#I don’t do well with phone calls they really aggravate my anxiety and then I don’t do well with confrontation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoe-imaginess · 4 years

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a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job.

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him.

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job.

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.

“Says who?”

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods.

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was.

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn.

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape.

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him.

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames.

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm.

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration.

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts.

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully.

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch.

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly.

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike.

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth.

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss.

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body.

He began to fidget where he stood.

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily.

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again.

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him.

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement.

“Dabi,” you were saying again.

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else.

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so.

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered.

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?”

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl.

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him.

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall.

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin.

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—”

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring.

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him.

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.”

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him.

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick.

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm.

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure.

All he needed to hear was the latter.

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger.

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him.

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate.

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid.

Dabi utterly ignored it.

It had nothing to do with him.

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s.

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke.

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them.

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides.

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar.

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle.

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown.

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut.

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again.

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order.

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri.

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice.

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now.

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid.

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.”

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…”

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make.

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt.

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects.

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself.

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly.

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker.

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite.

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you.

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again.

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after.

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues.

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously.

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over.

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things.

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding.

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous.

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored.

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm.

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging.

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment.

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone.

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil.

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral.

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” he muttered.

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him.

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined.

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked.

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him.

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes.

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state.

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered.

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken.

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line.

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints.

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask.

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.”

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did.

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again.

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale.

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence.

“You know what I mean,” you asserted.

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said.

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration.

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment.

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened.

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal.

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating.

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam.

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards.

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again.

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum.

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you.

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants.

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared.

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say.

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself.

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse.

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion.

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans.

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked.

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?”

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in.

“Take it out,” he muttered.

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum.

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze.

In response: silence.

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath.

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him.

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…”

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face.

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled.

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke.

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence.

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not.

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started.

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings.

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip.

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards.

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it.

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.”

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand.

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny.

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.”

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time.

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan.

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off.

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more.

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way.

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad.

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper.

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch.

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply.

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking.

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–”

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—”

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth.

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock.

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth.

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight.

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to.

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively.

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies.

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible.

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration.

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded.

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned.

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more?

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?”

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head.

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation.

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply.

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.”

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms.

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside.

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts.

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible.

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going.

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds.

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered.

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through.

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap.

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another.

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you.

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him.

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in?

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back.

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably.

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter.

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock.

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor.

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.”

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive.

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple.

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too.

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now.

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin.

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good.

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached.

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there.

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs.

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!”

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard.

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance.

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise.

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest.

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck.

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise.

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness.

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered.

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think.

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem.

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now.

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you.

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs.

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath.

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed.

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile.

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?”

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny.

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision.

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it.

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you.

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagines #bnha x reader #dabi

3K notes · View notes

t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

Summary: Some months after the breakup you show up at Tom’s doorstep.

Word count: 3k.

Warnings: A very messy relationship. Mentions of alcohol and drugs. Bit angsty but turns out alright. SMUT. Unprotected sex. +18

Inspiration: blink twice – joy oladokun

We’ve been coming undone We broke the last thread Learning to pick my battles Or I’ll be the only one left

I only know you’re home when the door speaks

Blink twice if you still love me

I’ll never know unless you tell me

Did you ever really love me?

“‘ello?”

He doesn’t look at the caller ID as he answers. With his voice hoarse and eyes closed he presses the phone to his ear. Laying back against the soft pillows again he’s already one foot back in a dream where everything turns out alright at the end.

“Tom”

His entire body freezes. Swiftly opening his eyes he’s at once fully aware of his surroundings (the large bed, the gentle but persistent sound of rain against the windows; the complete darkness outside revealing the lateness of the call) and perhaps even more painstakingly aware of his own body (the sudden tightness in his chest, skin unnervingly warm and prickly; heart beating like it’s trying to escape his chest).

“Tommy, are you there?”

Your voice is so soft in his ear, gentle even, albeit slurred at the edges. It is as if you’re somehow unaware of the effect you have on him, the pain you cause.

“What do you want?” He asks, and where your voice is like warm smoke his is hardened ice.

Silence for several heartbeats then,

“Can you open the door, honey".

He wonders if you use the old familiar endearment deliberately to hurt him, or if the old pet name falls off your lips by old habit.

“It’s raining Tommy, I don’t have a coat. Please open up”.

And so,

you’re on the floor in the man you love’s apartment. He hands you a glass of water, even though you asked for vodka, and he instructs you to drink up. He won’t look at you and you swallow down the water but the guilt stays stuck in your throat. You wonder what he feels for you in this precise moment, what it is that makes him turn away from you; as if looking at you hurts. If it is hate or love.

Or maybe just lust.

You’re on the floor in your ex boyfriend’s apartment, and even you know you shouldn’t be here.

He sits down in his armchair, leans back with his legs spread, and avoids your eyes; choosing instead to look at the ground in front of him. You know, because despite all that has happened between you two, you know him. You know that he’s trying to look relaxed, to hide his anxieties with an actor's expertise.

It’s raining, the sound of the raindrops crashing against the window loud like the beating of a drum, yet it’s somehow managing to make the silence between you two feel even more deafening. The only light between you two is a small side lamp by the TV, leaving most of the room in darkness.

“So” you say in the end, and in contrast to him you divert your eyes, but look straight at him instead with uncompromising focus. “How have you been, honey?”

He sighs, and still looking down at the floor he drags a hand over his shaved head. “Fucking fantastic” he mutters.

"Wonderful” you say, and you don’t mean for it to sound sarcastic, honestly you don’t. Don’t want this to turn into another argument. You’re just not as good as feigning nonchalance as he is.

“I was at Park Chinois last week” you begin, looking at him while he’s looking at his clasped hands. “Funny how that place never seems to change, like it’s stuck in time. Remember when we went there for Haz’s 21st? Remember the bathroom?”

His hands twitch, but it’s the only sign he gives that he’s even heard you.

“Remember how I went down on my knees for you? That was fun, wasn’t it? And then later that night when you fucked me into the mattress and you told me that you’d wanted to-”

“Why are you here?” he interrupts you, voice hard as steel. For the first time that night he looks directly at you, his warm brown eyes meets yours in a glare. He looks hurt.

“It’s my birthday”

Silence falls between you. Outside it keeps raining.

“No, it's not,” he says in the end. “Your birthday was two weeks ago”

“How sweet of you to remember” you say with a sweet smile. "But the celebrations were tonight”.

He scoffs “and how did that go?”

“Well, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes” he says, sounding aggravated now. “Here you are. And why exactly is that, darling?”

You don’t answer, truth is - you don’t know.

“How come” he continues, contained anger clear in his voice “how come you show up here, at 3 in the morning on the night of your birthday party, Champagne drunk and wearing,” but words seem to fail him here and so he just waves his hand at you, gesturing towards your barely-there sequin dress. “That”. He swallows, before looking away again.

It takes you a while to answer, but in the end you do.

“I feel like I’m drifting” you confess, and you sound small and frail, even to your own ears.Pathetic even. “I feel like everyone else is settling down and getting married or engaged or having babies and I’m just-” you hesitate off for a second. Tom’s looking at you intently now, eyes intense and fixed on your face. “And I’m just drifting, you know? From one thing to another; one place to another, without it adding any value to my life. And all the while my friends are so revoltingly happy with their spouses and their babies and I’m just doing coke in the bathroom at family gatherings and trying to drink until I forget why I’m sad and kissing strangers in nightclubs wishing they were you”

“I thought this was what you wanted” he says in a low voice, eyes not leaving your face now.

You had been the one to end the relationship seven months ago. It had, at the time, seemed like the best way out. The only way out. He’d spent months on end away filming and when you were together all you seemed to do was argue.

And the awful thing was that sometimes you started arguing with him on purpose. That way it hurt less when he left you again for yet another project.

In the end it had felt intolerable, being without him, being with him. All the rumours about him dating co-stars kept swirling in your head each night and you kept doing stupid things like getting high with people you didn’t know in nightclubs – just to get his attention.

You had found yourself in bed with him one morning, the day before he took off for several months of shooting, and you had thought to yourself that no, somethings gotta give. One of you had to be brave enough to break things off. You knew it wouldn’t be him, Tom has too much loyalty and tenderness in him to leave where he knows he was needed. And you, well you have too much pride and strength to stay when you know you are a burden or a duty.

So you had swallowed your pain and you had told him that there wasn’t any need for him to come back to you when filming was done. .

Yet here you are, on his floor, in a ridiculously revealing dress. Yet again trying to catch his attention.

“Maybe I shouldn’t always get what I want” you say in the end, voice hard and sweet like caramelised sugar.

“No, maybe you shouldn’t” and his voice is just as hard, but a lot less sweet. “And I thought you liked drifting? It’s what you do, isn’t? Drift in and out of people’s lives. Leave, and then show up at their doorstep when you feel like it; when you want to feel loved or admired, or wanted or whatever the fuck it is that you want out of this”.

“And what do you want, Tommy?”

He doesn’t answer, but averts his eyes from yours again.

You stand up then, and walk over to him. In the dim light the sequins of your dress throw reflections all over the room. You place yourself in front of his armchair, in between his spread legs. Slowly you begin to remove the thin straps of the dress off your shoulders. Then you drop the flimsy material to the ground, leaving you completely naked - part from a minimal pair of thongs.

A sharp intake of breath.

You move closer still until you straddle him, and then you’re on his lap, and he’s trying to look anywhere but at your nearly naked body. But he doesn’t try to push you off. You lean backward, and as if on instinct his big, warm hands move to your hips to hold you in place. You smile, because you had known that he wouldn’t have been able to help himself.

“Tommy, honey”

He closes his eyes, and you wonder if he’s in pain.

“Honey, look at me”.

A sigh deep from within escapes him and then, reluctantly, he opens his eyes again and he fully takes you in. You can feel the effect it has on him underneath your crotch.

You smile, unkindly. “You never did know how to say no to me, did you?”

His fingers tighten around your hips, digging into your flesh and you move against his growing bulge. You move your face closer to his, lips mere centimetres apart.

“Are you hurting, honey?” you say in a quiet, sweet voice. Outside there’s lightning, and then thunder roars.

He’s full on moving you backwards and forwards over his crotch now, making you dry hump him. Your flimsy thong creates hardly any barrier at all, and so his thin, dark sweats seem to be the only thing really separating you.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re hurting. I hurt you”

You don’t know why you’re trying to edge him on, trying to rile him up. Except that this controlled version of him that barely even looks at you feel so out of reach from you, so far removed, and you just want him – closer, The only way you know how to achieve that is by pushing all of his buttons.

“Yeah” he admits, eventually, “yeah, you really fucking hurt me”.

You kiss his jaw, and you sense how hard his muscles are underneath you, how tense his jaw is - how tightly he’s holding himself together. In a low voice you ask, “want me to kiss it better?”

“Stop playing games with me” he says in a low voice, but he keeps grinding you over his erection

You circle your hips slightly and a low hiss escapes him. “I’m not” you say, lips just brushing against his. “I just offered to kiss it better”.

“Maybe you should kiss one of those strangers instead”.

“What’s the point? I always want them to be you. Besides” and you move against him harder, wondering if he can tell how wet you are. “You must have had your fair share of kisses as well since I-”.

But you don’t get to finish. One of his hands moves up to your face and cupping it he strokes your lips with his thumb as if to silence you in the gentlest way he knows.

“No” he says, and his voice is gentler now too. “There’s been no one else”.

You’re struck silent for a moment, freezing in your movements over his hips. It strikes you then, how you’ve been trying to push his buttons, but he’s the one that’s crept under your skin.

His face is so close to your own, but you don’t kiss him.

See, it all comes down to this. The first to kiss the other is the first to give in. And the first to give in is the loser in this game.

“Do you still love me, Tommy” you say in the end; voice low and sickly sweet, your crotch moving against his again, his hand still cupping your face. “Blink twice if you do”.

Seemingly instinctively he does and it throws you both off-guard. Your breath catches in your throat and he stills underneath you. Suddenly you hear the rain crashing against the windows again, feel his heartbeat beating rapidly under your palm, the heat from his hand on your hips, the shape of him underneath you. Then -

“Oh, fuck it”

And you’re mid-air, and he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

Three months ago, when he got back from filming, he’d bought a new bed. The phantom smell of you still lingered in the old one, no matter how many times he washed the sheets with bleach. He could only take it for a week before he dragged Harry along to the store to buy a new one. Harry had convinced him to go for the biggest, most expensive one available. This, it turned out, had been a mistake. The bed was simply too large, too ostentatious, for one person. He’d find himself reaching for you in the middle of the night on more than one occasion, thinking that you’d just drifted away from him in the sea of tangled sheets but alas - he was alone.

Now, as he lays down your beautiful nearly naked body on the white sheets, your hair spreading out around you and eyes dark with lust, he finds himself thinking that if whatever this is between you doesn’t work out, he’s going to have to get another bed again. Hell, he’s going to need a new apartment and a new city to live in to rid himself of reminders of you.

A new goddamn heart.

He removes his sweats and t-shirts and any lingering reminder that this is a terrible idea and leaves it all on the floor before he joins you in bed. Seeing you like this, naked in his bed again, as if all that heartbreak had never happened, fills him with equal parts lust and love. There’s anger in there too.

With a hand on either side of your face he traps you in place and lowers himself until you’re skin against skin, his erection pressing against your lower stomach. His body is warmer than yours.

“Cold?” he asks in a low voice.

You nod, seemingly unable to tear your eyes from his lips. So he kisses you. It is slow but heated; teasing and tender in equal measures. Both your hands are feeling each other up, rediscovering familiar territories with eager touches. And god, your skin feels so soft, he can’t stop touching you. He kisses his way down your jaw, leaves your lips swollen and wet from spit. His hand makes it down toward your core and he slips a finger inside you, hears your soft gasp in his ear. He can feel just how wet you are already. Tearing himself away from you he sits up and helps you remove your underwear. Tossing them aside he bends down, and with a wicked smile on his lips he kisses your clit, sucking on it gently.

“Fucking tease” you moan, and you’d pull his hair if it wasn’t so short at the moment. He smiles up at you before making his way up to meet you, to kiss your lips again. Kisses that leave you both breathless. His hand makes it down your cunt again.

“Fuck you’re wet darling” he says, voice rough, “guess grinding on my dick will do that to a girl”.

You want to tell him to fuck off, but two of his fingers are moving in and out of you now, curling just right, and you don’t want him to stop. He always knew how to touch you just right. Always knew how to handle you.

So, you literally bite your tongue to keep the words back. Instead you kiss him just below his ear, a soft spot that always made him lose focus. True enough he halters and a moan escapes him. “Fucking devious, you are” his says, voice even lower now, his pupils wide blown, his entire body affected by lust.

He removes his fingers from your cunt and kisses your lips when you protest. “Wanna be a good girl and actually listen for once?” he says as he lines himself up to you and then, he pushes himself inside you.

The pleasure of it, of being inside you again, so intense it nearly hurts. You’re so warm and tight and he lets out a guttural and dragged out ‘fuuuck’. You try to buck up against him, but he’s forcing you to keep your hips still by holding them down, making sure you adjust yourself to him before he starts really fucking you. Intent on not hurting you, even if you’re intent on the opposite.

“Easy, easy” he hushes in your ear as you moan in complaint, trying to wiggle up against him, wanting him to just take you already, fuck you as hard as he can against the mattress.

And maybe it’s love, or maybe it’s spite, or perhaps a fair share of both, but he moves your legs until they are wrapped around him, and then he starts moving, as slowly and as gently as he possibly can. Deep and slow. Kissing that soft spot behind your ear that has you bucking up your hips to meet his. He knows you want it rough, so he gives it to you tenderly.

“Know you only say those things to get a reaction out of me” he mumbles against your jaw, kissing you wherever he can. “Know why you do it”

And just as you’re about to answer he bucks his hips forward, hitting that spot deep inside you and even though you meant to answer something clever, quite possibly rude, all that comes out is a strangled moan.

“See,” he continues, and even though his breaths are laboured his words come out even, albeit with a lot of emotion behind them. “It was never enough that I told you I love you. Anyone can say that, doesn’t mean anything, does it? Words come cheap”. Your hands are on his back, nails digging into and down his skin, egging him on to fuck you harder. He takes your hands and presses them down against the mattress instead. Grinding himself against your sweet spot over and over and over again, and you throw your head back, moaning continuously, unashamed.

“But anger” he moans, finding it more difficult to keep his voice even now as you clench around him. “You know anger is a real emotion and you trust it more than love. No one fakes anger. If I’m angry with you or worried about you because you do stupid shit you know you shouldn’t do then that means something. That means I care”

He moves your hands over your head, and uses one of his to hold you down. He takes your legs wrapped around his hips he presses them wider apart, thus giving him access to fuck you even deeper.

“That’s why you always did stupid shit to piss me off, isn’t it?” and he starts fucking you harder now “and fucking worse, worrying me. You wanted to see if I would care”.

“Fuck Tom” you whimper, face pressed against the arm that’s holding onto your hands, back bent into an arch as pleasure shots through your spine.

“Fucking love you, yeah?” he confesses in your ear, speeding up the pace of his hips. “Need you to trust me when I say that, can’t keep fighting with you just to convince you of that”. His words come out strained and hoarse. He knows that if he slows the pace down now, he could drag this out, but the sounds that leave your mouth are somewhere between moans and sobs and he can feel your need to come. Knows that this is almost too intense for you and you need release.

He takes his hand from your hip and takes it to your core. You’re so wet and slippery and he wants nothing more than to taste you but that will have to wait. He just hopes you’ll stay the night. That you won’t just leave once you've gotten what you came for. Finding your clit he rubs it in just the pace he knows will send you over the edge.

“Honey” it’s a half-strangled endearment that falls from your lips just as you’re about to come, you clench around him and fuck if it doesn’t send him over the edge too.

You’re lying beside him in bed, both your chests still heaving. You lean your head against his and the familiar scent of him, the comfort of just being near him. It all feels so achingly intimate.

“Please still be here in the morning” he begs, though his voice is thick with sleep. You turn around so that he can spoon you and he drapes an arm around you, holding you in place. It hits you, as you listened to his slowing breaths, that it has stopped raining outside.

“I will” you tell him, and he sighs contentedly before drifting off to sleep, holding you in a firm grip.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Сhapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“Oi, lady, have you gone mute? Or did you call just to give me a silent treatment?”

Kenny, that voice belonged to Kenny. Kenny was just on the other line, Levi had finally found him, in the most unexpected way, in the most unexpected place.

Levi wanted to say so much, wanted to yell and scream, wanted to curse at his uncle before his throat was dry. But his tongue felt heavy, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and in that moment, the only thing he could manage was a breathy whisper,

“Kenny?”

The only reply he got was silence, which grew in intensity with every passing second. Levi could sense Hange’s bewilder and shock, her hard gaze was burning the back of his head. But Levi ignored her for the time being. He’d deal with her later, after he’d get out of Kenny just where the fuck he was hiding.

However… Kenny still didn’t give an answer. The bastard was going to end the call and throw away that phone, he was going to slip away and disappear again. Levi couldn’t let him. He was sick of chasing Kenny, of being three steps behind him.

It was time they talk, whether Kenny wanted to or not. Levi tightened his hold on the phone, lamenting that he couldn’t fist his hands in the lapels of Kenny’s stupid long coat to give him a firm, rough shake. Then, perhaps, Kenny would finally get his head out of his ass.

“I know you’re still here,” Levi gritted, his exasperation slipping through, “So stop fucking around, and start talking.”

Finally, that earned Levi a reaction. Kenny sighed, the sound alarmingly weary. “I told you to quit, didn’t I?”

“I couldn’t, and you know that.”

Kenny let out another sigh, this time accompanying it by a colorful curse. “Are you still running around city with that detective in tow?”

Levi chanced a glance of Hange. She was staring back at him, impatience written all over her face.

“Yes. What of it?”

“Can you shake her off?”

Could Levi do that? Possibly. But did he want to do it? Not particularly. He and Hange had an agreement, after all – Levi gets his uncle, Hange gets her missing girl. Fair and square. He wasn’t going to lie to her again, even for his uncle’s sake.

“I can’t. And cut the bullshit, Kenny. Tell me where the fuck are you.”

There was another beat of silence, this one was aggravating Levi a lot more. He meant to snap at Kenny again, but just as he was opening his mouth, a vile curse on the tip of his tongue, Kenny said,

“Remember the house we used to live in? When you mother was still alive? You will find me there.”

Levi took a deep breath, a million of questions ready to spill out. The call was disconnected before he could utter a single word.

Of course, what else he was expecting from his uncle? Cooperation? Clear communication? That was never their way.

What he found surprising, however, was that Kenny was hiding in their old house. Levi would have never suspected it as his hiding place. He didn’t know that house still existed at all, he thought Kenny had gotten rid of it a long time ago – sold it away or destroyed.

But he hadn’t. And now Levi didn’t know what to think of it. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about going back to his childhood home, a house he shared with his mother, a place where he had spent the happiest of his years, before the biggest tragedy of his life struck.

Would be overwhelmed with sweet nostalgia? Or be struck by immerse grief?

Or, maybe, he would be too occupied with yelling at his uncle to notice any kind of different, more solemn feeling. The third option was certainly the most preferred one.

Turning to face Hange, Levi was meaning to explain everything to her. But as their eyes met, the quiet of the night city was interrupted by a shrill sound of her ringtone.

Hange winced, silently apologizing, and took out her phone, putting it to her ear. Levi frowned, wondering who could call her this late in the evening. He had his suspicion, of course…

It was confirmed when Hange answered the call with ‘Erwin! Is everything alright?’.

Puffing an annoyed breath, Levi paced a few steps away, giving Hange at least the illusion of privacy. But as his legs carried him away from her, his ears strained, catching every bit of conversation that he could.

However, understanding what Hange and her boss were talking about proved to be quite a task, when her replies consisted mostly of ‘Yes’, ‘No’, ‘Huh? What do you mean’ and ‘It can’t be!’. Hange ended the call in less than a minute, finishing it with a decisive ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible’.

She approached Levi immediately after.

“We need to go to the precinct.”

What? Like hell they did, they finally found Kenny, what could be more important than this?

“Reiss showed up there.” Hange explained, answering his unasked question and furious expression. “He wants to give a statement about Historia’s disappearance.”

Well… that changed the outset a bit, Reiss’ statement was if not useful, then certainly intriguing, but they found Kenny. In Levi’s eyes, that was still the more important clue. Not to mention… that was his initial and only goal.

“I know where Kenny is,” he told Hange, expecting it to change her plans completely.

He should have known that steering Hange away from something she had already set her mind on wouldn’t be so easy.

“We’ll go there right after I take that statement from Reiss.”

She looked so calm and rational, a stark contrast to the storm inside of Levi. Did she really not understand how significant their finding was? Levi was ready to growl from frustration.

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. “Hange—”

“Levi.” she moved closer as well, almost invading his personal space. “We will do this my way, or you will do nothing at all.”

Oh, so she was threatening him now? As if that would ever work on him.

“Alright,” he conceded, crossing hands on his chest. “Let’s split up then. You go to Reiss and your darling boss, I go to Kenny.”

Levi thought he’d struck gold with his suggestion. Both of them would get what they wanted without sacrificing precious time. It was perfect, wasn’t it?

Hange evidently didn’t think so. She laughed in his face, stating, “Don’t take me for a fool. Do you really think I’d let you go to see your uncle all by yourself?”

So that was it. The good old argument making a return.

“Really, Hange? After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

Perhaps, some of his hurt had reflected on his face, because Hange suddenly deflated, something close to shame flashing in her eyes. “It’s not about you,” she mumbled, looking to the side.

“Not about me?” this spurred his anger even more. “Then, who is it about?”

Hange clenched her jaw. “It’s about your uncle, Levi. I trust you, but I cannot and will not trust him. Would you have felt differently, if you were in my place?”

Hange’s concern and doubts were certainly… reasonable. He knew Kenny would never hurt him, not intentionally, but would he feel the same if he didn’t know him his whole life? If they weren’t family?

Of course, he wouldn’t. And Hange had even more reasons to distrust him, fighting her on that was futile. He could try some more to convince her, could try and make a run for it, but he’ll just end up wasting even more time that was now so precious.

“Alright,” his shoulders slumped, as he surrendered. Arguing with Hange had a way of making him extremely exhausted. “Let’s go to your shitty precinct.”

“Really?” Hange raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You agreed that easily? I thought I would need to handcuff you…”

Well, wouldn’t that be an interesting twist of events. Maybe, he would have enjoyed it. Once the embarrassment wore off, of course.

“Thanks for sparing me then.”

“Mm,” Hange patted his shoulder with a smile. “Don’t do anything stupid, and you’re totally safe.”

Ah, what a relief.

“Shall we go, then?” she started walking, her arm already lifted to hail a taxi. She didn’t even wait to hear his answer.

Levi cursed and hurried to catch up with her.

___

The whole time they spent in the car that was headed to the fucking police precinct, Levi felt like he was sitting on needles. There was another reason why he wasn’t crazy about going to that place, and, although, it was nearly not as important as his primary one, now it was making his anxiety rise to drastic heights.

Here he was, semi-willingly heading to the police precinct again. To the place that swarmed with cops, where some of Hange’s colleagues were probably aware that he was a criminal, where he would once again meet with Erwin fucking Smith.

Their last interaction ended somewhat amicably, but what could guarantee this one would be just as successful? With man as cunning as he was, who could be sure what was going inside that big brain of his?

Besides… there was another problem, hanging heavily on his mind. And in the silence of the taxi car, Levi decided to try and deal with it.

“Hey,” he started cautiously, attracting Hange’s attention. She shifted in her seat to look more comfortably at him. Despite that, Levi kept his gaze trained forward. “We’re going to meet Kenny soon, and, hopefully, untangle all this mess, so… have you decided what will happen with him afterwards?”

What will happen with me afterwards, was the question Levi wisely chose not to voice out.

“What will happen to your uncle?” Hange pursed her lips, a point finger tapping at her chin. “I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on the solution to this riddle.”

“And his…” theirs, “previous crimes? Are you going to just forget about them?”

“I can’t really do anything else about it. Technically, we have no suspects or any kind of damning evidence. Technically, that case has been closed almost two months ago.”

“So…” he put his hands into fists, keeping them from picking at the fabric of his pants. He still didn’t lift his face, reluctant to look into her eyes. He still didn’t ask the question that tormented him the most, afraid to hear the answer.

“After all of this is over… you’re free to go,” apparently, Hange knew what he was thinking about, even without him asking the question out loud. “Like I said, there is nothing I can do to pin those thefts on you or your uncle, and since, unlike your uncle, you haven’t kidnapped a young girl…”

“Oh. So you won’t try to put me behind bars anymore?”

He was almost disappointed to hear about it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hange protested. “I would love to do that, but I have no means to do it.”

“The horrible bureaucracy saved me?”

That earned him a delighted chuckle. Levi’s chest swelled with pride because of this little achievement. “Unfortunately, you’re not the only criminal that got away because of it.”

“All the more reasons to thank it then.”

“Or curse it vilely.”

Levi shrugged, his lips curling in a smirk. “Depends on the point of view, I guess.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and when Levi chanced a glance at Hange, he found that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her face was turned to the window, her fingers drumming on the seat between them in a slow, irregular manner. She seemed pensive. Levi wondered about the reason for it.

“Hey, since we started talking about it…” the rhythm created by her fingers grew stronger, more erratic. “Have you decided what are you going to do after we finish the case?”

Had he thought about? He hadn’t had the time. But even if he had, what was there to think about? He didn’t have a lot of options.

“I remember you mentioning some kids from Singapore,” Hange continued. “Are you going to go back to them?”

Going back to the brats? That didn’t sound all that bad. Just this morning they’ve sent him a photo of the three of them, telling that they’ve settled comfortably in Jean’s summer house. They said that they’ve missed him. Levi was feeling the same. But was that enough to build a life there, so far away from his home?

He could stay with Kenny, but what if Kenny went to prison? Would there be a reason for Levi to stay then?

“You know… I think we made a pretty good team. So if you ever tire of being a vile criminal…” Hange trailed off, letting Levi fill the blanks himself.

If he understood what Hange was offering correctly, then… Oh. Levi felt his chest warm up, moving downwards, spreading that pleasant fluttering to his stomach.

Hange still was staring at the window, refusing to meet his eyes. Her reflection, however, was perfectly visible to Levi, and the slight rosy color on her cheeks made his own heat up.

“What, are you proposing I become your crime solving buddy?”

Hange shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I could use some of your skills.”

“I’ll think about it then,” he said, mirroring her detached voice.

Hange faced to him with a beam shining on her lips. It was enough to make Levi smile back.

___

Despite the late hour, the precinct was bustling with activity. Remembering his last visit and the half-dead building he found that time, Levi wondered if he just caught the police station on a particularly slow night, or if that was how it always operated, and the amount of officers running around that they saw now was unusual.

"So Reiss is actually here," Hange muttered. "Or something really bad has happened. Can't imagine what else could cause this commotion."

Oh, his assertion was correct then. The precinct was so active just because of Reiss’ arrival.

Hange walked through the precinct with confidence in her stride. She greeted every officer they passed with a quick nod, they answered her in kind, and, thankfully, most of them were too busy to pay attention to Levi. He would love if it stayed that way for the rest of their visit.

They took the stairs, crossed a couple of hallways, turned a few corners, and there they were - walking up to Hange's office. There were a lot more familiar faces there - Levi could see Nana— something, talking with two officers, and Mike, leaning against the coffee machine at the other side of the room.

Hange immediately changed their trajectory, heading to him.

"Mike!" she shouted, causing him to turn in their direction.

As they approached, Levi raised his hand in greeting. When they were close enough, Mike raised his hand too, but instead of a friendly salute, Levi received a dizzying, lip shuttering punch.

Woah, apparently he was not only a towering height, but a mountain of muscles as well, the force of that punch reverberated through his skin and almost sent Levi flying through the air to land right on his ass. Mike certainly wasn't going easy on him.

Comprehending what was going on around him became a vexing task after that hell of a punch, but Hange's loud, laced with anger voice still cut through the fog.

"Mike! What the fuck? Have you gone mad?"

Mike's answer was much quieter, Levi only barely managing to catch 'You're the one to talk..."

Whether Hange heard her tall friend or not, she gave no reaction to that line. Instead, her strong arms wrapped themselves around Levi's shoulders, making the ache in his jaw turn into a barely noticeable dull. She made him face her, her fingers gripping his chin. Despite the outrage swirling in her gaze, her touch was gentle, more like a caress.

"God, Han, he's alright, it was just a punch, I'm sure he had worse. And, he more than deserved it."

Hange looked up at Mike, long enough to give him a death glare and hiss, "Shut the fuck up now."

When her eyes were back on Levi, her voice softened considerably. "Hey, Levi, are you alright?"

He gave her a nod, tenderly clenching and unclenching his jaw. Seemed like... Mike was right. He did have it worse.

Besides... having Hange so close, seeing that worried look in her beautiful brown eyes was... extremely pleasant. Enough to make him want to remain in this position for a while longer, just to enjoy that blessed feeling for another moment.

"I told you everything was fine with him," Mike grumbled suddenly, startling Levi. With Hange in front of him, the rest of the world was left in blurs, even the man who assaulted him had faded to the background. "Now, leave the thief alone and hurry to Erwin. The big man is already in his office."

That got Hange's attention. "By the big man you mean..."

"Yep, it's Reiss. I’m sure I don't have to tell why making him wait is extremely unwise."

"Got it, got it," Hange pushed the hair back from her face, taking a step back, much to Levi's disappointment.

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of your buddy," Mike reached out to Levi, and the arms that Hange still had around him tightened. Levi felt an illogically massive amount of pleasure.

"Mike, don't you even think—"

"I won't hit him anymore. I swear," he added, when Hange just kept giving him a look full of skepticism. She left it on for another second, and then nodded, letting Levi go.

She marched off to the office without another word or even glance. Without her, Levi was suddenly too cold. And the jaw ache returned with vigor.

"Here," Mike thrusted a handkerchief in Levi's hands, pointing to his still bloodied chin. Levi accepted it with a grateful nod, wiping the blood with a disgruntled grimace.

"Now let's go, I won’t waste my smoke break babysitting you." Mike pushed him forward, back to where Levi and Hange had come from.

As he finally got a good look around the room, Levi noticed that they had an audience, quite big and intrigued one. They kept staring at him as Mike led him to the elevator. Thankfully, no one uttered a single word, or, god forbid, a question.

Levi would have breathed out in relief once the elevator doors closed, if his companion wasn't so... unnerving. Mike didn't say a word, didn't as much as glance in his direction while they rode the elevator. He was silent when they left the elevator. He was silent as they moved towards the exit. He was silent as they walked outside. He was silent when he lit up his cigarette, was silent when he offered another one to Levi. Mike was silent before he took his first drag and after he let the smoke out. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and only then he fixed his eyes on Levi.

Levi held his breath, the tips of fingers trembling in anticipation for what was to come. Hopefully, not another punch.

"I was with Han, you know? When she found that note of yours. When she realized who you actually were."

Oh... Then Mike's ire was more than justifiable. And Levi digressed – a punch would be probably a less painful option than having this conversation.

"Did she..."

"No. I've never seen Hange cry, but—" Mike put cigarette back to his lips, inhaling it slowly, as though calming himself down. Levi waited for his answer with a bated breath. "I've also never seen her look so lost. At first, she wasn't even angry or hurt, just confused. I couldn't bear to see that look on her face. So when today I saw you waltz in our precinct like that, with Hange by your side..." he trailed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." Levi said.

He really was. He didn't mean to, didn't wish to hurt Hange. That was never his intention. And yet, he still did hurt her. That mistake would weigh on his soul forever.

"I know you are," Mike replied, surprisingly easy. "I used to think you're a scumbag and that my nose has failed me…"

Shit, he was really serious about this whole nose thing?

"But it turns out you're not that bad. You did lie and broke Hange's heart," and for that, Levi already received a punch in the face. "However, Erwin told me what happened yesterday. You really called him and asked to take Hange home?" Mike chuckled. "Man, that took some balls."

...To put it lightly. The memories of his last clash with Erwin still elicited a shiver from him.

"I was actually worried he'd throw me in jail," Levi confessed. "I'm surprised he didn't."

"Oh, believe me, he was very tempted to." Mike revealed.

"Then why didn't he?"

Mike shrugged, shaking off the ash from his cigarette. "Because it wasn't his call, it was Hange's. Whatever that she sees in you, it is enough for our Han to trust you. And Erwin respects her enough to not get involved in that."

Oh. That was actually reassuring. Perhaps, now Levi could stop feeling like a naughty schoolboy in Erwin's presence.

"But if you make the mistake of hurting Hange again," and just like that, the reassurance was gone. "We will make sure that you regret it. Next time, I won't be pulling back my punches."

So that hit was Mike going easy on him? Fucking hell. Levi hoped he wouldn't anger that man again. His skull may not survive it.

As Mike grew silent once again, Levi finally remembered the cigarette he was still holding in between his fingers. It almost burned out, he hurried to take a drag before it went out completely.

He regretted his decision almost immediately. Mike had a fucking terrible taste in tobacco.

Discreetly, he put the cigarette out and threw it into a trashcan.

"What do you think they're even doing there?" Levi raised a finger in the general direction of where Hange, Erwin and Reiss were. "Reiss showing up, it's a big thing, isn't it?"

"The biggest one we had in a while. Have you seen that shit inside? The precinct isn't that lively even during daytime. The bigger commotion would have happened only if we got you Ackermans in handcuffs."

Luckily, that would never happen.

"And? Do you think something... useful might come out of his visit?"

"Don't know," Mike stared down at his cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "To be honest, I thought that Hange's new case was just another dead end. But now guy as big as Reiss gets involved? I guess it's more complicated than I expected it to be."

Complicated? That was one way to put it. Levi was still baffled by the notion that Kenny was working with Frieda Reiss. Clearly, this case was much, much more complicated than they've anticipated. Clearly, he needed to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.

As though hearing his thoughts, Mike put his cigarette out. "C'mon, let's get you back before Hange bites my head off."

"Doubt that four-eyes will care so much about me."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his face screaming bullshit. But he said nothing, only smiled enigmatically and patted his shoulder.

"Whatever makes it easier to sleep at night, man."

___

Inside of Erwin's office was brighter than Hange had ever remembered seeing. Usually he used only two sources of light - his battered desk lamp and computer screen. But today, the ceiling lights were on. Hange didn't know that he even had them.

What's more, for the first time in a while, the leather couch standing beside his desk was occupied - by Reiss and a woman Hange had never seen before. Although, Hange had never seen her, that didn't mean she didn't know her. The hair color, the face structure - it was almost identical. Eyes, however, were different. Historia had definitely inherited them from her father.

Compared to Reiss’ bright ones, Alma’s eyes seemed practically lifeless. Her expression was completely neutral, like she wasn’t entirely there, her thoughts a long distance away from Erwin’s office.

So that woman was the mysterious mother? Hange longed to hear what she had to say.

"Sorry for the wait," she flashed everyone in the room a smile and swiftly strolled inside, taking a seat across from Erwin.

"You're dressed very smartly this night, detective Zoe. I do hope I didn't interrupt your date."

The smile didn't slip of her lips, as Hange shifted, facing Reiss. "I appreciate the concern, but it is uncalled for. Nothing more important than my job."

"Your date must be very understanding. Is that the same fella I saw you with last time? I thought you'd broken it off."

Ah, so Reiss was keeping tabs on her? Lovely.

Luckily, Hange was keeping tabs on him as well. She shifted her gaze to Reiss’ companion.

"And can I ask you who is that, Mr Reiss? Is this your—"

"That's my secretary," Reiss' smile became just a fraction more strained. Hange internally cheered. "Alma."

The same name that was listed in Historia's birth certificate. That bit of doubt Hange still had, now vanished without a trace.

"She's got valuable information regarding your recent case. And since you and I are already acquitted, I decided to accompany her."

"How nice and generous of you," Hange told Reiss, before returning to his secretary. "It's nice to meet you, Alma," she put her hand out for a handshake. Alma accepted it, albeit weakly. And only after receiving a nod from Reiss. Interesting. And creepy. "Why have you come to see me?"

The question was directed on Alma. But Reiss was the one who answered it.

"Alma has something to share regarding the disappearance of her daughter."

"Oh?" Hange shared a look with Erwin. His bush eyebrows were up to his hairline. So he had no idea about it, huh? Well, wasn't it good to finally be one step ahead of him?

But for the moment, Hange had to feign shock as well.

She cast her eyes down, hands dropping to her lap. "I was under the impression that Krista was an orphan." Then, with a slight frown, she added, "Why didn't you report her missing then? We caught news of her disappearance almost a week later."

"I..."

Alma paled, her hands began to tremble. Hange's grin began to spread, she almost got them—

But then Reiss— damn him— interfered. He covered Alma's hands with his, holding them gently, like a caring father.

"Alma and Krista had just recently reconnected," he explained in a quiet, saddened voice.

"Yes," Alma confirmed. Seemed like Reiss' support has given her the needed strength - she sounded surer now. But her gaze kept its strange detachment. "Krista and I rarely talk. I had abandoned her at the orphanage when she was just a newborn, so there are obviously... some tensions between us."

Despite the emotional flavor of her story, Alma was anything but. She was talking about her missing daughter and the rocking relationship that bounded them, yet nothing of it was mirrored in her. Her voice didn't waver, no muscle twitched on her face. Alma looked bored, like she was talking about something more trivial than even weather. Damn it, even Ackerman would have done a better job at pretending.

Although, perhaps, Hange was judging his acting skills a little too harshly. Earlier that evening, his kiss was more than just convincing. Hange felt tingle in her lips at the mere thought.

The sound of Erwin clearing his throat brought her back to present, rather abruptly.

"That is a very tragic story, Miss... Alma, but what is the reason for your visit?"

"Oh right," she freed her hands from underneath Reiss' and grasped her purse, opening it. "I found this on my lawn."

After a moment of rummaging through the purse, Alma laid before Hange a phone that was wrapped in a cellophane bag. Huh, for a simple secretary she knew more than enough about preserving evidence. Not to mention that if Hange found the phone of her missing daughter lying on the lawn, preserving evidence would be the last thing on her mind. But, oh well, what wasn't suspicious about that woman?

Reaching out to Erwin, Hange silently asked him to pass the sterile gloves. Any other day she wouldn’t think twice about simply grabbing the piece of evidence, but if that's how they wanted to play, she would have to indulge them.

Once the latex was pulled onto her long fingers, Hange took the phone - eagerly, impatiently. It all might be just a ruse, and she'd be damned, but she was intrigued by it.

The phone wasn't in the best shape - a large crack ran through the screen, the sides of it were covered in bumps, and at the bottom of it— oh, just a speck, but it was undeniably blood.

Hange shivered at the thought about its origin.

Once unlocked, the phone destroyed the little doubts she had. It really belonged to Historia, the picture on the lock screen confirmed it. The photo showed Historia, who was smiling at the camera with all of her loveliness, and Ymir, who was facing away, her lips at Historia's cheek. Ah, so that's why she was so dead set on saving her? Interesting. And so romantic. Hange didn't expect such a thing from Ymir.

"You found it on your lawn, right?" Erwin asked, signaling Hange to pass him the phone. Once she did, he looked at it, with both skepticism and curiosity.

"Yes," Alma said. "I called Mr. Reiss as soon as I did."

"Alma hopes that the phone would shed some light on where Krista disappeared."

"Hm." Hange couldn't shake off the feeling that she was walking straight into a trap. Why did Reiss decided to finally act, and why today of all days? Was he aware that they got to one of his daughters, and now were close to finding another one? Did he even care? And what was the importance of the phone? It was some sort of distraction or diversion, Hange was sure of it. But for now, it would have to remain a mystery. As suspicious as Reiss' actions were, there was a more pressing matter now. They had to get to Kenny Ackerman, and get out of him everything he was willing to share. Hopefully, with Levi by her side, he'd be much more amenable.

"Thank you for your cooperation," getting out of off her stupor, Hange smiled and shook first Reiss', then Alma's hand. "If we find anything regarding Historia's whereabouts, we'll alert you immediately."

"Krista." Reiss spoke in a voice so low that Hange had to take a double take to confirm that yes, that scary tone was coming from the honest, kindhearted, absolutely innocent politician.

"What?"

"Krista, Alma's daughter is named Krista. And you were just talking about some Historia."

Some Historia, huh?

"My mistake," Hange chuckled, rubbing her neck. "It was a long day, sorry."

"Forgive that slight mishap. Detective Zoe works day and night to find your daughter." Erwin chimed in, calming everyone down with his soft, unassuming smile. Hange could barely keep her delightful giggle.

Your daughter, Erwin said, while looking Reiss in the eyes. So he already caught on? Hange wasn't surprised.

"Thank you for the visit and have a good night, Mr. Reiss, Miss Alma. My assistant will walk you to the door."

Reiss nodded, his eyes still darker than a night's sky. He helped Alma get to her feet and led her to the door, where Nifa, Erwin's assistant, was already waiting with a tired gaze and polite smile.

They left, without looking back even once. Alma didn't say goodbye to Hange, didn't grab her arm and beg to bring her daughter back home. God, that woman could have at least tried to do a more believable act.

Once the door was closed, and they were left alone, the amicable expression was gone from Erwin's face. His jaw was set, his lips pressed in a line, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I hope I don't have to tell you that you're walking on a thin ice, Hange. And that this endeavor of your—"

"I know."

"And working with that Ackerman—"

"I know." Hange repeated, firmer this time. She knew the dangers, knew about possible consequences. Last night, Erwin made sure to explain it to her in vivid details. "But this girl is in trouble, Erwin. I can't let it go before she's safe."

"Your heart was always your biggest weakness," the stoic mask on his face hardened, and then cracked, revealing a fond smile. "But it's also your biggest strength. Don't lose it."

Standing up, Hange hid Historia’s phone inside the pocket of her jacket, then flashed Erwin a cheeky grin. "Is that an order, Captain?"

"It absolutely is, detective. You may go now. Someone is very impatient."

Hange followed Erwin's gaze, turning to the door. Even through the closed door, Levi's silhouette was transparent. He was pacing back and forth, and Hange could bet that he was scowling. She confirmed that guess as soon as she left Erwin's office.

"What the fuck had taken you so long? C'mon, four-eyes, we have to hurry."

Right, Kenny Ackerman was waiting for them. Kenny Ackerman who most definitely had the answers, who probably knew where Historia was. Hange couldn't allow another second go to waste.

She quickly skipped to where Levi was standing, prompting him to start moving.

"Let's go then! The solution awaits!"

___

"Wait!" Hange stopped them as soon as they were out of the precinct. "We need to call Ymir."

Levi groaned. Why, oh why, would she want to call that impossible brat?

"We wouldn't have found your uncle if it wasn't for her help. The only thing she asked in return is to find Historia. We owe her that much."

Perhaps, that was true, but Hange hadn't considered one very important factor - Levi really, really didn't want to face Ymir again. The last embarrassment was still too fresh in his mind.

"We haven't found Historia yet," he tried to argue.

"But we're as close as ever," Hange chirpily replied, overthrowing his whole reasoning with just one hopeful sentence.

Well, his battle was doomed before it had even begun. Levi lamented this loss with a sigh. "You're too kind, four-eyes."

"And you're too cranky," she retaliated, following that devastating blow with a mighty clasp to his back. "Call taxi for us while I talk with Ymir, okay? You know where to go, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sobering a little. Amidst his banter with Hange, he had completely forgotten that right, he was going to visit his childhood home, the same house where he had found the breathless body of his mother at the ripe age of nine. The feelings this trip was awakening in him were still unclear.

"And where exactly are we going?" whether his face, voice or general stiffness betrayed him or Hange was just that attuned to his emotions, but worry took residence in her gaze. She froze with phone raised to her ear, waiting for his answer.

"It's at the edge of the city."

"Near the docks? Some kind of abandoned warehouse?"

"Um." Something pointy stuck in his throat, making it hard to speak. However, Hange's gaze didn't waver, as she continued to expect a continuation from him. Swallowing his discomfort, Levi muttered, "We're going to my childhood home."

"Oh." The hand holding the phone lowered. Hange took a step in his direction. For one terrifying second Levi thought she was going to hug him. But, apparently, she decided to spare him from further embarrassment and concluded that gripping his shoulders tightly was enough. She stared straight at him, and in the darkness her eyes shone with sincerity. "If you want - or need - to talk about this, I'm ready to listen. If you—"

Fucking hell, compared to Hange, every other human seemed like an utter piece of shit.

"It's fine, four-eyes. It's just the house where I found my dead mom."

Saying that was obviously a mistake. Hange gasped, her eyes widening. Her hands on his shoulders tightening. "Levi, that's—"

"Yeah, one hell of a traumatic experience, especially for a brat who barely turned nine."

Another wrong line. Now Hange looked close to tears. Levi didn't know what urge was stronger - to wrap himself around Hange and ask her to never let go, or tear his hair out.

"Listen, I've dealt with it a long time ago," he didn't, hadn't even tried, but today and right now was very obviously the wrong time to go soul-searching and uncover what consequences his mother's death had on his psyche. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't help it, but if you insist..."

With that lost expression on her face, Hange looked so damn adorable, Levi was pissed off at himself for being so unwilling to look away. Thankfully, she saved him from this heavy duty by being the first one to turn around, the phone back to her ear. Levi turned away as well, escaping temptation. His finger was just hovering over the order button, when it dawned at him.

"Wait!" he pulled Hange back to him. "Did you just call me Levi?"

It wasn't the first time this evening as well, but all the previous occasions had him too occupied with something else to notice that slight change.

"Where did the damned Ackerman go?"

"Um." If he hadn't spent the previous two days learning just how bold and forward Hange was, he'd say that right now, she looked ashamed. The red in her cheeks certainly spoke in favor of that theory. "I'll be dealing with two Ackermans from now on, right? So to avoid any confusion..."

That was a very logical, reasonable explanation. So why Levi wanted it to be something more— personal?

"The taxi will be here in five," he said, distancing himself from these pointless, foolish thoughts.

"Ymir said she'll be waiting there for us," Hange nodded readily. "Shall we go?"

And so they went.

___

By the time Levi and Hange walked out of the taxi, Ymir was already waiting for them. She was standing near the sidewalk, leaning against a shiny black motorcycle.

Levi rolled his eyes at the sight of it. Of course, Ymir rode a motorcycle. As though she wasn't already a personification of every possible lesbian cliché.

"Oh what a baby!" squealing, Hange ran up to the motorcycle, looking it over with eyes burning from excitement. "I'm sure Historia would love to take a ride on this beast!"

"What can I say?" Ymir huffed, puffing her chest. The smirk on her face was absolutely horrendous. Even Kenny couldn't quite recreate a look of that much self-confidence. "Chicks dig bikes."

"That they certainly do."

Aha, so Hange liked motorcycles. Levi made a mental note about that.

He then left behind Hange's shrilling coos and Ymir's bratty replies, taking a step closer to the house he had grown up in.

It was dark now and seemingly empty, but years ago it was always filled with light. It was filled with life - his mom's cheerful laughter, his uncle's merry jokes, Levi's own insistent, curious questions about everything he encountered. It was filled with love— but now, it was just a house - old and cold.

Although, other than that, it looked exactly like Levi had remembered. A light green house in the suburbs, with a garden, little white fence and even playground, all of it was a gift from Uri Reiss, the only real friend his uncle had.

Oh, how his mother loved that house. How she enjoyed tending to the garden, how she laughed when she watched Levi play on a swing. They were happy in this house, the happiest Levi had ever been.

Standing before it now, after so many years, felt strange. Noticing all the little signs that someone had been looking after the house - the lawn was moved, the trash sorted and neatly packed, even the lane was swept - was even stranger. And he used to think that Kenny had sold the house long time ago. Evidently, the old bastard was more sentimental that he let on.

"Hey," a gentle voice was in his ear, strong hands on his shoulders. "Do you need a moment or—"

He was grateful for Hange's concern. But that concern - as sweet as it was - was misplaced. They didn't have time for it.

"I'm fine," he assured, lamenting that he was too prideful to take Hange by the hand. Not that he needed it, but— it certainly would make him feel better. "Let's get moving."

They did, all three of them in perfect unison, and be it her detective's sense or simple intuition, or, perhaps, Hange really could read him as easily as a book, but she took her hand in his, squeezing his palm reassuringly. It certainly worked, her touch was like a magic that chased away the tense feeling in his muscles. Now, Levi could almost breathe freely.

When they reached the door, Hange lifted her free hand, probably with intent to knock. What a dork, Levi thought fondly. Pushing her aside, he kicked the door open with one mighty hit of his leg.

"Levi!" Hange yelled in shock. "You can't just—"

"My house, remember?"

Without another word, Levi passed the threshold, Hange and Ymir trailing after him.

Even engulfed in darkness, the inside of the house looked just like he remembered - soft, crème carpet under their feet, fern that had grown so much bigger standing near the door, a photo of—

Oh. Levi averted his eyes with lightning speed. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying. Especially with Ymir present.

The house seemed emptier with each step they took. Doubt started to arise within Levi, and along with it - his anger. If that son of a bitch lied to him—

But then he heard it. Just at the edge of his hearing, but that sound was as familiar as it was unmistakable. The sound of Kenny playing with his lighter.

He hurried in the direction of that sound, it led him to the living room. The room was dark, the only source of light was the old TV-screen that did a very poor job of illuminating the rest of the room. Levi could barely see the outlines of the couch, but the figure lying on it— oh, Levi knew it so well.

The sight of Kenny with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other was all too familiar. And just as infuriating. Still holding onto Hange, Levi marched to his uncle with the full intent of kicking his insolent ass.

Kenny shot to his feet moments before they reached him.

"Levi!" he spread his arms in a greeting gesture. Levi's scowl darkened. "You brought friends!"

"Kenny—"

"And before you or your detective—" Kenny swept his eyes all over Hange, his grin growing, "friend punch me, let me show you something."

"Something?" it came from Hange, who sounded simultaneously intrigued, cautious and fucking furious.

"Someone," Kenny corrected with an enigmatic wink. Before Levi or Hange could force him to explain, he shouted, his voice carrying over the entire house, "Girl! Come here, you have guests!"

There was a beat of silence, then, they heard a sound of hurried footsteps that came from the upper floor. Levi held his breath. Hange did too, and, holding her hand, he could feel her pulse beating strongly.

At last, the door to the living room opened.

"What the hell do you want from me again?"

Levi's jaw dropped. Dressed in lilac top and shorts, with her hair up in a messy ponytail she looked a bit different from the perfect girl from the photos, but truth was impossible to deny.

Before them— in the flesh, stood Historia Reiss.

#fuck i don't have a silly joke this time soooo just enjoy?#levihan

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skiyoosmi · 3 years

Text

if fate permits

⤷ chapter nineteen: when it's too late

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YN'S POV

ATSUMU'S POV

TWO DAYS LATER...

[THE FOUR IDIOTS’ APARTMENT, 6:55PM]

Kiyoomi only watched as your eyes became melancholier, as if it were not already in the first place, the longer you stared at the screen of his phone. Probably rereading his conversation with Atsumu, he thinks. Initially, he wasn’t really planning on showing it to you but just like any other day, you decided to be the whipped soulmate (or more like an idiot, at least to him) you were, all while saying “Atsumu is important to me, should I really leave this apartment while not making amends with him?” He almost retched, is this girl really fixated on becoming a saint? How could someone be this lenient? He has no idea. And so, he showed you– that even after all this time, the piss-haired boy will remain as he is; that no matter how many years may pass, Miya Atsumu will be Miya Atsumu.

And he was the exact opposite of you: he was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He can only remember how much he loathed the boy upon their first proper meeting; not that he likes meeting new people anyway. Kiyoomi was no genius but he knew, right at that moment, that Atsumu was far from being the ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ soulmate his dearest sister was so engrossed to have.

Kiyoomi also knew that he was not the best brother in the world; hell, he is way too far from being a good one even. He couldn’t care less if you have an admirer from afar (like that Iwaizumi who seems to be around you all the time these days), nor when you finally get yourself a suitable boyfriend, not even when you finally get wedded to someone. He wasn’t overprotective... or at least that’s what he believed. But he was only human, after all– now that he contemplates about it, he realizes that he isn’t really fond of seeing you cry.

“Stop hurting yourself over and over again, you fool of a sister,” he said, clicking his tongue afterwards and grabbing your bags after hearing your father call from downstairs, “Know your worth a little, will you? It’s kind of painful for me to watch you get hurt too, you know. It’s not just mom and dad.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving you to tend to your other belongings and perhaps, say goodbye to this little house that managed to etch itself to your heart. Compared to your childhood home, it wasn’t enough to make you sob your heart out dry. But for some reason, tears still found its way on the corner of your eyes as you remembered the fond memories you’ve made here with your boys – the moment you stumbled upon this house when you four were trying to find a place to stay, the smile on your face when you decided that this was the one (cue Atsumu literally hauling you three towards the agent to settle the down payment), the moving day when Kiyoomi and Osamu brawled for the first time in their lives because they both wanted that bedroom that was the only one downstairs, “to be away from the idiot disease” as what they said. You can only wonder if you could make new memories as happy as those in your future home.

“Ah… you really are a fool of a sister, YN,” you whispered to yourself, wiping the tears away and getting the last of your things before proceeding downstairs, finding your father standing by the front door, arms crossed with a face mask adorning his face (you never really questioned where your brother got his traits, it was as clear as the day), “Kiyoomi is already in the car but I think you should bid Osamu-kun a proper farewell first. He’s in the kitchen. We’ll be waiting so just take your time.”

You nodded before proceeding to the said area, finding the gray-haired with his arms already wide open. Your lips quivered before jumping at him, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“We’ll still be seeing each other at school, you damn gorilla,” he chuckled before burying his face in your neck. You clicked your tongue, pouting at his very much realistic reply, “But it’s different! Eating breakfasts together, going to school together, going home together… and drinking wine until we’re brains out! I’m pretty sure my dad won’t let me do that at his house!”

He cackled, releasing you from his hold and flicking you on your forehead, “what an alcoholic woman! Are you sure you’re going to be a student in a prestige university abroad? You’ll be left behind by your classmates if you keep on prioritizing your wines before your studies.”

“Hah! You’ll see, Osamu. Those red wines will be the reason I even become one of the most famous writers in the world. You better wait and I’ll release an autobiography saying a man named Miya Osamu used to bully me to death,” you huffed, smirking after you saw him stare at you in disbelief. Your smile gradually disappeared upon the realization that the center of your heart was not home… even when I’m already leaving, huh?

Osamu frowned as well, scratching the back of his neck because of the sudden silence that indicated your little recognition, “I’m sorry. I told him to go home before 7 but…”

“It’s fine, Samu. We’re still not in the best terms so it’s probably better this way – a more peaceful way of farewell, you know? No fighting or anything else. Besides, I couldn’t tell him anything about my moving, scholarship, and so many things,” The lad didn’t miss the way you quickly wiped your tears away though. Damn you, Atsumu, why are you always making her cry, he thought.

“I’ll see you at school then, Samu. I’ll miss the dinners you cook,” you smiled, walking quietly outside, and shutting the front door. At the same time, a chime resonated from your phone that was in your pocket. Opening it, you released a long sigh… of relief? of anxiety? You didn’t know.

[Haji, 7:15PM]: I did it, YN. My thread, it’s… black.

You looked up at the night sky, finding stars twinkling as if they were gazing back at you.

Should I start moving on too, Haji?

[TOKYO UNIVERSITY GYMNASIUM, 7:20PM]

For the umpteenth time this week, Atsumu heaved yet another deep sigh, hands weaving itself with his hair to ruffle it out of frustration. Today, he couldn’t care less about the girls lurking around the university gym… because for the umpteenth time this week as well, his twin brother expressed his disappointment towards the boy, leaving him in the said place with the same words he had uttered yesterday and even the day before that, accompanied by a threat this time: “You’re such an immature asshole I wouldn’t be surprised if YN finally gives up on being your friend. You better come home before 7PM or else, I will drag you by your feet with my own two hands.”

Clicking his tongue, he grabbed another ball, gripping it so hard his nails almost left a dent on it. 7PM? He only scoffs. No, he won’t go home yet. He doesn’t care if Osamu gets furious at him and drags him nor if you give up on your friendship; all he thinks right now is that he wants to spike this ball straight onto the other side of the court, make it burst if it was even possible. It wasn’t his fault he got mad at you, he’s entitled to his feelings; he’s right, Kiyoomi’s mistaken… you shouldn’t have promised something you would just break in a span of less than thirty seconds. You shouldn’t hav–

But is it really her fault though? A voice in his head refuted him, or is it just because you’re really an immature asshole who can’t be happy for her?

Of course, it’s her fault, he argues. Immature? Him? He’s almost twenty-two, for god’s sake! He has been living in this world for more than two decades, how could Osamu call him underdeveloped? He swears he’s going to give his twin brother a good punch or two once he gets home.

… But she’s just trying to reach for her dreams, why are you not supporting her? She always does that when it comes to you, doesn’t she? Or have you already forgotten?

And at that, everything went perfectly still. The sound of the ball falling from his hands resonated throughout the quiet gym. Even with just hearing words from something or someone he can’t even identify, Atsumu felt as if he was hit on his head with a ton of bricks.

“E-eh…? W-why… why am I crying?” He whispered, fingers going up to touch his cheeks and furrowing his eyebrows when he felt the dampness of the said area.

Because you know you don’t deserve her. You know that it’s your fault. It has ALWAYS been your fault.

“Shut up,” he said to no one, plopping down the floor while he clutched his ears this time to shut the voice out. As it kept talking, he tried hitting his head with his hand, tried talking over it, tried retorting savage remarks back; however, everything was futile for it kept talking, kept torturing his mind with nothing but the truth.

You hurt her, then apologize, then do it again. What are you playing, a tug-of-war? How selfish of you, Miya Atsumu! Are you really her best friend?

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He screamed, his throat feeling as if it was getting scratched from the rawness of his voice. There was no way he was gonna have a voice tomorrow.

You’re so aggravated whenever you think about losing YN, are you sure you’re not in love with her or something? Yanno… have you never thought about the fact that maybe she’s your sou–

“Atsumu-kun! Wake up!” A voice yelled while grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him awake, finally bringing him out of his… dream? Was that even considered a dream? Because Atsumu was sure as hell that what happened was just plain torture to him.

“Are you okay, Atsumu-kun? You were having a nightmare,” turning to the girl who kept her hold on him, he finds Yui, who was looking back at him as if he lost the screws in his head. He starts to believe that he, in fact, did after all that weirdness. After all, who in the world would randomly just fall asleep in the middle of an empty gym then proceed to have a nightmare while on it. Surely, there would be no one except for him. How in the world did it happen anyway? As far as he could remember, he was just practicing his serves and tosses a while ago.

“Yui, why are you still here? It’s getting late,” he asks the girl whose eyes just lit up, for some reason, at his question before lifting her hand up and showing… what? She continued to smile though and waved the same hand right in front of Atsumu’s face, much to his slight annoyance. He wasn’t really in the best mood to play guessing games right now, so he only sighs exasperatedly, “Just get to the point, Yui-chan. I’m feeling the exhaustion now.”

“I told you before that I could see my thread, right? Well, it turned black! Me and my soulmate met up a while ago and turns out, he was a Moira, so we performed the mini ritual, which is so weird by the way, before cutting it. He said one of us has to ‘affirm’ their desire to cut the thread, so I did! As far as I know, based on my previous researches about soulmates, it doesn’t really matter because the ‘gods’ know the deepest desires of our hearts but you know, I don’t really care because I’m free!” She exclaimed, squealing afterwards, and flinging her arms around Atsumu’s neck to give him a hug. But the boy stayed still and gaped because how can someone afford to be happy at this situation? His arms remained motionless at his sides, confusing him; wasn’t he just itching to have this weeks ago? In fact, he was just dreaming about it about three days ago. So why? Why couldn’t he bring himself to hug her back?

“Your soulmate cut it. How can you be happy, Yui-chan….?” Before he knew it, his mouth spoke for him faster than his brain could process. He removed himself from the girl’s embrace, watching as confusion begin to form on her face; though it only took her milliseconds before an odd smile showed up on her face once more.

“Because that means I could finally date you without feeling guilty for my soulmate, silly!”

Atsumu felt like a hundred years had passed in just a single night and yet again, he sighed. If anyone sees him right now, they will probably laugh at his rather pathetic-looking state. Never in his life has he felt this exhausted, not even when Kita Shinsuke would force him to do an unreasonable number of receives and then make him clean the whole gym with the said captain; no, not even that could beat this fatigue and strangely, it makes him miss the captain.

Maybe he should’ve just gone home before 7PM, like Osamu said. He then shudders as he remembers that he still has to face his twin’s wrath.

“Can’t I just go back to being a toddler… like the brats that have no problem in the world?” He whines to himself quietly, relief spreading throughout his whole body as he sees your shared apartment; can already smell the meal Osamu cooked for you four; can visualize the disgusted look your brother will give him once he enters the house, all sweaty and gross-looking. Though, he thinks it’s odd that upon looking at the window of your room and Kiyoomi’s, he finds that they weren’t lit up unlike the usual. Maybe they’re already asleep, he shrugs given that you both love getting your beauty rest as much as you can. Twins, you are.

As careful as possible, he opens the front door, wincing when it makes a sound that would possibly wake up the very sensitive ears of Sakusa Kiyoomi from his room downstairs.

“Don’t bother trying to be quiet, Atsumu. You’re not going to wake anyone up in this house,” The voice of Osamu startles him. Fastly recovering from the mini-scare, he turns to his twin to glare while clutching his chest in hopes to calm his heart down, only to stop when he finds his brother glowering at him with a much worse scowl on his face.

“Samu, I’m sorry. I just got caught up with som–”

“You know, Tsumu, it’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You always come around when it’s already too late,” Osamu speaks, trying to find the right words to say, “YN and Kiyoomi… they left and went back to their parents’ home. They will be staying there until YN and her mom leaves for abroad which would be in less than a month, right after this semester ends.”

Miya Atsumu was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He didn’t care if you gave up and break off your friendship with him… at least that’s what he believed. But like Sakusa Kiyoomi, he was also human – and at that moment, as his brother stares at him and waits for a reply, he only stays still. Why is it that instead of the volleyball he was holding at the gym moments ago, it’s his heart that’s about to burst?

⤷ notes. we didn't have internet connection for a whole day and phew.. this was the result of me being bored out of my wits, i guess? and i apologize in advance for the pain that i keep on giving and WILL keep on giving :>

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #atsumu smau #iwaizumi smau #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #miya atsumu #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 21 – Missed Opportunities

Chapter 1 Chapter 20

“You’re not going to be able to make it? I put it on the calendar and everything. Physical and digital,” Marinette pouted.

“I know,” Dick groaned in frustration with himself. “But I’m telling you in advance this time. I can’t make it. I’ll watch videos. I’ll give you extra back massages. I’ll hire a personal instructor. I’m sorry.”

“Dick… we rescheduled this twice so you could make it.” Marinette knew her voice was getting exasperated and angry, but she couldn’t help it. This kept happening. He kept missing everything. At this rate, he was going to miss the birth as well.

“I know but this is… This is really important, Mari,” he begged her to understand. This could be the missing piece they needed. He had to go.

“And this,” she indicated her belly, “isn’t?” She was giving him a hard, challenging look.

“That isn’t… I did not say that,” he answered indignantly.

“No, I know. That wasn’t fair,” she conceded quickly. It wasn’t Dick’s fault he was going to be gone and he was getting better. He was letting her know in advance he wasn’t going to make the birthing class. She collapsed against the counter, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Dick let out a long pained sigh. “I know this is frustrating. I’m frustrated and upset. I can’t control the timing for this, for any of this. And it’s all happening at the same time and it’s all converging and I can’t control any of it.” Dick’s voice got increasingly aggravated as he spoke and his gestures wilder. He hated the timing of all of this, but he needed to be there. They had finally been able to track a talon and he needed to trade off with Wally to keep up the tail. He was the leader. It was his family he was defending. He had to go.

Marinette sighed and squared her shoulders. This was just as trying on him as it was on her and she desperately wanted him not to suffer because of things he couldn’t control. She cupped his face to bring his focus back to her. “Yeah, it sucks and I hate it. But we just need to remember we love each other, right? We love each other and we want to be together.” she gave him a long, luxuriant kiss. “The universe is messing with us. We aren’t going to let it win.”

Dick observed the determined, loving look in her eyes. Her confidence grounded him. Things were bad now, but they would get better. He would stop this plot and then things would be better. He rested his hands over hers and smiled. “We’re going to take on the universe huh?”

Marinette nodded, eyes shining with mirth, “And win. That part’s important.”

Dick chuckled indulgently. “Of course. And win. Together.”

“Together,” Marinette nodded. “As long as we work together and communicate and we’re honest with each other, there’s no way the universe can bring us down.”

It took almost the entirety of Dick’s over a decade of training to hide the wince that resulted from the ‘honest’ comment. It was like her comment was designed to cut even though he knew it wasn’t. It still hit hard. As soon as this was over he could come clean. He would be honest. And there wouldn’t be any more secrets between them. They just needed to hold out for a few more weeks… or months… God, he hoped it wasn’t longer than that. Instead, he smiled and nudged her nose with his. “I love you.”

Her responding smile was absolutely brilliant. “I love you too, Bluebird.”

<><><><><>

“I’m so sorry I’m going to miss it.” The remorse in Marinette’s voice was clear even over the speaker. She was still in the office working on a few last minute issues with Lucius on issues with the fabric.

“It’s okay, Marinette. I understand,” Dick calmly assured her.

“Yeah, we get it, Pixie Pop. Your show is coming up really… long time from now,” Jason teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes, reveling in the chaos he was unleashing.

“It isn’t long. It’s short. Really short,” Marinette ranted, the words spilling out quickly. “Only a few weeks. Can you believe it’s just a few weeks away? I should have everything done and be working on details now. Rachel, do not emulate this. I expect you to be better than me.”

Lucius chuckled. “Every inventor and creator I know does this. This is always what it is like right before a debut. You’re doing fine.”

“I’ve seen what you have so far, it looks amazing already,” Stephanie assured her. And it did. She was completely blown away with what Marinette had done.

“No kidding. You made me willing to wear designer clothes,” Duke agreed.

“Do you need anything Marinette? Do you need me to bring over something to eat or drink? Did you take your vitamins today?” Dick fussed. He knew how she was when she was working and it was already dinner time. If he knew her, and he did, then she didn’t even realize how late it was yet.

“Thank you, Dick. I’m fine. You guys just enjoy your night together. And yes I did,” she assured him. Despite not being able to see her, Dick knew she had a smile on her face.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work, but I’ll see you at home tonight, right? You’re not going to spend all night there working on it?” Dick asked pointedly.

“Don’t worry Mr. Grayson. I’ll make sure she doesn’t work herself too hard. I’ve already ordered food in for us and a company car to take Rachel home after dinner and another for Marinette at 9, so she has to leave by then,” Lucius assured him with a chuckle.

“You two do realize I’m not a child, right?” Marinette snapped.

“Of course. You’re an adult. An extremely self-sacrificing, prone to self-destruction adult. You’ll fit right into the Wayne family whenever Mr. Grayson finally wakes up.” They could hear Lucius’ smirk through the phone as well as Rachel’s giggle and Marinette’s squeak.

“Rachel!” she exclaimed a few octaves higher than normal. “Do not encourage him!”

“Absolutely encourage him,” Stephanie called out loudly.

“Rachel, you’re supposed to be on my side.” They could tell she was trying to be offended but couldn’t quite pull it off. “You know what? Don’t you have homework to do? You should be doing your homework.”

“I already got my homework done before I came here and the essay that’s due Monday,” Rachel answered easily.

“Oh, well that’s… very well organized. Good job, Rachel,” Marinette admitted grudgingly.

“Well, somebody here should be,” Lucius teased.

“And you! You know what, you don’t need to be here. In fact, you’re not welcome here anymore. You can go home. Call a car for yourself,” Marinette growled playfully.

“Might I remind you, this is my office,” Lucius responded, completely nonplussed by her comment.

“You might, but it won’t change my previous statement.” Lucius’ laughter rang clear through the phone, a clear indication that Marinette had punctuated her retort by sticking her tongue out at him.

“Lucius, stop flirting with my girlfriend,” Dick implored with a smile.

“Mr. Grayson, if I wanted to flirt with your girlfriend, she would no longer be your girlfriend,” Lucius responded smoothly.

“Oooooooh, damn,” Duke laughed. “So that’s what total destruction looks like.”

“Lucius,” Marinette admonished him, “don’t say true things like that to him. One of us being a nervous wreck with a tendency to spiral into anxiety induced death spirals and nightmares is enough.”

“You okay, fam?” Tim asked cautiously. He looked over to Dick to see how much of what she had said should be taken seriously and judging by the frown on his face, all of it except the Lucius part.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Marinette answered in an overly confident, chipper voice. They could just picture the toothy, too wide grin on her face and twitching eye. “Just another few weeks and it will all be over,” she continued. “One way or another,” she added quietly.

“I know you’re dreading the end of our association when you’re sought out by every major name in the business, but I think your future husband is more than happy to have you out of my influence,” Lucius teased. “Until he realizes there’s another year on the contract.”

“Yeah, okay. On that note, I’m going to let you get back to work so Marinette can get home and in bed at a reasonable time. Lucius… I’m keeping my eye on you,” he said in a stern voice that anyone else might have taken as serious.

Lucius laughed. “Understood, Mr. Grayson. Have a good night.”

“Love you, Bluebird. Have fun, guys.” Marinette called out to them.

“Night Marinette!” Jason, Duke, Stephanie and Tim yelled to her.

“Love you too. Night,” Dick said before hanging up. He tapped the phone against his lips with a concerned frown. He wasn’t doing enough to lessen her stress. She was still too stressed and it wasn’t good for the babies. Maybe he could give her a massage tonight. He plastered on a smile and turned to the others. “Let’s get this movie started.”

“Is she always like that?” Duke asked after a few minutes.

“Like what?” Dick tried to give him a confused look but Duke just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Yeah, lately, yeah. Stress from the show. When the show is over she should be much more relaxed. Adrien seems to think this is completely normal and expected for her.”

“Cass and I would take her out for another girl’s night if we thought it would help, but at this point, I don’t think there is anything we can do but not add to her stress,” Stephanie grimaced.

“What a thought, not adding to Pixie’s stress,” Jason glared at Dick, a look that Dick didn’t miss.

Tim looked awkwardly between Dick and Jason. “So… going back to what Lucius said, you thinking about proposing to Marinette?”

Dick looked away from Jason and blinked a few times, trying to get his mind to switch tracks. “I have a ring, but not now. Not yet. We love each other, but I don’t think we’re there yet. There’s still trust issues,” Dick shrugged.

Jason scoffed and took a drink. “Have anything to do with you abandoning her regularly with no notice and sketchy ass excuses?”

Dick glared at him. “Probably,” he growled, knowing full well that was exactly what it was. All of their problems boiled down to the Titans and him focusing too much on figuring out the Court of Owl plan. All the missed appointments, all the missed life events, all the broken promises, were all because of Titan activity.

“Have you thought about just… telling her?” Tim asked carefully.

Dick drew in a deep, frustrated breath. Of course he had. They all pushed him to tell her constantly. Bruce had even given his blessing. He could just tell her and alleviate a lot of their issues, but he refused to put that on her while she was already under so much stress and according to the doctor, it was dangerous for her to be under any. He couldn’t control the fashion show but he could control this. He wasn’t going to endanger the twins and Marinette just to make himself more comfortable.

She already got so worried about him from the injuries he came home with. She would get that adorable, heartbreaking concerned frown and furrowed brow every time she looked at them, and since some of them took weeks to heal, she had that expression every day, several times a day for weeks. After one particularly bad fight with Double Dare, she had nightmares for days about him getting hurt and then the babies getting caught in an attack. He wasn’t about to tell her he did that regularly and induce nightmares every night while she was pregnant.

“You know, you’re going to have a couple kids with her pretty soon. It might be important information for her,” Jason prodded.

“If Grayson doesn’t want to tell her, he has every right not to,” Damian interjected.

“Thank you, Damian,” Dick responded, silently, momentarily thankful he didn’t have the same protective streak for Marinette that the rest of the family had acquired.

“He knows her better than the rest of us and if he does not find her trustworthy, that insight should be respected,” Damian finished, returning his attention to the movie.

“What?” Dick exclaimed looking back at Damian in shock. Was that really what Damian was getting from this? Is that why he thought Dick didn’t want to tell Marinette? “That’s not… Damian that is not why I haven’t…”

“She should know if she’s going to be doing this alone,” Jason interrupted. His voice was hard and accusatory, as it often was with Dick lately.

Distantly, Dick heard someone gasp and shuffle around, but he was far too focused to process it. “She won’t be doing it alone,” Dick growled back. Jason had been exceptionally hostile lately, more so than even Adrien, but the insinuation that Dick would abandon his family was going too far. “I’m going to be there for her and the babies.”

“I can’t hear the movie,” Damian warned them.

“Shut it, Imitation’s Imitation,” Jason snarled before rounding back on Dick. “Are you? When does that start? ‘Cuz you sure as Hell haven’t been so far.”

“Jason,” Stephanie tried to interject.

“I’ve had…” Dick started.

“Yeah, yeah. Vigilante business, which has always been more important than making baby appointments, more important than being there for Marinette. You need to figure out if you’re Nightwing or a father.”

“I’m both,” Dick gritted out through his teeth.

“But which is more important?” Jason argued

“Being a father, of course,” Dick yelled out.

“That’s not how it looks right now. How many appointments have you missed? How many events? You abandon her constantly for things that other people could easily handle and eventually, she’s going to figure out that you don’t actually work for WE, and what’s your plan for that? Or is that plan? Let her figure it out and walk away from you so you don’t have to be the bad guy?”

“Shouldn’t your loyalty be to Grayson? You’ve switched loyalties rather quickly. One look from a pretty woman and as expected you turn your back on your family,” Damian snarled, finally turning away from the movie.

“What the fuck do you think she is? She’s family. She’s carrying your niece and nephew. They are our family, all three of them even if Dickhead walks away from them. They are still our family and they deserve some consideration too,” Jason yelled back.

Damian opened his mouth to respond but Cass moved next to him, shaking her head. Damian grunted, but acquiesced, letting Dick and Jason fight it out between themselves.

“What is your obsession with me leaving them? It’s not going to happen. I’m not going to abandon them!” Dick howled.

Jason shook his head and gave a bitter chuckle. His voice suddenly back to an eerily normal level. “You’re right. You always are, Golden Boy. ‘I’m not going to’ would imply a future event. You already have abandoned them.”

“Fuck you! I have not.” The lowering of Jason’s voice only made Dick’s anger surge. He was acting like he won an argument, like it was already over. It was far from over. “I’ve been doing everything in my power to protect them. Whatever the Court of Owls is planning it is going to be huge and devastating, and we now know it includes Gotham. I’ve been doing nothing but investigating them for months to stop them. I’ve fought talons, I’ve tracked down associates, fuck, I’ve gotten captured by talons and had to get saved by Garth and Donna.”

“They should have kept you,” Jason grumbled, heading to the door. “I’m going to go check on Pixie Pop. It’s getting late, someone should and naturally, that someone won’t be you.”

Dick seethed as he stared at the door Jason left through. How dare he? How dare he! He had no right to suggest not only was Dick abandoning them, but that he wanted to. Abandoning her was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want to leave in the middle of dates. He didn’t want to miss the babies kicking. He didn’t want to miss entire weeks of development. He didn’t want to miss snuggling with Marinette. He didn’t want to sleep without her. He did all of that because he was protecting her, because he loved her. He couldn’t just pass off all of his responsibilities to someone else. He was the team leader. He had to be the one to make the decisions.

“You okay?” Tim asked gently. He wanted to make sure Dick was okay, but wasn’t looking to incur his wrath. Jason had said everything that needed to be said, now Dick just needed to calm down and consider the words.

“He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what it means to be a leader, what it means to be a father,” Dick growled.

Tim looked away and gave a heavy sigh. He wasn’t listening. He decided he was doing the right thing and he wouldn’t listen to any other opinions. He’d dedicated himself to this course and he wouldn’t be swayed. He’d gotten better about it in the last few years, but still had miles to go. “Maybe,” he granted, turning to look Dick, his eyes hardened to steel, “but he does know what it means to be abandoned.”

Chapter 22

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95

#maribat #dickinette #Dickinette February #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - talon

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hepaidattention · 3 years

Text

pipe cleaner

where Lydia and Stiles live six hours away from each other their first year in college and hate it and also Scott needs help with the pack, but they make it work - they always do. oh also its their meetaversary.

warning: occasional cursing because I can’t believe impulsive Stiles Stilinski didn’t use fuck on a regular basis

Lydia lied across her bed, head rested on her pillow, ankles crossed, and hands folded and placed perfectly on her stomach. She was waiting, patiently she might add. She let out a long sigh as she observed her ceiling. She wished it was those god ugly popcorn ceilings just for the entertainment of deciding shapes out of the little bumps - she used to do that in Stiles' room, all those times they’d say they were studying but it always turned into his long rants about his next hunch or scheme. Sometimes, when he got too stressed, she would pull him on the bed with her and tell him to tell her the first shape he saw. It was almost always something silly, or sarcastic, but it grounded him - it helped him when he was on the verge of a panic attack as well. One time she asked him what they looked like to her and he laughed a little. She asked him what it was and he said, "They kinda remind me of all the moles taking over my face."

She looked at him, getting a perfect view of the most prominent ones. She loved his freckles and moles, they made his face so unique. Then he said, "One of these suckers will be the death of me, just you wait. I'll spend years surviving werewolves and werecoyotes and murder spree sacrifices and nogistune possessions, all to die from mole cancer at the sour age of 60."

"Don't say that," Lydia felt a twinge in her chest from the thought.

"What, why?" He turned his head to face hers, laughing still about it.

"Because I don't want to think of a world like that," she bit her bottom lip, then twisted her neck back to face the ceiling. "A world where you're dead." is what she wanted to say, but instead she finished with, “I can’t handle anymore death.”

Stiles’ mouth was gaped open - he was looking at her like he’d just seen the sun for the first time. She recognized it as ‘Lydia actually cares about me’ face, because he made it a lot when she ever said anything nice to him. He closed his mouth, finally, then he grabbed her hand, giving it a light squeeze before letting go. With that he whispered, "Well thankfully you don't have to. Can't get rid of me that easily, now can you?"

Lydia found tears running down the side of her face and into her perfectly curled hair. They were bittersweet tears - loving the memories of the happy past, but missing them so severely it brought a deep pain in her chest. She wiped the tears from the memory and looked at her phone. 8:35. She sighed again, her fingers now tapping less patiently and more impatiently on her abdomen. 5 minutes late was on time for Stiles, but it didn't keep her from worrying.

God she missed him. She thought back to the first day she actually acknowledged Stiles Stilinski. She was on her bed at home, not here in this dorm, and yes she always knew who he was - it was almost impossible not to know the sheriff's son. The Stilinski the teachers always yelled at, the trouble maker goofball all the lacrosse players made fun of behind his back. She met Stiles in 3rd grade, with his over worn Power Rangers shirt as he stared at her across class all day. However, in her room was the first day she learned his name. Like really learned it; at least cared to remember it. She was high on whatever drugs she took for her anxiety and all she remembered was a sweet Stiles coming to check on her. He was the only one who ever checked on her. The only one (other than Allison obviously) out of the entire school to come and make sure she was okay.

Now she was lying on her bed, waiting for him to call her on the phone, wishing she could just see his mole-covered face in person for the first time in these excruciating months. She wanted to hug him; kiss him; hold his hand.

She let out a loud sigh and picked up her phone, checking the time again. 8 minutes late. It was 8 minutes Lydia, calm down. Stiles hardly ever even remembered what day it was, his concept of time was always off. She laid it back down on the bed and stared back at the ceiling. 2 more minutes passed and she sat up, bringing her phone with her. Maybe she should just call him. It was his turn tonight, but he could've fallen asleep. His sleep schedule had been ridiculous lately, his internship keeping him up at strange hours of the day and night.

She pulled up his contact and started to press the green little phone button when Incoming Call appeared on her screen. It was an unknown number. She answered anyway, falling back into the bed as she said, "Hello?" She said it with mystery, wondering if assuming it was Stiles was too hopeful.

"Uh yes hi," Stiles said on the other side of the phone. He sounded weird, like he was trying to make his voice deeper. "I'd like to order a pizza,"

She smiled to herself, deciding to play along, "Sorry sir, you have the wrong number. This is a supernatural crisis hotline, are you experiencing anything supernaturally distressing at the present?"

She could hear him chuckle to himself, practically hear the smile curving up mouth: "That depends on what you define as supernaturally distressing."

"Hm, well," she flipped on her side, her arm propping up her head, "Are you being haunted?"

"Mmm, by hunger, yes,"

She shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. "Sorry, hunger doesn't qualify as a supernatural occurrence. Have you been bitten by a supernatural being or perhaps burst into flames without explanation?"

"God no," he paused, then, "but I might do that exploding thing if I can't order a pizza."

She might explode if she can't see him. "Well, if that happens then feel free to give us a call back." She missed his face. She wished he had facetimed her. "Why did you call me anyway? You usually FaceTime,"

"God, pizza places say the weirdest things sometimes. If you wanted to ask me out then all you had to do was ask."

"Stiles, I'm serious," she whined, "what happened to your phone?"

He sighed, but it wasn't an aggravated kind, it was just his normal restless sigh that said "no one ever enjoys fun like I do." "I…." He hung on the "I" like he was thinking of a lie, "left it at home after leaving in a rush,"

She glanced at the clock and frowned. "Where were you going in such a rush? It's almost 9 at night?"

"Well I had to catch an early train so I could pick up my pizza," before Lydia could figure out what that meant he said, "then I changed my mind on the train - you know there's just something about train stations that give me the heebie jeebies. Can't quite put my finger on it."

"Hm, maybe it's the 3 months of purgatory imprisonment thing," she was smirking to herself now, wondering why she ever went along with his ridiculous jokes. "Erased from existence can really put a number on a person."

"Nah, that's not it," she knew he was smiling. There was something about how his voice got higher when he was smiling, when he was truly, wholly happy. "I mean 3 months? 3 months is nothing."

She could tell he was walking now. It sounded like he was entering a building of some sort, she could hear every breath he walked like it was an incline. "Is that so?"

"Yeah I mean, now a year? A year is a long time. Even longer would be something like, you know, 10 years or so.. That's something to really put a number on a person...or say, a banshee."

She bit her bottom lip, hoping he'd remembered. "A banshee huh? Sounds kinda supernatural to me, maybe you should try this hotline I know about."

"Depends on your definition of what a hotline is." He took a big step, almost like a leap.

"Well, there's a phone line,"

"Right, yeah, implied by the line part, right."

"And the person on the other end of that line is really hot."

"Hm," another leap. What was he doing? "Sounds dirty." Then she could have sworn she heard an elevator door ding open.

Her brows furrowed, "Stiles, you never told me who's phone this is,"

"Oh, this? It's the pizza guys."

Lydia sat up then, her expression purely puzzled now. "The pizza guys?"

"Well yeah, how else was I supposed to call you?"

Stiles Stilinski had officially lost his mind, she decided. "Stiles, you could have just waited to call me until you got back home. You didn't need to steal some guy's phone,"

He cracked up laughing, "Who said anything about stealing? You hear that? She thought I stole your phone haha …. Dude I'm gonna give it back relax, okay? Geesh, just take a deep breath or something buddy," She heard some voice on the other end, it was muffled but she assumed it was the pizza guy.

"Stiles…" She dragged out his name just like she always did when he had a huge scheme cooked up but was still in the works of sharing it. "What are you up to?"

"Why would you think I'm up to something?”

She huffed, irritated, "Because you're always up to something."

"Valid point - oh oh right here right here, yeah yeah yeah," she listened carefully, hoping to be given any clue of where the hell her boyfriend was. Then Stiles abruptly said. "Gotta go Lyds, I have a pizza to deliver,"

She was so so so so confused. "To who? Stiles Stilinski, what are you up to?"

"Okay love you bye!"

He hung up on her. She didn't even get to say it back. He knew how much she hated it when he hung up before she could say it back. She was angry now. She silently screamed and was seconds from throwing her phone on the pillow when a knock resonated through her dorm door. Lydia checked the clock again. It was minutes from 9, why was anyone at her door?

Lydia angrily got up from her seat, the fact that Stiles didn't even really mention their anniversary was making her fume. She marched to the door and slung it open, fully ready to see one of the annoying freshmen from down the hall ask for toilet paper again (as if their RA couldn’t help with that)..

However, it wasn't some freshman. Instead, it was a pizza delivery man. He looked so annoyed, and his expression had nothing on it but disdain. Lydia poked her head out the door, looking both ways to see if Stiles was anywhere - but he was nowhere to be seen. The pizza guy opened the box and it was her favorite kind of dessert pizza - a chocolate drizzle spelling out "happy meetaversary - love Stiles"

She was still annoyed, but touched. The guy handed her the pizza, mumbled something about already being paid, and walked away. She noticed his cell phone in his back pocket - she was truly so confused. She closed the door, staring at the pizza in her hand - what was he up to? His couldn't just be it - it was Stiles. He loved to go out of his way to-

"You're gonna share that right?"

Lydia about leaped out of her body and ascended into the heavens. It was a miracle the pizza was still in her hands as she fell back into the door, her heart pounding hard, and her eyes staring straight at Stiles lying across her bed. His ankles were crossed, (shoes off because he was smart), his arms were folded behind his head as if he'd been there all day.

"Stiles," she was holding her chest, her heart racing. "What. The. Hell." She looked at his goofy grin and his stupid plaid shirt and dear god, she realized just how much she missed him. He got up from the bed, looking apologetic. However, instead of apologizing, he said sheepishly, "I couldn't wait for Christmas break?" He was scratching the back of his neck and his smile was crooked and without another thought she sat the pizza down on her desk and dove straight in to kiss him.

He pulled back after a minute to talk, because that was something he could never stop doing: “I’m guessing pizza was better than flowers? I almost got flowers but I just didn’t feel like flowers was the way to go, you know? Flowers are safe, predictable, but pizza-”

“Stiles,”

He clamped his lips closed, a smile sneaking behind his adorable lips, “Shut up?”

“No, actually,” she laughed, brushing the side of his cheek with her thumb. She had missed every single part of this man. “I was just going to say thank you.”

“Yeah?” his voice almost squeaked. It was one of her favorite things, when his voice went up just slightly as if she still made him nervous. “‘Cause I just spent six hours in a car hoping to god you would actually like this kind of surprise.”

She just hugged him then, so tight she wouldn’t be surprised if air was hard for him. Through his shirt she mumbled, “The only kind of surprise I would ever be okay with is you.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys,” he teased her, hugging her back almost just as tight. “Happy meetaversary, Lyds.”

She didn’t let go. Letting go might mean he’d have to go back home, one day, somewhere down the road. “Happy meetaversary, Stiles. I can’t believe I’ve known you for eleven years.”

He kissed the top of her head, not wanting to let go either: “I guess we can say that my ten year plan was fool proof.”

She looked up then, her lips pursed as she looked up at her goofy smiling boyfriend, “Are you saying you started your 10 year plan in the 3rd grade?”

“Well, I mean then it was like a week's worth of a plan,” he stretched out his mouth, making that expression that showed all his teeth like he was in distress. It always made her smile. He always made her smile. “It was revised to a more realistic game plan.”

“Well,” she pulled back just slightly, her hands resting on his hips, “What’s the game plan now?”

“Uhhh,” Stiles ran a hand over his face and stretched an eyebrow, “well I mean, I … I’m already dating you, so ... nothing?”

Lydia rolled her eyes at him, wagging her head as she said, “No you dummy, the game plan for the weekend?”

“Oh! Right, of course, game plan for the weekend,” he pulled away from her, making her arms feel suddenly cold without his embrace. He grabbed the pizza and came back in front of her, his eyebrows wiggling up and down his forehead. “That is a surprise. For right now, desert.”

She hated surprises, she really did, but she really meant it when she said that if Stiles was involved - she could love absolutely anything. She tiptoed up and pecked a kiss on his cheek, her face beaming as she said, “You’re the best,”

He shook his head, standing his ground, “Nope, I’m not gonna tell you - not this time.”

She grabbed the pizza from him and shrugged, “Okay,” she opened the pizza box as Stiles looked at her like she was a different person entirely. “As long as the day’s with you, I don’t care what we do.”

He raised one brow up his forehead, “Not one care?”

“Nope,”

“Not even the slightest flicker of concern? Not even a tingle of wanting control?”

“Stiles,” she pulled out the piece that said “love Stiles” on it, readying herself to eat, “you planned out a ten year scheme to date me as a 3rd grader and succeeded. Clearly, I have no room to doubt your superior game planning abilities.”

“Right,” he stood there, watching her closely. She smiled at him and sat down at her bed so she could eat. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Right.”

“You wanna tell me don’t you?”

He landed beside her on the bed, making her bounce up a little as he said, “Please can I tell you? You’re gonna love it and I can’t wait to see your face when I tell you how mind-blowingly perfect this game plan really is-”

“Stiles,”

“Hm?” he licked his top lip, his leg propping up his arm as he looked at her with the utmost attention. “Oh right, shut up -” he gave her a thumbs up, “you got it.”

“If I wanted you to shut up I would do this,” she kissed him firmly on the lips, then pulled back quicker than either would have liked. She was making a point right now though, they could do more kissing after she ate her food.

“Then what -” he blinked like he was trying to drag himself back to earth, “what were you gonna say?”

“I just missed you,” she combed a gentle hand through his once gelled hair, her fingers tracing his freckles shaped like constellations - her own, made up, better than the original ones.

Stiles gave her that look that just made her knees weak every time. It was the same look he gave her when she first kissed him that day in the locker room. The same look he gave her when he saved her from Eichen House. The same look he gave her on homecoming, or in the hospital later that week, or every single time she was in the hospital and he came to see her before anyone else. The same look he gave her every single day - it was this look of pure bewilderment - as if he didn’t know how he deserved this - that rooted from sincere, unwavering love. He whispered, “I just missed you too,” so sweetly, so softly, and then kissed her again. And again. And again.

Sooner or later they ate their pizza, and they watched a movie, and Lydia just had to remind herself over and over and over again that the distance wasn’t forever. He was here with her now, and that’s what mattered. Besides, she’d graduate in a year (perks of coming in as a junior) - there’s no telling where life would take her then. Preferably, it would be much closer to Stiles, who still had a few more years in school and training before he could officially join the FBI force. She wouldn’t mind living in Washington, DC - there were some good mathematician positions available through government jobs she could easily get while working on her Masters.

A loud bang hit the wall and both Stiles and Lydia jumped, the sound of guys cheering following quickly after it. He shook his head as he pulled her closer in, “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you choose to stay in the dorms,”

Lydia smiled and shrugged into him, “There’s something about the loud chaos of it all… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

He scoffed, then said, “Speaking of home…” he sighed, Lydia afraid to know where that was going. “Scott called me.”

“What’d he say?” The love interests were fighting on screen now, Lydia half paying attention as she waited for Stiles to answer.

“He was inviting us all over for Christmas dinner.”

Lydia sat up a little to look at him, “Why do you make that sound like it’s the next apocalypse?”

“Uh, hello, Lydia ... have you had Scott’s mom’s food? It tastes like a werewolf’s regurgitated food, okay? Like the food the mom bird gives to it’s little chicks, but the very last bit that has a little stomach bile attached to it.”

Lydia scrunched up her face and stuck out a tongue, “Okay, okay, I get the picture,” the relief in her overcame her muscles, her joints again. She didn’t even realize how tense just the name Scott makes her sometimes. Not in a bad way, but just out of worry for her friends. Scott chose to stay close to Beacon Hills, which resulted in him being there more often than not with his newbee werewolves. He traveled a lot, however, his current werewolf adventures brought him all the way to Florida a couple months back. She was always worried for him - she may be across the country right now, but he was still her alpha, her pack leader, her friend. “We’ll just make sure to bring our own food, too, then.” Stiles was quiet, staring at the sheets, so she said, “And what else did he say?”

“Hm?” he snapped out of his daze, “What’d you mean?”

Lydia turned herself around in his arms so she could look up at him, his sleepy face blinking. She said, “You’re acting weird, he had to have said something else.”

“I- I don’t know, not really, it was just…” he sighed, unconsciously starting to rub circles on her back. “I could just tell in his voice, you know? It's Scott, I can always tell when something’s not right … and something wasn’t right.”

Lydia frowned, “Do you think he’s in trouble?”

“Not imminent trouble no,” he huffed out a short breath, “but I think there’s a lot more going on Scott’s plate than just Christmas plans. I don’t know … I asked him about it but he just shrugged it off, said it was a new pack member drama or some kind of bullshit like that. I know he’s been having trouble with hunters again.”

“He’ll be okay, Stiles,” she wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed, “It’s Scott. He’s always okay. If he needs us, he'll let us know."

"Your banshee senses aren't tingling or anything right? No feeling of impending doom or scary dreams about supernatural werewolf deaths?"

She rocked her head no as her chin rested on his chest, "If they were you'd be the first to know." Stiles seemed to ease up at that, his body relaxing under her, his eyes softening as he gazed down. Then she said, "You have to learn to relax, Stiles. You can't keep living in DC terrified that all your friends are dying - we're not in Beacon Hills anymore,"

His brows furrowed, "I don't do that...do I?"

"Stiles. You called me three times last week while I was in class just to make sure I made it to class okay,"

He bit into his top lip and sucked in, "Okay, you make a good point. But can you really blame me? Lyds, we lived in constant fear for our lives for so long ... sometimes I wake up terrified no one remembers me anymore - or that I've forgotten someone very important and I'll never know who it was - or that one day I'll just forget you and -"

"Stiles," she gently placed a hand on his cheek, giving him a smile that told him everything was going to be okay, "you're not gonna forget me. No ones going to forget anyone, okay? The riders tried that on us and they failed, because no one could ever forget Stiles Stilinski."

He gave her a half smile, tears pricking his eyes, "My mom did."

It was silent. Lydia wasn't sure how to respond to that. She searched for the right words to assure him that his mom never really forgot him, when Lydia's phone started ringing. She pulled it from her nightstand and felt a short moment of panic. The name on the screen was Scott. He never called her out of the blue, especially not on a Friday night at 11pm.

She tried to look neutral as she said, "Hey Scott," Stiles sat up at the name, his muscle tensing all over again. She listened, then said, "Yeah he's right here. He forgot his phone back at home." Lydia smiled at Stiles and said to him, "Scott’s been trying to call you. He got worried that something happened."

He laughed, the coincidence uncanny. He fell back into the bed and put out a hand for the phone. Lydia handed it to him and he said, "Hey mom, sorry I didn't text you,"

"Stiles oh my god, how are you even with Lydia? Don't guys live like six hours away from each other?"

"I have a three day weekend, mom, it wasn't that big of a deal. I promise I'll get my homework done."

He heard him sigh, "If I had thought you'd be with Lydia I would have called her hours ago. I was afraid to call or text her and get her all worried if you were just the dumb ass that didn't charge his phone."

"No, I'm just the dumbass who left my phone six hours away. What's up? You sound freaked,"

He was silent for a minute, causing both Lydia and Stiles stress, then he said, "I'm in Massachusetts,"

Stiles rose up from his lounging position to give Lydia a look. He turned the phone on speaker and said, "You're here? What the hell are you doing across the country? Is the national Werewolf Con here or something?"

"That's a long story, but these hunters, man, they never stop, they …” his breath rattled in his chest. Stiles was pretty sure he heard Peter’s voice in the background, another unrecognizable one farther away. “I need you guys' help."

Lydia nodded, not even questioning it. Stiles responded, "Anything you need buddy, we'll be there."

Scott took a moment to respond, then, "I'll text Lydia the location. Meet us there in an hour." Without even a goodbye, Scott hung up.

Lydia took back her phone and looked at Stiles with wide eyes. "Told you he'd call us if he needed us," she sighed, “I wasn't expecting that to happen so soon, but what can I say - I am psychic after all,”

Stiles didn’t hear her. He was sitting there, staring at the bed in trance-like thought. Lydia was afraid what he was letting his mind wander to, but then he looked up and gave her a genuine smile. He was ready to jump off the bed when he said, “I’m sure it’ll be a long ride there - I’ll drive.”

She grabbed his hand, just to get him to look back at her. He did, and she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” he gave a little shrug to readjust his flannel on his shoulders, “I get to see my best friend. I mean c’mon, I haven’t seen Scott in months.” She gave him a look that screamed ‘I’m not an idiot’ and so he said, “Dire circumstances aside, I’d call it a win.”

She could sense the fear he was carrying and she felt a rush of deja vu - all the times in Beacon Hills, Stiles at her side, panicking on the inside but always jokes on the outside. Maybe it was being a banshee, maybe it was the emotional tether that was only strengthened when Stiles had to go under for his dad - but she always knew how he was feeling. She could sense it, practically feel it herself. When Stiles was possessed by the nogitsune - that was the most emotionally painful experience she had dealt with in a very long time. She could feel every bit of his pain, every bit of his fear, his panic, his sadness. However, it was Stiles, and he liked to pretend his problems didn’t exist. She nodded, accepting he wasn’t going to break, and said, “Okay, let’s go then.”

He had his keys in his hands already, spinning them around his index finger and catching it in his palm. He started to say something when he gasped, looking at the pizza box. “Wait,” he put out a hand to stop her, as if she was moving (which she wasn’t). “Oh my god, I completely forgot,”

Lydia looked at the empty pizza box and said, “Forgot what?”

He was digging his pants pocket, his tongue sticking out in the corner of his mouth when he said, “This,” He pulled out a faded pink pipe cleaner in the shape of a ring and a plastic rhinestone sloppily glued to the stem; it looked over 10 years old. Stiles had a goofy grin on his face as he said, “Happy meetaversary.”

Lydia took the small little arts and craft in her hands. It looked so familiar, but she had no idea how. “What… where did you get this?”

“When I moved out from my room I went through an old keepsake box. My dad made me keep one every school year, but I never went through them until moving out. In my 3rd grade keepsake box I found this - I made it for you in arts and crafts one day, probably one of the first days we really met. I remember I brought it to you and asked you to be my girlfriend,” he scratched the back of his neck and chuckled, “you laughed in my face and I guess I kept it in hopes that one day you’d accept it.”

Lydia was looking at the ring with teary eyes, “Stiles,” she looked up at him, “thank you.”

He gave her a silly wink, then shrugged it off by saying, “It’s not like I spent any money on it, Lyds, I just found it in an old box-”

Lydia pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him. He was shocked at first, but quickly melted into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, Lydia raveling her arms around his neck. After a long moment she pulled back for breath, her forehead pressed against his. “I meant thank you for never giving up. You never gave up on us, even after years of me rejecting you and treating you so horribly - you never gave up.”

“How could I ever give up on Lydia Martin?” he shrugged bashfully, “I knew you were my soulmate the day I met you. Nothing else compares to that.”

She pecked another kiss on his mouth and said, “I love you, Stiles Stilinski.”

He grinned, those very words from Lydia always putting a smile to his face. “I love you back, Lydia Martin - always will.”

She dove in for a hug then, squeezing him like he might disappear again if she let go. Stiles was holding her tight, too, face in her hair, when he glanced at the clock on her nightstand; “Ah fuck,” he reluctantly pulled back, “we gotta go,”

She nodded, looking at the time herself. She went to grab her jacket as she asked, “You think this will become a regular thing now that all of this hunter stuff is resurfacing? Scott calling us in when he needs us at late hours of the night?”

Stiles, hands on his hips, flannel flipped back behind his hands, said, “I wouldn’t expect it any other way.”

She kissed him on the cheek and grabbed his hand, “Well, c’mon then, we have an alpha to save.” He grabbed his jacket from the bed as Lydia dragged him out of the dorm room, door closing behind them.

And Stiles drove them to the location Scott shared, and they parked his jeep out at the park, and they got out simultaneously to see Scott and Peter bloody and battered with two other presumably werewolves with fear in their eyes - and Stiles and Lydia knew, this was a first of many late nights with the pack.

#stydia fic #stydia fanfic #teen wolf fic #Stydia #stiles x lydia #teen wolf #i just feel like there's not enough about them after the show #the thought of stiles traveling 6 hours every weekend to see her #his poor jeep going through the worst of times just so he can see Lydia #and okay their meetaversary is important to me #like they have known each other since the 3rd freakin grade #which means if they're 19 to 20 they've known each other for 10 to 11 years #sure lydia ignored him for a lot of that #but thats so freakin precious to me #anyway so this is my way too long than needed fic of them being cute together and missing each other and Scott needing them #its also a bit of the beginning of what later seems to become a more regular thing in s6 finale #when everyone meets up with them and Stiles and Lydia come out of the jeep like this wasn't their first rodeo #my fic #my stories #my stydia fics

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tails89 · 3 years

Text

Unbreakable

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz Rating: T Warnings: None Words: 2.7k

Read on AO3

All it takes is one split second.

Buck had been right there beside him, talking into his radio, confirming they were on their way out.

And then he was gone.

The floor had caved in beneath them with a thunderous crack and somehow—Eddie still can’t fathom how— somehow, Buck had managed to shove Eddie to the side before disappearing in a shower of smoke and smouldering wood.

“Buck!” He screams, kneeling on the edge of the hole and peering over. He can see the yellow stripe on the back of Buck’s coat, unmoving beneath the debris. “Captain Nash, this is Eddie.” He fumbles with the radio. “Buck is down. He went through the floor, I can’t— he’s not moving.”

He doesn’t wait for the reply. Eddie scrambles to his feet heading back towards the staircase that will take him to the ground floor.

“Chim is on his way to you.” The radio crackles to life. “Can you get down to Buck and give us a report on his condition?”

“Yeah, copy that.” Eddie takes the stairs, two at a time. “I’ve almost got him.” He skids to a halt, dropping to his knees beside Buck. As far as he can tell, the turnout gear has protected him from serious burns, but the fact that Buck’s unconscious is a serious concern.

It’s probably only been a minute or two, time moves at a strange pace when you’re trying not to panic, but any blow hard enough to knock someone out is dangerous.

“Buck?” Eddie knocks away bits of debris. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes, cariño.” He rubs his closed fist against Buck’s chest, breathing a sigh or relief when it prompts a groan from the younger firefighter. “Hey, there you are. Just stay still for me.” His heart is still pounding as he clears a space around Buck, afraid to move him before Chim arrives but also mindful of the burning building around them.

“Eddie?”

“I’m right here.” He leans into Buck’s field of vision. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

Buck blinks up at him, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he drags them back open.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eddie warns, glancing up as another figure arrives. “Eyes open Buck, or I’ll tell Chim what you said about him this morning.”

“What’s this?” Chim asks, kneeling opposite Eddie. “Buck’s talking shit about me again?”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Buck mumbles.

“If you say so, Buckaroo.” Chim moves quickly, assessing Buck’s ability to move before nodding to Eddie.

“Alright, time to get out of here,” Eddie says. “Let us do all the work okay?”

“You’re good at that, right Buck?” Chim pipes up, earning a pained smile from their patient. They each hook an arm across their shoulders and heft Buck upright. He groans, eyes squeezing shut from the movement.

Eddie and Chimney carry him out into the fresh air, carefully lying him down away from the fire, then get to work.

Hen joins them as they strip him of his jacket and start a more thorough assessment of his injuries. Eddie kneels by his head, keeping up a steady stream of reassuring chatter as Hen and Chim poke and prod and jostle.

Buck doesn’t say anything, just gives short jerking nods when he’s asked a question, eyes scrunched up in pain and discomfort.

Eddie reaches down to grab Buck’s hand; the one Hen hasn’t just inserted an IV into and gives it a squeeze. The fingers in his grip tighten in response.

“Ready to transport, cap,” Hen calls out when she’s done. The three of them get Buck on the backboard and transfer him to the stretcher.

“Bobby?” Eddie glances over at his captain, still clutching Buck’s hand.

“Go,” Bobby tells him. “Keep us updated.”

With a nod, Eddie follows Chimney up into the back of the ambulance.

The ride to the hospital is tense, even with Chimney cracking jokes to lighten the mood.

Buck is in and out, drowsy with a probable concussion and who knows what else. Eddie can feel the panic clawing at his throat, but he manages to keep it together, never once letting go of Buck’s hand until they reach the hospital. He focuses on the point of contact, using the warmth of Buck’s skin to keep grounded and remind himself that Buck will be okay.

It feels like it takes no time at all to reach the hospital. Hen does the handover while Chim and Eddie help transfer Buck from the stretcher to a bed.

“Let us know what happens,” Chim says, giving Eddie a clap on the shoulder, and promising to be back after their shift.

The hospital staff try to send Eddie away too, but Buck has come around enough that he is not having that.

“I’m his partner,” Eddie explains, laying a calming hand on Buck’s shoulder. One of the nurses has cut away his pants to inspect the burns on his leg and another is tearing through his shirt. “Please, I won’t get in the way.”

Buck is pretty out of it once they give him some pain relief. He gets wheeled away for imaging tests and Eddie takes the opportunity duck outside to text Bobby an update and call Carla to ask if she can take Chris to stay with his aunt.

Chris, of course, immediately wants to come and stay with Eddie at the hospital.

“It’ll be boring, kiddo,” Eddie tells him. “Just lots of waiting around and Buck will probably be asleep.”

“But what about when he wakes up?” Chris asks. “He shouldn’t wake up alone, dad.” And Eddie just can’t with this kid. He wonders, not for the first time, how he managed to raise someone with such a big heart.

“He won’t be alone,” Eddie promises. “I’ll be here, and maybe tía Pepa can bring you over in the morning. I know Buck will want to see you when he wakes up, but tonight he needs his rest.”

“Okay, dad.”

Eddie doesn’t need to see his son to know how hard he’s pouting at the phone right now.

“Tell Buck I love him.”

“I will. You be good for Pepa. Love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

Eddie disconnects the call with a sigh then goes to check his messages. There’s a text message from Chimney saying he’d called Maddie.

“Shit.” Eddie quickly scrolls to her number. He’d completely forgotten in all the chaos—Maddie should have been the first person he’d called.

“Eddie?”

“Maddie, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it, Chim called me and let me know what happened. How is my little brother?”

“He’s going to be okay.” Eddie rattles off some of the words that had been thrown around in the emergency room. “Concussion, second degree burns on his legs, maybe cracked ribs?” He takes a deep breath. “They’re doing some more testing to determine the severity of the concussion, but they didn’t seem overly concerned.”

“That’s good news at least,” Maddie says. “Evan just can’t do things by halves can he?”

Eddie huffs out a soft laugh. “Half-assing it just isn’t in his vocabulary.” The ball of anxiety that’s been sitting in his chest for the better part of an hour finally starts to unwind.

“I’ll be there soon,” Maddie says. “And Chim said he was going to head over. Have you eaten yet? I’ll bring you something.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Eddie assures her.

“I know, but you must be starving. Chim definitely will be.”

“Thanks Maddie.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah.” The call ends with a beep and Eddie shoves his phone back into his pocket. He’s still wearing his turnouts, he realises belatedly. His coat is draped over the chair behind him, his helmet balances on a knee.

“Mr Diaz?” One of the nurses beckons him over. “We’re admitting Evan,” she tells him. “If you’d like to come with me, I’ll take you up to his room.”

“He’s okay?” Eddie follows her down the corridor towards the elevator.

“Nothing nasty turned up in the MRI,” she explains. “His helmet protected him from any skull fractures, but he still got his brains rattled about pretty good.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, and they step inside.

“He’s got a couple of cracked ribs and the burns on his legs will need to be monitored to ensure they don’t get infected.”

“How long before he can come home?” Eddie asks.

“His doctor wants to keep him overnight to monitor the concussion, but all going well, he’ll likely be released tomorrow, maybe the day after at the latest.”

When the lift stops, she leads him out to a room on the ward. Eddie pushes the door open to step inside.

“Buck?”

The lights are low, but it’s still easy to make him out on the bed. Eddie drags a chair over, taking a seat at Buck’s side.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I fell through a floor and had the whole house land on me,” Buck croaks, looking a lot more alert than the last time Eddie had seen him. He’s still pale and drawn, but it’s good to hear his voice.

“Well—”

“Don’t say it,” Buck groans. He swallows, his face paling even more, something Eddie wouldn’t have thought possible. His birthmark stands out in stark relief against his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, reaching for Buck’s hand. He rubs circles into the skin of Buck’s wrist.

“Nausea.”

“I can help with that.” The nurse who’d shown Eddie up to the room is still hovering nearby. “I’ll go have a chat with the doctor and be back in a minute.” She hands Buck an emesis basin before she leaves, just in case.

Alone in the room, Eddie reaches with his free hand to run his fingers through Buck’s hair. He’s careful not to use too much pressure and aggravate anything but Buck seems to appreciate it, sinking down further into his pillow.

“How are you really feeling?” Eddie asks, his thumb trailing across Buck’s temple.

“Like shit,” Buck mumbles. “Nothing… hurts? But I know it’s going to later.” He shuts his eyes, swallowing convulsively to keep from being sick, clutching the basin in his free hand.

Fortunately, the nurse returns before he has to use it. She gives him something and leaves them alone again.

“You should get back to Chris.” Nausea dealt with, Buck is loose-limbed and sleepy, blinking up at Eddie.

“Chris is fine,” Eddie assures him. “He’s spending the night with Pepa. He wants to come by and see you tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” Buck’s eyes drift shut and his breathing evens out into sleep.

Eddie watches him for a moment, still running his fingers through Buck’s hair, until he’s sure he’s truly out. He pulls out his phone to see that Maddie, Chim, Bobby and Hen have all arrived.

He stands, pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead and goes downstairs to meet his family.

Maddie is the one who convinces Eddie to go home.

He’s grimy with sweat and soot from the fire they had been attending and she gives him her best big sister stare and tells him under no uncertain terms that he stinks.

“And I mean that in a loving way,” she says, handing over a box of Chinese takeout.

He sits outside with Chim and Hen to eat, while Maddie and Bobby head upstairs to check on Buck for themselves.

“How’s our boy doing?” Hen asks.

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie says. “He’ll be sore and grumpy when I take him hope, but you know Buck.”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you there,” Chim says. “Buck is the worst patient, so have fun with that.”

After they eat Bobby gives him a ride back to the station to collect his car.

“I’ve called Marcus in to cover your shift tomorrow,” Bobby says as Eddie is climbing out of the car. “If you still need time after your days off, let me know.”

“Thanks Bobby.”

“Don’t mention it, you just take care of Buck for us. And take care of yourself too.” Bobby drives off and Eddie walks to his car before he starts getting too many questions from B shift. Buck is a well-liked member of the 118 and everyone wants to send Eddie off with well-wishes to pass on.

It’s late by the time Eddie finally gets home.

With Chris off at Pepa’s and Buck at the hospital, the house is dark and quiet. Too quiet, in Eddie’s opinion.

He turns the TV just to give himself some background noise while he showers and changes for bed.

It takes a long time to fall asleep.

Eddie picks Chris up in the morning on his way back to the hospital.

Chris has a thousand questions about what happened, and will Buck be okay, and when can they bring him home.

It strikes Eddie that he’d said the same thing the night before. He’d asked the nurse when he could bring Buck home.

For all the time they spent together and as much as Buck was a part of the family with Eddie and Chris, he did still technically have his own apartment. Not that he used it that much. Eddie had been able to pack a bag using the clothes Buck had stuffed into a drawer in Eddie’s room. There was a toothbrush on the sink for when Buck stayed the night.

Maybe it was time for Eddie to finally ask Buck to move in.

The thought keeps him distracted the whole way to the hospital. He’s still mulling it over as he helps Chris down from the back seat and leads the way up to Buck’s room.

“He’s asleep, dad.” Chris is disappointed when they open the door and Buck is still fast asleep.

He’s got a bit of colour in his cheeks this morning. He doesn’t look quite so pale against the starched white hospital sheets.

“You sleep a lot too when you’re not feeling well,” Eddie reminds his son, pulling up a second chair and moving Chris’s crutches to a spot where they’re not going to trip anyone up. “Have you got your game with you?”

Nodding, Chris pulls his Switch from his backpack, content to play his game while they wait for Buck to wake.

It doesn’t take long. The thing with hospitals is that they’re never really quiet and Buck jerks awake when something is dropped just outside his room.

“Hey, you.” Eddie leans forward in his chair and waits for Buck to get his bearings. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh, I feel like shi—” he notices Chris on the other side of the bed, “-t.” He grimaces. “Sorry, brain could thing of anything fast enough.”

“I think we’ll let it slide this time,” Eddie says, grinning.

“Dad says sometimes bad words are okay.” Chris puts away his game and stands, shifting his weight so he can lean against the bed for balance. “I’m glad you’re okay Buck, I missed you last night.”

“I missed you too bud,” Buck says, reaching out to ruffle Chris’s curls. “Just seeing you makes me feel better already.”

Chris beams at the words and Eddie feels his heart swell.

“So,” Buck shifts on the bed, his face tightens as he jars something, probably his ribs, but he doesn’t mention it. “Any idea when I can get out of here?”

“I was talking to a nurse last night who said you’ll probably be released today,” Eddie tells him. “But we’ll have to wait until the doctor gives you the okay.”

“Hospitals are the worst,” Buck groans, his head tipping back against the pillows. “Right Chris?” Chris nods and Buck pats the bed. “Why don’t you show me the game you were playing while we wait.”

Buck is discharged late that afternoon.

He makes a fuss about using the wheelchair, but when he tries to stand all the blood drains from his face and he has to sit back down real fast.

“Ready to try the wheelchair now?” Eddie asks him, keeping a gentle hand on Buck’s shoulder in case he tries to faceplant again.

“Yeah.” The word comes out in one long breath. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would hurt that much.”

“When we get home, I’ll make up the couch for you,” Eddie says, “and you’re staying there for the rest of the week.”

“Home?” Buck glances up sharply.

“My home,” Eddie clarifies, then after a moment’s hesitation says, “Our home.”

“I like the sound of that,” Buck says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Okay Eds, take me home.”

#911 #buddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hurt/comfort #shameless whump #hurt!buck #happy ending #911 fanfic #my911fanfic

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reidswritings · 4 years

Text

everything changed then

word count; 5.1k

warnings; 14x15 spoilers!!!! curse words, gun violence (i think that's it??)

author’s note; this is my first spencer fic and im feeling really good about it so like, i hope you enjoy!!

She wasn’t sure of the events that led her to the current situation. Or, you know, maybe she was— she wasn’t dumb. No in fact, other than Spencer, she was probably one of the smartest people on the team. Regardless of whatever the reason was, she was still there. She was in a terrible, terrible situation.

What was once a car chase turned foot, had quickly turned into a hostage situation. A standoff between three FBI agents (JJ, Spencer, and Y/N) was cut short when the villain with the psychopathic tendencies forced all three to toss aside their weapons. He then forced an innocent hostage to lockdown the small shop. The innocent woman, who doubled as a mother and the judge who had locked the unsub away, with the other gun, pleaded with him.

“Please, don’t hurt her. I don’t know how they found us, I didn’t call them!” she was nervous, her hands shaky. Y/N, ironically, could feel the anxiety flowing from her own body. She was supposed to save them, save them all, and yet, here she was barely able to breathe as the potentially deadly weapon was trained on her boyfriend of three years. “Please, just let her go!”

“Melissa, we haven’t finished our little game.” The nasty man sneered at her, still holding the blonde against him while pointing his gun at Spencer. The three agents, shared a look. It was clear between them that they weren’t getting out without setting the man off.

Casey forced Y/N down first, noises of protest coming from both her and Spencer. He had pulled her arms behind her back, more rough than needed, and wrapped her wrists in multiple layers of duct-tape. The tape pulled harshly at her skin, no doubt leaving behind a couple of nasty bruises. JJ and Spencer not far behind her, instead, Casey forced Melissa to do so.

Spencer, trying to relive at least some of the tension, said, “Don’t worry, it's gonna be okay.” While Y/N knew that he was talking to the judge, she felt the undertones of his promise.

don’t worry. it’ll be okay. we’ll get out of this, promise. nothing will happen. She knew that it was meant for her too.

“Hurry up!” Casey stressed, gun pointed at the stomach of the blonde who was barely holding it together. “Get over here. This is all your fault. I told you it was an accident, that—that Mark was the one who forced me to do it.”

The three tied up cops shared a look. This was bad, really really bad. Casey continued. angry, “But you wouldn’t listen! You just sat up there looking smug and superior. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. You’re just as capable of hurting someone as anybody is.”

With too much force, Casey forced the young blonde to the ground, causing her to cry out as well as causing Y/N to move to her knees. He then pointed the gun back at Melissa, Y/N let out a noise of discomfort before saying, “C’mon, C-Casey, you don’t want to do this.”

A smirk playing on his lips, gross and unattractive, he looked to Melissa and ignored Y/N’s pleas, “Well, here it is, judge, your moment of truth.” In his outstretched hand was the gun that Melissa had previously tossed aside. She took it from the unsub’s hand, Jennifer’s eyes going wide at the sight. “Shoot her. Or i’ll kill your daughter.”

No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke a word— that is until JJ’s voice rung out, breaking the silence. “Come on. She’s got nothing to do with this, okay? Just let her go.”

“Shoot her!” It was forceful and loud and dangerous all at the same time. Spencer and Y/N were stunned into silence, JJ spoke again, “Casey, she’s not a part of this. Okay?” She was trying so desperately to get everyone out with out any injuries. She was brave and Y/N admired that about her good friend. “You have no reason to hurt her. Just let her go.”

Y/N knew it was wrong as soon as the words passed her good friend’s lips. She watched with an anxiety filled heart as Casey’s whole demeanor changed, he snatched the gun from Melissa’s hands and stomped over to where JJ was sitting. He knelt down to her level and roughly grabbed a chunk of her beautiful blonde locks. Spencer moved forward, like he was going to say something, something that would aggravate the gunman even more. Y/N silently pleaded with him to stop, to just say silent— stay safe.

However, Y/N beat him to it. She didn’t care if the fire was on her. She’d rather that than on JJ or Spencer or an innocent bystander. “Leave her alone.”

Her voice was harsh and threatening all at once. In all the years that Y/N had been on the team, no one had ever heard her talk like that. Then again, Y/N was always cautious enough to never end up in a hostage situation.

It was then Casey pointed his gun at Y/N—Spencer’s heart stopping— “I wasn’t talking to you.” It was clear to the room that he was directing that to both girls. He then, without anymore aggravations, violently released JJ before standing up, gun still trained on Y/N, and backed up to the blonde who had the unfortunate job of working in this shop on this god-awful day.

“Get up! Now!” He pulled the young girl up, tossing her into the counter next to Spencer. Her body flung into the counter with such force it knocked down a mirror, shattering. A gun shot rung out and Melissa and the unnamed worker both yelped— one in fear and the other in pain.

Y/N watched as Spencer slowly moved over, trying to see the young girl, only to be stopped by a shout and a gun in his face. “Do not move!”

If Y/N’s anxiety ridden heart was in her throat before it was now jumping from her mouth and onto the floor. She didn’t understand why she was on the verge of loosing her breath. She had seen a gun pointed at her boyfriend before. It wasn’t anything new, it happened. It came with the job. Maybe it was the fact that she knew there was no getting out of this without injury and pain.

Again, Casey’s focus was on Melissa, “New deal.” Gun in her face, gun in his hand, offering. All three agents watching helplessly. They were out of options. This was really fucking bad. “Now you need to kill one of these three.”

Y/N’s heart calmed slightly as she watched the scared brunette take the gun from the wild man’s hand. She could do this. She could talk her down— this she could do. Melissa turned to the three, gun pointed at the floor before focusing it on Spencer.

“Melissa— Melissa, you don't want to do this. I know you don’t, you can stop this. Just put down the gun. Please—”

“Shut up!” Casey’s voice was raw. It was clear his patience was running thin. He was going to snap. Back to Melissa, he asked, “Who’s it gonna be?”

Her eyes locked with Spencer’s then with Y/N’s, they were sad and scared, “Please. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

“Focus, Melissa!” Loud and angry. The gun shook with his words.

“Please,” she begged, it was no louder than a whisper. Y/N could feel herself loosing hope, maybe she was wrong. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

“Judge, you gotta decide. That’s what you do right?” He was calm, now. Way, way too calm. “Decide life or death with a flick of your gavel.”

The gun in Melissa’s hands moved from Spencer then to the floor and then to JJ only to go back to Spencer in the end. And Y/N was going to lose it. She was ready to do something, anything when the phone rang. Hope flooding her veins again. Help was here. They would get them out, without any damage. Right?

Y/N let out a breath, one she wasn’t aware she was holding, when Spencer spoke. His voice providing her with a much needed feeling of ease. “Answer it. Casey, answer it.”

“Shut up!” Melissa’s gun was still trained on Spencer as Casey yelled at her, “Pull the trigger!”

Melissa cried out, terrified. Y/N opened her mouth, the words flowing out before she could stop them. “Please, please don’t do this.”

“Shut up, everybody, shut up!” Casey was nearing his end, he was snapping. He lunged forward, ripping the cord from the wall, the insistent ringing stopping with it. “Focus, Melissa! Pull the trigger.”

JJ shared a look with Spencer then looked to Y/N, before trying one last time, “Casey, if Melissa won’t play, I will.” The beautiful blonde moved to her knees. She was determined to take the heat off Spencer. She couldn’t lose her best friend— she couldn’t let Y/N loose the love of her life.

Jennifer was standing now, everyone sharing a worried look. Casey trained his gun on JJ, moving it from Melissa. Small victories.

“Truth or dare, that’s your game, right?” The beauty shrugged, like it was nothing off her back, “I’ll play.”

“JJ—” Y/N started, but cut herself short when Casey pointed the gun at her again. “Melissa, the weapon— give it, now!”

“Casey,” Spencer began and Y/N felt her eyes close, hope slowly draining away again, ‘I know what its like, to be wrongly accused, sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Casey laughed, though no humor was held behind it, “Bullshit. You went to jail?”

Spencer nodded and Casey laughed again, “Yeah, I’d like to see that, pretty boy.” He then moved over to JJ and Y/N’s mind was running a mile a minute trying to fix this. Trying to find a way to get them to safety. Trying, trying and failing.

“Alright, agent. . .”

“Jareau,” she supplied and Y/N could hear the underlying fear.

“Agent Jareau,” he repeated, testing it on his tongue, “truth or dare?”

“Truth.” she was calm, but Y/N could tell that her good friend was just trying to put on a brave face.

“If I think you’re lying or stretching the truth in the slightest, I’ll kill him.” His gun was pointed at Spencer again and Y/N felt herself gasp loudly. JJ nodded solemnly and the wild man continued, “you ever shoot anybody before?”

“Yes, I have.”

He was sick; he laughed, “You enjoy it?”

“No.” Y/N felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t, this was too much. She couldn’t believe this was how her day turned out. She watched with a heavy heart and tearful eyes as Casey’s face morphed into anger. She knew JJ had messed up. He turned, annoyance heavy on his shoulders. Before any of the highly trained agents could make a move, Casey pointed the gun in Spencer’s direction and fired, screaming out. “Liar!”

Both Y/N and JJ gasped, but Y/N was the only one to yell out. “No!”

Panicked, JJ’s wide eyes moved from Spencer’s uninjured form to the man with the gun, “No, no, no. I’m not lying. Okay? I’m not lying. The people I shot, I had no choice, but I did not enjoy it. I didn’t. Okay, you asked and I-I told the truth. Okay, I told you the truth, so, uh— now, it's my turn. Right? That’s how this game is played, we take turns. Truth or dare?”

Casey slowly lowered his gun and Y/N watched helpless. “Truth.”

“What’s it gonna take for all of us to walk out of here alive? For this to end peacefully?”

Casey scoffed and trained his gun on JJ again, angry, “I ain’t going back to prison. My turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“I want you to say something you’re afraid to say, that you’d never tell anybody. And you better make it good, ‘cause if it's not, it's gonna be the last thing you ever say.” Y/N was out of hope. She could feel her walls breaking down, she could feel the few tears that had escaped her closed eyes. The gunman continued, shaking his weapon, “What’s it gonna be?”

JJ shook her head, voice watery. “There are only four people I trust in this world.”

“Boring.” He had snapped. This was it, his breaking point; he moved the gun back to Melissa and pulled the trigger, the bullet entering her leg. She yelled out and collapsed to the ground. Casey brought the gun back to Jennifer, “Next!”

“Um. . . My. . .” she was struggling, “My baby I lost, I, um—” Y/N’s eyes opened, trained on her friend, watery and blurry. “I wanted to name her Maggie.”

“Wrong!” He wanted more. He wanted her deepest secret, “Come on, you can do better than that!”

“Casey.” Spencer’s voice rung out, warning.

“Shut up!” The dangerous man rushed her then. His hand attached itself to JJ’s arm and shoved her down to her knees with force, gun eye level to the blonde, “Last chance. Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partners here. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me or I kill him.”

“JJ,” Y/N’s broken voice was no louder than a whisper as she begged her friend to save her boyfriend, “please.”

The blonde shared a look with both of her friends as Casey yelled again, “Come on!”

JJ’s eyes and voice were watery as she spoke. “Spence, I, uh, I’ve always loved you.”

It was like a punch to the gut. She felt like she was a balloon and all the air had escaped. She didn��t believe what she was hearing spill from her best friend’s lips. In a broken whisper, Y/N asked, “What? JJ—”

Spencer had turned to the blonde, his face that once held anger and confusion now held a look that Y/N couldn’t quite place. The blonde continued on, crying, ignoring Y/N’s cries, “And I was just too scared to say it before. And now things are just really too complicated to say it now, because I have Will and the boys and you have Y/N— I’m sorry, but you should know.”

Y/N’s blurry eyesight shot to her boyfriend, trying to see his reaction. And what she saw broke her heart in half. He smiled. He fucking smiled. He had a fucking smile on his lips and he was looking at JJ how he usually looked at Y/N. And maybe that was what hurt the most. Seeing the far away, lovestruck look in his eyes.

Casey broke the heavy silence, his laugh was loud and bitter, gun lowered, “Hot damn. That’s what I’m talking about. Now those are some last words right there, but not good enough to save your life.”

Casey leveled his gun on JJ’s forehead again, ready to pull the trigger. Y/N cried out, eyes slamming shut, she couldn’t watch this. Sure, her best friend had just admitted to having feelings for her very own boyfriend, but she was still her best friend.

A gunshot filled the room. Y/N yelped, crying harder, opening her eyes after hearing a thud. Only, JJ was fine and Spencer was holding a gun, panting, keeping eye contact with the aforementioned blonde. Spencer had moved to cut his girl free first, helping her stand. Then he moved to the blonde who had just confessed her undying love for him.

The brokenhearted girl watched as her boyfriend carefully cut JJ free, an unspoken conversation seemed to be flowing through them. Spencer had a look of peace on his face as Jennifer turned to look at him. It was like they had forgotten that Y/N was in the room, heart breaking.

Spencer opened his mouth, to say something. To fix it, Y/N hoped. But before he could get the words out, the back door burst open, their team rushing in, and the spell was broken.

The two moved away from each other. Y/N watched as how her boyfriend seemed to remember she was standing right there. She watched as he turned to face her, reach for her. She watched as he moved to comfort her.

But before he had the chance, she ripped away from his gaze and left him standing in the small shop. Left him standing in the place where their relationship died.

—

Six weeks had passed. Six weeks of sitting across from one another. Six weeks of stolen glances and regretful eyes. Six weeks of Y/N wishing, longing for Spencer. Hoping that he would come back to her and just say he was sorry.

Sorry for pushing her away. Sorry for giving the heartbroken girl the impression that JJ was his girl. Sorry for making her feel like she was a second choice; for acting like nothing ever happened; for everything.

She he’d been held up in her apartment, surrounded by all the things that reminded her of the pretty boy (apart from work, she barely left. and to say the team was very worried about the young girl was and understatement). Ironic, right? All she wanted was to forget about the curly haired boy and yet, he was all that plagued her mind.

Y/N was surrounded by boxes, some taped shut and marked with what was inside; others only half filled, things hazardously sticking out the top. The memory that all the packages brought was a stab to her heart and a kick in her stomach. How dare they still be there; unmoved and happy.

The once happy couple, who were together for almost four years, was all set to move in together. Y/N could almost imagine Spencer in the new, bigger and better, apartment all by himself. She could see him waking up before the sun and pouring himself a cup of too sweet coffee and re-reading books he had already read. She could see it all.

She hoped it was lonely, that it held the same sadness that she was feeling. She hoped that he was just as miserable.

She knew he wasn’t though. He couldn’t be. No, he couldn’t be. . . right? He had JJ now. He was happy now; he finally had what he always wanted— the pretty blonde girl that he had been in love with since day one. Day one of the BAU, day one of friendship, day one of birth— the girl that he was always meant to be with. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she knew how much she paled in comparison to the very beautiful girl.

She could only imagine all the times that Spencer had wished that it was Jennifer Jaraeu instead of his loser of a girlfriend. She imagined all the fantasies that had to be playing in his mind every time they kissed, every time they laughed, every time they touched, every time they made love.

Maybe that was what hurt the most; knowing that he had always wanted it to be her. The blonde. The beauty. The brains. The everything Y/N was not.

A very loud ringing broke Y/N away from her intrusive thoughts. Again. She had thrown her phone across the room (not literally, of course. She had just dumped it on the counter along with everything else that she didn’t want to look at). She knew who it was; JJ. It had to be— everyday for the past month she had been calling, trying to apologize, explain, salvage what was left of their friendship. Jennifer had left voicemail after voicemail and text after text, trying to get the heartbroken girl’s attention.

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely ignoring her old friend—no, she wasn’t that much of an asshole—, she would read all the texts received and listen to the messages (which actually, when she thought about it, that was probably even worse. maybe she was the asshole she tried so hard not to be).

She even talked to her during cases (of which there had been two since the incident), but the second JJ had brought up anything to do with Spencer or what had happened, Y/N retreated into the shell she had created for herself. Though it wasn’t a perfect situation, it worked. It worked for her and that’s all that mattered.

What she didn’t expect though, was a knock at her front door. She had considered ignoring it and letting whoever was at her door think she was out or asleep. Or literally anything else that would excuse her not moving from her pathetic slumped position.

The knocking sounded again before his muffled voice flowed through the door, stopping her heart. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

She sighed (he did too). Her heart was in her throat (so was his); she hadn’t seen him outside work for longer than she cared to admit. She stood and felt her body drag her to the wood that separated her and her pretty boy.

And before she knew what was happening, Y/N was swinging the door open, Spencer was standing before her— distraught.

“Why do you look like that?” She asked, deadpanning. There’s that asshole bit rearing its ugly head again. It wasn’t fair that he looked so strung out, he did this. This was his fault. Her hand was resting on the door, barricading him out and her in.

“What?” Genuine confusion crossed his face and Y/N almost felt bad. Almost. “Y/N, we haven’t talked in weeks.”

“We talk at work.” Short and unforgiving. He sighed at her words, running a very gorgeous hand through his curls, breaking apart a few. A part of Y/N, a very, very small part, wished it was her fingers pulling apart his crazy mane. She missed how soft his hair was, the way he smelled. She missed how with just one touch she could feel all of the stress leave his body. She missed how he looked at her. She missed it all and she hated herself because of it.

“Don’t be so obtuse.” The regretful boy started and Y/N could feel her heart breaking all over again, “I mean, for real. . . Y/N, I miss you— I miss us.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” A knife to his heart, she could tell. Good. He deserved this; he deserved to hurt just as much as he had hurt her.

“That’s not fair, she—”

“No,” the heartbroken girl began, a sadness in her voice. “you don’t get to decide what’s fair and what’s not— especially when it comes to my feelings, Spencer Reid.”

He was still standing in the hallway, eyes begging to be let in. The pleading didn’t go unnoticed; maybe that’s why she found herself opening the door and dropping her arm, watching as he moved inside.

He was still her boy. Her beautiful boy. No matter what he or JJ had done, Spencer Reid was still undeniably hers. No matter what she was still under the spell of his gorgeous browns.

The sad boy followed her into the living room, taking in the scene. He felt his breath hitch as his eyes swept over all the boxes and the mess that covered the once happy apartment. He could just about throttle himself; he couldn’t believe he had let this happen. That he had let it get this bad— he was such a fucking idiot.

Y/N watched as his curious eyes took in everything before him, committing it to his never forgetting memory. She knew that, regardless of anything, he would always come back to this moment. She knew that he would always blame himself. Spencer Reid had such a big heart and that was probably his one and only fault. Regardless of any hurt he may have caused her, she knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to. He would never intentionally hurt anyone, and maybe that’s why she asked her next question:

“Why are you here, Spencer?” She had pulled his eyes back to her.

Swimming in regret, he said, “I want to fix this.” Y/N had begun to shake her head and opened her mouth but he cut her off, continuing, “Please. . . Y/N, tell me how I can fix this.”

“I-I. . . Spencer, I don’t know if you can.” Heart breaking more than she thought possible.

Then, he did something she would’ve given her life to never see.

Spencer got down onto his knees, now eye level with the girl on the old couch. He placed a hesitant hand on her knee and squeezed. When Y/N met his gaze, she felt her heart break its final piece. His eyes were glossed over with unshed tears and when he spoke his voice was wet with the cries he was trying so hard to push down. And Y/N hated it.

“Y/N. . . please,” he was begging. Begging to be heard, to be forgiven, for her. Just begging.

Against her own wishes, Y/N’s hand reached out and pushed back the hair like she had been wanting to since he showed up at her doorstep. “Spencer, I— There’s things we’d have to talk about— questions I have. I-I can’t just jump back in, we have to talk about—”

“Then ask me.” The crying boy rushed out, sniffing. “Ask me anything.”

Y/N sighed. Did she really want to do this right now? Could she handle this?

“Do you love her?” It spilled from her lips before she knew what she was asking. She didn’t regret it.

His answer spilled from his too, “Yes.” Maybe she did.

Tears spilled from her eyes and she struggled to hold down a sob. It came out as a watery laugh and she stood up, forcing his hands off her body. She closed her arms around herself, another barricade from the boy who refuses to stop breaking her heart into a million little pieces. He stood up too, reaching a hand to connect them together again but decided against it, too afraid of being rejected.

Her mind was running a mile a minute. She was kicking herself for trusting a man who was so clearly into another woman— a married woman. She was so angry that he led her on for so long. She wanted to throttle him; she could’ve too, if she really wanted to. As much as she wanted to, she knew her body would never do it. As angry as she was, her body was still irrevocably in love with Spencer Reid.

“Then why are you here?” It was dangerous. She half wished he wouldn’t answer, she didn’t know if she could handle the answer.

His reply was slow to start, she wondered if he had even heard her, “. . . Because, I love you, too. I love you differently.”

“What?” She was tired. So, so fucking tired.

She felt his hand place itself on her shoulder, she didn’t react. She didn’t move, didn’t lean into it. She just froze and waited for his response. Spencer surprised her for a third time. His hand moved down to her elbow, turning her around gently before starting his monologue. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground as he spoke.

“Y/N, I’ve known JJ for over 14 years. When I first met her, sure I wanted her to notice me,” he paused to laugh before continuing, “I even tried to take her on a date one time. . . she ended up inviting Penelope. . . I was mortified. . . that’s not my point. Hell, I don’t really know what I’m saying. I tried for so long. I tried to get her to notice me, but then she met Will and then she had Henry and everything got so complicated. And I realized, Y/N, that I had to let her go, and then I met you and everything changed.”

Y/N’s eyes finally met his brown ones. She echoed him, “Everything changed?”

Sappy and clumsily, he laughed, “Yeah. Y/N, everything— everything changed. Suddenly, instead of wondering what Jennifer thought I was thinking about you— thinking how to talk to you, what you liked, if you liked me. God, I was so into you back then. . . I still am. I won’t lie to you, Y/N, I never have and I won’t start now. Yes, I love JJ. I think I always will, it’s just different. I love her, but I’m in love with you. And I always will be, I-I mean, you’re my girl.”

During his confession, Y/N had moved closer. She had hesitantly placed her hands on his chest, where they belonged— she realized. “Spencer. . .”

His eyes were soft as they gazed down at her. They held love— the love that she had seen focused on JJ all those weeks ago. He brought a hand up to her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. It felt like it was forever, them just looking— gazing, falling back in love. Then, she watched as her boy started, very, very slowly, to lean down. She felt his lips just barely brush against hers, his breath fanning her face as he spoke. “Y/N, please.”

And that was all that it took. The desperation in his voice was what made her finally, finally, connect their lips. It was just as wonderful as she remembered. His lips fumbled lazily against hers; she could feel the love though the sloppy kiss. He had brought his other hand up, fisting her hair into a messy bunch. Her hands pulled him closer, her lips spreading as she felt Spencer’s tongue dart across her lips, asking to be let in. His name fell from her lips in a hungry manner, she wanted him. She needed him. The only sound in the small apartment was their moans and the noise of them reconnecting. In between kisses, Spencer managed to sneak in the few words Y/N was sure she’d never tire of hearing.

“I. . kiss. . love you. . . kiss kiss. . so much. kiss. . .Y/N.” She had smiled against his lips, feeling like everything would be okay. While she knew they had more than enough healing to do (both together and apart), she also knew that she wasn’t going to lose him anytime soon. And that was all that mattered, because the rest would figure itself out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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rpmemes-galore · 3 years

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a few people wanted to know the story, so enjoy. fair warning, its a long, rough read, with a buncha triggers possible throughout. but hey, hey, enjoy, i guess? will probs end up deleting this later today and gonna work on memes. hope y’all are doing okay, take care.

My relationship with my older brother has always been really... rocky. Without going into too much potentially triggering detail, he hurt me a lot when I was younger, so there's a lot of fear surrounding him. Saying that now as the reason for why I could never stand up to him for this.

A few years ago, my family decided that someone should move into our late grandparents home to look after the place, and I immediately volunteered. I loved that home, that farm. There were a ton of good memories there, and I was so excited when my family agreed. But, then my health took a downward turn and it was decided I couldn't live alone due to safety reasons. Enter, my older brother. He was in his late twenties at the time, and parents wanted him to finally move out, so they said he was going to come live with me there to keep an eye on me in case something happened. I wasn't happy about it, but he was the only one who could, and the only way I'd get to live at my late grandparent's place, so I agreed to it.

Right from the start, things were not great. He didn't help unbox anything except for his own belongings... No kitchen stuff, no bathroom stuff, just his clothes and computer. As it was just me doing it, and with my fragile health at the time, it was taking me a long while to get it all done. And that's when my aunt thought it was a great idea to start doing weekly visits, i.e. inspections of the place. She got pissed when she saw things still boxed up after a week of being there, but told me she was willing to look past it if it got put away soon.

I busted my butt getting everything put away, then. But I was contending with other issues at that point. He'd started messing up the house. I would wake up to find garbage and crumbs across the kitchen counters and table, dirty dishes dropped wherever he was closest to, and his dirty laundry dropped on the living room floor. His room started getting bad, as well. From about a month of being there, it started to stink. I went in a few times and there would be dishes with rotting food on his dresser. The floor was covered in a layer of food wrappers and other garbage. Dirty laundry was thrown everywhere. His game discs, which we'll come back to later, would be laying unprotected on the floor.

It just got worse from there. At the start, he'd tidy up a little bit after himself. If I asked politely enough, he'd throw garbage away or bring his dishes out of the room... only if I asked him. Three months in. That changed. He started getting snippy at me, slamming and locking his door if I asked him to do anything around the house. His messes were getting worse, and it was just me trying to play catch-up everyday. It got to the point my morning routine was wake up, head out to the kitchen while picking up any dirty laundry / garbage on the way, gather up dirty dishes from around the room and put them on the counter to wash, wash a few of them just to get a headstart, wipe crumbs off all counters and table, wash the rest of the dishes (I still don't understand how he could use so many in a single night), sweep floors if the crumb situation was bad enough. All this before I'd allow myself to have anything to eat or drink, due to sheer panic of my aunt stopping by unannounced again and seeing the place in this state.

My brother was working a very part time job at the time and, as soon as he left for his shift, I would pounce on his room. I'd haul out armfuls (plural) of dirty dishes which I'd then hurry to wash, I'd carry out at least one full, heavy duty garbage bag of trash. I would try to make his bed after brushing off the crumbs. All this in the few hours I had before he'd get back home. And he would always get incredibly pissed at me for it, which I understand. I know it was an invasion of privacy and, if not for the aunt, I wouldn't have done it... But the state of his room was going to get us both evicted, so I felt justified doing it.

It went on this way for a year and half. During that time, he made me bring his game discs in to get them fixed, had me pay for them, and never paid me back. I wound up in the emergency room on three separate occasions, all due to working myself to the point of over-exhaustion and aggravating already pre-existing health problems. Once, when I was away for a few days, he'd turned my room into a storage room. Ie, he threw all his laundry and belongings on my bedroom floor because he didn't want to deal with them. I wound up having to sort through it and pick it all up. He moved the landline phone into his room, essentially cutting off my contact to the outside world behind a locked door as my cellphone barely had any service there. He took food money from me, against my will, to buy his own... Would eat part of it and let the rest rot in the fridge until I cleaned it out. (important note, I have a lot of dietary restrictions. So it's not like I could just snack on it or share it with him. I just had to deal with him basically stealing my food money, then wasting it on food I couldn't even eat.) He would lock himself in his room anytime the aunt came by, making me have to face her wrath on my own, because I had no lock on my door, and I wasn't allowed to put one on. He would barge into my room uninvited, but get pissed if I went into his. He would expect me to play video games with him and throw a fit if I said no, even after I explained that I had too much cleaning to do and, if he really wanted me to play with him, he would have to lend a hand so it would be done quicker and I might have energy to play. He never did. He wouldn't empty out our cat's wet food and would just let it go moldy if I wasn't there for a few days... and would 'forget' to refill her water.

The only jobs he was expected to do around the house were emptying the cat litter for our one cat and vacuuming, both things I physically couldn't do because of severe asthma. And once a week, he was supposed to bring laundry over to our parents place to wash, as we didn't have a washer or dryer. I remember him vacuuming once the whole time we were there. He rarely emptied the cat litter, which meant I would wind up having to do it once in a while and just suffer through a serious asthma attack afterwards. He also rarely brought the laundry over. I wasn't able to drive, so I would wind up having to ask my mom to bring it over with her when she visited. Three jobs. He hardly ever did any of them, but still expected the house to be clean when our aunt stopped by and would be upset if it wasn't. He just didn't want to have a hand in getting it that way.

On the subject of other family, I tried reaching out. My parents would visit on occasion. They both knew how bad it got, they'd seen it at the worst. I'd even called my mom in a full crying panic more than once, when the aunt called in the morning to say she she'd be there in an hour... And the house wasn't clean. Mom had to come over and help me speed clean it, with me working through a full-blown panic attack, scared I wouldn't have it "clean enough" by the time the aunt got there. Mom is also the one who drove me into the ER. She knew how bad it was, but he was her golden child. The "can do no wrong" child, and I was always the problem. She would tell me I was making it out worse than it was, that it wasn't that bad, that it wasn't his fault he was messy, that I should just deal with it and clean up after him. Dad would at least seem sorry for me. He'd tell me he wished my brother would clean up after himself, but that there was nothing he could do. Aunt just didn't want to hear my excuses. She would yell at me for the state of the place, after I'd worked myself half to death cleaning already. She blamed me for it, threatened to kick us out over every tiny thing wrong. Made passive aggressive comments. Took pictures and said she would show them to the rest of our relatives so they'd know how we were destroying the house, ect.

A year and a half of this. I lost a dangerous amount of weight. I hardly slept, hardly ate, anxiety spiked so badly I was having panic attacks at least once a week, especially toward the weekend when I knew the aunt was coming. All of my days were devoted to cleaning up after him. I dropped hobbies just to wash dishes or pick up his garbage. I even pulled an all-nighter just trying to make the house look presentable... After I'd been in the hospital and spent a few days at my parents place recuperating, so you can imagine the state of the house.

Toward the year and a half mark, I met my now husband. When we decided he should come spend the weekend, I was both happy and terrified. I worked myself to the point of passing out to make the place look decent. I asked my brother to help, told him we would be having company, and was met with a slamming door in my face while he went back to his video games. Now husband came up, we had a great time and chose to make it a weekly thing.

It was about a month into that when I went away for the weekend with my then bf. At this point, he kind of knew how bad it could get and just wanted to get me out of there for a few days. He'd even given my brother a piece of his mind for not emptying the cat litter and making me do it, because of my asthma. So brother hated him. Told me to break up with bf for being "rude" to him. Even called my mom to complain about it and it I got chewed out by my mom for "letting" my bf at the time talk to my brother that way. I was beyond sick of brothers bullcrap. I was exhausted. Had been in the ER just recently because of him, again, and needed to get away. Bf took me up to a cabin and we spent the weekend there, had an amazing time. And brought me home. From the second I stepped back into the farmhouse, I wanted to cry. It was an absolute disaster, like the brother had gone out of his way to destroy the place. So much garbage, laundry, dishes, ect. I said goodbye to the bf, who was horrified and reluctant to leave... And I started trying to make a dent in the horror show that was the house. It didn't take long for me to breakdown. When I called the bf that night to make sure he'd gotten home safe, I told him how bad it was. And he invited me to move in with him. I jumped at that chance for more reasons than one.

Brother took immediate issue with this. He threw a fit when I told him. Straight up told me I was being selfish, that I didn't appreciate all he did for me, that how dare I leave, how could I DARE to move in with someone who talked to him that way!! I just packed up a few of my things and went with the bf. Just like that. I was out.

It was three months before I went back to grab a few more of my things. In that time, brother had gotten an eviction notice from our aunt and was having to move back in with the parents. And I don't blame her one bit. Let me paint a picture for you of what I saw when I walked in the house: he'd run out of room for garbage on the counter and table, it was stacked too high, so.. he'd opened the oven, pulled the racks out and was piling garbage up on them, instead. Guess what the only place that didn't have garbage was... The pristine garbage can. The living room floor was covered in his dirty laundry. He had run out of clean dishes and resorted to using Tupperware lids as plates, with the dirty dishes covering the entire counter by the sink or stacked in his room. Speaking of, I caught a glance inside his room. The smell was worst in there. I could tell there was food in there from the time I left... Didn't try to take a step inside, obviously, not that there was a place to step. Keep in mind, this is AFTER the aunt had visited and demanded he cleaned up. She'd seen it this way, blew her top, and he still didn't give a crap. I, on the other hand, panicked. Call it ingrained at this point, but I started frantically cleaning. It was only my bf who stopped me. Had to actually grab my hands and hug me to get me to stop, with me hyperventilating and close to a panic attack. We got my things and got the hell out of there. But not before I noticed my brother seemed upset that I hadn't cleaned up while I was there.

Brother's living back with our parents and has trashed his room there. He's still pissy at me for calling him out on the way he treated me, and thinks I'm still required to be nice to him because mom says I should... and that he did absolutely nothing wrong with the way he behaved. He's also still holding a grudge against my hubby for him having the utter gall to tell him to be an adult and clean up after himself. Mom still denies it was bad (even though she's dealing with it now) or that I have anything residual from that time, despite the fact I told her that I get panicky and shaky when the place I'm living, now, gets even slightly untidy.

For me, I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm essentially no contact with my brother and limited contact with my mom. Just got married. Living with someone who loves me and actually helps with housework, even without being asked! Still dealing with the trauma of living in a place that felt THAT stressful and unsafe, but working on it. Not holding out much hope of brother realizing how entitled he was / is, but eh. He's not worth the time thinking about him.

#not a meme #long post #long post for ts

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thanatophobia-thoughts · 3 years

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Moving on from Routine, let’s look at Emotional Self-Care. This is Self-Care that you use to improve your emotional stability. This is what Emotional Self-Care can take the form of (though I do not use all of these; I will talk more about the ones I use):

Comfort Food

Taking a “mental health day”

Napping and/or Sleeping In

Binge-Watching Comfort Shows/Reading a Comfort Book/Listening to a Comfort Podcast/Comfort Music/Comfort Video Games/Etc.

Long Baths

Venting

Reflecting on the Good

Meditation

Taking a Walk Outside or Hitting a Treadmill

Turning away from Social Media

Lighting a scented candle

Giving Gifts

Crying/Screaming/Emotional Outburst

Breaking Breakables

Playing with and/or Petting a Pet or Animal

Telling Other People You Don’t Want To Interact With Them (Right Now)/Boundary Setting

Taking care of Plants

Journaling

Cleaning

Treating Yourself (non-food)

Every time I googled “emotional self-care”, I got some things like “set boundaries”, “learn to say no”, and “create a support system” – all of which are very good things, but they don’t really fit the quick regulation criteria that I’m going for here.

So, which of these do I personally use? Comfort Food, Mental Health Days, Sleeping In, Comfort Media, Venting, Reflecting on the Good, Meditation, Hitting a Treadmill, Scented Candle, Giving Gifts, Crying, Animals, Boundary Setting, Cleaning, and Treating Myself.

I’d take care of plants but right now I don’t have a good space for plants.

I’ll look at comfort food last, because I have a list of food.

Mental Health Days, I usually try to schedule ahead of time, around days or times I know are going to be hectic. I know that after a convention, for example, I need “cooldown days”, so usually I will take the following Monday-Wednesday off from work to cooldown from the convention.

If I don’t know ahead of time, I do feel comfortable enough to call in sick, but I vastly prefer being able to plan it, simply because of who I am as a person. It is sometimes a necessity. Sometimes there is just too much going on, and I need to step away from everything. Usually on these days, I will sleep in, or sleep for most of the day, with the promise to go back to normal tomorrow – and that is how it should be.

These are tricks to put you back in line in caring for yourself! To get you back to normal!

Now, most weekends I do sleep in a little. I wake up every day at 6am, so on weekends, I will absolutely let myself sleep in to like, 9-11. It’s a good thing I have this blog on a schedule.

Binge-Consuming Comfort Media: I do not consider this the same as observing New Media, because often for me that is a Personal Self Care, and not necessarily Emotional Self Care. It can be, but more often than not, it gets my thinking fired up and engages me in a wholly different fashion. For example, I consider playing Final Fantasy XII to be a “comfort game”, but I will not consider playing Elden Ring for the first time to be “comfort”, so much as Personal, because the former I have already done, while the latter is something new and is creating new experiences for me. One regulates my emotions, the other does not do so in a foreseeable fashion. In new games, I do not know the experiences I will have, whereas with old games, I can predict them.

I will usually use Binge-Consuming Media in downtime that I have nothing else to fill, but do not have the energy to try something new right then (usually with the promise that I will return to new things in the near future, usually the following day when this happens on a weekend, or the next weekend if this happens on Sunday). Binge-Consuming Media also tends to occur normally on Weekday Evenings, as I tend to lack any desire for new media after work. It thus helps me to stay in a calm mood throughout the night, and prepares me for the next day of work by maintaining mood, rather than changing it.

Venting has to be done with care; I have friends I can vent to, but the vast majority of them only end up aggravating me more when I vent to them. Venting is something I tend to reserve for after I’ve figured out what I’m going to do, and I just need someone else to know my pain, because very rarely are people actually able to give me decent advice. Yet, venting is still useful because it lets me finally express it, and lets other people into my life, which is healing, and allows me to move forward without feeling like I’m keeping a secret.

Akin to that, reflecting on the good is a bit more of a solitary action, but it’s useful to remember that a “bad day” isn’t a bad life. To think of the people who love me, to think of the good things that did happen, even amidst the bad, and to remember there are more good things to come. After a particularly bad day at work, remembering good things, good phone calls with customers, and just good people, is always helpful, and can prepare me to continue through the rest of the day.

Meditation is something I try to do every day, and I do feel that it helps me focus on the moment, as well as helps me work through my thoughts when I’m not meditating.

Back when gyms were safe, hitting the treadmill was great for days I just couldn’t fucking convince myself to do my weight training. It still got me in the gym, it still got me exercising, and it helped me beat out the anger while listening to a podcast or music. I felt like I could breathe. I miss this, a lot, and I look forward to being able to return to this, or getting the “Just Dance” games for my home so I can do a similar thing, without going to the gym. I was then usually able to resume weight lifting the next day – and it kept me from breaking my streak of going to the gym, back in the day.

Aromatherapy is just a thing. I enjoy it, it helps me, and I love candles, haha.

Giving Gifts is also something I like to do. Making other people happy, makes me happy, and this is often a surefire way to do that. It can be as simple as a bit of chocolate, it doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. Of course, I have to make sure I am financial stable enough to do that.

Crying – when I need to. Sometimes I will have to kind of force it, by putting on a movie I know will make me cry, because just bursting into tears from stress without additional stimuli can be hard, but once it’s done, it is so relieving, and it allows my brain to start to function again without feeling as much in a daze.

It’s true I do have pets, and they’re kind of around me everyday, so this is more of a routine one – the animals are a constant source of comfort, but if you don’t have pets, visiting a pet store may be beneficial to give their animals a bit of affection, or going to an animal shelter. Or perhaps watching cute animal videos if those aren’t options.

Boundary Setting is also important. While sometimes, it can be good to help others when you’re going through a thing – I find it helpful sometimes – at other times it is just too much. Being clear on that, and also giving your friend some idea of when to “check in”, is good. It also lets your friend know a bit of a time period, so they know it isn’t a permanent block on conversing. Being open and clear about your situation can only do you good when it comes to your friends – and checking in with them when you’re ready!

Cleaning is oddly enough something I do when I’m preparing for something that is Good. I feel like I must cleanse the area in preparation of the New Good Thing. I will do this when I buy a new gaming console, or a long-awaited game, for instance. It makes things feel fresh and rejuvenated. It lets me walk into the New Thing as if it is a New Thing, and it starts it off on good footing. Some of the anxiety and anticipation of it, is quelled.

Treating Myself, when it’s non-food items, is usually things like clothing for me, or new PJs lately. I will also invest in books I plan to read, one day, eventually, cute Star Wars things, shows and/or movies to watch that are new, or things that generally speaking bring joy into my life. Sometimes emotional regulation, is also about reward. If you’re doing good in your life, you absolutely SHOULD be rewarded for it! Otherwise, why bother with balance and moderation? Why not live a hedonistic lifestyle? That would be far more pleasant if balance and moderation don’t have rewards. Not all emotional regulation is just to stop being sad, it’s also to be vindicated and celebrate good events. Celebrating IS regulating, when it calls for it, obviously. So I’m not encouraging here spending your money on whims because you are sad, but spending it more when you’re happy, and doing good.

And then we get to Comfort Foods. What do I use for comfort foods?

Chipotle Gouda Pasta Salad

Lime-Chipotle Pasta Salad

“Chicken” Fried Steak (Scare quotes because I’m a vegetarian so it’s fake meat)

“Tuna” Salad

Cheesecake, particularly raspberry white chocolate, or turtle.

Ice cream, particularly from Cold Stone, but usually either Rocky Road or Raspberry with Chocolate Chunks. There’s also Love Potion #9 which I have to drive a significant distance for….

Extra Lattes (note the extra – I already have these planned in with my meal plans).

Hot Chocoalte

Potatoes O’Brien and Gravy

The idea behind Comfort Food: Eating tasty food often restores a mood, or at least puts us in a better mindset. They aren’t always the healthiest things, though they aren’t necessarily unhealthy. They have to be done in moderation, as you see I indicate with lattes it’s “extra” lattes that go on the comfort food side. I usually have two decaf lattes a week, one on Wednesday, and one on Friday.

Comfort Foods are for a “limited time”. An extra latte means I don’t get one the following day, or I don’t get one every single day of the week. I take the comfort it offers when it’s needed, and resume my usual drinking habits.

Things like Pasta Salad are for weeks when I need a bit of help, or when I’ve done good, because they’re multiple serving things. So like, my birthday week, eating a pasta is good. Or a week where everything went to hell, and I can’t focus on making something “new” and I just need to eat – but then it’s right back to normality after that week. This is not have pasta for an entire month, this is a way to set intentions, and work on orienting myself back to normal with food I love, and food I can make with my eyes closed.

Single-serving things, like cheesecake or hot chocolate, are usually Reward self-care. Like fuck yeah, I did great, I should give myself a little treat. It encourages my good behavior, and does not become an indulgence. It also ends up “planned”, and so the rest of the meals work around that indulgence so I don’t go overboard with it, either.

Knowing what foods, and what I use them for, helps me to use them when they will be most beneficial for me. Things like “extra lattes” also makes me think: Do I really want to do this now, or wait until the day I’m going to have it? Is there a reason I need it now? What will I do after I have it? How does this impact everything else in the balance?

So these are kind of the “quick trick” emotional self-care tools I use. Obviously, you should try to have a steady way of regulating your emotions, but shit happens. Cars break down, work days suck, friends are angry, people die…we need to have tools to get “back to normal”, or close enough to normal.

And you should also, absolutely, take time to treat yourself in self-care! If you don’t reward yourself, what’s the point in being “balanced”, and not just living a hedonistic lifestyle? That’s why comfort food as rewards is a thing! It’s why you can use these as rewards, if it helps, for doing good!

These are just what I do, and what I suggest. These are ideas to get you thinking about what you could put on a list, and how that could help you. If these same ideas work for you, great! If not, you just have to feel out yourself to determine what will help you! Brainstorm with your loved ones!

#self care #self-care #emotional self care #emotional self-care #self-care list #death anxiety help #death anxiety #existentialism help #existentialism #self-care ideas #self care ideas #self care list #emotional regulation #emotions

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dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

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The Covenant: Tech Guy

Reid Garwin x Reader

Word Count: 3,826

Summary: After renting a laptop from your campus library, you run into a download problem. A call to Library Tech Services for help introduces you to Tech Guy. Good at his job, but with questionable people skills, you learn to work with him. It certainly helps that he has an attractive voice.

This was not good, not good at all. It was less than an hour to midnight, the sun long since having set, and time seemed to pas faster, not slower, the later it got.

Now, you considered yourself to be pretty good with technology, perhaps not a computer genius but good enough to be able to troubleshoot most of your problems. It was pure bad luck that the night your capabilities failed was the night before you had an assignment due in Graphic Design.

Your own laptop had been ruined after an accident in the library had left the screen nothing more than a web of shattered fragments, but thankfully the library also carried laptops for checkout which saved you from having to fork out money that you didn’t have to buy a new one. You thought that checking out a laptop would be a quick fix to your problem, but you underestimated how high their demand was.

The librarian you spoke with at the circulation desk put you on a waiting list much to your disappointment and you left the building empty handed, unsure when one would become available.

The answer was six days later, the night before you had something due.

When they left a voicemail on your cell phone around seven o’clock to tell you that it was ready for pick-up, you immediately hopped on a bus bound for the library. The anxiety should have been somewhat alleviated because you could actually start to work on it now but when you got back to your dorm room and opened it up, another problem presented itself: the program you needed wasn’t installed.

Bad luck 1 – You 0.

Every time you tried to install it a message would pop up prompting you to enter an admin username and password in order to start the process. You had never seen that message before and innocently tried your own username and password. When that didn’t work, you tried three more times just to be sure.

Next stop was the internet, everyone’s favorite place to ask questions. You ran a quick search describing the problem and read through a couple of chat room threads. Disappointingly, nothing really applied to the situation at hand.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have spent so much time trying to fix it because all that came of it was a lot of wasted time and you still hadn’t installed the program. You really didn’t want to take another trip to the library tonight if you could help it.

Frustrated and stuck you opened up the library’s webpage to see if there were any answers to be found. They didn’t but you did find the phone number for Library Tech Services, which was miraculously open even this late in the night.

Punching in the numbers you dialed and waited for someone to answer and when they did, it was short and to the point. “Library Tech.”

“Umm, hi… my name is y/n and I’m having an issue installing a program on my laptop rental.”

“Hmm. What’s the problem?” Again, not much to go on but the you could admit that tech guy’s voice sounded attractive.

“Well. I clicked on the install button, but as soon as I did a message telling me that I needed admin permission to continue flashed on my screen.”

“Did you try your university username and password?”

“Yes.”

“Did you double check that you typed everything correctly?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try Google?”

“Of course, I did,” you answered with exasperation. He snickered and you felt your hackles rise. You called the number to get helped, not to get laughed at. Attractive voice be damned.

“I promise I exhausted every trick I know, I’m not stupid. But I do have something to finish tonight so if you can help me out here, that’d be great.”

For a split second you felt bad for being short with him but the aggravation was quick to return. He was the one providing terrible customer service… why should you feel bad calling him out on it?

He must’ve gotten the hint because he cleared his throat and started being serious. “The library puts restrictions on its laptops because they don’t want people downloading stuff willy nilly. What do you need to install?”

“Just Adobe Illustrator.”

You heard him typing on a keyboard in the background. “Sounds okay to me. I’ll just give you the admin credentials so you don’t have to make a trip over here tonight.”

You started to say thanks until you processed the end of that sentence. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“Normally we require people to come in person to fill out a form. Once the request is approved, a person is supposed to enter in the admin stuff, but I’m going to give it out over the phone to save you some time.”

His words left you speechless. You had no idea there was a whole process to do something so simple as install a program; you should’ve asked more questions before you walked out with it. It was a good thing to remember for next time. And the earlier guilt returned, too. He was being so nice now, bending the rules so you didn’t have to make another trek on the bus, which was quite frankly a gamble after dark.

You thanked him profusely, the tension draining from your shoulders. Once you told him the laptops id number and he was able to confirm that it was rented out to your account, he shared the username and password with you.

With baited breath, you typed in exactly what he told you to and couldn’t help the happy noise that escaped you when it worked. It was impossible that tech guy saw your chair dance through the phone but he laughed again, making you question if he somehow knew anyway.

“Thanks, you’re a life saver!”

He cleared his throat and said “Glad to be of service.” Then he hung up without another word.

You pulled the phone away from your ear and looked at it blankly. What the heck was that about? Thinking back on the conversation left you feeling very confused but you threw yourself into getting your images drawn up on Illustrator and soon lost yourself in the work.

You ended up staying up late well past your normal bedtime but the deadline was enough motivation for you to push through the drowsiness and yawns. Around 3:30 you finally finished and emailed it to the professor so you wouldn’t have to worry about it in the morning.

Sleep came easy that night and you vaguely remembered dreaming about tech guy’s voice which was utterly ridiculous. He hadn’t even mentioned his name, for goodness sakes! Plus, he was so hard to read, bouncing between jerk and nice on a whim. Nope. You were not going to stoop to finding out who he was. Not a chance.

After yesterday’s incident, your first course of the new day was to go grab a cup of coffee. You weren’t an easy riser on a good day, even less so after being up until the wee hours of the morning and caffeine was going to be essential for powering you through your classes.

Your go-to place was a campus coffee shop two blocks down from your dorm. It was still winter but you found that as long as you bundled up, the walk over went quickly and the cold air worked wonders for organizing your thoughts. But the real reason it was your favorite was not its closeness, it wasn’t even for the coffee; it was because of the heavenly pastries they made daily. The croissants, the eclairs, the danishes… they were all excellent. None was above their banana chocolate chip muffins.

A little bell chimed as you opened the door and the blast of heat from inside the shop felt nice against your chilled cheeks. The familiar worker at the register looked up and smiled when they saw you. “Hey, y/n! Should I start working on your cappuccino order?”

“Yes, please!” You approached the counter, removing your gloves to make it easier to take out your card from your wallet. A gleaming dessert case also caught your eye and you tried to glance over discreetly. As subtle as you tried to be, the cashier knew you too well after serving you for the past couple of years.

“Oh, sorry. We’re out those again.”

“Again?” you questioned sorrowfully.

He gave you a sympathetic shrug. “They’re very popular, they always go fast.”

It used to be that you could get your hands on a banana chocolate chip muffin whenever you wanted one but the secret must’ve gotten out to the rest of campus because you’d struck out for the past weeks. With a dramatic sigh, you settled for a chocolate croissant. It was no muffin but it was something to tide over your stomach until lunch.

“You know,” you started conspiratorially, “How can someone be so talented yet stupid simultaneously? If that no-good-baker bothered to make more of them knowing how fast they sell, this wouldn’t happen.”

You had never actually met the baker that was the source of the yummy pastries. In fact, you’d never even seen him and only knew that he was good at what he did and that he never came out to the front of the shop. There was really no reason why you ragged on him that morning other than you had major plans for that muffin that now had to be put on hold.

The cashier chuckled as he rang you up and looked back at the door to the kitchen for a moment. “I’ll pass along the message.” He slipped the croissant in a brown paper bag and handed it, along with the travel coffee cup, over to you. “Have a good day. See you next time.”

You accepted it with a “You, too,” and were out the door to catch the next bus to your class.

***

Later that week, you ran into a familiar problem with the laptop. This time you needed to add Photoshop but figured that it shouldn’t be an issue now that you knew the password. So when you typed in the exact same thing as last time and the computer told you it was incorrect, you dragged a hand down your face and groaned. Well, you weren’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Swiveling around in your chair you grabbed your phone and called the Tech Services line again. The only thing that would make this even better would be if tech guy answered again, that’s how your luck was going that week. And sure enough, “Library Tech Services.”

You refrained from groaning again. Out loud anyway. “Hi, it’s y/n again. I was the one who called about the admin credentials Monday night?”

“What’s up?”

“I’m trying to install Photoshop right now and it’s telling me the username/password is incorrect, which is impossible because it’s what I used the last time.”

“Right. We had to change the password for our monthly maintenance, it’s a security thing.”

“You’re kidding,” you said surprise coloring your voice. “Any chance you can share the new one with me?”

“Technically, I wasn’t supposed to give that to you last time.”

It was time to turn on the charm and convince him like you managed to previously. As you pleaded with him to do you this favor he interrupted you.

“How bad do you need it?”

What was wrong with you that hearing him say that put your mind in the gutter? He definitely hadn’t meant it that way when he said it! He was much chattier this time around so you were able to appreciate his voice better and his voice just did it for you.

You cleared your throat. “It’s not an emergency this time, no impending next-day deadlines, but I do want to get working on this new assignment…”

“Okay, okay. You’re lucky I like you.” That was news to you because you didn’t get that vibe based on the last call. It was nice to hear though. Some clicks sounded from the other end of the line and you waited silently for a few moments before he was ready to say the new password.

“Whew, we’re good to go,” you updated him as the Photoshop installation started. Another moment of silence passed.

Finally, he said a quick, “Good.”

You weren’t caught off guard when you heard the click that signaled he had hung up. Unlike the last call, he hadn’t seemed rude and he did mention that he liked you. Maybe he was just an awkward sort of guy, despite his killer voice. That might explain why he worked an IT job, weren’t those kinds of guys supposed to have terrible people skills?

You worked with Photoshop for a bit and when you reached a good stopping point, you got ready for bed. That night you laid awake for a while, unable to drift off to sleep. Instead, you replayed the conversation with tech guy over and over in your mind.

He was very helpful when he wasn’t giving an attitude and he this was the second time he had bent the rules for you. That pesky word ‘like’ kept rattling in your brain and you started to wonder if that nice voice belonged to a nice face. Furthermore, was there a chance that he found your voice attractive as well?

***

Sunday morning on a college campus seemed like a smart time to visit the coffee given that most of campus wasn’t up yet, which increased the chances of you getting your hands on a banana chocolate chip muffin. Maybe even two or three if you were honest, to make up for the past several failed attempts.

The sun hadn’t been up long when you opened the door, the little jingling bell announcing your presence. A barrage of delicious aromas caressed your nose and to your extreme delight, one of the scents you detected was a banana-chocolate combination.

You walked up to the counter and the cashier smiled as he told you good morning.

“So… can I get three banana chocolate chip muffins?”

He merely smiled and started working on your cappuccino. “Of course. Reid just finished them so they still in the kitchen, piping hot.”

Reid must be the baker that was responsible for the muffins as well as responsible for never making enough. “Finally! This is a long time coming for me.”

“I passed him your message, I think he took it to heart.” He handed over the drink and turned to go to the kitchen. “I’ll be back with the muffins.”

He pushed the door open and for a split second you caught a glimpse of a side profile belonging to a blonde guy. He was too far away to distinctly make out any facial features but he had nice shoulders framed by his black tee and obvious blonde hair that was hard to miss. He looked cute to you, at least from a distance.

Those two details were the only things you took note of before the door closed, effectively blocking you from more staring. Too bad. It was totally ridiculous to think about but tech guy’s voice would be a good combination with baker guy’s looks.

You picked at the lid of the coffee cup while you waited for the rest of your order already anticipating how they would taste. Your plan was to only eat one this morning and to ration the rest, but you were honest enough with yourself to know that you might enter a feeding frenzy and have all three finished by lunch.

When the door opened up again your eyes searched for the seemingly cute baker but there was no sign of him. There wasn’t a chance to get down about it, however, because a smile lit up your face as soon as you saw the medium sized brown paper bag that held the muffins.

“Reid says these are especially for you,” the cashier said as he lifted the bag over the register.

You were quick to raise your hands to take it from him and made sure to thank him as you left, not questioning why Reid, a person you’d never met, would make a comment like that, figuring that he was referring to how you complained that the muffins were always sold out.

The morning air was especially cold as you trekked back to your dorm, your breath condensing into a fleeting, frozen cloud around your face and the only thing keeping your hands warm was the cappuccino you held between gloved hands. Still, the trip to the coffee shop was definitely worth it and you were hoping that it was a good omen to start the day off with.

***

Perhaps you were still experiencing the high of the morning victory at the coffee shop, but later on that night while you were working on homework once again, you started thinking about tech guy again. There wasn’t any need to call him; you now had both Illustrator and Photoshop on the laptop and there wasn’t anything else that you needed to install.

Still, you debated calling him. Not because you needed to but because you wanted to. Which was weird, even to you, but you had missed him the past couple of days, bad people skills and all. After the second call, you felt even more confident that he wasn’t as condescending a guy as you had first thought him to be. And you wouldn’t mind getting to know that awkward version of him better.

The hard part was you literally knew nothing about him other than he worked the night shift at the library. You didn’t have a name, a face, not even a work schedule to confirm whether he was working tonight or not. Reid must’ve been serious when he told the cashier those muffins were made especially for you because there had to have been a secret dose of recklessness mixed in there. How else would you explain this strange, and potentially creepy, call you were about to make?

The dial tone rang and you took a deep breath, not sure how this would turn out. On the fifth ring, someone finally picked up. “Library Tech Services.”

You laughed in relief. Tech guy was the on the other end of the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, y/n. Having another crisis?” On one hand you felt a little embarrassed that you no longer had to say your name for him to recognize your voice but on the other, the possibility that he enjoyed talking with you, too.

“It may come as a surprise but I can get through a day without having a tech issue that needs solving.”

“Oh, really?”

“I swear.” You crossed your heart even though he couldn’t see you.

“Well, what do you want then?”

Time to be brave. “Actually, I called for you.”

“I would hope so, I’m the only who works this shift meaning I’m your only option.”

“No, um, I meant I wanted to tell you thanks for helping me out with installing that stuff on the laptop. You were a lifesaver.”

“I try.”

“Seriously! I definitely would’ve missed one graphic design deadline, potentially two if you hadn’t come to the rescue.”

That seemed to get his attention. “Is that your major? Graphic Design?”

“Yep. Don’t I give off bumbling artist vibes?”

“Hmm you seem pretty confident to me but there’s nothing wrong with that. My grandma was—” He started that sentence but abruptly cut off and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you saying I remind you of your grandma?”

“Shit,” he grumbled. “My friends told me to stop bringing her up when talking to hot people.”

“Don’t sweat it, she sounds like she was awesome so I’m honored. But back to the part where I’m hot… do you really think so?”

“Obviously. Do you think I hand out library secrets to every person who calls? Your voice is strong and you sound super smart so I tried my best to be cool with you.”

“Okay but future tip: hanging up on people and not telling them your name is rude, not cool.”

His embarrassment was tangible through the phone and you let him sweat momentarily before speaking. “Luckily for you, I like dorks such as yourself and am willing to look past it as long as I get your name.”

“It’s Reid. Reid Garwin,” he rushed to say.

Now that was interesting. You fell back on your bed, your brain trying to make connections. The name while not super common, wasn’t rare either and what were the chances that you met two of them on the same day. If Reid with the nice body and tech guy, er, Reid with the nice voice were one in the same, you wouldn’t be upset. Quite the contrary.

“Reid as in Reid who bakes my favorite sugar fixes on campus?”

“One in the same. You seen me there before?”

“Only once,” you reveal. “When I went to pick up some muffins this today.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Wait. Are you saying that you’re that customer who called me stupid the other day?”

“…Maybe.”

“They don’t let me out front cause I’m ‘too much’ for people but rest assured that the door isn’t that thick. I feel like an idiot for not recognizing that it was you though.”

The revelation that Reid was baking a tech hero, a winning mix by the way, thrilled you all the way from your head to your toes. At the moment you didn’t even care that he heard you calling him names at the coffee shop although you were sure the mortification would set in later.

“Would you like to go out sometime—”

“You do want to go out with me sometime—”

The two of you spoke at the same time and when you realized that the other had read your mind, you both giggled.

“After you,” you assured him.

“Shit, would you like to go out sometime? There’s a restaurant downtown that’s really good and I promise not to bring up grandma Garwin again.”

The plan was to pretend to think about it but your excitement overrode your brain and you said, “Deal as long as you promise to tell me more about her, not less.”

He started to answer you but stopped suddenly and you could vaguely hear him getting scolded by someone, reminding you that technically he was still on the clock.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, “The librarian on duty told me to stop flirting and get back to work. Stop by the coffee shop tomorrow though and we can talk more.”

You said your good-byes and rolled around your bed, the comforter thoroughly rumpled by the time you stopped. It seemed that your luck may be turning around for the better.

_______________

Thanks for reading my most self-indulgent piece to date. Also my longest! Reid may consider himself to be mister cool, but he is also an awkward bean who would make a great tech guy. It's also my first time experimenting with moodboards, let me know what you think :)

#the covenant #reid garwin #reid garwin x reader #imagines

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