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somethingpoetichere · 3 years

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lovebug- caliban imagine

sup. fic inspired by my favorite song in THE world. not as soft mushy as it may sound I promise caliban is a nice lil sarcastic SHIT with a big ole crush. mild sabrina bashing but its funny in context and I think it’s the way family behaves. reader is a Spellman, not a witch but DOES know about the supernatural/is part of the supernatural world. here with my once in a blue moon post lol. feedback would be appreciated!

called her for the first time yesterday

finally found the missing part of me

felt so close but you were far away

left me without anything to say

Caliban was not an idiot- he knew not to underestimate the Spellman half-witch that had gone and declared herself queen of hell. So he’d taken the liberty of learning everything he could about her, noting her habits and schedule and the people she surrounded herself with.

And then he found you.

You weren’t a witch- at least, he hadn’t found your name in his diligent searching through the Book of the Beast- but you were something. That he was sure of. There was something slightly off about your presence, tinged a little glittery, though not altogether unpleasant.

No, not unpleasant at all, he mused as he watched you make your way towards your car. Tucked into a little yellow sundress, you stood out like a ray of sunshine in the wave of doom-and-gloom that hallmarked high school. The school bell rang out behind you, and Caliban felt his knees go disgustingly weak as you smiled brilliantly at Sabrina through the crowd.

It was a stupid, stupid decision that Caliban would never have made in the right state of mind, but he reasoned that pissing off Sabrina was validation enough to get your attention. He ducked into your path on purpose, taking advantage of your momentary distraction as he gently bumped into you. oops.

You collided with a solid wall, books tumbling out of your hands as strong arms reached out to steady you. You let out a surprised yelp at the collision, peeking up curiously as the wall you’d hit laughed.

Oh, well that was a sight for sore eyes.

The golden haired stranger holding you was, well, gorgeous. Bright blue eyes peered down at you as he grinned, and you felt the whole world shutter around you. You’d definitely been watching too many soap operas with your auntie, but goddamn it if you weren't positively putty.

“Hi there, stranger.” You giggled nervously, and Caliban suddenly remembered he’d had his arms around you for far too long to be acceptable. He reluctantly retreated, feeling something claw a little uncomfortably in his chest.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He apologized, moving to pick up your books as you bent down to retrieve them. He ran a hand through his hair in barely concealed bashfulness, unsure of why he felt so... unsettled, all of a sudden.

“It’s alright, my head was in the clouds.” You waved off his apology, accepting the books he offered you with a grateful smile. “Are you new here? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“He’s new here!” Sabrina’s shrill voice interrupted, training her icy glare on Caliban, who fought back a smirk. “This is Caliban- he’s from... Australia! Yeah, down under!”

“Oh, I can show you around tomorrow! I know how scary it can be to be new here.” You patted his arm sympathetically, ignoring Sabrina’s stream of indignant protests. “I was with student council all day. If you’re a senior, we probably have most of the same classes.”

Caliban had shit to do. Caliban had trials to plan and souls to torture. But you were looking at him- all warmth and sunshine, and Sabrina’s look of pure horror only sweetened the deal.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, sunshine.”

so worth it.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban didn't understand why the mortals all bemoaned high school as hell on earth. It certainly wasn't so bad once you got past the wave of body spray and the questionable cafeteria food. In fact, darting to class with a pretty girl beside him was pretty enjoyable, all things considered.

You’d spent the day introducing him to the other students, passing him silly notes in class, and had even tugged him from the lunch room to hang out with your friends in the library. He learned that you pretty much did it all- student council, cheerleader, top of your class- all while managing to somehow know the name of everyone you passed with a smile in the halls. You were silly and sweet— smart as all hell with a wit that certainly kept the clay prince on his toes.

and he was smitten.

The groan that escaped your painted lips was delightfully sinful as you slumped in the seat beside him in english class. “I hate Romeo and Juliet. How do two people fall in love in a few days anyhow? And Mrs. Willows always makes us reenact the scenes, and it’s so corny.” The blush that colored your cheeks as he looked at you in concern was something he did his best to commit to memory- cheesiness be damned, Caliban was enjoying himself far too much.

Caliban smirked, skimming through the booklet he’d been passed as the teacher droned. The prince of hell had a certain flare for the dramatics, and Sabrina’s glare burning into the back of his head only fueled his antics. He had one scene in mind, and it was the scene that was certain to kill four birds with one stone- totally make you fall in love with him, he would somehow manage to kiss you (that part was a work in progress), piss off Sabrina, and also- piss off Sabrina.

And kiss you. So maybe five parts. Damn it, Caliban was going to have to make a list.

“Partners?” He whispered softly, gently tugging at your hand as the teacher sat back down. Caliban’s eyes were alight with a tinge of mischief that you either failed to notice or were simply amused by- and your answering nod was more than a little bashful. “We can do my favorite scene.”

“If you say the first kiss scene, I’m punching the daylights out of you.” You warned, playfully nudging his knee with your own. “It will be unkind and I will not feel bad.”

“My lady wounds me.” He dramatically rested his hand above his heart. “And we absolutely have to do this scene-” He raised his hand to silence your half-hearted protests- “because Billy told the guys in calculus that he was specifically going to be pissed if we did this scene.”

Okay, so maybe he’d stretched the truth a little bit. But Caliban knew that the mention of your seedy ex-boyfriend (who you’d enlightened him about during lunch) would absolutely get you to agree to the scene. And it wasn't like he’d lied— Billy Marlin’s glare was nearly as icy as Sabrina’s. And, it wasn't like the way Billy looked at you- with something akin to possession in his eyes- totally made Caliban want to fast track the kid to damnation right then and there. Nope.

“We can meet up later today to practice? I have cheerleading practice after school, but I’m free after that!” You grinned at him, and he felt the tension ease out of his shoulders as you rested your hand on his arm. The gesture was so effortless- but to Caliban, who’d never really experienced connection like this- you reduced him to all but clay again.

“I can drive you home after practice?” Caliban offered, enjoying the yelp that Sabrina let out from the back of the classroom. He shouldered your bag as the bell sounded, noting the way your eyes softened even further at the gesture. “We don't really have cheerleaders down under, you know.”

“You’re welcome to stay and watch.” You shrugged, ignoring the way your heart thudded erratically as he walked you to the locker room. “It won’t be too long today, and Sabrina has a date with Nick after, anyways.”

it was really just too easy.

i can't get your smile out of my mind

i think about your eyes all the time

you're beautiful but you don't even try

(you don't even, don't even try)

modesty is just so hard to find

Caliban wasn’t sure if he regretted his earlier offer. Sure, the sight of you tucked into the tight cheerleading uniform (did they make them that short on purpose?) was pretty much the pinnacle of male fantasy, and the smiles and winks you’d thrown his way whenever he caught your eye during your routines were something else altogether.

But getting the sight out of his brain as you rambled aimlessly in the car about today’s chapters of Dante’s Inferno, while he simultaneously tried to focus on the road and definitely not the way your skirt hitched on the leather seat...

Yeah, Caliban was pretty sure he was in love.

You weren’t too far off, in all honesty. Caliban’s large hands had a firm grip on the steering wheel, and you took the time to admire further up his toned arms as he drove. His hair fell in loose, windswept waves, and his side profile looked like it was sculpted by the freaking gods. Every so often he would glance your way, his perfect lips parting to reveal his perfect teeth and perfect smile and gods-

Yeah, you had the lovebug bad.

“So how did you meet Sabrina?” You questioned innocently enough, and Caliban had to restrain the urge to spill all of the hell-related gossip to you. How Sabrina had managed to keep all of her throne-seeking from you was beyond him, but it certainly added a thrill to his pursuit of you.

“I had some administrative issues the other day and ran into her. She doesn’t like me too much, I’ve gathered.” Caliban was careful not to lie- his entanglement with you had the added perk of pissing off your dearest cousin, but it was genuine on Caliban’s end. He found he didn’t really want to lie about things.

“Sabrina is... touchy.” You offered carefully, shifting in your seat as you pointed out directions to your home. “I don’t really understand why she doesn't like you, to be honest. I was actually going to have a word with her about being nice- you’ve been so sweet, and I was the new kid too a few years back. It's hard to find your place in the established dynamic of a small town.”

Caliban doubted you’d had too much of an issue, with the way the halls seemed to light up around you, but the accompanying smile you gave him was bright enough to soothe his imagined woes. “It’s alright, I reckon she’ll get used to having me around.”

“Used to you?” You mused with a giggle, leaning on the console in a gesture that brought your face much, much closer to his own. He was overwhelmed with your floral scent- something soft and summery and altogether you.

“I plan on being around you a lot, sunshine. If you don’t mind.” He grinned, turning to face you momentarily at the stop sign. Your eyes were wide with hardly concealed surprise at his words, and he watched the realization of the close proximity of his face flicker through them.

It happened so fast that Caliban was almost certain he imagined it- but your eyes had definitely glanced at his lips. The blush that tinged your cheeks as you pulled back confirmed it, and in a moment of calculated risk, Caliban moved to rest his hand on your exposed thigh.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

If Caliban squinted, he could almost picture that he was a normal teenage boy, driving a beautiful, normal girl home from school. The sinking sun was peeking through the windows, bathing you in an ethereal glow, and - at least for right now- everything was perfect.

you were perfect.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban draped himself across your bed, a languid smirk on his lips as you kicked haphazardly placed piles of clothes into your closet.

“I promise I’m not usually this messy,” you apologized with a sheepish smile, shoving a mass of shoes under your bed, “okay, that's a lie. I’m always this messy, I just didn’t expect company.”

Caliban hardly minded. It was adorable how embarrassed you were, and he took the time to take in your bedroom (drawn from his reverie only by the occasional delighted shout when you found a shirt you’d thought had been sacrificed to the laundry gods, or worse, Sabrina’s room).

The first thing Caliban noticed was the books. While your clothes lay in scattered piles, all of your books were meticulously organized and lovingly tucked into shelves that took up an entire wall of the room. Sabrina may have answered that Caliban’s only hobby was torturing babies (or her, which was the same thing, really— and also, what the hell? Caliban may have enjoyed the occasional soul flaying, but only when it was well deserved!)— but Caliban loved to read.

What was one lifetime in one world, when he could learn of a thousand others in just as many universes? Immortality could grow dull, and eternity had to be spent somehow. Caliban tried not to smile as you precariously placed the book that had found its way onto your nightstand back into its place, and supposed that it might be far more enjoyable with someone else.

You seemed satisfied with your damage control, and slumped onto the bed dramatically with a groan. It was then that Caliban’s hand found a stray victim of your clothing massacre.

“Nice.” He grinned, and you peeked up from your playbook to find him dangling a pink lace bra.

Shit.

“Give me that!” You lunged, but Caliban was too fast. He quickly moved them from your reach, laughing wildly as you wrestled him desperately for the bra.

“You are the worst.” A groan escaped you, and you huffed in fake-defeat as Caliban smirked victoriously at your retreat. You leaped at the chance, tackling Caliban with all your might. While momentarily surprised, he reacted quickly and shifted so that he was now pinning you to the bed, his hair dangling wildly in your face as you both laughed.

Caliban’s face was so close that you could see the flecks of green in his eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to flicker to your lips, but in the seconds it took for you to find your voice again, you’d lost your nerve.

“We should get back to the scene.”

The moment was broken, and Caliban retreated with a bashful look on his face. He ran a hand through his hair and moved to sit across from you, his cheeks tinted a little red as he politely handed you back your intimates and pretended to shield his eyes when you tossed it somewhere. You’d never been so freaking embarrassed in your life, but Caliban was smiling so softly at you, like you were—

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He motioned around with his hands dramatically, tone playful and light.

You were so dead. Caliban was freaking made for this romantic swooning nonsense that you’d tried to protest nearly the whole ride home, Billy Marlin be damned.

Giggling nervously in what you hoped seemed scene-appropriate, you tried your best to forget being a horny teenager to instead play a horny teenager. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Caliban’s voice lowered, a smile still tugging at his lips as he took your hands in his own. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim.” Your own voice softened in turn as Caliban began to trace mindless patterns on the backs of your hands with his thumbs, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” Caliban’s eyes were soft, and you imagined that Shakespeare had pictured the man in front of you when putting the words to paper. The words fell so naturally from his lips and he seemed engrossed in the scene— he was, for lack of a better word, enchanting.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.” Your voice was hardly more than a breathless whisper, the proximity of your faces and the intimacy (however imagined) stealing the air from your lungs.

Caliban paused, his eyes meeting yours intently as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he took your face in both of his hands.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.”

It was all too much. You could hardly be blamed for kissing him as fiercely as you did.

It was like fireworks, like every cheesy romance novel and play (cough, Romeo and Juliet) claimed it would be. You’d had plenty of kisses before, but never one that melted your brain like this. You forgot all about the scene, about how not real this was supposed to be as your hands tangled in his windswept hair and he pulled you onto his lap.

It was Caliban who first pulled away, only just so that your noses were touching. He was breathing heavily, eyes blown wide— and you felt your whole face turn red as reality consumed you again. “I am so sorry, I’ll just—”

“Where do you think you’re going, Juliet?” Caliban’s hands firmly gripped your hips, preventing you from moving away. His fingers thumbed the band of your skirt, and his next words were a whisper against your lips.

“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

kissed her for the first time yesterday

everything i wished that it would be

suddenly i forgot how to speak

hopeless, breathless, baby can't you see?

Caliban was in love. He’d spent the next three weeks with you reciting Romeo and Juliet, sharing shakes at Dr. Cerberus, and tugging you into empty classroom and closets at every opportunity to kiss you senseless. Every moment not spent with you was at least somewhat occupied by the thought of you, and Caliban found he wasn’t the least bit upset about it.

And Sabrina was pissed.

If she’d hated him before, she positively loathed him now. It was the latest point of contention between yourself and your darling cousin, who’d you taken to threatening with various kitchen utensils and promises to tell the aunties she’d been sneaking out to make her behave. And Caliban, for his part, was perfectly polite— even though he still had every intention of taking the throne from the inexperienced witch who promised to destroy the balance of heaven and hell.

Which presented Caliban’s own latest dilemma. He was going to have to tell you eventually— and in a way that didn't make you totally hate him. He had a plan. Okay, maybe a skeletal plan. Or no plan. Yeah, Caliban was going to wing it.

After today. He just had to make it through your reenactment of Romeo and Juliet with no demonic catastrophes or maiming Blly, and then he would tell you everything.

But even that was too much to ask.

Sabrina burst through the english classroom doors, yelling in barely concealed panic that there was a BIG problem and the principal needed Caliban now.

Caliban moved to leave with an apologetic smile in your direction, which you were absolutely not having. Despite your current frustration with Sabrina, she looked downright terrified, and you were both concerned for your cousin and overwhelmed with a gut feeling that something was up.

After a few moments, you excused yourself to use the restroom.

You hauled ass to the gym, where the screaming sounded to be coming from. When you entered, you were met with the strangest sight.

The gym was filled with winged... rats? And at the center of the chaos was Sabrina and Caliban, back to back and armed with what appeared to be lacrosse sticks. Caliban’s shirt was tattered from the rats, and you took a fraction of a second to banish the completely innappropriate and untimely thoughts from your head.

“And no one thought to call me?” You shouted angrily through the swarm, snagging a baseball bat from the rack and smacking it around with reckless abandon. Caliban hooted, laughing loudly as you took your place beside them. Rats tore at your clothes, but you were more frustrated that Sabrina had called your boyfriend (or whatever he was) over you.

“Why did you get Caliban! I was right there! Is there something wrong with you? Were you dropped on the head as a child? He’s not even from here Sabrina, he has no idea what-”

“For hell’s sake, he’s not the new kid! He’s not even from Australia! He’s a stupid clay prince from hell who is trying to take my throne and raze humanity, and his stupid plague king sent these after me, and now he’s dating you!” Sabrina spat out the word dating as if it was even more disgusting than the winged vermin tearing at your clothes.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on here?”

You were no less frustrated when Sabrina revealed her trek to hell and the all ensuing madness she’d partaken in, but you remained calm enough to not turn the bat on her clearly empty skull.

“And you’re the clay prince of hell... challenging her throne?” You questioned with a sharp glance at Caliban, who nodded reluctantly as he swatted a rat hurtling towards you.

“Do you even have a driver’s license!” You screamed, waving your baseball bat around wildly.

“I’m a demon prince of hell made out of clay, and you’re worried about if I can legally drive?” Caliban shouted back in astonishment through the wave of shrieking rats. The lacrosse stick he’d snagged was surprisingly effective.

“I was getting to that part, thank you for reminding me!” You hissed, debating whether to smash his face in with the bat. “How about we start with how you completely lied to me, and how our whole relationship or whatever it is a lie! Were you ever going to tell me? Or was this all part of some throne grab?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Caliban demanded hotly. “You were not a lie!”

“Really!” You whirled on him, eyes alight with anger. “Because I sure feel like one!”

The rats numbers were dwindling rapidly, and you smacked the last one heading towards you directly at Caliban’s face. It collided with a satisfying shriek, and you threw your bat down as you stormed out of the gym.

Sabrina and Caliban rushed after you, but you’d disappeared in the hall.

now i'm, yeah, oh!

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

now i'm hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again, (oh)

love bug again

You’d remained collected until you’d transported into the middle of the living room, collapsing into auntie Hilda’s arms in a puddle of tears as you told her everything. She’d muttered a stream of ancient curses about Sabrina, but beyond that merely smoothed your hair and told you that all boys were awful— especially demonic princes of hell.

“I hate him.” You glared half-heartedly into your cup of steaming peppermint tea. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid. Falling blindly in love with a stranger who had only sought you out for some elaborate game with Sabrina. Screw Caliban and his perfect hair, his perfect smile, his perfect— “I want to bash his face in.”

“No you don't, love.” Hilda smiled knowingly. “You’re angry, yes— and hurt. But you care for the boy. I’ve never seen you so happy as you’ve been these last few days. I think you ought to cool down and hear what he has to say.”

“I never want to talk to him again.” You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “I’d rather die.”

And because the universe was truly conspiring against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Well, best get over that quick.” Hilda warned, ignoring your stream of indignant protests as she hustled to the door.

“Caliban! Yes, do come in love. Oh, yes, we will be having a little chat later, but for now I think it’s my niece you must be speaking to.” Hilda’s cheerful voice trailed in from the foyer, and you jumped up to make a break for it.

You were halted by a familiar pair of strong arms tugging you back by the waist.

“Get off of me!” You shouted, pushing Caliban away harshly and ignoring the warmth that lingered where he’d touched you. “I want my baseball bat. Somebody get me my baseball bat! I’m going to bash your stupid pretty face in you asshole—”

“Five minutes.” Caliban pleaded desperately, “just give me a five minutes to explain, and then I’ll give you back the baseball bat to bash my face in, okay?”

You considered his offer for a moment, swallowing the sob crawling its way up your throat as you nodded reluctantly. If it made him leave faster, you’d do anything.

His shoulder sagged in barely concealed relief. “Okay. I am Caliban, Prince of Hell. I am not from Australia, clearly, and am not a transfer student. I am trying to take your cousin’s throne. She does not understand the realm of the damned— she thinks it needs to be generous, rather than a fair judgment of life. I am not her father, and I do not believe in reckless or cruel damnation. I do not wish any harm on Sabrina, and I’ve managed to keep the worst of the plague kings from her. Even if you were to reject me now, I would continue to try to protect her— you have my word.” Caliban paused as you released a breath you did not know you were holding. Your eyes finally dared to meet his, and you nodded for him to continue.

“I agreed to attend Greendale because yes, it did piss off Sabrina, but you were there.” He raised his hand to halt your protest. “You intrigued me, and I wanted to know you better. I will be fully honest that it had the added bonus of irritating your cousin, who I so delight in irritating, but my primary focus was you. You... enchanted me. I had never found myself so invested in anything before as I was in spending mundane days at high school— of all things— with you. Truthfully, it confused even me at first. And while the past you knew is false, I am real— and my feelings for you are true.”

“That is such bullshit, and you know it!” You exploded furiously, smacking his chest with untamed rage. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Who agrees to go to high school because they like a girl? Are you unhinged? Who doesn't just ask someone out if they were so interested, huh? No, you came here with your stupidly perfect little ‘oh I’m Caliban, and I’m so dreamy’ act, knowing full well that it would make me completely abandon all rationality. Well guess what, I did! I fell stupid head over heels for you, and it was all one big lie.”

Your voice broke on the last few words, anger shifting to broken sadness as you continued to pound relentlessly on his chest. “I was a lie.”

He caught your hands, holding them against his chest as he pressed you against the wall. “You weren't a lie, Spellman.”

His words were breathless whisper, his beautiful eyes pained and desperate as he gripped your hands harder. “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I enrolled in high school because you smiled at me. I learned every line of Romeo and Juliet to recite them to you. When we first met, you wondered how Romeo and Juliet could possibly fall in love after a mere few days, but I understand it now. I have never been driven so completely insane by anything or anyone like this before. The power you have over me is unmatched. I am completely and wholly yours. If you were to ask me right now to leave, to never bother you again, I would leave my heart with you and spend my eternity in endless sorrow. I would think forever of the way you smiled at me, the way you kissed me, how soft your hair felt in my hands, and how my heart raced every time you laughed. I would never forgive myself for the pain I had caused you, and you would haunt me every day, every waking moment, every dream.”

Caliban moved your hands to his lips, nearly kissing them as he pleaded to you with tears in his beautiful eyes. You were motionless, turned to stone by his heavy gaze.

“So please, don’t become my specter. If I am a stranger to you now, let me make you fall for me all over again. I would do it a thousand times, if you'd let me. I could think of no sweeter way to spend my eternity.”

When you’d thought that Shakespeare had been imagining Caliban when he wrote, you’d been wrong. There was no poetry, no book, no lyric that could possibly compare to the way he spoke to you— the way his eyes so desperately tried to convey his anguish.

You removed your hands from his, and his whole face seemed to shatter.

“You’re not a stranger,” you muttered softly, moving to take his face your hands. His face remained guarded, but he leaned instinctively into your touch. “You’re Caliban.”

When you kissed him, it was like falling in love all over again.

And you supposed you did.

“But we are having a long, long talk about everything.” You warned as you pulled back, poking his chest sharply as he nodded profusely. “And if you ever, ever lie to me again, I’ll set something worse than flying rats on you. I’ll let Sabrina have you.”

Caliban laughed wildly, picking you up and spinning you around as he kissed you over and over again in sheer relief and joy. “I love you, Spellman. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“I just want you, clay boy.”

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

Moonlight Dip

Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sexual content (super brief).

Word Count: 2,588

“We’re going swimming.”

Hogwarts was always desolate and quiet at this time of night. The only person who was supposed to be stirring was Filch, Mrs. Norris, and possibly Professor Snape keeping an eye out for any students who had grown bold enough to break curfew. Most students didn’t bother trying to sneak around the castle at night. Not because they were afraid of getting caught, but because if they DID get caught, they’d have to deal with Filch’s overly strict behavior. Honestly, that was a punishment in and of itself.

Which was why Neville just couldn’t seem to figure out why you were leading him through the dark corridors, moving like a woman on a mission. You had crept into his dorm around midnight or so, pouncing on his bed and shaking him from his gentle slumber. You barely waited for him to wake up before you were whisper-shouting at him that you had somewhere for the two of you to go. He never minded a surprise visit from you, but he also wasn’t very keen on attempting to slip out undetected. Still, his curiosity won out.

“Hey, uh, flower?” He whispered, not knowing where Filch might’ve been.

“Yes, Neville?” You whispered back, peering your head around the corner to check for anyone coming.

“Where are we going exactly? And why are you in your robes?” He questioned, feeling a bubble of nervousness in his chest.

Truth be told, Neville felt a little underdressed. He was clad in his pajamas bottoms and an old t-shirt that he only used to sleep in. You looked back at him with a smile, his heart leaping at how beautiful you looked under the illumination of the Lumos you had uttered from your wand. Neville had learned to be more spontaneous after he had begun dating you. You were as sweet and respectful as anyone, but you definitely had a wild side that sometimes shaved some years off of Neville’s life. He wasn’t sure what to think of it at first, but over time he found that he loved all of your silly shenanigans. Even the ones that had gotten you both in hot water before.

“I told you, Nev. It’s a surprise!” You answered, squeezing his hand that was interlaced in yours, “It won’t be a surprise anymore if I tell you.”

Neville made a puzzled, yet thoughtful look as he racked his brain of possible ideas. He thought that maybe that you were daring to venture to Hogsmeade for a late night snack. Every now and again, you’d convince Neville to help you with sneaking into Honeydukes after hours to snag a few treats (don’t worry, you always left the right amount of money on the counter to pay for it).

However, his theory was proven wrong when he realized that you were taking him past the courtyard and in the general direction of the Quidditch field. He was glad that it was well into spring now, and the nights were warm with the days. You didn’t play Quidditch though, and neither did he. So he couldn’t fathom why you were headed that way.

“The Quidditch fields are always dark this time of night. There’s no way we’ll be able to see.” Neville pointed out, mumbling under his breath when he almost tripped on a loose rock.

You turned to look at him again, another smile plastering on your face.

“Then it’s a good thing that we aren’t going there.” You replied.

Sure enough, you kept walking towards your desired locating, keeping your antsy boyfriend in tow. About the time that Neville had given up on trying to figure out where you were taking him, his question was answered. The lake was always so pretty at night, and tonight was no exception. The moon was only a phase away from being full, but still offering enough light to where the two of you could somewhat see. The reflection bounced beautifully off of the dark lake, creating glittering ripples in the water when it was agitated from it’s still position.

You let go of Neville’s hand once you were standing on the bank, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. Neville stood still, his arms at his side rather awkwardly. He wasn’t picking up on your plan just yet.

“I didn’t know that you like to fish.” Neville said aloud, not bothering to whisper anymore since there was no chance that anyone would be out here.

“I don’t.” You giggled, removing your shoes and socks.

Neville’s eyebrows raised, still oblivious even as your fingertips worked at untying the cord around your robes. Well, he WAS oblivious, until it was literally right in front of his face.

“Then why are we- oh my God, what are you doing?” He cut himself off when your robes fell to the grass, revealing your bra and knickers underneath.

Neville was glad that it was mainly dark outside, because his sudden deep blush would’ve been painfully obvious otherwise. You smirked at the bashful boy who was frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“We’re going swimming.” You announced, reaching for his hand again.

Except he didn’t take your hand. He wasn’t on board with this idea at all.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I draw the line at swimming naked!” He rattled off, taking a step away from you.

You weren’t offended in the slightest, and you were even rather amused at his skittish behavior. This was nothing new to you.

“I’m technically not naked.” You reminded him calmly.

“You’re in your knickers!” He hissed back, his eyes widening as he actually took a second to look at the lacy material.

“Exactly. Which equals not naked.” You returned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

“Nope!” He protested, sitting down on the grass instead, “I’ve defended us for getting caught sneaking off for Chocolate Frogs and breaking into the library at 3 o’clock in the morning. But I will not try to explain why we were in the lake naked.”

Neville seemed adamant about staying put where he was. He was tempted to get up and leave, but there was no shot in hell that he was going to leave you out here by yourself. He was perfectly fine with sitting off to the side and observing from a safe distance.

“You see me in my underwear all the time, Nevy,” You said, not really believing that the lack of clothes was what he was timid about, “Is it the ‘nakedness’ or the critters that sometimes live in the lake?”

Neville was frightened of a lot of things, and while he tended to love animals, aquatic animals were an exception. Fish and water-based bugs freaked him out for some reason that even you didn’t quite understand. The only animals that lived in and around water that he liked were frogs and toads. The only aspect of the lake that he might enjoy (aside from seeing you wet and half-naked) were the plants that were undoubtedly growing below the surface.

“Maybe both...” He murmured, resting his forearms on top of his knees that were pulled into his chest, “Regardless, I’m staying right here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, believing your intuition that said that he’d be in the water with you in less than fifteen minutes.

“Suit yourself.” You told him before making a graceful entrance splash into the water.

He watched as you plunged in, your entire frame disappearing under the water that looked black due to the inky color of the sky. Neville felt his nerves get fired up when you went under, a slight anxiety in his gut that you might not come back up. The lake wasn’t super deep by any means, only coming up to just below your hip. Neville knew that it was possible to drown in any depth of water, which was why he became a bit on edge.

Thankfully, though, you emerged from below the water before he could get too worked up. He watched with interest when your hands swept your wet hair backwards, slicking it on your head.

Neville had always found you pretty. He thought you were the most beautiful girl on the planet. While he always thought that you looked stunning, there were still times where it was much more clear to him. For instance, early in the morning when you’ve just woken up is one of his favorites. Or right before a Gryffindor party on Friday nights when you’ve taken extra time to get spiffied up. Seeing you always made his heart beat with a little more purpose. It reminded him of how much he cared for and loved you.

And this moment now really had him swooning.

His eyes studied as water droplets dripped from your frame, soaking into your underwear and gliding down your beautiful skin. It created a shiny gleam over you, bringing out all of his favorite parts of you. He must’ve fallen into a lusty daze, because he felt himself snap back into reality when you called to him.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” You spoke, letting your fingertips trail over the surface of the lake.

Neville shook his head in response.

“I’m good here, tulip. Promise.” He said, still not sure if this was something he wanted to do.

You never pressured Neville into doing things he didn’t want to do. You never wanted him to be uncomfortable around you or associate discomfort with spending time with you. However, you knew that Neville was a worrier. He was an avid overthinker and sometimes just let his nerves get the best of him. You encouraged him to live a little more, without thinking about every single possible outcome of a situation. It’s great to be cautious and aware, but life without taking some risks could be...boring. You just didn’t want Neville to grow old with you and wish he hadn’t let his head get the best of him.

You swam out towards the middle of the lake, but not so far that you couldn’t see or hear Neville. You floated on your back and played with things that you found on the mushy, sandy floor of the lake. Neville maintained a conversation with you, but found himself feeling tempted to join you. It was just swimming. It wasn’t like the two of you were trying to blow up the lake or anything.

“How does...how does it feel?” Neville asked, stifling a giggle at how you were bouncing on your feet with your head lolled to the side to get water out of your ear.

“It’s nice. It’s not warm by any means, but it feels good.” You told him, wringing the excess water from your hair, “Changed your mind?”

Neville chewed the inside of his cheek, but he was warming up to the idea.

“I don’t even have a pair of swim trunks with me.” He argued.

You motioned towards your own body with a look of hilarity.

“Oh, and I’m wearing my swimsuit? It doesn’t matter, love. Just take off what you have on.” You instructed, getting hopeful that he was actually going to do it.

Neville stood from where he sat, stripping down to his boxers at a snail’s pace. He folded his clothes neatly, setting them next to your robes that he had also folded previously. He dipped his foot into the water, expecting it to be much colder than it actually was. It was a lukewarm temperature, something that would be refreshing on a hot summer day, but far too freezing for a frigid winter day. For his moderate spring night, it was perfect.

Neville didn’t love how the bottom of the lake felt on his feet. It was a mix of a squishy, gelatinous feeling. You reached for his hands excitedly, taking them as he waded out to where you were standing.

“So, what do you think?” You wondered, careful not to freak him out too much,

“It feels...nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this lake,” He admitted, “How did you even come up with this?”

“Well, you told me once that your Gran used to have a little pond behind her house that you liked to swim in during the summer. You said you enjoyed it and I thought maybe this would be something you’d like too,” You explained to him, suddenly feeling insecure about this whole thing, “I know it’s probably not the same or as fun.”

Now things really started to make sense. Neville felt the cage of butterflies flutter all into his belly whenever you did something sweet for him. Especially when it was something with sentimental value.

Neville had undeniably fallen in love with you. Not because of your witty personality or the random adventures you liked to take him on. Those things were plenty great, and he cherished those things with everything he had. But that wasn’t what made him decide that you were his future.

It was the pureness of your heart.

He fell for you more and more each time you did something for him. Whether it was as small as you combing your fingers through his hair when he was asleep on your chest in the common room, or as big as the time you devised a plan to throw a surprise birthday party for him at his Gran’s house. No matter what it was, you never hesitated to spend your energy, time, and love on making him happy.

“I did always like that pond, flower. But...you want to know something?” He said smoothly, with just the faintest hint of shakiness in his tone, “This is a lot better.”

He pulled you in close at the sight of your brightening eyes, bringing you down with him as he sank down to his knees under the top of the water.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You pressed on.

“Because you’re here.” He mewled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

His descent of kisses trailed down to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips. His kisses were never rushed in moments like this. They weren’t ever in a rush to get to the point or so rough that he didn’t have a chance to feel it. He liked to take his time with you. He liked to savor you.

“I love you, Nev. I really do.” You professed once he pulled away from you.

“I love you, petal,” He returned, going to kiss you again, but stopped when he took a big swash of lake water to the face.

He let out a startled gasp at how he was totally soaked now. It dripped from his hair, droplets rolling to the tip of his nose before falling off back into the lake. He caught your mischievous expression, your cheeks puffed out as you fought your laughter.

“Really funny, doll.” He sputtered, nonchalantly reaching around to your back and unclasping your bra with one hand. He managed to whip it off of you with ease, leaving you completely naked on top.

“Neville!” You squealed, “Give it back! That’s my favorite one!”

Neville teased you as he held your bra high in the air above his head, chuckling as you struggled (and failed) to get it back.

“Don’t worry, love bug. I’ll take good care of it. But if you want it...” Neville paused, shimmying past you and waddling further out into the lake with a sneaky, yet innocent sneer on his face;

“You’ve got to come and get it.”

*****

Tags: @lupinsslut @writingscape @msmimimerton @thefilmcity

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x female reader #neville longbottom x fem! reader #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom oneshot #seriouslysnape

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.”

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #imagine spencer reid #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #pls like this it took me so long

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kurosstuff · 3 years

Text

Summary: Hela goes into rampage after finding reader dying

A/N: kinda in Helas pov in a way idk short I wrote this half asleep oops, idk if I wrote her well??

Taglist: @the-obscurity

Warning(s): death(readers), violence(fighting, Hela k words someone). Unhealthy coping, ANGST. Fluffish to angst. Kinda in detail gore?

Hela x reader: Raging Grief

Just this morning, everything was perfect, your smiling face curled into her side, as you woke up as usual, sleepy face, a quick peck and you both got ready for the day.

The normal walk, hand in hand down the hallway into the throne room, an extra seat made beside her own, fit for her heart. Her love. Oh how she wish she had the power to turn back time

Where did it go wrong? Why now? So soon after just marrying

"..no My love" Hela's usually strong practically sarcastic tone turned into a heartwrenching broken voice, "please no" the once powerful women sat broken clutching the smaller person in her arms, a large hole in their stomach gushing out. The one being keeping her from destroying everything in her path was you, as always

"Hela." You gasped out bringing a bloodied hand to hers, "it's ok" speaking became much harder, sluggish even, if you weren't bleeding out she would have assumed you were drunk by your speech. "You'll be fine. Be safe. Be ok" she will be safe, but she will be ok that's for sure.

"I will Not. Be ok, y-" a sob cut her off clinging onto you and your warmth started to go faster "you're dying leaving me. You said you would be ok- you have to stand please. Stop getting colder" she begged, for the first time in years, something she knew had to happen she dreaded.

Hela goddess of death herself begged for a life to live. But as fate should have it. She would lose this fight no matter what she did, almost a sick play on how she once vowed all would perish before her. "I love you. I'll always be with you" was the last thing she heard before you took your last breath, then all was silent. A deafening silence hitting all around her. She would no longer hear the laughter, the stories you'd tell, nothing. Setting you down gently, she slid the golden ring off your hand gently placing it in her pocket. She grabbed the sword you held by your side at all times, the very sword she had crafted for you herself. The green emerald carved into the handle gleemed red dripping with the very blood it was created to protect-that it failed

A roar of rage and grief escaped her lips. She would have that pathetic mans head, if he thought for even a second he or any one of them would get away with this very devastating loss. They were surely mistaken.

Its inhuman how she stormed up to one of the one outlaw she wanted most, ripping into him like an animal viciously digging into their pray, a broken laugh escaped her as she beat the very person who killed you, took you. No stole you away, but then stopped after he finished gargling. No.. this isn't the one. They all did this. All his people he gathered to take her down is at fault.

Gripping the handle harsher it could almost break from her hands, she started her hunt. Sprinting down the halls she could hear you, telling her to calm down, telling her to stop and think, but she won't- can't stop. You didn't deserve to die like that, they don't deserve to live, breath the air you once did after what they did. Taking away the very thing she could feel human with?

Yells were heard, screams echoed the halls as she tore through, to her main goal. It was deafening towards her, bashing away each betrayer away like flies flinging from the fly swatter, her jaw clenched-hurting, finally locking eyes with the Male-who at first was smug but became fearful once he saw her flying through as it his men were mere bugs- and to her they were

Yeah, that's right. Turning to face the men holding weapons up to her, some shaking, some not. Blood dripping from her face, her eyes grew even darker. "You will all pay." Standing upward she pointed your sword to the people, the ones who betrayed her-you. "For this SIN"

"Hela my poor daughter" Odin spoke softly to not spook the women, slowly he walked to the grieving women clutching onto their lover "what happened my child?"

"DO NOT. Act like you don't know" Hela sobbed yet, no more tears came. All she felt was-sorrow, rage. Odin sighed reaching towards the body, "DON'T TOUCH THEM" Hela yelled harshly making him retract his hand from her late spouse

"I'll" swallowing dryly he stood tall, turning to walk out the door "I'll arrange a funeral." Before he closed it he looked back at his broken daughter- never seeing her like this even once "I'm sorry for your loss" before he closed the door, no light shining in the room, the once joyous room, the room you both shared, she wanted to destroy the throne room. Wanted to do something. But she couldn't.

She hope's one day she'll see you again. Maybe when she the goddess of death falls to death itself she may. One day.

#hela x reader #hela goddess of death #marvel x reader

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buckys-black-dress · 3 years

Text

✄ chapter three: losin' grip on my doin'

a/n: okay, let's goooo! chapter 3 :) things are buildin up... get ready ;) chapter 4 will be posed tonight or tomorrow :)

wc: 4.1k

[fratboy!bucky barnes x fem!reader]

series masterlist

To say the least, waking up the next morning in the most coveted after playboy's bed was a shock. You wake up nestled into Bucky Barnes' side, and you wonder if this is what it felt like.

If this is what every conquest that's been brought to his room feels like when they wake up.

You're very much aware of a metal arm slung over your waist, and you feel panic rise up in your throat. Once you recognize you're fully clothed, you release a breath and feel the tension disintegrating from your body.

You can feel Bucky Barnes' heavy breaths under your head from where you're situated on his chest, and you take a moment and pause.

You would never think you'd find yourself in this situation; sidled up in bed with your university's most notorious fratboy. Someone girls and guys coveted after, and who would do anything to get in bed with him.

Yet, here you are. You don't want to admit to yourself that you quite like it here. You feel comfortable, safe. Fitted perfectly right under his arm, listening to his even breaths as you replay the night before's events in your mind like a film reel.

You meet him.

You play pong with him.

You talk to him.

You go up to his room with him.

And now you're awake in his bed. Fully clothed.

How?

Before you could ask too many questions and drown into a spiral, you hear Bucky draw in a sharp breath, signaling his awakening. You look up at him, wondering how he's going to react to you being here. Not only you being here, but also how you two woke up.

"Mornin', doll." He smiles down at you, and his morning voice sends a shiver down your spine at the raspiness.

"H-Hi." You simply say. You can't quite draw any coherent thoughts at the moment, as Bucky's arm tightens around you and draws you closer to his body.

"Sleep well?" He asks, still looking down at you fond look that makes your heart swell in your chest.

"Hm," you hum, "better than I expected, honestly." You laugh.

"Good, spent way too much on this mattress for it to not please my guests." Bucky smirks, and you get lost in his blue eyes for a moment.

But then, you think about his word choice. Guests. Plural. And although you know nothing happened between you two, you still feel a wave of shame wash over you at the notion.

Bucky's had guests in this bed before. You aren't the first girl to sleep in this bed, and you probably weren't the last.

You feel Bucky shift underneath you, seeing his expression turn to worry at the way you're clearly lost in thought.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks, and you nod quickly.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just peachy." You give a quick smile, trying to not show how your stomach was churning at the thought of all the girls who've been here before you.

"Wanna go grab some breakfast?" Bucky asks, and you pause.

He wants to stay with me? He's not kicking me out, asking me to leave?

“Sure, uh, where did you wanna go?” You ask gently, worrying that you might scare him off, that he’s delusional right now and he doesn’t really want to spend time with you. You’re beyond confused right now.

“We can head to the diner if you’re good with that? My treat.” He says as he stands up, pulling on a shirt to avoid the chill of the room.

It’s a red henley, and the way you see his muscles straining in the sleeves of the shirt has a blush crawling up your neck.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You croak, getting out of the bed.

By the time you get up and get dressed, sweatpants courtesy of Bucky, and head to the diner, it’s already noon. It’s a Saturday morning, so most people are still in bed while recovering from their hangovers.

“So, how come I haven’t seen you at one of our parties before last night?” Bucky asks while you seat yourselves at a booth in the back of the diner.

“I uhm, I don’t really go out too much. Natasha basically begged me to come out, and I only did it to get her off my case and stop asking me.” You reply while taking a sip of the scalding coffee in front of you that a nice waitress poured for the two of you.

“Really? Well, I’d say you should come more often,” he gives you this smile, and your brain is short-circuiting at how handsome he looks. “You were a great pong partner.”

The emphasis on the word and his tone indicate that he was very much so being sarcastic, and you give a bashful chuckle at his words.

“Oh yeah, definitely. I have nothing on Natasha and Sam.” You laugh, and the same waitress comes by to take your orders.

Once she flutters back behind the counter to put the orders in, you’re reading a text on your phone that you felt vibrate while it was in the pocket of Bucky’s sweater you were sporting.

Natasha:

(12:08 PM) Hey, did you end up getting back safe last night? Sorry I kind of bailed, I just ended up crashing when I got to Sam’s room.

She punctuates her sentence with a face palm emoji in embarrassment, and you smile at the text.

Y/N:

(12:10 PM) Hi, I just crashed in Bucky’s room last night. No funny business tho, so don’t get any ideas in your head.

As you send off the message, you turn off your phone and place is face-down on the table, deciding you’ll deal with Nat’s freak out about you spending the night with Bucky later.

“Everythin’ okay?” Bucky’s voice startles you out of your thoughts, and you snap your eyes up to his.

“Yeah, Nat was just making sure I didn’t end up dead in a ditch last night.” You laugh, shaking your head at how dramatic your roommate could be at times.

“Hey, it’s good to know she cares about you.” He responds, and you nod at his words.

“I mean, yeah. No matter how much she might bug me about going out or getting a boyfriend, she’s still like my sister. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” A sigh leaves your mouth, thinking about Nat. She’s been there for you through everything in your life, and it was true. She was your biggest supporter, and you’re glad you have someone who cares so much for you.

“She seems like a great friend. Sam and Steve are the same for me. I mean, although I grew up with Steve, Sam was like the third brother we never even knew we needed.” He stares off into the distance with a soft look in his eyes, and you smile fondly at his words.

In that moment, you feel like you’re seeing a side of Bucky that not many people get to see. This is Bucky, a guy from Brooklyn who’s just trying to get by in college. Not a man-whore, or a guy who just wants to ge his dick wet like everyone says.

Before you could come up with a response to what he’s said, the same lady comes and places your hot food in front of the both of you, leaving with a ‘enjoy!’ before she whirls away again.

You eat while making small talk, just about life, school, and hobbies. Before you know it, Bucky asks for the check, and even though you know he said he’d pick it up earlier, you still fight him on paying for half the bill.

In the end, Bucky becomes so frustrated with your antics that he simply gets up and hands the waitress his card, and you simply watch with a dropped jaw at his actions.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You exclaim, albeit quietly, but enough to show your frustration.

“Doll, I’m treating you to brunch. Just let me.” Is all Bucky says, effectively shutting you up.

On your walk back to campus, Bucky asks what you’re doing for the rest of the day, asking if you wanted to come back to his room.

“I should head back, Natasha’s probably waiting for me with a million questions.” You bashfully look up to your window from the bottom of your dorm building.

“Oh, okay doll.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an unexpected hug. You feel your body tense at the action, but once you realize what’s happening, you relax again, letting yourself melt into his body.

“See ya later?” He asks with a raised brow.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know what I’ll be doing later, but we can talk later.” You smile up at him, slowly moving out of his grip and towards the door.

Before you could fully open the door, you hear Bucky’s voice call out to you one more time.

“Y/N, wait!” He yells, jogging over to you at the door. “Can I uh, get your number? So I can text you later?” He asks, his metal hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“O-Oh, sure! Yeah!” You reply a bit louder than you had intended, just out of pure shock at his question.

You open a new message on your phone, allowing Bucky to type in his number and save his contact. Once he hands the device back to you, you see his name saved as Bucky Barnes <3.

Before you can say anything about the heart he added himself, he pecks your cheek and runs off, with a distant ‘I’ll see ya later, doll!’

You essentially float up to your room, not feeling like you were on the planet right now. You felt like you were up in the clouds, unaware of your own actions. You unlock the door to your room, and Natasha is perched upon her bed, looking down at two outfits she has held up against her form.

“Hey! You didn’t answer my messages, you little bitch! Tell me everything!” She turns around at the sound of you entering, already berating you.

But it all sounds muffled in your ears, not fully comprehending what she was saying to you.

“Hey, you okay? Earth to Y/N?” The redhead says again, waving a hand in front of your face at your spacey expression.

“I-I, yeah, I’m fine. Just… shocked.” You breathe out.

“So? Tell me what happened!”

At first, you could barely get the words out of your mouth, trying to explain everything that occurred in the past 24 hours. You get through the story, a little bit challenged at trying to organize your thoughts, but eventually you get Natasha up to speed.

“So… you didn’t have sex with him?” Your roommate says, and you shake your head no.

“Nat, you know how I feel about having sex. I don’t want to rush into it, and I don’t want my first time to be with some… random guy from a frat. I want it to be with someone I trust, someone I’m comfortable with.” You tell her like a broken record, because over the course of the time that you’ve been friends with Natasha, you’ve had this conversation with her several times. Sometimes, you wondered why she was so hellbent on you losing your virginity.

As much as you loved her and understood her intentions with the question, you were getting tired of having to defend yourself every time.

“I- I know! I just… I want you to be happy, with whoever you want. I never want you to think I’m rushing you though, Y/N. I love you.” Natasha explains, putting her hand on your arm in consolation.

“I know, Nat. But trust me, you’ll be the first to know when I do… do it. Don’t worry.” You laugh at how ridiculous you sounded.

She’s looking back down at her bed now, looking between the outfits she was holding earlier.

“Okay… now, help me pick an outfit! Sam wants to go on a date tonight!” She says, showing you the different options.

As you two banter and talk about last night, you interrupt Natasha’s tirade about Sam and ‘what a gentleman he is!’

“Bucky gave me his number earlier.” Saying it out loud makes it sound all the more ridiculous. You feel like a high-schooler at your words, and the way Natasha stops all movement makes you feel all the more insane.

“His number?” She asks, like she couldn’t figure out what to really say.

“Yeah. He even saved a heart next to his name in my phone. What does that even mean?” You wonder out loud, and now you’re sure you’ve gone crazy.

“I… I’m not sure. I think he likes you.” She says nonchalantly, and you scoff.

“Yeah, because Bucky Barnes is very interested in a girl he met last night who didn’t want to sleep with him. He must be going crazy over a girl like me.” You finish with an incredulous laugh, like it never even crossed your mind that he could like you.

“Well… he acted very different from you’ve been telling me. He usually just fucks a girl and she leaves the next morning, nothing more, nothing less. The fact that he didn’t fuck you and took you out to brunch says a lot about this whole situation.” She explains, and you’re still having a hard time grasping this information.

Just as you’re about to find a rationale as to why her explanation isn’t plausible, you feel your phone buzz.

With furrowed brows, you open your texts.

Bucky Barnes <3:

(2:01 PM) Hey doll, do you wanna come by to another party we’re having tonight? Could use my trusty pong champ ;)

Your mouth dries at the message, words lodged in your throat.

“Look what he just texted me.” You flip your screen to Nat and she reads with an unreadable expression, which quickly turns into her brows shooting up.

“A winky face! Y/N/N, he fucking likes you! He wants to see you again!” She exclaims, and you don’t even know what to say.

“How do I respond?” You feel so unexperienced, asking your roommate for advice on how to text a guy.

“Here, gimme,” she snatches the phone out of your grasp, quickly typing something and handing the phone back to you.

You read what she sent with wide eyes.

Y/N Y/L/N:

(2:11 PM) I’ll be there ;) Should I bring clothes to change into for tonight?

“Nat! Why would you say that? You’re making it sound like I wanna have sex with him tonight!” You rise up from your spot on her bed in a panic, pacing the area of your small room.

“Y/N, relax! He-” Before she could finish, your phone buzzed again.

Bucky Barnes <3

(2:13 PM) Hilarious, doll. You don’t have to, but if you wanna crash here again tonight, you can definitely bring your own stuff if that makes you more comfy :)

“Oh my God. He’s so sweet!” Nat giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “You have to go now!”

“Nat… doesn’t this look a little… suspicious? From what I’ve heard, this isn’t how he usually acts.” You say wearily, the worry clear in your tone.

“Y/N, look at me.” Natasha's hands come to the sides of your head, urging your gaze to meet hers. “You’re a great girl. You deserve someone who treats you well and gets excited to see you, like Bucky is right now. Don’t push him away. You deserve something good.”

At her words, your eyes soften and you feel the distant sting of tears behind your eyes. You give her a nod, not knowing how to express your gratitude to her in words at the moment. She pulls you into a hug and you hold her tight against you, like she might disappear if you let go.

“Now, we need to get you ready for tonight. You’re gonna make Bucky wish he fucked you.” Natasha smirks an evil one.

“Nat!”

The party was in full swing upon your arrival. You were all alone when you walked through the doors of the fraternity house, as Natasha had gone on her dinner date with Sam. She’d promised she’d come by after dinner, and you were practically shaking while searching for Bucky in the packed house.

There were people everywhere, and the longer it took for you to find Bucky, the more anxious you were becoming about being here.

“Y/N!” You hear distantly, and your head whips around in search of the owner of the voice.

You feel a hand slide around your waist, and you smell Bucky before you see him. If it weren’t for the distinct smell of his cologne and mint, you would’ve slapped the hand away long ago.

“Hey! Been wonderin’ when you’d show up.” Bucky has a smile on his face, showing off his pearly whites.

“Sorry, I got held up at home with Natasha.” You tell him, looking around at the crowd. You could feel your breathing shorten at the sheer amount of people around you, and your stomach churns in anxiety.

As if Bucky senses your discomfort, he rubs the hand on your waist along the expanse of your back.

“You okay?” He asks, visibly concerned at your demeanor.

You nod wordlessly, trying to make it seem like you weren’t extremely stressed right now. You would’ve loved to let loose tonight, but yesterday was already pushing it in terms of going out.

“Do you wanna head upstairs?” Bucky asks in clear concern at your demeanor right now. He feels a wave of guilt wash over him. If he knew just how much you were going to become uncomfortable by just being here tonight, he wouldn’t have asked you to come. He would’ve simply asked you on a date, or done a night in with you.

You nod again, not allowing the words to leave your throat. You feel as though your mouth is full of cotton, not even being able to form any coherent thoughts at the moment.

Bucky’s cool metal arm guides you by your lower back to the stairs, and you’re once again reminded of the previous night. His cool metal hand is the only thing grounding you at the moment, and you think you would’ve ended up on the dirty bathroom floor downstairs in a puddle of tears if Bucky had taken any longer to find you.

You pass through his doorway, and Bucky’s arm is holding you against him as the door shuts behind you two.

He wordlessly caresses you, running a soothing hand up and down your back, which is partially open because of your outfit. You’re wearing a dress from Natasha’s closet, which she claimed made you look ‘hotter than the motherfucking sun, Y/N’, and you were basically forced into.

“For what it’s worth, honey, you look stunning tonight.” You feel Bucky’s chest rumble from his speaking from where you’re placed against him, and you give a light laugh.

“Thanks,” you return quietly, unable to really come up with anything witty to say. “I’m sorry I’m ruining tonight for you.” Your voice comes after a few moments of silence, but suddenly you’re pulled away from his body.

“Hey,” his hands are on your shoulders, “you are not ruining anything, doll. Parties ’ll come and go, but I don’t want to do it if it isn’t with you.” He tells you in earnest, and you feel an indistinguishable ache in your chest at his words.

Where did this man come from? It seems as though the perfect guy, one who respects you, one who doesn’t force you into anything, one who seems to care too much about you has just... fallen into your lap.

It almost seems too good to be true.

“Bucky…” You trail off, unable to find any words of gratitude at the moment.

“Yeah, doll?”

“Can we just… lay down? Maybe watch a movie?” You ask.

“Of course we can, honey. Anythin’ you want.” He smiles brightly again as your mood seems to lighten a bit. “Do you need a change of clothes?”

“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.” You can’t really bring yourself to look at him. You feel embarrassed that you’ve pulled him away from his own party. Although he constantly reassures you that he doesn’t mind, you’re still bashful.

“Here, honey,” he hands you the same garments from last night, “you look good in these.” He laughs, and you feel your cheeks turn bright red.

“I- I’ll be right back.” You give a tight smile and retreat to the bathroom.

While Bucky waits outside, he begins to get lost in his thoughts. He liked you. A lot. How did he get himself into this mess? He’s not stupid. He knows what he did to get here. And now it was looking really, really, stupid.

Unfortunately, there was no getting it out of it now, though. He could try and reason with the person he’d made a promise to, but he was stubborn. There was little to no chance he would be able to get out of this one.

But he thinks of it on the flip side. He’s been seen bringing you up to his room two nights in a row, and he knows how it makes both of you look.

For him, he looks like he’s keeping up with reputation.

Take a girl home.

Fuck her.

Leave it at that.

No one quite knew you on campus except for your friends, so they weren’t worried about you or who you were.

All that mattered was that Bucky Barnes was keeping up with his usual antics that were expected of him. There was nothing out of the ordinary for him, other than the fact that he wasn’t actually fucking you.

Bucky snaps out of his train of thought when he hears the bathroom door click open, his eyes meeting yours once again.

But his eyes quickly divert to your body, once again covered by his baggy clothing. You were watching his stare move down your body and felt a wave of insecurity wash over you.

You probably weren’t half as gorgeous as the girls he’s brought back here before. You knew what kind of girls guys like him preferred. Long, cascading hair, big, bright eyes, thin waists, legs that went on for what seemed like miles.

You just weren’t that.

It made you come back to the thoughts that had plagued your mind previously.

Where did Bucky’s interest in you come from?

Why was he suddenly feel the need to coddle you, take care of you, to reassure you?

Your concern was quickly washed away when Bucky settled in his bed, patting his spot next to him under the covers.

“You comin’?” He asks in a raspy, quiet voice that makes your knees wobble.

You don’t say anything while you situate yourself beside him.

“Bucky, can I ask you something?” You begin meekly, not making eye contact with him.

“Anythin’, doll. Somethin’ wrong?” He looks down at you in a worried gaze, and you shake your head.

“I just… what made you want to approach me? I- I know I’m not like those other girls you’ve been with before, and I can’t help but think that you… you want something else from me?” You explain with little ease. You feel bile rising in your throat as you speak because you can’t bear to think that Bucky really ulterior motives for all this time you’ve spent together.

You’ve only just met him, yet you feel like you’ve known him forever. You’re comfortable with him, more than you usually would be with a stranger, and it freaks you out.

“Y/N… can you look at me?” Bucky tilts his head down to try and meet your eyes, which is something you can barely do at the moment. “I want you to know, before this goes anywhere else; you are an amazing girl. I don’t know why it took me so long to talk to you, but I think you’re one the most genuine, kind, beautiful girls I’ve ever met. I… I know I have a reputation that precedes me, but you… you’re different.” He speaks so genuinely to you that you feel a slight sting behind your eyes.

“I… I never want you to doubt yourself ever again, doll. You’re perfect, just as you are. I’m sorry it looked like I was after anything else before.” Bucky finishes, and you can’t seem to find any words at the moment.

You just nod fervently, and then you feel yourself being pulled into Bucky’s large arms.

“Please, don’t let anyone make you doubt yourself again. You’re worth it.”

That night, you fall into the most comfortable and deep sleep of your life, wrapped safely in Bucky’s arms.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #fratboy!bucky #frat!bucky x reader #frat!bucky #frat!au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine

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hawaiianbabidoll · 3 years

Note

Um, hi, Um, may I ask you for some PK hcs? It's just, you draw him a lot, and I figured that maybe you like him as a character, and I just want to hear something not bashing him all the time. I just get tired hearing people demonising him for the Abyss and the buzzsaws... Conveniently forgetting he was the one who gave bugs higher thought and designed Hallownest from the ground up. How the bugs under his rule was loyal for a reason. How he's a complex morally gray character.

Sorry for the small rant. But would you please?

First it should be noted that anything I say here is just my interpretation of the character. How people choose to write PK, since he has so little known about him canonically, is up to them, and you do not need to agree with me, just as I do not need to agree with others' interpretations of him.

OK.

Some headcanons.

1 - PK was more loving than WL and WL was the one who was able to maintain the distance needed to make the vessel plan work. The vessel plan failed because of PK's love. He was a very caring parent, and even if he didn't know what he was doing half the time with baby Hornet, his heart was in the right place and he was doing his best. He was a good dad....until he noticed he was doting on Hollow in a similar fashion. PK became distant from both Hollow and Hornet to crush his parental instincts in an attempt to ensure the vessel wouldn't fail, for the sake of Hallownest. The effort came too late, as Hollow already internalized his father's love and love became the idea instilled.

2 - The concept of no cost too great does not extend past personal cost. PK will not sacrifice things that are not his to sacrifice, thus why he shut down the soul sanctum's experiments. He wanted to save his people, not sacrifice them. So when he says 'no cost too great' he means 'nothing I give will ever be too much to save them'. (what is his to give is where things might get iffy.)

3 - PK was unaware any vessels but the pure vessel survived. The abyss is even darker to him than a regular bug, because of his constant glow effectively producing light pollution and making the darkness even darker beyond him. Mans literally could not see Ghost hanging there behind Hollow.

4 - If PK saw anything in Hollow that could be interpreted as having a mind to think or a will of their own, he attributed it to his own desire of wanting Hollow to be their child properly. In short, he thought it was all in his head.

5 - When the Hollow Knight began to initially fail, PK attempted to go to the dream realm himself to 'plug the holes' as it were, and help his child. He took the white palace with him in an attempt to give himself a proper foothold, a space that was his, in a realm that was hers.

It did not work.

6 - PK became a king by accident. He showed up and gained the adoration of all the bugs there and they chose to worship him and came to him with all their problems and worries. They called him a king, and it is that name that he learned to respond to.

7 - speaking of names - PK does not have a proper name. He goes by what others choose to call him, thus why his lady refers to him as 'my wyrm' rather than a proper name. He calls things as they are. 'The gendered child' ' the white palace' 'the hallow nest' 'the green path' 'the pure vessel'. Everything is very on the tin, because naming things isn't really a thing for wyrms. He will, however, use others' names if they give them to him. He just doesn't bother assigning names to things himself.

8 - PK was very smart but not always very wise. Very good at tinkering and coming up with new ideas but sometimes doing something really dumb that'd you'd think is common sense. His aura inspired curiosity and inspiration in others that drove the bugs in his kingdom to create amazing crafts and seek knowledge like he does.

9 - PK was a big supporter of the arts. He could not paint well himself but he loved to see what Lurien could do. PK played music, and would go to the watcher's tower to play music while Lurien painted. The more stressful the upcoming doom of his kingdom became though, the less he indulged in the things he enjoyed.

10 - PK was socially anxious and did not like making public appearances. He was insecure about his physical form, as he had intended to match the bugs of the land when he was reborn, but discovered his form was not at all like other bugs. His insecurity also fed into him caring a lot about how others saw him, and he often came off as a cold and calculating monarch to those before him in his quest to appear 'perfect'....even as he pulled at his own claws beneath his robes.

11 - PK did visit the capital city from time to time, but in disguise, so as not to draw attention. He would not inform anyone in the palace he was sneaking out.

12 - not all wyrms are higher beings, and PK was not born a higher being. He ascended when he was in the wastes. His love and devotion to his 'enthralled' would be considered strange to other wyrms.

13 -PK doesn't know how to handle kids. He overthinks things. Also he thought it a good idea to create and give baby Hornet a spike trap as a toy (the ones she uses in her 2nd fight). Herrah was not impressed.

14 - PK sometimes struggles to tell what is a dream and what is his foresight

15 - PK built for Hollow a music box that plays the lullaby heard in the nursery. It was the only gift given to Hollow that was unrelated to their role as a knight.

15 seems like a good number to stop at, this post is getting long now alright byeeee

#morally grey characters are the best #asks #anonymous #pale king

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 20 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader lies to Spencer.

A/N: Please read the content warnings for this one if you have basically any triggers, lol. This is a very heavy chapter - it is the penultimate climax of the story. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst (NSFW) Content Warning: 🚨 IMPORTANT – READ BEFORE READING🚨 This episode covers a number of very dark topics, and should be approached at a time when you have support systems available. Potential triggering topics include: sexual assault, violations of consent, suicide, self-harm, pregnancy/termination, infertility, domestic dispute, fighting, and underage drinking, sex w/ blanket consent Word Count: 11K

MASTERLIST

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Rossi’s house was every bit as extravagant as I had expected. I had come in honestly hoping to be slightly disappointed so I could mock him for it, but, as always, he had to force his appearance to be as unnecessarily elegant as possible.

That being said, I was a little surprised to find that most everyone gathered in one spot - the kitchen. It was only to be expected, considering it was usually the happiest room in the home. That certainly remained true for Rossi. But they were also all gathered there because that was where the wine was – wine that I was not allowed to drink.

Rossi didn’t have a problem with it… Spencer did. Because of course he did. And while I politely declined when Rossi offered me some, anyway, I found another offer a little more tempting. Which explains why I found myself clutching Derek’s flask and draining half the contents quickly enough to remind him that I was, in fact, in college.

And if anyone were to ask, I would simply tell them that we were hanging out in the hall outside the bathroom to have a very deep and secret heart-to-heart about our shared love for a certain mop headed genius. It would have been the perfect cover to use on pretty much everyone except…

“Ahem.”

The sound of Spencer’s throat clearing behind me was enough to cause me to choke, and I quickly tossed the closed flask back to an already giggling Derek as I shouted, “Fuck!” I didn’t even turn around when his hand snaked around my hip. Instead, I just groaned.

“The narc’s here,” I whispered to Derek, but he knew better than to answer.

“The narc?” Spencer balked, much to his friend’s delight.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Derek offered in consolation, taking a swig out of the flask and earning a very defensive glare from my boyfriend. In fact, Spencer seemed downright pissed, which wasn’t what I had been expecting when I agreed.

Oops. What’s the male equivalent of a cat fight?

“Morgan, didn’t you lecture me about her drinking underage a few months ago?” he snapped, grabbing the flask from a more than willing Derek. Spencer sniffed the contents and immediately recoiled, tossing it back again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he mumbled, shooting a glance down to see me sort of just making heart eyes at the sight of my boyfriend being a stupid level of jealous that I'd been caught in the hallway with another boy.

“How does that make it better? That makes it patently worse,” he argued. Derek might have responded to it, too, if I hadn’t latched myself onto Spencer’s side.

“You’re so cute when you get all stupid and possessive,” I drawled, burying my face in his shoulder in what I think was supposed to be a playful kiss, but actually just ended up being a muffled laugh.

“That,” Derek chuckled, pointing to me teetering back and forth on my heels at Spencer’s side, “That is my cue to leave.” With one final wink, he whispered, “Don’t be too hard on him, Princess.”

Spencer’s angry sigh and entirely stiff posture should have served as my warning, but it was just funny to me at the time.

“They all think I’m the boss of us,” I giggled. “Me! The boss!”

“You’re drunk.” His tone dropped the second Derek was out of earshot, and on intimidation alone, he managed to back me against the wall.

“So is everyone but you. They won’t even notice,” I mumbled, although the more the hallway started to spin, the less I believed that. I'd never been very good at math or shots, and this was a pretty horrible miscalculation of just how much of my tolerance I’d lost.

“You really couldn’t wait a few more months? Or at least until we got home?”

He was chastising me, and I just wasn’t there to hear it. I probably could have figured it out if I’d tried, but it all sounded like sexy nonsense at the time. Walking my fingers down his chest, I paused at his belly before hooking them in his pants and pulling his hips against mine.

“I’m allowed to drink if my daddy says so,” I purred.

Spencer didn’t find my taunt as charming as I’d hoped, and before I knew it his hand was roughly pressed over my jaw. He tilted my head back to look him in the eyes, and I wondered if he could smell the whiskey on my breath.

“Well, I didn’t,” he growled.

I never said I was a perfect person, or even a smart one. And when I was drinking and Spencer whipped out his Daddy voice, I don’t know what he really expected me to do. But apparently, trying to grab his dick through his pants was the wrong move. He snatched my hand away quickly, slamming it against the wall before he continued his little impromptu lecture.

“I’m not rewarding you for this. We’re going home.”

“That’s not a very scary threat,” I deadpanned, throwing my body weight back against the wall.

That lasted about four seconds before he pulled me back to my feet and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Just wait, little girl. Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you.”

I was going to make a snarky joke, to remind him that his hands were surely and firmly already on me, but I never got the chance. We were both too distracted by the very loud and very high pitched squeal of Penelope as she rounded the corner.

“Ah! I saw nothing!” she shouted, covering her face with her hands and refusing to remove them.

“Yeah, because we aren’t doing anything,” I laughed. But then, being the slightly cruel brat that I was, I stuck my tongue out at Spencer before tacking on a completely unnecessary, “anymore.”

“We weren’t doing anything before either!” he squeaked back. He wasn’t using his Daddy voice anymore. So swiftly, so easily, he’d been knocked from his higher footing.

Penelope took the words to heart, but only enough to slowly lower her fingers and peek between them. With a shaky voice and an awkward laugh, she started to rant. “Oh. It’s fine. I’m cool. We’re all cool. We don’t have to talk about that thing from the first time I met you ever again. Because we said we’d never talk about it again, do you remember that?”

“I do remember that,” I answered with a very sarcastic tone and a nod.

“And I just brought it up again, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “Yes, you did.”

“I’m so sorry. Spencer, Hotch is looking for you,” she rushed, turning to the beet-red boy at my side. “Okay, that’s it. Take your time, because I’m cool and not at all mortified.” She was basically already gone before she'd even finished talking, taking off in the direction she'd come from while downing the drink in her hand.

With a loose, clumsy wave I shouted back, “Bye, Penelope.”

“Mortified is a good word. An accurate word,” Spencer huffed as he wiped a hand over his face. His bashfulness, while cute, was not as exciting as the pre-Penelope behavior.

Running my hands underneath his blazer and up his back, I pressed my chest against his. “Gosh, Dr. Reid. You need to be more appropriate in such a public setting.”

The words, while meant to get him riled up, did more to frustrate me. My drunken mind was more than happy to revert to the metro, and before I knew it, my daydreams were filled with images of Spencer stuffing me into the tiniest closet he could find and having his way with me.

“Oh, I’m the one lacking manners?” Spencer chuckled as he apparently read my very lewd thoughts. He pried my arms off of him and pulled them back to rest at my sides before pressing a strangely chaste kiss on my forehead. “Go get your stuff. I’m going to go talk to Hotch and I’ll meet you by the door.”

Before he disappeared around the corner, he shot me one last warning glance and ordered, “Do not mingle!”

“Don’t worry, I will!” I yelled back.

Once he was gone, it was my job to figure out how to make my body work again. Luckily, it wasn’t the first time I’d had too much to drink in a room filled with drunk adults. Granted, they usually weren’t all cops, but, whatever.

Turns out, it somehow made it easier. I managed to grab my things off the counter without alerting anyone except Penelope, who quickly turned back around with a blush. She probably figured I was gonna go blow him in the bathroom or something. I’d have been offended if the thought hadn’t literally just crossed my mind. I made it all the way to the door before I heard it. Back through the halls, a few of the group had separated to talk about how much harder it had been to see Hotch and JJ. It was nothing, just a little bug spreading through daycares like wildfire. That wasn’t what upset me, though.

No, the thoughts running through my head were more than just a passing thought of kids sick with a cold. I looked up at the walls of the entryway to Rossi’s home and saw intricate moulding and nothingness. I saw the exquisite, pristine rug underneath my feet, and I thought about how lonely it felt.

I was standing in a house that should have felt happy, filled with friends and family and love. There was no doubt that everyone who was there wanted to be there, and probably had nowhere else they’d rather be. But the tall ceilings and thousands of square feet felt so goddamn empty.

It isn’t the building, I heard a tiny, terrified voice call out from inside my own conscience.

It’s you. You’re empty.

I had to leave. I had to get out of the house. I had to hear the silence so that the nothingness would feel more appropriate and less noticeable. I couldn’t let them see me, because if they saw me, they would know. They would know that I was nothing but a husk of the girl they used to know. Without even thinking, I threw the door open, stumbling forward and almost falling flat on my face as I misjudged the small step down to the patio.

“Fuck!” I muttered, the world rocking around me with a stubborn persistence. If it weren’t for the frankly freezing temperature, I was sure I would have been sick. To make matters worse, there was a person quickly approaching.

“Hey, are you and Spence leaving already?”

It was JJ. Thank god, it was JJ. Probably the only person who wouldn’t make fun of me for being a mess on Rossi’s steps after only a few shots of whatever Morgan was drinking.

“Oh. Hey, JJ. Yeah. He’s…” I turned to my side, half expecting Spencer to be there to answer for me. But he wasn’t, so I ended up just pointing to the closed door before slurring, “he’s doing a thing.”

She was, per usual, very kind when faced with my buffoonery, and just laughed as she shook her head. “A thing. Sounds like him.”

I honestly thought that would be the end of it. It was a good, easy segue into a farewell. She already knew we were leaving, and she knew Spencer well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave me alone for long.

And I think she almost did leave. She almost walked right past me and into the warmth and comfort of a home filled with family and friends. But she didn’t. She stopped and asked me the one question I was really hoping she wouldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

I didn’t want her to ask because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Even if I could have managed it, she would have seen right through me in a second. Not only would it have been an exercise in futility, but she would also know that I thought it was worth it to try to lie.

So, I was honest… quite possibly too honest.

“No, not really. But it’s a lot and I’m kind of drunk, so…”

The mom eyes appeared so quickly, with JJ’s body turning entirely away from the door and over to me. “Not usually a good combination, but an understandable one,” she softly replied, wrapping her arms around herself to make up for the fact that she was sacrificing her comfort in many different ways to talk to me, instead.

She was probably just being nice— staying with me until Spencer could come take over the babysitting of the drunk twenty year old, but I wasn’t exactly thinking critically at the time. Which is only part of the reason why I blurted out the only thing on my mind; the thing that had been haunting me for longer than I wanted to admit even to myself, much less another person.

“Has Spencer ever talked to you about kids?”

The air, still freezing, also fell uncomfortably silent.

“Oh…” she mumbled under her breath, clearly unsure of how to handle that particular minefield of a topic. Especially with her best friend’s girlfriend, who also happened to be drunk. I almost told her to forget about it, but then she looked up at me with a powerful resolve. “Yeah, he has. Why?”

I thought about my next words more carefully, although you wouldn’t have been able to tell considering how much I stuttered.

“Do you think… Do you think he’d be happy if… I can’t have them?” I asked, wringing my hands together over my stomach. “Like, not just happy today, but like ten years from now?” I could hear how desperate I sounded, but I needed someone to hear the words playing on loop in my mind. Absolutely frantic and with tears pooling in my eyes, I asked, “Do you think he’d still love me if I can’t give him kids?”

“(Y/n), slow down. It’s okay!” JJ urged, lunging forward to cup my cheeks and gently wipe away any stray tears. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin your make up and it looks like you spent a lot of time on it.”

I had to laugh because not only was it my exact brand of humor, she said it with such a serious face that I had to wonder if it was genuinely her biggest concern. Of course, I knew it wasn’t. In her usual JJ way, she just knew the easiest way to cheer me up was with a laugh.

“Yeah, there’s like $80 on my face, it’s really not worth it to cry,” I agreed, sniffling softly when she finally pulled away her hands. At least I could blame that part on the cold.

“Exactly. And if you cry, then I’ll cry, and then I’ll also ruin my make up, and we’ll just be $150 down the drain with nothing to show for it,” she joked with a tired roll of her eyes and a shrug.

Together, we laughed, finding a pocket of warmth in a world that often felt too cold. Behind JJ’s eyes though, I saw an empathy I wasn’t expecting. That small, instinctual part of my brain tugged at my heart, telling me that there was an unspoken bond forming. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know why. I had a feeling that it was one of those secrets you just didn’t ask about, so I let it go.

“Thanks. It’s a stupid thought anyway,” I sighed, shuffling my feet and knocking my heels against the somehow spotless patio. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, so why stress about it, right?”

But then JJ said something I wasn’t expecting. Something that I actually really, really needed to hear.

“I don’t know, I think you’re allowed to be worried. It’s normal to feel scared.”

The sentence hit me like a freight train carrying lead and cement. At first, my brain refused to comprehend it at all. I struggled to repeat the idea, not because I was drunk but because it sounded so wrong. I had wanted it to be true so badly, and here she was, telling me it was okay.

Sensing my simultaneous trepidation and revelation, JJ cringed a bit when she said, “But I think it is a good idea to talk to Spence about it instead of me. Because, to be honest, I’ve also had one too many glasses to be helpful.”

That time when I laughed, it was full-hearted and involved every muscle in my body. “God, I love you, Jennifer,” I said through the noise.

She just shook her head, clearly enjoying the drastic mood swing she’d had a great part in. “I love you, too,” she whispered, running her hand over my shoulder and arm to pull me into a small half-hug. And that was how Spencer found us, giggling and sniffling on Rossi’s porch.

“Hey, are you ready to— Oh! Hey JJ,” he stopped, taking a very hesitant step forward in the hope that we wouldn’t both start crying on the spot. Drunk girls had a tendency to do that. “W-What are you guys doing out here?”

She let me go first, shoving her hand, still damp with my tears, into her pockets with a secretive smile. “Girl talk.”

“That usually doesn’t bode well for me,” Spencer answered with an awkward, nervous laugh. He didn’t make a move to grab me yet, probably too scared to step between the two of us. I was too busy giggling at the thought of his mind cycling through all the possible secrets I might have spilled in my uninhibited state.

I was tipsy, but I wasn’t that drunk.

JJ pulled two fingers over her mouth in a cheeky motion as she whispered, “My lips are sealed.”

“An even worse sign,” Spencer winced, turning to finally wrap his arm around me. He must have noticed the chill on my skin, because seconds later he had me practically wrapped in his coat. “I should just cut my losses and get her out of here, huh?”

“Shut up, old man,” I slurred, cuddling closer to his body heat despite my protests. Even in the darkness, I watched the heat bloom in his face at the nickname. By far, the worst part about the situation was the fact that I couldn’t kiss him, because I just knew he would be so warm, and I was really starting to get cold. I suspect that’s why he started to whisk me away, unceremoniously shushing me as JJ cleared her throat and raised her hand in a wave.

Before we got too far, though, I heard her speak again. “Oh! (Y/n), your questions!”

“What about them?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder and nearly falling to the ground as a result.

JJ looked at me, and then back to Spencer, whose arm was wrapped possessively around me. She smiled a pure, toothy grin that filled her face, causing that weird feeling in my gut to flare up again. She saw something in that moment that I wasn’t sure I’d ever really understand, but her voice started to crack just enough to notice when she called out, “The answer is yes. To all of them.”

—————————————————

The ride back to Spencer’s place was uneventful, though I tried very hard to make it interesting. After the fourth time he'd swatted away my hand and threatened to throw me in the back, I gave in to his demand to behave. I blamed my compliance on the alcohol, although it was probably more so a result of total exhaustion.

The respite from socialization was apparently what I needed to be able to function again, because as soon as we pulled into his apartment parking lot, I was awake.

... Awake enough to try and maul him in the hallway. But, in his sober stubbornness, he continued to evade my advances all the way until his front door clicked shut behind us. His hands on my hips had never felt like such a victory before.

“Did you enjoy wreaking havoc all night?” he whispered, slowly leading us towards his room. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I didn’t need to. Even without an eidetic memory, my body cherished this path and the memories it always led to. I trusted him to catch me if I stumbled. Which, I definitely did.

“I’m the cutest devil you’ll ever see,” I slurred.

“At least you admit it,” Spencer laughed. I couldn’t tell if it was at my words or the fact that I was failing terribly at trying to unbutton his shirt. My drunk self was not a skilled multitasker.

Once I felt the bed against the back of my thighs, I hopped on top of the covers before he could even try to help me up. It was muscle memory. We’d been there before.

“I’m feeling more fallen angel tonight,” I sighed, sliding against the comforter until I found his pillow.

Naturally, Spencer saw the way I gravitated to his side. He smiled as he removed his shirt that I’d left mostly intact. “By all means, feel free to stay that way.”

I probably should have taken off my dress, or my shoes, but I didn’t. The world sort of felt like a wave pool on a sunny day, and I was worried that if I paid too much attention to what was going on around me, I'd think about something I really didn’t want to think about.

I couldn’t remember what it was.

But then Spencer’s hands were gliding up and down my calves, and I shuddered at the contact. He took his time removing my shoes before coming up to join me on all fours. I wondered if he could taste the whiskey on my tongue when he kissed me. Did it remind him of the circumstances that had brought us together? Did it remind him of his hangover and sins?

Did he think of monsters when he kissed me?

My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling lightly to try to keep him there. And when he pulled away, I tried to fight him. I tried to follow him, scared that once the kiss was over, I’d start remembering things I probably should have tried to forget.

He must have seen the denial in my eyes, because he hesitated. His hand came up to lightly grab my wrist and lead my hand that had a death grip on his hair down to his face. “Are you too drunk? Should we stop?”

Throwing my head back with a groan, I tried not to hate him for actually caring about me again. “If you stop right now, I’m going to actually scream,” I droned. It got me a laugh, at least.

“That doesn’t comfort me in the slightest.”

Once I opened my eyes, I found myself wishing I hadn’t. It wasn’t that I saw hesitancy or fear in Spencer’s eyes – on the contrary, it was the lack of anything bad at all that bothered me. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a sincere, pure adoration that I couldn’t argue with.

I chose to ignore it, instead. I couldn’t remember why it made my stomach hurt.

“Are you going to make me do a sobriety test?” I giggled, letting my hands travel down his shoulders and chest. I wasn’t in as much of a rush as I had been earlier. I wanted to take my time remembering what it felt like to be pinned under him and surrounded by his embrace.

“I’m positive that you’ve practiced those while drunk,” he playfully replied while trying to hide the way goosebumps followed my fingers as they trailed down to more interesting territory.

“Yeah, I can say the alphabet backwards and everything.”

It was meant as a joke, but Spencer apparently had some doubts. With a scrunched up smile, he laughed back as he asked, “Really?”

The fact that he believed I was capable of something like that might have been flattering if it hadn't been based on his incredibly flawed perception of my propensity to lawbreaking. But since it was based on ideas of immorality rather than intelligence, it just made me mad.

Smacking him lightly on the chest, I both pouted and laughed as I snapped back, “No, of course not, asshole!”

Spencer just grinned, giving a delayed wince at the offensive contact before he sat up again. I didn’t realize why at first, but as he slowly started to coax me into turning around, I remembered that I was, in fact, still fully dressed. I figured it was either his way of saying that I’d won, or just an excuse to take off the dress so I might actually go to sleep. I was fine with either.

“I was drunk the first night we met, if you’ve forgotten,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side of the bed and moving my hair so that he wouldn’t catch any in the zipper.

“I definitely haven’t forgotten that night.”

The nostalgia in his voice was both comforting and painful. We’d always joked about that night, though. It wasn’t an insult at all.

“No? Do you think about it often?” I replied playfully, forcing myself not to think too hard about whether he wished I was still the girl he'd met that day.

Spencer made it easy to forget, with his hand starting to draw the zipper down while he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “I think about it all the time.” My breath hitched in my throat at the way his voice warped into a rough, raspy tone. “You almost made me believe that you were just some shy, innocent little girl.”

This time when he got me to turn back over, there was nothing gentle about it. His hands were clearly craving the kind of violence they got to use last time. I wanted to feel them again.

“We can make a new memory if you want,” I panted, looking up at him with wanton eyes and my dress loose enough to expose parts of my breasts to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered at the sight below him. He pressed his erection against my hip as he ran a hand over my cheek. “Tell me the rules.”

“I tell you to stop if I need to,” I carefully enunciated.

“Good girl,” he moaned, starting to rock against me. Struggling to pull my dress off himself, he pleaded in a slightly pitiful manner, “Can I…?”

I helped him, desperate to feel his skin against mine. I didn’t even think about what it meant for my dress to be gone. It wasn’t until Spencer’s mouth dropped to my chest so enthusiastically that I realized that he’d failed to stop and kiss my lips first.

With both hands on my breasts, he lavished each pebbled peak with his fingers and tongue. He hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that he’d missed me shirtless, but it was painfully obvious in the way his lips trailed along my body. It was obvious in the rumbling of his moans against my skin and the way his hands roughly kneaded the soft tissue.

I was forced to remember why I hadn’t let him see me topless.

I felt naked. Not because of the exposed skin, but because I couldn’t warp reality with lace or cotton anymore. My marred stomach might not have made a physical barrier, but it still made him feel so far away. It was a paralyzing kind of realization, and I felt myself retreat so quickly that it hurt.

Thankfully, it was Spencer who was kissing me. If it had been anyone else, I think I would have just laid there, terrified and small and alone. But I couldn’t do that with him.

“Spencer?” I quietly called, and he immediately stopped, his eyes meeting mine with all the attention a girl could ever ask for. I smiled, and the sensation almost felt foreign.

“Come kiss me here instead,” I said with a little giggle, tapping my lips to bring him back to where I wanted him. And he came to me so quickly, his mouth crashing onto mine in seconds and his hands tangling in my hair.

I had forgotten so quickly how easy it was to get lost in him. Thanks to the alcohol, my mind wasn’t able to stick with any thought for longer than a few seconds. Mixing that with Spencer’s hands and mouth, I was never going to be able to think in more than a few words at a time. And I shouldn’t have needed to, right? It was just sex. We’d done it many times before, and it had never been a disappointment. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of mind — some instinctual warning that told me I was doing something wrong.

I wanted him, so what could be wrong about that? There was nothing painful or unappreciated in the way he lined himself up at my entrance, and I certainly made that much clear. It was hard to even hear him over the sound of my own moans, and my nails dug into his shoulder as I guided him into me with my hips.

“I love you,” I cried, wrapping my legs around his waist and digging my heels into the back of his thighs.

“I love you so much, little girl,” he whispered against my lips, his forehead resting against mine.

For a moment, it was okay. The feeling subsided long enough for me to enjoy the fact that Spencer, the man I loved, loved me back. I thought about how long it had taken us to get to this point, and how I never wanted to lose it again. I held onto him for dear life, rocking my hips to meet his and bringing his mouth down to mine.

It was okay, until he spoke again.

“You’re such a good girl,” he groaned into my mouth, “even when you’re being bad you just want to be useful.”

Useful.

The word had come back to haunt me several times in the recent weeks. I hadn’t said anything about it because I couldn’t understand why it bothered me so much. There was no reason for me to be upset. He was just saying what I usually liked to hear.

So why did it hurt?

And I realized then, that the reason that experience felt so horrible wasn’t because of me at all. It was because it was Spencer. It was Spencer, the man I loved. There he was, trying to love me and comfort me and hold me and I…

In a rush of emotions and memories and repressed regrets, I was forced to face the fact that I had made a terrible mistake. The kind of mistake that if I didn’t do something about it in that exact, immediate moment, would become a disaster. The kind of disaster that meant he might never want to touch me again. The kind that would make him hate me. The kind that would make him leave and I couldn’t blame him for.

I had made a mistake.

“Wait, wait, Spencer, stop!” I slurred, my hands that had been holding him close seconds earlier shoving him off of me with the little force I was capable of. It didn’t take much, though, considering how fast he jumped back.

Frantic and terrified, he grabbed my face and tried to inspect my eyes that were avoiding him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at him. “No, I just really need to stop,” I muttered, my breath picking up even more as I slid away from him, “Can I just— Can you just give me a minute?”

My hands slid over my chest, trying to hide the shame I felt inside to no avail. Spencer only made it worse in the way he quickly grabbed clothing, covering me in his shirt before he dressed himself. He even took the time to find me pants and help me in them, quietly and carefully. Like a doll.

I was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he croaked brokenly while he curled up at my side, trying to wrap his arms around me before he realized I was shrinking away from his touch. He was so confused. He had no reason to know what was going on, but I could see on his face that he was desperately trying to figure it out.

“Does this have something to do with what you were talking to JJ about?”

An interesting question. I didn’t know the answer.

“Yes. No? Maybe. I guess?” I ran a hand over my face that landed on my throbbing temple. The lack of tears on my face almost surprised me. I probably should have been crying, but I wasn’t. In a way, it felt like I had no tears left to give. When I turned to him, bile rose in my throat and I was afraid that I might choke on it if I didn’t get the words out faster. I just had to tell him. He needed to know.

“Listen, I lied to you. And I need to say something.”

I had just gotten my breathing under control, just in time for his to go erratic. His pulse was visible in his throat as he swallowed. “Lied to me? About what?”

“I…” The world was rocking, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or my brain trying to comprehend my own self-destructive stupidity. I knew which one I was going to blame, though. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was this drunk.”

“What did you lie to me about?” he repeated, his hands gripping handfuls of the sheet in hopes of stopping the rest of his body from trembling.

“Well, I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

It was the most useless clarification, and it did absolutely nothing to appease his concern. The longer the words stayed stuck and muddled in my mouth, the more devastated he seemed. In hindsight, I would realize all the millions of awful reasons his mind must have been feeding him in the absence of the truth.

“Please, whatever it is, just tell me,” Spencer begged with a hesitant, shaky hand coming to rest on top of mine. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, we both looked down at our hands. It was a mercy and a disservice. I just had to tell him, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it without looking him in the eyes. That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful that he didn’t look back, though. Because once the words were said, there would be no going back from them.

He was going to hate me.

“I… stopped taking my birth control,” I whispered in a voice that felt so foreign. “Like, a while ago.”

Spencer’s jaw steeled, his eyes widening and shooting up to me with the same speed he used to jump off the bed. Despite my efforts to grab him, to stop him from leaving me, he was five feet away in a matter of seconds.

“What?!” he shouted. It was the loudest I’d ever heard him. Even the echoes felt deafening, and my hands covered my ears with a wince.

“Shit! That was loud!” I whined in a pathetic attempt to make him feel bad for me. I didn’t deserve it, but I think it worked. Because the next time he spoke, it was at a more manageable volume.

“What do you mean you stopped taking your birth control?! When?!”

“Stop yelling at me.” I pulled my knees to my chest and ignored the pain in my stomach when I did so. It felt well deserved.

“You aren’t joking, either. Why didn’t you tell me this?” Spencer continued, his hands raking through his hair while he started to pace the room.

Nothing about it felt real. I felt like I was stuck in one of my million recurring nightmares. I just wanted to wake up, to be somewhere other than in a room too small for the bass in his voice. I only barely saw him when he finally approached me. He still stayed a few feet away, but he met my eyes that stared vacantly at the wall ahead of me.

“Answer me!”

Whether it was the order that broke me or the pain in his voice, all of my resolve and apathy shattered at once.

“You’ve always said you wanted to get me pregnant!” I screamed back, digging my nails into my skin in the hope of finding feeling there.

“Not like this! Not right now!” he scoffed. The sound would have hurt more if he hadn't stepped closer to me when he made it.

“Why not?!” I tried to sound angry, but all I heard was the plea beneath the words.

I just want to be useful. Please let me be useful.

“Are you serious?” Spencer’s disbelief was present in every ounce of his existence. His hands were alternating between fists and flat palms, his voice cracking and wavering in pitch. “What has gotten into you? You know that you can’t have a child right now.”

I bit down on my tongue in one final attempt to keep the scary words inside. But he couldn’t feel the way his words felt just like bullets and scar tissue that would never fully heal again.

“You almost died! Do you—“ he choked, but powered through his body’s attempt to stop the thought. “Do you understand the danger that would put you in?”

“I know, alright?! I know!” The words were loud and hoarse, and I covered my own ears to hopefully drown out the sound of failure on my own tongue. “I know I can’t have a fucking kid right now!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

I don’t know. Please, help me.

He waited for my answer, but it stayed trapped in my head. When I started to rock in place, my hands still clamped over my ears and the tears I swore I didn’t have starting to fall, he sighed.

“Get up, we’re going to the store.”

“Why?” I spat, sinking further into my spot in a purely selfish manner.

“Get up,” he said again, this time reaching out for my hand.

But I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want him to touch me like this. I was scared that if I did what he wanted, then the fight would be over. And if the fight ended, then what would be left? Was this all just some elaborate ruse to get me in his car so that he could drive me home and leave me there?

His hand touched mine so softly, with so much patience and love that it burned. Why wasn’t he angrier? He should be.

“No!” I screamed, smacking his hand away from me. Although I knew it didn’t hurt, I saw him wince at the contact. His lips flattened as he looked at the stupid sobbing girl on his bed.

Then he left. He turned on his heel, and with less patience that time, grumbled the explanation he'd refused to give before. “We’re going to the store and getting levonorgestrel so that you don’t make the stupidest mistake of your life.”

It wasn’t the words that got me to move, but the fact that he was quickly leaving the room. I scrambled after him recklessly, crashing into just about every stationary object in the way. The shock had hit me so hard that I forgot I was still drunk.

“Is it really that awful to imagine having a future with me?” I sobbed, chasing after him just to crash into him when he stopped.

He still caught me, but I couldn’t tell you why.

“You know that’s not what this is about.” He sounded so tired, but he kept going. He kept fighting with me even though I could see in his eyes that it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I love you, (y/n)! But you’re acting like… like a child!”

“Fuck you,” I seethed, pushing myself away from him.

I was scared that if I didn’t force our bodies apart, I would have fallen to pieces in his arms again. And I knew he would try to put me back together again. He would try to help me because that’s what he always did. But sometimes things are just completely, irrevocably broken. Sometimes there was simply no fixing it.

Good luck convincing Spencer of that.

“I don’t need this shit and I don’t need to go to the store,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way back into the bedroom to locate my purse that I’d so gracefully thrown on the floor.

“(Y/n), just because the chances of pregnancy are low doesn’t mean they are nonexistent, and I’m not going to be the reason you throw your life away! You said yourself you aren’t ready to be a housewife!” I heard him rambling from the other room. Eventually, he followed the sounds of plastic packaging and rustling paper.

“Shut up,” I groaned, finally getting the tiny pill free and successfully shoving it in my mouth before I managed to drop it. “Just leave me alone, Spencer.”

Obviously, it wasn’t going to work. After all, I was in his apartment, and currently sitting cross legged in the middle of his bedroom and trying to dry swallow a pill that tasted a lot like every mistake I’d ever made.

“When did you buy that? And why do you have it with you?” He didn’t sound angry at all anymore. He didn’t even particularly sound annoyed or confused, just… exhausted.

“You’re welcome for saving you the drive.”

Of all the things he could have done, he chose the one I expected the least. He came to me, and carefully lowered himself to the ground in front of me. At first, that was all he did. He just sat across from me with puppy dog eyes and an awkward posture.

“Look at me,” he called gently.

“I don’t want to.”

He sighed, waiting another second to catch his breath and let the earlier emotions settle in the air. “You had that in your purse. Why?” he asked as he reached forward to grab the remnants of the torn up box and confirm that it was what he thought it was. Once he was satisfied, he just sounded even more broken. “You’ve clearly thought about it enough to plan ahead, but apparently I wasn’t important enough to have a say in any of these decisions.”

The pain that was forming in my stomach hurt worse than the AR-15.

“Were you just… Just planning on making those decisions without even telling me?” He was on the verge of tears, though he tried his very best to hide it. It might’ve worked if I'd been both drunk and an idiot, but unfortunately the adrenaline was combatting the alcohol pretty well at that point.

With both hands covering his face, I could still see the way his jaw tensed between the words. “It would be my child, too,” he forced out, “You don’t— You don’t get to make those decisions without me. T-That’s not fair.”

The sounds were so pitiful, and I wanted to feel anything but what I felt. I wanted to feel angry or sad again, but I couldn’t. All I felt was hate; the most powerful, soul crushing self-loathing imaginable.

I didn’t want to be the reason he cried. I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t control myself. I just kept rubbing salt in the wound so he would leave. So that I could hate him for leaving me instead of hating myself for making him.

“There’s no kid. I would’ve taken it either way.”

That succeeded in getting a response.

“Then what was the point of any of this?!” he fumed, dropping his hands to gestured to the state of us, dressed in pajamas and tears. “If you really believe that, then why tell me? Why risk it at all?!”

“I don’t know.”

“I deserve a better answer than that. That’s bullshit and you know it,” he demanded with an accusing finger.

But I didn’t know that it was bullshit. Really, it was the truth. I didn’t know why I was doing this. All I knew was that if I stopped, if I was just honest with him, I would have to face a reality I wasn’t ready for.

“I deserve the truth,” he said as his hand fell, unable to stay up under the weight of the feeling behind it.

I looked at him and I saw my mistakes in the form of tears trickling down his cheeks and a tremble in his lips. I saw a man who deserved nothing but the greatest love, begging me to give him something to work with. He wasn’t asking me for the world — he just wanted me to talk. To say something so that he could understand why I wanted him to hate me.

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that either of us would believe, anyway.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spencer.” My lips moved without my permission, and my legs quickly followed the traitorous pursuit.

“What does that mean?” he begged me as he followed me. He followed me like he always did, with that suffocating hopefulness that we could make it.

But what if I couldn’t? What if this was it for me? What if, in my desperate desire to push him away, I was saving him from a miserable life with me?

I was trying to save him.

“It means…” I paused, turning to look him in the eyes so that he might finally hear what he needed to in my answer. “It means you should’ve picked a different 20 year old to fuck.”

His jaw finally relaxed, dropping open with a broken breath.

And I think he saw it. I think he saw the way I meant the words from the bottom of my soul. He heard me tell him that he should regret me while I tried to walk away, and he knew that I meant it.

“I’m leaving.” The words surprised me when I heard them in my own voice, but I followed them, nonetheless. I barreled towards the door with bare feet and my keys in my hand.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave like this.” His statements were logical, but that only served to further piss me off.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not your property!”

That wasn’t why I was angry. We both knew that wasn’t why. The real reason, the truth behind the reckless self-destruction was approaching too fast and I couldn’t slow it down. Nothing could stop it from rushing down the predetermined path that we stood on, and I was begging him to get off the tracks.

“If you leave right now, you’re going to fucking kill yourself!”

And then it happened. Practically foaming at the mouth with the unhinged rage that had been boiling underneath my skin for too long, I finally managed to let the words go.

“Maybe that’s the fucking point!”

Silence had never been so loud. It had never been that heavy.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that, Spencer?” I laughed because there was no reason in my mind not to. It all seemed so terribly obvious and we’d been skirting around it for so long. Why were we pretending like this was news? Like we hadn’t heard the horns and seen the headlights approaching?

“Please stop.” It was said like a plea but meant as an order. But I never listened to directions and he already knew that.

“I’m not your problem just because you were unfortunate enough to fall in love with me,” I continued, finding a freedom in being able to finally say what I’d been thinking all along. “Put me out of my fucking misery, Spencer. Just let me go.”

“Stop!” he shouted, pulling fistfuls of his hair as his chest heaved with deep, rasping breaths. I’d heard that voice from him before, but only once. The memories were locked away in the part of my brain that I swore to leave locked up.

I was back in the bank. I could feel his hands slipping in blood on my stomach and pressing into my cheeks. I was in the ambulance again. His hands were so warm that they burned, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to leave. I'd had one foot in the grave then. I felt like I was still there, teetering over the edge with nothing but Spencer’s frantic breathing and desperate begging keeping me from jumping in.

“Stop saying that!” Spencer ordered, his hands letting go just enough to come back down on his head with some force. I jumped at the contact and wondered when I'd started feeling his pain, too. I wondered when we'd found ourselves back in his apartment again.

“Y-You aren’t going to die!” He continued. It didn’t have the force of an order or the pathetic breaking of a cry. It was just a statement he was trying to will into existence. An attempt to ward off memories that reminded him he was capable of losing me. He had already almost lost me once. In a way, it was this same scenario.

It was just that he wasn’t losing me quickly from a gunshot wound. No, I was bleeding out in an entirely different way.

“You can’t— I can’t lose you. I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, falling to his knees and not caring at all about the bruises that would follow. The sight of him collapsing in on himself was terrifying, and I realized for the first time the true consequences of my actions. I couldn’t pretend that I was trying to save him anymore. I couldn’t listen to the congested, barely comprehensible ramblings of a man begging me not to want to die and act like I was thinking of him at all.

I was being selfish. How very much like me.

“Please, anything but that. You can hate me forever, but please don’t…” The words trailed off, and I felt compelled to answer them. I needed something to release the knot in my chest and allow my lungs to fill again.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer. I could never hate you.” The words were infuriating in their honesty, but he needed to hear them. He needed to know that none of this was his fault, that he’d done nothing wrong other than meet me.

I couldn’t leave him like that. He deserved so much better than me, but that was all that I had. So, I climbed down next to him, reaching out to him and hoping that he would hold me back.

To my surprise, he did. His hands grabbed mine like they were a lifeline, bringing them to his lips wet with tears. And although he was silent, I could hear the way he prayed that they wouldn’t fade away from him again.

“I-I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I’m supposed to be the adult here, I’m supposed to know how to fix these things, but I have no idea what I’m doing, (y/n).”

It was an admission Spencer didn’t often make. The complete helplessness and inability to fix the puzzle before him didn’t just hurt because it was painful to watch, it was also just another reminder of his limits.

One time he had promised me that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me. I should have told him that it was a stupid promise to make then. I should have showed him the skeletons in my closet and the mess in my hands.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had already seen it, and it was too late. I’d made too many mistakes, and I had to face them. I couldn’t run away anymore. That meant listening to Spencer, pouring his heart out to me and clutching my hands like they would turn to nothing in front of him.

“You’re falling apart and you won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to make this stop hurting. I don’t know how to help you. Sometimes you’re so happy but other times I can see it in your eyes…”

Our eyes met, unguarded, for the first time in what felt like hours but was actually probably only a few minutes. We looked into each other’s eyes and tried to read each other’s minds. I didn’t know what he saw, but I heard the way it struck him.

“Do you… Do you want to leave me?” he asked.

And I realized then, that was what my behavior was leading up to. That was what my mind was racing towards, without ever considering whether it was what was best for me. Because I wasn’t thinking about what was best for me, or what I wanted, or what I should want. All I cared about was the same concern Spencer had for me— I didn’t want him to throw his life away just to be with me.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Spencer heard something in my question that brought life back to his eyes. I wished that I could hear his thoughts because he always seemed so much farther ahead. Like he could see the immediate future and knew what would follow.

Then again, maybe I was just idealizing him. I had a tendency to do that. He wasn’t a superhero. He was just a man, trying his best in a world that never really let him rest. I certainly didn’t help with that.

“No. No, that’s not what I want at all,” he said, his hands finding the courage to let go of mine and slide up my arms. He cupped my face with such an urgency and relief that it almost felt the same as before I had uttered those terrifying words. “I told you I want to marry you and I wasn’t kidding.”

It only took a few words for any progress and vulnerability to be obliterated. Four words. That’s all it took.

I want to marry you.

A white picket fence is what I’d promised him. I'd painted a vivid image of us with two children that were just like him. A normal, domestic life is what I’d said.

I hadn't known. I'd made a mistake. I had lied.

“Stop fucking saying that!” I wished the fight would leave my body and let my weary muscles rest, but it kept coming back. Sure as the sun rises in the morning, I couldn’t let go of the hatred. It had to go somewhere, and Spencer continued to be the stupid, stubborn man putting himself in front of me without any defenses.

I don’t think he was expecting that, though. He jumped back at the sound, his hands bracing his fall as I flailed to get away from him. I didn’t have the energy or coordination to stand, so I just let myself fall to pieces on the floor in front of him.

“Stop telling me about this future you have planned for us b-because I’m a useless, idiotic fuck up, and it’s freaking me the fuck out!”

Naturally, the only thing that could incense Spencer more than violating his trust was, apparently, talking badly about myself. Because as soon as he heard the words, he was wound up just the same.

“What are you so afraid of?!”

Without thinking about the words, implications, or consequences, I gave him the answer he fought for. I gave it to him because I couldn’t hold it any longer. I gave it to him and hoped that it would grant me the closure he sought, too.

“That I won’t ever be able to give you a baby and you’re going to fucking leave me!”

Spencer, in all his shock and disbelief, could only utter back a single, exasperated, “…What?” The way the word fell out of his mouth almost sounded like a laugh, the side of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile.

“I’m scared that when I stop being useful to you, you’re going to leave me like everyone else,” I explained, my voice as small as I felt in that moment.

But Spencer, in his uncanny ability to predict the future, was trying not to smile. Don’t get me wrong — he wasn’t laughing at me, and the words certainly brought him no joy. But there was something else buried beneath the suffering.

“Come here,” he requested with a sad, small grin and a wave of his hand. When he saw the hesitance on my face, he beckoned me closer again with more feeling. “I want to talk to you. Come here.”

So I came. I came as close to him as I could. And as I practically sat in his lap, I remembered how much easier it was to breathe when he held me, and how much lighter the tears felt when he wiped them a way.

“Why do you think I’m going to leave you?” he asked through a chuckle, like the very notion was so unbelievable that it couldn’t be uttered as anything other than a joke.

“Y-You want kids,” I mumbled, looking down at our t-shirts wet with tears. I played with the hem of his to remind myself that we were both still there. And although Spencer sympathized, he didn’t seem too keen on me looking away at that particular moment. With a gentle finger under my chin, he guided my eyes back to his.

“Okay. So do you, right?”

“Well, yeah…” I paused and pursed my lips and bit down on the bottom one. I waited until he raised his eyebrows in a challenge before I explained. “But what if I can’t have any?”

Spencer’s face scrunched up with his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, “There are other ways to have kids. I’m not worried about that at all.”

Just like that, he’d waved away my fears of inadequacy and failure like they were smoke from an already snuffed out candle. He made it so clear so quickly that biology wasn’t the thing that mattered. That it wasn’t my genetics or physical traits that made him want to share a literal life with me.

Spencer didn’t need me to have his children; he just wanted me to raise some with him.

“Why are you worried about that? Did something happen?” he pressed forward, unsatisfied with the idea that I might still be carrying some heaviness without his assistance.

“The doctor told me that I might not ever be able to have my own kids and I just...”

I should have known better than to doubt the insistence of his greedy hands. They would never let a burden belong solely to me. And I… didn’t want to bear the weight alone anymore, either. The dam was broken, and my heart came rushing out into his waiting arms.

“I’m so tired of it, Spencer. I’m tired of this stupid shit stealing my life away from me. You’ve been taking care of me for months, a-and the way you look at me sometimes-- I can see it on your face. I can feel the way it hurts you just to look at me.”

That hurt flashed in his eyes right then but faded with a swiftness I hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t want me to see it yet. One fight at a time, I heard him think. When this shifted load balanced between us again, we could figure the rest out.

First, we had to settle this. It had to end.

“If I can’t give you children, and I can’t... I can’t make you happy then—“

“Stop,” he demanded, his finger coming up to cover my lips. There was no argument to be made at his protest. With a deathly seriousness veiled with bowed brows and a lip that still trembled, Spencer whispered to me, “You can feel however you want to, but you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

Tears welled in both of our eyes, threatening to fall with the other. But they didn’t, they stayed pooled at our lashes and drowned us in visions of haloed lights and blurry reflections.

“I am so happy with you. No matter what. Every second of every day. Do you understand me?”

The only answer I had the strength to give was my surrender. Collapsing forward into his arms, I buried my face into his shoulder. I reveled in the warmth of his chest and the strength of his hands on my back. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek as the deep, joyful breaths he took in came out as relieved laughter.

“I love you, (y/n).”

He must have heard, or at least felt, my soft groan in response, because he peeled me off of him with a smirk. “What’s wrong now?” he asked in an equally tired whine.

“You only use my name when you’re angry or sad,” I grumbled through a pout. It only felt a little silly, to joke about something so stupid minutes after screaming our hearts at each other. We were just so tired, and the finish line was in sight. We just wanted to cross it together, and preferably with less tears involved.

Spencer didn’t say any of that, but I felt it, nonetheless. It was clear in the way he pushed my hair from my face before running his fingers down my jaw. “I use your name when I’m worried,” he corrected. “And you scared me tonight. I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling this way.”

We were toeing the line back into heavy emotions, and I shook my head to ask him not to take me back there tonight. But I couldn’t blame him at the same time. He’d so gracefully handled all of my fears and rage; he deserved a chance to voice his own. They’d fallen so far behind in the race towards the truth.

“I understand you were scared to tell me, but...” he stopped, trying to find a way to explain it without hurting my feelings. He really was too nice to me.

“I know. It was stupid. I feel terrible,” I finished for him. Once my face hit his shoulder again, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” I said with almost all of the energy I had left. He stroked soothing patterns over my back, and after a moment I realized that we’d started to rock. I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine.

“I appreciate your apology, but please promise me that you’ll talk to someone about this,” he humbly requested, his words muffled in my hair.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

It was almost a joke. Spencer wasn’t going to let it go, though. “Don’t try to be clever with me, little girl. I need you to talk to someone who knows how to help you,” he playfully scolded.

Through a yawn and a chuckle, I pressed on in my attempt to end the night on a horrible joke. “Isn’t that your whole job?”

“Yeah, I guess it is sometimes, huh?” he agreed halfheartedly. Really, he was only trying to give me a little bit of a win. We both knew his job wasn’t very good at helping people before the fact. It was just another poor attempt at avoiding healing. I had been holding on to that anger so tightly that there wasn’t room for us in the space that was left.

“But I think you also know I can’t be that person for you,” Spencer eloquently said, cradling my head as it started to rock with each motion.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed, “I promise.”

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but no matter what, it wouldn’t have lasted long enough. The rhythm of his heart evened out over time, settling into the lullaby I needed to finally find some rest. But realistically, we couldn’t sleep there. Spencer was kind enough to practically carry me back into the bed we had shared when this all started, although this time he laid beside me.

From there, he helped tuck me in and pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. My eyes were closed, but the smile that spread over my cheeks was enough of a signal that I was still awake.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

My bloodshot eyes opened at his call, and I found love staring back at me. I knew he could see my eyes bouncing back and forth as I tried to see all of it at once in his eyes, and I didn’t care. Even when he kissed me, neither of us closed them.

“We don’t have to worry about anything,” he said as our mouths broke apart. His thumb swept over my cheeks to all the places I knew he was thinking about kissing. There was a very poor attempt to hide his smile at the thought of the future, but I appreciated the effort he put in.

“When you’re ready to try to have kids, I’ll be right there with you,” he said.

It was clear that Spencer really wanted it to be a meaningful sentiment, but I was still a little bitter at his failure to laugh at my previous terrible jokes. So when I saw the opportunity, I took it swiftly and with no regrets.

“I sure hope so, or else I don’t think it’ll work,” I muttered through the side of my mouth before turning onto my back.

Spencer’s first carefree giggle of the night was my prize, and I couldn’t have loved it any more. “That’s my little girl,” he cooed, curling up against my side and wrapping a possessive arm over my chest.

Just before my eyes fluttered shut, I saw movement below my face. I kept them open long enough to see his pinky presented to me and a knowing look in his eyes. “Everything will be alright as long as we have each other,” Spencer offered.

And despite our bad history with promises, I had no reasons left to doubt that one.

—————————————————

| Part 21 |

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #h2m #spencer reid self insert #angst #smut

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feelin-woozy · 3 years

Text

Title: With Teeth Word Count: 1852 Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader Warnings: Gender-neutral reader

[ Ao3 Link | Previous ] 1997

The sound of some soft rock ballad fills the air around you, the bass gently thrumming through the marred wooden bartop. The waitress comes and sets the beer you ordered down in front of you. She doesn’t bother with a coaster, not when the bar is already littered with water rings. You express your thanks just loud enough to be heard over the music before you let your mind begin to wander once more.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Your ears instantly perk up at the sound of that voice. It’s a sound so familiar to you yet equally as foreign after years of not hearing it. It’s better than you remember; it fills you with the warmth of memories of your misspent youth. But guilt swiftly taints the softness shifting into something jagged and painful as it settles.

Turning your head, your eyes are met with a familiar face. He looks older but close enough to what you recall a seventeen year-old Bo Sinclair to look like. You catch the faint white lines of scars against his skin, and you wonder what he did to get those. You wonder if he let his brothers patch him back up. His eyes are that familiar crystalline blue, the anger is still there, but you can tell that he’s learned to hide it better. Even after all these years, you can see past his facade. He smells similar to how you remember, too, the stench of cigarettes heavy in his clothing, but there’s something new to his scent. You think it might be motor oil.

“Bo?” You say dumbly, staring at him with an almost starstruck expression. Your cheeks flush a soft pink when you realize that perhaps you had been staring at him for too long as you gathered your thoughts.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t intended to return to Ambrose; you did, but every time you thought about it, something would come up. Your parents’ divorce had been the first reason that you hadn’t returned, though in hindsight, going then would’ve been perfect for escaping their drama. And then you got a promotion at work, and it was hard to find time off. Then there were the partners that came and went in your life. And as time ticked on, the idea of going back felt awkward; after all, by then, well over six years had passed.

Ambrose had become your own Garden of Eden, the whimsical youth that contorts your memories of the town, making it seem closer to paradise than the concrete jungle you found yourself in these days. It was a town you were tossed out of, albeit unwillingly, but it always felt that there was no going back. Ambrose had become nothing more than a footnote in your life.

You weren’t even sure if Ambrose was still there. Last you heard, the Sugarmill had shut down, and that was the only thing there that breathed life into the town. A part of you hoped it was lost to changing times, nothing but a ghost town filled with memories of better days and dark secrets. You hoped that Bo really did get out like he said he would.

“One an’ only.” Bo slots himself onto the stool next to you; the worn vinyl creaks beneath his weight. A hand curled around his glass of beer. It was already half empty. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed him when you had first entered the bar. “How ya been? It’s been what? Ten years?”

The way he says it makes the already sown guilt bloom into something plentiful. You can’t help but frown.

“Hey now,” Bo leans forward, lips twisting just slightly. The look he gives you sparks a familiar in the pit of your stomach, and you know he’s toying with you. He’s testing you and seeing how much you’ve changed. “I get it, shits different out here than back home. So tell me, how has it been?”

You eye him carefully for a moment before you let out a small huff of air and a bitter laugh. “Can I be honest with you, Bo? Shit fuckin’ sucks.”

He takes a slow drink from the glass, staring at you with a raised brow. “City life not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“It’s not, but I’m a contributing member to society now so I have that going for me. Guess you weren’t as bad as my mom thought you were.” You flash him a smirk, and he returns it with a slight curve at the corner of his lips. “Are you living in the city now too?”

“No. Vin, Lester an’ I are still in Ambrose.” He shrugs his shoulders before his eyes dart off to the clock on the far side of the wall before they meet yours again. “Was just about to start headin’ back home, then I heard your pretty little voice.”

“Really?” You kick yourself for the way your words drip with disappointment. It was at that moment you realized just how much you had missed Bo. The thought of leaving him once more made knots form in your stomach. You shift on the barstool, fingers drumming along the countertop before you swallow the lump in your throat and speak, “Shame. Think I could convince you to come back to my place tonight?”

“Mm.” Something flickers within Bo’s eyes at your words, and the curve of his lips transforms into something more wolfish. It’s a look that you know your mother would disapprove of. “You in the habit of pickin’ strangers up from bars often?”

“No, so consider yourself special.”

_____

It’s strange yet familiar having Bo Sinclair in your tiny little apartment. It reminds you of the times that he had snuck in through the window when you were teenagers. Where you would lay together on the small twin mattress, legs dangling off the side of the bed while listening to whatever music he decided to show you next.

With arms crossed over your chest, you watch as Bo’s eyes dart around your living room, his eyes moving over every last detail of your place. As if he was trying to relearn who you were through the possessions that you kept. You move past him and into your kitchen. You grab two glasses from the cabinet before setting them down next to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“So, what do you do, Bo? Last I heard Ambrose dried right up.” You ask, grabbing the liquor and pouring a moderate amount into each glass. His eyes turn to you, away from the collection of CDs that rest neatly on a shelf, and he smiles. A smile that leaves the hairs on the back of your neck to rise and gooseflesh to rise along your skin. It doesn’t help when he moves towards the edge of the counter opposite to you, reaching over and grabbing the glass. You watch the amber liquid squish as he brings it up to his lips.

“I kill people.” It’s said like a joke, but with the look in his eyes and that damn smile, you know that it’s far from it. It’s not a very funny joke either. You’re almost relieved to have the counter separating the two of you, but you know that if he were going to do something, that wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, watching his adam’s apple bob as he drinks. You mirror the movement, taking a sip of your own and nearly draining the half-filled glass in one go. It burns on the way down.

“That scare you?” He asks with a quirked brow as he sets the glass down.

You think for a moment as you stare at him unblinking. You would be lying if you said it didn’t, but at the same time, there’s something about it that just makes sense. It’s like all the warning signs were there from the start, he had always been a recipe for disaster, and this was the outcome. Your mother warned you that there was something wicked about him. You finish the rest of your whiskey before slamming the glass down against the granite countertop. “No.”

“You’ve always been stupid, know that? Since we were fuckin’ kids. It should scare you.” He rests his palms on the counter, the top half of his body overtaking the counter and encroaching on your space. You fight the urge to recoil. You notice the way his eyes sparkle, that mean look that never scared you as a child, suddenly making your blood run cold. But you steel your nerves, and just like when you were a child, you decide to sink to his level and lean in with a mean look of your own.

Bo laughs, the sound rumbling somewhere deep within his chest and bouncing off walls that box you in. His eyes narrow, and his lips curl up in the faintest of snarls. “You’re fucked up, real fucked in the head.” He spits the words at you, the top of his lips baring his teeth as spittle flies, and you can’t help but smile at him. You know Bo’s goading you, trying to make you see him for the monster he thinks he is, for you to think twice and back down, so he has an excuse to bash your head in against the countertop.

Bo wants to watch you bleed as you slip up and cut yourself on his edges. He’s waiting for the moment he can remind you just how mean he can be.

“And you love it.” You’ve said a lot of stupid things over your life, but you think this might be your magnum opus. It makes Bo’s face falter, eyes widening just a bit as his jaw goes slack. The gears are turning in his head; you can see the way he tries to process what you’ve said.

Bo Sinclair has his edges sharpened through years of hurt and trauma. You can only imagine they’ve gotten more jagged since the time you’ve last seen him, especially if what he said was true. But even now, even after all these years, you still manage to shock him with your unconditional positive regard. Your willingness to hit a home run every time he throws a curveball at you.

You’re banking on the fact that you have history to keep you safe because if you were anyone else, if you hadn’t known each other since you were eating bugs or using sticks as swords or sharing a drunken kiss just to see what it was like, you would be bleeding out over the cold off white linoleum. In some fucked up way, you think that maybe, just maybe, the two of you were made for each other.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he stares at you. With each passing second, the smile on your face twists and contorts a little, and for the first time in nearly ten years, you feel closer to yourself than you have since you left Ambrose.

“Yeah, I do.”

#House of wax #Bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #slasher x you #slasher x reader #my writing

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fallingforunrealisticromance · 3 years

Text

Look at me - Spencer Reid x fem! reader

A/N: I've written a lot of Hotch content recently and as much as I love it, I felt like I needed to get some Reid in there as well. This was a bit rushed so sorry if there are any mistakes in there. Enjoy:)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of panic attacks/past trauma, toxic relationships

Word Count: 2462

***= time skip

Any details from a case are made up, not based on an actual episode.

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

My mind is not something I ever thought I’d fear. I just assumed no matter how bad things got; I would be in control therefore it would never be anything I couldn’t handle. Even when I joined the BAU and was surrounded by harrowing cases all day, naively, I assumed I could keep on top of it. In case you hadn’t figured it out by now – I was wrong.

**********************************************************************

We all collapsed into our respective seats on the jet, none of us saying anything. This case had been particularly brutal, and it took a lot out of us. We had nothing to talk about besides the events of the past few days and no one wanted to think about it more than necessary. I took the first window seat I saw, grabbing a blanket and curling into myself. The sun was beginning to set and watching it above the clouds would bring me some sense of peace. As cliché as it sounds, being above the clouds and watching the light slowly sink beneath causing there to be an orangey glow – everything felt so quiet, so calm. As if I was untouchable, like nothing bad could reach me. As I starred out of the window, I couldn’t quite get comfortable. Normally after cases, I was able to fall asleep roughly half an hour into the journey home, but something was keeping me up. This must have shown on my face as I felt as soft jab to my side, breaking me from my thoughts.

“You good pretty girl?” Morgan asked, leaning on the edge of my seat.

“Hm? Yeah I’m all good. Just can’t sleep.” I said offering a small smile.

“I feel you. I’ve been trying since I sat down but I guess today just isn’t our day.” He replied sighing. “You need a drink or anything?”

“Nah I’m okay. Thanks though.”

“No problem gorgeous. Hope your able to drift off soon.” He said before heading to the back for a drink. I sighed, turning my body to face the window once again. But before I was able to get lost in my thoughts yet again, Spencer sat down in front of me. His brow was furrowed as his eyes scanned over me.

“You okay there?” I chuckled looking over at him.

“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” He replied matter of factly. I raised my eyebrow at him as I shifted to face him a little better.

“May I ask why?” I said in a light-hearted tone.

“Because you can’t sleep.” He stated. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I stayed silent, allowing him to continue. “You always fall asleep. You sit by the window, you curl up, and your asleep within 20 minutes. The only time you don’t is if someone’s talking to you. But no ones spoken to you until just now and your still awake.” He explained. I starred at him, in slight shock. “S-so I think what I’m trying to figure out is what’s keeping you awake? And see if you’re okay?” He concluded, suddenly looking rather nervous as if he was worried he’d overstepped.

“Look I’m sorry just pretend I didn’t say anything.” He said going to stand up. “

No hey it’s fine. I’m just surprised you noticed that’s all.” I replied quickly.

“Of course I did, I care about you.” I’m not sure why but that simple sentence caused my heart to flutter. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve always appreciated the fact that Spencer is attractive (even if he doesn’t believe it) but I’ve never thought of him in a romantic light. Since I’ve joined the BAU, we’ve always been able to lean on each other no matter what the situation. There was just something about us that clicked almost perfectly, there was nothing I couldn’t tell him. And even though we constantly got teased about being together, I’d never even considered it.

“Your right though, something is keeping me up.” I admitted, leaning back into my seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer offered, copying my actions.

“Yeah I’d love to. I just don’t know what it is. There’s something making me feel, I don’t know, uncomfortable I guess? But I haven’t got a clue what.” I rubbed my head as I spoke, feeling the beginning of headache starting to form.

“Oh.” He replied shortly. I could tell he was trying to figure out what it could be, but it was no use. “Is there anything I can do?” He asked. I smiled at him but shook my head.

“I’m afraid not pretty boy, I’m sure it’s nothing. Was just a hard case you know” He nodded.

“Well, if you remember, o-or even if you don’t and you just wanna talk, you know you can always come and find me.” Once again, I felt my heart flutter. Why was he making me feel this way all of a sudden?

“Thank you Spence. You too.” The rest of the journey went pretty smoothly. I didn’t fall asleep but for the most part, the uncomfortable feeling left me alone.

********************************************************************

“Okay guys, head home get some rest. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Hotch said as we made our way out of the parking lot. We all called out to each other before jumping in our cars and made our ways home. Even now, something was playing on my mind, and it was starting to piss me off. You’d think I’d be able to remember something that was bugging me this much. I tried to push it from my thoughts as I flopped onto my bed. I was so worn out I couldn’t even be bothered to change, I just wrapped myself up under my duvet and prayed that sleep would find me soon.

********************************************************************

“Come on y/n, you’re overreacting. You know I only did it because I love you.”

“How the fuck am I overreacting? I never remember asking you to bash someone’s head into the sidewalk out of LOVE”

“You know what? This is your fault. You made me do this.”

“I MADE you?”

“If you didn’t hang out with him dressed like such a slut I wouldn’t have had to do anything.”

“You’re joking right? God your fucking insane.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Does it hurt your feelings?”

“Shut up you bitch.”

“I’m done with this. I’m done with you. I should have never gone out with you. I’m leaving”

“No you’re not.”

“Dan I swear to fuck if you don’t let go of my hand I am calling the police.”

I jerked upright. My skin was damp with a cold sweat. My heart was hammering against my ribcage. My head was spinning. I couldn’t breathe. The sheets clung to me as scrambled out of my bed and headed for the front door. My mind was scrambled, I couldn’t stay at home. There was only one place I knew I’d feel safe. I pulled my shoes back on and ran out my front door before I begun sprinting down the road. I didn’t trust myself to drive right now.

******************************************************************

As I walked up the stairs of the apartment complex, very much out of breath, I begun second guessing my idea. It was literally 3 in the morning. But before I could convince myself otherwise, I raised my hand to knock on his door. I shouldn’t be here. He was probably asleep. Just as I turned to leave, the door swung open.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” A very dishevelled looking Spencer asked.

“Um yeah, no I just- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have woken you” I replied, fidgeting with my hands.

“It’s fine I’d actually fallen asleep on the sofa, so you did me a favour if anything.” He said with a soft chuckle. I couldn’t focus on his words, my mind still spinning. I could feel my breathing begin to quicken again. I was losing it.

“Hey, what’s going on?” His voice sounded muffled, as if he wasn’t stood right in front of me.

“I-I can’t breathe” I stammered. My legs felt as if they were about to give way. Before I could do anything else, I felt spencer wrap his arms around me and walk me into his apartment. He moved me to the sofa before closing the door and sitting down in front of me.

“What’s going on? Please I want to help but I need you to talk to me.” His voice sounded sincere. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my thoughts.

“I-I knew him.” I stammered, my hands trembling.

“Knew who?” He asked gently.

“I dated him. I don’t remember him being violent but then this one time- oh god. It’s my fault. I did this. T-they died because of me.” By this point, tears were streaming steadily down my face.

“What? Y/N who died? What do you mean you knew him?”

“THE FUCKING UNSUB SPENCER” I yelled, hysterically. I ran my fingers through my hair frantically. “I dated him. Ages ago. I don’t know how I didn’t recognise him. I think, no no I know, I was his stressor.” I explained, breathing heavily. Spencer starred at me. You know it’s bad when you render the boy genius himself speechless. “There was this guy I was friends with at the time, while I was dating Dan.”

“The unsub?” He cut in.

“Yes. Anyway, I’d been friends with this guy before I’d met dan, but they’d never liked each other. And then one night, I’d gone out. It was some sort of occasion, like a celebration thing I don’t know it’s all a bit fuzzy. I was wearing a dress and it wasn’t anything too bad, but it was showing off a decent amount of skin. I don’t really know how but dan turned up where we were and beat the living crap out of my friend. He ended up going to hospital. But that was the last time I saw dan, I left him that night. That has to of been his stressor.” I concluded, resting my head against the back of his sofa.

“You know it’s not uncommon for the brain to repress traumatic memories. That would explain why you didn’t recognise him and why you don’t remember everything, even now. You were most likely in such a toxic, stressful relationship with him that your mind didn’t know how to handle it. So instead of causing you more pain by trying to make sense of it all, it simply pushed those memories back far enough until you’d essentially forgotten that part of your life.” Spencer explained. What he was saying made sense, I didn’t like it, but it made sense. I could barely remember my relationship with him. All the details were jumbled up in my head. “When we brought him in, seeing him in the station must have triggered you to remember him. Or at least parts of it.” I nodded at his words.

“Most likely.” I mumbled. I still couldn’t shake the thought that I’d caused all of this. The pain the victims went through, their families, their friends all because of me. As if he could read my mind spencer spoke up yet again.

“Stop blaming yourself. This isn’t your fault.”

“It is though. If I hadn’t-“

"It’s a chemical thing y/n. That part of him was always there, it just takes a certain situation to cause it to snap. I know it’s hard, but you have to remember that you did not cause this.” His words provided me a slight comfort. Not much, but enough for me to drop the subject.

“I’m sorry to have put all this on you this late.” I mumbled.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you felt you could talk to me about this.” He replied, shifting so he was sitting next to me rather than in front. We sat in a comfortable silent for a few moments, enjoying each other’s company. I tried to stifle a yawn but failed miserably.

“How did you get here? I didn’t see you with any car keys when you came in.” Spencer asked softly.

“I ran.” I admitted, to tired to lie.

“You ran? You live like 3 blocks away.” He said, surprised.

“I was just so shaken up I didn’t think I could drive.” I reasoned.

“You should’ve called me; I would have picked you up.” He replied gazing at me. I felt my stomach flip. I’m not sure if it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that I was only now realising how much he cared for me, but in that moment I felt nothing but love for spencer. I studied his facial features for a second, appreciating how attractive he really was. The way his eyes shone constantly with eagerness and knowledge. The way his brows twitched slightly if something confused him. My eyes eventually travelled down to his lips. They looked so soft and inviting. Suddenly, I found myself consumed by the desperate urge to kiss him.

“You’ve always been there for me you know spencer? I can’t tell you how much you mean to me.” I said softly. He looked slightly taken back by my words, but his lips curled up into a small smile.

“You mean a lot too me too. More than I could try to describe.” Before we realised what was happening, we found ourselves leaning closer into each other.

“Spence I-“ But he swiftly cut me off, cupping my face in his hands and pulled his lips to meet mine. My arms found their way round his neck as I laced my fingers into the back of his hair. He held me carefully, as if he was scared he was going to lose me. The kiss was gentle, but it spoke a million words for the both of us. When we eventually pulled away, he kept his hands where the were as he slowly caressed my cheek with his thumb. We didn’t say anything, we didn’t have too. We both knew where we stood and what this meant for us. I just smiled at him, feeling like a lovesick teenager. Eventually he layed back on the sofa, pulling me on top of him. I felt him wrap his arms around my waist protectively as I cuddled closer to him. I’d never felt more at peace than I did in that moment. It didn’t take long for me to start drifting off yet again, with the rhythmic beat of spencer’s heart and the feeling of him tracing small patterns on my back. I felt him press a kiss to my head.

“Sleep well. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. I love you.” He whispered, just as I slipped away into the darkness of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds reid #dr reid #bau #fluff #reid x reader

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

Link

Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.

Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.

Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy.

Summary:

They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.

Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.

Words: 10.9 k

You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!

Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.

He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.

The door slammed open.

High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.

Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.

Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.

Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.

“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.

Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.

“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”

“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.

Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.

“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”

Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.

With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”

“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.

“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.

Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.

“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”

“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”

“Like how Elsa did?”

“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”

Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.

“How did you get in through the locked door?”

“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.

Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.

“What?” Bakugou barks.

“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”

“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”

“That’s not how it’s-”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”

“But I-”

“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.

Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”

“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”

Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”

“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”

Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.

“Just like Elsa’s, right?”

“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”

Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.

“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”

Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.

Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.

++++

I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.

Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.

His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.

Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.

Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.

Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.

“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)

“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.

Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.

“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.

Apparently a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”

“Both.”

“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”

“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”

Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.

As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.

“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”

“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”

Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.

+++++

You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.

Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.

It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.

“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.

“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”

“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”

“No thanks to someone.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”

“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”

“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”

Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.

“How about you? How did you get in here?”

“Stole a key from Iida.”

“Are you here to cry again?”

Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”

“I have eyes.”

“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”

“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”

“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.

“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”

“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”

“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.

Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.

Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”

For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.

Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.

Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.

“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”

“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”

“I don’t smoke that much.”

“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”

“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.

Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”

“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”

“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.

It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.

They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.

“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.

The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.

But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.

“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”

“Why would they be on your ass?”

“Hell would I know.”

“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.

“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.

Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”

“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“No, shut-”

“My mom and dad are getting back together.”

Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”

“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”

The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”

Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”

“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.

“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”

He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.

“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.

Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.

“The day after my quirk manifested.”

His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.

“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”

The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.

Oh, that’s why he’s angry.

“It was training.”

“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.

“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”

“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”

There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.

Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.

“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”

Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”

Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”

Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.

“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.

“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”

“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.

“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”

“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”

“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”

Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.

This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.

“You can tell me.”

Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.

“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”

“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”

What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.

“Come here.”

“The fuck are you trying to-”

Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”

Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.

Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.

They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.

Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”

Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.

They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.

Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.

The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.

But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.

Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.

It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.

Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”

Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.

“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.

“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”

“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”

“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.

Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”

Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”

“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.

Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”

Aizawa grunts.

“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.

Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”

Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.

++++++

You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.

He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.

The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.

He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.

He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.

It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.

His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.

Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?

Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.

Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?

Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.

“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.

Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.

“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.

“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”

“Zuko doesn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”

Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”

“That fucking Deku???”

“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”

“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”

“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.

“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”

Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.

“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.

“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.

“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.

“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.

“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”

So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”

The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.

“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.

Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.

“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”

“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”

“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”

“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”

“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.

Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”

“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”

“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”

Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.

It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.

“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”

“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.

It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.

And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”

Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.

“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.

“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”

“Hm, that’s good.”

“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”

“They’re not hurting each other.”

Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”

Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.

Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.

“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”

Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.

“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”

Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.

“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”

Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.

“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.

So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.

“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.

“Arisu.”

“... I’m sorry you lost her.”

And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”

They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.

“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”

Katsuki instantly glowers at him.

“Who?”

“Katsuki.”

“Who??”

“Bakugou.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”

“Okay, me too.”

As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.

“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.

“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”

“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.

“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.

“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.

Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”

“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.

At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.

Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.

They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.

“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.

Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”

“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.

“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.

The sneer falls, “Why?”

“Just because I finally can.”

“You couldn’t before?”

Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”

Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.

Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.

“I don’t know what is there to tell.”

A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”

“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does he still train you like that?”

Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.

“No, not since he became number 1.”

Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”

That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.

Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”

Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”

Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”

“Yeah, that’s nosy.”

“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?

They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”

“We’ve been friends for a while...”

“We’re not fucking friends-!”

“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.

It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”

It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.

Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.

“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”

“You told Arisu didn’t you?”

Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.

“But you told Deku, you told me.”

“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”

Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.

“Fine.”

Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.

“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.

“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”

Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.

Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.

When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.

“Katsuki?”

He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.

“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”

Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.

“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.

“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.

The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.

But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.

“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.

Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.

They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”

Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”

Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”

“A what?”

Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”

Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.

+++++

I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.

Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.

The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.

To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.

Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.

Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.

“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”

Shouto gives her a smile and nods.

It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.

“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”

The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.

Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”

“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.

No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.

Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?

A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”

Shouto sighs, “No.”

Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.

So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.

+++++

Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.

Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.

Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”

“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”

“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”

“We can make up an excuse if you want.”

“Hm.”

Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.

Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”

Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.

Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”

“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”

“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.

“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”

“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”

Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”

“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.

Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”

Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”

Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”

“Hot and cold.”

“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”

Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”

“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”

“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”

It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.

“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.

Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.

The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.

Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”

Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”

“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”

“No promises.”

Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked. Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.

He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.

Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?

“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.

“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.

“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.

Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.

He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.

His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.

“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.

“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.

“Me too.”

Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.

++++++

I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.

Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.

Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.

Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.

Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.

“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.

“She’s fine.”

“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.

Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”

Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”

Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”

Katsuki hums.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”

“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”

Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”

“Let’s go hiking instead.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”

“Just us two right?”

“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”

Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”

Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.

“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.

Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.

Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.

“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.

“No.”

He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.

Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.

Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.

“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.

Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.

From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.

They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.

But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.

Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.

He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.

Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.

++++

nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.

Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.

#todobaku #bakutodo #todoroki shouto #todoroki shōto #bakugo katsuki #todobaku fic #todobaku fanfic #Todobaku fanfiction #emocel's #I'm crying #i googled shouto's nickname for this #I saw 'Strawberry Shorcake' and I lose my mind #I saw a trope that Bakugo smells like caramel becs of his quirk and i lose my mind #todoroki shoto fluff #boku no hero #boku no hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction

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mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Nine

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Nine

Luka didn’t last long after brunch.

By the time the dishwasher was loaded and Luka had finished teasing Adrien, Luka’s headache was back in full force.

“I need to go lie down before I throw up,” Luka groaned, gingerly massaging his temple. “Or maybe I should throw up and then go lie down.”

“No vomiting,” Adrien chastised, taking Luka by the elbow and gently guiding him back towards Luka’s bedroom. “I don’t want that breakfast I lovingly made going to waste. You need to digest those nutrients.”

“I’ll do my best,” Luka chuckled weakly, consenting to be escorted just so he could indulge in the warmth of Adrien’s hand on his skin. “…Sorry about all this.”

Adrien clicked his tongue.

“Shh. No apologies. Go lie down and feel better,” he instructed as he deposited Luka onto his bed. “And call me if you need anything because I want to be helpful, okay?”

“Okay,” Luka reluctantly agreed, still feeling guilty.

“Promise?” Adrien stressed, not believing Luka for a minute. “I don’t want to come in here to check on you and find you dead. You call me if you need me.”

Luka let out a soft laugh, smiling dimly. “Okay. I promise. Thank you, Adrien.”

With a patented wink that did things to Luka’s heart, Adrien turned to go. “Feel better soon, Orpheus.”

Adrien and Plagg had four years’ worth of television to catch up on, so they settled down on the couch with a fresh-baked batch of gougère and spent the afternoon watching Netflix.

Adrien kept the volume relatively low so that he would hear if Luka stirred and needed him, but the apartment remained quiet, so Adrien assumed that Luka was either dead or sleeping.

“Quit fussing,” Plagg purred soothingly from his perch on Adrien’s shoulder. “He’s a grown man. He’s survived this long without you, so he can obviously take care of himself to some extent.”

Adrien snorted as he scrolled through the myriad options filling the screen, searching for their next show to binge. “You didn’t see what a mess this place was when I moved in. It’s apparent that Luka’s been running on empty for a while. Maybe he can take care of himself, but maybe he shouldn’t have to. Maybe I can do it better, and maybe he should know that he doesn’t have to go it alone all the time.”

Adrien took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I worry about him.”

“You worry too much, Kitten,” Plagg chuckled, flying down to point at the screen. “That one. Trixx said it was good.”

Adrien arched an eyebrow. “Lupin? Like the book series?”

A knock at the door cut off Plagg’s reply.

Adrien set his brand-new laptop aside and made his way to the door as Plagg retreated to his hiding spot in Adrien’s left shoulder.

“I wonder if it’s Josie or Jacob come to check on Luka. …Though, they were pretty trashed last night too,” Adrien muttered as he put his eye to the peephole.

Sucking in a gasp, Adrien sprang back from the door, hissing, “It’s Marinette!” in a whisper.

“Plagg, what do I do?!”

Plagg floated back out into the room with a shrug. “Let her in? Don’t let her in? There aren’t a lot of options, so it shouldn’t be too complicated.”

“But it is,” Adrien insisted, running his hands aggressively through his hair in his panic. “The last time I saw her, I threw my ring at her and ran away after my father was just revealed to be the big bad we’d been fighting for almost a decade.”

“You threw the ring at her feet, not at her,” Plagg corrected calmly.

“And then I ran away and left her to deal with a huge mess,” Adrien groaned. “Not to mention I completely missed the fact that my father was evil. She either thinks I was in on it or that I’m a total moron.”

“Kid—” the kwami attempted to interject.

Adrien wasn’t listening as he clutched his head in his hands and sank to the floor.

“Plagg, what if she hates me?” he whispered, horrified at the prospect.

With a sigh, Plagg alighted on Adrien’s knee. “Kid, she’s agonizing over the exact same thing herself.”

Adrien blinked, regaining some composure as he focused on Plagg. “What?”

“Adrien, Marinette thinks she failed you,” Plagg gently explained. “I mostly stayed in the box while you were gone, but I’ve heard Tikki stressing about it. Marinette is all caught up on how she ruined your life and wasn’t a good enough friend to you and failed you as a partner when you needed her most. She thinks you hate her…but you don’t, do you?”

Adrien’s brow crumpled in confusion. “What? No. No, of course not. None of this is Marinette’s fault. She always did everything she could for me. I just…I didn’t let her help me after…”

Plagg nodded. “Do you think she’d put so much energy and time into worrying about you if she hated you?”

Adrien gulped as the puzzle pieces aligned in a way that didn’t quite make sense to him. “…No?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Plagg affirmed.

A tentative knock came again at the door, making Adrien jump.

“Hello?” Marinette called from out in the hallway, her voice muffled. “I know you’re there. Please open the door.”

Slowly, Adrien got to his feet, mustering every ounce of courage he could manage.

He took a deep breath, held it, and unlocked the door.

“Thank you,” Marinette sighed in relief. “I’m sorry for coming over here, but I—”

She abruptly cut herself off with a gasp when the door opened to reveal Adrien instead of Luka.

Her eyes went as wide as mooncakes as she slapped a hand over her mouth in disbelief.

Adrien pushed down his fear of rejection and smiled, opening his arms in invitation. “Hi, Buguinette. I’ve really missed you.”

“Chaton,” she choked, slamming into him like a billboard and nearly crushing him with the force of her hug. “Adrien.”

“Marinette, I’m so sorry for leaving the way I did…for not being able to handle any of it. I’m sorry for staying away so long. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, but—”

“—Shut up, you stupid cat,” she blubbered into his shirt. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry after everything I’ve done.”

She pulled back slightly to face him. “Adrien, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I didn’t—”

“—Shh,” he sniffled as tears of mingled relief and joy streamed down his cheeks. “Marinette, I didn’t let anyone be there for me. I pushed everyone away so that I didn’t pull them down with me. There is absolutely nothing I blame you for.”

She blinked at him, stunned, as he smiled down at her beatifically, offering absolution.

“But…if I had just been better,” she protested. “I could have—”

“—Shut up, you dumb bug,” he whispered, pulling her back into a hug and resting his head against hers. “I’m not mad at you, and I don’t think anything is your fault. It’s all in your head, My Lady. You were always the best at beating yourself up.”

She settled into his arms, tightening her own hold on him as well. “So…we’re okay?”

“So long as you’re not mad at me,” he agreed.

“I could never be mad at you, Idiot,” she pouted into his chest.

“You’ve been mad at me before,” he chuckled, beginning to sink into the familiarity of their old partnership.

“Not for real. Not for long,” she snorted.

They stood there for a long stretch, regaining their equilibrium and absorbing the reality of everything being okay.

Eventually, they pulled apart and took a good look at one another.

“…Are you okay?” Marinette inquired cautiously as she noted how thin he seemed and the subtly-off pallor of his skin.

Adrien grimaced, averting his gaze. “Not yet, but I think I’m finally headed in the right direction. …I don’t really want to talk about it, but the past four years have been rough, so…it’s going to be a bit before I’m ‘okay’ again.”

Marinette nodded, reaching out to rest a supportive hand on his bicep. “Is there anything I can do?”

She gave his arm a squeeze.

A sheepish smile turned up the corners of his mouth, and he shot her a coy look. “Be my friend again?”

With a roll of her eyes, she lightly swatted at him. “Adrien, I never stopped thinking of you as a friend.”

Fresh tears began to well up in his eyes. “R-Really?”

With a bashful smile, she met his gaze and nodded. “Even when I was afraid you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore. …So, what else can I do for you?”

“Give him head pats and tell him he’s a good boy,” Plagg suggested from where he’d made himself comfy among the savory cheese pastries on the plate on the couch. “It makes him really happy when you tell him he’s a good cook.”

“Plagg,” Adrien groaned, giving his kwami an eyeroll. “No one is going to eat those now that you’ve rolled in them.”

“That was the plan,” Plagg snickered.

“I see that I needn’t have worried about you, Plagg.” Marinette gave a half-amused snort. “Luka came to get you for Adrien. It all makes sense now.”

“It was sweet of you to worry,” Plagg chuckled, holding up one of the cheese puffs. “Want a gougère? He made them himself, and they’re delicious.”

Marinette quirked an eyebrow at Adrien. “You cook?”

Adrien blushed as his hand went to the back of his neck in his habitual gesture. “I mean…just a little.”

“He’s amazing,” Plagg bragged as if he himself were the one to be praised.

“What can you make?” Marinette pressed, giving Adrien a gentle nudge with her elbow.

“Anything,” Plagg cut Adrien off before he could downplay his talents. “You should get him to cook for you sometime.”

Adrien bit his lip and tentatively offered, “Would you like to eat with us? I made a whole bunch of soups this morning.”

Marinette’s mouth rounded into an “o” of surprise. “I would love to, but I’m not sure if I should impose like that.”

Adrien waved away her reservations. “It’s not a problem at all. Luka’s totally cool with me inviting friends over. Besides, I was just thinking about getting Luka up and making him eat something anyway, so you should join us. He’s kind of having one of his bad days because of The Breakup, so I’m sure he’d appreciate your company.”

Plagg winced. “Uh…Kid…”

Marinette looked utterly puzzled and opened her mouth to seek clarification, but the moment was interrupted as Luka’s bedroom door creaked open.

“Hey, Adrien, do we still have some of that…” Luka froze, putting out a hand to brace himself in the doorway as he registered Marinette’s presence. “…potato leek soup you made the other day,” he finished flatly, redirecting all of his mental energy to not panicking.

“Sure. I’ll heat some up for you, if you want,” Adrien replied enthusiastically, missing the tense, thick atmosphere between Luka and Marinette.

“I actually just invited Marinette to eat with us,” Adrien continued excitedly as he started towards the kitchen.

“Chaton, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Marinette sighed.

Adrien blinked and looked back and forth between Marinette and Luka. “Why not? Luka doesn’t mind, do you, Luka?”

Luka winced, wishing for an akuma attack to call Marinette and Adrien away so that Luka wouldn’t have to deal with this situation.

“You didn’t tell him,” Marinette gathered, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I didn’t see the relevance,” Luka answered defensively. “I didn’t think it mattered, and I didn’t want to make things awkward between you two.”

“What’s going on?” Adrien tentatively broke in. “What didn’t Luka tell me?”

Luka shot Marinette a warning look, but the word came out as a plea: “Don’t.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, confessing, “I’m the ex-girlfriend.”

Luka slumped against the doorjamb, cringing.

“There’s no reason to keep it a secret from him,” Marinette insisted with a twinge of exasperation.

Logically, Luka knew this, but…

“Wait.” Adrien spoke up again, whipping his head back and forth to take them both in. “You two were…”

Adrien’s brain crashed as he thought back to all of the objects he’d sorted through when he’d cleaned up the apartment: the books, CDs, DVDs, notebooks, articles of clothing…

Adrien had known that Luka and Marinette had dated and broken up several times over the years, but…knowing that Marinette had been the cause of Luka’s suffering this time gave the whole situation a new aspect.

Luka had said that his ex was in love with someone else, and, now, Adrien wanted to shake Marinette and demand whom she was in love with and how she could let someone like Luka go for anyone else.

“Sorry.” Marinette’s voice broke into Adrien’s thoughts. “I’m sorry for coming. I just wanted to check on Plagg and return some things. I know you said you didn’t think you’d be ready to see me for a few weeks at least, but…I found some things I thought you’d like to have back before then, and I was concerned about Plagg.”

Marinette ducked out into the hall and grabbed the two bulging trash bags she’d left sitting beside the door. She then produced an apartment key and handed it to Adrien. “Sorry about all this.”

Adrien shook his head. “No. I…I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

With a tired smile, she pulled him into a quick hug, assuring, “Don’t worry about it.”

She pulled back, taking his hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. “My phone number’s the same, and my trapdoor is always open for you, if you want to come over and hang out. My parents would be ecstatic to see you too, if you wanted to drop by. We’re still at the bakery.”

“I’d really like that,” Adrien admitted, getting choked up all over again at the thought that there was someplace where he’d be welcomed with wide-open arms. “Talk soon?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “As soon as you want.”

He squeezed her hands back as he leaned in to place air kisses to the sides of her cheeks. “See you, Buguinette.”

“See you, Chaton,” she replied, voice full of warmth.

Then, with a hopelessly forlorn wave to Luka, Marinette slipped out of the flat.

Biting his lip, Adrien turned to face Luka, and the apologies quickly began to tumble out.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Adrien stressed. “I never would have let her in if I had known.”

Luka blinked, startled at Adrien’s reaction. “You’re not mad at me?”

Adrien’s head quirked to the side. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Shaking his head, Luka crossed the living room to take a seat on the couch, careful of Adrien’s laptop. “I don’t know. I kept a secret from you just like everyone else you trusted who let you down?”

Adrien winced as he too sat on the couch. “Okay, but it wasn’t really any of my business, so…”

“You’re still really good at making excuses for people who don’t deserve it,” Luka sighed, tipping his head to rest against the back of the couch.

Adrien shrugged. “It’s a defence mechanism. It’s better than feeling bitter and betrayed all the time.”

Luka took a long, steady inhale. “We need to get you some therapy.”

“I’ll go if you go,” Adrien bartered.

Luka looked to the side at Adrien. “You want me to go to therapy?”

Adrien nodded. “For your drinking problem and self-worth issues and martyr syndrome.”

A slow smile spread across Luka’s lips. “…You are mad at me.”

Adrien shrugged again, trying to maintain apathy because it was easier than dealing with the complex mess of what he was actually feeling.

“No.”

He tried to hold onto the fiction that the whole incident was his fault, but it slipped through his grasp like a fish.

“Why didn’t you tell me Marinette was your ex?”

Luka forced himself to meet the wounded accusation flickering like flames in Adrien’s eyes.

“Because it hurt,” Luka answered as honestly as he could. “It’s still too painful to talk or even think about. …You know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Adrien flinched as his own hurt instantly vanished. He moved the laptop and the plate of pastries out of the way to scoot in close to Luka so Adrien could wrap his arms around him.

“Besides,” Luka whispered as Adrien pulled Luka into his chest. “I didn’t want to mess up your relationship with her. I didn’t want you to think you couldn’t be friends with her because she’s my ex and you’re afraid of ending up on the street again if you upset me or something. I know you had feelings for her in the past too, so…I didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“Oh, Luka,” Adrien sighed as he nuzzled Luka’s hair. “…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…I don’t know. Existing?” Adrien laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t be,” Luka stressed as he drew back and sat up. “You’re one of the good things about this universe.”

That assertion got a startled chuckle out of Adrien.

“…Please don’t feel like you can’t be friends with Marinette now.” Luka got them back on topic. “I really don’t want to mess things up between you two. You can have her over. It’s not a problem.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and gave his head a disbelieving shake. “Luka, it is so a problem. I’m not going to invite the woman you’re still a mess because of into your private space. You’ve been emphasizing to me how this is my home and how you want me to feel safe and comfortable here, but what about you?”

Luka’s brow creased infinitesimally. “Me?”

“This is your home too,” Adrien explained. “You should feel safe and comfortable here. Marinette and I will just hang out at her house or some other place.”

Luka pursed his lips, already beginning to feel uncomfortable at the prospect of Adrien and Marinette spending time alone together.

“Maybe…Maybe in a week or two you could start having her over,” Luka suggested.

Adrien arched a suspicious eyebrow.

“I have to get used to being around her again sometime. I do want to stay friends with her once I can stand to see her without feeling like there’s a gaping wound in my chest,” Luka explained.

Plus, Luka knew he’d feel better if he could keep tabs on Marinette and Adrien so that Luka would know when the dreaded event had occurred. He wanted to know as soon as it was certain that he had lost Adrien and Marinette to one another.

Adrien was skeptical about having Marinette over to the flat, but he didn’t argue. “Okay. If you think you’ll be okay, but I don’t want you pushing yourself, all right?”

Luka waved away Adrien’s concern. “Don’t worry, Adrien. I promise it’s fine. And…”

Luka took a deep breath.

“Listen. If you and Marinette decide you want to see each other romantically…”

Adrien stared at his roommate, trying to figure out what Luka actually meant because the words Adrien thought he was hearing made no sense.

Luka sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not saying it won’t hurt, but I’ll get over it because I want you two to be happy more than anything, so if you two decide that that’s what you want, you have my blessing.”

Adrien kept staring for nearly fifteen seconds before he demanded, “Why are you like this?”

Luka’s head slowly tipped to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why the hell do you think I’d be heartless enough to steal the woman you love from you?” Adrien huffed.

“Adrien, it’s not like that,” Luka tried to explain. “She loves you, and I know how much you loved her in the past, so if you two decide—”

Adrien clamped a hand over Luka’s mouth, physically stopping the flow of idiocy.

“Shut up,” he whispered, voice tinged with hurt. “I’ll have to consult Nino for the final verdict, but I’m pretty sure that’s against the bro code. Now, I’m going to try to repair my friendship with Marinette because she’s someone who’s very important to me, but I have no intention of pursuing anything romantic with her. At least not now or any time in the near future.”

Luka kept quiet, but he thought to himself that the heart didn’t always cooperate. He doubted that Adrien could stop himself from falling for Marinette again just like Luka hadn’t been able to keep his own feelings for Adrien in check.

“Maybe several years down the road something will happen, but that will only be if you’re completely over her and happy with someone else. I’m not a home-wrecker,” Adrien informed hotly, removing his hand from Luka’s mouth. “Okay?”

Luka smiled wanly. “Rarely do we get a choice when it comes to our feelings, especially when that feeling is love, but I appreciate your commitment to the bro code.”

Adrien gave his head a defiant toss. “I may not be able to control my feelings, but I can control my actions.”

Luka’s eyes widened.

“Besides,” Adrien continued, the heat coming out of his voice. “I’m not in any shape to be pursuing a romantic relationship at the moment. I’ve got a lot of healing to do before I think that would be a good idea.”

Slowly, Luka began to nod. “…You constantly amaze me with how mature and wise you’ve gotten.”

Adrien stuck out his tongue. “I needed an adult a lot of times over the past four years, so I became my own adult.”

Luka grimaced. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”

A genuine smile started to peek out onto Adrien’s lips.

He gave Luka’s hair a playful tussle, replying, “Right back at you. Now get up and let me feed you. It’s time to eat.”

Luka made a show of grumbling and groaning, but he allowed himself to be extracted from the couch and towed to the kitchen.

“What time is it even?”

“A little after three-thirty,” Adrien responded as he headed over to the fridge to get out the potato leek soup Luka had been asking about.

Luka moaned miserably, dropping his head to the countertop. “I have to go to family dinner tonight, and I’m dreading it.”

“Don’t go,” Adrien suggested as if it were that simple.

“Then Juleka will think I’ve been drinking,” Luka mumbled into the granite of the counter.

“You could tell her something came up and you had to stay home with me,” Adrien suggested.

Luka lifted his head. “…Isn’t the fact that you’re back in Paris a secret?”

Adrien shrugged, scooping out some of the soup into two bowls to microwave. “Now that Nino and Marinette know where I am, it kind of takes the pressure off. It’s okay if you tell your family. Say that I’m having a bad day and I need you to watch Disney movies and snuggle with me.”

Luka bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not very good at lying, and I don’t exactly like the idea of trying to deceive my family. I’d better just go and bite the bullet.”

“If you like, I could go with you,” Adrien offered as he placed the bowls into the microwave. “If you think your family would be okay with it, I mean. I could take some of the spotlight off you and distract them with how I was homeless until you rescued me. Maybe seeing what a mess I am will make you look better by comparison.”

Luka’s forehead crinkled up. “You don’t like talking about all that, though, and Rose and Maman will have lots of questions.”

Adrien shrugged again, putting on a brave smile. “It’s okay. It’s probably not going to be easy, but I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” Luka stressed.

“I want to,” Adrien countered with determination, and then his voice softened, filling with gratitude and tenderness. “You went and faced Marinette to get Plagg back for me. If you can do that, I can spend one night distracting your family so they maybe don’t notice how hungover you are.”

“Adrien,” Luka whispered, profoundly moved by Adrien’s willingness to face an uncomfortable situation for Luka’s sake.

Adrien cocked his head to the side. “Hm?”

Luka swallowed and shook his head. “Nothing. You’re just… You’re really amazing.”

Adrien beamed, shooting Luka a patented wink. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Luka’s stomach flipped, and his heart fluttered.

Suddenly, he was sure that Adrien was going to be the death of him because there was no longer a doubt that Luka loved this astounding human being.

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Plagg #MLB #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Fluff #Reunion #Honest Conversation #Friendship #Pining #Mutual Pining #Slow Burn #Friends to Lovers #Roommates #Mikau's Writings #Zebras Can't Change Their Stripes

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