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dienamights · 3 years

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Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s): Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.”

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to-

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?”

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now.

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her.

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week.

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No! He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.”

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario.

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,”

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-”

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.”

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight.

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it.

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?”

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high.

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly.

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you.

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed.

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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twittytelly · 2 years

Text

Headcanon: A New Start

Jake Wyler x Reader

A/N: This is my contribution to @what-is-your-plan-today ‘s 25 Days of CHRIS-mas challenge. Today’s character is Jake Wyler. Also, this is my first time writing a headcanon - I’m very aware that this is a bit long for a headcanon lol! Dividers by @rainbowkisses31

Summary: College AU. When Jake stumbles in late to your history class, you think you have him figured out. But, as you get to know him, you learn that there's more to him than a bad first impression.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cheating.

Word Count: 1045

You first encountered Jake Wyler when he stumbled into your history class 15 minutes late. As you noticed the tired look on his face, you deduced that he must've been partying into the early hours of the morning; but that didn't stop him from being nice to look at.

However, when he opened his mouth and charmed your lecturer out of giving him the bollocking that he clearly deserved, you realised that he was probably some spoilt little rich boy, who had always got his own way. You'd put money on him being the star quarterback at his high school.

Funnily enough, he ended up in more of your classes, and you were even paired up together for a group assignment for your English Lit class; where you'd learned your initial assessment of him had been correct. He had been a popular jock in high school, he'd even been prom king.

Sure, he was an arrogant prick, who never seemed to make time to meet up to work on your project; but, you couldn't deny that he was gorgeous – and there was no harm in simply admiring him from afar.

As the semester went on, you realised that there was more to Jake than he'd let on. He was constantly late to his morning lectures, and was never free to meet with you to work on your assignment together; but you hadn't seen him at any parties, and he hadn't made a name for himself as someone who slept around; but you were certain that there wasn't a girlfriend (or boyfriend) on the scene.

The only time that you'd seen him away from the classroom was when you'd bumped into him at the library checking out books on art history, despite that you were almost certain that he wasn't taking any classes in it.

But, despite never having time to meet with you outside of class, Jake was contributing towards your assignment; always doing whatever was needed of him to do and beyond, leaving you with little to do. In fact, his input had led to you both getting an A.

Most peculiarly, towards the end of the semester, you noticed that Jake had got a lot quieter and became withdrawn. When you mentioned this to your friends, they brushed it off as him being stressed about finals; quickly telling you to stop being so nosey and wondering why you were showing so much interest in an asshole like Jake in the first place. However, you knew that there was something more to it.

After finals, you and your friends celebrated completing your first semester of college by going to the biggest party on campus. While the party had got off to a good start, Brock from your film class had started hitting on you and wouldn't leave you alone, despite the fact that you had made it perfectly clear that you weren't interested.

When Brock was dragged off to join in a game of beer pong, you used the opportunity to slip away, deciding to hide in one of the empty bedrooms needing five minutes of alone time.

However, when you closed the door, you soon realised that you were not alone... Sitting on the bed crying was none other than Jake Wyler.

Surprised and concerned, you immediately sat beside him; you weren't close enough to warrant a hug, but you gave him a pat on the back as you asked him what was wrong.

“It doesn't matter, the only reason that I came to this party was to try to forget about her.”

“Forget who?”

There he explained about Janey and the convoluted way they'd got together. Even though she ended up staying in LA for the summer, it was clear that the art scholarship in Paris was too good an opportunity to pass up. The reason for Jake's tiredness, lateness and lack of free time was that he was up until midnight talking to Jamie on the phone before her morning classes began, then studying until he crashed in the small hours of the morning.

However, as time passed it became clear to Jake that he was putting more effort into the relationship than Janey and the more he tried to fight for them the more distant she became. Eventually, Janey confessed that she had cheated on Jake with a guy named Zack, and they had broken up.

“I feel so stupid, a huge part of me knew that a relationship that was that messy and drama filled would never last. But I'd already fallen for her and I thought we'd be the exception, and now I've wasted an entire semester on someone who doesn't give two flying fucks about me.”

“You're not stupid, you're just a hopeless romantic. When you look back on this, at least you can say that you tried your hardest. And there are still plenty of semesters left for you to do the whole college thing. Soon it'll be a new year, and you can have a new start.”

“If I had a drink, I'd drink to that.”

“Well, shall we go back out there and grab one? Or if you want to get out of here? I know this great 24 hour diner that serves great pan-”

“A drink sounds perfect to me.”

After rejoining the party, you spent most of the night talking with Jake, getting to know him better, and you'd never been so pleased that your initial assumption of him was wrong.

“Thanks for everything you've done tonight, I thought tonight was gonna suck, but I'm actually enjoying myself.”

Before you had a chance to respond, he then leaned towards you and gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek. As he quickly pulled away, you noticed that there was a pink tinge to his cheeks that wasn't there before.

“To a new year and a new start.”

Jake was avoiding giving you eye contact, and you noticed that he was looking above your head. Following his eye line, you looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe. Grinning, you leant towards Jake and returned the favour, being careful not to smudge your lipstick. Holding out your red solo cup to him, you simply replied.

“To a new year and a new start.”

Taglist: @whiskey-cokenfanfic @mrs-captain-evans @supersoldiersruined-me @katiew1973 @kelbabyblue @amiquette @feelmyroarrrr @patzammit @daydreamerinadazedworld @denisemarieangelina @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bellaireland1981 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @georgeweasleydumbhoe @ladydmalfoy

#TwitttTelly writes #wiypt25daysofchrismas #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #not another teen movie #jake wyler #jake wyler fanfiction #jake wyler x reader #jake wyler x y/n #jake wyler x you #college au

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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thejustmaiden · 3 years

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Hey Inuyasha friends,

This is my late contribution to the HNY Is Over Party!! If Rumiko Takahashi can do one then so can I. Say it with me: Hogosha. 💖

Before I get too distracted by my new favorite word lol, let me get to the reason why I'm here. I wasn't actually planning on participating in this event aside from liking/commenting on what the rest of y'all put out there. Then this idea came to me a couple of days ago and I thought why not? For those of you who weren't around in the tags at the time, I was quite the active blogger from May of last year up until the sequel's premiere. So I figured it would be kinda cool to share and revisit some of my anti-SR ramblings in celebration of the first season ending a week ago. 🎉

It's going on almost a year now, and still I'm so inspired and impressed by everybody and their sheer awesomeness. Be it with your insightful musings, clever theories, wildly hilarious memes, lovely fan art- you name it! There are no words to express how beyond grateful I am to all of the wonderful people I have met since the start of this all. I couldn't have survived Yashahime without each and every one of you. Seriously, you all kept me sane and laughing along the way. Lastly, I must also give a special shout-out to the friends who offered me a safe space to vent about this sequel in private or in group chats, sometimes late into the wee hours of the night. 🥰

Anyway, all of you keep on rocking (and partying 👀) and being your amazing selves!

I selected these 15 blogs/asks to feature (in order by date):

The Sesshomaru F*cks Debacle

Sesshomaru Wasn't A Terrible Parent/Guardian

Fiction And Real Life Go Hand In Hand

Jaken = Rin's Dad?

How To Be Pro Ship & Anti IRL

Inuyasha Is A Show For Kids/Teens

Interpreting Rumiko's Storytelling

Everyone Is Sick Of It (Yes, Even Japan)

Lolicon Culture

Fans Are Allowed To Be Critical. Period.

Portrayals In Children's Media

Sunrise's Marketing Strategy

Inuyasha vs. Twilight

Dads Don't Babysit

Fiction Matters

#anti yashahime #anti sessrin #hnyisoverparty #fyi a good third of my blogs here are novel length lol just a head's up #also for some reason the break line in those ones isn't appearing anymore oops #back then my blogs would be flagged on sight even tho they were harmless lmao fun times

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infjparadox · 3 years

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The types I know in real life - as an INFJ

The ISFJ father. Growing up, he was a bit of a micro-manager, and both of us were so stubborn that our J clashed pretty hard, especially when he pushed me to complete scholarships and laborious things that would benefit my future. He ALWAYS wanted to do some activity together (sports, outings, family gatherings, etc), and in my teen years, I just valued creative, independent pursuits (he didn’t understand the value in those hobbies at the time - now he’s my cheerleader). Since graduating college, we’ve become good friends, although he still over-does and over-plans everything. We share similar values regarding our interpersonal relationships and work, as well as a similar sense of humor, and I can get that intuitive conversation out of him by asking him to tell me stories about his childhood. He’s a fantastic storyteller.

The INFP mother. My mother is a kind (but anxious) woman and a fantastic role model. She’s super creative, but also incredibly introverted. I remember she’d often tell me to find a way to entertain myself growing up (probably driven mad by my intuitive inquisitions), and that led me to many of my independent hobbies, like drawing, music, and film. (And possibly resulted in a love language of quality time, lol I love attention). As an adult, I can now claim her as my best friend. We can talk for hours about the abstract, ideals, and emotions. I tease her constantly, and we laugh ourselves to tears.

The ENFJ sister. Confident, idealistic, and a blogger type. We don’t get along very well, but I blame it on her not being a very matured or healthy ENFJ (and she’s been diagnosed with OCD, so there’s that). When she’s in a positive place, we joke that we have ESP because we always have similar thoughts / reactions to interactions (Ni) and we both enjoy a lot of the same hobbies and creative pursuits, but we value those experiences differently. For example, she loves movies for the emotions and her ability to relate to the characters, while I love them for the storytelling, the script, the cinematography, the character arcs, etc. She loves people and organizing parties / social events. She’s also that person on Instagram sharing all the inspirational quotes.

The ISFP boyfriend. Charming, easygoing, and well-rounded. Appears as an extrovert to an outsider, but in reality, he just enjoys activities that engage the five senses and his close circle of friends. He’s the absolute best at living in the moment, and he knows how to pull me back to earth and to see the more rational, objective side of things. Loves working with his hands, and has about 3 million hobbies, from skiing to biking to working on cars to making music to photography. Sensitive to criticism, but loves playing the devil’s advocate. Sometimes he can be incredibly impulsive, and other times, he’s hesitant to commit to future plans or big decisions (depends on what his Fi is telling him). Values authenticity and independence above anything else. Very capable of deep and stimulating conversation, but does better on lower rungs of the abstract ladder that are rooted in science, physics, conspiracy theories, politics, or something he can contribute facts and real world experience to. Dislikes conflict and being put in a box. Other than the INFP, the only other type who does not drain my energy tank. I’m confident that we’ll be lifelong friends and soulmates, come what may.

The INFP friend. We clicked instantly while studying abroad, and we were able to talk for hours about anything and everything, while respecting one another’s feelings. Super easygoing. He’s one of the best listeners I’ve ever met, and he always asks me questions that feed the conversation. Musically inclined, authentic, and frustratingly neutral about some of the topics I care about so passionately. He’s also one of the most aloof people I know -- and he absolutely sucks at communication. But even though I haven’t talked to him in 7 months, I still consider him one of my platonic soulmates.

The ENFP bff. Another soulmate. A total goofball, selfish at times, but also a martyr when it comes to those she loves. She’s one of the few people who have truly attempted to understand everything about me and pry me open -- almost to the point that it’s uncomfortable. Loves talking about emotions (extensively). Judges people based on their zodiac sign, but she’s also incredibly insightful, perceptive, and “street” wise (she learns a LOT from her experiences / mistakes). She can be flighty though, and her goals change as swiftly as her attention span. Gotta love her.

The ENTP bff. A witty friend who will always offer me a stimulating conversation - whether it’s teaching me about historical fashion or exposing me to new concepts and ideas and political theories. We can talk for three hours straight, but by then I’m incredibly brain-fried (and she could just keep going?!). Up for a good natured debate whenever - less good natured when someone pisses her off. I’m fairly certain I’m the only person she is completely honest with about her feelings (she struggles SO hard to open up). She loves to travel and experience new things, as well as host parties and game nights. She’s both a planner and a completely "in the spur of the moment” human being. Hates willful ignorance and stupidity, and does not care about keeping the peace. I disliked her at first for her bluntness and arrogance, but now I love her to pieces. Soulmate, for sure.

INTJ friend (long distance). Very, very prickly to others, but warmed up to me instantly. Arrogant, albeit extremely logical and intelligent. Loves memes, biology, and good television. Adores her girlfriend and gushes about her often (one of the rare instances where she’s a total fluff ball). Kind of a dick, but also very funny and 100% there for companionable silence or intellectual conversation. Enjoys being in a group of outcasts and detests most people. We had a lot of weird things in common and joked about being long lost sisters, and I valued her promptness / dependability! Her negativity kind of wore me out though (we were studying abroad, and she was homesick for most of it).

The ENTJ boss. I no longer work for her, but man, what a powerhouse. Direct and blunt to a fault, but incredibly motivated and ambitious. Will get things done, no matter what. Big idea woman, not so great with the details and how her plans will actually (realistically) be implemented. SO, so organized and anal, and yet somehow kind of a mess. Surprises me when she’s emotionally vulnerable because she’s incredibly intimidating and intense. Loves hosting parties and cooking for her coworkers / neighbors. Those who are close to her know she has a good heart, but she can seem like a total b** to an outsider.

ISTP coworker. She’s good at multitasking, and yet she runs late constantly. Intelligent in the way she asks questions for clarity and a better understanding of a concept. Calm, collected, and logical. Creative and impressive in her projects (home remodel, upcycling crafts, etc). Conversation is a bit surface-level at times and mostly centers around her day to day life experiences or family drama. She’ll often ask me about my life and then tune me out because she quickly grows bored, as do many other sensors, rip T_T. We’re a good team, though.

These are my personal experiences with / observations of particular individuals whose type I’m confident about, but they do not represent everyone of the same type. If anything, I think this goes to show the range of personalities within a function stack.

#infj #enfp #entj #istp #entp #enfj #infp #isfj #isfp #intj

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arhvste · 4 years

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☼just until i win☼

WRITTEN CHAPTER - WILL CHECK SPELLING ERRORS LATER

an - the inspo for this chapter was : stay - post malone and a little bit of moral of the story - ashe

big thank you to my pretty and talented wife @totorosleaff for the end ;) ily wifey 💕💗💖💘💞✨

soz lol lmao haha

atsumu, bokuto and y/n made their way out of the training grounds and through to the back exit where a car was waiting to take them. the head coach had advised the three travel privately to avoid disruption from the public and causing an unneeded scene.

as usual, bokuto was his excitable self chatting to the pair about how excited he way to go into tokyo and get refitted for a new jersey. y/n found herself smiling and listening to the boy patiently, but this didn't stop her from noticing that atsumu had been strangely quiet since he’d come downstairs to meet the pair. usually he’d have comments and contribute to the conversation and usual banter they would usually have, but today he sat quietly and looked bothered by something.

after 15 minutes of talking y/n’s ear off, bokuto had busied himself looking out the window and taking countless photos of himself and the scenery they drove past to send to akaashi. y/n turned to face atsumu who was staring mindlessly in front of him.

“what’s up with you this morning?”

atsumu was brought out of his trance as he turned to face the concerned girl.

“nothin. just tired.”

blunt response. but that's what atsumu was known to be. he never felt the need to beat around the bush, he always got straight to the point and would give blunt answers with no mind of anyone else’s opinion on the matter.

you hummed and studied his face. maybe he was tired, you couldn't say for sure, but even when he genuinely had been in the past he had still managed to seem a bit more optimistic than what he was being today.

deciding to let it go, you pulled out your phone to check through your emails and messages from the PR team and message ICS, the company who provided and sponsored the team for uniform and such, that the three were on their way and would be in their company within the next hour if traffic wasn't heavy.

the three arrived at their destination after travelling what felt like hours, but in reality was only an hour and a half. sure, the training grounds were in tokyo but to get to the other side where ICS were based, traffic and routes extended the journey for longer than one would think.

bokuto had ended up falling asleep, y/n had spent most of her time replying to emails and sending updates of training regimes and schedules back and fourth to iwaizumi and the head coach and atsumu had more a less sulked the whole journey.

“okay you two remember what i said, in and out. got it?”

the two nodded, bokuto showing a lot more energy than atsumu. the three were escorted out of the vehicle and into the back entrance of the ICS head offices. upon entering, the three were greeted by several workers who offered their hospitality and good luck for their upcoming games.

after checking in and being led to a waiting room, the trio let out a sigh of relief upon managing to arrive without any disturbance.

bokuto insisted he needed to go to the toilet before they got called in to get fitted and was directed down the hall to the closest one.

the silence between atsumu and y/n was tense and unsettling which was unusual. both obviously wanted to say something to desperately fill the deafening void of silence but neither knew what to say.

“so, oikawa will be back soon huh. guess we’re not going to see you for a bit.”

y/n’s eyes widened slightly. why wouldn't she be seeing her own team for a while just because oikawa was arriving back home.

“no. you’re my main priority right now. i’ll see more of him after the games, i’m a trainer for you not him.”

atsumu tilted his head and turned away for a moment.

you stared at the boy in utter confusion. he had been acting up lately and you hadn't a clue why. osamu’s message about his behaviour had been living rent free in your mind since the night he messaged you privately. the same night atsumu told the group he was making it his own responsibility to look out for y/n.

y/n smiled slightly at the memory. the two would bicker childishly with atsumu refusing to take y/n’s orders seriously and y/n growing tired of his endless teasing, but their friendship was good. they were both open and understanding towards each other just how y/n was with every other msby player on the team. sure, she had been polite to the new players when the 4 black jackals had been scouted to the national team, but y/n had a soft spot for the 4 boys she had been training before teaming up with iwaizumi to take on a national team.

atsumu wasn’t someone who hid his emotions well. he was expressive and didn't care who was around if he wanted to make a scene. he was open and honest and that was something y/n appreciated. she did notice that he’d often struggle to sympathise and comfort others though. he’d prefer not to show his vulnerability and put up a rather bland and tough front to break through at times. after atsumu had declared his views on the whole situation, y/n couldn't help but feel warm inside when atsumu showed he cared. it must've really meant something to him because he wasn’t the type to openly care about things especially not situations like you were currently in. it was nice to know he cared but you were bothered by the fact he felt affected. he shouldn't have to worry about such things when the situation didn't directly concern him.

“you know i’m proud of ya right?”

atsumu mumbled quietly his face still turned away.

“hm?”

“like, you've ‘ad to put up with alotta shit recently and ya still manage to show up and train us everyday and keep us motivated. we’ve never thanked ya for everythin you've done for us n’ no matter what i’m always gonna ‘ave yer back”

once again miya atsumu had left y/n speechless.

y/n smiled at him as he slowly turned to face her again.

“thanks atsumu, it means a lot. i hope you know how proud i am of all of you individually though, that's why i want to do my best to make sure you can do yours too.”

he gave her a small smile before relaxing back into his chair.

the once heavy silence now lifted as the two of them sat there smiling waiting for the inevitable return of their ace.

the rest of the afternoon went by swiftly, none of them had realised they’d ended up spending most of the day in the offices as the process took a little longer than y/n had initially thought. both boys got remeasured and to their satisfaction they had indeed built up more muscle from their intense training causing their new jerseys having to be altered quite a bit from their last ones. after that, they were taken into a studio for updated shots to be taken of them for future reference for if they ever needed any more altercations done in the time to come, lunch was provided for them all as they took a break and another 2 hours was taken up discussing when the jerseys could be collected and y/n had gone to contact iwaizumi to check if any other players needed any extra uniform or anything else sent to them while she was there.

since y/n’s last conversation with atsumu, he’d seemed to have perked up more and was sharing the normal banter he usually would with both bokuto and yourself as they got measured and fitted.

with a final thanks to the team at ICS, the three team japan members were taken back to the car waiting out the back for them.

despite the fact, all three had spent most of the day out, it hadn’t felt like long. y/n’s body said otherwise though as she found herself feeling slightly drowsy on the ride back to the dorms. atsumu and bokuto looked at each other as y/n leant against the window resting her eyes and tipping between the state of falling asleep and barely staying conscious.

they had to get y/n back to her apartment for the party oikawa and the others had been planning for her for the past few weeks.

“hey, you good?”

bokuto tapped y/n gently as he gave her a warm smile to which the girl returned.

“yeah, just a little worn out but i’ll rest a little later. thank you both for being so compliant with myself and the others today, you’re both stars.”

atsumu leant forward so he could look at the fitness trainer.

“could ya repeat that, record it and send it to the group chat, i don't think omi or samu would believe us if we told em you just said that.”

there was the atsumu y/n knew. he had snapped out of whatever mood he had been in recently and completely returned to her now.

she snickered softly and gently flicked his forehead.

“they're just gonna have to take your word for it tsumu.”

and just like that, y/n rested her head back against the window and allowed her eyes to shut for just a few moments.

wasting no time, bokuto causally took out his phone and turned the brightness down in hopes not to catch y/n’s attention. opening his contacts he dropped a quick text to iwaizumi to let him know the three of them were on their way back and should be arriving within the next 45 minutes at the latest.

5 minutes later iwaizumi responded thanking him for the update and letting him know more-a-less everything was ready for y/n to return to. they just needed to get her home back to her apartment without raising any suspicion from her.

30 minutes had passed and the car was driving through the now familiar scenes of tokyo y/n, bokuto and atsumu were more used to. y/n had drifted off into a light sleep, bokuto updating Iwaizumi and akaashi every so often and atsumu had been gathering his thoughts while staring out the window.

the familiar views of certain signs and buildings invaded atsumu’s view as he noted that they were almost back to y/n’s apartment. he nudged bokuto and signalled for him to wake y/n up gently as carrying her to the apartment building was not going to be an option.

“hey y/n, we’re almost back to your apartment.”

bokuto gently shook the peacefully sleeping girl as she began to stir in her sleep.

atsumu watched as y/n rubbed her eyes and gently smiled at the two boys. just seeing her like this made him anxious. y/n was anything but weak but seeing her so gentle and soft made atsumu feel like he had even more reason to make sure she was kept from harm both physically and emotionally.

as the three grew closer to y/n and iwaizumi’s shared apartment atsmu’s nerves grew a little. y/n had announced she was dating the argentina player almost a year ago now and atsumu had yet to meet him. he had grown close to y/n with her being their athletics trainer for msby. he found himself respecting and trusting the girl as she grew along with the team and he found a comfort in her also announcing that she was going to be working alongside iwaizumi to train the national team he had been scouted for.

having never met oikawa before, atsumu was skeptical. sure, he’d heard great things about the player from teammates, both athletic trainers and the media, but he needed his own opinion. y/n was someone atsumu cared for even though he wasn't always the most obvious with showing it, he was like that with a lot of people, sakusa included.

y/n was right in pointing out that atsumu was selfish but he always had good intention and she knew it. he was naturally protective and that was his way of showing he cared. sure, it could've been seen as selfish behaviour but to atsumu, his over protectiveness was just his way of showing others that he did in fact care and right now, y/n was the one he felt the need to protect.

he cared for the girl and even though he would never bring himself to admit it out loud, he would always be concerned for her and have her back if she ever needed him, the same way he would for bokuto, hinata and kiyoomi.

the car pulled up outside the apartment complex and y/n opened the door to get out. she leaned against the door frame as she attempted to bid both players a goodnight and one last thanks for their cooperation for the day. atsumu got out the car on the other side to which bokuto followed, confusing the girl who had just tried to say goodbye.

“come on y/n, let us take you.”

“are you gonna kidnap me or something?” y/n asked teasingly as bokuto gave her a grin.

“nah, just wanna do one last nice thing for ya tonight.”

y/n smiled and thanked the driver with the two boys following suit as the car drove off.

“you’ll be good walking back to the dorms right?”

“yeah.” the two players said in unison.

the trio walked into the complex acknowledging the doorman and girl typing away at the front desk.

taking the elevator up to the top floor to the lavish apartment both athletic trainers shared, the three shared casual banter as they approached the door.

“well, thanks you two, see you both tomorrow yeah?”

y/n went to open her door with neither boys moving. y/n just assumed they wanted to make sure she got in okay before taking their leave.

a little more playing with the keys in the door and y/n managed to swing the door open to her apartment left in darkness. the girl sighed and stepped inside as she went to flick the light switch.

before she could though the lights flashed on by themselves and y/n jumped back slightly.

‘SUPRISE!”

before her were akaashi, kuroo, kenma and a few others from nekoma you recognised, daichi, sugawara and asahi, kiyoko and tanaka had also made an appearance, yahaba, kyotani, matsukawa, hanamaki, sakusa, hinata, osamu and iwaizumi.

and then she saw him.

tears welled up in her eyes as there stood her boyfriend of over a year.

the man she’d fallen in love with during high school but never bothered confessing to.

the man that had waited until his high school days were over and waited until he was on track for his own goals to confess to her.

the man that had promised her he’d do everything to make their relationship work despite the impossible distance between the two of them.

the man that she’d managed to build a strong relationship with practically through calls and texts.

there stood oikawa tooru.

y/n wasted no time throwing herself into him as she sobbed into his shoulder.

he could only let out a laugh as he let a few of his own tears slip out as he wrapped his arms around her bringing her even closer than before.

“y-you its you -but how? w-when did you get here, why didn't you tell me? fuck tooru, it’s you”

“shhh yeah, i’m here, I've got you yeah? i’m here y/n.”

everyone watched as the couple embraced each other for the first time in months.

bokuto bounded over to akaashi telling him what a good job he did even though akaashi corrected him saying how it was actually the old aoba johsai third years who planned and got everything together. paying no mind to him, bokuto proceeded to greet others dragging his best friend along with him.

atsumu leaned off the doorframe and made his way inside the spacious apartment nodding a thanks to the others.

osamu made his way over to his brother to greet him properly.

“fitting went well then?”

“yeah.”

“must've taken a while ya didn't stop by.”

“nah we were there all day sorry.”

“don't apologise.”

osamu glanced at his brother who was observing oikawa and y/n.

“you... okay?” osamu cautiously asked his brother not wanting to step over any boundaries and cause a scene in front of everyone.

“still dunno if i can trust him.”

atsumu patted his brothers shoulder not giving him a chance to respond and gave him a small smirk.

“right, lets go greet everyone then, don't wanna seem rude.”

“you already come across rude.”

atsumu only snickered and ushered his brother out of view of the reunited couple and into the crowd of guests who were conversing in excitement.

osamu knew his brothers guard was still up but decided to drop it.

for tonight anyway.

the rest of the evening went smoothly with oikawa being able to properly reunite with former rivals and teammates. everyone was sharing past stories about highschool bringing laughter around the complex.

music was going, lights were dimmed and everyone relaxed themselves and enjoyed the event as this was the first time in a while a gathering so big had happened. even sakusa looked like he was somewhat enjoying himself.

y/n hardly left tooru that night. he clung to her an equal amount. the two practically inseparable but that was to be expected after all.

oikawa had his arm wrapped around y/n for majority of the evening and she found herself savouring the physical affection she’d been deprived of for months.

3 hours in and everyone had all caught up with each other for the most part. the party was still in full swing as everyone had a good time.

y/n and oikawa softly swaying to the sound of the music in the background as they let themselves fall into their own little world.

“i still can't believe you’re here.”

“i still can't believe it either.” oikawa sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to his girlfriends head.

“y/n look at me for a second.”

the girl looked up to look at her boyfriends now serious face.

“i know we won't get to spend too much time together, not until after the games anyway, but now that i’m here i hope you know i have every intention to give you all the affection you should've received over the months. i’ve missed you a stupid amount and i can't even tell you how happy i am right now.”

for the second time that night, tears pooled in y/n’s eyes as she threw her arms around her boyfriend.

“i love you tooru.” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

that was enough for the boy to throw his arms tightly around y/n’s shoulders and pull her into him.

nothing could've ruined the night.

in that moment everything was right in the world.

the peaceful sanctuary y/n had been craving lately had finally returned back into her arms and she couldn't be happier.

everything was finally falling into place.

but being in your own world will stop you from noticing your surroundings and whats anyone else is doing.

one mistake was all it took and y/n and oikawa were going to suffer at the hands of the people who they’d been doing their best to avoid for months on end.

the media.

just until i win

oikawa tooru x reader

masterlist

part 15 - lets go to tokyo!

part 16 - suprise

part 17 - aftermath

PLEASE SEND ASK TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

☽ taglist ☽

@hakawa24 @cuddlesslut @jinaigoo @lovedanii @anime-simp @ilovesupersoldiers @chaelysian @dawnsbaby @nerdynstoned @totorosleaff @toepetalz @scftsugawara @cuddlyroger @yeahhemmings- @lovinnoya @peachiikichu @fijiangecko @animatedrapture @caramel-chuuya @akaashiissimp

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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prettyoddfever · 3 years

Photo

PANIC AT THE DISCO’S SPRING BREAK PERFORMANCES

These two performances will forever be lumped together in my mind because they happened around the same time & place, they were both called something about spring break, and the band even wore the same clothes for both.

So mtvU’s Spring Break was going on at Panama City Beach in March 2008. Fans could send in questions ahead of time for Panic at the Disco to answer in the backstage pass segment (that was part 1). Here’s part 2:

youtube

We knew that Panic at the Disco performed on March 19th. MTV didn’t share footage until the end of the month, but we saw some fan videos on youtube like this one and this one.

Meanwhile, the pictures at the top of this post were shared on the band’s myspace less than 48 hours after the mtvU Spring Break performance happened... except those pictures were apparently from a “Spring Break With Panic at the Disco” AT&T Blue Room webstream that would also air soon. And that was recorded in Panama City too.

One performance was acoustic and the other wasn’t, so I’m not actually saying they’re the same. But there was so much else happening in late March that the AT&T Blue Room performance sometimes felt like an extension of the mtvU stuff. I’m pretty sure I shared the AT&T footage a while ago and actually called it mtvu’s spring break lol, so I apologize for that.

The “live” AT&T webstream was shown at 4pm Pacific Time on March 25th (the day that Pretty. Odd. was released). A lot of fans seemed to believe that the band was genuinely performing live at that time, but idk how that would’ve worked unless the guys had time turners and a sudden urge to all change their clothes for no reason. I’m pretty sure that Panic at the Disco was at their Jimmy Kimmel soundcheck while the AT&T webstream aired.

So we heard a lot about the mtvU Spring Break stuff, but then we saw the AT&T footage first. You can watch the AT&T set here btw. (znoby was a mod on the old PATD boards who collected the popular concert files people passed around, but also bribed fans with stuff like AFYCSO box sets to contribute files he didn’t have... so there’s a decent collection on that site if you’re missing anything).

Here are some of the mtvU Spring Break videos:

youtube

Cobra Starship was there too... I liked Ryland’s comment on his lj:

A funny thing occurred several times by the beach. Our dressing rooms were about 200 yards away from the backstage entrance so we would walk to and fro all day long. On the way, you'd have to pass large groups of college party people getting their Spring Break on. Most of them had cans of piss cheap beer and visors on their heads. Before we played, a girl saw me walking by and shouted, "Nice tights faggot!" The deepness of her profoundly intelligent outburst weighed heavy on my mind. The true 'kicker' was that the girl had paid money for a ticket to see our band but was unaware that I was a member of it. Alex and Spencer's clothes yielded similar responses. All seasoned with clever words like, "faggot" and "homo." Most of these same dudes asked to have pictures with us in the parking lot after the show. Things that make you go hmmm.

THE MAIN POST

#spring08

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shawnmndes · 4 years

Text

my forever

— blurb ; shawn mendes x reader ; college au

— word count: 1k

— author’s note: my day-late contribution to @kerwritesthings’ fic rec friday! i wanted to pull together a few drabbles, but this ended up stretching a little longer than i expected lmao so hopefully i’ll be able to finish the others over the course of a few days. please go easy, this definitely isn’t my best work and my writing’s been a little stiff lately (plus it’s unedited lol) but hopefully this is somewhat enjoyable!

Shawn settles his head on your chest, eyes fluttering shut as his curls fall across your body. The sunset’s vibrant on the horizon, and you’re reading from the book that Shawn picked out as your fingers run through his hair. It’s cheesy, sure, but this is infinitely better than any party or bar you could’ve gone to. Ever since senior year of college started, you and Shawn have barely had a second to breathe, between assignments, work, and your respective social lives, so you’ve missed evenings like these where there are no expectations, no business to attend to. And you’re glad you get to spend tonight with your boyfriend, escape to your own little bubble before you’re snapped back to reality tomorrow morning.

The courtyard’s quiet. You’re leaning against a tree in the grass, and Shawn’s stretching his legs out, chest rising and falling steadily as he breathes. For a second, everything’s so still and peaceful that you let out a large yawn, and Shawn gives you a teasing grin, opening his eyes.

“Tired?” he asks, and you shrug. “You went to bed so late last night.”

“I had to finish that history assignment.” You roll your eyes. “I’m so ready to be done with that class.”

Shawn lets out a light laugh, and you let your eyes wander down to where he’s laying. His tank top falls loosely over his shoulders, and his broad hands are clasped together across his stomach. At your gaze, he reaches over to grab one of your hands, twining his fingers through your own and kissing the back of your hand. It’s in that moment that you can practically feel your heart swelling with adoration and fondness and affection, because you’re more in love with this man than you ever thought could be possible.

You’re together now, but your love story is altogether unconventional. You met when you were sophomores, and you can vividly remember the way you hated him — looking back, it seems petty and foolish, but your roommate had adamantly warned you about associating yourself with Shawn, and you didn’t exactly run with his crowd. You’d grown closer, though, and when Shawn finally asked you out on an official date, the rest was history. Ever since, you’ve been Y/N and Shawn — an irreplaceable pair — and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Shawn sits up slowly and leans against the tree next to you, one arm falling around your shoulders as he hums softly. You rest your head against him, eyes flickering to the sky, where stars are just becoming visible. “Did you ever look for constellations when you were a kid?”

Shawn snorts, eyeing you with a smirk. “Definitely not, I was your typical kid. Pretty sure the only things I cared about were hockey and video games.”

“And your guitar,” you fill in, and he nods. Shawn and his guitar are practically attached at the hip — even though he doesn’t have a career playing music, you know how much of an influential part of his life it’s been ever since he was a teenager, and you can’t imagine him as someone who doesn’t play.

Shawn’s squinting upwards now, trying to find recognizable shapes in the faint stars that dot the sky. “I still don’t get how people see things in them. I can’t even figure out where to look.”

Following his gaze, you point to a cluster of stars that’s slightly brighter than all the others. “Those kind of look like a triangle.”

Shawn stares down at you for a beat. “They all look like triangles.”

“Yeah, but that one especially.” Your eyes flicker to Shawn’s, whose are filled with laughter and mirth. He presses a kiss to your lips, and you smile into his touch.

Maybe minutes pass, or maybe it’s hours, but either way, you fall into an easy silence as Shawn traces patterns into your palm and you listen to his breathing and the rustles of the wind in the grass. Being with him feels natural, simple, and he makes it easy to forget about everything else. You’ve practically fallen asleep when Shawn rests his chin on top of your head. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks thoughtful, and he absent-mindedly plays with your fingers as he searches for the right words. “I know we’ve said I love you before, but this is different, you know? You’re my favorite person, the one I never wanna walk away from. It’s like I’m addicted.” He nudges you as he glances down at you again, and there’s a smile ghosting his lips as he speaks. “And I keep trying to figure out where I’m supposed to call home, but I finally realized it’s you. As long as I’m with you, I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you murmur softly, but there’s a warmth in your chest and your heart is pounding as you find his eyes. “I’m in love with you too, Mendes.”

“Yeah?” He can’t stop smiling, and the way his lips keep turning up bashfully is maybe the most endearing thing ever. And then he’s kissing you, and it’s just like the first time and all the times after that, because it’s perfect. You tangle your hands in his curls, and he pulls you into his lap.

“I never want us to end.” Your tone’s genuine yet solemn, and he lets out a breathless grin before capturing your lips with his again.

It’s a few minutes later when you’re laying on his chest and his fingers are stroking your hair gently that he finally says, “We’re never going to end.”

“How do you know?” you whisper, and if Shawn weren’t so close to you, your words would have been lost to the wind. He hears you, though, and he gives you that adoring look that you’ll never get tired of.

“I just do,” he tells you matter-of-factly, breath tickling your skin. His heart’s pounding in his chest, and you know your own is just as loud, but Shawn’s voice is steady while he speaks.

“You’re my forever. I’m sure of it.”

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retphienix · 3 years

Text

I had way more money on hand than I thought I did, but that makes sense when you consider I dove into that dungeon like 4 times before leaving to restock.

I spent my pile of dosh on the rest of my L4 spells and getting some items so I'd say we're set to take down the volcano.

And I have to say, especially with the new steel gear we snagged from the dungeon, we're lookin' pretty buff.

Cairn's holdin' his own. 40 ABSORB is nothing to sneeze at, and within the last half hour of gameplay he snagged a better hammer which has put his damage up from "Are you even trying" to "You might actually contribute to a kill from time to time" which is noticeably improved.

Meanwhile, Beardy has gone from champion tier to demi-god tier with his new axe! He was keeping a near tie in damage with Vurst all this time but now he's suddenly jumped to an insane 200+ output which puts him on par with moderate spells with just his brawn!

Loving what he's bringing to the table.

Vurst has arguably fallen behind on the melee front but it's worth keeping in mind that she doesn't have a good weapon yet. She's not even up to a steel blade yet! But ignoring her decent but not demi-god level melee, she's ended up being my nuker since ever tier of magic demands I give Zeven the indirect spells lol

Her spells do decent damage despite having the lowest INT in the crew, so she's pulling her weight- just in a way that makes me think "Man. A second viking for melee, or a second sage for nuking would both beat you're numbers whole sale wouldn't they?"

We'll see how she fairs by the end.

Zeven remains the saddest story for the crew :(

UNLIMITED POWER! And limited spell slots, lol

It's not even a problem in terms of amount of casts, it's the 3 spell limit per tier that's hurting him. I plan on foregoing some higher grade support spells so he can have some nukes of his own, but I can't say he's struggling to be useful.

The opposite even, he's kicking ass! It's just his strengths could kick so much more ass if I hadn't built a team that needed him to carry the support torch.

As things are currently, with Cairn/Beardy/Vurst as the first three in the party, it'd be miles better if Zeven went Monk at this rate. He's been doing all support spells as is, and the damage output from his fists would be welcome.

But all of this is me thinking of retooling after the fact, we are making great strides as we are- and like I said, I plan on pulling the unique strengths out of Vurst and Zeven in the late game by giving Vurst some better blades and giving Zeven some nukes :)

I will say, I can't complain with the design of the classes that only get direct or indirect- Cairn and Vurst getting the direct spells every tier does do a lot for lightening the load for a third caster- but Cairn and Vurst both getting the direct spells has made the intense need for indirect spells painful on Zeven's back lol.

It makes me think a Monk for any team in this hack would be insanely useful!

Getting 3 of the 4 indirects for every tier would lighten so much of the workload- and then classes like the Warlock or Wizard seem much more interesting now that I've felt the magic weight since both of them are "2 and 1" splits (Warlock 2 direct 1 indirect, black magic) (Wizard 2 indirect 1 direct, black magic)

I didn't realize that a single character only gets 3 spells per Level of spell so I was figuring Zeven would load up on everything while Cairn and Vurst offered support- but this is much more interesting on a strategy and team buildin' level- I just didn't know every facet of it before I made my team lol.

#RetPlays #FF1 #Final Fantasy #Final Fantasy Ultra Champion Edition

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dienamights · 3 years

Text

Unfavorable Guidance | H.Shinso

✎ Mindjack has been doing these kind of jobs since he was recruited as a hero, he is unmistakingly the best at them, doesn’t need anyone butting their noses in his business, especially you, the sly fox in disguise, offering your tainted helping hand.

✎ Protagonists: Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 6.4K

✎Category: noncon/dubcon, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

✎Caution(!): noncon/dubcon, Smut 18+ MDNI please, , mentions of alcohol, mentions of murder, minor character death, sex under quirk use, spitting, degrading, swearing, manipulation, unprotected sex.

✎ Author’s notes: I KNOW I’M LATE EUFGKHDFVBDFXL, but here is my contribution to @daisy-bakugo 2k event Vice City! Please take the time to read everyone’s work if you haven’t! Thank you so much for letting me participate.

I listened to this throughout the entire process of writing it, if you’re familiar with Kingdom Hearts, some names will ring a bell to you lol. also I hate the header and the summary but you’re just gonna have to live w it for now cause its 8 am I NEED SLEEP

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The annual auction of Vice City is one of the biggest social events of the year. The wealthiest families and richest people in the world come from everywhere in attempts to win what is secretly considered the greatest treasures of all time. Greatest and most expensive.

Alas, the after party held later on is what people are all secretly actually waiting for, where the most exquisite and rarest artifacts of the year get auctioned off to whoever is lucky enough to even be included in the guest list.

While not all are there for the auctions, it certainly is the perfect opportunity for anyone who's anyone in the world to show off their wealth. Filthy rich people sway all around, laughing and bragging. Venetian crystal chandeliers, velvet carpets, gambling, and alcohol. Men with their cigars, men with their wives, and men with their arm candies, their escorts or mistresses.

Yet, Shinso isn’t here for the luxury, he isn't here for the fame and the fortune, nor the reputation people thrive for when they buy those - meaningless, he calls them - relics. No, he is here on a mission, one he certainly wants to be done and over with because he wants to go home. He loosens his tie with an aggravated sigh before knocking back the last of his only gin and tonic, the bitter taste prickling his throat as he surveys the crowd of people all around him while he stands idly by the bar.

He knew it’d be a pain in the ass the second he got the mission assigned to him from the agency, the words “intel” and “Vice City'' of all places forced a frown upon his face, yet, being the most suitable for this job, he couldn't really decline.

Mindjack isn’t the type of hero you see on billboards and magazines, isn’t the type of hero to kiss babies’ heads that get thrusted at him in meet and greets, he certainly isn’t one to have those adoring fan clubs that follow his every move, posting about his greatest conquests. Oh no, he is a hero that works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, undercover -lie through your teeth throughout the whole ordeal- kind of hero, the kind of hero that goes home at the end of his missions with no gratitude towards his work, because nobody knows who he is or what he contributes to the society.

For the longest time, Shinso accepted the life he’s living, he didn’t look for validation from the citizens, knowing his work is always beyond the scope of their knowledge and their awareness, but sometimes, just sometimes, the sour droplets of envy would foul his mouth when his amethysts for eyes scan over the extravagant heroes, making a show out of saving their cities and getting praised and awarded and loved for doing what they’re supposed to be doing, their job.

“Squeeze that glass a bit more and you’d break it”

A voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him, Shinso blinked twice before his eyes dragged over to you, oh so beautiful and oh so close. Your nimble fingers wrapped around his fingers, the lacey glove lightly scratches his hand before he lets go of the glass in surprise, dropping it into yours. You giggle sweetly, turning around to place it on the bar before ordering your own, but not without looking at him over your shoulder and sending him a smile.

“What will it be, sugar tits?” the bartender leans over the counter, towel thrown on his shoulder as he sends you what's supposed to be a sultry look. Your elbow is placed on the counter while you rest your chin on your hand, smiling temptingly at him. “Anything that’ll get you to stop staring at my boobs.” Shinso almost laughs at the contrast between your smile and your voice, sharp and venomous, and the man leans back so far from you like he’s been stung. Walking away to work on a drink for you.

Shinso’s eyes rake your body without his knowledge, he admires the dress adorning your body, hugging you in all the right places, cascading down to the floor, and that slit my god, your legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how you can strut so elegantly with them on. A snap of your fingers breaks his trance and he tries - keyword tries - to act nonchalant to his obvious ogling and you only laugh in return.

You hum lowly, “So,” you’re turning to face him as you lean back on the counter, pushing your chest out to grasp even more of his attention, “what's an esteemed hero like you doing in a place like this?” It takes Shinso a good minute before he narrows his eyes, left foot back and ready to either take you down or run away if you were to involve greater forces. No one is supposed to know about his true identity, no one is supposed to know that there is a hero within them.

But what shakes his demeanor is the way you dangle his wallet in front of him, like dangling a stupid feather for some silly cat, waiting for it to jump at you to entertain you. Shinso swallows with a struggle, deciding that using his quirk to retrieve his wallet back will lead to him leaving, and he didn’t want that. He’s been keeping an eye on the wanted man for hours now, and it’ll all go to waste because of your slimy little hands and your-

“Here,” you toss it back to him, and he stumbles a bit before catching it properly, eyeing you for any sudden movements, but you simply turn back around in time to hold the drink from the bartender’s hand with a smile dazzling your lips. “You’re getting intel on The Wise?” you mumble against your cup, sipping slowly, eyes never leaving Shinso’s glaring ones. How the fuck do you know?

“You’re not the first.” you smirk, finger wiping the smeared lipstick against the glass before circling the rim. “You all look the same, thinking you’re better than them because of your position in the society, only for that ego to come and bite you right in the ass.” It’s almost ironic how poisonous your voice could get while still maintaining that mesmerizing smile, and oddly enough, Shinso’s eyes keep drooping despite his desperate attempt to fight against them.

You hum again, the click of your heels sounding muffled to him, eyes blurring when you get so close to him your breath tickles his cheek. “But you’re different, hmm? You’re gonna make the bad guy go away?”

“Yes.” it's rushed, almost desperate, and the hero is astonished at how he sounds. “Then, lemme help you… Hitoshi.”

A blink, and you’re gone just like you vanished right from under his nose, slipped right between his fingers. A low curse escapes Shinso’s lips and he turns around swiftly to question the bartender, hell bent on getting any information on the girl that just revealed his entire identity and mission to him in a matter of seconds.

“How can I help you, sir?” the question boggles his mind, the big burly man with an attitude problem wasn’t there anymore, replaced by another sweet woman that held concern in her eyes at his sight. “You’ve been staring at the wall for a while there, need me to call your driver to get you back?”

“Wa- but I- She,” Shinso’s body started heating up in anger, worry, embarrassment, he doesn’t really know, but what he wants to know right this instant is how long he’s been out of it and for god’s sake, why?

Shinso doesn’t really consider himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but dammit did he feel like a complete idiot letting you run off like that, a quick trip to the restroom for a splash of water clears his head enough for him to pull back his wallet from his pocket, flipping through it and finding something he was absolutely sure wasn’t there prior to your visit. A silver card, with ‘Surveillance room’ scribbled on a note behind it.

Caving in and accepting whatever help you were offering him, Shinso slides the card through the reader, sighing in relief upon the satisfying ding sound, followed by the door opening to the surveillance room.

“Now that’s what’m talking about.” life got so much easier now that he could watch The Wise through multiple screens, making it hard to miss a single move of his. The hero allows himself to relax a bit, hand messing with his hair and tired eyes blinking in irritation against the glare of the screens. The Wise was the mastermind of Organization XIII, as their name intel, they’re consisting of the same thirteen members that founded it years ago, nobody really knows how they started, what shocked the whole world is how grand their first crime actually was, bloodbath of the century -they would call it, seventeen slaughtered heroes, followed by their families, including women and children, thousands of millions of ¥ in money laundering atop of it, all within a span of 4 months, that was years ago, back in their prime.

Now, with eight of them behind bars, the remaining five were able to stay under the radar, distributing whatever money they were able to keep between them and fleeing to different parts of the world. Just because they were apart, didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, The Wise is a prime example for that, brutally murdering three of the undercover heroes sent his way to bring him back to justice, but they weren’t Shinso, he’d try to remind himself.

May their soul rest in peace, they were those heroes he felt dissociated from, the type of heroes to flaunt their powers, monetize the peoples’ knowledge of their quirks, uncover the secrets of their job, they were easy targets for people like The Wise, he’d know their weaknesses and how to take them down before they even think about pursuing him. Now, Mindjack was a different story, he wasn’t held on a pedestal by the people he saves, simply because they don’t recognize him, while he would loath that reality sometimes, he thanks the god for it today, as he’s watching the man’s call out for a drink.

Amethyst eyes scan the remaining screens, widening upon the sight of you looking right back at them, you are a vixen to him, eyes half lidded with a smile so intoxicating it does nothing but entrance whoever was lucky enough to catch its sight. Lace clad fingers wrapping around a piece of paper, you are so beautiful, Shinso tries to stop his mind from wandering, imagining what you wore underneath that angel crafted dress, envisioning what those fingers could do to please him, the same fingers that held the unfolded paper, the word ‘RUN’ smeared across it in lipstick.

Wait a minute, run?

Even before the poor hero could react, the similar satisfying -now dreadful- ding rings in his ear, before the door opens behind him, illuminating the room even more. Shinso stands to face two men, both as surprised as he is to see another occupant in the room. Right before any of them move, the hero opens his mouth and prays to god that whatever way he’s winging it works. “You got a permit to be here?”

Jesus one of you answer, and they both do - the left having fingers curving into talons while the right pulled at strings from the tips of his fingers, both ready to attack - and by god Shinso couldn’t be happier upon hearing a sound, because the minute the word ‘yes’ slips through their lips, Mindjack is smiling like a madman, welcoming the look of glossy eyes and heavy heads like a beloved relative’s return back home.

“Great… Now,” the two manipulated men face him, unaware of the dreaded fate bestowed upon them, while Shinso just can’t seem to keep the glint in his eyes at bay. “Why don’t you put on a show for me,” he breathes, smiling down at the ground before looking at them. ”Choke the fucking life out of each other.” The men don’t even blink, quick to face each other and jump, hands wrapped around throats like a vice, Shinso only moves away from the men on the floor as they thrash and kick at each other, limbs flailing as they try to force the life out of each other.

Turning his back against them, Shinso eyes the screen he was monitoring before their entrance, ignoring the groans and gasps of air behind him. He curses under his breath when he sees The Wise getting up from his place, heading towards a room that is supposed to be monitored by screen #6, but is purposely out of service. If he isn’t able to question The Wise or even keep an eye on him, then he’s gonna head on over to the next best thing. Gargled screams echo through the corridor as the hero makes his exit, making sure the door clicks shut behind him, he wouldn’t want to cause disturbance to the esteemed guests of the society of lowlifes.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, killing machines that didn’t spare the live of the innocents, so why should he spare theirs?

Shinso makes it back to the main event, immediately finding you between guests, sitting so pretty on the poker table, eyes drawing him closer, the grin adorning your lips now wobbly, easy for him to distinguish as fake, forced, a façade kept for the people surrounding the table. He is hasteful in settling himself in the chair near you, shoulders tense when different pairs of eyes fall upon him, the dealer shuffles the deck to draw cards for Shinso, but you hold your hand out with a smile. “He’ll sit this one out, by my lucky onlooker.” A round of laughter causes Shinso to flush in embarrassment, feeling degraded and looked down upon by all these lowlifes, petty thieves and criminals, thinking they’re better than him, oh he’ll show them.(1)

It takes a few rounds for the table to empty out, now occupied by Shinso and yourself, the dealer asks him to move over to the next chair before they start their game. “Place your bets.” you’re quick to slide over a few of your chips to his side - some black, others red and blue, he didn’t really pay that much attention to them- your eyes daring him to reject your invitation to take the money to play.

He only blinks at you, his eyes seemingly never wanting to lose sight of you as he fights with himself to sit straight to face the dealer again, the man proceeds to deal both of you the cards for you to review before placing your bets. “You tricked me.” Shinso is almost appalled at the hurt laced in his voice, as if the two of you had a bond that was never meant to be broken. “don’t believe so, told you to run didn’ I?” The mockery in your voice is a hoax, the single twitch in your brow catches his attention and he can only deem it as you being stressed, whether it be because of the ordeal regarding the surveillance room or not is beyond him. No, he was stupid and foolish and he will not fall for your silly games again. “Exactly, you knew they were coming.” you hum in response to his accusation.

“Call.” Dropping a few of your chips on the table, your eyes shift momentarily to him, “I did, I said I’d help you and here I am.” He slams his bet on the table, ‘Raise’ gritted right through his teeth at your words. “I don’t want your help!” He reveals his cards on the table, a way to show his disinterest in your assistance as the dealer announces ‘Flush’ at his hand. Your eyes meet again from above your cards, now narrowing down instead of the half lidded look you seem to always have “You don’t want it, but you need it.” The façade you held before is slowly but surely breaking, now a deep frown tugging at your lip as you reveal your own hand, brows furrowing even further in challenge as you hum in displeasure when the dealer announces your ‘Full House’ hand to be the winner of this round.(2)

Shinso moves swiftly to stand when he sees you do the same, right before his entire world starts to spin, lights and colors mingling together and causing his head to spin, he sits down again, head between his hands as he tries to calm himself down, it's probably the strain of the mission, maybe it’s the weight bestowed upon his shoulders to finish it up. The hero lifts his head up to ask you, about something he himself isn’t even sure of, he just wants to hear your voice, like a drug to him that he can’t help but ask for more. Except when he does, you aren’t there, the table is occupied by different people, the dealer is another man with longer hair and slimmer figure, and by god did Shinso want to rip his hair out.

The minute he feels like he could get back on his own to feet without falling down on his ass, Hitoshi is quick to check his pockets, adamant to find a clue your sneaky hands slid into one of his pockets while he was out, despite the tantrum he almost threw at not wanting your help nor guidance, and he does find something, a simple metal key, attached to it was a tag with the number XIII on it.

In his shock, he almost drops the key on the ground but barely holds himself together to avoid any further embarrassment, Shinso takes deep breaths, knowing that the key in his possession is his entry to the heart of the organization, and especially to The Wise.

Every year, specifically at the Vice City annual auction afterparty, The Wise holds a meeting with the most dangerous men within the continent, the most loathsome masterminds of the criminal world, all in the hopes of recruiting one of them into the organization, to uphold its name and spread its message. Every year, with no recruitment yet.

With trembling hands, Shinso stuffs the key back into his pocket, eyes on the lookout for anyone who might’ve caught the key in his hand, but sighs in relief when he sees some engrossed in their meaningless poker and absurd talks, while the majority have made their way to the next hall over for the auction that is being held. He takes the stairs three at a time up the floors, facing a red oak double door, the same forsaken number engraved into it. After multiple failed attempts at inserting the key in the lock, he finally does with a huff, hearing the lock echoing in his ears before pushing the door open.

To be honest, Shinso didn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, he thought maybe he’d watch weaponry trade off, perhaps people brawling and fighting amongst each other for the title of being the new members. But he certainly didn’t expect to be engulfed in jazz music, men with their cigars laughing and chatting, without a single care in the world, as if their hands weren’t tainted with the blood of the innocents, oh how he loathed them. In an attempt to fit in, he grabs a glass of whiskey from the butler standing by the door, nodding to him in thanks before moseying his way over to the corner in the room, he’d be damned if he got caught in the crossfire of those lunatics.

A stage is set up in the front of the room, and it takes a second for him to acknowledge the pole placed right at its center, it takes him another few seconds to see the beauty dancing on that pole, Shinso’s eyes rake her body without his knowledge, he admires the lingerie adorning her body, hugging her in all the right places, garter snug against her thighs as she twirls, her legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how she can dance so elegantly with them on… wait a minute.

As if predicting the minute he realized it was you, you twirl to face him, lips pulled into a smile yet again, a giggle interrupting your humming as your body twists and turns on the pole. Shinso isn’t really sure how long he sits there captivated by your body, the only thing breaking his trance is the clap on his back and the heavy weight that sits next to him. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

Bile rises to Shinso’s throat at the mere sound of the person next to him, fear stills him in his place, restricting any movement he’s even thinking of doing, all he could do is sit, widened eyes and sweaty brows at the sight of The Wise right beside him.

“Don’cha love it when women like her,” The Wise points at you with his cigar, “work to please men like us?” His arm now completely wrapped around Shinso’s shoulder as the hero feels his soul levitating from his body. “Look aroun’ya,” and he does, and only then does he really pay attention, he should’ve seen it all along, the glossy eyes, the droopy heads, it's a sight he was so well accustomed to that his brain normalized it to him. With whatever courage he musters up, he shifts his eyes to look at the man beside him, noticing the ear plugs he wore, and right then the gears start to turn in his head. “My most prized possession I tell’ya.”

Of course you would be, how else would you have access to all these things, the card, the key, the vanishing from thin air, it all makes sense now.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” your words are flowing like honey to his ears, a low buzz ringing in his brain as you spoke to the men in front of you. His ability to frown is nonexistent, a relaxed look adorning his face as he looks up at you, so elegant and beautiful in whatever hugged that miracle of a body.

“Sure are,” The Wise jerks Shinso by the shoulder, and he realizes that was done to break whatever trance he was in, he could only glare back at you when you smile at them, that conniving smile that hosted all the lies you spouted to him.

“y/n,” He calls you and by God if this isn’t the most beautiful name Shinso ever hears, what a shame it's being tainted by the voice of this criminal. “Wadda ya say to takin’ this fine boy to the red room, hm?” The man urges him to stand and take your hand, which he did at the blink of an eye, his body moving on it’s own to graze his lips against your knuckles in a breathless kiss. “Treat’m real nice for me.” The hero’s feet take him to follow you, his steps light, like walking on clouds, the sway of your hips pulling him closer to you until his chest is flush against your back, pushing you to move faster into the room you are pointed towards.

Walking aimlessly through hallways, taking lefts and rights he would never be able to recollect in his current state, you both enter a room, red just like The Wise called it, crimson silk sheets fitted on a king sized bed, maroon loveseats and plush carpets, everything in that red hue that it's almost nauseating.

Bringing your hands in a loud clap, the fogginess in Shinso’s vision dissolves, your creased brows and frown now more prominent to him than ever, his eyes catch the scar trailing from the back of your neck to your cleavage, confused as to why his usual perceptive self would miss it, but then again, he doesn’t feel like he was ever himself throughout this whole ordeal.

To say he was furious is an understatement, he never felt more played in his life, he is Mindjack, the most conniving hero of all of Japan, he was manipulative and sly , known by his people to get jobs done, no matter who his opponent is, he always comes back victorious. And when his ears pick up your sigh of relief, he could only see red, he is hurt, he is scared, but now its his act, his turn to fuck shit up, he wants to hurt, he wants to scare.

“Fuckin’ lying bitch,” It takes him all but two steps for his body to graze yours, tantalizing eyes boring down into yours as you gasp at the close proximity, “you were workin’ with’em this entire fuckin’ time?”

“N-no that’s not it,” you stutter, flustered at his overwhelming presence, trying to put some distance between you and the fuming man by pushing his chest, “Please, I need you to listen to me.”

“Oh, now you’re beggin’ hmm?” his firm warm hands circle your wrists, tugging them away from his body and using them to pull you even closer to him, his breath now grazing the tops of your cheeks, “Didn’t your boss tell you to treat me right?” he breathes, “well, get to it, slut.”

“That’s not what this is Hitoshi, just listen-” for the love of all that’s pure in this world, why does the sound of his name exceed his perception of how happiness is supposed to reverberate in his ear? “Keep my name outta your mouth, or I swear,” He hisses at you, the grip on your wrists tightening as you whimper out in pain.

“You think you can just toy with me? Have me running around and following your orders like a lil bitch!?” He sees you trembling, lips wobbly and in tears, how ironic, he doesn’t know a few words would get you to start tearing up, the change in demeanor from when he first met you confuses him for a second, but only a second, because he’ll be damned if he falls for any of your tricks anymore. “N-no, I swear it isn’t like that, just p-please, please c-calm down! Let me explain myself-” the ugly cackle he lets out shuts you up, teary eyes widening as they fall on his, the aura he’s radiating is terrifying to say the least, your knees shaking in dread at what’s about to fold.

“You think you can play my game and win?”

It takes you a minute to answer, the word no echoing in your head, throbbing in your brain so painfully you forget the words that follow it, but what you can’t forget, what you will never forget, no matter how delirious you feel, is the look of pure sin across Shinso’s face, grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat, because you were now simply a measly little pawn in his game.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, criminals that broke every law in their way to get what they desire, so why couldn’t he indulge even a little himself?

He lets go of your wrists, watching as your arms sway next to your body like dead weight before he turns around to flop down on the loveseat, legs spread wide as he waves his hand over to you.

“Waddaya waitin’ for,” he knows you can’t answer him, but it feels so fucking good to hold such power over you after all you’ve put him through. “Now, strip.” the surge of power he feels jolts his dick up in excitement as he watches you take off your lingerie, moves robotic and forced, eyes glazed over both with tears and his control over your dumb little brain. Hitoshi is no villain, he is a respectable hero, but he’s been called that all his childhood, he might as well live up to that expectation, one way or another.

Shinso stands when you’re fully naked in front of him, long legs circling you and taking you all in, the back of his hand grazes your nipple and he all but groans as it pebbles at his touch. But god, he was nowhere near being done with you.

“Spread your legs for me on that bed,” he grins at the way you follow his orders even before he asks, “will ya?” you settle yourself on the bed before slowly dropping your weight on your back, hazy eyes staring up into the ceiling as your arms bring themselves down to circle the back of your knees, pulling them up close to your chest to expose yourself to him.

Shinso’s cock twitches in his pants again at the opportunity to just seath it into you without any warning, but he barely holds himself back, approaching your body and feeling himself salivating at the sight, what a sight it is, your pussy looking so fucking beautiful clenching over nothing, the sight tempting him to just dive his face right in to get a taste of your juices.

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt, Shinso presses his thumb to your clit, frowning when he notices how dry you are, of course you would be, he chuckles to no one, puckering his lip to spit right at the nub, watching it trail down to your clenching hole, the sight igniting a flame within him, he does it again, simply to watch your spit hide in your cunt, impatient to follow suit and bury himself in there.

His thumb is quick to draw circles with your clit, needing for your orgasm to wash over you quickly, eager for the things he’d do to you after he preps you enough to take him. The usual comforting silence is thick between you, no moans escaping your ajar mouth as your arousal seeps out of your pussy, he prods your hole with his finger to collect your nectar, smearing it across your clit again to rub even faster against it.

The only indication of you coming undone is when your thighs start to shake, your body curling in on itself as your back arches, your cunt gushing on his fingers, and Shinso is almost disappointed to not hear you moan out his name in pleasure. But he isn’t that disheartened, he’s bound to hear you scream.

You on the other hand, are petrified at the way your body is being handled, feeling yourself looking down at the horror being folded in front of you, this isn’t you, this is a shell of who you are, wrapped around his finger, at his mercy, and you want out, no matter the cost. But, you are to regret these words, because you see him unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper drilling in your ear, and you watch him lay atop you, feeling your lungs constrict at the weight settling upon it, and to your utmost terror, the only thing that breaks his bind on you is when you feel his warm head prodding at your entrance, right before seething completely in, your throat prickling when you wail hoarsely in pain at feeling like being split into two.

“No, nonononon, st-stop please, please!” You’re crying, legs thrashing and arms flailing trying to push this monster off of you, but you can’t, you think as your walls pulsate in pain at the intrusion, you’ll never be able to with him placing his entire weight on you like that, and the way he pulls out before impaling you again has you seeing stars in the worst way possible. Desperate for an escape, you grab a chuck of his hair, your nails digging into his scalp before you yank, your jaw throbbing at how tight you clench your teeth in pain and disgust and pure panic. The strength you muster to pull his head up is in vain, because it only jerks his face deeper into your neck, right where your scar trails, and he bites, so hard you’re certain it draws blood.

Only then does he lift his head up, his upper lip smeared with a smidge of blood, your blood, before he spits right into your mouth. Sick to your stomach at the metallic taste invading your taste buds, you spit right up at him, mindless to the debris falling right back at your face, your mascara running down your cheeks as you sneer up at him. Even as he laughs teasingly at you.

“Don’t worry slut,” He rasps, his nose brushing against yours as his thrusts find a pace, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself fully inside, “It’ll feel good in a minute.” and it does, he feels more of your arousal coating his cock as he snaps his hips against yours, your wails and whimpers slowly yet surely are coated more with lust as you moan out his name. “See tha’, almost too easy…” almost too good to be true.

And it is, because when his eyes struggle to find yours, he is reminded by the feeling that overtook him this entire evening, and when he sees the corner of your lips pull lightly does he want to rip your head right out, but the minute he moves his hand, he is overwhelmed by how wobbly he feels, how your face distorts and misshapes before he is met with the sight of the ceiling, the sight you grew accustomed to when he was taking advantage of your unconsciousness.

He groans when he feels you impaling yourself on his cock, pussy clenching so tight as you bop yourself up and down his shaft, your tits bouncing with you as he looks up at you, so mesmerized and entranced by your beauty all he does is hold your hips, helping you lift yourself up before dropping you on him, the squelching sound that follows it music to his ears.

You plant your hands against his chest, hips rolling as you pant at his lips, both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other and chasing your highs, “You gonna listen to me, when I ask you to?” His hand claps against your ass at your question, “Yes, yes oh God, anythin’ just don’t stop.” He can’t help but want more of you, want to feel his cock push against you even further, so he plants his feet firm against the bed, hand grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts thrusting up at you, moaning against your neck when he shoots ropes of his cum inside of your sopping cunt, squeezing him so tight and milking him, and all of what Shinso remembers is the way you arch your back, pressing your chest against his as your whimper out his name, as he feels your juices dripping against his balls and down on the sheets beneath you. After that, all he could see was black.

Shinso awakes startled, eyes darting in alarm before he relaxes when he confirms he’s alone, the red silky sheets now draped over his lower body, pooling at his lap when he sits up to look around once more, desperate for any sign of you. Yet he only sees a brown folder on top of the love seat, impressively thick with the amount of papers stacked inside it, and when Shinso reaches for it, he catches the note that slipped off and draped down on the floor, reading it and scowling at it. ‘You promised you’d listen’

And boy is he more than lucky to listen to you when you asked him to. Because that folder has every tiny little detail he needs to know about The Wise, from the quirks of his circulating bodyguards to the keys to his multiple homes within the world. Pictures upon pictures of the man, decoded letters and basically intel on his entire criminal record.

Fucking finally, Shinso gets to just go home no that everything’s over and done with.

Limited Edition Sneak Peek:

It is way too early for Shinso, the sun glaring at him as he makes his way into the agency, the honking cars and chattering people feeding into his migraine so early in the morning, and he groans as he pushes his door open, ready to get back to his regular routine after the incident at Vice City.

It hasn’t been even a week, but it sure was eventful, using the folder you left him, Mindjack was able to capture The Wise the very next day, via the map of the routes he takes that was attached in the folder. They were able to ambush him, easily being able to bring the right heroes for the job to overcome the quirks of both his workers and himself. Now the mastermind of Organization XIII was behind bars, making the job of catching the remaining members now much easier.

It almost felt like child’s play, at least, that’s what the heroes made it out to be, flexing their powers and their potential, when they were well aware that all their efforts would’ve been in vain if you and your folder weren't there to aid them in every step.

To say that guilt ate him up is an understatement, he feels himself decaying from the inside out from resentment, he figures he spent too much time in the dark, that it started to mess with him, manipulate him, carve him into someone he isn’t, someone that isn’t fit to be a hero. He feels like was walking into a tunnel with no way out, engulfed and trapped in pure merciless darkness, that ate away at his soul every step he took further in.

Shinso trudges up the stairs with a heavy heart, the dread at what he did to you, especially that your intent to help him didn’t waver despite his actions loomed over him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he didn’t deserve the life that he’s living in right now.

Yet, the saying ‘there's a light at the end of the tunnel’ rings in his ear, the minute he opens up the door to his office, eyes widening at the sight before him, smile so dazzlingly sweet, a voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him as the words captivated him despite their simplicity.

“Missed me, Hitoshi?”

(1) its common in poker for women to be onlookers, like the wives of the players for example, the jab at him being an onlooker is basically just a sexist joke to make the people around the table laugh to ease their mind.

(2) to help gain more perspective about the poker scene you can read the elaboration here

Aaaand more about the reader’s quirk here!

Hope you enjoyed! Also, PLEASE if you could theorize with me after reading the fic I’d love you forever, ask me about the reader’s quirk, ask me about some hidden meanings between the scenes JUST ANYTHING. MWAH

Borrowers (taglist):

@hanji-is-life @anarchicmartyr @sleepykyan @yourprincess-maybe @wolfygirl1900 @tteokdoroki

@theehoneybunii @nanamisbento (not sure if you wanted to be tagged for bakuhoe only of all my fics, so sorry if its the former!)

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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