbled, “but we still gotta go. NOW."

There was one step forward from him, one step back from you.

"If you come near me, I'll make sure you don't get up," You warned. At the very least you had to keep him away from Eri. Even if that was all you could do.

There was a desperate look in his eyes; they darted from you to the keys hooked to your jeans, then back to the keys. Finally he smiled, "You have a car, man that's perfect. Listen I won't hurt you but we need to get in your damn car, now."

Sounds like something someone who wants to hurt me would say, you thought. Apparently you took too long to respond, the man lunged toward you and you tried to swing the meat tenderizer. The tool connected with his shoulder and he howled out in pain but still managed to wrestle you to the ground. The two of you struggled with each other and the man was yelling that you'd die if you didn't listen to him. You landed a weak hit to his jaw, splitting his lip. You even tried biting at him but he was persistent and struggling to get your keys. You were telling him he could have them that he just needed to let you go but he wasn't listening to you. Managing to grab his ear you had a flashback to the self-defense seminar you had to take in college, it should be easy to rip a human ear. So you pulled. Blood began to flow from the wound down his face and on to you. He got you off him before you got the whole ear by delivering a blow to your stomach. The air rushed from your body, is this what it means to get the wind knocked out of you?

There was a loud noise and fog lights flooded through the broken door. Then saw Shinsou and Aizawa pulling the man off you. You pushed yourself and back, clutching at your stomach. Your cheeks were wet. Were you crying or was that blood on your face? Probably both.

The trio wrangled the man outside where you heard more struggling, fighting, and groaning.

Eri.  You managed your way to the kitchen but realized you were covered in blood. Not wanting to traumatize the little girl any further you spoke through the door.

"Eri, can you stay there a little bit longer?"

"Can't I come out? I heard my daddies," She cried, tugging at your heartstrings.

"Not yet, okay? They're here and everything's okay, I'm gonna have them come get you okay?"

Thankfully, the door didn't open. As you shuffled toward the front door Mr. Yamada entered, wiping specks of blood off him.

You were shocked when he pulled you into a hug, "You're okay. Sho and Shinsou got everything under control. Where is Eri?"

You told him about her hiding spot and he sighed in relief and rushed to her.

The other two returned with bloodied knuckles that made your stomach churn.

"Yamada," The mountain man called, with his eyes scanning the home.

"Don't worry, Sho, I got Eri. She's fine. Our delivery girl is okay, she's got some bumps and bruises but she made the other guy look worse."

Aizawa ushered you to the couch, expecting your legs to give out at any moment.

"We need to call the police," You finally spoke.

Aizawa assured you he did. They were 45 minutes out but they'd work on getting here faster. Yamada brewed you a cup of tea, “for while we wait.” They finally calmed Eri down and Shinsou took her upstairs to get ready for bed. It felt weird for them to return to mundane evening routines so quickly after all that chaos, but maybe you were just the odd one out. Close to an hour later you were still waiting for the police to show up. Your tea was finished long ago and your nerves had calmed. You were even having trouble keeping your eyes open.

"You think they're almost here, babe" The blonde wondered, draping a throw blanket around your shoulders. "I'm sure she wants to this day to be over with."

---

It was still dark when you woke up. The blonde was fast asleep on the recliner next to you. The police must have come by now but there was no way you slept through the visit. Anxiety from earlier made it’s way back in to your chest. The clock read 4am; had they even called the police. All of the childhood rumors you heard came flooding back and you exited the house as quietly as you could, not realizing your keys were no longer with you.

When you made it outside you noticed dried blood on the ground, trailing toward what you assumed was their barn or storage shed. You were entranced. Looking back to the house, no one was awake; there was no movement, no light, just quiet. You shouldn’t follow the bloody trail, you shouldn't go near the shed; but your body moved on it's own accord and before you realized it you were at the doors. You gave a tug, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open and inside you noticed the lock lay on the ground.

You should have turned around, got in your car, and drove away. Instead you stepped inside and found the bloody, broken body of the man who attacked you. There was a slight sway to the corpse that was hanging from a reinforced pillar. Nearly screaming your hand shot to cover your mouth.

You should've left.

You should've left.

You should've left.

Aizawa was watching you from the kitchen, cursing Hizashi for leaving the shed unlocked. His hand hovered over the secured cabinet drawer that stored a pistol. He wouldn't shoot you only scare you a bit. But you weren't running out in a panic. He didn't even hear you scream. Interesting. He went to join you, moving like any predator concealing it presence and leaving the gun safe untouched.

You should've left.

You should've left.

You finally came to your sense and whirled around only to run into your late night admirer. A terrified squeak escaped you as you jumped further into the confined space.

"Mr Aizawa! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

He didn't look angry, although you wished he did. It would be better than the unsettling smile on his face.

"That's alright, I was heading out here anyway," He closed the door behind him and flicked on a dim light that lit up the room with shadows. "Can't leave it hanging for too long."

Your throat tightened, he stood between you and the only exit. If he noticed your terror there was no indication that he cared. He turned his back to you momentarily, rummaging through the clutter on the workbench. Now was the best chance you may get and you made a dash for the door. It was a futile attempt and part of you knew it but your nerves were ablaze with adrenaline and you were running on instinct not reason. There was a foreign tightness around your throat that kept you fighting to inhale. Struggling to breathe you didn’t even register the sharp pinch of a needle piercing your deltoid.

Aizawa pressed his nose to your hair, "Behave. Even if you get out of here, your tire has a flat, pesky nails tend to find their way on to the roads out here. A real shame."

He dragged you over to a chair across from the lifeless body cuffing both your wrists to the armrests. Stupid, stupid, he was grabbing out cuffs and I ran straight into him, you scolded yourself. You went to open your mouth and beg to be let go, but you were silenced.

"Keep it down or I'll have to find a way to keep you quiet."

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. Once a friend said it was possible to die by fright, if that was true you wouldn't last much longer. Now that you were safely out of the way, Aizawa could make quick work dismembering the carcass. He donned his usual rubber apron and pulled back his hair. With his experience he could finish the job in less than two hours. Now was as good a time as ever for you to learn.

With a sigh he began his explanation and craft:

"Cannibalism has been around as long as we've existed: sacrificially, ceremonially, culturally, especially during times of plague, war, and famine. You can find documented accounts from pretty much every part of the world. And there's no one reason. Our family keeps it simple. We eat meat, animals are meat, and humans are animals. In times of famine and other hardships, this was a reliable food source. Of course now, there's not much of a risk for severe famine to effect people like us but it's tradition. This is how it's been for our family for years. And not just those of us around these parts but our relatives everywhere. It's important to keep old trades alive."

He paused, now splattered with blood, to take note of your dry heaving.

"Please," You gasped. "I just want to go -"

With narrowed eyes he continued:

"It's important for you to listen to our family history. Typically we don't reap a harvest until three weeks after the winter solstice and 3 weeks before the summer solstice. Twice a year is enough to get us by. Zashi and I are impressed that you managed to wrangle him in. Poetic in a way, don’t ’cha think? Consuming the flesh of someone who tried to overpower you. First reap of the harvest. Nice that it's a family affair."  

The room was spinning and you were fighting the sedative as hard as you could. There was no way any of this was real, maybe you were dreaming? Maybe you'd been knocked unconscious when that man rushed you. Or better yet, maybe you were asleep at home still. It was possible that this whole delivery fiasco was just a nightmare. Your stomach churned at the speech. There was sun peaking through the cracks in the wall by the time he finished separating the ... different sections. There was no more body, just pieces. You nodded off for a few minutes before being jolted awake by the door opening and letting in the bright morning light .

"Good morning, you two night owls," Hizashi beamed. Walking to his husband handing over a tall mug of coffee. He was completely unfazed by the scene he walked in on. In fact the only frown he made was when Aizawa said he put too much sweetener in the coffee.  "Anyways, grumpy pants, I called your sister. She's on her way to pick up Eri and Shinsou for a few days. To give us some time to focus on our little muse. Speaking of, I should go get her some water. Oh, plus we need to fix our door."

---

After you refused to drink anything they tried to give you they left you alone in the shed. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip through and in your struggle you managed to topple the chair over, hitting the floor with painful slap. It was hard to ignore the buzzing of the flies swarming the space where the body once hung. You closed your eyes, your mind wandering to your family and what they would think when they realized you were missing.

Outside you heard a car pull up and were tempted to scream for someone to help you. Maybe it was the police; maybe someone realized you didn't go home last night and found out where your last delivery was. Your captors came out to greet whoever it was and you were glad you didn't yell, they sounded friendly. They were coming toward the shed but you were too defeated to react.

"Sho," Hizashi gasped, "She fell."

The response was sharp and sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed." He yanked you up with ease and the world was no longer side ways but the jolt paired with the exhaustion and drugs left the world spinning.

The woman must've been the sister they mentioned earlier. She squealed with delight, "Oh isn't she the cutest, lemme get a good look."

She resembled neither of the men and gave off cool-soccer-mom vibes. With a gentle grip on your chin she bore into your eyes.

"Please,” You begged, “I just want go home."

The sister didn't waiver, "Don't worry sweet thing, these two are gonna take such good care of you. Just relax and let them help you."

Help? You don't need help from them. You needed to get out of this hell.

"Okay," She bounced toward the exit, "Bring out my niece and nephew, we're gonna have a fun weekend. And take care of your girl, she looks like a keeper."

Finally you screamed in frustration. Brief, loud, and full of anger but it deflated just as quickly when the two men shot you a menacing look. How could all three of them show no display of empathy? You were again convinced this was an alternate reality when both children peaked their heads in to wave goodbye before they peeled away from the home, leaving you alone with Hizashi and Aizawa.

---

There was a hatch toward the back of the room where the two disappeared until they came back with a third body. They were dragging a woman up like a ragdoll and acidic bile burned your throat. If you had to guess you would say she was late middle age. It felt like they were setting a stage, Hizashi pulled you closer to where they stood while Aizawa managed to tie the woman down to the stained table.

"Why are you doing this," you cried. But they ignored you.

"Did you know there are people who pay for certain oddities and they’re willing to spend big bucks to get what they want? We keep whatever makes sense to eat and sell the rest. Ideally nothing goes to waste.”

The next hour and forty-seven minutes were excruciating. There were several “items” – as they referred to her body parts – that they removed while she was still alive; but finally Aizawa made the perfect incision along her thigh and a pomegranate wave gushed out. There was no way she would suffer much longer with this amount of blood loss.

"Please just let her die," You begged the universe. "Please let it end."

For the first time since starting they stepped back from the body, leaving it on the table to come over to you. Aizawa knelt before you and his bloody hand brushed hair from your face; his thumb rested on your lip and you couldn't even physically respond. Hizashi was behind him, rubbing his partner's shoulders.

"You're going to kill me?”  

Both men finally softened, coming down their endorphin high. There was something so satisfying about your question. Arousing, even. They made it clear that your life was up to them, which meant they had you where they needed you.

"Am I having a blonde moment? I don't recall saying we'd kill her."

Aizawa threw an incredulous look his way before addressing you, "We aren't going to kill you. We wouldn't've saved you from that terrible animal if that were the plan. We don't kill just anyone. We wanted to introduce you to our lifestyle and now’s the best chance. Eri’s wanted to keep you since day one, but if you can't behave that'll be an issue. Can you prove to us that you’re going to behave or do we have to get you down into the cellar?”

There was no other choice than to nod. Picking up a piece of the dissected woman Hizashi muttered something about starting dinner before telling his husband that you really need to get more rest. Aizawa agreed, and since it seemed like you were having trouble getting rest he decided to give you another little dose of medicine.

#slasher au #mha x reader #bnha yandere #mha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere x reader

[brywrites]

Gifted

Spencer Reid x Reader. Summary: All his life Spencer Reid has been told he’s gifted. And all his life he’s wondered what the point was of those gifts that felt like curses. Until her.

--------

Though he holds so many memories in his mind, Spencer Reid isn’t quite sure who the first person to call him “gifted” was. It was probably his mother, he thinks. Certainly not his father, who thought he was strange. Perhaps a teacher, or maybe even his Aunt Ethel. All he’s certain of is that he’s lost track of the number of times people have praised the so-called gifts he possesses. His eidetic memory, his autodidactism, his absurdly high IQ. His mind, they say, is a gift. But it’s felt more like a curse for most of his life.

Those same things that helped him skip grades and earn the praise of adults brought him years of bullying taunts and miserable adolescent trauma. They isolated him from his peers. His companions were library books and stories and mathematic proofs – nothing with a beating heart. They plagued his nightmares, for his mother had been brilliant too and what had that done for her? And those gifts came with a tremendous burden of pressure, they demanded use in a powerful way. Reid was always terrified he’d fail to live up to that impossible potential, proving himself unworthy of such great and terrible gifts.

By the time he’s thirty-six, he wonders why he was ever given such gifts in the first place. Clearly he’s squandered them, spent them on chasing monsters he thought might be human. They turned out to be hydras – for each one they catch, two more take its place. He’s let his mind waste away on drugs, on grief. In shacks and in prison and in grudges he just can’t let go of. He’s saved lives, he knows, but his team do that same thing without the gifts he’s been cursed with. What’s the point of him? Of any of the talents or tricks he possesses?

And it’s that question on his mind as he walks into a Virginia library to interview a witness to the latest in a string of serial arsons. Her name tag says Y/N. She’s clearly nervous, a little shaken, but she manages a smile when a child runs up to interrupt and ask her how to find The Magic Tree House books. And when she turns back to look at Reid, that smile still lingers – her eyes so bright it catches him off guard. She takes him back to the area of the library that was burned to talk about the crime scene, and she off-handedly asks if he has a favorite.

And when he says, “Oh I could never choose just one favorite. I love books too much for that,” that smile returns, unexpectedly bright.

“A man after my own heart,” she says. “Tell me a few then.” 

So he rattles off a handful, hoping at least one of them will keep that light in her eyes. They do. “Bradbury is one of my favorites, too. I just love Dandelion Wine. Sorry, I probably should focus on the fire. I try to distract myself when I feel stressed, and well, remembering what happened that night doesn’t exactly help with my anxiety.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or excited. Really, I think I just talk a lot.” Another smile, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Over the course of the investigation, the BAU has to ask her to come to the station twice. By chance, Reid finds himself interviewing her both times, and both times he finds himself rambling a little more than he means to – because he finds himself inexplicably a little nervous and a little excited in her presence. It’s that smile, the one that lingers long in his mind after she leaves each time.

There’s something about her, about the light she seems to carry, that draws him in. That compels him to say yes when he shows up at the library to inform her they’ve caught the unsub and she asks, “Could I buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation? If that’s not too much, of course.”

“I think that would be perfect,” he says. And as they sit at the café across the street with lattes in oversized mugs, he’s never been so grateful for his vast knowledge of literature. Each title is a start into a new conversation with her, and they swap stories about stories – the ones they have lived and the ones they have loved. When she disappointedly announces her break is over, she adds, “But maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“How should I get in touch with you if you’re not showing up at the library to interrogate me, Dr. Reid?” she teases.

He hastily withdraws his cell phone from his pocket and offers it to her. She begins to type in her number. “You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he tells her.

She grins at him and something in his chest shifts at the sight. “I’ll definitely call you soon, Spencer.” He’s never liked the sound of his own name more. And he thanks that eidetic memory of his for allowing him to replay it again and again in his mind until he can see her next.

.

They get coffee again the first chance he gets. And then again. When she asks how he has time to read so much and he tells her about how his mind works – about his memory and speed-reading and quantified intelligence, all the things that have been called gifts – she thinks for a moment before saying, “That must be lonely.”

The relief he feels at her understanding is immense. “It is sometimes,” he admits. “But it’s felt less so lately.” They go to a park together. Then out to dinner. By the time he realizes he’s falling, he’s forgotten what it feels like to be on solid ground. Fortunately, he isn’t the only one at the mercy of gravity. She feels it too. And when she laughs at his joke as he walks her home from dinner, he just can’t help himself. He leans in and cups her cheek to pull her to him, pressing his lips to her still-smiling lips. The taste of wine still on her tongue. And though he doesn’t drink anymore, the sensation of her is enough to make him feel utterly intoxicated.

Slowly, his life fills up with her. His sabbatical arrives with the perfect timing to allow him evenings and weekends with her. He picks her up after work. She meets him for breakfast. He takes her to the planetarium. She falls asleep on his couch. He tells her it won’t always be this way and she assures him that’s okay. But it gives him the chance to build the foundation their relationship needs. It’s in that time that he begins to catalogue her smiles in his memory. The dazzling ones she sends his way when she spots him at a coffee shop. The soft, shaky ones she wears after a long kiss. The coy ones that twist the corner of her mouth when she’s teasing him. The nervous one that slowly grows when she meets his team for the first time – not as a witness, but as his girlfriend. A title she declares like a badge of honor. He holds each smile in his mind, picture perfect thanks to that eidetic memory. When a case has been particularly tough or he’s away for longer than he’d like, he flips through them in his mind, trying to remember the cause of each one, trying to hold on to that light until he can hold her in his arms again.

.

He surprises her with flowers on her birthday. “You remembered?” she gasps, her eyes wide. “And these – these are my favorite. How did you know?”

“I could never forget,” he laughs, but she stares down at the bouquet and clutches them to her chest.

“I don’t make a big deal about my birthday, so people don’t usually remember,” she says quietly. “And nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before. Thank you, Spencer.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

He grins from ear to ear. Forget the sound of his name, those three words are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you, too.” It’s a first for both of them. And one week later comes another first – witnessing her panic attacks for the first time. She’s shaking too hard to tell him what she needs, so he tries to do what would help him. He sits down next to her on his living room rug and wraps her in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and murmurs the words to her favorite poem. She seems to breathe a little easier and so he recites another one she loves, and another until her breathing finally steadies and she unclenches her fists to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweater.

Suddenly it doesn’t feel like such a curse to remember everything he reads when it means he can give her the words she loves when she needs them most.

The first time they sleep together is only the second time he’s been intimate with someone and he feels more awkward than he wishes he was. But he commits himself to studying, to remembering what she likes and what she doesn’t, and the next time he proves to be the quickest of learners when he succeeds at making her come within a matter of minutes. He discovers a new smile of hers, one of dreamy bliss and kiss-swollen lips. He loves it. He loves her, adores every single part of her she’s shared with him and every piece yet to be found. And to his continued surprise and delight, she loves him just as much.

He tries every day to be worthy of that love. He makes time for her. He goes to meet her friends and he shakes their hands even though he hates touching people, even though she insists, “You don’t have to. They won’t mind.” He does it because she’s the only person in the world whose touch he actually craves.

When she swoons over a dress Penelope has shown her on Instagram, he makes a note of it. She’s utterly enamored by it by her smile falls upon checking the price tag. It’s far out of her budget. So the next week when he’s out on a case in Atlantic City, he swings by one of the few casinos that doesn’t have his picture framed on the wall of their security office. He wins more than the cost of the dress in an hour and leaves before anyone can get suspicious. The dress arrives at his apartment the same day he gets home, and he invites her over to surprise her with it. When she opens the box, her eyes go wide.

“Spencer, this is… this can’t be. It’s… do you know how expensive this is?” Y/N asks.

Bashfully, he replies, “Now might be a good time to mention I’m banned from casinos in almost every state for my card counting abilities.” It’s well worth the little effort he expended to see the way her face lights up at the sight of it. And though he’s never been a gambling man, when he sees her wearing it for the first time he considers trying his luck a little more often.

At times he worries he’s doing too much, but how could it ever be when the way she loves him has been so much more than enough? For the first time in his life, he feels like maybe he’s enough. When she says, “I love you,” he believes it. When she says, “I’ll be back,” he trusts her. He’s given another person more of his heart than he ever has before, and for once he’s not afraid of it breaking. She doesn’t mind the strange hours he works or heaviness he sometimes carries with him. When he wakes up from a nightmare, she holds him close and keeps him grounded. He sends postcards from each city he visits and she makes his favorite food when he comes home and home is suddenly a place they share. She moves into his apartment and it feels like it was never complete without her there.

.

Not long after, there is a case in Boston. Their terrifyingly intelligent unsub taunts Reid as he leaves the interrogation room. “Judge me all you want, Dr. Reid. But I’ve used my mind to change the world. You’ve done nothing with yours.” The words haunt him on the flight home. He sits on the back of the plane lost in thought. What has he done? Sure he’s saved lives, but could he have done more? Could someone else have used those gifts he’s been burdened with in a way that was better? Why does he have any of these talents? Why has he acquired any of these skills?

His phone chimes. A text from her. Brought home a new book from the library I think you’ll love! Can’t wait to see you, dearest. And it hits him.

It’s her. All along it’s been her.

The answer echoes in his head as he races home to her. Everything in his life has led him to her, has let him be the person she needs. He can memorize all her favorite songs and poems to recite for her when her anxiety gets the best of her. He can remember every date that matters to her and everything she adores. He can read her favorite books overnight to talk about them with her in the morning. He can profile from her body language and her microexpressions when she’s having a bad day and needs him to be there for her, even when she’s too afraid to ask for what she needs. When she asks absurd questions out of the blue, he can give her actual answers with the useless encyclopedia of knowledge he’s obtained over the years. When she needs a distraction his rambling finally proves useful. It’s all for her.

She’s the reason his mind doesn’t feel like a curse anymore. How could he ever think of it with disdain when it’s the reason he can picture every smile she’s ever let him see? When he can catalogue every wonderful word from her lips, every inch of her skin, every action that drives her wild.

Reid can’t seem to open the door to their apartment fast enough. When he finally steps inside, she’s sitting on the couch. She turns away from the book in her lap to smile at him. “Welcome back,” she says. Then, tilting her head, “Is everything okay?”

An unshakeable grin spreads across his face and he knows he must look like a madman right now as he crosses the living to sit beside her. “Everything’s perfect. I just… I had this epiphany. All the things I hate about myself, you love. And all the things I can do let me love you better. It just feels like everything – everything has led me to you. Even the bad things, I mean, being in prison forced me to take sabbaticals and if I hadn’t we wouldn’t have had that time together early on and maybe we wouldn’t have worked and I don’t believe in fate,” he says, taking a breath. “But I can’t help but feel like for the first time, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With you. Like that’s where I was meant to be all along. And I… I just thought you should know.”

His long-winded rambling is rewarded with one of his favorite smiles from her – one that makes her eyes soft and puts sunsets to shame. The kind she wears when she is incandescently happy. Her fingers lace through his and they are a perfect fit in his big hands. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, leaning in to kiss him.

All his life, Spencer Reid has been told he is gifted. But this time, he thinks it might actually be true. He holds the greatest gift the universe has ever granted him in his arms and knows that no part of him is a curse if he is loved by her.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #fanfiction #gifted #brywrites #spencer reid fanfiction #reid x reader

[inamemyselficarus]

Elias Bouchard x Reader, A Job Interview

The damp London air pressed down on you, almost feeling weighted by some sense of impending gravitas, as if the course of your entire life was about to change. That, of course, was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help but fidget with the leather strap of your messenger bag as you looked  up at the imposing stone edifice of the building in front of you. The Magnus Institute. Arguably London’s most dubious academic institute, it had been the butt of many jokes among your colleagues at UCL, where you had just completed your DPhil in Neuroscience, adding a hard-won “Dr.” to the front of your name. And yet, you were here to apply for a job. The strangest thing was you weren’t quite sure exactly why.

You had always been fascinated by the brain. Growing up a quiet, bookish child in a small but tight-knit farming town in the US, you’d naturally gravitated to the fringes of any social interactions among your peers. You preferred watching, listening, and learning from the interactions of others than participating in these yourself. When the time came to go to college, you’d gotten a scholarship to a small liberal arts school with a good research program, effortlessly transitioning from watching the decisions your peers made to studying the molecular pathways involved in such decision making. Your undergraduate dissertation had won you a spot as a PhD candidate at University College London, where you had spent the past three years.

As soon as you had reached the UK, something had felt different. It wasn’t something that you could explain or even understand, like something in your bones had shifted. It felt… good though, so you hadn’t worried, hadn’t pressed. You were just grateful that moving halfway around the world hadn’t been as difficult as you’d thought. It was about halfway through your first semester when you’d noticed the pull you’d felt. You had taken to enjoying long walks around the city when you weren’t in class or in the lab. You’d found yourself looking up at the gothic facade of the building you now knew to be the Magnus Institute for the third time before you realized what was happening. No matter what your plan was when you set out, you always seemed to end up at this same building when you weren’t headed anywhere specifically. It was like you were a compass needle being slowly and inexorably pulled toward a lodestone.

You’d asked the other members of your lab what the Magnus Institute was the following day and were somewhat startled by their immediate, scoffing laughter. Besides apparently being the laughingstock London’s academic institutions, they were apparently absurdly picky about who could gain access to their library. You’d tried to put it out of your mind, but found that your feet still thoughtlessly carried you there whenever you tried to explore the city. As you approached your thesis defense and began to think of what you wanted to do next, you didn’t expect the sharp jab of panic that lanced through you at the thought of leaving London. It was a ridiculous thought. You’d come here because the program was excellent and you’d gotten the chance to work underneath some of the brightest minds in your field during your degree, but you’d never intended to stay. Still, before you knew it, you had found yourself looking for possible postdoctoral fellowships in the city. Without quite knowing why, you had also pulled up the website of The Magnus Institute and saw a notice that they were seeking to hire a new head archivist for their collection. Despite the job being far out of your field and feeling somewhat insane for doing so, you brushed a cobweb away from your computer screen and sent your resume. You had never expected to be called for an interview.

Now, your hand hovered hesitantly over the Institute’s ornate doorknob, the gold of the metal contrasting sharply with the deep forest green of the door itself. Why had you come here? You weren’t even remotely qualified for this position. As soon as you’d received the interview invitation you should have called and told them that there had been some mistake. But you hadn’t. And you couldn’t stop yourself from slowly turning the doorknob and entering the elegant foyer of The Magnus Institute. The second you crossed the threshold, you stumbled, suddenly feeling the gaze of a thousand invisible eyes probing every facet of your mind and your soul. Perhaps it should have been disconcerting, but you felt seen and known, and, most damnably, understood. The instinctual, bone-deep reaction raced through every cell in your body. You belonged here.

“Miss L/N?” the voice pulled you out of whatever strange thoughts had so suddenly grabbed you, and you turned to see a plain looking woman in a grey cardigan standing in front of what looked to be a reception desk.

“Yes? I mean, yes, I am Dr. L/N. I’m here for my interview?” You stumbled over the words, still feeling somewhat off balance.

The woman smiled and motioned for you to follow her. “Mr. Bouchard is expecting you, please come this way.” She led you through a maze of corridors, not speaking beyond that first sentence. Finally you came to a stop in front of a dark, cherrywood door with a gold nameplate that read ‘Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute.’

As you approached, a deep baritone voice called out from inside the room “Come in.”

The woman gestured you forwards and you tentatively placed a hand on the ornate doorknob, twisting and pushing the door open. You stepped into an office filled with shades of a dark, elegant green and polished wood accents, but your attention was immediately drawn to and captured by the man sitting behind the imposing desk in front of a large bay window. His suit was a sharp grey, just a few shades darker than his piercing pale eyes. His eyes. It was like he was looking into you, through you, almost. Like those eyes could see everything you had ever been. You hadn’t noticed that you’d frozen until he beckoned you forwards with a smirk, gesturing to a chair placed in front of his desk. You moved to sit, setting down your messenger bag and subconsciously straightening your blazer.

“Dr. L/N,” he purred. “How delightful to finally meet you.”

When had your mouth become so dry?

“I-- It’s wonderful to meet you as well, Mr. Bouchard.”

He made a dismissive wave with one well-manicured hand. “Please, call me Elias.”

You paused, brain blinking for a second. “Um, okay, If you call me F/N… Elias.” Your mouth twitched up into an awkward smile as you fidgeted with the cuff of your blazer.

“Y/N.” He leaned forward, lips turning up into a leonine grin. “What brings you to my Institute?”

“I don’t know.” The words were out before you could even think, almost as if they’d been pulled directly from your throat. You flushed. “I mean, I shouldn’t even be here.” You couldn’t stop yourself. Your cheeks burned darker in embarrassment as the words just kept pouring out. It was like everything in you ached to be known by the man sitting in front of you and your head was spinning. “I’m certainly not qualified for this job -- I’ve only ever worked as a waitress or in a lab. It’s way out of my field, and everything I’ve ever been led to know tells me that I shouldn’t take this place seriously. But… it feels like it’s calling me, somehow. Like I belong here, like... I’m a part of this place, and even if I tried to leave I couldn’t. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I just want to know what’s happening to me.” Your voice cracked with emotion on the last words.

Elias’ grin only widened, flint-grey eyes sparking as if to light a fire that would burn down the world as you knew it. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers, and a mental image of a cat caging a small bird between its paws pushed its way to the forefront of your mind.

“What are you afraid of?”

You didn’t want to answer this question. Didn’t want this mysterious stranger to see how weak you were, but the words rose up out of you regardless. “I’m afraid of not knowing the things I need to know. Of failing. Of not being enough.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“And what do you desire more than anything?” His voice was deeper now, wrapping around each vowel and consonant like liquid darkness. Your eyes slid shut.

“To be known. I want someone to see me, every thought I’ve ever had, every facet of who I am. I want to be completely understood and still, somehow, wanted.” You’d never voiced these thoughts even to yourself, trying to convince yourself that all you wanted was to be successful as a scientist, to use your knowledge to advance humanity’s understanding. You’d always had trouble getting close to people and didn’t want to confront the slowly growing suspicion that no one would ever truly know you enough to truly love you. That, even if you eventually did find someone who wanted to be close to you, it wouldn’t be real, because they couldn’t really see you.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flying open at the sensation of a hand on your cheek, brushing away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. Elias loomed over you, pale eyes glinting with something that looked almost like triumph as he gently cradled your face in his palm.

“I think you and I are going to get on splendidly.” 

#I'm going to hell yall #why do i have such a problem with villains #why does Ben Meredith's voice make brain go brr #elias bouchard #eliasfucker #jonah magnus #tma #the magnus archives #i hope to god jonny sims never sees this #the magnus institute #elias bouchard x reader #jonah magnus x reader #this is the first x reader fic I've ever written in my life #and I can't believe its for my slutty evil eye man #why do i love him so much #gn!reader #science!reader #x reader #tma x reader

[reidecorating]

L'amore Vero È Così (True Love is Like This)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader  

A/N: Woke up with a killer headache after celebrating the end of 2020 and thought writing something loosely based off events that took place on NYE would be a good cure. Hope this year’s been treating you all well!

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Summer nights and Spencer Reid make it hard for anyone to keep their hands to themselves. Add David Rossi’s holiday mansion and wine to the mix, and watch a dangerously hot fuse ignite

Warnings: Language (as in cursing AND me just completely butchering Italian), unprotected sex, penetrative sex

Masterlist

Maybe it was the Sauternes. Like a spark igniting along the fuse of dynamite, the sweet sting of white grape travelled down her throat, every sip exploding in kaleidoscopic vision and unfiltered words. Even so, it wasn’t the alcohol she was drunk on. No, not drunk - she wasn’t drunk - she was absolutely intoxicated. Not by anything of substance, but by an overwhelming desire for the man she had arrived with. 

Spencer Reid often felt out of place standing in any absurdly large entranceway, belonging to the old Italian with new money, recurrently settling for shifting from shoe to shoe, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell with the hand unoccupied by a bottle he wouldn’t be drinking from. However, his sobriety was far from the cause of his imposter syndrome. Rather, it was the way he always arrived alone, while, what felt like, the rest of the team trickled in with their spouses or significant others. Whilst pairs would dance to vinyl sounds of Bowie, leaving little room for him and the odd number his presence formed in the abacus of the group, he would loiter in a corner, or, on occasion, entertain his godson with a pack of cards. More frequently, he would rattle off excuses about needing the restroom, only to spend his time exploring the corridors of a rather impressive house. A get together at David Rossi’s holiday home was uncommon, and the last time Spencer had wound up here, he found himself inspecting the tiny forgotten library the man housed, attempting to decipher the various foreign books residing on its mahogany shelves as he heard his friends stumbling their way through the Salsa downstairs. L'isola di Arturo, with sterling lettering on its ageing spine showing a familiar pen name, had quickly become his favourite. When he’d first translated the pages, he had chuckled at the parallels between himself and its disconsolate protagonist. However, after years of his ongoing solitude, and lonely arrivals to a castle full of people, he finally had someone on his arm. 

“Wait, what does this mean? I can make out the ‘amore’ but not much else,” That someone now squinted at the words his index finger underlined as he read her the words of that very book, aloud. “Hm?” He was visibly distracted by the Patchouli blend of orange and jasmine emanating from her skin as she leaned against his shoulder to read the page herself. “L'amore vero è così,” she whispered, unsure of the correct pronunciation but attempting it anyway. “Non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana,” she finished in a whisper, affecting Spencer in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Through fluttering eyelashes, she looked up at him, awaiting his rendition, and suddenly the temperature felt as if it had risen. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here almost as many times as him; she knew her way around Rossi’s holiday home, but Spencer had insisted on showing her his favourite room, claiming she hadn’t seen it yet. Diverting her attention from Emily’s anecdotes, “I kind of want you all to myself for a little bit,” he whispered in a kiss on her shoulder, proceeding to take her hand and pull her away from chatter over a jug of Cuban rum and homemade pizza - making sure to dissect, in explanation, nearly every painting adorning the maze of hallways on their short trek. He cleared his throat, prying his gaze away from the skin her little black dress revealed, unabashedly scanning her lips before using his own to form words. “True love is like this,” he subtly eyed her reaction to his words as he tried hard to not transliterate the European language. “It has no purpose and no reason, and it does not submit to any power except human grace.” Spencer’s voice was a newly inked quill, ebbing and flowing through the hot air of the dimly lit room. The dark winged butterflies that had been floating around her stomach all evening fluttered in a frenzy at his words, and the way the chartreuse of his eyes had been absorbed by black as they laid on her. “For such a dark story, it’s so beautiful,” she exhaled in a hushed tone, stare not leaving his as he slowly slid the book into the hollow slot where it had previously inhabited, too occupied by reading her demeanour to pay the book any more attention. “You think so? The author, Morante, Elsa Morante, was actually considered the greatest writer of Italy’s postwar generation, at one point.” Spencer began to rest his weight against the wall as they conversed. “I feel as if we always hear about Bassani or Parise, and all the unorthodox things Landolfi wrote in the fifties. It’s very refreshing to hear of a woman getting some well deserved recognition in such a male dominated niche,” she remarked. A dimple appeared on Spencer’s cheek as he grinned at the way she sounded a lot like him. “Agreed. In fact, Morante actually claimed she wished she’d been born a boy, so that she could have all of these heroic adventures. Once, when she was asked about the hero of that book,” he pointed towards the worn copy of L'isola di Arturo, “she commented: ‘Arturo, c’est moi!’,” 

“Living vicariously through him? Interesting,” she tilted her head slightly, “I also think its remarkable how beauty can emerge from so much pain,” she mulled aloud. His eyebrows raised at her words and the flux in her tone of voice. Slowly, she stepped towards him, forearms resting on his shoulders, entangling behind him. 

Earlier, she’d had the privilege of styling him as he stood in front of their shared mirror, muttering complaints of how he had 'nothing to wear’. Now, she repeated maledictions to herself regarding the clothing she had chosen, in her head, as she admired the way his black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves - displaying intricate nerves shadowing his fingers and arms - and simultaneously unbuttoned temptingly low on his chest, exposing the silver chain presenting a small initial, hers. The summer night had made sure a thin veil of sweat coated his collarbones, glistening with his movements under the lamp light. “It’s not a surprising process though - I mean, after the year you’ve had, just look at how pretty you are,”

“Did you just-” he gulped, chuckling, “use the copious amounts of semi-resolved trauma I harbour to romance me?”

“I may have,” she whispered into the skin below his ear, both hands now tangled in his hair as he remained pressed up against the wall, grateful that every wound, fight and flaw had led them here. And she never ceased to make her gratitude known. Tonight, though, ever since she’d caught sight of his hand gripping a cold glass, the strong concoction presumably belonging to Luke, she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning his body on top of hers. Unbeknownst to her, his thoughts had been very similar from the second she’d chosen to wear the satin fabric, claiming it matched his shirt, while leaving very little to the imagination. “Y/N,” he spoke, his body involuntarily leaning into hers. “We can’t- Not now.” His body language betrayed his words. “I don’t study behaviour for a living, unlike everyone else here, but Spencer, right now, yours tells me we can,” she brought down a hand to squeeze his wrist, which was resting against her lower back. He couldn’t breathe. Tongue in cheek, he shook his head at her, a smirk breaking way. “You, my pretty lady, are something else,” he caved, switching their position in a more urgent manoeuvre than either of them anticipated. Spencer’s hands grasped her jaw, his breath fanning over her before his lips collided with hers, messily. A hand cradled the back of her head, heeding any impact with the wooden blockade behind her, fingers and hair tangling together. Her hands travelled along his body, pinky tugging on his necklace in pursuit of closeness, while her lips roamed around his bobbing Adam’s apple, eliciting an exquisite string of moans. Spencer’s leg wedged itself between hers, slowly grazing his thigh against her, using a firm grip to guide her hips downwards, her soft sighs and tugs at his roots only encouraging him. 

The euphoria was short lived. A rapping on the library door tore them apart, its hinges creaking and giving way to an astounded looking Penelope Garcia. “Naughty!” she factitiously gasped. “I didn’t think the good doctor and his fine missus had it in them, but I was very, very wrong,”

“We were just-“ Y/N began, only to be cut off by the tipsy agent. “Save the excuses, beautiful lady. I was simply quested to find you two, and let you know that the rest of us are off to take a dip in the spa. Bring your boy toy, and scrumptious self, and join us ASAP - oh! And no funny business! There are children here,” Penelope gestured her two fingers away from her spectacles and towards each of them as a silent threat of ‘I’m watching you’. Y/N and Spencer exchanged a look, both flushed in different shades of red, on their way to creating a colour wheel. As Penelope spun on her heels and rushed to shut the door behind her, “Thank you, Penelope!” Y/N squeaked, Spencer exclaiming a timid “And sorry!” The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter, still frazzled. “I think I’m getting a little too comfortable with your team,” she grimaced, earning a laugh from the doctor. Later, as Spencer led her towards a bathroom, her arms occupied by a stack of towels, his hand on the small of her back, he dreaded the amount of self control he would need to invoke when the two of them would undress to change. 

What she had said wasn’t entirely untrue. She was indeed very comfortable with his team. If Spencer could have met himself, a year ago, anxious to introduce who he was sure was the love of his life to his dearest friends, he would flick himself in the head. She, not alarmingly, managed to get along with everyone, almost better than he did. Somehow managing to find common ground, even with Aaron Hotchner. He recalls, one night, months ago, listening to her and the usually stoic man debate about which broadway production was better: The Producers or The Phantom of the Opera. Spencer also recalls exactly how riled up he became as he watched her put the ex-theatric-gone-lawyer in his place after calling upon Spencer for some Tony Award statistics. Admittedly, he actively needed to combat the green eyed monster on his back whenever she would go jogging with Luke - but the way she kissed him before leaving, on her tiptoes in her running shoes, whispering ‘I love you’, and ‘I’m really only going for Roxy’, helped. She had become family, the invisible stamp of approval having been silently awarded when they all saw the looks the two of them shared, the three subtle squeezes in their woven hands, and the way Spencer now smiled with his teeth - the way they way they would move the moon and the earth for one another. 

Packed into the watery sauna, words exchanged between the group travelled into the atmosphere, a waxing gibbous eavesdropping overhead. She watched as Spencer squirmed across from her at the nearness to so many sweaty bodies, shoulders, elbows, knees and toes, belonging to anybody and everybody, poking him. Her eyes trailed along the dips and swells at the base of his neck, decorated in its usual, dainty, shimmering pendant, the bones there protruding as he slouched forward. Spencer’s hair was matted, condensation ironing chestnut ringlets to his forehead, complimenting his heated crimson cheeks. The butterflies returned, her stomach flipping as he ran his hand through the mop of curls to ease his discomfort. More of him - that was what she wanted. She hadn’t noticed, but she had been biting her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Pulling her back from her thoughts, a heavy exhale travelled past her left ear, changing the course of the steam emerging from the water - a stream of air enough to deflate a person, she noticed. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” The blonde rested her head against the barrier of the tub, seeing bright patterns on her eyelids as they shut over her eyes momentarily. Y/N reached over and grasped one of her shoulders in a clinical manner. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jennifer and the gruelling tension in her neck and jaw?” She interrogated, lightheartedly. “What can I say? Stress is my middle name,” she chuckled. “While we’re on the topic, though... Maybe you could give me one of those trigger-point massages,” she opened one eye, an iris burning sapphire, the blue only rival to that of the one from The Tell Tale Heart, finding Y/N’s face. Retreating her hand, having made her point, she let out a laugh at JJ’s words, “I’m afraid that’ll cost y-” Y/N’s eyes widened at the familiar dialect of the words, a charlatan on JJ’s tongue. “Wait a minute, can you repeat what you just said, but slowly?” 

“Oh, I know you heard me perfectly clear,” JJ smirked at her, eyebrows raising as her eyes shifted between the flustered woman and Spencer. 

They had a friendship of unfamiliar closeness, which JJ cherished. After nights of babysitting turning into wining with Merlot and dining on flaming dreaded cheese puffs, stashed away in an airtight container, upon JJ’s arrival home, the two had grown close. The agent was grateful for conversation veering away from work, and for someone seeing her from a different lens; one through which she wasn’t fizzled down to a petrie dish of a mother through a workaholic microscope. Y/N was curious to know how her famous mandatory-Spencer-de-stressing-trigger-point massages had come up in conversation between JJ and her, now guilty looking, boyfriend. She crossed her fingers in hopes that he’d spared the details of the events that usually took place following the neck rubs - another kind of de-stressing altogether. “Do you guys hear that? I think Will’s calling me- and I should go put Henry to bed… It’s quite late…” she exaggerated, wearing a redolent expression as she slunk away with a towel around her cold frame. “We’ll talk later, Jareau,” she looked up at JJ, after the shivering woman squeezed her shoulders in a bid goodnight, waving to the small crowd. Swiftly, Y/N’s gaze met Spencer’s, her figure not having left his vision once. 

The yard and small pool was clearing out, save for Luke and Tara bickering in the corner, so, through the bubbling water, she waded in Spencer’s direction, noticing the way he was evidently mentally undressing her. As if by his telepathy, a thin strap of her bathing suit slipped from its place, causing the gears in Spencer’s head to stop turning as he swallowed thickly. “Hey handsome, long time no speak.” A soft smile graced his lips, adoration for her evident, in place of his muted response. Wordlessly, he slipped a finger beneath the strap, tentatively putting it back in place, refusing to break eye contact in some unspoken play for power. “What’re you up to?” She squinted, wondering exactly what his motives were. “Nothing much,” he pulled her closer by the waist, whispering in a gravelly voice only she could hear, “I’m just thinking about how you didn’t get the chance to finish what you started, earlier,”

“Are you implying that you want me to…” she floated onto his lap, hands draping around his neck to steady herself, “pick up where we left off?” The question left her mouth in a breathy whisper, straight into his ear. He turned to look at her, unblinking. “I’m implying, that I’ve had those pretty noises you make replaying in my head all night, and that I’d like to hear them again,”

“Remind me, doctor, which one of us said ‘we can’t’?,” she mocked his whine, rolling her eyes back. “I have a better suggestion, how about you remind me which one of us struggled to stand the last time we played this game?” The calmness of his voice was the antithesis of the fire she was feeling inside her. Satisfied with her speechlessness, his eyes drifted down her body as she pried herself off him, settling in the plastic indent of a hot tub seat to his side. The attention of the pair of lovers were drawn to Tara’s laughter as she stepped into a robe, calling it a night. “What’d we miss?” Spencer’s clueless innocence returned, as if the words he’d spoken before were now out of mind. Devilishly, Tara responded, “Oh, you know, just me completely destroying this man’s ego,”

“Doesn’t take much does it?” Y/N offered Tara her fist in solidarity. “No it does not,” Tara chuckled, bumping it with her own. “You guys do realise that I’m right here?” Luke scoffed, also drying himself off. “I think that adds to their point?” Spencer offered, pursing his lips, amused. “Well, I’m going to go and catch some sleep, and maybe even shed a few tears over what’s been said about me,” he playfully scowled at Tara walking away, throwing a middle finger at him through the air without looking back. “Trust me, they are very professional,” Spencer promised, turning towards his only remaining company in laughter. “I’m sure they are,” she joked returning a smile. 

The two of them talked beneath an ink sky, stars like pinpricks in a blanket twinkling through their conversation, until she found herself on Spencer’s lap, once again, the ambience shifting to something far more carnal. Throughout the night, like a band of elastic stretching between two fingers, the tension between them had heightened. Now, they both tested the limits, anticipating its snap. His chlorine skin tasted electric on her tongue as she painted his neck and chest with a lilac rendition of the silver initial dangling there, letting his sighs catch in the shells of her ears. Allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, his hands tightened around her waist. “Mhm, no, Y/N,” he spoke, regaining his fleeting conscience. “This,” — kiss — “is a bad,” — kiss — “idea,”

“Spencer, look,” she glanced over at the house, and his eyes followed suite, craning his neck slightly. “What do you see?” She asked. “Aside from a house bigger than my entire apartment complex?” Her face was a deadpan. “All the lights are out, Spencer,” she gave him a look that said, come on, profiler, figure it out. Not a single connection formed in his head as he stared at the way the luminous blue of the night time water cast ripples on her skin - skin which was all over his. “All the lights are out… It’s late… and everyone’s asleep,” he reasoned, more to himself than in response to her insinuation. “We have no real chance of getting caught, plus…” her dark eyes were obscured by the eyelashes sheltering them as she tilted her head. “Would it be so bad if we did?” Two of her fingers danced along his chest, walking towards the damp hair at the nape of his neck, using the strands to pull him closer. “Everyone knowing exactly how good you make me feel?” She purred the last part in his ear, tugging at the cartilage with her teeth. Spencer partially whimpered. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous boy. You sound as good as you taste.” His eyes shut as his head hit the rim of the spa - only briefly losing himself once her mouth was on him again. “Someone’s talking like they’re in charge,” he tilted her chin up towards him, forcing her eyes onto his own. “I seem to be the one doing all the work here,” she teased. He kissed each of her collarbones, eyes still trained on hers. “You shouldn’t speak so soon.” With that, he undid the top of her swim suit, exposing her chest to the frigid night air, compelling a gasp. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about doing this a majority of the night.” The bass in his voice reached her core. “For someone who is so fastidious about cleanliness, you sure have a dirty, dirty mind, doct-” She never had the chance to finish the honorific, his lips moulding around a hardening nipple, allowing his fingers to toy with the other. Rolling his tongue around the bud, he smiled to himself as he heard her call out his name, over and over, as if her voice was coming through a scratched vinyl. “Where’s all the talk from before?”

“You’re evil,” she groaned, her hips bucking against his board short clad body. 

Spencers lips travelled along the valley of her breasts, only to hike back up them at a tantalising pace, prehensile fingers covering the ground his mouth couldn’t. Her hands grasped so tight in his hair, he was sure the strands would fall out. A groan of his own left vibrations reverberating through her body, causing her heart to jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he gnarred, as his hands gripped her wrists, holding them behind her back. With his unoccupied hand, he dipped his fingers into what was left of her apparel. “Is this all for me?” He smirked at the ease with which his fingers slipped over her. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re in water,”

“You’re so impolite - even when I’m spoiling you,” tutted Spencer. Retroceding his hand, determined to leave her on edge, and her skin a mirror image of his, he continued to pin her fragile hands back against the base of her spine. “S-Spencer, please,” her words struggled to make any sense, “please, I need more,” she panted out, moving purposefully along the growing outline in his shorts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Spencer fiddled with the material still covering her, pulling it aside to make way for himself in between her legs. His eyes softened, silently seeking permission, even as she impatiently pulled down his waistband. When she nodded and eased his ailing with a soft, lingering kiss, he slowly pushed himself into her, never failing to be acutely attentive to her comfort as if it was their first time together. “This was what you were after?” Teased Spencer, his hips speeding up. “So badly,” she uttered out a sigh. “Then take it like you want it.” She craved his adept touch, and she made that known. “S- Spencer, oh god,” she groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” His breathing became heavier, softs grunts and hisses filling her ears with every movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining in a destitute way at the full feeling. At a slower pace, one of Spencer’s hands guided her hips along himself, while the other traced infinity on her sensitive nerves. “Sweet girl- fuck, you feel like a dream,” he moaned as she tightened around him. Her toes curled, the warm water of the pool splashing her bare skin. Spencer occupied all of her senses, the same way she did his. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, before he used his nose to nudge her face upwards, her momentarily open eyes reflecting constellations. Spencer kissed her once more. Her hands long freed from his grip, she left traces of herself in the form of tiny red sickles on his freckled back as her nails released some frustration. 

Dragging her fingers along his torso, she felt the muscles of his stomach tighten, hers doing the same. Shaky sighs wavered from her lips at the bliss Spencer was providing. “Keep your eyes open for me, angel,” she tried her hardest to focus on his lustfully blown pupils. “That’s it. Just look at what you do to me,” he gasped out, head falling backwards, eye contact broken - only for a second - before he gulped and looked back at her. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, hoarsely, stroking his sweaty cheekbone with her thumb.  She could recognise the golden gates of heaven in his eyes as he came undone inside her, warmth spilling over her in every aspect. The knots in her stomach loosened shortly after his, curses spilling from both of them. She rode him through his release, fond of the way he left light kisses on her temple, whispering compliments and confessions of love. Once he was sure she’d caught her breath, and some air had returned to his own lungs, he kissed her, gently, in the summer sauna heat, beneath the stars.

A loud cough startled the two. Stood in the open French doors of the veranda, scotch in hand, and eyes screwed shut, was David Rossi. Their minds were in the same place, wondering why they hadn't listened to Penelope’s drunken advice. “When you two are done, please remember to turn the tub lights off - and put the filter on high.” She hid herself in Spencer’s chest, heartbeat in her ears, contemplating holding her breath for a really, really long time. Spencer was flushed red, his own nose buried in her neck so as to not face the older man. “Or better yet, put some money together to buy me an entirely new spa,” Rossi, laughed, opening one eye to catch sight of Spencer giving him a shameful thumbs up. Even as Rossi wandered away, their embarrassment remained a fresh burn. Spencer groaned as her tired hand fumbled with his disastrous hair, “I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much of that he heard,”

“Or saw,”

“Don’t!”

“I’m never going to be invited here ever again, am I?”

#this got long! #yes there is no tag list i’m so sorry it’s because i still haven’t actually gotten around to doing it #but just know it’s on its way! next time my loves <3 #anyway it’s almost four in the morning and i wanted this out #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler #mgg fic #mgg smut #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #spencer reid imagine #cm fanfic #mgg #mine: writing

[fatiguing-thoughts]

So There’s This Thing Called Imprinting.” - Embry Call

Request: “embry trying to tell his imprint about imprinting for the first time? thanks for all your writing!”

***JULY****

As I shuffled through the records in the bin, the smell of dust entered my nostrils. I was looking for this one last vinyl to add to my collection, hoping I would finally find it at this small record store in Port Angeles. 

I shuffle through the “W” bin, hoping I would finally luck out and find the blue Weezer album. I had been looking for months, unsuccessful at every other record store. 

Across the record store, I hear a small group of guys. They seemed to be having fun, especially with how loud they were growing. “We do this every weekend, how are there still more to find? How are you still enjoying this?” One teased. 

I look up from my search to look at the group. A group of three absurdly tall and muscular boys. All blessed with russet skin and dark hair, looking far more than the definition of beautiful. 

“It’s what I like, music is what I like. Did you eat an extra bowl of bitch-flakes this morning? Or are you just normal Paul?” The taller one replies snarkily. 

I tried to stifle my small giggle, appreciating the tone he used. 

The three of them laugh, the one I assumed to be Paul shoving the tall stranger in retaliation. 

“Damn Paul, you just gonna take that?” The third boy teases. 

“No, I’m definitely going to kick Embry’s ass as soon as we get back to Sam’s.” Paul laughs. 

I tried to avoid being caught observing, but I was not sneaky enough. 

The tall boy with longer hair than the rest and I made eye contact. 

I got nervous, but why? I felt my breath hitch in my throat. I felt like the world around me stopped for a second. What was this? A pit built up in my stomach, I thought I was going to be sick. But this felt… good? 

I finally take a better look at who I assume was Embry. His handsome features stuck in the same face. His eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Eyes refusing to leave mine. His brown eyes were what I was lost in.

 I wonder if he felt what I was feeling, hell I was hoping-- that way I wouldn’t be as weird as I suddenly feared. 

After about a minute, even though it felt like six hours, I broke our eye contact after watching his friends begin to giggle and clap him on the back. I turn my attention back towards the record bin, despite the fact that my face was suffering intense blushing. 

I begin to flip through the records, trying my best to ignore the giggling coming from across the store.  I finally found the album, I began to grab it until something spooked me. My heart almost jumped straight from my chest when I began to hear footsteps approaching. 

“Hey, I’m Embry. Sorry about my friends.” The tall boy reached his hand out, awaiting for my hand to return the favor. He was even more handsome up close, causing me to fumble my words even more pathetically. To my surprise, he was taller up close. I looked up to meet his eyes before sticking my hand out. 

“I’m (Y/N). That’s okay, they seem nice enough. Maybe not to you, though.” I gave out a small laugh, trying to not embarrass myself. 

“Heh, you heard that? Yeah, they kinda suck, but they’re the best. Whatcha searching for?” He excitedly looks over my shoulder, trying to see what record I hold in my hands. 

I pulled it from the bin and showed it to him. 

“Weezer. I have been looking for this one to complete the collection. For some reason I haven’t been able to find this one for so long. I’ve been searching for months. It’s only this album that gave me such a hard time finding.” I admit, slightly smirking nervously. 

“Damn. That’s a long time. I love Weezer, too. You must be pretty cool, like me.” He leans in and playfully elbows my arm, laughing a bit awkwardly. 

Cute.

“I think so. You’re probably alright yourself if you like Weezer.” I tease. 

We chatted for about fifteen minutes before his friends began to usher him away, saying they needed to go back to Sam’s house. Damn, was I going to miss talking to Embry. My heart almost sank at the thought of him leaving my side for some reason. 

“Hey listen (Y/N), could I maybe get your number? Maybe we could hang out sometime, we’re having a bonfire on the beach this weekend if you’re interested?” Embry offers with hopeful eyes. 

“Yeah that would be fun.” I smile before putting my number into his phone. 

***NOVEMBER***

I often think back to that day, meeting Embry. I think back to hanging out at the bonfire with him and all his friends. They were all so friendly, so funny. They were like a family. I remember being cold, having Embry’s warm arm wrap around my shoulders, closing some distance between us. He was so warm. He’s always so warm. I was thankful for this in the upcoming colder months of the year. 

As I sat in between his legs, playing Mario Kart with Embry, Jacob, and Seth-- I really began to question my luck. While I was so grateful for meeting Embry. The bond between us was one I could never describe. He was someone who could always bring me joy-- he was the light in my life. He was the sun on a cloudy day. Our love was something so strong that I didn’t ever believe it even existed before Embry. Though, he was hiding something from me. 

Whenever I would ask, I would be told “soon” or “when I’m ready.” 

I was ready to know what my boyfriend was keeping from me. Why things didn’t always add up. 

How was he always so warm? How was he so strong? How were our feelings possible? What happened the day we met? What was he doing all hours of the night when he wasn’t asleep? Where was he sneaking off to? Hell, even his mother didn’t know-- she even asked me herself. I trusted Embry with my life, though my patience was running thin. I respected his privacy but worrisome thoughts crept up more often than not. I knew he wasn’t a cheater, but the endless thoughts always kept me up at night. 

I snap back into reality, destroying the guys. I took first place by a long shot. 

“Damn, (Y/N). Look at you.” Jacob teased, shoving my shoulder playfully. 

“Jacob, I think it’s time we go for our hike now.” Seth says, looking at Jacob with knowing eyes. Jacob nods his head, getting up from his seat instantly before walking out the door.  

I peak over at Embry, who is trying to look at anything but me, causing me to chuckle a bit. 

He looks over at me, knowing my curiosity has peaked, as per usual. I found it suspicious, all of these “hikes” the boys go on every day; and how I’m never allowed to go. 

“I think it’s time I’m honest with you.” Embry looks over at me, grabbing my hand. 

I almost choked on my breath, due to both excitement and fear. 

“Oh, really?” I asked him. 

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to since I met you, but I needed to know you really wanted me.” He said, looking down into my eyes. 

I turned my body around to face him, taking his other hand into mine. 

I nodded at him, rubbing circles into the back of his hand, over his knuckles. 

“You trust me right?” He asks me, slight look of worry on his face. 

“With my life.” I give a slight smile, hoping to take some fear from him.

“Of course. Well, then I want you to know that I would never hurt you. And that you have to trust that what I’m saying is 100% true.” He returns the smile, followed by a more serious look. 

My heart skipped a beat, worried of what he was about to reveal to me. 

I nodded, awaiting the continuation of his confession.

“Okay, well I know you remember some of the stories from the bonfire. You know, about the Quileutes descending from… wolves.” He held onto my hands a bit tighter. 

“Yes. I remember, Em.” I tried to hide my confusion. 

“Well (Y/N), it’s all real. Shape-shifting is real. I am a shifter. The guys and I all are.” He finally chokes out. 

“What? Embry, are you okay?” I ask, slightly concerned. 

“Okay, I knew you wouldn’t just believe me that quickly. So let me show you, outside.” He says standing up, pulling me up with him. 

“Embry..” My voice trails off. 

“Please trust me, (Y/N).” He begs.

I nod and follow him outside. 

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. I protect you. I protect everyone, but most importantly you.” He says as he begins to take his shirt off. 

I try to take in what is all happening, trying to hide my confusion. 

That’s when I saw him begin to shake, steam coming from his warm body. 

It was so quick. Before me stood a giant silver wolf. He walked over to me slowly, bowing his head to show that he meant no harm. The head on this wolf was huge. The entire wolf stood about six feet tall on all fours, I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

“Embry?” I questioned, looking into the magnificent eyes in front of me. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. 

The massive wolf nodded, burying his head into my hands. I began to stroke the fur. This lasted for about three minutes, before he picked up the shorts on the forest floor, walking into the tree line. 

After a minute, Embry walked out from the tree line in his shorts. 

“I would never hurt you. I just needed to know that you loved me, that you wanted this.” He says, almost choking on his words. 

“I love you Embry. I just, I am so confused.” I admit, clutching onto his hand for dear life. 

“I understand. There’s more though.” He tells me. 

“More?” I ask, shocked. 

“Yes. So there’s this thing called imprinting. It happened when I first saw you at the record store.” He admits.

“Imprinting?” I question. 

“Well, it’s like love at first sight, but more intense. Kinda like soulmates. It’s like you became the gravity holding me down to the Earth. You’re what matters. I would be anything you need me to be, I will protect you at all costs. You’re my world, (Y/N).” He says, eyes never leaving mine. 

“Is that why I felt that way?” I ask. 

“Yes. Our bond is very intense, very strong. I’ll be anything you need me to be. A friend, brother, protector, or in our case-- a lover.” He adds, eyes still never leaving mine. 

“Wow, it explains a lot. And I still need to know more.” I respond honestly. 

I was glad to know that I wasn’t feeling that way at the record store for no reason. I had met my soulmate. I felt both overwhelmed and relieved. The confusion was overpowered by the unbelievable weight lifted off my shoulders. 

“Well, I’ve got the time, babe. I can explain it all. I’ll ask Sam to call a meeting tonight, to explain it all.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead, sending shivers down my spine as usual. 

“So, why did you wait so long?” I ask him. 

“Well, I wanted you to have a choice. It’s your decision, all of this. I wanted you to be comfortable before you were introduced to this new world. There’s a lot to talk about.” He said, pressing a kiss into the side of my temple. 

I smiled to myself, both for the sake of my sanity and also Embry’s. 

I look into his eyes before pressing a tender kiss on his ilps. 

*************Word Count: 2001***************

Sorry for the hiatus, hopefully when my new computer comes in and finals are over, I can finally post more again. 

#embry call #embry call x reader #twilight x reader #wolf pack x reader #paul lahote #jared cameron #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #jacob black #Quil Ateara #sam uley #twilight #twilight imagines

[dragonsareourfuture]

Matsuda/GN!Reader — Promise

Here’s a longer oneshot for a man who is often forgotten. Lovely Matsuda, you have a huge place in my heart.

This wasn’t an afternoon like any other.

No, shut up! It’s the same as any other day.

Something big was about to go down.

It’s not big, it’s normal! Normal sized, normal day!

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, slamming against your rib cage so hard you swore it made your body sway a tad bit forward.

Everything is going to go fine, no disasters.

You stood in front of your mirror, combing out your hair. The bathroom was dead silent save for your short, uneasy breaths. You tried your best to draw them out to how you normally breathed, but you began to try so hard to breathe normally that you forgot how you normally breathed altogether.

Is this pace too slow? Am I not getting enough air? Is that why the room’s spinning or am I just panicking for no reason?

You weren’t panicking. You swear you weren’t. Maybe you were just breathing so fast and your heart was racing so much because you were dying! Yeah, that could be it! You almost preferred that possibility to what you were in store for later that evening — something set to occur around 6:00 pm sharp. Dinner. Doesn’t sound so bad right?

Wrong. You almost laughed at yourself bitterly for thinking so absurdly — doesn’t sound so bad? Maybe when you don’t have all the details. So, let’s rephrase that, shall we?

Dinner. With your boyfriend’s parents.

Ah, speak of the devil. You turned around at the sound of a light knock at the bathroom doorframe. Touta Matsuda, the adorable little puppy dog of a human, stood with his fist still curled and his knuckles against the doorframe. He asked you if you were nearly ready to head out, his dark eyebrows upturned with light creases denting his forehead.

You jolted. With a lightening fast grab at your phone you tore it from its spot on the counter and looked at the time — how was it already 5:40!? Hadn’t you started brushing your hair around 4:00? You didn’t even want to begin to think about the fact that you’d been standing at the mirror for forty whole minutes telling yourself you weren’t panicking. And the worst part — that reverse psychology didn’t even leave a mark! Your chest still felt tight and nothing felt right. Oh no... you’re thinking in rhyme.  You had to do something quick, before you started to speak in riddles like some kind of bridge troll.

“Hey, Teddy Bear?”

“What’s up? You don’t look too good...”

Even staring at yourself in the mirror for nearly an hour didn’t allow you to notice until Matsuda pointed it out. When you looked back at your reflection, you saw the truth in his statement. You looked very put together overall — clothes neat and without a single crease marring the fabric — but your face was paler than it had ever been before. Your eyes had sunken from lack of sleep, as you were tossing and turning for hours the previous night just thinking about your arrangement for that evening. You just looked scared.

“I’m gonna be completely honest with you,” you began, stepping closer to your boyfriend and weaving your arms around his waist. The soft fabric of his dress shirt calmed you enough to get the words out without choking on them. “I’m really, really nervous about tonight. They’re gonna hate me for this—“

“Hey, don’t say that! It’s no one’s fault that we‘ve both been too busy to formally meet my folks since we started dating. I mean, I am a cop after all, and this case hadn’t exactly been easy on me or anyone on my team.” Matsuda reasoned. It was always hard to argue with him when he had this whole “optimist” thing going on. He was just too cute and cheerful to claim anything he said was a lie.

You sighed, trying to fight back with more doubts, “But it’s been forever. They’re gonna think I’m avoiding them or something!”

“Nonsense! If anything they’ll be grateful for you taking care of me every night when I get home from work. I still don’t know how you do it. You’re too patient with me, babe! Not that I’m telling you to stop, of course! It’s— well, you know what I mean!”

Dammit, Matsu’s cuteness struck you down once more and, against your will, you were forced to give into his positivity. You let out a laugh, tightening your grip around his waist and resting your chin on his broad shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so.”

But he was forgetting one little thing. You had absolutely no idea what kind of people Matsuda’s parents were, so how they would react to something like this was beyond your comprehension. Though, you didn’t think terrible people could have produced someone so pure hearted and precious. Still, you had no idea how formal they were, if they cared whether you told them yet or not. If they were opposed to how you were going about this or if they would support you. And Matsuda, being the kind person he was, wanted to tell them the important news in person, so there was no avoiding this any longer.

“Listen, I...when we talked about marriage I didn’t agree to it despite my parents.” Matsuda hummed, taking hold of your lower back to pull you closer to him as a gesture of comfort. “They know you exist, at least! They know we’ve been dating for a while and they know you make me happy. So what would be the issue?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and dropping your forehead onto his shoulder. Goddammit, he’s right.

You just had to make Teddy Bea— Uh, Matsuda’s parents like you! Then they’d support your relationship, and in turn your decision to get married. End of story. Well, you’d have to see them again, like at the wedding, but you’d cross that bridge once you got to it!

Yeah, okay. Maybe, with the comfort of your fiancé beside you (was is okay to call him that? You haven’t even bought an engagement ring yet...), just maybe, you could do this.

Probably.

This shit’s gonna be easy, you told yourself. And, you know the funny thing? You actually started to believe it.

It was like all of the comforting words Matsuda blessed your ears with earlier actually had some effect and, now that you stood at his parent’s doorstep, the tight feeling in your chest had eased up. Your head stopped pounding with your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. You felt comfortable, even when Matsuda knocked on the door before taking ahold of your hand.

Soon enough, an older woman answered to the knocks. Her face, marred with smile lines, brightened at the sight of you two. She was on the shorter side, but by no means did she appear weak. Her hands held a strong grip on the door as she held it open, and such energy gave off a giddy and caring aura about her. She stepped aside and held a hand out, gesturing for you to come in with a cheerful call of “Hello there! Oh, come in, come in. Honey, they’re here!”

You allowed Matsuda to take the lead, guiding you inside behind him, connected by your hands still. With only a few steps, the slight bite of the chilly fall air outside had vanished in an instant only to be replaced by a warm and fuzzy atmosphere. It had the air of a home that was prepared for guests, which served to make your heart flutter at the idea that you were important enough to make people want to prepare their home for you.

A staircase occupied the farthest wall to the right, and beyond that led to a dining room. While candles dotted the table, plates were set up neatly in front of every chair for four people. The burning candles gave off the scent of a pine forest, filling your nostrils and effectively making you even more calm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Another set of footsteps was soon given a face — a tall, lanky man with the same messily styled and dark hair as your beloved boyfriend — presumably Matsuda’s father. This presumption was made into fact as the man glommed into Matsuda, patting his back and barely giving your boyfriend any air in his lungs to speak properly.

“Hey, mom! Hey, dad! I really missed you guys. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing, too!”

You couldn’t say he was wrong. You couldn’t really place it with the pine scented candles mixing with the scent, but whatever it was, it was making your mouth water.

“O-oh, um, this is (Name). They’re that person I was talking to you guys about on the phone the other day,” The now suddenly bashful Matsuda introduced on your behalf.

“Hi there, it’s really nice to meet you both!” You greeted, shameful that you didn’t think to say something sooner.

“Oh, well aren’t you just the sweetest thing? Come this way, dear, don’t just stand around!”

“O-oh, alright—“

“So!” The boisterous man by Matsuda’s side called. He clapped his son on the shoulder, looking from him to you with a teasing quirk in his brow. “You’ve finally decided to come visit now, have you?”

“Oh, don’t give them a hard time!” Matsuda’s mother interjected, holding up a nearby dish towel with a threatening glower, no real malice behind it. Matsuda’s father held up his hands in mock surrender.

You smiled, forcing the corners of your lips upwards although you couldn’t force it to meet your eyes. you felt absolutely terrible. These people opened up their home to you, cooked for you, let you go out with their son, and yet you couldn’t tell them that you wanted to marry their son, and he wanted the same. Occasionally you shared a glance with Matsuda, who only stared back with eyes that said “not yet”. And you hated the fact that you felt overwhelming relief each time you received that look from him. The fact was — you didn’t want to tell them. If you did there would be no going back, no do-overs. But at the same time you wanted to get it off your chest more than anything in the world. You wanted their son’s hand in marriage. That’s not usually anything to sneeze at.

And yet, all you were doing was lying to their faces. Well, was it lying if all you were doing was keeping something from them? Was it just as wrong? Of fucking course it was. There’s no way out of this one, you’re a horrible person and that’s that. Shit.

Even as you all sat at your designated seats around the dinner table, not a peep left your mouth. As Matsuda’s mother began to dish out servings of her incredible-smelling cooking with the help of her husband, you only uttered words of thanks. You really couldn’t thank them enough, considering the bomb you were about to drop onto their lives.

You all ate peacefully with the light conversation making it’s way around the table. Matsuda and his parents were quite possibly the easiest people to talk to that you ever did meet. No joke had to be held back for fear of being judged, and a few of your little comments caused Matsuda’s father to choke on his food from laughter. You and Matsu’s mom took to ganging up on the men for their apparent shared habit of snoring like a monster at night, the both of them getting defensive with claims that they had no way to control that kind of thing. You and Matsu even shared a few stories from your albeit limited amount of time alone together, going to the park or visiting a museum. It was only when a lull in conversation caused a bout of silence to overtake the room did you look to Matsuda for some assistance in keeping up conversation, only to find him looking at you with determined eyes.

Oh. So it was time, was it? Alright, you could do this.

You breathed in deeply through your nose, clasping your partner’s hand under the table.

“Mom, dad? We uh...Well, we have something to tell you,” Matsu admitted, his voice starting out as nothing more than a whisper and gradually increasing in volume. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Oh? Good news or bad news?” His mother inquired, eyebrows creasing slightly with a tinge of worry which the playful tone in her voice failed to mask.

“I hope you think it’s good news! Uh, so, (Name) and I...well, it’s good to see that you guys seem to be getting along well! Can I just say that before I start? Yeah...so. Okay, um—“

“Son, you know you can tell us anything. Just say it, we won’t be angry with you.” Something in the older man’s tone told you he already somewhat caught on to the situation. He just wanted to hear it from his son first, which was understandable.

“We’re going to get married,” Matsuda blurted. The slight jitters you felt in his hand eased up immensely after he said it. His shoulders relaxed and his lips stretched with a smile. “We aren’t exactly sure when or where, we don’t even have the rings yet, but we’ve talked it through and...well, we’re doing it.”

Your gaze, which was fixed on your Teddy Bear throughout his entire explanation, absolutely adoring the loving glint in his eyes as he talked about your future together, shifted back to his parents. What you were met with did not exactly please you.

“...oh. Well, dear, I...”

“It’s not that we aren’t happy for you two, don’t get us wrong...”

It took you a while to completely comprehend what you were hearing.

“What...? You don’t want us to get married?” Matsuda chimed in before you could say anything, not that you were even sure that you could.

“We didn’t say that!” The older woman defended, inching up to sit on the edge of her seat. Ah, yes. Battle mode. “Far from it, actually. All we want is for you to be sure that you’re ready.”

Matsuda’s dad nodded, continuing with his wife’s sentiment, “You said yourself that you’ve been too busy to come see us, so how much of that time have you really had with each other?”

You couldn’t even argue against them. It was true, you and Matsuda haven’t really been able to spend a ton of time together lately. Perhaps marriage was what you both seemed to agree would act as a patch — something you thought would fix your issues as soon as you could call Matsuda your husband. But how much better off would you be after that?

“I...mom, dad...” Matsuda’s words faded, disintegrating into nothingness as his hope seemed to do along with it. He hung his head as his grip on your hand loosened but, before it could completely slip from you, you clasped it tightly.

“Thank you so much for your advice,” you said, marveling that you managed to keep your voice from wavering. “We’ll think it over.”

The burn of Matsuda’s eyes could practically be felt boring into you. You knew he was upset, you knew he was confused. But the very last thing you wanted to do was end the night on a bad note. You could try your best to save what was left of your first impression dinner and talk about this later. When you were alone.

“...yes, o-of course. Ah, would anyone like a second helping?”

  About an hour of stiff conversation and shifting glances later, you and Matsuda decided that perhaps it was time to leave.

He hugged his parents goodbye with noticeably less enthusiasm than he had when he’d first greeted them, and you took to simply waving and thanking them for the meal.

Once you were outside, a shiver ran down your spine. The temperature had dropped considerably, now with the moon in place of the sun overhead and clouds of fog taking to the air every time you exhaled.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” you heard from beside you. Your head swiveled to meet the eyes of your boyfriend only to find that his were directed towards the ground. “That didn’t go as I thought it would.”

Your mouth opened to answer, only to close again. It was easier to grab his hand, which was swinging limply at his side, at thread your fingers through his. So, that’s what you did.

Matsuda flinched, eyes shooting toward the point at which your hands were connected, staring at it with wide eyes. Once he was over his shock, he gave you a grin — a smile that turned his eyes into crescents and warmed his cheeks with a soft blush. That smile was what always told you that everything would be okay.

You stopped walking so suddenly that Matsuda nearly tripped trying to stop in time.

“What’s wrong? (N-name!?)”

Matsuda covered his mouth as he stared down at you, now kneeling on one knee in front of him. You never let go of his hand, but kept it clasped in yours. Your lips met his knuckles, thumb brushing over the spot that you kissed afterwards. 

This was not the end of the world. So you shouldn’t get married, so what? It’s not like that’s your main goal anyway. Marriage — your method of escape from actually facing your problems — would have to wait. Big deal. That just left more time to spend with your adorable Teddy Bear without the stress of a wedding hanging over your heads. Any breaks you two had in work could be used to get to know each other better, relearn those things about each other that might have slipped from your memories due to time apart.

“Touta, I love you. I love you too much to let this stupid disagreement do any damage to our relationship. I want us to become stronger because of this. We don’t need a legal binding to tell us that we belong together. So, this isn’t a proposal, but a promise — Whether we’re married or not, I will do my best to make you the happiest man alive and let you know each and every day how much I care for you. And, if we still want to, later on when we know we’re in a stable place, we can get married.”

A splash of water hit the ground in front of you. You blinked, expecting more to come in the form of a rain shower until you realized that water was the tears still rolling down Matsuda’s rosy cheeks. “Yeah, that—“ he sniffed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket, “—that sounds good.”

“Just good?” You joked.

“A-amazing? I can’t really find the words right now...but I do want everything you just said. I’m just a little surprised that, what with how tonight was going with me consoling you, you’d end up doing the same for me by the end!” The ravenette scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes, “I d-don’t really feel like the one wearing the pants in this relationship right now!”

“Who said you were in the first place?” You muttered, rising to your feet and heading off toward your car.

“Wh-wh-what!? Hey, get back here!”

#death note #death note one shot #longer oneshot #death note matsuda #matsuda death note #touta matsuda #touta matsuda x reader #death note Matsuda x reader #x reader #reader insert #x reader oneshot #reader insert oneshot #death note x reader #death note reader insert

[secretwhumplair]

What Xerxes wants

878 words | Xerxes & Nor (timeline - weeks after Xerxes got rescued)

Content | Whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, ex-whumper x whumpee (non-romantic), mention of past torture, conditioning

Notes | Hm. Hm. So. Here we are. I was a little hesitant to delve into this part of the story but literally this blog exists to play with those things so!

Xerxes already had their touch aversion before, the torture unsurprisingly did not make it better...

Taglist | @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​​

For a while after waking up, Xerxes stared at the ceiling, listening to Nor’s calm breath next to them. “Don’t leave me,” they had begged, weeks before, their mind raw with the agony filling their entire world, except for the Nor-shaped cut-out. They should have taken back the words once they could think halfway straight. They knew they should have.

But they still woke to the sound of Nor’s breath every morning.

It was such an achingly familiar sound, and it shouldn’t be.

They had no business staying here, taking advantage of Nor’s kind heart or Stockholm syndrome or whatever the fuck it was that had possessed him to save them.

They carefully sat up, swallowed down tears, and climbed over Nor without disturbing him. When they moved, something inside them still throbbed with pain. For a moment, they wondered idly whether it would ever fully go away, but of course it would. They always healed.

The thought made them sick to their stomach.

They had almost made it, were almost fully dressed and on their way out the door, when Nor stirred behind them. They had tried so hard to be quiet, let him sleep and wake without them as if from a bad dream, and they froze, hoping he’d go back to sleep.

“Xerxes. Where are you going?” He sounded almost hurt.

“Home,” Xerxes replied, not turning around. “I don’t belong here.” I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve y-

“You belong to me. I bought you.” He regretted saying it by the time they turned around, they could tell from the way he leant back just a fraction, as if to distance himself from his words. But he was right, of course. It was almost a relief. That was at least some level of fair.

“Sit.” Nor nodded to the empty space next to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Xerxes obeyed, folding their hands in their lap. They felt themself tremble lightly and couldn’t have said quite why. It wasn’t that they were scared of Nor, in the way a pet might be of their master; they knew he would never treat them this way, no matter what he said.

Even though they deserved it.

For a while, they sat in silence. Not didn’t reach out, hadn’t reached out to touch them once since he brought them here, even though they knew he wanted to, and they were so grateful.

“This isn’t right,” they finally said, when Nor didn’t. “You shouldn’t have to do this. You of all people.”

“Well, someone had to.” Xerxes glimpsed over to see Nor looking steadily at them, not happy, certainly not, but determined. “You didn’t deserve that. No one does. You didn’t deserve being tortured - essentially to death over and over. No one fucking deserves that.”

It took all Xerxes had not to flinch when Nor put their ordeal so bluntly. They looked away, shook their head. Absurdly, they found they missed the flow of their hair as they moved. “I-“

“I know what you did,” Nor interrupted them. “I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry.” He’d raised his voice just a little, the way he never would have dared a year ago, and they found a smile tugging at the corner of their mouth.

At least.

Yet his raised voice, or his cut hair, or the weight he gained couldn’t hide the tense poise with which he still carried himself, or the willingness to drop whatever he was doing to do what anyone asked. They had seen the damage they had done - they had known, of course, but only now they knew how well it lasted.

“I’m grateful,” they whispered. “I can never thank you enough. But it isn’t fair you have to take care of me. And I - I’m better. I can go. You’ve done enough.” It took all their strength to keep their voice from breaking. A little voice inside them was begging for help, begging for more of the care they’d received in the last weeks, begging not to be left alone again. But even if they could ever ask for it, it would never be fair to ask it of him. They pushed themself up from the bed.

From the way Nor looked at them, they knew they hadn’t convinced him, and it struck them that knowing each other for so long was a two-way street. They looked away.

“I’ll come,” Nor said quietly. “I’ll help you with your work. You’re doing good, I want to help.”

“You shouldn’t. This… is a bad idea.” He was still attached to them, it was painfully obvious, and that was perhaps the worst of all.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” There was a note of playfulness in his voice now, but it didn’t cover the tiredness underneath. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to argue with you.”

I don’t want to argue with you was there in his eyes, sure. But Xerxes also saw something much deeper and kinder, a kindness they didn’t deserve.

But they couldn’t bear continuing to argue. Maybe it was even right not to. They couldn’t tell, too strong was the ache inside them to continue being looked at like that.

#whump #whump writing #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #whumpee x whumper #my writing #nor #xerxes

[bluegarners]

The Call

Later in life, he’ll understand it was the void that spoke to him. Right now though, it screams in Dick’s ears.

When he was younger, maybe between the age of five or six, he heard it. The particular wording wasn’t exactly correct, he never actually heard anything, there was no sound or noise to hear, but he understood it.

It was a call. A command. And whenever it surfaced, it was loud and it was in his face until he listened and did whatever it asked of him.

When he first heard it, he was with his parents, practicing for their next performance. It was normal and peaceful. But when he mounted the bars and was reaching out to grasp the swinging rope before him, it spoke and tugged gently.

Stop.

At the time, he hadn’t known what it was. It was soft, quiet even, but it had startled him enough to the point where his grip slackened, and he was falling. The feel of air rushing past you, whistling in your ear like a taunt as the world laughed; the first time you feel it, you never forget it.

He was lucky. It was only a practice and the safety net had caught him before gravity had had its way with him. His parents had been frantic, leaping down to help him and reassure themselves. It had been scary seeing a Grayson fall. Graysons flew, toyed with the idea of plummeting like it was merely a myth. To see one shot down, so suddenly, so quickly, and so young, it was horrifying.

Dick did not perform that night.

When his parents died, flashes of red, yellow, and green, it whispered again. It tickled against his ears, brushed against his hair, as he looked down at the brokenness of their bodies, displayed and framed with pools of black against the sawdust. 

Follow.

It had only been a whisper, just a breath, and he had dismissed it. The shrieks of the crowd below, the shouts of the ringmaster demanding for everyone to remain calm, his fellow performers stock still like statues. It was easy to dismiss a whisper when there was chaos. When the police came and the sirens ceased their wailing, everything was silent and weightless, like the world had forgotten what noise was.

When the social worker told him that he could not continue traveling with the circus and was instead to remain in Gotham, be “placed” in an orphanage like he was some object, some discarded thing that needed to be relocated, he was angry. He was upset. He was baffled. He was ten.

In those few months he spent with the other dozens of “placed” children, Dick Grayson was a lot of things, but none of them what he wanted to be. There was an endless buzz deep within his bones, a steady thrum in his head that would not dissipate no matter how many nights he snuck out or how many purse snatchers and petty thieves he beat with his fists. The kids he roomed with, ate with, shared a bathroom with, knew he was a circus freak. That he was some weirdo who could perform tricks on command like a dog. That the people who he had once called family were all thousands of miles away from Gotham and buried in some nameless cemetery with plain gravestones.

One day, as he lay in his rotted mattress, the nagging, ceaseless, ever present urge to flee covering his entire being, another social worker came by and told him he was going to be taken away by Bruce Wayne. That the man had offered, in a generous and beautiful display of sympathy and desire to help, to take the ten year old in as his ward. That he better behave and thank the man when he came to pick him up and smile for the cameras when they flashed in his face.

Dick was confused. He was desperate. He was grateful to be rescued from the looming and smelly walls. Mostly, though, he was indifferent.

Arriving at the Wayne Mansion was overwhelming and scary. It was absurdly large, immaculately clean, and much too empty. Most of his first week getting “settled”, because that’s what you have to do when you relocate and get removed, you must settle for what you have, was spent with the singular butler. Dick found it impressive that the older man was in charge of maintaining every detail in the massive home, but he soon saw reason for it.

Bruce was never there. He was always working, always away, and too busy to properly help “settle” his new ward, of which he had yet to explain. Why? Why him? Why this random orphaned boy out of the other hundreds of more pitiable kids?

Alfred tried his best to explain it to him, that Bruce saw himself in Dick because they had both become orphaned at such a young age, and god, didn’t that sting? To be reminded in such a stark manner? To be told his sole purpose in occupying space in the Wayne household was because of a mutual trauma?

And then one night, it makes sense. He discovers the secret to Bruce Wayne and his near constant absence. And he wants in.

When it comes time, after three days of convincing, a week of searching and preparing, and two days staking out, Dick is ready. The mask he wears hides his eyes, hides the fury, the hatred, the absolute glee he feels as his fist drives into the man who took everything from him. Over and over again, and he thinks he’s smiling when he pauses for a moment to truly look into the bloody and disfigured face he’s beating. 

Do it.

It had been months since he’d last heard it, last felt it, but he thinks he’s ready to listen. No more startling, no more ignoring. In fact, he might even embrace it. 

There’s a batarang in his hand before he’s even processed it all, reeling back his arm to deliver the final blow, to avenge his parents, avenge the life that could’ve been his but was instead snatched from underneath him all because of some stupid money. Some fucking paper bills. 

Do it.

“Robin, that’s enough.”

The weapon falls out of his grasp as if he’d been burned by it, getting up and off the unconscious man. The gloves he’s wearing are dripping, his skin hot from the red that splatters his front. Beneath the dock lighting, it almost looks black.

It begins yelling at him, pushing against his mind for every step he takes away from the misshapen body tied to the lamp post. It goes away eventually, its screams fading away into the background as days pass by. The endless thrum in him stops, the buzzing static in his bones melting away as he realizes how tired he is. 

How awfully tired and done he is.

He holes himself in his much too large room, coming out only to eat and prove he is alive. For two weeks, he keeps the same routine. He tells nothing of his thoughts from that night, nor wishes to. Alfred attempts to keep him company, assuring the ten year old that he has someone to talk to, but his lips are sealed and his head is wailing.

Finally, he emerges, and after awkward greetings, apologies, and long suffering sighs, he gets to work. Training under the Batman, becoming yet another symbol to Gotham in the form of a bird his mother loved, it keeps his head on straight. For the first time in a long time, Dick is strangely optimistic and happy.

Alfred tells him that his smiles brighten both his and Bruce’s day, even if the latter says nothing of it. He learns that Bruce, even out of the cowl and under the name Wayne, is still a very stoic and quiet man, even cold at times. But Dick reminds himself that by letting him become Robin, by letting him work by his side and live in his home, this was the billionaire’s way of showing he cared. On the good days, when Dick could get the reserved man to smile or even chuckle a tiny bit, he was a ball of light and energy, doubling down on his efforts to keep Alfred and Bruce happy with him.

Because if they grew tired of him, or his presence no longer brought joy, what would they do with him? Under a legal obligation and public image, Bruce couldn’t get rid of him so soon, but there were worse things. Like taking Robin away. Taking his only connection, his only outlet, away. Letting the buzz and the ache return.

The day he debuted officially as Batman’s sidekick, his new partner, Robin, was one of the happiest days Dick thinks he’s ever had. It’s a slow night, a slow patrol, but it’s amazing. Everything he could have ever dreamed of. When they come to rest, perched on some high rise skyscraper looking over the dingy city, Dick breathes in the smog and smiles. Next to him, Batman stands, silent and brooding, but even Robin knows that he is satisfied as well. Below them, down, down, down below, there is the city life. The homeless, the hookers, the drug dealers, the thieves, the ordinary civilians. From where they perch, the people look like ants. So tiny and minuscule. 

He’s seen this view before. Seen it in his trial runs through the city. Seen it from lower buildings. The air is thinner and just that amount colder, the wind is whistling in his ears, brushing against his hair, laughing. Taunting.

The longer he stares downward, the longer his eyes remain trained on the perhaps only dozen people below, the longer he allows the call to beckon him, the harder his heart beats. The louder the wind screams in his ears. 

You never forget it after the first time.

Jump.

It’s the first time it has echoed so loudly, so demandingly. 

Batman turns his head to stare at the boy, watching as his feet shuffle and his back hunches. There’s a strong gust, powerful enough to make his cape billow wildly, and suddenly, Robin is leaping.

Robin is plummeting.

There are no second thoughts as he fires his grapple hook, jumping down after the boy who falls so serenely. The wind bites at his face, Gotham is cold tonight, and as he yanks at the boy’s arm, securing him stiffly to his side, Batman feels his stomach churn. He hadn’t thought of this outcome.

Later, when they return to the Manor, Dick goes straight to his room, shutting the door and locking it. Bruce stays in the cave, troubled, unsure, and mildly terrified. 

“I was just playing around, B. It was no big deal.”

“What you just did was reckless and unnecessary.”

“I was gonna catch myself.”

“Were you?”

Bruce still isn’t sure what exactly had happened. The boy hadn’t shown any alarming tendencies before. Red flags all but absent. Even after consulting Alfred, both adults were stumped. Dick was happy, right?

What bothered him the most was that Robin hadn’t even reached for his grapple. There was no fear. No thrill. Nothing in his actions or posture or face that would indicate he jumped for the fun of it.

He leaped and did nothing. 

He just fell.

Dick gets “suspended” for three weeks after. Bruce never said anything, never implied a suspension or anything of the sort, but Dick knew. He stays in the Manor with Alfred, goes to school, and is quite normal. He never attended a proper school whilst traveling with the circus, and he can’t say he likes the atmosphere.

He knows he’s been forgiven when Bruce joins them for dinner, asking what he’d learned that day and investing actual thought into the conversation. When they go out for patrol, and god, does it feel good to be out again, Robin stays close to Batman and Batman keeps an eye on Robin. All goes well and nothing big happens. It’s a good night.

As time passes on, and Gotham finally learns of their new hero, all thoughts of Robin’s leap vanish. Even the villains note how chipper the smaller vigilante is beside the ever dark and stoic Bat. There are always comments about his age, speculations on why a child would be strung along for the ride. Batman ignores them and Robin sticks out his tongue. Simple.

Months pass and Dick realizes that Batman doesn’t do holidays. Bruce Wayne hosts galas and attends them, but Batman does not. When Christmas Eve arrives, and with it the seventh gala of the month, Dick tries his best to remain collected. As Bruce Wayne’s ward, he has to maintain an image, but there is an empty feeling inside when Christmas morning comes and there is no real festive cheer. A simple breakfast and a normal day accompany it, and even Christmas dinner is no more than a nice ham and some plum pudding. 

Dick cries that night. He’s never missed his parents more.

Spring arrives, and so does March 20th. Honestly, Dick hadn’t been paying attention, a small part of him perhaps even ignoring the date existed, but he’s forced to reckon with it when Alfred delivers him breakfast in bed and a small card that reads Happy Birthday.

He is eleven now. It is his first birthday, ever, where he has not been woken up by a hug pile and loud, borderline obnoxious singing from his parents. When Alfred leaves to let Dick get dressed, because “I’m taking you out shopping for a nice suit; Master Bruce has a pleasant dinner planned,” , he takes extra long in the shower, begging the hot water to do something about the numbness that’s closing in. He does not cry, he’s promised himself not to do that anymore, but he feels hollow.

Dick isn’t sure he likes his birthday anymore. It doesn’t feel the same. Not with the lavish presents, the fancy food, the primness of other rich people wishing him well and congratulations.

He wants his parents. 

He wants them to smother him and take too many pictures. 

He wants to laugh and complain when his face gets shoved into a slice of cake. 

He wants to hold them tightly and tell them he loves them.

Instead, Dick says thank you and smiles brightly.

 Later that night, when they’re back in the Manor, safe from the flashing cameras and intrusive questions,

“What’s it like to be the ward of a billionaire?”

“What were birthdays like in the circus?”

“Is it hard adjusting to normal life?”

Dick climbs out of his window and sits on the roof. Even as far away from the city as they are, light pollution steals the stars away. The sky is cloudy, the moon hidden, and Dick has never felt so small. So alone. The world is vast, larger than even he can stretch his imagination, and somewhere out there, Haly’s Circus was traveling, performing.

They must be thinking of him, right? At least one of them must remember him. He grew up in the circus, grew up around “strange” people, people he called family. He loved them, so they had to have loved him back, right? At least, once in a while, be thinking of him.

Or maybe. Maybe, he was just another act. Another stage performance. Dazzling, flashy, and brief. Time ran out, the clock struck twelve, and the show was over. Curtains close, they say goodbye, and that’s it. 

The Graysons were never supposed to be permanent.

He teeters, four stories above the ground below, and breathes. Balancing at the tip of some outdated and strangely well fit spike, Dick feels the wind come and brush against his face. Is this what he’ll always think of when the air gets cold? Of cheering crowds and brightly colored outfits? The cheers turning into screams of horror, sawdust becoming saturated with a red so black it looks like some blank and open void?

Fly.

I’m scared to, he thinks. The horizon ahead of him is endless, boundless, but the ground beneath him, just barely sixty feet away, is so close. An abrupt stop.

Fly.

When he tries to breathe in again, his lungs spasm and a short and quiet hiccup escapes instead. For the first time, Dick is scared of flying. Scared of what will happen if he falls. Scared that there will be nothing waiting for him except something cold and hard, left in another unmarked graveyard. 

Scared that no one will care if he falls.

But, it keeps telling him to go. To jump. To leap. To take flight. It’s loud and annoying and it won’t leave him alone.

He shuffles a bit, keeping his eyes fixed on the Gotham city lights. They become blurry, too obscured in his tears, and that scares him even more to think that if he falls, he won’t have the comfort of light to guide him. 

Fly.

The suit he wore to dinner is starchy against his skin, the feel of pressed fabric and metal buttons stark. He feels out of place, even by himself where no is to judge him except the sky and the open air. The jacket is too thick, too warm, and he thinks that if he were to take it off, peel back the heavy layer and throw it away, he thinks he might actually be able to do it.

Actually fly.

“Dick?”

Fly.

The breeze plays with his hair, untied shoelaces and unkempt tie fluttering. They tease him in their effortless play. How tangibly wonderful must it be to play with the wind, forgetting gravity altogether?

There’s a shadow behind him, the moon peeking out and casting a soft glow upon the moor. It’s a heavy but solid presence, the shadow that stands behind him, and somehow, he can feel the concern emanating off of them. Sometimes, he forgets that Bruce is still fairly young. Only twenty six. 

Fly.

“I’m scared,” Dick says aloud, still teetering, still balancing, still deciding. Still only eleven himself.

Fly.

“What are you scared of?”

It’s genuine, nothing mocking or patronizing, but Dick struggles to come up with an answer. Bruce is close behind him, maybe only a few feet away, tense and ready to make a grab for him. Ready to leap and snatch him out of the air again. 

Fly.

Dick wishes it would shut up. Wishes the thing would go away, out of his mind, away from his head. It always sounds so nice when he’s by himself, when there’s no one else around, and it's just whispering into his ear. Speaking of reassurance and comfort. When there are others, when more people arrive, it gets so angry. So loud. Demanding. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. It never leaves him alone.

He wants it to die. He wants it to shrivel up and never come back. He wants to…

“I’m scared of flying,” Dick finally answers, stumbling away from the edge and back onto the roof. “I don’t want to fly. I don’t want- I can’t fly anymore.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around him, secure and tight and grounding. They hold him in place, even as the wind still laughs in his ear, whisking away leaves and letting them drift gently as if to say, This is what you’re missing out on.

“That’s okay,” Bruce rumbles, voice deep and perhaps somber. “You don’t have to fly if you don’t want to.”

Fly.

“I don’t. I don’t want to.”

And Bruce nods like he understands what Dick is talking about, like he understands the sudden fright of flight. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t and is merely humoring Dick. It doesn’t matter much though, the security of his hold enough to stabilize and keep him attached to the roof. 

Enough to make him stop shaking out of fear of accidentally flying.

Enough to quell the screams.

#Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Robin #Batman #hurt/comfort #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson is robin #hurt dick grayson #ptsd #protective bruce wayne #dick grayson needs a hug #young dick grayson #depression #tragedy #angst #fanfic #ao3 #i am a disaster for attention #this is already posted on ao3 but imma post it here too for reasons listed before #DC #fanfiction #my fic

[rosesgonerogue]

How to be a Dad 101

Chapter 2 - Villain Attack

Jasonette July Day 3

Masterlist

Marinette had thought that her years of being Rena Rogue would have improved Alya’s need for documenting dangerous situations, or at the very least her impulse control. As much as she loved her best friend, she was beginning to sincerely regret being cajoled into going to Gotham, of all places. A part of her couldn’t help but speculate whether of not Alya had been hoping that they’d end up in Crime Alley.

Jason was an unexpected bonus to their trip, though. None of them were quite sure what to think of the native Gothamite, but he did make an excellent tour guide. He was attentive, and surprisingly knowledgeable about the city’s history. Although he initially came off as angry and intimidating, he was also witty and attentive, especially to Marinette.

Okay, he was also hot. Like, absurdly hot. While Adrien was attractive, Jason was… Marinette didn’t know what words she could possibly use to describe just how broad his shoulders were, or how defined those muscles seemed. At one point he hugged her into his (very firm) chest so an inattentive biker didn’t hit her while they were crossing the street. She was grateful that he took the time to cuss them out, or he would have seen her face as red as her Ladybug suit. At another point when he took off his jacket and she saw his arms, she nearly choked on her spit.

She was dangerously close to relapsing into the Marinette of her teenage years, and that was the singularly worst outcome she could picture. Something about Jason made her feel… safe, protected.

The first day of their acquaintance with Jason was blessedly uneventful. Marinette was a little sad to bid him goodbye for good, but when he dropped them off at their hotel, he asked, “So what time should I be here tomorrow?”

A blush crept up Marinette’s face. “You don’t have to do that, really. We don’t want to bore you–“

He met her eyes, his own piercing. He was evaluating her, and based on his smirk, he liked what he saw. “I’ll be here at ten.” Jason raised a massive, strong hand to brush an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “Gotham would eat you up, and we can’t have that.”

When he stepped away, Marinette almost collapsed on the spot. She knew her face was flaming red, but she managed to stammer, “W-Well, we’re going to have breakfast at the bakery just down the block at seven, but we’ll definitely be back by ten.”

“I guess that’s safe enough,” Jason said with that same smirk. “But no more wandering around Gotham, you got it?”

“S-Sure.”

Even though he had just vacated her personal space just a second ago, he leaned in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “Sleep well, sweetcheeks.”

He left them standing in the hotel lobby, Marinette completely frozen. Before the boys could do or say anything, Alya grabbed her hand in an iron grip and hauled her up two flights of stairs to the room the two of them were sharing.

“What was that?” Alya demanded, closing the door with a bang.

Still dazed, Marinette collapsed onto the bed. “What was that?”

“Do you suddenly have a thing for bad boys now? I just… and how did we bump into him? He’s like the buffest man on the planet.”

“He called me sweetcheeks. Is that a good thing?” Marinette mumbled.

“Marinette, focus,” Alya said, shaking her best friend. “I’m worried.”

Finally Marinette made eye contact. “But he’s safe. He protected us.”

Emerging from her purse, Tikki settled on Alya’s head. “Marinette, I don’t think that’s what Alya is talking about.”

Sitting up, infinitely more level-headed than moments earlier, Marinette smiled softly, eyes holding a depth of sadness that should have been unfair for a twenty-year-old. “I know that nothing will happen between the two of us, we fly back to Paris in five days. But I just… I just want to be a normal girl for a week. I was fine with coming to Gotham because it meant I had a week to just be Marinette, not Ladybug, not MDC. For once I just want to let myself get caught up in my emotions – and if I end up hurt, that’s fine, because it means I’m allowed to feel again.”

Tikki and Alya shared glances with each other before Tikki spoke. “I guess I can understand that. But are you sure you can handle whatever happens, Marinette?”

“I’m a big girl, Tikki.”

“Besides, did you see those biceps? That alone almost makes up for anything he might do,” Alya said, fanning herself.

********

When morning rolled around, Marinette was the only one awake. Even Tikki was worn out from staying up entirely too late giggling about Jason and embarrassing Marinette with Alya’s help. Used to helping in the bakery every morning since she’d graduated, the lack of sleep was nothing to Marinette when she rolled out of bed and tied her hair up as per usual.

She was a little nervous about walking around Gotham alone, but Jason had dubbed this a safe part of town, and it was just at the end of the block. Her phone and her wallet were safely secured to her person, so she couldn’t be pick-pocketed either. Besides, even if something did happen, she had been Ladybug for years. Even without being transformed, Marinette had developed a number of self-defense skills on her own. It would be fine.

Getting to the bakery was no problem because, as previously stated, it was only a block away. The streets were fairly empty, and the weather was pleasant. She’d heard that Gotham was almost always storming, but she had yet to see any of that.

The bread was still warm in the bakery. Marinette was mostly curious about the differences between French and American bakeries, and she knew her parents were expecting a full report of any special items.

It didn’t seem like there was anything too different about the bakery except the various vigilante inspired pastries, and Marinette refused to bring that up – she didn’t need to see Ladybug bread everywhere she went. They actually had a far smaller selection than she was used to, but she’d heard that that was to be expected in America.

She ordered a bit of everything, and after deliberating a bit, she ordered a few extra Red Hood donuts. They were vaguely gun-shaped and filled with raspberry jelly. It seemed like the sort of thing that Jason would find amusing, and if not, there were plenty of other things for him to choose from and Adrien and Nino wouldn’t complain.

Piled high with pastries and breads, Marinette left the bakery humming to herself. Bags swung f rom her arms as she skipped a few feet until she froze, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine.

Crouching in a nearby alley, Marinette looked out at the street for a sign of what had her on edge like this. Sure enough, only seconds later a roar shook the streets, and a villain she recognized as Killer Croc barrelled his way through, jaws snapping.

Marinette’s eyes widened when she noticed he was clearly heading straight for the alley she’d ducked into. Too late she noticed the open manhole cover just a few feet behind her. The telltale sound of vigilantes pursuing the mutant were enough to spur her into action.

Unwilling to put down the food, Marinette kicked the manhole cover back in place – it would slow Croc down for a few seconds. He was still about fifty meters away, causing mass panic on the street. Desperately hoping that the wheels were unlocked – and surprisingly gratified, Marinette body checked the nearby dumpster, shoving it right on top of the manhole. Without her Ladybug suit, this was the most she could safely do. Bolting to the nearest building’s fire escape, Marinette hauled herself up the ladder as quickly as she could without smashing the bags of food.

Killer Croc wasn’t far behind her, and when he saw the covered manhole, he bellowed. Marinette started moving more haphazardly as she clambered up, desperate to reach safety. It was only a metal ladder within a foot of most windows, and it was only anchored by a handful of bolts every few feet of the ladder.

Her hand slipped when Killer Croc roared beneath her, catching sight of her handiwork. A neatly wrapped pastry fell out of one of the violently swinging bags, bopping the reptile on the head.

“This was you!” he growled. “If the Bats are going to catch me then I may as well take you with me.”

Scaled hands grasped one of the bottom rungs. Marinette did all she could to haul herself up the ladder faster, but it was a thirteen-story building – making it to the top was sounding less likely by the minute. She would have leapt into one of the nearby windows if she weren’t convinced that it would end in a paranoid Gothamite taking her out before Killer Croc could do the job.

Metal groaned as the reptilian man wrenched the bolts out of the very brick they’d been anchored in. The ladder shook, and Marinette screamed as the section she clung to was ripped from the wall, leaving her stuck between a structurally questionable ladder, and a very pissed off crocodile.

“Going so soon? Our playdate was just getting fun.”

Marinette could have sobbed when she saw Nightwing enter the alleyway, flanked by Red Robin and Red Hood. In a deep voice, Red Hood said, “You two take down Croc, I’ve got the girl.”

The other two looked surprised, but conceded easily enough. While Killer Croc was distracted by the vigilantes, Marinette moved even faster up the ladder – she only had three flights to go before she was at the roof, but the ladder was shaking like it would fall at any second, and she really didn’t want to find out what that would do to her and the pastries.

She vaguely registered that Red Hood was demanding someone’s something hook, but Marinette’s sheer panic was lessening her grasp on the English language by the second. With his loudest growl yet, Killer Croc wrenched the ladder free of the building. Marinette screamed, her stomach clenching with dread as she released the ladder, trying to curl her body in a way that she hopefully wouldn’t break anything upon impact.

Something whistled through the air, and before Marinette could hit the ground she collided with something – a man, who wrapped an arm around her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but Marinette opened them to find herself face-to-face with the abomination that was Red Hood’s mask, but for the moment she could forgive the fashion crime.

He kicked off of the brick wall, giving them some distance from the ladder before it fell with a glorious clang. Marinette’s heart finally started beating, hammering in her chest as the vigilante slowly lowered them down to the ground.

When she finally forced herself to look, the other two had Killer Croc pinned and trussed up like a pig. Nightwing waved, smiling brighter than Marinette thought was allowed from someone who lived in Gotham. “The manhole cover and the dumpster? Brilliant move, we never would have caught him if he’d been able to get into the sewers. You made some risky moves, but I can tell they were calculated. Nicely done!”

Safely on the ground, Red Hood was examining her for any injuries. Clearly irked, he growled, “Since when are we encouraging civilians to jump into the middle of this sh-“

“Hood, she would have been involved one way or another just because of where she was standing,” Nightwing interrupted. “She saw us coming, and she just did a few things to slow him down while doing her best to keep herself safe. What’s up with you? Normally you’d be high-fiving a civilian for something like that.”

“Whatever,” Red Hood mumbled. “I’m escorting her to make sure she gets to wherever she’s going safely. Make sure the lizard doesn’t get away.”

Taglist:

@jasonette-july-2k20 @ira-sairain @myazael @pawsitivelymiraculous @nik-nak-3

Note:

I got a couple questions about this being a Mominette fic - it is, just not yet. This one is going to be a lot different from I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face and I am stoked to see how you guys like it! If you want to be tagged in future chapters, just leave a comment, and once again, blow up Jasonette July! I’m super excited to see what everyone else has to say and write! 

#maribat #jasonette july 2k20 #jasonette #jason x marinette #mominette

[kyouxa]

Diabolik Lovers Chaos Lineage Kino (Story 10)

In terms of the gameplay: The black choices lead up to a bad ending, the white choices lead up to a good ending. Please no reposting onto other sites, ask me before translating this into another language too! If you enjoy these translations, please consider supporting me on ko-fi.

Place: Scarlet mansion — Kino’s bedroom

Yui: Nn…

(This is… Kino-kun’s room, isn’t it? I should’ve been in Reiji-san’s room though)

(I mean, if I’m not mistaken, Kino-kun sucked my blood and I ended up fainting at the end)

Kino: ...You finally woke up. The sleeping beauty really is a sleepyhead after all.

Yui: Did you end up carrying me here, Kino-kun… ?

Kino: If I would’ve left you as you were, I obviously would’ve been scolded. So it couldn’t be helped.

Yui: Oh, I see… thank you.

Kino: ...There’s no need for you to thank me. Or did you already forget what happened to you yesterday?

Yui: No, I remember everything...

(I seriously thought he’d end up killing me yesterday. In the end, I once again tried to stand up for myself against my own will)

(But, somehow I wasn’t scared of that. After all I felt as if I finally got to understand Kino-kun’s true intentions…)

Kino: What’s with those eyes?

Yui: Oh, err… I… I should probably go back to my own room now.

(I also have to go and find out about Shu-san’s situation…)

*Yui tries to stand up*

Yui: Ngh, Ah...

(I have no strength to stand up…)

Kino: You also seem a little anemic, don’t you?

Well, it’s not unreasonable since I did end up sucking a lot of blood.

Yui: ...Can you tell me what happened to Shu and Reiji-san then?

Kino: It seems that the two of them have made up. I also think that Yuma’s suspicions have been completely resolved.

Yui: Oh, I see...

(That’s good…)

Kino: Even though their memories have been falsificated by someone, they absurdly came to reconciliation. 

Yui: That’s because Shu and Reiji-san are real brothers no matter what their memories got changed into.

Kino: You’re talking about brothers again...

...Ahha, I lost interest.

Yui: Eh?

Kino: I thought that if I could see those guys fight each other, my life wouldn’t be too bad here, but it all went wrong in the end.

There’s no point in staying in this place anymore now… I’ll go home.

Yui: Eh… do you really know how to get home from this place… !?

Kino: Don’t get your hopes high up. You should know better than anyone how complicated this could be.

Yui: (He’s right… )

Kino: But I don’t plan on overstaying in a place like this anymore.

I thought this would turn into a way more miserable situation, but it just ended up showing off their bond among brothers.

What’s even with this mansion? Well, I’m sick of it anyway.

*Kino leaves*

Yui: Ah… wait, Kino-kun! ...Ugh...

(It can’t, my feet are too unsteady… I can’t chase after him)

*door closes*

Yui: (And he left…)

Place: Outside — Forest

Kino: (I’ve once again been disappointed by my own expectations. It’s unimaginable that they actually ended their fight)

(The plan I had for Reiji-san was supposed to work out just smoothly)

(But it all ended up in a huge failure because of that woman)

(In any case, it was about time I get myself out of here as a way to refresh myself)

(She was in serious joy when I said that those Sakamaki guys are gonna be safe now though)

...That still sticks in my throat.

(Just why are you so concerned about them? Ah, because they’re precious to you, no? Are those guys considered as gentlemen to this woman then?)

(If so, I guess that’s why they’re so bound together. Those Sakamaki guys and this woman)

...For real, this is no fun.

Place: Scarlet mansion — Kino’s bedroom

Yui: (Kino-kun really left me alone like that. And until now he hasn’t come back either…)

(Should I try telling Reiji-san about this matter?)

(But if everyone would chase after him all of the sudden, Kino-kun won’t come back either)

(It would be pointless to try to reason with Kino-kun since he’s so adamant anyway)

In the end I’m still the only one who knows about the current situation...

...Alright, let’s go. I have to find Kino-kun.

Place: Outside — Forest

Yui: (Haa… my body still feels all heavy… looks as if I really have anemia after all…)

(But that’s probably because Kino-kun’s blood-sucking yesterday was different than all the other days)

(And yet, why am I trying to chase after Kino-kun… ?)

(If I’d leave him alone, there would be no conflicts in the mansion, and all those terrible things wouldn’t happen anymore either)

Even if Kino-kun isn’t here, why is he still running through my mind? For me to think of him now among all things...

(But still, I should be honest with my feelings since I do want to chase after him)

(My reason, huh… I should think about that later. I have to focus on finding Kino-kun first)

Place: Miniature garden — Edge of the world

Yui: Ah... I think I got through the forest before I even knew it already...

I was so lost in thoughts I didn’t notice...

… Eh…?

Monologue

At first I forgot to take a breath after the sight that was beyond the forest.

It looked as if the cliff had completely cut off the ground.

As I looked around the cliff, it seemed as if there was no end to it. The opposite shore was all blurred and I couldn’t see it at all either.

Because I was amazed at the unrealistic sight, I didn’t notice something.

— The ground was becoming loose.

Place: Miniature garden — Edge of the world

Yui: ….. !?

(Is the cliff collapsing… !?)

*Yui falls*

Yui: Kyaaaaaaa!!

(It’s useless! I’ll fall down! No, please… I don’t want to die!)

(Help me… Kino-kun!!)

Kino: Haa… what are you doing?

Yui: (...Eh… ?)

Kino: Alright, I’ll pull you up now.

Yui: Ahh…

*Yui falls to the ground*

Yui: Haa… Haa…

(My god... my hands are shivering and my heart is pounding)

(If he wouldn’t have grabbed me by my arm, I’d be—)

Kino: Of course you’d get all shaky if you approach a cliff and lose your footing afterwards. Do you actually want to die or something?

Keep in mind that you were just saved because I happened to be nearby.

I’d be in huge trouble if Eve would die to begin with. This way I couldn’t get any powers.

Hey, are you even listening?

Yui: I got saved… you saved me...

I-I’m so grateful… I… I thought I was going to die...

Kino: Hey, you… are you crying right now?

Yui: That’s because… I was so scared...

(Whether my blood was sucked, or a knife was being pointed at me… I never felt like this…)

(It’s the first time I’ve ever felt this close to death…)

Kino: If you would’ve slipped off that cliff, it would’ve been an instant game over. So don���t try that again, alright?

Yui: I-I’m so sorry...

Kino: Don’t tell me you feel more nervous now out of all those times I’ve threatened you?

Yui: I-I don’t know… I really don’t know, but—

Thank you so much for rescuing me...

Kino: ...I’m just not happy to be thanked while seeing you have that terrible face.

Haa… I really hate seeing a woman being as depressed as you are right now. Stop crying already.

Yui: A-Ah… I’m sorry...

(But even though I want to stop, my tears won’t stop flowing down…)

(The darkness that I saw under the cliff simply doesn’t disappear out of my head…)

Kino: Haa… can’t help it then.

Monologue

The blood sucking, being threatened, and all the painful feelings I had to experience...

I thought I had been in a really miserable situation all this time, but compared to what happened just now, thinking back to this feels as if my life was going soft on me.

Having to experience a simpler situation and then a way more life threatening situation such as this, I was completely unable to stop my trembling legs and crying eyes.

After some time had passed, I was finally able to regain my composure again.

As I suddenly raised my face, Kino-kun, who was playing with my smartphone, was sitting right next to me.

Place: Miniature garden — Edge of the world

*Kino taps on his smartphone*

Yui: Kino-kun…

Kino: Hm? Ah, so you did stop crying after all. Took you long enough.

Yui: Have you perhaps been waiting for me there all this time… ?

Kino: It would be annoying if you were to fall off there again, so I just thought I should keep an eye on you.

Yui: I guess that makes sense...

I’m sorry for causing so much trouble for you. I’m alright now though...

Kino: Well, gotta admit that this one was a little refreshing because I saw your crying face.

It also seems that you realized your powerlessness.

Humans are really fragile in mind and body, aren’t they?

Yui: T-That’s not it… !

Kino: Not it, huh? Heh, that doesn’t deny the fact that your legs are still shaking though, right?

Yui: Err...

(I can’t seem to stand up yet, so I can’t even argue…)

Kino: So, what are you going to do if you can’t even walk? Will you wait for your death here?

Oh, or are you waiting to be attacked by other vampires while they’re scouting around?

I wonder if you’d prefer that one because you’d become an easy target then.

Yui: (Nn, I’d be in trouble if that happened… !)

(... If I don’t want this to happen, I’ve got no other choice)

Then, I’d like to stay with you, Kino-kun...

Kino: Hmm? It’s kind of irritating that you’re suddenly cheeky enough to ask to be by my side even though you keep disobeying me.

Yui: (Uhh… at least I ended up saying what’s on my mind)

Kino: If you really want to be with me that much… prove it to me.

Yui: Prove it… ?

Kino: Don’t just tell me to take you along with me. You gotta be to my liking, y’know?

Choices

1) Sincerely ask (white)♡♡♡

2) I’m a bit worried (black)

— Sincerely ask ♡

Yui: Please, I want to be with you, Kino-kun.

So please, take me along with you...

Kino: That’s not quite it yet. Didn’t I tell you to ask me to my liking?

Yui: Err, umm…

— I’m a bit worried

Yui: (I mean, I don’t want to be left behind all by myself, neither do I want to be subservient though)

(I’ve already had a lot of trouble until now, so I definitely have to be careful…)

Kino: Alright, your time has expired. If I can’t hear what you say, I might as well push you off the cliff.

Yui: I’m sorry, I’ll answer you! Just wait a quick second!

end Choices

Kino: Look, kiss the back of my hand. Do it as a sign of loyalty. And then swear the following:

“I want to only be beside you, Kino-sama. I’ll never go against you anymore, and I’ll do exactly as I’m told.”

Yui: (The conditions keep increasing…)

(But I guess I’ll have to do it. If something might happen in my current state, it would surely end up in a critical life situation for me…)

*Yui comes closer*

Yui: A-Ah, um… so I can have your hand real quick, right?

(Ah… after all this man has really big hands. The back of his hand is also quite bony though)

Kino: What are you staring at? Look, like this you’ll end up depending on me soon.

Yui: Oof… a-alright.

*Yui kisses Kino’s hand*

Yui: Nn...

I want to only be beside you, Kino-sama. With that… I’ll never go against you anymore, and I’ll do exactly as I’m told.

Kino: Fufu… Hahaha! Ah, that feels good. After all it’s way nicer to have you obediently tell me that directly.

Yui: (He looks so surprisingly happy…)

Kino: Seems as if you finally completely fell into it, right? I don’t dislike how obedient you’ve become.

And because of that, I shall reward you by taking you to a special place.

*Kino picks Yui up*

Yui: Eh... what… are you doing!?

Kino: As you can see, I’m carrying my princess.

You’re weak on your knees and can’t walk, so I might as well have to do this.

Because you obediently took my hand and all that, I’ll repay you.

But if you try to struggle... you know what might happen, right?

Yui: (And yet again… he says something to threaten me)

(But it will stay obedient)

(That’s because Kino-kun’s smile now seemed real… almost as if he’s genuinely happy—)

#Diabolik Lovers #diabolik lovers translation #Kino #diabolik lovers kino sakamaki #kino sakamaki #kino diabolik lovers #Diabolik brothers #diabolik lovers kino #Komori Yui #chaos lineage translation #diabolik lovers chaos lineage #kino chaos lineage translation #chaos lineage kino translation #chaos linage

[stxphxn-strange]

human error/i don’t expect perfection

a/n: i started writing this, before 9am and my day was already not going to plan. my solution as always is to write hurt/comfort for my college au, so here we are. ily and i’m sending y’all well wishes♡

Stephen was hit with overwhelming relief when he finally got home, the clock singing her melodic chimes to announce the changing of the hour. It was 2 in the goddamn morning, and Stephen was just so sad and exhausted. He almost felt like a chain was tugging at his head and heart, leading him towards self loathing no matter how much he tried to resist. Stephen’s entire night consisted of trying to put on a smile, trying not to berate himself in front of others because he made a mistake. That was the problem. Stephen made a mistake, a really small error during a simulated surgery that he and Christine were using to study. It was a mistake so small and so easily corrected, but Stephen wanted to be perfect. The sheer presence of the mistake was unacceptable to him and his insatiable need to be flawless. 

Some of his classmates thought Stephen was an arrogant and haughty kissass who would trample anyone in his quest to prove that he was better, smarter, and more innovative than his peers. That wasn’t true, but Stephen let them think that. It was simpler than explaining that he’d internalized every bit of criticism he’d ever received and that he was just trying to be good enough for himself. It was easier than telling people that he felt the need to prove his worth to his mother in the hope that she might accept and understand him better. That was none of their fucking business. They could think Stephen worked himself to exhaustion so he could flex about what a hard worker he was, he didn’t care. 

He just wanted to be good enough. 

But first, he wanted to sleep. 

Stephen took his water bottle out of the fridge and made a steaming mug of tea, holding fire and ice as he headed towards his bedroom. He was hoping to find Anthony asleep and relaxed in bed, a sight that could always make Stephen smile. He wanted to take a hot shower and curl up in bed next to his boyfriend, and he wanted a lazy morning after a restful night. There were no classes tomorrow, which meant they could maybe catch up on sleep, or just spend time lounging around together with no pressure from the outside world. 

But Anthony wasn’t in bed. He was pacing around in the bathroom, brushing his teeth restlessly. He’d had a shit day and was still clearly quite upset, his eyes red and puffy from crying in the shower. After harshly washing his face in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the fact that he was crying, Anthony sighed deeply. 

Stephen, eager to get ready for bed, softly knocked on the door. “Hey, I’m home.” 

“Oh hi, I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” Anthony replied. He pulled the door open and walked across the room to pick up a towel that had fallen. Scowling at it, he hung it back up where it belonged. 

“You okay?” Stephen asked, leaning against the wall. 

“I’ve been better,” Anthony said. “You?” 

“About the same,” Stephen replied. 

These kinds of greeting conversations were much shorter when they were tired or upset. There was an understanding that they weren’t upset with each other, but down about something. 

Anthony reached out to silently ask for a hug, relaxing a little bit in Stephen’s arms. “Today wasn’t good.” 

Stephen hummed and drew him close. “It really wasn’t.” 

Anthony yawned, exhausted and swaying in Stephen’s safe embrace. He felt like he was going to fall, both from physical and mental exhaustion, but trusted Stephen to catch him every time. 

Sure enough, he did. Stephen hugged Anthony tighter and kissed the top of his head, holding him close to his heart. 

“Go to sleep, Ant,” he murmured. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“Okay,” Anthony replied. He yawned again, begrudgingly letting go of Stephen and stumbling into bed. 

He wanted to sleep and had every intention of doing so, but then he started thinking about his day. Not by choice, because Anthony could happily forget today if his mind would only let him. He replayed every conversation, memory, and action that caused him to feel as hollow and worthless as he did right now, not realizing that he was shaking as he tried not to cry. Stephen’s tiredness disappeared when he stepped out of the bathroom and was affronted with the sight of Anthony sobbing into a throw pillow. He crossed the room in long strides, laying beside his partner and hugging him close.

“What’s wrong?” Stephen asked, tracing circles on Anthony’s back.

Anthony just sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” Stephen replied. “Even if it’s the smallest thing in the world, if something is important to you then I’m going to listen. I’ll want to listen.”

“I’ll tell you later... can we just stay like this for a bit?” Anthony asked. His tone was so soft and passive, indicating that he’d trip over himself to redact the request if needed. He hated asking for things, always feeling imposing and undeserving of the time and attention he received.

But Stephen was already shifting into a better cuddling position, pulling Anthony into a strong hug and giving him gentle, loving kisses. Stephen was grateful for these moments where Anthony allowed himself to be vulnerable, grateful for any chance to show him the love he deserved.

They were both instinctively caring and fiercely loyal to the people they were close to, but awful at taking moments to show themselves the same kind of love and care. They both felt like they hadn’t earned love, like they couldn’t exist without owing something to someone. There weren’t enough ways to show supportive people how appreciated they are in the same way that nothing would ever be powerful enough for the couple to prove their worth to any naysayers. Stephen generally didn’t listen to criticism, he didn’t care what most people thought of him. A select few, his mother for example, could make him feel like shit 13 seconds into a conversation and leave him rattled. Sometimes when Stephen failed, he heard her voice and the negative things she’d told him. He usually dealt with these thoughts by thinking about encouraging memories or things Anthony told him, which helped to recenter him. That strategy didn’t work all the time, but enough to help Stephen get through the day.

Anthony was extremely sensitive to criticism, but great at hiding his emotions. He’d had to from a young age, Howard Stark being himself, so it wasn’t easy to tell when something upset him unless you knew what to look for. Sometimes he built a barrier to keep his emotions to the side, throwing one feeling on top of another until the foundation broke and emotions overwhelmed him. Today was one of those days, where something he thought was insignificant was the hump that broke the camel’s back. He wasn’t good at letting himself be upset and had a hard time surrendering to his emotions right now. Even as Stephen reassured him that it was okay, that he was safe, it was still hard for Anthony to let himself talk about what was wrong. That often led to nights like these, with the weary couple holding themselves and each other together with the threads of love and understanding and years of knowing each other.

Despite exhausting himself from crying, Anthony could still see that Stephen was upset. “You okay?” He whispered, caressing Stephen’s cheek with his hand.

“Just frustrated. The practice Christine and I were doing didn’t go according to plan,” Stephen replied. “It was so close to perfect, but I fucked up one little thing.”

“Did you try your best?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you fix the mistake?”

“As fast as I could, yeah.”

“And I assume you wrote everything down in that absurdly neat way you take notes?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Absurd is a bit of an extreme descriptor, don’t you think?”

“Hmm... no,” Anthony mumbled. “It’s absurd but shows how careful and dedicated you are to doing well. You have an immensely strong work ethic, you always do as much as you can, and you try as hard as you can. We’re still learning, we’re still in school. It’s okay to mess up, and it’s okay for you to mess up.”

Stephen nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as Anthony continued to caress his cheek. “You need to take your own advice, my love. You don’t have to hold yourself to impossibly high standards either.”

They tended to say the same thing in different words, ranging from delicate and sweet to extremely blunt.

Anthony smiled sadly, leaning in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stephen murmured against his lips. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Stephen always phrased his questions carefully. His intentions were always clear, showing that he was inviting Anthony to talk with him rather than insisting and forcing him into a vulnerable state. Too many people had done that to both of them.

There was no consequence if Anthony didn’t want to talk, and tonight he didn’t.

“In the morning?” He suggested, still a bit too timid to directly say no.

Stephen nodded. “In the morning.”

“I still just want to be close to you, in your arms,” Anthony whispered.

Stephen smiled and gave him a feather light kiss. “Stay as long as you like, I’m always here for you.”

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @h3mmy @kiwidino @chocopiggy @maya-custodios-dionach @majesticnerdynerd @ocforeverything @spooky-n-spunky @doctorstephenvincentstarkstrange @thespacecryptid

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #my ironstrange college au #hurt/comfort #angst and hurt/comfort #ironstrange angst #ironstrange angst/comfort #sad bois #Tony Stark needs a hug #Stephen strange needs a hug #protective stephen strange #protective tony stark #vent fic #comfort fic #yes i can project onto both Stephen and Tony at the same time #and they said it couldn’t be done

[ghost-party]

Next

Pairing: Nanami Kento x OC Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: death of a parent A/N: I’m currently reading the manga, but I’m not caught up yet. My brain just went “Nanami + books + meet-cute wholesomeness,” and here we are. I’m still trying to figure out how long this will end up being. And this is the first fanfic I’ve written in... well, a long time.

Nanami Kento has a bad habit.

He purchases books with every intention of reading them. The genre or subject doesn’t matter, as long as they leave him with a lingering curiosity after the first few pages. 

But he never seems to have the time to sit down and read them. No, that’s not right. He doesn’t make the time. Work keeps him busy. It also keeps him absurdly tired. He’s heard Gojo make the joke that sorcerers never sleep. He hates how true that feels. 

By the time he arrives home each night and goes through the motions of his usual routine — bath, dinner, chores, reports — he usually lacks the energy to focus on the words on the page. More than once, he’s woken in the early hours of the morning, bedside lamp still glowing, a barely-read book sprawled across his chest.

These days, he tries to exercise more self-control, reminding himself with the same discipline he brings to field work that his personal library is already at capacity.

But one day — a Friday, thankfully, and one that didn’t involve any overtime — he finds his resolve weakening at the sight of a small, nondescript bookshop tucked in between a florist and a corner café. 

It’s not very surprising that he’s never come across it before. He doesn’t usually take this route home. But having spent most of his day indoors, he had decided to make the most of the brisk autumn weather and prolong his walk.

He stands there, staring up at the sign — Twice-Told Tales — for what feels like an inordinate amount of time. With a frustrated huff, he gives in and steps inside.

A small bell jingles above him, and he’s enveloped in the familiar scent of old books, that subtle hint of vanilla. It always reminds him of his father’s study, with its built-in shelves and massive desk constantly cluttered with the detritus of his work. The same way that petrichor reminds him of walking home from school with his high school girlfriend, kissing her on the doorstep of her parents’ convenience store. (He’s not sure why that memory comes to mind now.)

Although he has a compulsive need for order in his personal life, a firm believer that everything in his apartment and on his person has a proper place, bookstores are, for whatever reason, exempt. Something about overflowing shelves, books stacked in precarious towers, organized by color or preference or size… It feels right.

And this particular shop seems to have found the sweet spot between order and chaos — just orderly enough to not overwhelm, but still brimming with the promise of surprises. Nanami loves few things more than discovering a book he hadn’t expected to find, or unearthing something he would never have thought to look for.

He’s thumbing through a well-worn travel guide — Budapest, one of the too many places he’s never been — when he hears footsteps approaching. He lifts his head and is struck by a strange, heady vertigo, like the floor has shifted beneath his feet.

From between the stacks toward the back of the store walks a woman. Mid-twenties, if he had to guess, wearing a dark green sweater and black pants. Her brown hair had been hastily pulled back and secured in a loose knot, wisps of it haloing her face. He takes in her small details — relaxed posture, lips quirked into a gentle half-smile, sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing ink-smudged hands and a glimpse of a tattoo on her left wrist. (He was nothing if not exceedingly perceptive.)

When she looks up and meets his gaze, her smile widens. And before he can say hello, she says the last thing he would have expected: “I like your tie.”

Whenever someone told him that, it was nearly always a joke. After all, his usual tie — burnt yellow with bold flecks of black — was what many would call (and what Gojo did call, with an excess of enthusiasm) garish.

But this time, it’s sincere. And it briefly leaves him tongue-tied.

Finally, he manages a “thank you,” and he’s grateful that he doesn’t sound as confused as he feels. For whatever reason, he is finding it hard to look away. Luckily, she seems unbothered by the prolonged eye contact, still smiling.

“Your Japanese is very good.”

At that, she laughs. “That’s kind of you to say. I’ve lived here for a year, and I think I’ve improved. But I’m definitely still learning.”

He wants to ask where she’s from. He doesn’t know why. He wasn’t in the habit of asking personal questions of complete strangers. Instead, he says, “The shop name. It’s a reference to Hawthorne, isn’t it?”

She nods. “He was one of my father’s favorite authors. He had the name picked out before he’d even bought the building.” 

Nanami, to his surprise, feels the same way he does when he stumbles upon an intriguing book — he wants to know the rest of the story. Had her father retired? Or died? Is that why she had moved here? Uprooted her entire life to live abroad?

Why do you care so much? he asks himself. But he doesn’t have an answer.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

He shakes his head. “Just browsing.”

“Well, if you need anything, let me know. I’ll be around.” 

In an effort to distract himself, he moves from shelf to shelf, perusing poetry, memoirs, thrillers, classics… He is pleased to find a small sitting area at the back of the store, two overstuffed armchairs beneath a window that overlooks a vegetable garden. Having picked up a new-to-him translation of Homer’s Odyssey, he decides to sit and read — at least for a little while. After all, it’s Friday. His usual routine could handle a wrinkle or two.

What he didn’t expect was to lose himself for two hours, until a kind, quiet voice breaks his concentration.

He looks up to find the shopkeeper seated in the chair beside him, holding two cups of what smells like mint tea. Her smile is halfway to a wince as she says, “Sorry... I hope I didn’t startle you. I made some tea and thought you might like some. Or there’s coffee, if you’d prefer that.”

“No, tea is fine. Thank you.” He accepts the cup and glances outside, noticing that the sun is already beginning to set. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re probably closing soon.”

“Half an hour ago, actually. But I didn’t want to interrupt — I really don’t mind.” She nods toward the book resting on his knee. “Have you read it before?”

“Years ago. I’d forgotten how much I liked it.”

“I love that feeling. Like running into an old friend.”

They sit in companionable silence, drinking their tea, and Nanami feels calmer than he has all week. As if the instinctive tension he kept wound inside his body had loosened without him even noticing. It feels strange, in a pleasant way.

Perhaps that’s the reason why he finally asks, “You said this shop belonged to your father?” Using context clues, he opts for the past tense.

She nods. “For twelve years. But then he found out he had cancer, and it was too much work for him. I was in between jobs, had just gotten out of a long relationship…” Here, she pauses, and he notices something flicker in her gaze. But it’s gone too quickly. “And the lease was up on my apartment. So it felt like a sign, I guess. It took a lot of work, but I moved here. And when he died, I inherited this.” She gestures around at the shop. “And the apartment upstairs.”

“Why did you stay?” He’s startled by his own question, and when he notices her eyes widen, he continues, “I imagine it’s been lonely, with him gone, living in another country. You could have sold everything and moved back home.”

“That’s true.” She sets her now-empty teacup on the small table between them and curls one leg beneath her, leaning back into the chair. “I did think about it, at first. Because it all just felt so… overwhelming. But I wanted a fresh start, and that’s what kept me going. Now this feels more like home than my last home ever did.” She turns back to him, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, that was a lot. You’re just easy to talk to.”

Yet another comment he isn’t used to hearing. If anything, he suspects he intimidates most people, with his blunt assessments and polite professionalism. But here is someone he barely knows, opening up to him like... a flower. A sunflower, he idly thinks, not sure exactly why he finds the comparison so fitting.

He glances down at his watch and reluctantly stands, grasping the book. “Thank you for the tea — and the conversation. But I should let you close for the evening.” He holds up Homer’s Odyssey and, indulging that bad habit of his, says, “I’ll take this.”

“Follow me. I’ll ring you up.”

When she hands him his receipt, she smiles at him again — that same open, warm smile that makes him feel like the world is tipping on its axis. It’s unnerving, that she can elicit such a reaction from him. But a small part of him also finds it fascinating.

“My name’s Olivia — Olivia Vale. What’s yours?”

“Nanami Kento.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nanami-san.” She leads him to the door, keys jingling in her hand. “I hope you come back soon.”

“I will.” And he means it.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x oc #nanami kento x oc