#i have to like triple check if the tone of my messages come off right or if i said smt wrong and its like..

[forthelostones]

humans can lick too ─── ⋆ (kinktober)

☄. *. ⋆ fem!reader x dom!abby x perv!ellie ☄. *. ⋆

synopsis: halloween night just turned into another day for you, until you're visited by two desperate ladies.

warnings. 18+ (mdni); threesome, perv!ellie, dom!abby, fingering, nipple play (all receiving), and strap penetration & sucking (r!rec), jealousy, breaking & entering. pet names: baby & dove.

an: this will be my last (purely) smutty post for a while, i want to focus on a different style these next couple of days! this isnt my best & its a bit silly i think but i love this urban legend and i saw someone KB list this as an option. also thanks for 200 follows, much love. (i am taking any requests!)

wc: 2.5k

most halloweens you spend it doing a bar crawl or sitting on your porch, wine in hand, passing out treats. this night was different, you weren’t going out or even entertaining the idea of halloween - it became a normal day to you. earlier this afternoon you took your pup on a walk around the neighborhood and waved to your neighbors who were setting up for tonight. 

“well, city hall sent out an email saying it was imperative that we stay vigilant tonight, y’know.” your across the street neighbor mentioned.

“that’s every year isn’t it? i thought it was typically some teens who come and ruin the fun for all the little ones.” 

“i don’t know, tonight feels different, i'm turning in before 9 tonight just in case. especially with those incidents that happened last month.” 

you took what they said with a grain of salt. you were the youngest among your neighbors and they were always shaken up by the smallest occurrences. but tonight it felt like they may have been right, you couldn’t help but feel a dark cloud follow you on your walk. almost as if someone was watching you. every crunch on the ground your body stiffened, what if something bad is supposed to happen tonight? you and pup rush home in a paranoid frenzy, triple-checking if the front door is locked. 

as soon as you unleash your baby and remove your muddy shoes, you notice how warm the house has become.  you checked the thermostat and it wasn’t set, but you still couldn’t ignore the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. you walk over to the window above the kitchen sink and make a mental note that you should close it before sunset.

 after lounging lazily on the couch you hear the beginnings of laughter and soft screaming in the street for the holiday. you decided you’d do the bowl method tonight and place a note on the front porch, take candy, please! you scroll on your phone waiting for your dinner to heat up and you receive a phone call from your on-and-off against fling, abby.  you guys have a strictly fuck only relationship — she comes and bends you over, then leave. this didn’t bother you, for the most part.

"you coming out tonight?" she questions. 

"nope, staying in." 

your ears perk up at how quiet she’s speaking, but you didn’t care, you liked hearing her voice ring so sweet in your ears. 

"i would love to see you tonight, baby.”

you hear the shuffling of what your paranoid brain assumes to be footsteps coming from your bedroom. you walk towards the steps leading upstairs and get hit with the dial tone. 

“abs? hello?” 

you grip your fingers to form a fist, attempting not to breathe too loudly. just when your foot reaches the first step, the timer on your phone blares, startling you into a silly laugh. you can't believe how spooked you felt.

hey, what happened, why’d you hang up?

sorry, idk bad service, sorry. 

can i see you tonight?

you just throw your phone on the counter as you finish your food and wash your dishes out before going to bed. you reach down to pet your sleepy pup who is also ready for bed. you both travel to your bedroom, belly full and eyes heavy, ready for your head to hit the pillow. you strip off your clothes, throwing them on the floor, not even bothering to throw your laundry in the hamper. you look at abby’s message, wondering if you should reply or not, but you just let your mind drift off. 

in the middle of the night, your neighborhood stood silently as you tussled in bed, wrapping your legs in the sheets. you reach over the edge of your bed to feel your pup. their tongue tickles your fingertips and you smile into your pillow. your heart beats violently when you realize you didn’t close the window downstairs. in a blur you run down and close it, you peer out the window to see the leaves running away in the wind, it brings you some relief. 

you flop back in your bed and stroke your pup again to help you drift away. you feel their tongue caress your palm as you try and regulate your anxious mind. but then they didn’t stop and you became worried, you lean over the edge of your mattress, heart in your belly, and you see a woman in all black. she was lying under your bed, eyes closed, tongue wrapping around your fingertips. she had today's panties laced in between fingers pressed against her nose.

you tremble as you pull your hand away slowly and her eyes shoot open, her arms wrapped in a dark hoodie come from under the frame and she pulls herself up. you blink twice in attempts to see if this was one of those dreams when you’d open your mouth to scream and it was silent. 

“happy halloween,” she mutters from her mask and from initial examination, she didn’t have any weapons.

she brings her hand to the underside of the mask and removes it completely. the familiar face stunned you as you recognized it was your next-door neighbor, ellie. she came from the nicest house on the block, freshly repaved driveway and new cars adorning it, you couldn’t think of a reason why she would want to rob you. in this moment the memories of her flash before you as you two stand toe to toe. you had visited her house a few times for dinner with joel, who had introduced you to everyone in the neighborhood. but she would sit quietly and oftentimes just stare intensely at your face. 

“ellie, dont be rude.” joel would spit, and she would scurry off to her room. 

“ellie? what’s going on?”

“i watch you sometimes, dove. i knew you would be spending this wonderful day alone. i thought i should come and treat you.” 

“treat me how?” you feel a curiousness glaze over your anxious body. 

“i see her every time,” she begins to pace. “she comes over here, fucking you in my face.” 

“what?” 

your mind went blurry. 

“the blonde one.”

“abby?” 

she says walking towards you slowly. “do you remember that one time we almost fucked?” 

her hands come around your waist. “i do, ellie, i don't understand—”

“but then you said it would be weird because we live so close and if it ever went south…” 

her lips were close to your ear, you could hear her tongue snap against her teeth, and feel the heat brush gently against your cheek. her fingertips were playing a tracing game against your lower back. you recall the passionate kiss you both shared at the local bar, her desperate longing to just touch you in a tipsy frenzy. 

“i know, el.”

the florescent haze of headlights pulls into your driveway and interrupts the scene, blasting the sounds of call me little sunshine by ghost— it was abby. ellie’s face scrunched up as the familiar red pick-up shut cut off quickly. 

“what the fuck!” she groaned. 

“ellie, it’s okay, i can talk to her.” 

angrily, ellie snatched your wrist up in her hand and dragged you to the first floor. she shoved you towards the door where abby’s fist was pounding the glass. 

“get rid of her.” 

upon opening the door you see abby scouring the leftover candy in the bowl. she smiles with a faded look behind her eyes. “hi, baby.” 

you pretend to be normal, throw in a yawn, rub your eyes and she comes to pull you into her. her hands come around your ass as she’s one foot in the door already. her lips come to your neck, another leg in the door, and you shove her slyly. 

“what you don’t want to see me or something.” 

“abigail,” you say sternly. “not tonight.” 

she scuffs, “you didn’t get my text did you?” 

“i’ve been sleeping so no i didn’t get it.” 

“well i said, don’t reply if you want me to come see you.” she giggles. 

you grip her toned arms as she walks you backward into the corridor. ellie slams the door behind you both, which causes abby to step in front of you. 

“who is this?” she asks. 

you put your hand on her chest, “this is ellie, my neighbor, we were just about to—“ 

“what?” abby mutters, she gets so defensive that she doesn’t realize she how hard she forced you away. 

“wouldn't you like to know?” ellie smirks. 

in one swift motion, abby is gripping ellie by her hoodie and nearly lifting her off the ground. that’s when you step in between the both of them and make abby release her. 

“you can both have me, how about that?” 

𓆩⟡𓆪

all three of you sat on the edge of your bed. ellie’s hand slithered up towards your swollen cunt, while abby took your other leg and spread you open. ellie was more focused on getting as close to you as possible, desperate. she brought her lips to your cheek and gently pressed it against your feverish skin. she brings her red, bursting lips to yours and crashes into you. it was better than last time like she had been practicing. abby watched her, seeing where she could fit in, and began sucking on your neck. both your hands fall on their thighs, caressing them. 

“so how you wanna do this baby?” abby asks in a whisper. 

“ellie told me she’s been waiting for this. she watches us.” 

ellie looks slightly embarrassed at the fact, but abby smiles mischievously. 

“so you know how good she fucks me?” abby says. 

ellie nods silently, which leads you to then kiss her softly, bringing your tongue past her teeth into her mouth. she moaned obnoxiously at the taste of you. you bring your hands to her shoulders and lay her on her back while abby starts undressing herself. ellie watches you under the bright moon remove her black jeans to expose her nude, lace panties. she cups your face as you see how wet she had gotten throughout the night. 

you bring your hand up her drenched pussy and she trembles, swimming in her hoodie. “you look so cute.” 

she smiles nervously as you pull away her panties to view her swollen clit. abby sits at the head of the bed, completely undressed, skin tickled by the cool air, fingers brushing gently against her nipples, watching you both intently. you look up to her as you begin to bite ellie’s hot thighs. 

“come on, don't tease. fuck her.” abby spat. 

with no hesitation, you indulge in ellie’s sweet slick. she hoists herself up on her elbows to watch you suck on her clit. you knew she had been turned on all night so no foreplay was needed. abby had worked herself up by now rubbing her clit slowly, keeping her unwavering eye contact. ellie swallowed all her moans and flexed her belly at the pleasure your tongue was bringing her. 

she brought her hand up to your head and fucked your face, sloshing all her juices on the tip of your nose and chin. abby gets up and comes around your backside. she slaps your ass, which makes you choke a little. she spreads her lips and comes to the curvature of your ass and starts rubbing her clit against you. being used by the both of them at the same time made your pussy throb. 

“fuck, im so close dove.” ellie moans.

abby plants another smack on your ass, even harder this time. you give ellie two fingers, which instantly causes her to cum in your mouth, she pushed her cunt in your mouth so hard that when she removed it, you were breathless. 

“come here.” she says, dragging you over her body to kiss her. 

she drags her tongue all around your face, tasting herself. abby is now hovering over you both, not knowing if she should be angry or turned on. you crawl over to her and she takes a firm grasp of your neck and leans down to kiss you. she bites your bottom lip which makes you wince and you feel the weight of the bed shift under you as ellie brings her mouth to your ass. 

abby then stuffs your face into her core, lifting up one leg onto the bed so you can slip your tongue inside of her. 

“yes baby.” she melted. you liked when she got like that, submissive. 

“open up for me abs.” you muttered, which was a command you said to her often. while she pulled back her clit hood, ellie brought her mouth to your pussy, which made you moan into abby’s. ellie brought two fingers to your wet hole and started pounding you so hard your ass moved in waves. 

you remove your mouth away from abby’s body and start moaning ellie’s name while looking upwards to abby. she bit her lip out of anger and walked over to your closet to get your strap. she brought your lips up to the toy and commanded you to suck. you knew she hated hearing another woman’s name come from your lips. tears bulb in your eyes from feeling the length fill your mouth. 

once she pulls away, strings of spit coax your chin and abby shoves you on your back. ellie’s fingers popped out of you just when you were so close. abby teases your pussy with her tip and brings her hand to your throat. ellie’s eyebrows knit together, jealous at abby’s dominance. she slips her hand to your clit as abby enters you. 

“say it.” abby said. 

“ellie,” you mewl, leaning over to bring her lips to yours. 

that’s when abby grunts as she presses down on you, making your pussy swallow every inch. 

“spit in my mouth ellie, let me taste you.”

ellie doesn’t hesitate to perch her lips and allow her spit to spread over your tongue, the sight alone makes abby pound harder. she brings her hand to your cheeks and makes you watch her, pulling you away from ellie. you can’t help but pull her in deeper as she slaps into your bruised cunt. ellie wraps her lips sloppily around your nipple and bites it without any warning. you yelp at the mixture of pain both women are putting you in, but it feels so good. your pussy is aching to cum as abby purposely bruises your cervix. abby wraps your legs around her waist and lays her full body weight on top of you, her hips cracking against your thighs. 

“abby! please.” you yell. 

“that’s right scream for me, c’mon.” she says in your ear, sweat dripping onto your neck. 

you twitch under the presser and come so hard that your eyes roll in the back of your head. abby and ellie don’t stop until your legs shake and you try and find the power to push them both away. you twitch at feeling the strap exit your abused hole, feeling gapped, as ellie leaned in to plant a final kiss on your lips. abby exhales and lays beside you and you turn to kiss her too, in disbelief that you’re fucked out of your mind. 

↓ if you don't know this urban legend here's the original! ↓

tw: mentions of pet death, blood, breaking, and entering, & l*nching.

Once there was a nice old lady who had a lovely little dog. One day, the old lady heard on the radio that a crazy murderer had escaped from jail and that she should lock all her doors and windows. So she locked every door and window in the house except one tiny one to let some air in. No murderer would ever get in through there! So that night she went to bed as usual. She knew everything was okay because when she put down her hand the dog licked it. But later in the night, she heard a drip, drip, drip. She put her hand down and the dog licked it. She felt that everything was okay but the dripping was annoying her, so she went downstairs to check on the tap. But the tap wasn’t dripping. So she went to bed again. She woke up again later in the night and thought the dripping sound was coming from the shower. She went into the bathroom, and there was her dog, dead, hanging in the shower, and dripping blood. Written on the mirror in blood was: ‘Humans can lick too!

#ellie williams smut #lesbian #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams fanfic #abby anderson x you #ellie williams #ellabs #ellie smut #abby smut #abby tlou #abby the last of us #ellabs tlou

[nirvanawrites111]

Switch It Up (Changbin x Reader) Kinktober 2022

Pairing: Sub!Changbin x Dom!Reader

Part 1 of 2

Warnings: mentions of bdsm

Word count: 2577

"I want Mr. Seo to snap me like a fucking twig," you overhear one of your co-workers whisper to someone else.

You cover your mouth to keep from gagging. The last thing you want to picture is anyone having sex with him.

"Girl, tell me about it. That man is just too fucking fine. He never dates anyone from the office. It's a shame because I've tried at the last happy hour just for him to turn me down."

"He turned you down?" The other co-worker replies.

"Yes, I just knew I had a chance. Plus, I'm trying to be a kept housewife."

"I heard he's dating some supermodel."

You tune out their incessant gossip and look down at your phone on the counter in front of the Keurig. Your eyes sparkle at your good morning text.

MyFavSub: Good Morning, Mistress

Your cheeks heat up, and you glare at the message for a moment.

He always knows how to make you smile when you need it the most. You start to type a response, but you see a notification from Cashapp interrupting your typing against your keyboard.

You smile when you see one of your favorite angel numbers.

$111.11.

You: Good Morning, baby. Do you have everything set up for this weekend?

MyFavSub: Yes, the hotel is booked with all your required x accommodations.

"Y/n, in my office, now!" Your bosses disgruntled tone snaps you out of your moment of happiness.

Of course, he wants to start the day off wrong. You look up at the doorway, and he's nowhere to be found. You don't even bother to look at your co-workers. You don't even speak to them, nor do you entertain them.

You grab his coffee and head towards his office. You walk down the hall with his coffee in your hand, and you clench your phone tight.

"Yes, Mr. Seo," you greet him with kindness.

Even though you don't want to be bothered this early in the morning, you see him in one of the usual suits. This time he's wearing a light grey color. You notice he has a few slits cut in his eyebrows. You wonder if he's going on a date.

He glares at the computer, and before anything, he mumbles, "Door."

"Yes, sir." You raise your voice a bit higher than usual, and you place your phone on the bookshelf right next door to you.

You close the door behind you and grab your phone.

You place his coffee on his favorite coaster. You wait for him to address you and figure out what's got this man yelling this early in the morning.

Mr. Seo continues typing away on his keyboard, and he leans forward, squinting at the screen.

His eyes are glued to his large-screen computer. After about a minute, the clicking finally stops, and he leans back against his chair.

"Where is my report?" His eyes finally decide to settle on you.

Unlike most men, his gaze doesn't roam your body; instead, he locks eyes with you.

The strength of eye contact is something you have to get used to. You never met anyone who hangs on to every word you say, almost like he's dissecting your word choice.

"I emailed it to you yesterday at 4:55 p.m. before my departure, sir." You clarify with him, but that's strange because you always triple-check everything to ensure it went through.

You know how important your work is to your boss, and without your dedication, it would make him look bad. If he looks terrible, you are fired and without a steady income.

Which means you cannot pay your student loans or afford to live in your luxury apartment.

"Come here," His tone is sultry and deep.

While it might be appealing and sexy to your thirsty ass co-workers, it does nothing for you. You aren't even a little bit attracted to this man.

You groan internally because the last thing you need is to come off unprofessional.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"What email did you send it to?" He looks at you and then points to his large LED screen.

You see the webpage refresh and nothing appears. His comment annoys you because what email would you send it to?

You recite his email because you use it multiple times a day. It's been your staple for over a year. How could you forget it?

"A different Seo Changbin must have received it."

His laugh interrupts your negative thoughts of wanting to bitch slap him into next week.

You take a deep breath to relax for a moment because the last thing you need is your annoying boss driving you to overdo it at happy hour.

"Sir, I can resend it right now. But, you could have just sent me an email," you say, clapping back at him.

You look down at him when you are met with silence and not his usual quick comeback. "Your slick tongue is not welcome, Ms. Y/L/N."

His tone of voice changes on you with a quickness.

You know you shouldn't have responded in that way, but sometimes on occasion, you like to see how far you can push him.

"My apologies. Mr. Seo. I will return to my office and resend it to you."

"Good girl," Your boss praises you, and your brain goes numb.

You glare at him for a moment. What the fuck has gotten into him?

He might do that with his other employees, but you are not the type of woman to let a man of all people talk to you like this.

Changbin stares up with a smug look, and you know he only said it to get under your skin. To see what response, you will throw out today.

"I'm no one's girl. Mr. Seo. You might have talked to other assistants, but you won't talk to me like that."

"Or what?" He challenges you, and you can see the fire in his eyes. There's a bit of darkness that you have never seen before.

You are wondering why this morning of all days, he's pushing you past your limit.

"Baby!" A high-pitched voice enters the room, and you take a few steps back away from him.

In the doorway stands a dark-haired woman dressed in a designer dress that probably cost more than your rent.

Changbin sits in his chair, and you exit the room before things get even more awkward.

This a new woman, and you make a mental note of it. You didn't even greet her because you know you would never see her again.

This one is very thin and dark haired unlike he's usual blonde choice. You wonder what any of them see in him other than dollar signs. Sure, Changbin is attractive. But, what can it offer other than monetary value?

For you, all a man can do is submit to you. It's the way you've been for a long time, and you don't plan on changing it.

Personally, you aren't interested in anything deeper than sex right now. You've been disappointed one too many times to count.

Being dominant in your casual relationships means you decide and control the interactions.

If you don't want to see them, you don't. If you find yourself wanting to connect, then you tell them to clear their schedule for you. It works out for you.

That's why this weekend, you are excited to meet your new submissive.

You've even done something out of the norm and decided not to exchange names until after the weekend.

That makes things a little more exciting, and you revel in the fact that it's no strings attached.

But, there's something so peculiar about this one guy. He's more consistent than anyone you have ever been with.

Every morning like a clock works, he texts you and sends you a morning tip to engage in a further conversation with you.

You told him before that's how you like to be greeted.

He's even been wearing his chastity cage that you picked out for him a month ago. Of course, he purchased it and sent you the other key.

You wear the necklace around your neck like a badge of armor.

In the last couple of months, he's come into your life at the perfect time. You've gotten accustomed to having him be a routine of your daily life.

You don't even waste time discussing how your job gets on your nerves.

Instead, when you communicate with him, it's your moment of bliss to escape from the mundane ebbs and flows of your semi-boring adult life.

You loathe the monotonous routine of waking up Monday-Friday at 5 a.m. to be at work at 7:45 to do repetitive work, going home to scroll on TikTok for hours, and then falling asleep with your phone in your hand.

You call your favorite sub, Bunny, and you've given him that nickname because he's so sweet, but his body is hardcode.

You can't believe a man with a solid body like that is your submissive. One of your favorite things about him is he loves to be degraded.

Bunny loves you talking about how small his dick is even though you both know that beautiful length is far from small.

You are still shocked you found a cage that will fit him while still being an impressive size when it's soft.

You'd never tell him how you are obsessed with his dick because you know he gets off to being degraded and talked down to. It never was your thing until you met him.

Even though you have never seen his face, you can picture that he's attractive. His moans sound delicious, even though that's the only thing you've heard coming from his throat.

You haven't heard him speak. He's so whiny when he cums for you. You can't wait until you experience the real thing.

He's interesting to you. His body is a work of art. He spends hours in the gym before he goes to work. He sends you ass pictures, but you have a few of his body. But, you are more of an ass woman.

You love to see his round ass when he gets out of the shower. But, because you don't know his name and you haven't seen his face, there is a bit of anonymity and excitement that has you so intrigued by him.

You sit down at your computer and type in your password, and go to your sent email.

You see that you indeed sent the email at 4:55, and you saw that he read it at 4:56. Did he forget or delete it? You groan and shake your head at your stupid boss.

Does he get off on making you feel stupid?

Bunny: Mistress. May I send you a picture from my workout today?

You: You may.

You turn your phone sideways to get a better look at your submissive on his bed with his legs spread for you.

This weekend you plan on marking those thick beautiful thighs. Hopefully, once names are exchanged, things won't be complicated.

You take a moment to resend the report to your boss, and you go back to staring at the photo.

The rest of your shift is bombarded with boring meetings, taking notes, and organizing data for your boss. The only reason why you haven't quit is because of having his name on your resume.

Working for him can open many doors for you, and you want to pay off your student loan debt as quickly as possible. You have thought about getting other submissives and using the money to pay off your loans quicker, but for some reason, this particular sub interests you.

Changbin watches you rush out of your office and hears your keys jingle as you lock up your office. He's never seen you run out of your office so quickly. Did what he said bother you so much?

You haven't said much since the good girl comment. He wonders will even address it further.

He wanted you to set him in his place, and honestly, he's been baiting you for weeks. Deleting emails, making you come into his office early, making you stay late. He knows you want to blow up on him.

But a part of him feels guilty for doing it. He shouldn't want to see you explode and fantasize about you cussing him out. He knows that he shouldn't but for some reason, he can't stop.

"Y/n, come here," he calls out to you.

He sees you turn around from across his office. You are a great assistant, hell the fucking best. You always get your work done on time, and you always make his coffee perfect.

Everything is always in line with you, but for once, he would like to see you break.

"Yes, sir." You stand at the doorway, and he notices you aren't wearing your usual necklace that you keep tucked in your shirt.

He also noticed you changed your braids to goddess locs. He loves the way it looks on you. Every style, you rock it perfectly.

"Why are you rushing out of here? You got a hot date tonight?"

"No, all of us can't be slaves to our jobs. Right?" You taunt him, and it's enough to make him grin. You two usually go back and forth with banter.

But, still, never cross the line until this morning. The good girl slipped out. He knows you probably like a dominant man.

A man that can take charge. But, you didn't respond the way that he thought you would.

"That's good. But, I always make time for a little fun. You should, too."

"Oh, trust. I'm going to have fun this weekend, Mr. Seo."

"I'd love to hear about it on Monday."

"Maybe.. maybe not," You smirk and say. "Good night, Mr. Seo."

"Night, Ms. Y/L/N."

Changbin looks down at his phone and sees the racy messages from his new lover. He glares at the photo and sees that the woman sent him a picture of her legs spread in an office chair.

She never does that. He doesn't even know what type of work she does. He wants to stroke himself while looking at the photo, but he can't, even if he wants to.

***

You swipe the card into the hotel room. The lights are off, and you close the door behind you.

Usually, you would step out of your shoes, but you know your submissive would rather you keep the heels on.

You head to the back of the suite, and you see him blindfolded naked in a chair.

Your heart drops. You can see the outline of his body. It looks even better in person.

"Are you ready?" you coo and lift his face.

"Mmm... yes, mistress," he speaks, and you hear his voice for the first time. It doesn't hit you in the way that you assumed it would.

Instead, a wave of tension runs through your body, and you realize something. This voice belongs to someone you already know.

You walk over to the lamp and flick it on. You stand in front of him and rip off the blindfold.

"Ms. Y/L/N? What are you doing here?" Changbin covers his body, and you stare at him, blinking for what seems like an eternity.

A/N: comment if you want to tagged in part 2

Part 2 Here

#changbin x reader #skz changbin #changbin fanfic #dom!y/n #dom!reader #sub! idol #sub!idol x reader #sub!idol #stray kids smut #kpop smut #ambw #kpop fanfic #changbin smut #sub!changbin x dom!reader

[more-mitaori]

Chapter 4

Koharu sighed, poking at the remnants of a plain sandwich sitting on a paper plate, mostly taken care of by Shinju. The potato chips that Yui brought as a side were long since gone as well. Alice and Hanako had helped themselves to the salad that Alice brought with her. Midori had barely eaten anything, fussing and triple checking the bandaging around Koharu's forehead. "I told you. I'm fine." Koharu's blunt tone broke the silence hanging in the school nurse's office. "Changed the bandage this morning like I was told. No need to worry so much."

Midori let out a sigh of her own, finishing tightening the bandage before pulling away with a concerned frown. "I know you feel fine, but I have every right to worry. That was a nasty cut, Koharu."

"A rock flying through a window tends to do that", Koharu snapped back, prodding the sandwich bits before simply setting her plate down. "And before you ask for the fifth time, I was there trying to finish the article I was working on."

"...I... I am suddenly glad I decided to check on you, after all.... wh-when I ran into Yui." Hanako's voice was timid, but then again, it always was. Enough to avoid suspicion from the others, at least with their various states of distraction. "S... Sorry."

Yui rubbed the back of her own head somewhat sheepishly. "Hey, if we hadn't, who knows how bad it could've been? Sometimes, paranoia pays off, y'know?" Fortunately, Yui wasn't even lying in her cover story. Midori had been worried when Koharu hadn't come home on time, and was actively messaging Yui and Alice to keep an eye out. Yui only saw the messages right before she and Hanako brought Koharu home.

Shinju swallowed the bit of sandwich in her mouth before speaking up. "No argument here. Something as small as a rock to the head can be fatal, if thrown just right, or hard enough, or hits the right spot. Heck, maybe that shard of glass slowed it down enough to prevent something more serious, like a concussion."

Midori's eyes widened a bit at the thought of something she hadn't even considered. Koharu shook her head, and Alice was next to interject. "There's no real point in dwelling, guys. It happened, it's over, and Koharu is fine. Right?", she said, turning to look at Yui.

In turn, Yui nodded, looking around the room. "That's right. Koharu says she's fine, the nurse here saw nothin' concerning in the follow-up, and if I had to guess, all this crowding is doing more harm than good. From my point of view, if she doesn't have a concussion, we're worryin' over nothing."

Koharu flashed a suspicious, yet grateful look towards Yui before looking down at nothing in particular, saying nothing more. Midori shook her head, but stood up and away from Koharu. "Well... yeah, that's a good point. Alright everybody, let's get out of here. Give my sister some space, yeah?"

As Hanako stood up, Koharu flashed an equally suspicious look her way. Hanako noticed this, returning a quick glance of her own, then started to make for the door. Yui was next, followed by Shinju, then finally, Alice. Midori, however, stayed behind to tend to her sister a bit more.

Once out into the hall, Shinju gave a little wave, making her way back to class after a quick parting word. Hanako started to follow, but was stopped by the sound of Yui's voice. "Yo, wait a sec."

Hanako jumped, turning her head to glance back at Yui. "Y... Yes?"

"Y'ever consider joinin' the fencing club?" Yui's voice was casual as she asked this, though Hanako caught her meaning right away, her face going a little pale.

"I... Is this some sort of joke? I'm... I'm not the type for strenuous physical activity..."

Yui glanced back at Alice, who showed no outward reaction, instead looking through her phone. "It's just us, Hanako. It's cool. Look, if you got a little technique under your belt, you'd be more than capable of lookin' after yourself out there. We wouldn't really cross paths unless one of us needed help from the other."

Hanako was floored. Here Yui was, talking about Magical Girl affairs right beside the nurse's office, and right in front of Alice. Seeing her lack of reaction, Hanako felt a little emboldened. "...Alice? A-Are you... also... um...?"

"Hm? Oh, good god no. I'm just a regular person," Alice looked up from her phone. "I'm not involved with it directly. But, I do know all about it." Seeing Hanako's confusion, she continued. "Kyubey... he's been trying to get me to make a contract for over a year now."

"Yeah," Yui chimed in, a sour note in her voice, "I'm well aware of that. I'm still doin' everything I can to keep that furball away."

Alice continued as if Yui hadn't replied, "But it wasn't Yui who exposed me to your world. My sister, Esther, is also a Magical Girl. It's been eventful, all things considered."

"I... I see." Hanako looked down for a moment, then turned to face Yui, as well as her question. "...Would it not be... risky or dangerous for someone... someone like me to join a club... like that?"

Yui couldn't help but laugh. "Not a chance in hell. You might be magical, kid, but those guys have been training for years. Our school has been bringing home trophies from national competitions for years. If anything, you'd still be at a disadvantage. You'll get your ass kicked, but you'll learn a lot."

Hanako couldn't help but grimace at the way Yui said this, but she couldn't argue with the logic either. Knowing that there wouldn't be any inherent danger in exposing Magical Girls to the world sweetened the deal, but she was still hesitant. "...I'll consider it." Before Yui could chime in any further, Hanako raced away from the nurse's office towards her classroom.

"Smooth, Yui." Alice had returned her attention to her phone, scrolling through her social media feed. "You sure know how to talk to people."

"Hey, I'm a natural charmer. If y'all didn't like how I acted, you wouldn't have stuck by the band this long."

"Only because we've been friends since we were twelve."

"I only met Shinju a couple weeks ago!" Yui raised her voice a bit, but lowered it upon seeing Alice jump. "...I got charm for days!"

"Charisma eh?" Alice scoffed. "I'd sure love to see it."

"Fine. Sunday afternoon, you, me, an' that little cafe by Berry Mart that sells stuff you can actually stomach. I'll show you some frickin' charm."

Alice didn't even look up from her phone. "What, finally got tired of joking about it? Or are you one-upping this weird game of chicken you've been playing since we met?"

"Heh. Sounds like that's a date in my book, babe." Yui's smirk was lost on Alice, and her tone returned to normal. "Hey, everything okay? Normally you'd be rollin' your eyes and stormin' off long before I made the 'asking you out' bit happen. What's up?"

"...Nothing." Alice sighed, knowing that pure dismissal wouldn't be enough to chase Yui off. "...Esther's been gone a whole week this time."

Yui softens her tone completely, speaking much more seriously. "I see. Well... damn, let's actually hang out on Sunday then. If you wanna, anyway." Yui knew that Alice and her sister were close, and that whenever Esther was out of town, Alice would usually shut down, sick with worry. She knew never to get in the way of Alice's home life; it was one of the things Yui and Alice had in common.

"I... I'd like that, Yui. Thanks." Alice finally looked up with a tiny smile, but it faded quickly as she returned to her phone. "She hasn't messaged me, so... she must have gone pretty far out this time."

"Bold move, huntin' out of town like that. Sure, less competition I guess, an' the boonies probably need the cleanup help. But that can't be easy for someone still in school, y'know? I'm guessin' your family has the excuse all ready?"

Alice closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Officially, she's visiting my fa— ...my mom's ex-husband." Alice didn't call her father a father anymore, always 'mom's ex-husband.' "And as far as she knows, that's what's going on."

"Still though, to be gone a week, radio silent? Hm. Want me to look into it?"

Alice stared at Yui, wide-eyed. "No! If something happened, I don't want to lose both of you!"

Yui gave an indifferent shrug. "Heh. She's tougher than I am. I wouldn't stand a chance in a serious fight with your sister. An' you know how strong I am. I think you can trust that she's fine, wherever she is."

Alice nodded a few times, as if trying to will the reassurance to sink in. "Y-You're right, Yui. Whew... well, we're running late. Let's get back to class."

"Right behind ya, babe."

* * *

After school, the Newspaper Club gathered in the library. The school staff wouldn't allow them to meet in the usual clubroom, since they were still repairing the damaged window and cleaning debris, and no other room was free for them. As it was, the school had to arrange and repurpose that tiny room for Koharu's club to begin with.

No one else was there to study, and they had huddled around the back of the library so they could speak freely, albeit quietly. "No sign of the vandal who broke the window," Shinju whispered. "The staff have a few suspects in mind, but nothing concrete yet."

"Of all the times for the so-called 'security systems' to fail." Koharu was as blunt as always. "The cameras malfunctioned at the time of the break. Only vague eyewitness accounts from a janitor. Memory wasn't clear."

"W-Well... um, we should probably be grateful that... that the damage was minimal. And... um... without any... serious injury." Koharu flashed Hanako another suspicious gaze while Shinju was looking at the papers sitting in her lap, but Koharu returned to her own papers before long. "But... from what I could gather, the staff is trying to keep this incident a secret. I would guess... that this is to prevent unnecessary witch hunts among the students."

"Kinda makes what we're doing here a little counterintuitive, doesn't it?" Shinju looked between the other two girls with a puzzled expression. "What're we even doing here if the top brass doesn't want us kids knowing about it?"

"It's our job to report the truth. The full truth." Koharu's tone was flat, yet with a note of resolve. This time there was no suspicious undertone directed at Hanako, though she had gone stiff anyway. "They'll ask us to cover it once they get someone to pin it on. We're just getting ahead of them. In case they frame someone innocent to cover their tracks."

Shinju closed her eyes in thought. "That makes sense. You sound pretty sure that they'd do something like that, though."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Koharu mumbled with a bitter undertone. "I have the rest of the paper ready to go. Don't need to let them suspect us of investigating for the paper just yet."

Hanako started to relax. "If... If we publish our paper without mentioning the incident too deeply... they will probably assume we've forgotten. The rest of the student body likely will in a week or two, anyway..."

"Hm. We mention it somewhere that no one will pay attention, to say we covered it while it was a current event. Then we forget about it publicly for awhile. But I will not let this go."

"Heh. Appreciate your sense of justice, Koharu. Well I'm in! If the school's gonna try something shady, you can count on me to back you up!"

"Where were you last year?" Koharu sighed, this time her muttering went unnoticed. "...Appreciated. See if your sister has any advice while you're at it."

"'Haku? Uh... well, I guess that sorta thing could happen in the military." Shinju rubbed her head nervously, looking away. Living on a military base was always interesting, and Shinju never really felt bored. Her sister, Kohaku Hayama, slowly rising through the ranks, kept her busy, and with the constant moving from one town to the other because of it, Shinju often had a hard time making friends. Thankfully, she got quite lucky with Hanako and Koharu, not to mention joining the band with Yui, Alice and Midori. Equally fortunate was the fact that Kohaku would be stationed here for quite some time, it seemed.

"Please. Any experience in this sort of thing would be invaluable." Koharu sifted through her papers as she spoke.

"I oughtta head back, then. If I'm gonna catch 'Haku tonight, I need to hurry. See ya tomorrow!" Shinju waved, gathering her belongings and swiftly making her way out of the library.

"Hanako." As soon as Shinju was away, and the librarian suitably distracted, Koharu took what she saw as prime opportunity to speak to Hanako. Her voice was nearly silent, just enough for her to be heard. "First, I would ask if you could bring this up to your mother. Has a good sense for justice."

Hanako nodded in response, but she knew from the glances she received all day that there would be more. Furthermore, she had a good idea what it would be about. "...I will."

"One more thing." Sure enough, Koharu continued, this time staring directly into Hanako's eyes. "What really happened to me in that room last night?"

Hanako knew better than to try and dance around the issue. She only knew Koharu for about a year, but she knew better than to try and lie. Koharu knew what she was asking, and Hanako couldn't deny it. Yet she stayed silent.

Koharu continued, fishing something out of her backpack. A small, black, egg-shaped gem shone in her palm, held out towards Hanako. "This fell out of your pocket before we left."

Hanako recognized the Grief Seed, a bit of panic setting in on her face. She had completely forgotten about her spoils from the Witch in the fog of panic about Koharu's safety.

Once more, Koharu continued. "There was no rock in the room when I came to. You and Yui don't get along, yet somehow, not only were you on the same page to come to my aid, but you knew I was here in the first place. She knew I was here. We never talk, yet she knew I was here." Her eyes flashed with the intensity of an expert interrogator. "I'm not stupid, Hanako. I know there's more to this. I just can't figure out, logically, what it is."

"...What if... what if I told you... magic is real, Koharu?" Hanako spoke with a tone that showed that Hanako wasn't joking around. Koharu also knew that Hanako was not one to lie, no matter how impossible her reality had seemed. Koharu listened silently, still staring at Hanako.

"...I... I made a contract. A wish with a creature known as 'Kyubey'. I... I met him a few weeks ago. In exchange for one wish, anything my heart desires... I am tasked with fighting evil beings known as Witches. Monsters... impossible monsters, made of... seemingly pure malice. I've... I've fought two of them now."

Koharu's eyes narrowed. "...One wish. The same wish you asked me about hypothetically before. You couldn't wish your depression away, so I suggested instead to wish for the strength to fight it. That was your wish, then?"

"...Yes. I... I made up my mind to make my deal with Kyubey. But..."

"What? You couldn't think of anything fitting? So you had me make this life-changing wish for you?" She was still quiet, but Koharu's fury was unmistakable. "Why? Why would you leave something so important up to me on a whim?"

"Because..." Hanako sighed, her hands balled into anxious fists in her skirt. "...Because I trust you. Because you, Koharu... you and your logic... it can pierce the veil of emotion that... that paralyzed me these past few weeks. I... I'm sorry."

Koharu, however, calmed down, and after a tense moment, she would slowly nod. "I think I understand. But Hanako, in the future, be more open with me about this sort of thing." Placing the Grief Seed in Hanako's hand, she continued. "That doesn't answer my question though."

"...You were... under attack by a Witch. Indirectly... but you were not of your own mind. I... Yui told me... y-you tried to—"

Koharu stopped Hanako, holding her hand out. "I have the information I need. Thank you. Now then. I can assume that this is some well-guarded secret? People aren't to know?"

Hanako nodded, her breathing slowly calming down. "Yes. If everyone knew..."

"Widespread panic and chaos. I can't publish this..." Koharu's frustration was clear on her face as she closed her eyes.

"Y... Yes. Even if you did..."

"I would be discredited at best, and locked away at worst. Oh well. Now I know the full truth. It's all I need to know. If the school tries to pin this 'vandalism' on a student, we can fight it." Koharu's voice carried an odd determination.

"I... I suppose. But we have no proof. We can't... tell the staff the truth..."

"I'll find a way. Leave the cover story to me. Hanako, you and Shinju need to solicit advice about people abusing power to cover their tracks. Whatever information you can gather will be helpful."

"Koharu..." Hanako's voice lowered further. "...Why are you so... understanding about all this? You believed me... without a second thought."

"Simple. You have never lied to me. There's a lot about this world I don't understand. Why would magic be any different?"

"...You're not... going to seek Kyubey out, are you? I mean... with a wish, you could—"

"No. I have no desire to fight monsters to see the truth. I'll make my own way, like I always have."

Hanako relaxed. "...That's a relief."

"...I would like to know precisely how this all works, though. I want you to report to me about each and every Witch hunt you go on."

"I see no reason to hide this from you. You knowing is... something of a relief. But... I don't think Shinju knows. So... if we could... keep this between us, for now?" Hanako's voice was timid, yet calm.

"She'll find out someday. Can't hide it forever. But fine." Koharu began to gather her things, hesitating. "Oh. I overheard something from staff. They keep mentioning a name when talking about the incident. Rui Tomatsu, third year student."

"...Rui... Tomatsu?"

* * *

A tall, slender girl leaned against the wall under the broken window of the club room, cast against the dim light from the setting sun. Her hands were stuffed into her coat pockets, and long strands of messy, dark hair partially covered her left eye. For a long while she simply stood there. Whether the girl was in thought or not was unclear, given her masked expression. Finally, she pushed herself off the wall with one foot, taking a few steps before turning to look up at the 'crime scene.'

"So this is what I'm going down for this year? Fine. Bring it on." The girl sighed heavily, a smirk slowly creeping across her face. "Not like it's the worst crap these assholes have tried to pin on me. ...I'll make sure to give 'em hell this time."

At her side, another girl stood, a head shorter and wearing a strange black and yellow vertically striped dress. At her side, several daggers hovered near her wrists. "...Not alone, you won't."

<= Chapter 3 ~ * ~ * ~ Chapter 5 =>

#MitaOri #Act 0: Significance #Fanfiction #PMMM

[enamourous]

why am i so like afraid of being disliked by strangers

#like recently i was invited to a server but like #everyone there is already friends lol #and im so anxious that ill make the wrong impression?? #like everytime i come online #which is rarely now bc of my anxiety #i have to like triple check if the tone of my messages come off right or if i said smt wrong and its like.. #exhausting i guess... #i really want to live in the motto of like. idc what others think of me but i rly dont know how to get there.. #and idk how people do it #edit: okay great now im worrying about this post over and over too

[romioneficfest]

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato

Title: Double Hazlenut Almond Milk Macchiato

Prompt: Day 2/Meet-Cute

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: General

Summary: Muggle AU. Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a pretty complicated coffee order.

Trigger Warnings: N/A

xxx

It’s seven o’clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.

Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he’s already memorized their morning joe specifications.

The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.

Maybe it’s because they’re too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it’s the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.

Every now and then, there’s a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He’ll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.

‘Take an interest in their day!’ his Mum would say. ‘Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!’

Monday morning, at seven o’clock, is one of those times.

“Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato.”

“Size?”

“Medium.”

The customer is about Ron’s age, and probably new in town. She doesn’t yet know that at The Burrow, ‘Double Macchiatos’ are simply called ‘Tall Macchiatos’, and instead of ‘small’, ‘medium’, and ‘large’, The Burrow’s sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.

“Great,” he says, grinning, “coming right up.”

“Make sure it’s almond milk,” she reminds him.

“Yup.”

“And hazelnut,” she adds.

“Yup.”

“Double-shot—”

“I heard you,” says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.

“Okay, just making sure!”

“Can I get a name for the order?”

“Hermione.”

Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she’s wearing. She looks so normal. “Can you repeat that?”

“Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”

He hadn’t asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It’s condescending.

“Coming right up, Hermione.”

“Great.”

Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn’t even know the difference. Most customers wouldn’t.

As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.

“Here you go!”

He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he’s convinced she can tell…

Then her face melts back to a polite grin. “Thank you!”

Maybe she can’t. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer’s order.

Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she’s in such a rush.

“Morning, Hermione!” he says with a forced smile. “Same as yesterday?”

She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. “Um, yes, same as yesterday.”

“Coming right up.”

“Medium, Double, Hazelnut—“

“Almond Milk Macchiato,” he says. “I got it.”

“Okay,” shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. “Then do it.”

What’s her problem? “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she snaps. “I need coffee, not a counseling session.”

Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother’s nagging voice in his head stops him.  ‘Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven’t had their coffee fix yet.’

“Of course,” Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t get a chance to see if she does, because she’s out the door before a single sip.

Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron’s stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.

“Hello,” he says politely, stopping himself before the natural ‘how are you?’ escapes his lips. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hi,” she says with a sheepish smile. “The same as yesterday.”

“Which is?”

“Erm,” she stammers, her expression confused, “a medium—“

“I’m kidding,” he laughs, “I know your order.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.

“Sorry about yesterday,” she says when she picks up her drink. “You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude.”

“Oh,” starts Ron, who isn’t expecting an apology. “That’s okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift.”

She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn’t catch it.

She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.

“The usual,” is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she’s smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it’s the first time he’s seen her smile or if it’s just the first time he’s noticed.

But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she’s exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it’ll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she’ll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.

Both good things.

“Just so you know,” she says as Ron hands over her cup, “it’s been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it’s not going well.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that,” says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There’s more to her tough and professional exterior.

“These have made the week just a little better,” she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.

Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.

In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.

As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.

He’s not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it’s because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he’s never purposely tried to fuck up someone’s coffee five days in a row.

Or maybe, it’s because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.

She’ll probably ignore it anyway.

But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he’d run away from a mob of spiders.

The text is from an unknown number, but there’s no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!

Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?

Well, Hermione, why’d you keep coming back?

As soon as the message sends, he’s impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.

His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.

It wasn’t for the coffee…

#hpfic #romione ficfest 2021 #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #coffeeshop AU #Rated G #Queue up for the Dragon #Ace Safe #cw: none

[leon-scott-kennedy]

Distrail

Chreon, Rated-T

Read on Ao3

For a price, anyone could check into a seedy motel, even three people covered in blood, guts, and grime, no questions asked, especially with the ashes of Raccoon City still cooling 100 miles away. So the horizon still held a faint glow of destruction when Leon and Claire stumbled, barely conscious, through the front door of the Tadpole motel at 2 PM October 1st, using each other as support and Sherry clinging to Leon’s back like a koala if a koala drooled and snored.

Two other motels along the highway turned the odd couple away, rumours already flying about Raccoon City, zombies, and a nuclear cover-up. But at the right price, triple the going rate, Claire managed to convince the manager to let them bunk down, courtesy of Leon’s stressed credit card.

The fact Leon’s credit card worked, or that he even still had his credit card, was a miracle. His wallet hadn’t exactly been a priority, and honestly, they could sleep in a cockroach-infested basement, and Leon would be happy because they were dead on their feet after hiking on foot what Leon estimated to be a good 30 miles of rough terrain to get to the nearest town. The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the sky behind them exploded.

Raccoon City was gone. The people Leon had sworn to defend were gone. Sherry and Claire were all he managed to protect, and he’d be damned if he failed now.

The motel room wasn’t terrible; two double beds, a small tube TV, and a leaky faucet. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t something out of a horrible nightmare. They’d left that behind them.

“I’m glad we don’t have a blacklight,” Claire joked, but her tone fell flat.

Leon nudged the bed farthest from the door suspiciously with his boot, dragged back the yellow duvet, and inspected the mattress before he lay Sherry down and tucked her in. He even let Claire shower first, insisted, while he watched Sherry sleep, tossing and turning and whimpering from reliving the horrors in her dreams until Claire emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp, and crawled into bed beside Sherry.

By the time Leon scrubbed his skin raw, the water was cold, and Claire had passed out cold with Sherry cuddled up beside her, little hand tangled in the front of Claire’s dirty tank top like a lifeline. Leon passed out face first on the other bed. He couldn’t even muster the energy to get under the covers.

Movement woke Leon. He jolted awake, reaching for his gun on the bedside table, only to find Claire, fully dressed, perched on the end of his bed and tugging one of her boots. She smiled sadly at the gun levelled at her head.

Leon lowered Matilda, gasping for air. His arm fell limply to his side. “Claire?”

“Hey.” Claire pulled on her second boot. “Sorry.”

Leon blinked at the sleep crusting his eyes. “What... what are you doing?”

Claire sighed and set her foot back down solidly on the ground, hands grasping her thighs. “I need to find Chris. I need... I need to know he’s okay.”

“Now?” Leon glanced at the clock. The bright red numbers read 7:46. The setting sun outside glowed faintly behind the curtains.

“If you ever need me...”

“Forget me. What about Sherry?” Leon snapped, somewhat mollified when Claire winced.

“I know you’ll take good care of her.” Claire’s attention briefly snapped to the sleeping 12-year-old that had survived literal hell. “Leon... if I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever,” Leon scoffed, then rolled over. His heart thundered in his chest. He heard Claire briefly wake up Sherry to say goodbye, promising they’d be in touch, that if Sherry ever needed her, all she needed to do was call.

The door creaked open. Leon clenched his eyes shut, willing down the panic swelling in his chest until it ached. This was it. He was all Sherry had left. They were on their own.

“Take care of our girl for me.” Claire’s voice was barely a whisper.

Leon’s hands trembled, buried in the sheets and pillows, he struggled to suck down air, and his hearing fuzzed. Claire was gone.

For hours, Leon faded in and out of consciousness, barely able to keep the crush of dread at bay. Finally, at some point around 3 AM, he gave up all pretense to sleep and kept a vigilant guard. He jumped at a car alarm, tensed at the slam of a door, and clenched Matilda tightly when soft footfalls passed their door. Eventually, Sherry climbed into his bed to watch early morning cartoons with him.

“Is Claire going to be okay?” Sherry asked softly. She hugged Leon’s arm, cuddling into his side like he used to with his grandma.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about her,” Leon said. He slumped to the side, gently resting his head on top of Sherry’s. “She’ll be fine, kiddo.”

When the sun rose, Leon and Sherry trekked down to the front office to extend their stay another night, then hiked into town searching for clothes and sustenance. Being out in public, surrounded by people, set both Leon and Sherry on edge. They jumped at the slightest sound, and Sherry refused to release Leon’s hand for anything less than going to the bathroom, and even then, he had to stand guard outside the stall. Thank god he had pissed before they left the motel because Sherry was clinging to the back of his jacket while he tried seemed ridiculous.

Their shopping trip was quick. They grabbed what they could, Sherry setting a brisk pace through the little thrift store they found, dragging Leon from rack to rack. They scrounged up a few changes of clothes, socks, underwear, which Leon was a little uncertain of, a jacket that fits over his side holster since he had a license to carry, and a backpack that they filled with snacks and a deck of cards from a little corner store. It turns out Leon’s palette was similar to a twelve-year-old.

The tenuous credit limit finally crapped out on Leon when he tried to buy a six-pack at a shady liquor store on the way back to the motel.

“No job. No money. Just great,” Leon sighed.

For the rest of the day, they holed up in their room munching on junk food, watching terrible daytime TV, and playing Go Fish until Leon made the brilliant decision to teach Sherry how to play poker, and she fleeced him for all the Cheetos.

Leon had no plan beyond survive, and he hadn’t even planned for that. His body ached from being tossed by mutated monsters and shot. His wrapped shoulder twinged.

“Shit,” Leon cursed and clutched his wound. They needed help. He needed help. Taking care of a kid without any resources would be impossible; never mind, he’d never taken care of a person in his life. He had no siblings, no parents. His grandma died when he was nine.

Leon smiled at Sherry in reassurance when she questioned him. This little girl couldn’t be another statistic of the system. He could fix that. He would fix that.

Covered in orange Cheeto dust, Sherry crashed around 8 in the evening. The glow of the sun behind the curtain reminded Leon of the mushroom cloud that had enveloped the sky 36 hours ago. Leon’s stomach twisted in knots. Every creak, every thump, every squeaky break, Leon tensed, waiting for something to crash through the door and disrupt the precarious peace.

Leon hunkered down on his bed, the one closest to the door and any potential threat that came for them, and prepared for another sleepless night on edge.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Around one in the morning, his eyes beginning to droop, Leon nearly fell off the bed in his mad scramble for his gun when someone knocked heavily on the door. Checking his clip, Leon cautiously crept to the door, motioning for now very awake Sherry to stay out of sight.

“Who is it,” Leon called.

“Hi. Look, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Chris Redfield. I’m looking for my sister Claire.”

Leon blinked and glanced back at Sherry, whose head had popped out of the blanket at the sound of Claire’s name. Then, double-checking he had bolted the chain, Leon opened the door a crack to peek out.

A man a little taller than Leon stood under the flickering light outside the door, his hair cut short and a 5 o’clock shadow. Chris Redfield, decorated member of the Racoon City Stars Division. Leon recognized him from the old photo Claire had shown him, but also the records he’d run across during his frantic hunt through the Police Department.

“Chris?” Leon said, astonished it was actually him. He slammed the door, unbolted the chain, and flung the door open again. “What the- Claire’s looking for you. What are you doing here?”

Chris, who eyed the gun uncertainly, brightened at the mention of his sister. “Is she here? The manager at the front recognized her. Said she was here with some guy and a kid.” Chris glanced past Leon into the room to Sherry curled up in the other bed peering out with curious fear from under the blankets.

Leon shook his head, eyes scanning the parking lot. “She’s not here. She left this morning to find you.”

“Fuck.” Chris winced and glanced at Sherry again. “Shit, sorry.”

Sherry giggled into her hands, and Leon rolled his eyes. “I think she’s dealt with worse.” Like the apocalypse.

“But she’s okay. She’s alive?” Chris asked.

“Who? Claire? Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine. Saved my ass more than a few times.” Leon smiled wistfully and then frowned. So Claire had left, and now, here, her brother was trying to track her down. It must be nice to have someone that gave a damn about you.

“Oh, thank god.” Then, finally, all the tension and stiffness in Chris’ posture melted. “I got her message, and...”

Leon scanned the dark parking lot again for any sign of life, then gestured into the motel room. “You should come in.”

“No.” Chris waved off the invitation. “No, I need to find her.” But the fatigue in his voice threatened to topple him, and that would definitely fell Leon if he tried to catch him.

“Dude, you’re dead on your feet,” Leon said. “It’s the middle of the night. Crash for a few hours.”

“Yeah!” Sherry chimed in, bouncing on her bed. “Stay!”

Chris shook his head. “I can’t.”

Leon pursed his lips. “Look, I don’t know you, man. But I do know that if you pass out behind the wheel and wrap yourself around a pole, you’re pretty damn useless to her.”

Chris opened his mouth to argue, and Leon sighed, tilting his head to the side, ready to give up when Chris snapped his mouth closed and cleared his throat. He studied Leon closely, scrutinizing him like he would a suspect, but Chris must have been satisfied with what he found - weakness, terror, immaturity - because he finally said, “just a few hours.” And the anxiety squeezing the life out of Leon eased, just a tiny bit. Enough that he could breathe.

Chris excused himself to run and grab his go-bag, and Leon cursed his stupidity because nothing was stopping Chris from running. That tightness immediately returned, but a few minutes later, another sharp knock sounded at the door.

Leon smiled tiredly and welcomed Chris into the room, relieved to have the company, someone who knew what they were doing; an adult. Leon grew up fast, but he’d never been an adult in his life. Racoon City was supposed to be a fresh start, and now, he was back to square one. Not even. He was in the basement of square one—the root cellar.

Leon finally caught a good look at Sherry with the lights on, still covered in orange dust, her fingers and cheeks stained. “Jesus. Did you eat the Cheetos or roll in them?”

Sherry laughed. “Leon taught me to play poker, and then I won all the cheezies,” she said to Chris, who grinned.

“Nice job.” Chris offered her a high-five, which she eagerly accepted. The hero worship was already forming.

“He gets a little wrinkle right here when he lies,” Sherry said, pointing a small finger between her eyebrows.

“Okay,” Leon said, scooping Sherry off the bed and carrying her off under one arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back in bed, munchkin.”

Cheeto dust proved a formidable adversary, but they managed. When they walked back into the room, Chris was standing exactly where they had left him, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his boots laced.

Getting Sherry tucked back into bed became a struggle now that the brand new company hyped her up; no hesitation whatsoever. She liked Chris. She even made Chris put her to bed, Leon faking offence at being disregarded for the new guy, but there was something about seeing a six-foot boulder of a man coax a tiny twelve-year-old back to sleep that made Leon’s chest ache. Especially when Chris told the story of how Claire was convinced that if she left fake teeth under her pillow, she could trick the tooth fairy into giving her more money. It never worked. The tooth fairy left chocolate coins instead. Fake money for a fake tooth.

Leon watched perched on the edge of the other bed, a little envious of Chris’ skill with kids. He double-checked the safety on his handgun, then the clip. Chris eyed Leon as he set his weapon back down on the bedside table, and Leon couldn’t muster the energy to be self-conscious about his paranoia.

Chris may be Claire’s sister and a fellow survivor of Raccoon City, but Leon didn’t actually know him. For all he knew, he was a traitor like Irons or Wesker. Maybe he wasn’t the man Claire believed him to be. What the hell had he been thinking? Inviting a stranger to stay with them?

With Sherry asleep again, Leon and Chris were left to settle in for the remainder of the night. For Chris, that meant shedding his bulky jacket and combat boots.

“It’s Leon, right?” Chris said. He stood awkwardly beside the bed, watching Leon click off the light and climb under the blankets, tucking himself up against the edge of the mattress as close as he possibly could without toppling off. “Claire mentioned you in one of her messages.”

Leon almost facepalmed. He hadn’t introduced himself. He really was doing everything backwards. “Yeah. That’s me. Leon S. Kennedy.” He curled up into a small ball.

“Jesus Christ.” Chris swiped his palm across his mouth. “You’re the new rookie.”

Leon chuckled humourlessly, his hands tightening into fists around the sheets pulled up to his neck. “Was a hell of a first day.”

Chris picked up real quick that Leon didn’t want to talk about it. So instead, he climbed into his side of the bed, the one closest to the door. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Leon tensed. Where else would Chris have slept? The floor? The last person Leon shared a bed with was his ex, who had seemingly saved his life. If she hadn’t broken up with him, if he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he hadn’t slept in hungover as hell, he would have arrived right in the middle of the initial panic, and who knows if he would have survived that. No one else in the department had.

What would it have been like? The screams, the moans, the pleas for help- the sounds still played on repeat in Leon’s head. Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, mouth agape, stumbling towards him with his hands out. Leon had put two bullets between his eyes.

The first indications of a panic attack slammed into Leon. Abruptly, his throat closed. He couldn’t breathe, his vision slid out of focus, and his chest compressed. Like someone reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in a vice. His entire body shook.

Suddenly, a warm voice murmured in his ear, the soothing tone talking him down, calming him. Leon wasn’t alone. He wasn’t trapped in the police station battling endless waves of the undead, the people of Raccoon City he’d taken an oath to serve and protect.

“Leon, kid, you need to breathe,” Chris said. His presence was a solid wall behind Leon. “I’m going to touch you, okay?”

Leon focused on Chris’ voice. His vision began to swim back into focus, his hearing rushed back in a sudden wall of familiar night noises like the drip of the faucet in the bathroom or the lonely car that passed on the highway. He nodded, not fully understanding what Chris was saying. An arm slid around his waist and pulled him back into a firm chest. Leon flailed, seconds from panic again when Chris’ voice rumbled in his ear.

“You’re going to be okay. I got you.”

Leon grasped Chris’ arm, his grip probably tight enough to leave bruises, and he choked on a shuddering sob.

“It’s okay, Leon. You’re going to be okay.”

Gasping for air, Leon rolled over and buried his face in Chris’ chest, and Chris let him. Leon’s sobs were muffled in Chris’ arms, not wanting to disturb Sherry in the next bed. He felt every subtle muscle flex when Chris tightened his grip or shifted them into a more comfortable position. That’s how Leon passed out, wrapped in the reassuring embrace of a complete stranger, one who understood the hell he’d lived through and the fear and uncertainty he felt in his soul.

Morning came quickly. Leon woke up still curled into Chris’ chest with a death grip on the other man’s faded t-shirt. Chris’ nose was buried in Leon’s hair, each soft snore ruffling his hair, but his embrace hadn’t lessened overnight.

The warmth of embarrassment burning, Leon snuck out of bed, anxiously loosening Chris’ hold and dashing for the safety and solitude of the bathroom, horrified at his complete lack of control the night before. No one had held him like that before, at least not since he was a child and his grandma would sit up with him after a nightmare. But, sadly, this was another type of nightmare, a waking one.

When Leon finally mustered the courage to wander back into the room, Chris was up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees.

“You okay?” Chris asked the same time Leon burst out, “I’m sorry!”

Chris sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. When I showed up on your doorstep last night, I saw right away that you were barely holding it together.”

Leon’s fists clenched at his side. He couldn’t meet Chris’ gentle gaze.

Chris crossed the room in two enormous strides and considerately grasped Leon by the shoulders. “It was the shock finally hitting you. It happened to me too, but I was alone,” Chris admitted. “Hey. Hey, come on. Look at me.”

Leon bit his lower lip, but he slowly looked up, eyes stinging. “I don’t know what to do.”

Telegraphing his movements, Chris gently pulled Leon into a tight hug. “You’re not alone. We’re going to do this together. I want to take Umbrella down, but first, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Leon jerked back so fast Chris stumbled. “I want to help. I want to make those sons of bitches pay.”

Chris smiled. “Good. But first, I have a safe house.”

Together, they set the plans. Leon and Sherry would meet Chris in two days, hopefully with Claire in tow, at Chris’ new safehouse three states over. Sherry and Leon could catch a bus a couple miles down the highway to get them most of the way. The trick would be getting up the mountain to the cabin. But they were in this together. Hope simmered once again.

Armed with a freshly drawn map on motel stationery, Leon watched Chris pack. Umbrella wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Here. Take it.”Chris handed Leon two rumpled twenties, a five, and a few ones he dug out of his wallet. “It’s all the cash I have on me, but it should be enough to get you there. I’ll drop you off-”

“No.” Leon took the cash, but waved off Chris’ offer to give him and Sherry a lift to the bus station. “It’s in the opposite direction. We’ll be fine.”

“Two days,” Chris promised. Sherry had climbed out of bed and now clung to Chris’ arm as if he couldn’t leave as long as she was attached. He ruffled her hair. “With or without Claire, I’ll be there and we’ll go from there.” Chris grabbed Leon by the back of the neck and dragged him into a gruff hug, their foreheads lightly pressed together. “It’s gonna be okay, kid.”

And Leon believed him. That is, until two hours later when an unmarked vehicle pulled up on Leon and Sherry hiking down the side of the road, hand in hand. They never made it to the rendezvous.

#chreon #leon s kennedy #chris redfield #claire redfield #sherry birkin #re2make #re fanfic #leon kennedy #kennfield

[doctoranon]

I Must Be Dreaming

Written for the MGI Civil war for Team Jason Supremacy

TW: Angst, Major character death, swearing

~~~~~

“Come on, baby. We’re going to be fine.” Jason mumbled into Marinette's dirty matted hair, desperation colouring his tone. “Gonna get us out of here, we’ll be fine.” he huddled close to the semi conscious woman, being careful as possible to not disturb any of the rubble that trapped them where they were.

They’d underestimated how desperate the Joker was this time, underestimated how many bombs were placed and now they were paying the price, he and Marinette were trapped under fuck knows how much rubble with sketchy comm links and no way of knowing quite how far off a rescue would be.

They had at least garnered that one was underway through the static of the comms, that they’d called in the big guns with Supes and the Flash to help with getting to them quicker. Still, he wasn’t sure that- no, no of course they’d both make it. Their wedding was next month and then they were starting their life together. The one they’d always dreamed of. But looking at the flow of blood from Mari’s head wound his heart kept shooting straight to his throat. Logically he knew that head wounds bleed a lot and he was trying to stem the flow with a ripped piece of his uniform. But he’d been a vigilante for more than half his life at this point, and he’d seen-

Shaking the thought from his head roughly, he placed a kiss on Marinette's hair line, smoothing it out of her face as she watched him in a daze, mumbling incoherently every now and then. Everytime she did so his heart calmed a little. Consciousness was good. As long as she kept awake and stayed with him they’d both be fine.

“Jay-” his attention diverted quickly to Marinette and he smiled down at her, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Hey, Baby.” he warbled, dropping a kiss to her lips. “You’ve scared me.” he admitted, feeling his shoulders relax slightly. Help was coming. Mari was awake.

“‘M not-'” the words were slurred and seemed to take all of her energy and concentration to push past her lips. Taking a small breath, she let go of a longer one before uttering “‘M Tired.”

“I know baby, but you can’t fall asleep right now. You know that.” he explained, moving his free hand to his comm and trying to get someone's attention, growling angrily when all that could be heard was a static reply. He knew Tim was trying to reply, but he didn’t know what he was saying, and wasn't even sure if Tim was getting his own messages.

Wincing when he bit his already split lip, Jason sighed and kept a watch on Marinette, before he started to feel a shift in the rubble surrounding them. Straightening himself as much as he could he gave a yell. If it was Supes then he probably already knew exactly where they were, but anyone else might have needed the sound to redirect them.

As more and more pieces of rubble started to shift, he bent over Mari, protecting her from as much debri as possible. “See, toldja we’d get out of this, didn’t I?” he smirked down at her, before noticing her closed eyes and shallow breaths.

Immediately becoming panicked, he patted at her cheek. “Hey! No! No, you stay with me for a little longer Baby. They’ve almost got us.” he insisted. Before shouting at whoever it was to hurry it the fuck up.

Patches of light started to come in and he could hear the others now, he wasted no time to relay Marinette's condition to them and their efforts seemed to double. But, as Marinette liked to remind him, Too much of a good thing can sometimes be bad. The universe balances itself out and all that jazz.

One wrong movement of the concrete had a rather large piece dislodge. Jason's position protecting Marinette had put him directly in its path and with a solid crack hit him in the back of the head, whiting out his vision with pain. Ears ringing he tried to shake it off and check on Marinette, but that only served to make him dizzy as fuck and spots dace across his quickly dimming vision.

The last thing he saw was a silhouette against a bright light where a large body sized gap now was in the rubble they’d been trapped in. Then his vision went black and he was swept into unconsciousness.

~~~

Feelings came back to him slowly and consciousness felt just beyond his grasp, but through sheer will he opened his eyes to look around. He was in a med bed in the bat cave. So at least that meant they were out, but Marinette was nowhere in his sight and he needed to make sure she was okay.

Struggling to sit up, Jason had already started to get out of bed when Dick rounded the corner and rushed to his side.

“Get back in bed!” he was scolded, as Dick tried to stop him from getting up, and failing miserably. Jason was going to find his Fiance and no one was stopping him.

“Not till I’ve seen Mari.”

“Well that’s not happening.” he was told, as Dick called for the others not far out of hearing range. “You’re getting back in that bed.”

“Get the fuck out of my way, Dick. I’m seeing Mari.” Jason insisted, trying to push his brother away from him as he staggered under his own weight for a moment. Reinforcements arrived under the guise of Tim, Chloe and Alfred and he groaned internally before noticing the red rimmed eyes the blonde was sporting and his heart froze.

Doubling his efforts, he pushed Dick away successfully this time. “Where is she, Tim?” His tone was frantic as he started on his way past his other brother. “Where the fuck is Marinette.” her name brought a whimper from the blonde and Jason's frantic eyes zeroed in on her. “Please.” he begged, refusing to believe the worst.

When no one moved or tried to answer his question he growled angrily, moving to push past them again before being stopped by both Dick and Tim.

“Jay, please, get back in bed. We’ll explain-”

“NO!” Jason struggled against the two former robins, his eyes beginning to drake on a greener hue. “Let me see Marinette!”

Feeling a presence come up from behind him, he felt rather than saw as something pricked his skin.

“I’m afraid, Master Jason, you need to calm down.” came the guilt laced tone of the Wayne butler. Something Jason felt triple his anxiety before the sedative began to kick in and his weight was caught by Tim and Dick.

“Mari-” he mumbled, before unconsciousness took him over again.

~~~~

The next time he was aware, he felt a hand in his own and a soft humming coming from his left. A familiar humming. A beautiful humming that belonged to-

 “Marinette.” he mumbled, opening his eyes and searching for her visage, smiling sleepily at her when he saw her sitting in a chair next to the bed. Bandages wrapped around her head.

“Hey, Sleepy head. It’s about time you woke up.” she smiled, squeezing his hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “You gave everyone a scare earlier.”

“You scared me. You weren’t here when I woke up- I thought-” he choked but he grinned at her through his tears. Pulling their hands to him and returning the kiss on the back of her hand. “I was worried, beautiful.”

Chuckling at him, she booped his nose with a scrunched up grinning face; A scrunched up, grinning alive face. “I’m not leaving you that easily.” she comforted, before letting go of his hand and waving her engagement ring in his face. “Besides, you put a ring on it. I’m yours. Forever.” she teased him, gaining a chuckle from him as he relaxed back into the pillows.

“If Dick-head had just old me you were okay-”

“Hey, don't blame your brother for your half cocked plans and jumping to conclusions!” she scolded him, a grin still fixed to her face. “You need to wake up when i'm here next time.”

Chuckling Jason felt at peace, knowing they were both okay. “Or you could not scare me in the first place”

Resting his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of all residual tension he had been holding onto. “So, any chance you’re going to show me that dress before the wedding now?” he teased, opening his eyes and over acting a pathetic look on his face. “Please?”

“Never. The day I walk up the aisle or not at all.”

“I had to try.”

Both chuckling at their antics, Marinette moved to cuddle up on the bed with him. “I can’t wait until the day after the wedding.” She told him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “When I wake up as Mrs Jason Todd.”

“I can’t wait for that either.” he beamed, kissing her sweetly and pulling back to stare into her eyes. “For that day, and every day afterwards.”

~~~~

Over the next few weeks, Jason felt like he was walking through a dream. The days felt like they moved slowly and quickly all at once. They both healed up and anticipation grew as the big day was suddenly upon them, and he was there, standing at the bottom of the aisle waiting for his soon to be wife to join him. 

As the song he didn’t even remember picking played, the most beautiful woman in the world walked towards him. Ready to commit her love and life to him forever. Something finally all his. Something permanent.

Dick leaned over his shoulder and nudged him with a wide grin. “You look mesmerised, Little Wing.” he whispered, the proudest grin Jason had ever seen aimed at him.

“I feel like I'm dreaming.”

Dick chuckled lightly as he faced the front again, eyes on the procession. “Then you better wake up, Jay. Because she's nearly here.”

As Marinette reached him at the altar, he reached for her hands, pulling her towards him and stealing a small kiss.

“Hey, save it for the end.” Tim, who was officiating at the behest of his brother teased them, as the seemingly faceless congregation chuckled in the background.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Jason laughed, feeling so full of love and life. Everything was perfect. Just like he and Marinette had dreamed.

Clapping his hands together with a bright and wide grin, Tim turned to face the audience. “Welcome, to the wedding of my Big brother, Jason Todd, and the girl I introduced him too, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Both the Bride and Groom have written their own vows and Marinette won the coin flip to go first.” Tim joked, before gesturing to the vision in white.

“Jason, the day we met, I knew you’d be a pain in my ass.” she teased, gaining a chuckle and ‘hear, hear’ from the people present, himself included. “And you are,” she added to a few more chuckles, as tears formed in both their eyes. “The day you first kissed me, I knew forever was what I wanted from you.” she grinned at him, tears falling down her cheeks, and he moved his hand to wipe them away.

“And the day I died, I knew I would leave you heartbroken.” Jason froze, the smile was still plastered on her face, and looking at Tim showed the same, as if Marinette had said nothing wrong at all.

“Wait, what?” His brow furrowed and heart starting to beat quickly in his chest. “I don't understand, Mari?”

“You need to wake up, Jason,” Tim was speaking now, the happy smile still plastered on his face as if he wasn’t breaking Jason's entire world.

“No. No I don't. We’re getting married,” Jason said frantically, looking around him at the guests and feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Please, Little wing. Wake up.”

The world both fizzled out to black, the image of Marinette in her wedding dress fading quickly, and also gained a more realistic feeling behind closed eyelids.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason felt his lips tremble as he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes to his brother sitting next to him in a med bed in the bat cave.

His brother met his eyes, red rimmed and full of pain.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

The pause was a hundred years and no time at all.

“I- Yeah, Little wing. She’s gone.”

He closed his eyes again and turned to face the ceiling, tears spilling from under his eyelids.

“We were getting married.”

“I know.” was the choked reply, and he could hear the pain in Dicks voice, but he couldn’t feel anything over the rush of absolute nothing he felt.

“I love her so much, Dick.” he whispered, teeth clenching as he began to cry in earnest. Breathing felt strange, the whoosh of in and out feeling nothing like it should, and two arms encircled him as a low keening noise escaped from behind his still clenched teeth.

He was supposed to be stuck with her, forever. And as the thought of forever filled his mind, a forever now not including Marinette; Jason felt something in his chest shatter so explosively he knew he’d never find all the pieces again.

#jasonette #maribat #maribat fanfic #mgi civil war

[theonewiththefanfics]

Come Back To Me (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes has gone through hell and back to reach his happiness, and his happiness came in the form of the love of his life. But what happens when she’s ripped away? What happens when she comes back and can no longer be happy herself? How does he get her back

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: AAAAANNNNNGGGGGSSSTTT, sooooo much angst. Lil bit of fluff as well (also, we’re gonna pretend like Endgame didn’t really happen, and WandaVision wasn’t as emotionally devastating), smut

Warnings: extreme sadness, depression, refusal to eat, unprotected sex, allusion to ra*e, but not the act. if there is anything else, please let me know and message me :) (MINIMALLY EDITED)

Word count: 9301 (it gon be a ride)

Bucky’s been scared many times in his life before. He wouldn’t admit that out loud, but most of the time, even as the Winter Soldier, he was terrified. Afraid to fail and of the consequences that would follow, afraid to succeed and have another person’s blood on his hands, afraid to look in the mirror, for the face staring back at him wasn’t quite his own, and even afraid to sleep in the dark, terrified the spirits of his victims would come out for revenge. But he’s never been as scared as he was in that moment, pointing a gun at the head of the love of his life, while she did the same, only without any clue as to who Bucky was.

           His mind was still processing how they’d gotten in that position, and it refused to accept it, because nothing, not a single thing had clued him in on how that day could turn south so quickly.

           It had started off as usual with Bucky’s flesh hand sliding down Y/N’s naked spine, as she had her face pressed against his toned chest, small snores escaping into the air, while a small dribble of drool trickled down the corner of her mouth.

           Bucky couldn’t help the smile lifting up his lips. It was moments like those, he believed in good things. 5 AM, the New York sky dark and without a trace of morning light probably until 8 AM, with his favourite person in the world pressed up against his side, soaking up his warmth, leeching it off without any shame after having been satisfied (or at least he hoped so) by his tongue, fingers and, well, other things as well.

           Y/N shifted a bit, trailing her palm up to his abs and settling in the middle of his chest to feel his strong heartbeat. Bucky laid his palm over hers. Even in her sleep, she didn’t hesitate to entwine their fingers and bring them under her chin, closer to her, as if she needed him next to her at all times.

           He felt bad, he truly did, as he squeezed Y/N’s side, making her frown. “You gotta wake up, dollface. We gotta get ready.”

           “Dunantdo,” she mumbled, and if Bucky hadn’t been there to take care of her drunken ass more times than he could count, he wouldn’t have been able to decipher her slurred words as “don’t want to.”

           “I know.” He chuckled. “And believe me, there’s nothing in this world I’d wanna do more than lay here with you… well maybe go down on you a few more times at some point as well, but the mission won’t happen on its own.”

           Bucky felt her chest rumble against his, as she laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind you going down on me, mission and all.” Her words were clearer, but still laced with sleep, and muffled by his skin while he felt her calves run against his as she stretched out.

           “I know you don’t. The missing hair chunks on my head prove that.”

           “Hey!” she slapped his chest but soothing it immediately blearily looking at him with a pout. “I didn’t pull that hard!”

           “I’m not complaining, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “In fact, if you ever stop doing that, I will make sure you regret it, but unfortunately we don’t have time for a rendezvous. Jet’s gonna be ready in an hour.”

           Finally, after having accepted the fact she won’t get any more sleep, Y/N lifted herself to rest on her elbow right next to Bucky’s ribs and opened her Y/E/C sleep-filled eyes to look into his cerulean ones. “We can still squeeze in a quickie if we hop into the shower together.”

           “We can,” Bucky hummed, metal fingers lifting up to cup her cheek and place a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “But you know a quickie for us is never quick.”

           Y/N let out a scoff and pushed away from their fluffy duvet, making her shiver as she placed her feet on the cold floor. “And whose fault is that? You’re the one with the super-soldier stamina.”

           “And you,” he pinched her ass making her squeal before giving him the middle finger and taking the red Henley she’d so happily taken off his body the night before only to put it on herself, “are the completely irresistible one. Can you blame me for wanting to spend eternity between those two legs in every way possible?”

           The smile she threw him over her shoulder was nothing short of wicked, but instead of joining him in the warm embrace of the bed, Y/N made her way to the bathroom. “Keep talking, Mr Charmer. Might just get you what you want.”

           Bucky was happy about having super speed as well with how quickly he hopped out of the bed and pressed her against the cold tile wall.

           ***

           Much to Steve’s annoyance, although they were barely fifteen minutes late, Bucky and Y/N were late, and when he saw the smug grins both of them sported, he genuinely thought his eyes would get stuck at the back of his head with the hard roll he gave to them.

           “As a new policy,” he started, flipping over the mission file, “I’m putting you two on a celibate streak.”

           Y/N raised an eyebrow, plopping down on one of the metal benches as the Quinjet lifted in the air. “Really, Steve? Do you truly want to deal with Bucky like that? Cause I know, I don’t.”

           “Well, your fondueing is disrupting the schedule.”

           “Oh relax,” Nat butted in, throwing Y/N a chocolate bar, given how no one had had time to eat proper breakfast. “It’s not like the HYDRA base was going to suddenly disappear.” 

           “It could’ve,” the blond super soldier countered.

           Nat rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide the smile she had on her face. “Which is why we have an inside man, who as of three minutes ago has confirmed – they’re still there. And by the looks of it, not even trying to run.”

           Bucky’s arm slung around Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her closer. “See? Everything’s still on track. Besides, from what I heard from Sam, he’s loving the whole under-cover thing so we were doing him a favour.”

           Tony had gotten out of the pilot’s seat and joined in on everyone discussing Y/N’s and Bucky’s sex life, so that was her cue to switch the comms in her ear from ‘communication’ setting to the ‘music’ setting, leaning against Bucky’s side and closing her eyes, cashing in on those lost sleep minutes she’d spent in the shower with her lover. 

           When they had about forty minutes left in the air, Bucky once more woke Y/N up as she’d fallen asleep while Steve and Tony went over the last briefing. 

“Bucky and I will take the South-side entrance,” Steve said, pointing at the holographic map Tony had pulled up. “Y/N, Nat and Wanda you take the East, and go as easy as you can, Red.” Steve nudged his chin towards Wanda who nodded. “Just because you can bend reality doesn’t mean you can bend your health. That’s where the main intel storage unit. Get as much as you can and get out. Tony will take the air and wait until Sam joins before blowing everything up. Clint, Bruce and Thor have all checked in, and are already in their positions on the ground as blitz attack. Once F.R.I.D.A.Y has confirmed everyone’s location away from the blast zone Tony will detonate the bombs Sam has set up inside. Got it?”

Affirmative nods came from everyone on board, as they went to do final checks on their gear and equipment.

“Be careful out there, alright?” Bucky mumbled against Y/N’s neck as she double and triple checked her ammunition count, strapping a sword to her back as well, just in case. Her obsession with Medieval fantasy shows giving her a reason to make Tony pay for her lessons. 

           “We’re gonna be fine,” Y/N gently patted Bucky’s cheek before giving him a peck on the cheek as he wrapped two strong hands around her waist. “We always are.”

           But where typically she was right (most of the time), it was in that instance where she couldn’t be further from the truth if she’d tried. 

           Despite having Sam on the inside and him having gone through great lengths to make the infiltration as easy as possible, getting inside the building had been suspiciously easy, and that had set off everyone’s alarm bells, but knowing how important gathering the information was, they pressed on, keeping the thought that it could be a trap at the back of their minds at all times. 

           Thor, Bruce and Clint had started their ground attack two minutes before the rest had joined, with Vision guiding and disabling every system possible from back at the tower, so Tony and F.R.I.D.A.Y could put all of their focus on retaliating against the helacarriers coming their way. 

           “Cap, we’re in,” Natasha announced, ducking through the door, as Wanda covered her six, and Y/N lead the way in front, bullet shells flying out from her rifle. 

           Their comms crackled with echoes of gunfire outside as Tony lead them through the place right until they got to the main room where the whole system mainframe resided in.

           “Five-minute countdown commenced,” Y/N said it out loud to inform the rest of their team, as she stood behind Wanda, who’d created a red shield of magic, keeping the assault away and them inside the room.

           Five minutes until they had to get out of the building because in eight minutes time Tony and Vision, having infiltrated HYDRA’s system would blow everything to bits. If that failed, Wanda was there to provide a safety dome for the three of them, but it was just as a failsafe. Even though she now had full control of her powers, understood them better than ever, taking in a blast that will level a whole ass building was still a lot and there was no guarantee bricks and beams wouldn’t just settle right over them to then fall on top the women, she was still recuperating from a rival witch attack and it had taken out a bit more energy from her than usual.

           “How’s it looking over on your end, Vis?” Wanda asked through the comms, connecting back to the rest of the team in the tower.

           “The files are coming in, but too slowly,” his smooth voice invaded everyone’s earpieces. “And unfortunately F.R.I.D.A.Y’s mainframe won’t allow for a faster download, as she needs to scan everything for viruses.”

           “Should’ve used a flash-drive,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as she watched the HYDRA agents line outside the room, creating a two-level firing squad basically. 

           “Last time we did that, the files corrupted the drive and then erased themselves,” Tony butted in, then groaned as something hard hit him. “And no one needs to hear you complain about losing the six seasons of Brooklyn Nine-Nine again.”

           Y/N just rolled her eyes and steadied her rifle against her shoulder once Nat gave the go-sign. Then something beeped through everyone’s comms. The three-minute countdown before the whole building went down.

           “We’re barely at seventy-six percent,” Nat’s tone was calm, but the frustration didn’t go unnoticed by others.

           “Plan B then.” Wanda changed her stance a bit, but not by much as to not arouse any suspicion from the agents. If they could be taken out by the blast instead of her it’d be less energy used on her part.

           “Are you sure?” Sam finally butted in, having gotten in contact with Bucky who’d given him a comm linked just with their interface. “We can try and delay the blast,” Sam said right as Bucky commanded him to do so.

           “No,” Wanda stated. There were already at the two-minute mark. “Get out. We’ll take cover once the files are ours.”

           “Y/N,” she heard her lover start, but she just shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. 

           “Wanda’s right. Just be here to pull us out from the rubble. I have no want to climb through the wreckage.”

           A deep, long, exasperated sigh echoed in her ears, and it made her smile. “You know, sometimes I really hate you.”

           “Love you too, hot stuff.”

           A chorus of gags followed shortly after their little display of affection, and even though they were nowhere near one another they rolled their eyes almost at the exact same time, as Vision told Wanda to stay safe.

           “You owe me a foot massage, Vis.”

           “Gross.” Y/N chuckled.

           Wanda just threw her a smirk. “Imagine how we all feel about you and Bucky.”

           “Okay, we’re down to sixty seconds!” Tony said, making Y/N nervously glance back at Nat. 

           The assassin just shook her head. “Eighty-seven percent.”

           She gritted her teeth. If the building went out before they got the files they’d be stuck with just what they had. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, please speed up a bit, the place is about to get blown to bits.”

           “Rerouting the files to a different server,” the A.I. was immediately on it. “Will have to do the scan later.”

           “Thirty seconds, guys!” Steve shouted as whoever was still near the base scrambled to get out.

           Nat’s head whipped back to the computer screen. “Almost there.”

           But the whole thing seemed to have made the HYDRA agents realise something was amiss, yet it was too late for them. As Sam counted off the last five seconds, Natasha rushed to the other two women, grabbing them by their waists and crouching down while Wanda created a red dome of magic, explosions shaking the whole house.

           For a second the rumbling felt more like someone shaking you awake from a deep sleep until the walls of the room exploded, raining fire, brick and metal down on them. 

           That would’ve been fine if not for the fact that the floor underneath them decided to disappear as well, an array of curses coming from their mouths as Wanda immediately rounded out the shield while the rest of their teammates kept nagging them to respond.

           “Y/N, I swear to everything you hold dear, I will kill you myself if you die,” Bucky pretty much screamed, while she groaned as the sudden shift in balance had made her hit herself in the ribs with the rifle.

           She gritted her teeth, as Wanda used more of her powers to stabilise them. “We’re fine,” she responded. “No need to bring in the cavalry yet.”

           A deep sigh from what seemed like everyone echoed in her earpiece, and when Wanda was sure there’d be no second shockwaves from the blast or no debris that could fall right on top of them where she’d need to take her focus away, she flew the three women out of the ruined building and onto the grassy knoll where the team stood waiting. 

           Bucky was instantly next to Y/N, pulling her into his body and her lips against his once Wanda released her from the energy bubble. 

           “God, you’re disgusting,” Sam mumbled, and it was followed by a small yelp when someone hit him in the side.

           Y/N threw him a mischievous grin when she pulled away. “Don’t be a Bitter Betty. The offer to set you up still stands.”

           Sam cackled, as everyone had now regrouped and together were marching away to where the jet sat disguised between the trees. “Hard pass. You’re a worse matchmaker than Steve.”

           “Hey! Amelia was an amazing girl.”

           “She is except for the fact that she’s not interested in men.”

           Steve’s cheeks reddened up a bit, as Tony gave him a sympathetic pat. “ ‘S not my business to ask what people’s sexuality is. And blame yourself. You’re the one who’s called Sam.”

           “Oh, don’t you even –“ but his words were cut off midway as gunfire rained down on them from the sky.

           Instantly Wanda threw up a shield once more, Bucky going to cover Y/N with his body, but HYDRA opening fire from the top had left their sides unprotected, and a well-aimed shot from a bazooka ripped everyone apart. 

           The blast was minimised thanks to Wanda and her quickly directing a part of her magic to contain it, but the missile still threw them away.

           Y/N’s head was ringing, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the loud noise of the blast, because of her having hit her head against a tree trunk, or because of all the screams from her teammates, yet she had zero time to recuperate as an agent rushed towards her, knives ready for a kill.

           The first one embedded itself inside the tree, and barely not inside her head, as she moved to the side in the last minute, but a small sting still crept along the side of her head where he’d managed to split the skin.

           She was up and rolling away, grabbing one of her own knives from the side of her leg, finally unsheathing her sword. There was no time to put more clips in her guns.

           The first agent was quick work for Y/N, I mean he only three more knives left, and he’d been one of the unlucky ones to stand next to the building when it went off, so the shrapnel had ripped a piece of his Kevlar open giving her the perfect place to put her sword in, but the next ten were not as easy.

           She was worn out, tired from having experienced two explosions and some of the agents were new backup, which meant they had more strength and energy, but she wasn’t going to let them get the best of her. 

           At the back of her mind, Y/N heard everyone chiming in as to where they were, how many people were after them if they needed backup, but mostly Y/N heard Bucky’s calls that he was coming to get her, even though she hadn’t requested help, she was too busy dodging bullets and knives to even respond. 

           She was human, she needed help, she wanted help, but then something odd occurred to her – most, from what she’d heard through the comms, were fighting maybe four to five people at a time, with the exception of Wanda, Tony, Thor and Hulk who had tanks and cars going after them, while Y/N had a group of twenty to twenty-five people to manage.

           It was an ambush, it dawned on her.

           She wanted to scream at herself ‘No shit, the whole thing is an ambush’, but it was an ambush of Y/N specifically, which was odd given how she was pretty much one of the few who had no direct ties to HYDRA, but that one moment of confusion was enough for someone to land a slice to the side where her own suit had a hole in it. 

           “Oh, we don’t want you,” a voice went through her comms that she didn’t recognise. It was muffled as if someone was whispering through someone else’s mic. “But we’ll hurt you more than ever.”

           An unsettling quiet settled around before she clearly recognised Bucky breathing out a ‘no’ and then a panicked ‘Y/N!’ rip through his throat. Her head whipped to see one of the most frightening sights of her life that will forever be ingrained in her mind.

           Bucky was laying on the ground, completely paralysed without the ability to even flex a muscle, blue eyes turned towards her in terror and helplessness as he watched while nine more agents stormed towards her.

           She was capable, of course. He’d even experienced how capable the girl was on his own skin, and it had left his super-soldier skin bruised and battered for a few days. But right now, she was tired, she had zero ammo left, all of her knives were embedded in the heads or chests of other assailants and somewhere along the way her sword had snapped in half, leaving her with a jagged piece of steel, which was also protruding out from someone’s chest. Y/N had nothing, but her punches and kicks left. And even she knew there was no way she’d last long enough to get back to the jet in one piece.

           So, gathering whatever strength remained in her body, Y/N retaliated on last time. She heard people shouting that they were coming for her, and for a moment she truly believed so when a red ball of magic hit a group of seven agents knocking them down, but when Y/N’s eyes flitted to where it’d come from, she saw the agents subdue Wanda, as they'd somehow managed to put an electroshock collar around her neck. She fell to her knees gasping in pain.

           All of it, Y/N realised, every single thing that had happened had been a distraction. They’d split them apart, and the Avengers had most likely helped HYDRA accomplish their goal when the bomb went off. 

           For a moment she wondered why’d they’d want to take her, why not take their ‘weapons’ back, but just as quickly came the realisation of their words.

           Someone grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down. 

           Y/N saw stars behind her eyelids, and her teeth clanked together. She was lucky her tongue hadn’t been between them. 

           Bucky screamed as if someone was ripping his heart from his chest.

           A gun hit her on the head.

           And then everything went black.

***

                      Bucky was going insane. He’d trade having his brain being put through the meatgrinder for seventy years once again if that meant Y/N was back with him, but the empty space in his bed, the unused shampoo and conditioner bottles, the dirty cup in the sink told him otherwise. She was gone, and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

           For two weeks he was basically a zombie, barely eating and functioning, spending most of his time by the interrogation room’s computer, following up on dead-end leads and any breadcrumb he could find, yet every single time he thought he’d gotten something as if life was mocking him, it turned into dust, just like his hope slowly was. 

           There was pretty much no one else but him, Sam and Wanda left in the tower, as the rest had split off into teams to go and search every left-over HYDRA base in the world. The only reason he wasn’t out there was because Steve had benched him.

“You’re compromised,” he’d said. Bucky couldn’t say he wasn’t.

Sam had stayed behind because during his last raid he’d gotten hit by some gas, rendering him pretty much useless for half a week, and no one felt comfortable enough to ask him to put his life on the line before a full recovery.

And Wanda… well, Wanda wasn’t taking the whole thing too great either, but she was still functioning, so she was just waiting for the jet to come in and fly her out to Serbia with Vision for a potential lead on Y/N.

Defeated for the night, he grabbed the coffee cup that once had been filled and trudged his way to the kitchen area. God, fucking hell, how much did it hurt to even breathe. 

           Just as he was about to pour himself another cup of the burning black liquid, all of his senses went haywire, and he spun around to look at the hallway of the living room. He instantly recognised the shadow standing in the middle of it, how the shape curved and sloped in such a familiar way. How could he not, when that shadow belonged to the woman, he intended to spend the rest of his life with, when his hands had memorised each and every way she was formed.

           “Dollface?” his voice cracked at the end, but when she entered the light, instead of warmth filling his heart at the relief of her being back, ice-cold fear rushed through him at the sight of the black muzzle across her nose and mouth, not to even mention the HYDRA symbol in the middle of the chest of her tactical suit. 

           The first shot rang out right after he blinked, giving him barely enough time to dodge it, but Y/N was already on the move rushing towards him and kicking her leg out so that her knee would connect with Bucky’s chin. 

           A sickening crunch echoed through the room, as his head met the marble floor, bright lights flashing behind his eyes. He could even feel his teeth vibrate from the impact. It was this second which he used to somewhat regain a sense of place, that Y/N used to straddle him down, hand going behind her back to pull out a gun, but Bucky knew her. He knew her moves and how she left her left side open.

           When his forehead connected to Y/N’s nose, he almost vomited at the feeling of bone-crunching against his skin, but it gave him enough time to deliver a blow to her side, disarming her before grabbing her bicep and pulling her arm behind her back, his own metal appendage wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her flush against him. 

           “Come on, sweetheart!” he was pleading, but his grip unyielding to her struggles. “Fight this. I know you can.”

           But to his horror, HYDRA had dug their nails into her mind deeper than he ever thought was possible, as she smashed the back of her head against his nose once more, red blood spilling everywhere.

           He staggered back, palm cradling his face, but he still had one free to block the fist that was coming in his direction. This caught her off guard for a millisecond, but not long enough for Bucky to do anything, as she smashed her foot against his knee, bringing him down, yet he’d expected it, using the position to his advantage and grabbing Y/N behind the legs, yanking her towards him, and making her back hit hard against the floor, dizzying and knocking the air out of the woman.

           It took him three seconds to slide over to the gun she’d discarded and to stand up, and it took three seconds for her to flip herself up and aim the gun that’d still been strapped to her thigh.

           Both of them were shaking, but both for different reasons. Bucky was shaking because he was making the love of his life look down the barrel of a gun, while she was shaking because the only thought on her mind was about if she didn’t finish the mission, the consequences would be more horrible than anything HYDRA had done to her before.

           “I don’t want to hurt you! Please snap out of it!” he hollered but didn’t lower his weapon. It went against all of his instincts to be in that position, even when the two sparred, Bucky, to Y/N’s annoyance who was hoping for a real fight, pulled his punches. It was unnatural for him to even consider harming her.

           She cocked her gun, didn’t even hesitate. 

           “Sorry, can’t do that. You’re my mission.”

           Bucky took in one last breath.

           It hitched in his throat.

           He blinked away the tears pooling at his bottom lashes.

He’d never pull the trigger. 

           She steadied her aim.

           Bucky closed his eyes.

           But the bullet never came. At least not for him.

The yelp of pain made him open his eyes just to see Y/N’s body jerk to the side and drop to her knee, hand clutching at her shoulder, with Sam behind her, his own gun aimed at her with a little stream of smoke coming out of the barrel. 

Yet the second her shock passed Y/N swiftly turned to Sam, gun in her usable palm when her body seized up, and she fell to the ground unconscious. 

           Bucky was panting, as he looked to see Redwing, two blue lights on each side dying out, as it deactivated the tasers. It took him a second to realize what had happened, but then he was by Y/N’s side, pulling her body up to cradle against his own.

           “What the hell, Sam?!” Bucky yelled, hovering his left hand over Y/N’s mouth. When the metal fogged over, his whole frame literally shuddered in relief, as he went on to the next job – stopping the bleeding before her breathing stopped.

           “She was gonna put a bullet between your eyes!”

           “You didn’t have to shoot her!”

           “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam mocked, dropping to his knees and shredding apart a kitchen towel to press against the wound. “Would you have rather had your brains splattered against the floor?”

           “You had Redwing taser her! That was enough!”

           “If I hadn’t shot her, Redwing wouldn’t have been able to taser her.”

           He hated the fact wounding Y/N had been a necessary step in subduing her. No, Bucky told himself, not her. Not his Y/N, but whoever HYDRA had placed in her mind.

           As gently as possible, he scooped up her body and with Sam in tow made his way to the med bay.

           F.R.I.D.A.Y had alerted the medical staff of the situation, so they were ready when Bucky came in. Instantly two nurses took his girl from his arms and laid her down on a gurney, Helen Cho stepping up with surgical gloves.

           “A through and through in the shoulder,” she remarked more for the medical records than anyone else. “She’ll have a few painful weeks of recovery, but nothing fatal.”

           Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but still, he didn’t let anyone touch Y/N without him being beside her. As Helen patched up her shoulder and strapped her down on the cell bed, he was still there beside her, both hands clutching onto her palm, not moving an inch away.

           A little while after Helen had left, he felt a presence hovering behind him, and Sam stepped into the room, leaning against the wall, brown eyes looking over Y/N.

           “How is she?”

           Bucky sighed, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. They were cracked and on the verge of bleeding despite the regenerative cream, Dr Cho had applied. “Asleep,” he mumbled. “So that’s better, I guess. Gives her time to heal.”

           He heard Sam shuffle around a bit, and then he entered Bucky’s peripheral as he sat down on a chair next to the bed.“It took them thirty years to break you, yet it took them two weeks to break her…” Sam said biting on his lip, and the statement made anger course through Bucky’s veins.

           “Are you seriously calling her fucking weak?” He snapped looking at his fellow Avenger. “You have no idea what kind of torture they pu-“

           “I’m not calling her weak,” Sam interrupted. “Y/N is one of the strongest people out there. What I’m saying is – back then it took them years to break a person… now it took them barely fourteen days… what else have they ‘improved’ on?”

           The thought of Y/N having her mind ripped apart and then put back together as if she was some ragdoll made bile rise in Bucky’s throat, and it didn’t settle when he thought of how far that horrid machine had come since he’d been in one. 

           But as much as Bucky wanted revenge, as much as he wanted to destroy HYDRA, to make sure what happened to Y/N never happens again to anyone else, let alone if what Sam implied was true, he couldn’t leave her, not when she would need a familiar face the most. 

           He gulped, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her hand to steady himself. Just the thought of her in all that pain made him go to the edge of breaking apart. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she?” If there was one thing Bucky appreciated from Sam it was his honesty.

           “In the long run most likely. You’d be the proof of that…” Sam sighed. “But first, we gotta make sure she doesn’t shut people out.”

           But that was most definitely easier said than done, given how the second Y/N woke up, which was about a day later after being knocked-out cold when she realised what had happened, it was not like a wall had magically appeared between her and anyone from the team, but a fucking fortress surrounded by an impenetrable mountainous barrier, and she was the only citizen in that mind castle. And Bucky was the first one behind the door.

           It broke his heart to see Y/N pretty much shut down. She refused to eat, barely drank the water provided, and couldn’t sleep one bit, yet what hurt most was she absolutely rejected even the thought of going back to their shared room, and instead stayed in her barren cell, white walls, with a thin blanket and a paper-like pillow. It got so bad they had to put her on an IV drip so she wouldn’t waste away. But it didn’t matter to her. She was like a ragdoll.

           It was about five days later when she said her first words. Y/N had her head in her hands, matted Y/H/C strands spilling between her fingers, as her nails dug deeper into her skull. That’s the position she’d been sitting in for the past five hours, not even bothering to lift her eyes as a paper plate with a meal, a single plastic spoon next to it and a paper cup of water was slid through the opening at the bottom of her cell door. She wasn’t hungry anyway. In fact, what she really wanted was to disappear from the surface of the earth, for the ground to open and be swallowed by molten lava or have a sharknado crash in and get eaten by a great white.

           “How’re you feeling?” Sam asked arms crossed as he leaned against the entrance to the door. He’d been asking that since the first time she opened her eyes, but never received a response, so when the scoff she let out was almost inaudible, but he still picked up on it, he straightened out. “Just peachy,” Y/N mumbled. “Absolutely fantastic. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

           “Y/N…”

           He really didn’t have anything to say. I mean what could you possibly say… but he had to at least try, given how miserable Bucky was. He’d heard him sob so loud through two closed doors and a running shower, that he had to do something.

           Sam swallowed hard before entering the room and cautiously, keeping as much space as possible between the two, sat down next to Y/N. He wasn’t afraid of her. He could never be. But he knew she needed to let him closer on her own terms. “You can’t keep going like this. You can’t keep everything in. If you don’t wanna talk to the shrink, it’s fine, but at least talk to someone else…”

           “I am talking to you.”

           “Yes, but you know who I mean.”

“How am I supposed to even look at him?” Her head shot up, and tears threatened to spill down her face. “How am I supposed to talk to him? To touch him, knowing I almost killed him.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“But it was!” The words were a hiss. “It was me. I understood everything I was doing, I knew who he was, I knew what we were to one another, yet…” she choked in the middle of the sentence, not wanting to say the truth. “I wasn’t going to hesitate. I was going to kill him. If you hadn’t gotten involved, one more second and Bucky would’ve been dead. Because of me.”

“HYDRA messed with your brain,” Sam stated. “I know that everyone knows that and Bucky most of all. Why do you think he couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“No, because he’s been in the exact same situation.”

She bit her lip. All her brain was doing was screaming that Sam was right, to listen to him, he knew what he was talking about, but the guilt, the absolutely corrosive horror at herself for what she was going to do wouldn’t let common sense come through. “I just.” Y/N choked and then cleared her throat. “Just tell him I don’t want to see him. I – I can’t see him.”

Sam did know heartbreak. He’d felt it when his first girlfriend had broken up with him, he’d felt it in the army when his friends lost limbs and lives, and now he felt it looking at two of the people he’d grown closest to struggle to find one another and themselves.

He cleared his throat standing up and wiping hind palms down his thighs. “Wanda is also – “

But Y/N didn’t let him finish the sentence. “No.” She shook her head. “No one. Please.” She tucked her face against her knees. “I just wanna be alone.”

And so he left her alone. In fact, everyone did so. 

For a whole month, the usually lively tower was a glass structure of sombre and pain. Everyone was hurting. Wanda had retreated to her room, sitcoms on the rerun, Vision always by her side as she tried to manage the sadness of one of her dearest friends going through such a tough time and the guilt of not being able to help Y/N, to save her from that pain. Nat and Clint along with Tony had locked themselves in one of the lower levels of the tower analysing the data she’d gathered. They needed to occupy themselves with something, otherwise, they’d be overcome by their own thoughts and they were too dark to manage at that moment. Bruce and Thor had relegated themselves to the lab doing experiment after experiment, trying to find out how HYDRA had managed to do such damage to Y/N. 

Steve, however… Steve was doing quite bad. He felt probably the most amount of guilt than the rest of his teammates. He’d taken up the role of the leader, he was supposed to make sure everyone stayed safe. Yes, they were the most skilled people in the world, but they trusted him to make the best calls. And him not having taken into account a blitz attack from HYDRA after their blitz attack had broken two of his friends because Bucky was doing just as bad as Y/N, if not even worse.

He wouldn’t sleep, he couldn’t; Steve heard his cries each night until, at twelve of one AM, they’d cease, and he’d make his way to the cells. Steve had told Y/N a week after she’d been brought back that there was no reason for her to stay in there. She’d just sat on the bed, arms around her knees and staring at the wall. She didn’t go back to her room. 

But each night Bucky would sit by the glass doors and look at the frame of the love of his life, curled underneath a white duvet, a single pillow underneath her head (Y/N loved pillows, she couldn’t sleep without at least four of them) body in a foetal position. She looked so broken. She was. And because of that, so was he.

It was about three AM at night, when his routine was shaken up by none other than Y/N. Typically she’d sleep through the night not even stirring, slipping into the cot at nine PM and then waking up at six AM when Helen came in to switch her IV. She was eating now, but still too little for it to be enough. 

However, that night she was stirred awake by the feeling of someone watching her, not the camera that was always on but by human eyes.

That was the first time she’d seen Bucky since having woken up and regaining control of her body.

Her breath hitched when their eyes met, and his whole body straightened out. Y/N remained under the covers, while Bucky sat by the doors still. His palm pressed against the glass.

“Hi, doll.”

Two words, but that was enough for the dam to break. Tears spilt down her face, and without a second to spare Bucky had rushed inside and laid down next to her, strong arms weaving around her shaking body, as his own pain merged with hers.

All Y/N could manage to say was ‘I’m so sorry,' and it became a mantra she repeated in Bucky’s chest, hoping that somehow the words would find their way and settle beneath his skin so he could understand with his whole being how much she meant them. 

           “Please.” He was close to sobbing by that point, hand moving to cup her cheek. “Please let me help.”

“I can’t, Bucky! I can’t!” Y/N was close to complete hysterics by this point. “Every time I even think about you, I remember the emptiness, the absolute numbness that was in me, when I pointed a gun at your face, and I meant to kill you! I was going to pull the trigger, if not for Sam… So,” she gulped looking down at the ground, at their feet. “Tell me how the hell am I supposed to let you anywhere near me when I’m terrified of myself.”

           The grip he had on her face, was tight, strong and sure. “Because it wasn’t you. I know what it’s like to have your brain scrambled around and rearranged with false truths and present them as real… but the thing is – they’re not. And you taught me that. You were the one who made me realise it, dollface. Now let me do the same for you.”

           “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror because every time I do, I see that – that monster staring back at me.”

           “Reflections are deceiving,” Bucky whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “Mirrors can’t and will never show the truth. It’s a twisted, flipped and made-up version of us, and we can’t allow ourselves to believe it. It’s not us.”

           And despite the pain, despite the guilt and anxiousness, Y/N chuckled, letting out a small sound of happiness for the first time in a while. “When did you get so wise, Gandalf?”

           She could feel the relief that flooded Bucky’s body slowly seep into her own. “Well, re-reading ‘The Hobbit’ helped… but more so you. You taught me that. You made me realise the man that haunts my nightmares might have my face, but it’s not me. He’s not me and I’m not him.”

           “Will you…” Her voice shook as she said the words as if there was a possibility, he could say no. “Will you help me?”

           “You never, ever have to ask for help. I’m always here for you. Whatever you need, I’m always here. I’m so sorry, so sorry you had to go through that.”

           And for the first time in six weeks did Bucky get to hug Y/N. Feeling her body melt into his almost made him have a breakdown of his own, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and grabbed onto him like her life depended on the tightness of her grip.

           Six weeks, almost two months without Y/N in every imaginable way had almost broken Bucky to a point of no return. Had they gone longer periods of time without seeing one another? Sure, but this was different. When the person you love is right there, but more unreachable than when they’re thousands of miles away, that’s a different kind of pain. 

           She didn’t release her grip form him, as Bucky shifted and sat up, her legs moving to lace around his waist on instinct. With one hand underneath her thighs the other going to take off the IV bag from the stand, he stood up and moved through the tower, finally retreating to his room, where he took off a photo frame from the wall and hung up the medical supply while gently laying Y/N down between his sheets.

           She’d been in that position many times before in different states of undress, in different emotional states as well, but not once had she been alone there. And neither would she be alone now. 

           It was the first night Bucky slept without waking up, and when he did Y/N’s head was resting on his chest. He held her a bit tighter then.

***

           The road to recovery was slow. 

           It started with her spending her days and nights in Bucky’s room, no longer isolating herself from him. It turned to late-night talks where they just chatted about miscellaneous things, and if she felt comfortable enough, then about every heavy thing pressing on her heart. Then she ventured off to her own room, and once evening slipped inside the room of who was her neighbour. She slept next to Wanda that night.

           The next night, she and Wanda sneaked inside Nat’s bedroom, and just hung out a bit, painting their nails. When Y/N went to sleep next to Bucky, she felt as light as the light-yellow colour adorning her fingers.

           On the morning of the eleventh day of her recovery, she woke up earlier and made everyone breakfast, putting some extra chocolate chips in Sam’s pancakes. He deserved it for all the trouble he’d gone through. The smile on his lips and the kiss on her head from him meant more than any thank you he could say. 

           But it was about a month down the line, after evenings where she’d joined in on the movie nights and had discussed the gathered intelligence from other missions as well as the tactics agents should employ when Y/N took her biggest step yet.

           Bucky was laying on his bed ‘The Two Towers’ between his fingers, the metal appendage flipping the pages as gently as if they were made from butterfly wings, when Y/N came out of the bathroom, hair wet and dripping onto her nightshirt. Well, it was actually one of Bucky’s shirts, but at this point, every piece of clothing he owned belonged to her as well. Besides, in his humble opinion, she wore them better than he ever could. 

           “Buck?”

           “Yeah?” he hummed, flipping to another page.

           “Buck I – “ she took in a breath. “I want to have sex.”

           “What? Ow!” The book had slipped from his hands and the edge hit his eyebrow, making Y/N hiss, and instantly come over to try and soothe the hurt part.

           “I mean – “ Bucky stuttered much like his heart. “I’d love to. Gosh, dollface, you know I’d do anything you ever wanted me. Tell me to spend forever between your legs, and I will, but… Please don’t feel like we have to. You’re still healing, and –“

           “I want to,” Y/N was quick to quench his doubt, running a gentle finger over his brow. “I do. I – I need to feel you. I need to feel… I need to feel whole, and I haven’t in so long.”

           His hand cupped her cheek. “You are whole. You don’t need me to complete you. You don’t need anyone to complete you.”

           “I –“ She huffed, struggling to form the thought running through her brain into words. “I – I know that. At least I think so. But… but there is this part inside me, I can’t seem to heal myself, this crack that no matter how hard I try to mend just won’t do. And that’s because that part can only be filled by love. And yours is the strongest one I have in my life.”

           A tear slipped down his cheek. “Oh, doll…”

           Her legs slowly shifted so they were straddling him as Bucky leaned up in a sitting position, palms dropping to her hips and sliding underneath her PJs to touch the soft skin of her back.

           His nose skimmed against hers, and Y/N sighed at the feeling. She’d slept like that – nose to nose curled up next to Bucky – for close to a month and a half now, but the anticipation of the kiss turned her into a bundle of nerves. 

           “One word,” he breathed against her skin, pressing a kiss to her collarbone before looking deeply into her eyes. “One word and we stop.”

           And even though she wanted to say there was no doubt in her mind about doing it, she nodded. He needed the reassurance just as much as she did that if something happened, he’d be there for her.

           When Bucky’s lips met hers, it was just like the first kiss they’d shared. A bit tentative, unsure, yet filled with so much restrained passion and pure love it was overwhelming, and Y/N’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

           “Darling, let’s just not do this,” Bucky said noticing the clear pearls dripping down her cheeks, but she shook her head.

           “I just missed you so much. I missed letting you love me.”

           “Well, it’s a good thing people don’t need permission to love. I never stopped. I can’t imagine ever not loving you.”

           His mouth was on hers once again. Bucky let Y/N lead the whole time. He didn’t deny himself from exploring her body, from feeling every crook, dip, and crevice of her form, but she was always in control.

           When her shirt dropped to the floor, she was the one who started lifting it up.

           When she laid down to pull Bucky on top, she was the one who flipped them over and pulled him on top.

           Her hands skimmed the band of his boxers, and Bucky unconsciously ground against Y/N’s clothed core at the feeling, both letting out moans of relief at the friction.

           “Can you take ‘em off?” she breathed, as Bucky left beautiful marks on her neck and chest so they could bloom through the night and could be greeted by them in the morning. 

           “You sure?”

           She nodded. “Please.”

           They did it together. Y/N linked her fingers behind the fabric and pulled it down his legs while he shimmied out from the boxers and kicked it to the floor. 

           “Can I take yours off?”

           As sure as she was about everything that was going on, there was still some hesitancy in her body, and he immediately sensed it, pulling a little bit away. “Y/N…”

           When her hands went to wrap around his wrists where they rested against her hips, horror washed over Bucky like a cold shower. “Did they…?”

           “No!” Y/N was immediate to answer. “No, they didn’t… but… they said after they were done with me after they turned me into their puppet… after they’d make me hurt you, you’d never want to touch me. That, in your last moments, you’d only have hate in your heart for me, and I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

           He gently put a finger underneath her chin and lifted her head. “Even when I was staring down that barrel, all I could think about was how much I love you. How I’d give my life for you even if you were the one taking it. I could never hate you.”

           A violent sob ripped through her chest. “I don’t deserve you.”

           “You deserve the world, and I’ll try to give as much of it to you as I can.”

           She couldn’t take much more of his confessions because Y/N’s chest was already as full as it could be of love, so instead, she pulled Bucky back down for a passion-filled kiss, while shimmying out from her own underwear.

           “Condom?”

           “No,” Y/N shook her head. “Not this time. Need to feel you as you are.”

           “You sure?”

           She nodded. “Helen put me back on the pill about a month ago.”

           Bucky shuddered, nodding. “Alright. Okay. But I need to make sure I don’t hurt you first.”

           Y/N was about to say he could never hurt her, when two of his fingers slipped along her folds, cutting her words off in favour of the groan of pleasure.

           “Gotta take care of my girl the right way.”

           A moan seeped into Bucky’s skin when he pushed a cold metal digit into her tight entrance. His arm had the added feature to feel things if he wanted or switch it off when he didn’t want to, which was a nice thing, especially during missions (he’d forgotten to do so one time and when a bullet bounced off, it wasn’t like a bee bumping against glass, hot pain had rippled through his whole arm, so it was a good idea on Shuri’s part), but this time it was on, and the absolutely exquisite pressure and warmth that squeezed around his digits was enough to make him grind against the mattress to alleviate his own growing pressure.

           “Bucky, please,” Y/N practically mewled, eyes screwed shut, nails digging into his skin, making him groan in pleasure. He’d forgotten how delicious the sounds were and how close to the edge just the feeling of her nails marking half-moons into his back could bring him. 

           “Fuck,” he swore leaning up to kiss her once more, while he increased the speed of which his fingers were going in and out of her, while his thumb rubbed circles around her clit, and when he hotly breathed against her neck to ‘soak him all down to his elbows’ Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she arched up from the bed as an orgasm shattered her world.

           Gently he coaxed her through the orgasm while muttering praises against her mouth.

           “You’re so beautiful,” Bucky sighed leaning to rest on his elbows. “So fucking gorgeous.”

           Y/N smiled, stroking his cheek. “You’re beautiful too, Bucky. More than you’ll ever know or will let yourself believe me.”

           The crooked smirk which he threw her reminded the one from Steve’s tales of him and his skirt-chasing days. “Guess you’ll have to convince me.”

           “With pleasure.”

           Her hand snaked down to where he’d been running the tip of his cock between her folds, before gently pressing him down so he could easily slide inside. When he was sheeted a moan of satisfaction came from both of them.

           It was like homecoming. Like curling up in a warm bed on a cold winter’s night. It was just right.

           “God, I could stay like this forever.” Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

           “We have forever and then some.”

           A look she could not figure out crossed his face. It was like absolute joy mixed with fear and terror. “You promise?”

           Y/N kissed him, trying to pour all of her love into the single act. “With everything I have in me.”

           He took that as the cue that he could move and experimentally rolled his hips towards hers. Bit by bit he picked up the pace, breaths turning into pants broken up by moans, sweat beading along his skin, a small burn appearing in his knees, but even that discomfort couldn’t overshadow the heavenly pleasure rippling through his veins.

           She’d always been the epitome of beauty and love, that’s how completely Bucky had fallen for her, and he could only hope he was the same for her. 

           “Bucky,” she choked out. “So close.”

           “Yeah?” His vision was starting to go white at the edges.

           “Mhm – ohh!” The confirmation turned into a squeal when he hit just that right spot, he concentrated all his thrusts to match it, and soon enough both of them were falling over the edge, clinging onto the other as if they were the last lifeline that existed for them.

           “Hey,” Bucky cooed, opening his eyes and seeing how furrowed Y/N’s brow was, how hard she was fighting to resurface. “Come back to me. Come back, doll.”

           Slowly, Y/N’s breathing evened out, her trembling became small shudders from the aftershock of the pleasure, and her lids fluttered, gaze meeting his.

           She’d come back.

           She’d always come back to her home.

           To Bucky.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane​ @its-nott-my-problem @emmalbg @hopeinahotbox

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​

A/N: My Bucky boiiiii! I’m back! hope y’all like this rollercoaster :)

P.S. if you see yourself on my tag list and you’re crossed out means the tag didn’t work. if you still wanna be on the tag list please message me your new url and what was your old one so I can change it (if it’s not the change of the url then I genuinely dunno what could be the problem)

P.S.S. my tags are always open. 

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms without specific written permission and don’t plagiarise them 

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x y/n #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #winter solider imagine #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider x reader #winter solider x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #wandavision #marvel #marvel imagine #Marvel Studios #imagine marvel #marvel endgame #Avengers #The Avengers #avengers fanfiction

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

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#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

[star-consultant]

Bright are the stars

You need a Beatle song that perfectly encapsulates your sign? Of course you do. (Spotify playlist) 

Aries—“I Saw Her Standing There” 

One two three FOUR! An eager and intense song for an eager and intense sign. Aries falls hard and fast, with a tendency to rash vows that everyone doubts they mean—but Aries doesn’t doubt. Paul (who later styled himself as a "ram” at a key point in his creative development) makes good on the Cardinal Fire vibe with his exuberant vocals, and John of the Aries rising contributed the street-smart innuendo that utterly makes the song: And you know what I mean. Fittingly, this song kicked off the group’s first album, which itself has plenty of Aries “HELLO I AM HERE TO MAKE A MARK ON YOUR WORLD! (like me plz ok? this is my heart and i am Doing My Best??)” energy. 

Taurus—“All I’ve Got to Do"

A song that takes its sweet time but burrows deeper than the average ear-worm into your consciousness. It’s a patient song that is unassuming but knows exactly what the hell it’s doing. The intensity builds bit by bit, so that you’re unaware when the power of the bridge comes crashing down. Describes the Taurean romantic ideal: lazy, loyal, cozy, constant, tender, and ever-so-true. Also, “All I’ve Got to Do” is featured on the second album, With the Beatles, which has plenty of other Bullish touches, noticeable even with a casual glance at the tracklist: “Don’t Bother Me,” “Not a Second Time,” and “Money (That’s What I Want).” 

Gemini—“She Loves You”

Paul is a Gemini Sun, and throughout his catalogue it shows. But perhaps he never topped the Twinniness of this energetic, optimistic, breathless, gossipy classic. It was composed “eye-to-eye” with John, a truly dual-authored song, and one the rare Beatles numbers where the two lead vocalists double up on every single line, in true (Nerk) Twin fashion. Also the first but definitely not the last of their many “third-person narratives,” Paul’s novelistic instead of confessional slant being distinctly a Gemini thing. The speaker in this one couldn’t be more enthusiastic about this relationship if it were already repaired, and he couldn’t be more enthusiastic about it if it were his. Love is great! People reconciling is great! You should be glad, dumbass! But the real corker? What makes this so Gemini that it hurts? Yoko has confirmed that in the early 70s, during her separation with John, she actually had Paul play agony aunt. Then, during that meetup in L.A. where they were last photographed together, Paul urged John to “apologize to her” and get back together... which he did. That’s right. "She Loves You” is not merely a Gemini’s song: it’s a Gemini’s life. 

Cancer—“Octopus’s Garden”

Ringo the Crab’s musically-complex fantasy about an underwater sanctuary where children are “happy and safe,” he and his lover can be together, and there’s “no one there to tell us what to do.” George (a triple Water sign himself, probably not-so-incidentally) always insisted that his best mate’s song Had Depths, and he himself supplied a lot of them: check out his lead guitar lines. They function as emotional counterpoint. When Ringo’s vocal line is especially wistful, the guitar is bright; when Ringo ends on a confident note, the guitar is quirky, ironic, even stiff-upper-lip pessimistic. Result: a shifting kaleidoscope of FEELS. The Moon approves. 

Leo—“Good Day Sunshine” 

Paul perfectly expresses his own Leo moon with a sublime, vibrant ode to laughter, love, and pride on a cloudless summer day. The bit in the lyrics about she knows she’s looking fine and I’m so proud to know that she is mine? That’s not marring the high tone of the song: that is part of the tone. Hear us roar! And by “roar” I mean "laugh and canoodle, coz Leo is about living the good life, bitches.” 

Virgo—“Please Please Me” 

What’s fair is forkin’ fair, mate! A exemplary blend of Virgo’s Mutable passive-aggressive sensitivity with its Elemental directness... half-critical, half-begging... plus the very sign-typical humblebragging. About their sexual prowess. Damn, Virgo. People forget how Earthy you really are sometimes. But here we are. In very Virgo fashion, instead of ditching the girl he’s decided to harangue her. On a more meta note, the Beatles were still studio virgins when they first began crafting this song, and it took several passes and incorporation of George Martin’s feedback before it became the bursting pop hit as we know it now. There’s that Virgo work ethic paying off.

Libra—“Strawberry Fields Forever”

The imagery of the title suggests an eternal harvest. But the star sign resemblance goes deeper than that: Always, no, sometimes think it’s me, but, you know, I know when it’s a dream. I think, er, no, I mean, er, yes, but it’s all wrong... that is, I think I disagree. Did you just hear your Libra roommate rambling after a joint, or did you listen to verse three of “Strawberry Fields”? Same difference. The song is absolutely lovely, as anything associated with the child of Venus should be, and innovative, as befits a Cardinal sign. Most of all, even in all of Libra Sun John’s weighing and weed-wandering, he knows one thing: he’s got to take someone else along with him. A companion, stat! 

Scorpio—“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”

George of the Scorpio moon and Scorpio ascendant had to really lean into this side of his nature to even get this damn track properly recorded. He resorted to the social power play of inviting Eric frickin’ Clapton into the tense post-India studio just to get Lennon, McCartney, and Martin to give his song proper Beatle recording magic. Which it deserved. The dark drama of the hard-won arrangement is the perfect Scorpio accompaniment to the moody, reflective lyrics about “all the love there that’s sleeping” in this weary world. There’s tender, horrified pity here for those who are stifled into inauthenticity: I don’t know how nobody told you how to unfold your love. I don’t know how someone controlled you; they bought and sold you... Bonus points for the Watery ‘just can’t even’-ness of not being able to so much as pick up a damn broom. 

Sagittarius—“Something” 

You’re asking me, will my love grow? I don’t know, I don’t know! A deeply instinctual lover knows that Cupid has done hit a bullseye. He remains emphatically ambivalent about the future, but he knows what he feels in this moment, and in that moment is romance and wonder that is as deep as the earth is from the heavens. Sags are intense, but of all the Fire signs they are most far-seeing and detached (due to their Mutable quality, which makes them see the world a bit more like an Air sign does). “Something” keeps trying to capture that je-ne-sais-quoi, and despite the speaker’s happiness he can’t help but circle back again and again to take another shot at that the mental target. A philosopher even when in love. Ultimately, however, he doesn’t want to leave her now... which for a restless Sag is already saying a ton.

Capricorn—“Revolution”

John let his unfashionable midheaven Capricorn off the leash with this blunt, pointed savaging of radical and violent revolutions. (Given the tanks on Tiananmen Square and the millions dead on the killing fields of Cambodia, I can’t say that his cautionary note about “destruction” and “minds that hate” was unnecessary.) Few things are more Capricorn than ‘Oh, you want my money? Yeah, first show me that you’ve done your fucking homework, mate.’ Bonus Earth points for the fact that he somehow worked sex—a lot of sex—into this political track. 

Aquarius—“Come Together”

John of the Aquarius moon’s decidedly loony attempt to write a political campaign song in order to stop Reagan. (The result was too weird for Timothy Leary, whose reaction was pretty much ‘wtf? I don’t think even I have enough residual acid in my system for this one... ’) John invokes the ideal of collaboration, but his call to solidarity is built around fantastical lyrics that no one can comprehend: He wear no shoeshine, he got/Toejam football, he got/Monkey finger, he shoot/Coca-Cola, he say/I know you, you know me... Oh, right. The lyrics contain exactly one discernible message: One thing I can tell you is you got to be free. How Aqua. Also in true collaborative Water-Bearer fashion, the arrangement really makes the song (special mention to the tight, tight work of the rhythm section). Bizarre genius that attracts a true team effort—it doesn’t get much more Aquarius than that.

Pisces— “I Want to Tell You”

The wall of sound builds up thickly enough that soon the words seem to be traveling through the sea to reach you: I want to tell you my head is filled with things to say... But when you’re here, all those words, they seem to slip away. A gorgeously, emotionally tongue-tied song... about being tongue-tied. Written by George, a Pisces Sun, this absolute mystery of a lyric is all emotion and no logic. If he seems to act unkind, it’s only him, it’s not his mind. Okay, Fishboy. Good thing the track is compellingly lovely and utterly relatable. Which suits the Pisces life exactly: ‘I don’t know what I mean, but it’s exceedingly beautiful and I want you to share it with you very, very much.’ 

#zodiac #beatles

[mypimpademia]

Worth It.

Shinso x reader

TW: Swearing, reader steals a man, pure bad bitchery

Note: this concept has been in my head for literal MONTHS and now I'm finally writing it bc i had no idea how to before (i still dont know how to write it as I'm writing this, I'm bouta wing it like a mf)

I made Intelli the mean girl for this fic bc she a bitch fr

A college AU but its hardly relevant + a lil smau

Towards the end of writing this, I started hating it. I'm so sorry😭

I recommend this song too bc this is where the idea for this fic came from:

This was getting annoying to watch.

How long was Hitoshi planning to stay miserable with that girl?

Intelli and Hitoshi have been dating for awhile now. You had honestly never liked her, but you just barely tolerated her for Hitoshi. But only a few weeks into their relationship, things went to shit.

Intelli became overly controlling over him, and even tried to force him to stop being friends with you, and some other people. You, being his best friend, told him to break up with her.

Of course, Hitoshi agreed that it'd be best to do that. But not even a few hours after talking to him about it, he came back to say it didn't go as planned.

Intelli was holding blackmail over Hitoshi's head, and posed a huge threat to his dreams of becoming a hero. Most of what she said she'd expose was no where near true, but with her intellect she could easily make people believe it.

But frankly, as their relationship went on, the sight of even a strand of her hair made you want to either puke or fight her.

"Toshi~" Intelli cooed, coming up behind Hitoshi and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Hitoshi visibly cringed, but tried to hide it as best as he could.

"Hey, babe." He boredly muttered, doing a terrible job at faking any enthusiasm.

Unlike your best friend, you made no effort to hide the disgust you held for her sheer presence.

"Y/n..." Intelli muttered, her tone dripping with distaste for you, making you scoff. "Mind if I steal Toshi for a bit? No? Thanks-" She attempted to drag Hitoshi away by the arm, but you placed a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"I do mind actually, we were in the middle of a conversation before you interrupted." You told her. She chuckled, before tugging on Hitoshi's arm more.

"Yes, but he's my boyfriend-" She attempted to give reason for her to take him away, before even Hitoshi stopped her.

"I've got a project I need Y/n to help me on, I can stop by your dorm later though?" Hitoshi suggested, lying through his teeth.

Intelli's eyebrow twitched, but she gave in, letting go of his arm. "Bye, Toshi." She said, kissing Hitoshi's cheek and looking you up and down, before walking off.

"Sometimes, I can't tell if she's just plain a bitch or if she's secretly a dumbass." You sighed. "Maybe she's a little bit of both..." Hitoshi chuckled, making you laugh with him.

"You really need to find someone new." You told him, shaking your head. "I know, but I'd rather not chance losing my dream career." He groaned.

"True... Whats your type anyways? I know its not Intell anymore, she's probably traumatized you." You giggled.

"She did, but I think my type is someone who can really understands me, and someone I can have fun with." Hitoshi said.

"Like a best friend?" You questioned him. "Yeah, exactly like a best friend. That'd be my perfect version of a s/o." He replied, expression growing soft.

Since Intelli and Hitoshi's relationship had gone down hill, you've been there for him more than ever. It eventually lead to this unspoken romance that constantly roamed between the two of you.

But because of Intelli, neither of you pursued it, for the wellbeing of Hitoshi.

"Well, if I were you, I'd find someone and just make sure the bitch doesn't find out." You told him. But if you were being honest, it was more like a suggestion, because he really did need, and deserve someone other than Intelli.

"Like cheating?" He gawked. You were both thinking the same thing— Intelli would likely find out. But it was better than simply being stuck with her, so you nodded.

"Well, I'd at least make sure the other person knows. But it'd be worth it."

'I'm worth it.' You thought.

You sighed, looking down at your phone, the time on your phone displayed.

"Shit, I've gotta get to class, we've got a guest lecturing us and my professor will tear me a new one if I miss it." You told him, stuffing your phone into your pocket.

"See you later?" Hitoshi asked you.

You were about to say something about how he told Intelli they'd hang out later, but decided against it.

"Yeah."

◇◇◇◇◇◇

You sighed, feeling your tired feet throb as you walked down the hall to Hitoshi's dorm. Taking one of your backpack straps off your shoulder, you began rummaging around the pocket where you usually kept the spare key to Hitoshi's dorm.

You blinked, as you weren't able to find the key in the small pocket. You began searching your entire bag in the middle of the hallway, taking nearly everything out.

"Shit." You mumbled, thinking you had lost it.

Then you remembered, 'Thats right, I was in a rush this morning. Its on my desk.' You thought to yourself.

Like hell you were going all the way back there though.

You placed your items back into their bags, then pulled out your phone to text Hitoshi.

You hummed, rocking back and forth on your heels as you waited for the door to be opened.

A moment later, you heard the lock click, and the door swung open.

Hitoshi looked you up and down before smiling. Then looked both ways of the hall, before tugging you into the room and shutting the door.

"Why are you treating me like a side piece or something?" You questioned him.

He hummed in confusion as he locked the door.

"Does it feel like that? Sorry." He apologized. "What did she do this time?" You asked, referring to Intelli, as she wash the only person the put Hitoshi this on edge.

"She said if we were doing anything other than a project we'd break up, and you know what that means." He told you, shaking his head.

You hummed, and pulled out your phone.

"What are you doing?" He asked, peering over your shoulder.

"You'll see." You blunty told him.

You sent your message, and tossed your phone onto his bed.

You grabbed onto Hitoshi's collar, tugging him towards you so he was looking you in the eyes, making his breath hitch as his face tinted red.

"You're crazy if you think I'd get you snitched on." You playfully consoled.

"What did you do?" He questioned again, watching you flop down on his bed as you kicked off your shoes.

"I texted Monoma and Momo to post about a project on private snap that only has Intelli on it so that it'll be more believable." You told him.

Hitoshis eyes went wide, as he mentally questioned how you came up with that so fast.

You patted the space next to you, beckoning him to sit with you.

He sat down, shaking his head and laughing.

You and Hitoshi talked for hours and hours, but it each flew by. When you finally checked the time, you barely had enough time left before dorm visiting hours were over.

"What? Already?" Hitoshi gaped, as he watched you sling your backpack over your shoulder.

"Mhm." You hummed.

He groaned, clearly not wanting you to leave, but sat up anyways so he could come see you out.

Hitoshi unlocked the door for you, but upon opening the door, you were both met with an unwanted sight.

"Hey Toshi!" Intelli greeted, completely passing over you even though she saw you.

"H-hey, Intelli." Hitoshi spurred, trying to keep composure.

"I came to help on the project. Even Momo was complaining, so I thought you could use some help." She offered, clearly not convinced that there was actually a project.

But like you said, you weren't going to let him get caught.

"No, we finished it." You told her bluntly, folding your arms across your chest.

But clearly, Intelli didn't plan on letting up either.

"Well then, I could proof read the written portion." She insisted, taking a step towards you.

"We already did that already."

"Well I'm sure there are some mistakes."

"We triple checked."

Hitoshi looked back and forth between the two of you, silently preparing himself to break up a fight.

"You must not get what I mean—" Intelli straightened her posture more than it already was, and leaned towards you. "There's probably mistakes because it was you helping him." She mocked.

Hitoshi already had a hand reaching for your waist, ready to pull you back in a situation where you lunge at Intelli.

"You wanna talk about mistakes? How about we start with you, bit-" Before you could take a single step towards her, you were being pulled back by your waist.

"Watch your dog, Hitoshi." Intelli retorted.

Damn, was she lucky Hitoshi could hold you back.

"At least I bite, unlike some people." You shot back. She narrowed her eyes, leaning towards you again.

"Y'know Y/n, you're not as good as everyone thinks you are. Everyone thinks you're so great, and nice, but I know how you really are." She said.

"You only think that because everyone's not you. Its no goddamn wonder your blackmail folder is thicker than you." You hissed.

Intelli, clearly flustered that you even knew about her blackmail folder, stood straight again. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat slightly.

"You think youre so much better than me. A better person, a better best friend, you probably think you'd make a better girlfriend too, right?" She asked you.

"Of course I do, who the hell wouldn't?" You chuckled.

You felt Hitoshi's grip on your waist loosen. Either he was getting just as angry and was going to let you fight her, or he thought it the tension was thawing.

"Alright, since you're so much better than me, show me." Intelli insisted.

You smirked. "Alright, you asked for it."

Slipping out of Hitoshi's grip, you turned to face him.

His brows raised in surprise and confusion. And next thing he knew, you had him by the collar for the second time today.

But this time, your lips were pressed against his.

It took him a moment to process, but soon, he melted into it. Moving in sync with you, he placed his hands back on your waist.

As much as you wanted to continue, you still had to tell that bitch off.

Pulling away from Hitoshi, wiping away the string of saliva that connected your mouths, you turned back to Intelli.

You walked straight up to her, and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Toshi doesn't react like that when you kiss him, does he?" You hummed, hearing Intelli audibly gulp.

"Like you said, I'm a better person, a better best friend, and a better girlfriend." You repeated her words from earlier.

"I wouldn't lie to him, expose him, whether what he did was true or false, and i wouldn't hold him back from doing what he wants." You taunted.

"And the thing is—" You leaned in, next to her ear.

"I dont think it, I know it."

"I'm perfect for him." You whispered to her.

Intelli nearly toppled over in defeat, leaning against the nearest wall to support her body.

"Anyways, see you tomorrow, Toshi." You mused, before walking away.

◇◇◇◇◇◇

The next day, you met up with Hitoshi in your free time like usual.

You were aimlessly walking around campus, talking about random topics, laughing as you watched random people do stupid things, and just having fun.

Except now, you were hand in hand, and the air around the two of you seemed lighter. And the look of adoration you and Hitoshi shared was more evident.

But in the middle of it, of course, something had to happen.

Intelli had stopped you both in your tracks, her brainless groupies behind her.

"Did you know everyone is talking about you, Hitoshi? And with all the things they're saying... you might not be able to recover from it." She said snarkily.

"Not too worried about it actually." Hitoshi admitted, a slightly bored tone to his voice.

"Tch, well you should be. So tell me, was she worth it, Hitoshi?" She inclined.

Hitoshi looked over at you, a grin spreading across his face.

"Hell yeah."

#hitoshi x reader #bnha shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso imagine #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinso x reader #bnha shinso x reader #my hero academia shinsou #shinsou headcanons #shinsō hitoshi #bnha shinsou #shinsou imagine #shinsou x y/n #bnha #bnha hcs #bnha headcanons #mha #mha hcs #mha headcanons

[be11atrixthestrange]

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato

Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a very complicated coffee order. Prompt: Meet Cute

Top 4 in the 2021 Romione Ficlet Fest!

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

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato

It's seven o'clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.

Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he's already memorized their morning joe specifications.

The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.

Maybe it's because they're too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it's the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.

Every now and then, there's a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He'll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.

'Take an interest in their day!' his Mum would say. 'Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!'

Monday morning, at seven o'clock, is one of those times.

"Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato."

"Size?"

"Medium."

The customer is about Ron's age, and probably new in town. She doesn't yet know that at The Burrow, 'Double Macchiatos' are simply called 'Tall Macchiatos', and instead of 'small', 'medium', and 'large', The Burrow's sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.

"Great," he says, grinning, "coming right up."

"Make sure it's almond milk," she reminds him.

"Yup."

"And Hazelnut," she adds.

"Yup."

"Double-shot—"

"I heard you," says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.

"Okay, just making sure!"

"Can I get a name for the order?"

"Hermione."

Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she's wearing. She looks so normal. "Can you repeat that?"

"Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E."

He hadn't asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It's condescending.

"Coming right up, Hermione."

"Great."

Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn't even know the difference. Most customers wouldn't.

As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.

"Here you go!"

He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he's convinced she can tell…

Then her face melts back to a polite grin. "Thank you!"

Maybe she can't. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer's order.

Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she's in such a rush.

"Morning, Hermione!" he says with a forced smile. "Same as yesterday?"

She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. "Um, yes, same as yesterday."

"Coming right up."

"Medium, Double, Hazelnut—"

"Almond Milk Macchiato," he says. "I got it."

"Okay," shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. "Then do it."

What's her problem? "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she snaps. "I need coffee, not a counseling session."

Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother's nagging voice in his head stops him. 'Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven't had their coffee fix yet.'

"Of course," Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn't notice.

He doesn't get a chance to see if she does, because she's out the door before a single sip.

Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron's stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.

"Hello," he says politely, stopping himself before the natural 'how are you?' escapes his lips. "What can I get for you today?"

"Hi," she says with a sheepish smile. "The same as yesterday."

"Which is?"

"Erm," she stammers, her expression confused, "a medium—"

"I'm kidding," he laughs, "I know your order."

"Oh. Thank you."

She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.

"Sorry about yesterday," she says when she picks up her drink. "You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude."

"Oh," starts Ron, who isn't expecting an apology. "That's okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift."

She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn't catch it.

She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.

"The usual," is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she's smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it's the first time he's seen her smile or if it's just the first time he's noticed.

But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she's exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it'll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she'll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.

Both good things.

"Just so you know," she says as Ron hands over her cup, "it's been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it's not going well."

"I'm—I'm sorry to hear that," says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There's more to her tough and professional exterior.

"These have made the week just a little better," she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.

Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.

In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.

As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.

He's not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it's because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he's never purposely tried to fuck up someone's coffee five days in a row.

Or maybe, it's because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.

She'll probably ignore it anyway.

But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he'd run away from a mob of spiders.

The text is from an unknown number, but there's no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!

Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?

Well, Hermione, why'd you keep coming back?

As soon as the message sends, he's impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.

His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.

It wasn't for the coffee…

#Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ronweasley #hermionegranger #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romione ficlet #muggle AU #coffee shop au #meet cute

[jadenvargen]

can you not draw e asian ppl like me yellow idk how else 2 say this and am surprised i haven't seen anyone ask u not to do that yet

you don’t need to say it in any other way, and i’m sorry you had to ask. you don’t have to accept my apology, but just know that i’m really sorry and really ashamed. and i hope you’re okay. what i’ve done is like.. really hurtful in a way i will never fully get, and i’m really sorry this is bullshit you have to even ask me to do and i’m sorry that it’s shit i’ve done.

it comes from a mix of using heavy, heavy yellow overlays as well as yellow as a base for skin tones in the past, being a color i loved on anything. it was easy for me at the time to think “skin was jusdt skin” and it didn’t matter how i colored it, expression is what matters--- which is obviously not true. and what i did was wrong and evil. and while i couldn’t understand what i was doing at the time- being ignorant to things that didn’t affect me, i was clearly perpetuating ugly racist stereotypes- and spreading them, and i can’t imagine how many people i must have hurt. i’m sorry for all of those people, i’m sorry to all my east asian friends, and i’m sorry for all other people i’ve hurt, and for any other impact my art might’ve had, and to you personally. i’m sorry. there is really no excuse.

to clarify: i have been asked not to twice in the past, rightfully so. and i hope that since then i have not done so. these are the two times:

https://jadenvargen.tumblr.com/post/183115724315/some-people-think-the-way-you-color-asian

https://jadenvargen.tumblr.com/post/184871176155/why-are-you-drawing-asian-characters-yellow

recieving this message i went through my art since last time i was asked, and i’ve color matched my last pieces since then, and, at least on my monitor, i can’t see any instances of this. but don’t misunderstand me!!! this is not meant to be adversarial-- you are right. i have been very guilty of this, and it doesn’t matter if i apologize, cause i’ve still done it. it’s not a point of pride that i “no longer do it”- i just want to say that the point has been raised, and that i now very consciously avoid it to the point that none of my drawings of e. asian people even use yellow as a light source just to make sure. it’s pathethic that i even was doing it, for any excuse, at any point, but still i would like to clarify this.

i wonder if you’ve seen old art of mine, which doesn’t make it a bit better, and i really hope i don’t come across as though i’m arguing, but know that i have deleted the pieces that i have been able to. i was in the process of editing them bit by bit, but your message really woke me up to the fact that people actually can still see and be hurt by many of these, and that’s unacceptable. i’ve deleted the pieces that i can, and i will endeavor to keep doing as well as i can in the future. pieces such as commissions i know are still up on commissioner’s blog, and i’m so sorry i can’t undo them, or delete them, so they’re just... there. and i made them, and they’re still hurtful. i’m sorry that so much of my art has been so fucking terrible and spreads so much sadness because of my own stupidity and ignorance. i’m just really sorry. on the other hand, you are reacting to a piece painted after may of 2019, i don’t even know what to say. i can’t see it on my monitor, but maybe i really have. i trust you over myself. i really hope i haven’t, because i really try to triple-check for it these days. i really, really don’t want to hurt more people. and again, i’m really sorry. i hope you’re okay-- and again, sorry that you had to even ask this. 

(ALSO to ppl following me. last time someone asked this i saw people defend me and i was too exhausted to call them off more than i already had. this was wrong of me as well. i really don’t want to be defended on this. please focus on this asker’s and other people’s feelings. i am literally in the wrong.)

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

.

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. 

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

.

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague. 

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules. 

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, and Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath. 

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes realize he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call. 

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it. 

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

.

Please let me know of his well-being.

.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s. 

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

.

--

.

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well. 

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. 

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls. 

.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

.

Surgery.

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is hurt, he’s in surgery, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt. 

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a faction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted. 

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

.

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

.

The reply is almost immediate.

.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time. 

.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email. 

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

.

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official. 

It’s easy to see, now why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean. 

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?” 

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?” 

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “... Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

.

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know? #so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

[step-on-me-khun]

Your Voice Ch.3 - timeskip!Kenma x reader

Still can't really say anything about how consistently I'll write or post a chapter.

(C/N) = Country name or city name, your choice really. Also, I know I haven't stated it, but it's female or girl name reader. Later chapters will be NSFW, just warning you all now.

[[Ch.2]] - [[Ch.4]]

SFW/NSFW

Warnings: Cursing, that's all

Words Count:

Kenma never really had much to look forward to. There wasn't a rush to play one of his games as soon as he got up out of bed. He would take his time and shower first, get something to eat, and then play whatever video game he felt like playing.

He was sure that you would stream today, so he took time off from streaming himself. No feelings of nervousness or anxiety were there in his head or stomach. There wasn't any need for it, really. But there was a tinge of excitement in him.

He was constantly checking to see if you were recording. There was a lot of questions still in his head that he wanted answers to. But you were practically a stranger, and he had never talked to you before.

Kenma was never really one for starting conversations with someone new, but he knew that he had to take a step forward and try.

His hands were busy pressing the buttons and fiddling with the joystick on his controller. The game would pause every now and again, but it was so Kenma could check on his phone to see if you were online.

Time went by, the small rays of light coming from outside began to fade the longer he played. It was seven at night, and it had been a whole week since you had last streamed. He was getting more and more impatient. He had turned the notification settings on so that he was alerted to you.

That's what he was looking down at right now. He would never admit defeat, but damn was he close to it.

Just as the screen of his phone turned black, a notification popped up. It was you, and you were streaming. His face lit up, eyes widened.

It was as if he was in a rush like he would miss your stream. He immediately exited the game he was playing and turned his computer on.

His fingers clicked on the mouse impatiently, each click bringing him closer to listening to you again. He had thought of not interacting with you yet, but as he got to your stream, he quickly abandoned that idea.

Music played as the screen switched colours slowly. He rested his arms next to each other on the table, his chin resting on them as he kept his eyes on the monitor.

He was thinking about hosting your stream, but he didn't want to do it yet. His foot tapped on the floor impatiently.

"Hey guys, I'm just setting myself up. I'll be with you all in a minute," your voice says. Kenma was soon snapped out of his impatience.

It felt weird to him. He had heard your voice before, but it felt like he was hearing it for the first time again.

He wanted to know everything about you still. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if you told the stream you lived in Japan.

"Okay," you say as you sit down, the screen showing the same shooting game as before. "Sorry, I'm late today guys, it's just been a weird day,"

Kenma wasn't complaining. It wasn't really a problem that you were late. It was Kenma's first time watching your stream. He had so many questions. Hopefully, he wouldn't sound too creepy asking them.

You were busy reading out some of the messages from the chat as the game loaded.

"'Why don't you stream with anyone?' Well, that's because I don't really know a lot of people to stream or game with,"

So you were either shy or didn't like telling people you liked gaming.

He decided to ask his own question.

"'Don't you have friends to game with?' Uhh, no, not really. I'm a socially awkward mess,"

So, you were someone who enjoyed gaming but had trouble connecting with people? That sounded too damn familiar. He could tell that you were uncomfortable with the questions you were getting. He could hear it in the tone of your voice as you answer your chat.

"'What country do you live in?' You must be new here. I know I've said before that I lived in (C/N), but now I live not too far from Tokyo,"

So, you lived in Japan, not too far from Kenma, and you had limited social skill, probably because you might've only just moved to Japan. Was this all really this easy?

"I've only lived here for a while. I've not really made much of an impression on anyone here." There was some sadness in how you said that.

If Kenma didn't know Kuroo or become friends with him, he could've been in the same shoes as you. It was clear that you did want to make friends, but you found it difficult to. Maybe it was a good thing that you were viewed by Kenma.

"'I live not far from Tokyo, too.' I don't know if that's a bad or a good thing," you say, stopping the game for a minute to browse at his own profile. You were expecting him to be a small streamer, with maybe the same amount of viewer as you. It shocked you to see that this person had more than triple your viewer count. "H-how did you find me? There're so many other streamers, I'm just a small percentage of them,"

"'I fell asleep at the computer with the mouse still in my hand, and I accidentally clicked on your stream, and I don't regret it.' Fuck, umm, I don't know what to say to that. Why didn't you get some sleep before then?"

"'I don't know, I didn't even know I clicked on your stream until your voice woke me up.' M-my voice?" You were shocked. You sat on your gaming chair, gobsmacked by this situation.

'You didn't sound like a loud person. Your voice is kind of calming. I know this is my first time actually watching you, but I look forward to watching your future streams,'

Not like anyone noticed it, but your face heated up. It was a good thing that you didn't record your face. It would've been embarrassing to see yourself like this.

You then got on with your game. The sound of gunshots and footsteps filled Kenma's ears as you concentrated on the game. He admired your level of concentration as you played, not getting caught off guard or getting distracted by anything.

Kenma was enjoying himself, not like it was apparent his eyes never left the screen.

The game went on for several more rounds. Sometimes you would win, but other time you wouldn't. The number of rounds you were playing wasn't really something Kenma had kept track of.

"Well, I think that's enough for now. Sorry for being so quiet. This stream has just made my mind gone blank," you say, exiting the game. "Well, I hope you guys enjoyed it, and thanks for any donations. I'm debating streaming more than once a week. Let me know if you'd be interested in that. Anyway, I better get going. It's nearly two in the morning where I am. Night guys, talk to you again soon, too, newcomer,"

Kenma wasn't expecting you to call him out like that. It wasn't as if you knew his name. It just surprised him. Maybe this was one of the few things that Kenma would think of as fun. Every second of your stream was something he had enjoyed. He just wished he got to hear you talk more.

taglist

General

@jaundrew @aoi-turtle

Just for this story

@kaieoh @zjmbaek @bqkuho3 @kryptidkova

Don't be afraid to message me and ask to be added to the taglist, or removed, I don't mind.

#haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader #kenma kozume #kenma kuzome #kenma x reader #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma #kenma x you #hq kenma #kenma #haikyuu #hq x y/n #hq x reader

[isthisthingeven0n]

walking disaster : d.d

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED UNTIL AUGUST. Please do not send one in right now, as I can’t get to it sorry guys. 

brief summary: your day is just not going to plan at all, and to make matters worse you’re stranded in the city in david’s tesla, alone after his tires were cut. could it get worse? the answer is yes. 

word count: 1.5k requested: yes by the sweetest anon, sorry again for how long you’ve waited. but i hope you like it! warnings: none that i’m aware of!

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

As if your day couldn’t possibly get any worse, by some force of fate, it did.

You overlooked waking up with a headache, thinking it was due to the intense screen time from last nights editing session and carried on with your morning. However, when your meeting with a brand and your manager got pushed forward two hours, you were in a rush.

David watched mindlessly as you ran around the house, grabbing your things and making yourself look presentable whilst chugging a litre of water.

“You want me to drive you?” David suggests as you finally pause by the front door, grabbing your car keys.

Looking back, you smile sweetly at your boyfriend still in his PJs holding a go-cup of coffee in his hand for you.

“I’ll be okay, thank you though, Dave.” You walk over, kissing him quickly before taking the cup and walking out the door.

As the front door closes behind you, you check your phone to see the location of the restaurant you’ll be going to before sitting in your car.

“Okay, I’ve got an hour to get there.” You mutter to yourself as you turn the car on, only to see several warning signs cross your dashboard. “Fuck.” You rest your head against the wheel, hearing the prolonged beep before David walks out to see your head down in your car.

Interrupting our internal monologue of doom, David knocks on the window. “You wanna take my car?” David dangles his keys you sigh, climbing out of the car and wrap your arms around him loosely.

“Thank you, boo.” You mumble into his chest as he rubs your back before pulling away. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” You tell him, watching as he nods along.

“I know you will, just take it steady, don’t speed and have a good lunch.” David squeezes your hand lightly as he places the keys into your palm before retreating back to the house, leaving you to take his car.

Arriving at your lunch meeting on time was a miracle, and thankfully your headache started to die down.

Walking through the doors after the valet took David’s car, you let out a sigh of relief to see your manager sat at the bar.

“Hey, Amanda.” Amanda immediately twirls in her chair with a bright smile before embracing you into a hug.

“Thank god you’re here! Try this it’s delicious.” Amanda beans as she passes you a glass of something with bright eyes.

Sniffing it, you quirk an eyebrow before lowering it to the table. “I’ll pass, thanks.” You chuckle whilst Amanda shrugs a shoulder before taking another sip before the brand rep walks in.

*

With a smile on your face, you leave the restaurant with Amanda babbling on about the opportunities that’ll come from this brand, but all you can focus on is the group of people surrounding the valet.

“What’s going on?” You speak up as you approach the valet driver who stands guard whilst all these kids turn around with wide eyes upon seeing you.

“Y/n! Oh my god, where’s David?!” A series of shouts suddenly surround you as Amanda is swept away, leaving you isolated as the valet driver hands you David’s key.

“He’s not here? Seriously.” One girl scoffs loudly as you climb into the driver's seat, that familiar pounding in your left temple returning as you hear kids and teens alike shouting through the windows and laughing at something.

Closing your eyes momentarily, you start the car up only to see a warning flash onto the display screen.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” You groan seeing two of the tires have been cut.

Turning your head, you look out with annoyance as fans continue to film you whilst you’re sat in the car.

You try your best to block them all out as you dial David, who picks up after almost five rings.

“Hey, how was lunch?” David asks happily, pausing as he can hear the background noise through the line. “Are you alright?” His tone changes to one of concern, and as he listens to a prolonged sigh coming from you, it says more than words need to.

“Your tires have been cut, I don’t know if it happened on the way or after I left the car, but they’re going to need fixing.” You explain, wishing you could just be back home, lying in bed with the curtains closed and in the comfort of your boyfriend's arms.

“I’ll come and get you, Natalie!” David yells for Natalie, but you quickly interrupt him.

“Dave, it’ll only make matters worse, trust me.” You tell him, knowing if he turns up alongside Natalie, you’ll never have any luck getting out before sunset. “I’ll call triple-A, and go get a coffee.” You rub your eyes, feeling tiredness building up as you force back tears.

“Are you doing okay?” David speaks softly, and you wish he were beside you now more than ever as you shake your head.

Clearing your throat, you lick your lips as you glance over to see several fans right by you, phones in hand as some wave and others converse. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get out of here.” You admit with a watery laugh, a sound that breaks David’s heart.

“Stay safe okay? I love you.” He looks up to see Natalie in his doorway, phone in hand with a frown on her lips.

“I love you too.” You reply with a small smile before hanging up, dialling for assistance whilst you turn the music up in the car, hoping to drown out the fans just for ten minutes.

Lowering his phone, David sighs. “What’s up, Nat?” David mumbles through his hands as he buries his face in them, hearing the rustling of Natalie sitting down on his bed.

“You might wanna see this.” She passes her phone across to him, and David can feel his heart sinking at the footage displayed on Natalie’s phone.

It’s a series of fans filming you whilst you’re sat in David’s Tesla, hand resting on your forehead as you try to block them out. He can hear them talking about you, making comments that boiled his blood.

“When was that posted?” David questions as Natalie takes her phone back.

“Ten minutes ago.” Natalie responds, and immediately David is on his feet. “David, you know it’s better to stay here.” Natalie follows after her best friend, tugging on his arm, but David pulls his arm back, carrying on.

“I can’t see her like this, struggling and alone with fans like that. You know how they can get.” David retorts, and Natalie simply nods. “You coming to help me or staying here?”

Sighing, Natalie slips her phone into her pocket. “Which car are we taking then?”

*

Pulling up down the road from you, David whistles at the sight of all the fans still around his Tesla. “And she’s inside?” Natalie pitches in, snapping David from his thoughts as he simply nods.

“Triple A is on their way, that much I know.” David sighs as Natalie turns the engine off, and as the car door opens on her side, some fans already catch on and run in their direction.

“Oh my god, it’s David and Natalie!” One girl screams, your ears perking up as you look through your rearview mirror, seeing the pair as they smile and wave to various fans.

Around you, the car is now clear and you let out a sigh of relief, sinking further into the seat.

Looking down at your phone, you can see a new text from David.

‘I’ll be over shortly, just sit tight baby. triple a are coming, nat will drive you home’

Reading the message felt like a wave of relief, the land of comfort won’t be too far off in your future. “Hey?” Turning your head, Natalie is stood by the passenger door, fans a few feet behind her as you unlock the door, allowing her to slide in.

“Hey, Nat.” You can’t help but chuckle at the situation, forgetting how often they all deal with this. “Just your average Tuesday, right?”

Natalie smiles, nodding along. “You wanna come home now?” She asks and you nod eagerly. “Come on then, David said he’ll stay put, chat to the fans til triple A arrive.”

Making your way out of the car, you keep your head down as you rush toward Natalie’s car, her hand in yours to guide you. “Y/n?” You pause as you reach the car, looking over your shoulder to see David smiling softly to you. 

No words are said as he simply nods, watching as you mirror the action before climbing into Natalie’s car and driving away. 

Through the side mirror, you see David wave to you before carrying on his interaction with the fans whilst you close your eyes, welcoming a bit of quiet after your disaster of a day. 

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