#and all the outlets in my room are very inconvenient

[haravath0t]

Beautiful Stranger

(college au!alhaitham x f!reader - inspired by laufey’s “beautiful stranger”)

Alhaitham would be the type of man to double major. As a man that loves to see connectivity from the very root of things, he’d definitely be a History/Linguistics Major.

He’s definitely the type of man to just show up to classes and leave the minute the system says it should end. A lecture ends at 10:50 AM? He’ll be out the door the minute he sees his watch change numbers. If he finds his professor to be terrible on “rate my professor”? He’ll simply come on syllabus day and test days.

The man is busy! He surely would find a way to sustain himself. He’ll probably start off as a tutor in the student center to teach students within his majors. If there’s empty days, he’d surely be the type to simply catch up on his work.

His phone would be on “Do Not Disturb '' 90% of the time. The remaining 10% is due to an argument his roommate Kaveh strikes about not seeing emergency notifications. Not that taking off the mode would make a difference anyways. The only people actively contacting him are Kaveh or other classmates from pre-requisite classes like Tighnari or Cyno.

He practically graduates with perfect grades and a stellar GPA from undergrad. It’s almost astonishing how a man that’s rarely around manages to be graduating with Summa Cum Laude honors.

By the time he joins a master’s program, he’s seeming to be set on what he wants to do now. He doesn’t seem to enjoy tutoring all too much, so professor is out of the question. However, the idea of conservation and working on archives catches his interest. Preferably, a library preservation technician. Yes, a job with minimal communication, yet a close up look at documents that he has either studied or not? It seems almost ideal!

He has already found a path to graduating with a masters degree too, already having planned out how to tackle writing his thesis with ease unlike his peers. However, there’s been a string of inconveniences he’s been experiencing lately in his own place: Kaveh. Kaveh has been hammering away at making his own architectural models. While Alhaitham didn’t really see this as a dealbreaker of living conditions, he won’t deny how his precious sleep gets lost, even if his soundproof earpieces are on his ears.

Two weeks and no improvement, he decides to go against his usual decision making and decides to make a late night stop to the library of the university. He finds it to be easy enough; he lives quite near it, and certainly no one would be there. It’s almost perfect. He finds the floor with the study rooms, finding a desk with the outlets and sitting on it with what he considers a content look on his face. However, it’s when he takes a quick look around that he realizes that he’s not the only one. There’s you.

Now, you were definitely quite the sight. You were in the study room across his, the clear plexiglass separating you both. You two were technically facing each other, yet the laptops you two were typing away at were enough to cover most of what you two were doing. He saw you with a comfortable appearance of a sweatshirt and some sweats, your position on your chair quite comfortable as you hacked away at your own work. The only time he managed to fixate on your workspace was when he was deciding to stretch his arms. He took in all the formulas on your papers, all the charts and plots you’ve made, and the handwritten notes with long words and arrows between them. He saw the word “metabolic pathways” and deduced that you were a science major at the very least.

“Alright. Cool. Back to work.” He told himself. And he was working quite well. However, he wouldn’t lie, he found the way you studied to be quite amusing. He’s passed by a good amount of students in the library when he was tutoring. Some people were quiet and worked away, some people probably brought in food, some people even cried and slammed their laptops shut. However, you seemed to be in your own little world. You had your tablet being your own main source of brainstorming, you had your papers scattered by chapters, and you had brought some food for yourself and…coffee?

The sight of the huge cup slowly being drained by your constant sipping almost made him want to chuckle. Almost. His long fingers stayed idle as he watched you quietly mouthing the words to whatever song you had in your headphones, your head bopping along with the tune.

“Hmph.” He’d grunt, going back to his work. The next time he’d look up at you is when you went to tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me?” A voice asks, making him take off an earpiece and look back. Sure enough, it’s “science lady”, as he has dubbed you. “Yes?” He asked. He wanted to look amiable enough for you to talk to him, but you saw his plain look on his face. He almost looked…unamused. You suddenly felt so embarrassed to disturb him at this ungodly hour. “Do you mind watching my stuff? I’m going to be using the bathroom.”

The question made him scoff before he realized: Why would he need to watch over it? Everyone looked like they’d be doing nothing of the sort, but still, seeing the look on your face made him realize it was an earnest question. And so, he decides to agree. Seeing your face brighten accompanied with an earnest thanks almost made him want to smile. Almost. He saw the way you briskly walked to the bathroom, which only amused him more.

The coffee only gets to you after how much you’ve been drinking it. Though, you couldn’t get over how cute this guy looked! Did he look kinda scary? Yeah, but you couldn’t deny that he looked quite cute. Though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because you were cooped in your research lab so much that you found anything amusing nowadays, including this mystery guy. Still, he had interesting eyes, you had to admit it. You liked his shaggy silver hair, the way he casually came in and seemed so fixated on his work. What a shame it might be a one time thing. Oh, how did this library crush become part of your thoughts so quickly while you washed your hands.

You thank him as you return to your seat with a little thumbs up, and he only sends you a little smile back. You would be lying if you said that the little curve at the edge of his lip made you wanna squeal. What you didn’t see was that his green eyes were staring at you as you sat down, waiting for you to see a particular item. And you saw it, alright. He can tell just by the raise of your brows and your wide eyes. It was right on your keyboard of the laptop, a paper torn out of the corner of his notebook. His penmanship was quite remarkable, and the contents of it amused you: “Maybe a little water would be more efficient than that coffee you’re chugging, no?”

Alhaitham practically was curious to see how you’d react. He could only gauge your reaction from your eyes, seeing your hand reach for a piece of paper before your head disappears behind the screen. He didn’t know what you were thinking either when you passed back a paper to him. It was a blank page which only contained your handwriting: “My water bottle actually spilled on my way here.” Next to it was a little sad face next to it.

Now, Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for that type of wholesome response. In fact, he’s surprised that it went as well as it did. He saw you practically scurry back to your studying table with a tiny smile on your face, your eyes back to focusing on work. However, it did not go without you making a little scene of taking yet another sip of your coffee from your large cup. It didn’t occur to him till you gave him a tiny smile that he was stealing glances your way a little too much. He was long done with his workload for the night, yet something bolted him to his seat. There was something that kept him in this crowd of procrastinating students.

Though, it’s clear that you were trying to be diligent despite your antics. He couldn’t deny that he found the way your lips pout as you concentrated on an endearing sight, or that you were the one he’s been oddly eyeing in this busy space. He was a bit let down seeing that you wouldn’t be looking his way for a while. You didn’t look at anything but your work until a push of a chair is heard, the tall man is seen making his way out. Your eyes carefully watch him with some sort of melancholy stirring in your heart, wishing he stayed longer, or that he wrote even just one more note to you.

Little did you know that as Alhaitham kicks off his shoes at his house’s foyer, he’s left thinking of a particular science girl chugging on coffee, clinging onto the post-it with a particular someone’s scribbles and sad face. Little did you know that the man was thinking of an excuse to visit the library tomorrow night, wondering if you’d be there.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Do Not Watch "Hatchet Wielding Hitchhiker"

I'ma tell you why, because writing words helps me regulate my emotions and I have this outlet now, but I'm not having a wonderful time right now. Y'all don't have to click.

I like me some true crime. I consume it critically. It is often painfully obvious the police have fucked up and railroaded someone, but the soundtrack will be dissonantly scary or triumphant, so I know that's not the conclusion I'm meant to draw. Nevertheless, a mystery is interesting, even if it comes with a chaser of systemic injustice.

Netflix's algorithm has been trying to feed me "Hatching Wielding Hitchhiker" for a long time. I finally bit. I feel ill with anger right now.

It's a short documentary. 1'25". I think they had time to say the words "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" and "People with mental illnesses are most often the victims of violent crime and not the perpetrators" but it never came up. I don't think they even said the words "child abuse" although they had a child abuser on camera in a nice homey setting who kept deadnaming her child. (Cis people can have deadnames too, it all depends on the circumstances that caused them to change their name. I think an escape from an abusive family warrants a name change that should be respected.)

They had a corroborating, not-mentally-ill person say that this woman had a dark room with blankets over all the windows where she locked her son, and that she'd also tried to lock him (the witness) in there. When they put her on camera she said, essentially, "No, I never locked him in his room. I did have to lock him in his room, but it was because he would get up early and do things that could hurt him."

And I remember being preschool-aged, and climbing up on the kitchen counters to serve myself milk, cereal and sugar (I was not allowed sugar, it was on the highest shelf), sometimes even making a mess, because my dad was at work and my mom was upstairs in a depressive coma, and I wonder, "Oh. Things like that?"

I know my parents would also say, "No, we never locked her in her room. Well, we did lock her in her room, but it wasn't a lock, it was a hook-and-eye latch. She wouldn't sleep, and she cried a lot and wanted us to comfort her, and we wanted to sleep. So, we fixed it. We got her a fire ladder and made sure she knew how to climb down it, so that wasn't a problem. Well, we assume she didn't have to use the bathroom... Anyway, she didn't like to flush the toilet, it was too loud, she said, and that sure was inconvenient for us. What is this about, again?"

Anyway, this kid finally tried to burn down the house (or at least started a fire), got put in foster care and ran away soon after. If I'd been AMAB and had a bit more testosterone on board, I might've done something clever like that instead of hanging out in an abusive situation until my early twenties, but it never seemed like an option.

The boy we're concerned with changed his name, lived on the street, got assaulted more than once (I don't see any reason to doubt that) and had really bad reactions to seeing others assaulted. He stopped an assault with a hatchet. And he became like an adorable duck who drinks a milkshake, no longer a human being who needs food and shelter and safety... if he ever was that, to anyone.

He made the rounds on TV and social media, the police got him to testify against the guy who did the assault, and I see no effort by anyone to do anything more than corral him long enough to get what they wanted from him. During that time, he peed in inappropriate places, and on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (that is an appropriate place to pee, everyone pees there, I have been to Hollywood), threw a knife at the ground (oh no, scary music), and rode his skateboard in a bumpy hotel lobby. This irritated people. When they stuck a camera in his face and tried to get him to perform, he rambled nonsensically. That wasn't very adorable, so he started to not be so famous anymore.

Here is where the scary music, already present whenever he did something weird, became constant.

He says a 70-year-old man picked him up, drugged him and raped him. The 70-year-old man's friends say "He wouldn't do something like that." But, you know, a mentally-ill homeless person who's never participated in an unprovoked attack before would beat a 70-year-old man to death for no reason.

The scary music, and many of the people who met the young man, find it especially damning that he allowed his alleged rapist to drive him to the train station and buy him a ticket, and hugged him goodbye. The young man thought he could take the train and find someplace safe to sleep, but he could not, so he went back to the rapist's house to get a meal and a bed. Why would a person do something like that?

Oh, I dunno, maybe people are willing to do some awful stuff when they need food and a bed? Or maybe he told himself it didn't happen, "I'm just overreacting"? Or maybe he gave the guy a chance to not try something, and the guy tried something, so he killed him? I could forgive any of that. I know how hard it is to get away from an abusive situation, how that helplessness gets ground into your bones, and how scared and angry you can get when you feel like it's all going to happen again, and that would give me some reasonable doubts.

(The police officer saying that it's almost impossible to fracture the orbital socket, when it is only difficult to fracture one part of the orbital socket, and an elbow to the face can easily fracture another part of it, and the young man saying in his interrogation that he elbowed his rapist in the face, also gave me some doubts.)

It did not give the judge, the jury, or most of the people who shoved cameras in the young man's face, any reasonable doubts.

Now he sits in prison, saying, "But I was raped!" and being denied a new trial. He does not wish to see his abusive mother. The closing captions deadnamed him some more.

Thanks, Netflix. What an intriguing mystery. Not unlike that thing you tried to get me to watch where someone vacuum-bagged a kitten, only you didn't play scary music to make me afraid of the kitten.

Don't watch this. And don't watch that, either. It's called "Don't F**k with Cats," don't watch it.

[foxtricksterwriting]

Mata Aetara MC; Hayanori Kajiyama

Author's Note: 4 of 4, will link the others Below. I can't get over how freaky this boy can be like SHIT what have I done? Be warned, they'll stare straight through you lmao

| 1; Mao Amachi | 2; Eiichi Itani | 3; Aina Kubota | 4; Here |

Credits: This is a MC for the interactive fiction game/book Mata Aetara, found @mata-aetara-if. Check it out if you like Naruto!

Preferred Name: Hayanori Kajiyama ("Nice to meet you....")

Alias: Nori

Gender + Pronouns: demiboy + he/they

Sexuality: gay

Chakra Affinity: wind

Summoned Animal: A raven

Weapon: kunai

Romance: Inoru/Ryoku

More About Him: It’s hard for Hayanori to express his emotions. People question whether he feels at all. Their speaking voice is monotone, not giving away their thoughts or feelings much to their dismay. This leads to them outright stating how they feel, with sometimes comedic timing. He often misses social cues and generally has a hard time reading the room. If he says something wrong he’s quick to apologize, but might not get why whatever he said is wrong and would ask someone to properly explain it. They can be a bit too blunt, which can also upset people. Nori often does things to show people that they care for them and ended up becoming a medical ninja due to the reasoning “What better way to show people I care for them than physically taking care of them when they’re hurt?”

When not worrying over people’s wellbeing, he likes to play pranks on others and generally be a menace. Notable examples are moving objects people put down to inconvenient spots, chasing people around with bugs and making noises to purposely annoy people. This tendency to cause trouble for others and his blank expression makes people think he’s quite creepy. They don’t mean any real harm to others. He just thinks it's funny to mess with people.

Fun Facts:

Pinterest here

First name can mean “Fast love/affection” and surname can mean “Key mountain”

Has really big eyes, like arachnidray on tiktok (Videos for reference)

Speaking of eyes, can go an excruciatingly long time without blinking and likes scaring people he doesn’t like by staring into their soul.

Idk but I have this scene in my mind where Nori is eating something and it gets smacked out of their hand. They stare at it for an awkward amount of time before just saying “sadness” and walking away lmaoo

Nori is inspired by Souichi from Junji Ito’s works and Sai from Shippuden.

If someone wants to vent to them, they’ll ask “do you want advice? Or do you just want to get it off your chest?” so he don’t accidentally give unwanted advice.

Uses writing as an emotional outlet; because their writing is like a glimpse into their mind, he’s very protective of his notebook and only lets close friends read whatever’s inside. ("No, you may not look in my notebook. Do not ask again.")

Has very colorful clothes and a surprisingly big closet. Will let people borrow or even keep his clothes, provided that they fit.

Eats because they need to, not because he wants to. Also doesn’t have a favorite food. They do have a favorite drink, it’s watermelon juice. ("For me? Thank you. This makes me happy...")

On the topic of food, his taste buds are fucking broken. Most things either taste bad or have no taste at all to him. If you give him a lemon, they’ll eat it like an orange. Same with a lime.

[miramei]

Paldea Extraordinaire

Quick character list for my PKMN SV child!

TRAINER

Name: Inés Espinosa

Age: 16

Hometown: Cortondo

Current Location: Room 303 at the Uva Academy dorms

Hobbies: extreme couponing, bulk buying increasingly weird items (?)

Favorite Subject: History

Worst Subject: Art

A scholarship student. Vicious bidder at the marketplace while in search of those sweet, sweet deals. Has somehow garnered a reputation at school for herself not for her grades (good, if she may toot her own horn), nor for her battling prowess (slightly above average, if she may toot her own horn again), but for her Pincurchin, who is known to her classmates as a little hellspawn and a massive menace.

POKEMON

Pincurchin ♂ (Nugget - SHINY)

Poison Jab | Recover | Discharge | Zing Zap*

Sometimes a good boy, mostly a menace

Loves algae wafers. Isn’t brand loyal which means that Inés can shop around for whichever is on sale. She does, however, always keep a bag of the really good brand on hand for when he’s been on his best behavior.

Inés found him as a young child while on a family holiday to the beach. She was being chased by a Sandygast until a Pincurchin came barreling in, with apparently a bone of its own to pick with the sentient sand castle. Afterwards, Inés made the mistake of feeding him in thanks, to which she was thereafter unable to get rid of him.

Knew Throat Chop when Inés first got him, but in preparation for school she (tried to) train him out of it. Given that he now charges for the jugular with added electrical bonus, it’s arguably worse now.

Inés genuinely had no idea he was a shiny until someone tried to steal him from her. She did have half an inkling that he was a little monster though, which was only reinforced when Nugget went for the thief’s throat with absolutely no hesitation (this was when she discovered that he knew Throat Chop)

Nugget’s Pokéball is sometimes placed in a Ball Contest decorated with Contest Seals (generic brand, found at a steep discount!). The Seals spell MENACE in big bright letters, so that she can keep track of him whenever he decides to let himself out.

It has led several of her classmates to think that she is needlessly bullying her (very cute) Pincurchin, but anyone who knows Nugget knows that the Seals spell nothing but the truth.

Other hobbies include scoot-scooting, stealthily siphoning off electricity from the power outlet, and shorting out the lights in the dorms when startled.

Slowpoke ♂ (Avocado)

Yawn | Zen Headbutt | Slack Off | ???

Good boy, dopey boy

Snuggle bug. Enjoys loafing in increasingly bizarre and inconvenient locations, but thinks Inés’ lap is best.

Best quality: his little ear flicks

Was completely unbothered the first time his tail fell off during a routine snuggle session. Inés, on the other hand, was extremely bothered, which was why she ran all the way across town to the emergency Pokemon Center, in tears (Nugget scooting desperately along behind them). The Center’s canteen lady felt bad enough for them that she taught them how to make a snack out of the fallen tail, so all’s well that ends well (?).

Can sometimes be seen wearing any assortment of silly little hats as he’s loafing around (holiday clearance sale!)

Enjoys being held long-cat style

Ceruledge ♀

False Swipe | Shadow Claw | Will-o-Wisp | Bitter Blade

Expectation: stoic, badass sentient set of ancient malicious armor

Realty: tripping in the background because she’s being bullied by one (1) sea urchin. Crying in the aisle at the supermarket because she can’t hold the shopping basket with her blade-arms. Trying her best in these trying times.

To no one’s surprise, Inés acquired a strange set of malicious armor as a bonus while buying something else that was equally as baffling and perhaps just as dangerous.

Everyone is half-convinced that Bitter Blade is fueled primarily by her bitter feelings about Nugget. Forget the world, Nugget is the greater menace.

Arboliva ♀

Energy Ball | Sunny Day | Seed Bomb | Solar Beam

Was accidentally given to Inés as a starting-school present to brighten up her dorm room. The tiny succulent had a living tag-along. Thankfully it didn’t cost much extra to feed her so Inés decided to keep her in the end.

Other potential team members (because I am indecisive):

Dachsbun — it’s a dog and it’s bread, what more can I say

Spirtomb — so Inés bought an Odd Keystone during a sale once....

Klefki — Guardian of the keys but more importantly, guardian of Inés’ coinpurse

Rellor (shiny) — there can only be one Nugget on this team (in which Nugget bullies a shiny bug so badly that Inés ends up accidentally catching it. Chaos ensues).

TRIVIA

Met the next door neighbor in Room 304 when she accidentally locked Nugget in their shared bathroom and then went off to class. The neighbor thought the bathroom was haunted. It was just Nugget, going absolutely wild in there.

Inés’ Treasure Hunt dream is to make it rich, literally. That would probably account for 85% of the time in which she gets lost by running off the beaten path in pursuit of the latest shining thing she sees glistening in the grass.

[the-enby-bird]

Yay!

After two separate cancelled flights, four flight delays and our car deciding not to start, I'm back in Missouri- with my laptop. I can actually write. This is amazing. Am I unreasonably excited about this? Probably yes. Do I care? No.

[imtooscaredforthis]

Tethered

Part I- Chapter 9: Letters

Mentions of: Frank’s shitty temper, Homicidal (ish?) thoughts, Threats, Pining, etc.

A/N: Happy (late) Valentine’s Day! I hope you enjoy this one!!

Tags: @prettycutebunny @froegis @autisticpickle @dead-bxtch-walking @moonshineinasippycup

Your new foster home is nice. Almost a little too nice. It’s a pleasantry you never got to experience, considering how your parents constantly toed the line of lower middle class and poverty. You can’t help but feel out of place here.

Frank said it’s because you have such a clean record, and good behavior that you get the nicer houses, and you aren’t sure if that’s good or bad. He was basically acting like you’re a chicken, but he also thanked you, so you don’t know what to think of it.

Speaking of, Frank’s been a lot nicer to you lately. Having much more patience, not yelling or screaming, even if you did something that annoyed him. He even seemed like he wanted to spend time with you. Maybe it’s because you got him here, or maybe you’re actually making progress with him, but either way, you appreciate seeing this side of him, and you hope you can see it more.

Who he hasn’t had much patience with, however, is Emily, your new foster sister. It wasn’t like you could blame him though, even you can’t stand her, and you have a lot of patience with people.

She just always acts like a spoiled brat, freaking out when she doesn’t get her way, and whining about the smallest inconveniences. She’s also very nasty to people, making snippy comments at them, and being rude, especially to Frank, considering how she knew it would piss him off.

But that’s not the worst part, the worst part is her best friend, Nathan. He’s one of the things influencing her to be such a little jerk, and he’s older and more annoying.

What makes it worse is that it’s harder for Frank to control his temper around him. While Emily is some bratty tiny eight-year-old girl, Nathan is ten, and he’s bigger, big enough to give Frank a good reason to beat him up, which always results in you having to constantly supervise the two and keep Frank calm.

Today isn’t any different, with you managing to separate the two boys from one another, and you now sitting in your room with Frank. He paced around in circles angrily, his hands balled up into fists, steam practically flying from his ears.

“I swear, the moment I get my hands on that little shit, I’ll-”

“Okay, instead of hurting anyone or breaking anything, why don’t you have another outlet for your anger?” You suggested, making him pause and look over at you. “What?”

You went under your bed, pulling out your (f/c) notebook. “This is something my parents taught me. When I’m mad or upset with people, I write them letters, but I don’t send them. I just get all my emotions out, and I feel better after. You should try it.”

“Seriously? Wait, have you written about me in there? Let me see.” He reached over for the notebook, but you moved away, not letting him touch it.

“No, you’re missing the point. Stop, stop.” You whined, moving away, while he kept on trying to grab your journal, lunging at you. You pushed him away, but he continued trying to get it, almost wrestling with you at one point.

“Just listen!” You snapped, finally getting him to stop. He stepped back, putting his hands in pockets. “Sorry, Jeez.”

You sighed softly, clutching the notebook close to you. “You have all this pent-up anger, it would be much better to get it out through something healthy, like this.”

“There’s no way I’m writing some stupid letter about some stupid brat.” He protested while you tore a paper out of your notebook. He looked away from it when you offered it to him, crossing his arms.

“Can you quit being a pain and just try it, please? For me?” You waved the paper in front of him, with a pleading smile, making him sigh and snatch it from your hands. “Fine.”

“Great. Now, I’m not going to read it, so you can write whatever you want. I’ll be back in a bit.” You told him, handing him a pencil.

--

Frank sat there, glancing at the clock on the wall, watching it tick quietly. This is so stupid. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He doesn’t even know what to say.

So, he started doodling. Just a few drawings here and there, one of a little skull, another of him beating up that little brat Nathan, and another of him throwing him off a cliff.

Just then, the door clicked open, with you walking through, and making his lookup. “How’s it coming along?”

You glanced over his shoulder, only to find the doodles. “Frank, you’re supposed to be writing!”

“But that’s so boring.” He whined, slumping back against the wall. “One sentence. Just one measly sentence will make you feel better. That’s all I ask.”’

“Alright, alright.” He waved you off, wanting you to quit your nagging. After a few moments of thinking, he finally got it.

Dear little shit for brains,

I hate you. You’re so annoying and irritating, I just want to pummel you deep into the Earth so far that you hit the core and melt into it. Just shut up for five minutes and leave me alone.

You were right. He does feel better. In fact, he wanted to write more. Not about that brat, but you, so, he flipped the paper, starting to write again. This time, he didn’t feel like addressing it, just getting right to the point instead.

I like you. More than most people. More than anyone. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but you still make me feel different. Better. It’s almost indescribable honestly. You are the only one who hasn’t abandoned me. I don’t know why you stick with me but I’m thankful that you do. I don’t deserve you.

You’re kind to everyone, even me. Not that I deserve it. And you’re smart and you’re really pretty and I like the dimples you get on your cheeks when you smile and

The sound of footsteps coming upstairs and nearing the room made Frank panic, scratching out all his words on the page until it all became a jumbled, unreadable mess.

You opened the door, walking into the room. “So, how do you feel? Any better?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, acting all aloof and uninterested. You frowned at his behavior, taking a deep breath, and sitting on the bed across from him.

“Oh well, I guess it doesn’t work for everyone. But hey, at least you tried it right? So, thanks.”

[existslikepristin]

Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Fifty-Eight) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Dom/sub relationship. Dirty talk. Bondage (belts). Sex toy (vibrator). Edging. Impregnation kink. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”. Drugging(s). 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 9646

Timeline: A few weeks after part fifty-seven.

Criminal Minds Discord Server

Mine and Hotch’s anniversary was approaching, and even though we had vacation days saved up, we decided that we weren’t going to take time off to celebrate. It was going to be over the weekend, but still. If Strauss wanted to call us in for a case, we were going to show up. But, Rossi didn’t want me and Hotch to worry about it because our anniversary was more important, according to him, so he told us that he wanted us to focus on each other and not work. On Friday afternoon, Rossi showed up at our door, and without warning, he put a ring of keys in Hotch’s hand while saying, “No work. Not a single second of it. I want a figlioccio (godson) before I die or so help me.” When we asked what all of this was about, he dodged by giving us an address and strict orders to stay away until Tuesday morning.

“Dave, what is this?” Hotch questioned, turning the keys over in his hand.

He explained that he still had a place out in New York City that he didn’t use anymore. It was all ours for the weekend so that “Mom and Dad can have a little alone time.” I blushed at his comment. Our strict orders to stay away included a less than “veiled” threat that he would go to the Director himself and have us fired on the spot. I remembered thinking to myself that he was being a little hyperbolic, but I understood his point.

So, when Morgan showed up an hour later—something that was apart of Rossi’s plan all along, it seemed—we packed a few bags, got in the car, and we started driving up to New York City. Morgan had apparently asked if he could babysit Scarlet and Jack with Jessica while we were gone; but Hotch seemed absolutely terrified that we would come home to a burning house, even though I was insisting that it would be fine. I trusted Morgan. I knew that he wouldn’t actually let anything happen to our kids, especially since I got to see up close how good he was with Scar while Hotch was gone in the Middle East. One day, he was going to be a great dad. Besides, Jessica was going to be there, which meant that Hotch really had no reason to worry because we trusted her around our kids all these years, and Morgan was just like another big kid. She could wrangle all three of them, if she needed to.

When we arrived at Rossi’s place, I felt my jaw practically hit the ground. When he said he had a place in New York fucking City, I just assumed it was a small apartment, since that was the extent of what most of the city could afford. But not David Rossi. Not the Italian millionaire who insisted on spending his money on small, stupid, worthless things, like cigars and expensive pancetta. I should have known. If he was going to buy a place out there, he was going to go above and beyond, and he was only going to give me and Hotch the best of the best. That was why he gave us the keys to this place for the weekend. It was a huge floor-through apartment on the top floor of one of the nicest buildings around. Getting up there was a challenge, but it was also fairly simple, in some weird way. There was a doorman, and there was security which we had to check in with since we were unfamiliar faces. However, once we mentioned David Rossi, everyone’s demeanor changed. They all started apologizing for the inconvenience, and they were practically begging us to tell them if we ever needed anything… even though we really wouldn’t need anything at all. We just wanted to get upstairs. So, they all magically left us alone.

Up in the apartment, Hotch and I couldn’t help but laugh at how big and ostentatious it was. This felt absolutely ridiculous Was it necessary? No. However, was it incredibly nice? Yes. It was a relief to be alone again with no work, no friends, no kids, and absolutely no worries. It was just me, him, and an ugly bear rug in the living room.

Hotch let go of the bags he had brought up before turning and sweeping me off my feet. I gasped then giggled. It had caught me so off guard, but now that I was in his arms, I didn’t care about anything else in the world. All I could think about was his eyes. They were staring right into mine, searching for little signs that told him how much I loved him. And that was when I noticed a familiar sparkle in his eyes. It was the sparkle that said he loved me so fucking much that he’d die for me, but also that he would do anything I wanted for me… everything.

I kissed his jawline, just under his earlobe. “I brought the black box,” I whispered seductively.

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t want to see the city or get dinner first?”

“No, Sir.”

He set me down on my feet. “Find the bedroom while you’re getting undressed.” He spun me around so that I could lay eyes on the hallway where the bedroom could be. As I took my first step in that direction, I felt him slap my ass, making me giggle, and he chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, taking off my shirt slowly while walking, then turned to throw it at him.

I picked up my pace. Kicking off my shoes, then sliding out of my socks, I could spot the bedroom in the distance, the door wide open, practically inviting us inside after a long day of driving, and what was sure to be a long night, too. Racing down the hallway, I hopped and shimmied out of my pants, catching myself on one of the walls every time I wobbled and nearly tipped over. I was standing in just my panties and bra now when I entered the bedroom, finding the forest green comforter that I sank into as I jumped onto it.

That was when I heard shuffling outside. I bit my lip, hurrying to reach behind me so that I could unclasp my bra before Hotch could come in and scold me for not obeying his command by getting undressed faster. As my bra fell, I tossed it to the side. Just as I saw his shadow creep towards me, I laid down and lifted my hips up so that I could push my panties down, and then set them to the side for him, if he wanted to use them as a gag, or if he wanted to put them in his pocket, or even if he just wanted to disregard them entirely by throwing them onto the floor.

“Look at you,” he teased lightly, his voice lower than usual. There was his Dom space. I recognized it immediately without even having to look over at him. “So good for me, baby.” I dared to glance at him with a smile creeping onto my face. “Put your hands at your sides for me. Keep your legs together.” I did as I was told. I wasn’t willing to rock the boat just yet, though I knew I would once the opportunity presented itself. “My good, obedient, eager whore.”

I melted at his words. “Yes, Sir,” I croaked, even though I meant to sound confident. I swallowed hard and tried again. “I’m your good, obedient, eager whore.”

He grinned ear to ear. After taking a second to admire me as I was sliding into sub space, Hotch looked around the room for somewhere to set the black box. When he had decided on the desk to my left, he headed there without saying anything. I was so anxious. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were somewhere other than our bedroom at home, or if it was the fact that we had both slid into our respective headspaces so easily, or if it might’ve had to do with the fact that Halloween had only been a couple of weeks ago and I was still entirely obsessed with everything we had done before we were interrupted by the kitchen timer downstairs. Was he going to punish me like he had that day? Was he going to reward me for being so good to him? Would I even get his cock at all? So many questions were swirling through my head, and I wasn’t getting any answers just by watching him dig through the black box.

Hotch approached the bed with two belts in hand. My eyes widened as I watched him expertly loop one of the belts up to make homemade handcuffs. Without even having to demand anything of me, I stuck my hands out in front of me, and he smiled while sliding the belt onto my wrists before tightening it as much as he could. I hissed. His smile didn’t fade in response, though—in fact, it only seemed to grow. As he pushed me onto my back, a wicked smirk replaced his grin. Curiosity and anxiety were coursing through me because I had no idea what was about to come. There was still another belt lying there. But Hotch didn’t go for it yet. He stepped away to grab something else from the black box. When he turned back around, I saw that he was holding a hitachi wand—actually, our only one, though Hotch insisted we should get another just so he could torture me even more, to which I told him no in order to spare myself.

The wand started to buzz after he plugged it into the outlet next to the bed and under the bedside table. I tensed at the sound. This wasn’t going to be good. I almost regretted bringing the entire black box with me in the first place, because now that we were there, I could see in hindsight that it was going to be a very long weekend for me. We had only just gotten to the apartment, and Hotch already had me in sub space. Tuesday felt like a millennium away.

“You don’t cum without permission, slut. Understand?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, Sir.”

“You’ll hold it if I tell you to.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl…” he muttered, finally hovering the wand over my left nipple until I could barely feel it. I moaned lightly. “You don’t have to be quiet, baby. We’ve got the whole floor to ourselves.” He leaned over me. “And no one’s going to stop this.” He trailed the wand over to my other nipple, rolling it around until it was hard. I bit back a moan. Hotch grabbed my cheeks roughly in his hand and said, “Don’t hold back. Stop that.” But I didn’t let go of my lip. He squinted at me. “You’re really going to be a brat right now? Of all times? Now?” I didn’t answer him. Hotch growled lightly under his breath, sitting up and pulling the wand away from me entirely. “Fine. I won’t let you cum, then.”

“No—” I immediately tried to apologize, but Hotch stopped me with another glare.

“What did you just say?”

I tried to make myself small, hiding myself as far into the mattress as I could. “Sorry, Sir.”

“It’s too late for that.” He turned off the toy before settling it between my thighs, pressing it up against my bare, soaking wet pussy. I rolled my hips. “Stop moving.” I didn’t stop, though. In response, Hotch slapped my thigh harder than I was anticipating, making me yelp. “I said, stop moving, brat. Don’t make me tell you again.”

With the vibrator sitting between my thighs, he moved my legs so that they were pressed together, keeping the toy there without any work. And then it finally made sense as to why there was another belt. I watched as Hotch took the length of the brown belt in his hands, smoothing it out until he found each end, and he pulled it taught, making me flinch. He smirked. We both knew what he was planning on doing with that, and while the thought was certainly appealing to him, I knew that it wasn’t any good for me.

“Lift your knees,” he ordered.

I bent my knees upward just enough so that he could slide the belt under my thighs, and then he pushed my legs down roughly in order to tie the belt around my legs, completely prohibiting me from spreading my legs. The worst part was, Hotch had tied it just over the wand, which meant that no matter how much I squirmed, no matter what I did in an attempt to make it stop, the wand wasn’t going to budge away from my clit. It was going to stay there until Hotch was through with watching me suffer.

As I suspected, Hotch turned on the toy, making me jolt in response to the sudden overwhelming stimulation that was coursing through me. The worst part was… it was on the highest setting. He wasn’t starting out easy, and he wasn’t giving me a chance to relax or get into it. He knew what I wanted. He knew why we were there. He knew what would destroy me. He wasn’t going to take it easy on me.

“So sensitive,” he whispered to himself, dragging his fingertips up and down my thigh as slowly and lightly as he could.

I gasped as the toy hit a sensitive spot. Without thinking, I rolled around and cursed, “Fuck, Aaron.”

He grabbed my hip, making me settle on my back again. “Manners.”

But that wasn’t the point of having the entire weekend to ourselves, now was it? No. The point was that it was just us, without kids or work for once, and I could do whatever I wanted as long as it got him riled up enough to keep us both in bed until Tuesday. There was one thing that would work. Since getting married and having kids, it was really hard for me to maintain my brattiness because any moment we did get alone had to be fairly quick, because who knew when Scarlet would start fussing up again, or if Jack would need something, or if the office would call with a new case? If we wanted any adult time together, it had to be fairly fast and simple. But now there were three days and four nights ahead of us where I could finally be a tease again, just like old times. Like on the plane to St. Louis… How I missed those days. The tiniest thing I’d do would trigger Hotch, setting him into Dom space, giving him any and every excuse to punish me. I almost wished we could go back in time. Not that I would give Scarlet up for anything… but… those early months of dating were so simple and free. For just this weekend, we could afford to be like that again.

So, I did what any good brat would do. I looked him dead in the eye, and I said, “Make me.”

Hotch’s entire demeanor changed. He was already angry with how quickly I went from being his “good, obedient, eager whore” to the brat that was willing to challenge him on every little thing, just because I could. This anger was different. The look that washed over him reminded me of the good old days. We had just started dating, and I told him all about the black box and what it meant to be a Dom, and he just… There was this look of hunger he had when I got bratty. He used to jump me any chance he got—not that he didn’t anymore; it was just different now. But I saw it just then. I saw it as the words left my mouth, and I was immediately filled with regret.

He shook his head while walking to the black box again. “’Make me’,” he muttered, chortling. “’Make me’. Huh. Sure. Yeah…” He grabbed something from the box. “I thought I wanted to hear you scream for me,” he turned with a ball gag in hand, “but now that I know exactly what I’m going to do with you, I don’t think I want to hear your pathetic cries for me to stop or slow down…” He kneeled on the bed, forcing my jaw open with a rough grip on my cheeks. He shoved the gag into my mouth and quickly fixed together the buckle under my hair. “’Make me.’ You don’t get manners at all now. No, ‘Please, Sir’,” he mimicked my pathetic, pleading voice whenever he was edging me, “and no ‘Stop, Sir’, or ‘Sir, I can’t take it anymore!’ because you’ll take whatever I give to you.” He pressed the vibrator against me as hard as he could, tightening the belt around my thighs to make sure it would stay like that. “And no fucking cumming.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I kept squirming my fingers stretching for the toy that was torturing me. It was brutal. The highest setting was stimulating me to the point that my legs were all ready shaking, and I was a whimpering mess behind the gag. I was going to get close soon. I kept stretching my fingers for the wand, trying to pull it away just to catch a break because I didn’t want him to edge or ruin me. Some part of me wanted this to all be on my terms so that I could just find relief by climaxing, but Hotch wasn’t going to give me that satisfaction.

Hotch intertwined his fingers with mine to stop me from reaching. I squeezed his hands. My hips bucked, my head thrown back into the mattress, and I let out a scream. All he did was snicker. I was so close already—Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He turned it off just as I got to the edge. I thrashed around more violently this time, pissed that the stimulation was gone just when I needed it most, but Hotch and I kept holding hands, refusing to let go. He chuckled and brushed my hair out of my face.

“Is it bad that I want to see you cry?” he asked me.

I whimpered. “Sir—”

He turned the toy back on. “I think we’ll keep edging until you cry. Maybe then you’ll have learned that your place is to use honorifics, and that’s it.”

“Sir—”

“Shhh…”

I wiggled my hips to make the toy flick across my clit, which only made the stimulation 10x better, which was taking to the brink faster. “Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir—” I screamed again when he turned it off.

“You have to go slower, baby girl. The faster you edge, the worse it’ll be.”

“I hate you,” I mumbled behind the gag, drool running down my chin.

“No, you don’t.” He turned it back on, but this time on a speed that was much slower, making it harder and longer for me to edge. “God, you look so pretty.” He leaned down to take my nipple in his mouth. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, making me moan pleasantly instead of screaming like I had been. I melted into the bed. “So, so pretty for me…” He kissed the other one. And then his phone started ringing, startling the both of us. He groaned and sat up to turn it off, but he froze when he spotted the same. “It’s Sean,” he told me with a confused yet worried tone. “Stay here.”

I whimpered and tugged at the restraints as he started walking out of the room. He answered the call and closed the door behind him. I moaned out as the vibrations hit a sore spot on my clit. Now that he was gone, he wasn’t there to stop me from wriggling around, so I started twisting and turning while trying to find a way to release myself or get the vibrator to move off my clit just to give me a break. But there was no way out. The son of a bitch tied it to my thighs so hard that moving only made it worse. I whimpered around the ball gag again as my orgasm started to build again. At least he wasn’t there to take it away now. He would never know. If I just raced towards my climax, I could finish before he’d come back… Yeah. That was a good idea…

The door burst open just as I thought I could get away with it. I shook my head and cried, knowing that he was going to take it away as soon as possible, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. “I am so sorry, baby,” he apologized sincerely. I looked at him with wide, curious eyes. He wasn’t apologizing in a teasing way. Hell, he wasn’t even in Dom space anymore. Something happened with Sean on the phone. “I have to go.” He stretched over the bed to turn off the vibrator. I moaned as I edged, throwing my head against the mattress. “I’m sorry…” He started unclasping the belt around my hips so that he could pull the toy away. “Sean’s in trouble.”

“Gag,” I tried telling him, though it was muffled and hardly coherent. Hotch somehow understood, because the second the rope was loose enough for me to wiggle out on my own, Hotch reached behind my head to unbuckle the ball gag.

“Don’t talk yet,” he warned worriedly, grabbing onto my jaw to hold it open so that I wouldn’t hurt myself. When the gag was out, Hotch set it on the bed. “Just relax.” He slowly helped my jaw close. “I’m going to make this up to you, I swear—”

I shook my head and sat up. “What’s wrong with Sean?”

Hotch sighed and shifted on the bed so that he could uncuff my hands. “I’m not entirely sure. I just need to meet with him and take care of it—”

“I’ll go with you.”

He shook his head. “No. He’s my burden, and I— I feel bad for leaving you like this—”

“Hotch, this doesn’t matter while Sean’s in trouble. You’ll make it up to me later, just like you said. Your messes are my messes. Remember?”

Hotch threw the belts next to the ball gag. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled lightly at him. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ve edged me worse before.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes falling shut. “I will make this up to you.”

I kissed him quickly. “I’ll clean up and then we’ll go.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” I kissed him again, then wiggled off the bed, hurrying to the bathroom. “Sean Hotchner…” I sighed to myself. If he weren’t my brother-in-law, I would have killed him myself. Acting like this was alright in front of Aaron was easy, but the truth was that I was frustrated… in more than one way.

----

The Edinburg was where we were meeting us with Sean. As we pulled up to the club, we saw the cops, medics, and witnesses all standing around in the cold, trying to wrap up the scene. Sean spotted us right as we got out of the car. We approached the barricade around the club, flashing our credentials to the cops that were trying to keep us out, and they let us pass through without any problems.

“Thank you, guys, so much for coming,” Sean said, dropping his cigarette on the ground and putting it out by grinding the toe of his shoe against it.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to smoke in public in New York,” Hotch said coldly to his brother.

He slowly started sliding his arm around the small of my back, pulling me close. He hadn’t finished dropping yet, I could tell, and he probably wouldn’t for a bit because his mind was still racing with what we had been doing—and I knew that because I was still thinking about it, too. We were supposed to be there for Sean. He called us, asking for help, and that was what we were supposed to be there for, but the endorphins were still coursing through us which was why we hadn’t settled down to completely focus on Sean yet. We just had to give it a few more minutes.

“You’re not even going to warm up to the big brother act?”

“I figured that it would save us time. You called during our anniversary.”

“So, that’s why you guys are up here.”

“Yeah. Care to tell us what we’re doing here now?”

“The girl I told you about, the one who died, her name was Anna. The cops think that she OD’d, but I’m not… I’m not so sure. She was bleeding everywhere, Aaron. I mean, out of her eyes, her nose, her ears. You don’t do that when you’re overdosing.”

“And you would know?”

“Aaron!” I hissed.

That was rude. I knew that Hotch was done with Sean, he had said that much since Haley’s death, and even when Sean showed up to our wedding, they didn’t talk, but he had no right to say that. Sean was his own person. If he was struggling and needed help, we should’ve been a safe space for him to turn to. But if Hotch kept this ‘tude up, Sean wouldn’t have anyone.

Sean shook off the comment to continue telling us what happened. “My manager wouldn’t let me call 911 until I got her outside so that the club wouldn’t be liable; but by then, she was already dead.”

“Is this the first time this has happened here?” I asked.

“No… My girlfriend, Linda Heying, she died last week the same exact way.”

“She didn’t abuse or anything?” Hotch questioned.

“No. She drank, but after—” He stopped himself so that he could tread lightly. “After something that happened a few months ago, the two of us got clean, and we stopped using.”

“Using what?”

“Not the point, Hotch,” I whispered. I looked at Sean again. “Do you know of a third one?” Without a third case, it wasn’t federal, which meant that we couldn’t take it. But Sean nodded, which meant that the case was ours now if we wanted it. I sighed and looked at Hotch. “Rossi’s going to kill us.”

----

While the team was on the plane, Garcia called to let us know that there was a similar situation in another club just after the victim at The Edinburg. Six people died of apparent drug overdoses, but they had been bleeding the same way Anna and Linda had. So, this had turned serial in less than a night. Whatever had been tampered with—drugs or alcohol, probably the latter considering that Sean was adamant that Linda didn’t do drugs at the time of her death—had made its way into both clubs on the same night. The likelihood that it could be found elsewhere was rising. If we didn’t act fast, this was going to get out of control.

The team was discussing the case and the profile on the jet without us, though. Hotch and I were holed up in the Field Office that we hadn’t stepped foot into since the bombing five years ago. It honestly felt as if no time had passed at all. We had shown up at the office, and everyone was taken aback by how much Kate looked like Haley, and everyone was convinced that her and Hotch had a history—and I was sure of it, too, because they didn’t act like friends all. Kate was always hanging around Hotch, hugging him every chance she got, talking privately and intimately with him, only valuing his opinion. Hotch told me that I was crazy, though. He convinced me into thinking that him and Kate had never done anything, and I believed him, and it never even crossed my mind again until he finally fessed up a couple of months back when I asked him to lay out all of the lies. They did have a history together, but it meant nothing to him. They were just friends in his mind. During that very case, he lost his friend. He lost someone who meant a great deal to him, someone who reminded him of Haley, and at the time, we thought about how hard it would have been to see Haley bleeding out like Kate had, thinking that it would never happen. We were so naïve back then.

I held onto Hotch’s hand when he started fidgeting and bouncing his knee. It was hard for him to be back and to not see Kate, to know that both her and Haley were now gone, and that I was all he had left. He brought my knuckles to his lips and placed a ginger kiss against them as a silent thank you for sitting silently with him.

“We should talk to Sean since he knows the most about the other victims.” He pushed himself to his feet before he could continue overthinking, and he immediately walked towards the interrogation room where Sean was sitting.

“Hotch—”

He closed the door on me, though, so the only way I could spy on them was by heading into the mirror room. Hotch sat down across from his brother. “Six kids bled out last night, just like the others. How well do you know these people that you’re working with, Sean? I mean, they wanted to avoid a liability by dragging a victim out of the building before deciding to help.”

“Listen, Thane hooked me up with the job a couple of months ago. What comes with that is bartending, cleaning, and looking the other way when something’s going down. Linda and I started dating a few weeks after that.”

“By looking the other way, did you suspect that any of the employees were dealing?”

“No. Just buying.”

“What was it that you were addicted to?”

“Aaron—”

“You need to be honest with me right now, Sean, if I’m going to help you.”

Sean sighed and sat back in his chair, wiping his face clean with his palms. After collecting himself, he dared to look back at Hotch. “Cocaine.”

“And you’ve stopped.”

“Yes?”

“And you’re not involved in anything illegal?”

Sean’s posture changed to something stronger, more adamant, but his eyes kept shifting as he answered, “Yes, but I’m not!” He was lying. Through and through, no doubt about it, he was lying.

Hotch noticed it, too, because he left the interrogation room without another word. When he opened the door, I saw Strauss and Rossi coming in just behind him. They must’ve had a long drive from the jet.

Rossi crossed his arms over his chest. “We just got off the phone with Reid, Morgan, and JJ on our way here. Apparently, they found out that the drugs are made up of PMMA, which is a highly lethal drug with delayed results, so Reid thinks that all of the victims weren’t getting high, which was why they kept taking more and more until they overdosed.”

“This is the first time we’ve found evidence of PMMA in the United States,” Strauss said, “and the Director wants it gone. Did your brother tell you anything?” Strauss asked Hotch. He shook his head. “Well, he has to know something, right? Agent Greenaway said he was lying.”

“About something else—”

“He could be hiding things from us. He might not talk to you because you’re family, so, Dave, I want you to give it a shot.”

Rossi shrugged and immediately reached for the door, seeing no problem with going in. Sean didn’t know Rossi. Whenever he had actually been around to meet the BAU, it was while Gideon was around—and the wedding didn’t count because Sean spent all of his time at the open bar. Rossi was a stranger. Sean probably knew how to get away with lying—or at least thought he did—but with Rossi, he would be thrown off his game, which would potentially give us an edge.

So, we watched from behind the mirror.

“Where’s Aaron?” Sean asked as Rossi sat down across from him.

“In cases where family’s involved, we like to have an unbiased agent perform an interview for another perspective.”

“Am I a suspect?”

That was an interesting question to ask. I mean, if he were innocent, he wouldn’t have asked a question at all, he would have waited for Rossi to proceed so that he could just answer all of the questions as honestly as possible. Asking a question made him seem guilty. The way he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, too, was a red flag.

“Should you be?” Rossi asked, squinting suspiciously. Sean rolled his eyes. “How well did you know the second victim, Linda?”

“We used to date.”

“’Used to’?”

“Yes. Before she died.”

“You know, that’s funny,” Rossi sat back, “because most people would say, ‘We were dating when she died’. But you referred to your relationship as though it had been a past tense situation before her death. Am I right?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah. We broke up after we had a fight.”

“Over?”

Strauss turned to look at Hotch, distracting us from the interrogation. As she asked, “Aaron, do you think you’ll still be able to work this case? I need to know,” Rossi asked another question about the argument when Sean didn’t respond at first. What Sean answered with caught Hotch off guard.

“My using… I stopped, though, because of her.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago.”

“Any relapses?’

Hotch stormed out of the room. I tried chasing after him, but the door slammed on my face slowing me down. I could hear Hotch yelling at Sean from the hallway. “You’d rather not say?! I asked you about this earlier and you said it didn’t matter! People are dying, Sean!” I stumbled into the room, running into Hotch’s back. His stance didn’t waver. “What was it? Heroin? PCP?”

“Jesus, Aaron, who do you think I am?!” Sean exclaimed.

“Clearly, I don’t know!”

“Hotch,” I whispered, grabbing a hold of his bicep, trying to pull him out of the room with me. “Hotch, stop,” I pleaded. “Aaron!” I finally pulled him out of the room and slammed the door behind us again. “Stop this right now! Stop!”

“He’s been lying to us—”

“Which seems to be a running theme in your family.”

Hotch stopped in his tracks. “Y/N—”

“You’re staying out of this until we’re done dealing with Sean—”

“—Y/N—”

“You’re done! Go wait in the boardroom.” I pushed him away, making him stumble towards the room where the team was just walking into. He opened his mouth to say something else. “Go!” I sighed as Hotch officially turned around, his head lowered in shame, and he wandered off. “Sean Hotchner… You motherfucker…” I opened the door again and stepped in. I sat beside Rossi. “Sean, listen to me.” He stared at me. “You need to tell me and Rossi the truth right now before we let Hotch come in and actually deal with you the way he wants. If it were up to him, he would have cut you off years ago and blocked your number. If he comes back into this room, I guarantee you he’s finally going to do it. So, we need the truth. Right now.”

“It was ecstasy!” Sean yelled over me. It was like he was trying to prove something, though I wasn’t sure what. “I got it from Thane.”

“Your boss? The same guy who told you not to call the cops until the dead woman was outside of his bar. You didn’t think to mention that earlier? That’s a lead—”

“Thane may be a dumbass, but he doesn’t kill people.”

“Does it not occur to you that if Thane is the one with access to the drug supply, he might also have access to the person who is doing this, then?”

Sean froze. The entire room was silent as it dawned on him that Linda’s murderer had been under his nose the entire time. “I… I didn’t… How could I…” He fell silent again.

There was a knock on the window to our right, making Rossi and I look over. It was Hotch. I rolled my eyes, thinking that he was asking to come back in, probably after convincing himself that he could be calm about it, which we all knew he couldn’t. But then he held up a case file. There had been another incident. Rossi and I excused ourselves from the conversation with Sean and headed out to the hall, waiting until the door fell shut behind us to ask what happened.

A family was found dead in their house by their daughter who was returning from school. They were on the floor, bleeding from every crevice imaginable, but they were already gone by the time paramedics got there. The thing was, they were a nuclear family in an upper-class neighborhood. They weren’t high risk at all. Why would they take ecstasy in the middle of the day?

“That’s why I’m sending you, Morgan, and Reid,” Hotch said. “The rest of us are going to stay here and keep looking into PMMA and where it’s coming from.”

So, that was how Reid, Morgan, and I ended up in a living room covered in blood and puke, a crying girl sitting in an ambulance outside, covered by a shitty trauma blanket. There wasn’t a single hint of ecstasy anywhere. Morgan and I searched the house while Reid tried profiling the parents, and the family as a whole. According to him they were a happy family. It didn’t seem like they had any problems beyond mild marital issues, which he discovered when he found the bill for couple’s counseling hidden underneath the mother’s journal in her bedside table.

“Nothing here suggests that these two would ever try any drugs, even marijuana,” Morgan said. We were standing in the kitchen now, looking around. “So, why would they suddenly use ecstasy and know how to properly dispose of it before anyone could find it?”

“Maybe they didn’t do X,” I said, shrugging.

“They had been drinking…” Spencer muttered to himself, grabbing a napkin to pick up a wine bottle that was sitting on the counter. I opened the dishwasher to see two wine glasses in there. He was right. “They probably just got home from work, decided to unwind before their daughter would come home.” Spencer carefully set down the bottle, then raced to go find Gina for a drug testing vial. When he returned, he used the dropper to suck up a bit of the wine, then squeezed it into the vial. It immediately turned blue, letting us know that it had been dosed with PMMA. Spencer stood up straight. “The Unsub wants to increase his body count. He doesn’t care who he hurts. There’s probably dozens to hundreds of spiked bottles still out there.”

“Should we put out a warning?” I asked.

“And create mass hysteria?” Morgan scoffed. “We have no concrete proof that there’s more of these bottles out there. We should start by tracking this bottle, then go from there.”

I nodded an agreement. “I’ll call Hotch to let the team know that we’re looking into wine now.” I grabbed my phone and stepped away while dialing him. He answered with his name. “Hey, we’re just finishing up here,” I told him. “Their wine had been spiked, so you guys might want to start looking into where they got the bottle and whatnot.” Hotch hummed and agreement. He didn’t really sound like he was listening. “Baby?”

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell the team.”

“Your brain’s scattered, I can tell. Talk to me.”

“I’m still worried that Sean knows more than he’s letting on.”

“You just need to give him a break for now, I think. He might loosen up.”

“That’s not the problem. He’s already tense, but it’s because he’s worried about protecting himself from the law and the big brother act.”

“Just take it easy on him, my love. Please.”

“I told you I was done with him after Haley’s death. Why—”

“Because he’s family.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. Listen, I’ve gotta call you back. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye.”

Just as he hung up, I whispered, “Bye.”

“Is he okay?” Morgan asked from behind me, scaring the absolute shit out of me, making me physically jump with shock. He chuckled. “Sorry.” I caught my breath and turned to face him. “Seriously… Do you think he’s okay?”

I shrugged. “I think he will be. I think that right now he’s just sick and tired of cleaning up Sean’s messes, but without Sean, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe the two of you shouldn’t be here. Maybe that’s why Hotch is annoyed.”

“You think he’s mad because I’ve been pushing him to work the case when we were supposed to take the weekend off?”

“I think that he’s mad that he loves his brother enough to give up a weekend alone with you just to get dragged back into all of this when you were supposed to be focusing on each other.”

“When did Derek Morgan get all wise about relationships?”

“I’ve always been wise about relationships. You just always forget it.”

Hotch was already calling back, so I abandoned the personal conversation with Morgan to answer what was hopefully going to be a work call. Thankfully, it was. Hotch called again to let us know that Sean wanted to go back to the club to talk to Thane while wired up, potentially giving us information on the Unsub, or at least enough to take down Thane and everyone else responsible for what happened to the victims at The Edinburg.

“Are you sure about this?” I inquired.

“I already tried arguing with him, but he’s stubborn.”

“Sounds like that runs in the family, too.”

“Ha. Ha,” he laughed sarcastically. “Can the three of you meet us at The Edinburg? We’ll have an undercover van to wait in.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.”

----

When we jumped into the van, Hotch was listening to the live audio feed coming from Sean’s wire under his shirt, but he stopped somewhat to catch us up on everything. Sean had mentioned that he was talking to the cops. Because Thane was on edge, he demanded to know everything that happened at the precinct and how much the cops knew. Sean played it smart. He said exactly what Thane wanted to hear, and it gained his trust and got the heat off his back. Hotch was actually impressed.

Morgan handed me a vest to put on. As I did so, Hotch continued to explain that Sean was bringing up the spiked wine right now to see if he could get a reaction out of Thane, now we were just playing the waiting game. If Thane said anything incriminating, we were going to move in. If Sean was in danger in any way, we were going to move in.

“Maybe you should dump that wine, just to be safe,” someone in the background said. We all stopped to listen.

“Right,” Thane agreed. “Sean, I need your help with something.” It suddenly sounded like they were on the move. “I need you to dump these.” He was getting Sean involved with a crime to make sure he wouldn’t tell the cops anything, which was smart on his behalf.

“You don’t want me to dump the whole case?”

“No, just those two for now.” Thane sounded really freaked out and on edge.

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah… I, uh… I could’ve sworn there was another case of that stuff.”

Sean hesitated for a second. “I don’t think so.” He sounded nervous now, too. “Nothing’s gone missing since I last did inventory. Everything’s here. Besides, if it really is gone, it’s probably for the best. Just means it’s one less thing to dump.”

“It’s not here… No, no, no, no, no. It’s not here!” Thane smashed something on the ground out of anger. “Fuck!”

“What did you do, Thane?”

“I spiked the wine, you idiot. Three other bottles were in that case.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I thought it was just X! I thought it was going to loosen the girls up!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, Thane!” Sean yelled angrily. “Linda’s dead because of you. Where did you get it? You son of a bitch! She was sober and you drugged her!” The sound of punches being thrown echoed through the speaker, making all of us jump into action.

Just as Hotch made the call over the comms to move in, SWAT raced in to arrest the employees that had been sitting around with Thane beforehand, but Hotch and I rushed straight to the back room to help Sean. Thank had a box cutter out, lunging at Sean. I stopped him by kicking the back of his knee forward, making him fall to the ground. Without hesitation, I knelt down, grabbing my handcuffs from the back of my waistband, and I started arresting Thane.

“You okay?” Hotch asked his brother.

Sean, still upset about the whole situation, silently pushed past his brother and headed outside. I pulled Thane to his feet. Hotch and I glanced at each other for a moment, but I silently shook my head, letting him know that he shouldn’t go chasing after Sean unless he wanted to make things worse, which I knew he didn’t. So, I took Thane outside while Hotch stood still.

As Morgan and I loaded Thane and the other employees into the SWAT van that would take them into custody, Hotch came running out, fear and panic washed across his face. I raised a brow at him. He was running back and forth on the sidewalk, looking high and low. Did we miss something? Was there another bottle somewhere? Someone hiding?

“Hotch, what’s wrong?” I asked him, closing the doors of the SWAT van. Morgan patted it, letting them know they were free to go. “Hotch, what is it?”

Hotch didn’t say anything. He only turned his phone around to show me the screen and the text message from Sean that said: “I’m sorry.” Sean ran for some reason, and Hotch was left worried about his little brother again. Fucking Sean. He did this every time, and there were only so many times that I could keep defending him and continue convincing Hotch to stay in contact with him. He was making my job really fucking difficult.

“Sir, we found the club owner, Jim Peters,” a SWAT agent said after jogging over to us.

“Where?” I asked.

He looked at me, shocked that I was taking the lead and not Hotch. He cleared his throat. “Couple of blocks from here. His car was wrecked with him inside.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s dead. The M.E.’s there now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Morgan mumbled under his breath.

The four of us started walking there, taking the SWAT agent’s lead, and Spencer caught up to us, following along my side. When we got there, he immediately parted from us to talk to the M.E. What a fucking shit show. Peters must have been trying to run away from us when the Unsub caught up to him. First, Linda, then he tried going for Thane but fucked up and drugged Anna, and now Peters was dead. Was he going for employees of the club? That had to be the answer, unless someone else fucked up the car and it was just a random hit and run—but considering that we were standing in a dark, quiet, abandoned alley, I highly doubted that this wasn’t motivated.

Reid came to tell us what he knew. The car crash had trapped Peters’ legs, preventing him from running away, but it was the PMMA that had been poured down his throat that actually killed him. So, it was definitely motivated. This was premeditated, the violence indicated a personal grudge because of the overkill, and the fact that this was more personal than any of the other murders.

“It’s too much of a coincidence,” Hotch said. “Sean ran, then this happened… I’m going to have Garcia run a background on Sean.”

“Come on, Hotch,” Morgan said, “you can’t think that it’s him.”

“I don’t, but I can’t eliminate him as a possibility now until I know what he’s hiding.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Absolutely not.” Hotch looked at me, bewildered. “You’re obviously not thinking straight, Aaron. Listen to yourself.” I shook my head again. “Go take a walk.”

“Y/N—”

It was like déjà vu when I insisted again that he leave and he reluctantly and angrily turned to leave the alley. Morgan and Reid were staring at me. They couldn’t believe that I had the audacity to bench Hotch, and that he actually fucking listened to me; but I think some part of Hotch knew that I was right, which was exactly why he listened and left.

“So, what do we know now that this guy is dead?”

“The Unsub doesn’t care about who dies now,” Reid explained. “The innocents were just a distraction, but the real targets, it seems, based on the brutality, are the employees of The Edinburg.”

“So, it’s personal.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan’s phone started ringing, probably with a call from Garcia because he smiled and answered with, “Hey, baby girl.” And then he put the call on speaker.

“Oh, you guys are going to love me,” Garcia said excitedly.

“We already do.”

“Yes, but even more now. I just found out that our first victim at The Edinburg that Sean knew about, Erik Sullivan, and our recently and dearly departed Hatchitt parents, all withdrew money on the days of their deaths from the same ATM. Where is said ATM, you might be asking yourself, well, it’s located in a bodega two blocks from The Edinburg.”

“You’re right, we do love you, Garcia, thank you,” I said. I looked at the boys. “You wanna go check it out while I talk to Hotch?” They nodded and started walking towards one of the black SUVs. I spun around on my heels once they were gone, looking far and wide for Hotch, only to find that he was relaxing against a brick wall on the opposite end of the alley, hiding in the shadows. I headed over to him. “Okay, Batman, what gives?”

“I’m still worried about Sean,” he admitted. “I hate that I am, though, because I’m honestly sick of this. I keep saying it again and again, but I really mean it this time, Y/N, and I need your support on this.” He looked up at me. “I told you that I was done playing his games after he didn’t show up to Haley’s funeral. I found out that you had invited him to the wedding anyhow—”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I did. You suck at lying to me.”

I smirked. “Or so you think.”

He grinned, too, but after a moment, it faded again. “Once I know that Sean’s safe, this is over. I don’t want our family getting dragged into anymore of my brother’s messes. My job is to protect you, love of my life,” he put his hands on my cheeks, “and our children back at home. Being raised by a distant relative who’s prone to bad habits isn’t a good role model to have around. We’ve worked too hard to protect Jack and Scar to have Sean keep coming back and fucking it all up.”

“I get that, Aaron, I really do…” I put my hands on his shoulders. “But Sean is our family the same way Jessica and Elle are. Therefore, his messes are always going to be our messes. We can’t forget that.”

“I can, and I’m choosing to after this.”

“Hotch, he’s your brother.”

“I know, which is why I want to protect him right now.” He groaned when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. “Hotchner.” His attention suddenly snapped up to me. “Sean, I need you to come in. I think that the Unsub might be targeting Edindurg employees. You’re safer with us at the precinct.” Silence for a bit. “I know that you didn’t kill him, Sean. I also know why you ran.” A beat as I raised a curious brow. “Just come in so that we can protect you. No, wait, Sean—” Hotch pulled the phone away from his ear after his brother hung up on him. “Shit.”

My phone buzzed this time, and I almost expected that it was Sean, for some reason. My hopes dropped somewhat, though, when I saw that it was just JJ, letting me know that Thane cracked without much pressure, giving us everything he knew. We knew about the entire distribution line now because we offered him protection against the Unsub. He told them that the PMMA was coming through a private airport outside of the city. Garcia was already looking into employees who could’ve had a stressor recently to convince them to smuggle the drug and distribute it as a means of murder.

I told Hotch as we headed back to the SUV so that we could race back to the office to catch up with everyone. When we got there, JJ, Rossi, and Strauss were on a video call with Garcia as she looked something up. They asked where Morgan and Reid were. I told them that they were going to take a look at the ATM and the bodega where the victims had supposedly bought the wine, just to see if we could make a connection there. Hotch and I took a seat when no one said anything else.

“Uh oh,” Garcia muttered, typing faster.

“Uh oh?” Strauss questioned.

“I ran financial records for all the people who work at the Franklin Airport, just like I said I would, and I found this one baggage handler, Mike Spiers, who’s been making ridiculously large cash deposits to his checking account on a weekly basis.”

“That could mean he’s the Unsub.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but then I found the ‘uh oh’ part. He’s been dead for four weeks.”

“Someone’s taken his place. Whoever is making those deposits is our Unsub,” Hotch said. “It’s probably another baggage handler who knew about Spiers’ death and was paid to look the other way, just like Sean was at the club.”

“Garcia, do any of the baggage handlers show a history of drug abuse?” I asked her up on the screen.

“None. They’re surprisingly squeaky clean.”

“What about drug-related deaths in the family recently?” Hotch questioned. I thought about how great minds thought alike.

“I saw something earlier…” She trailed off while researching. “Larry Feretich—Right, yes, okay, I got it. Larry Feretich’s daughter died two months ago of a suspected ecstasy overdose—I’m so sorry I didn’t spot it earlier, Hotch.”

“You weren’t looking for family; it’s okay.”

“Where did she die?” Rossi asked.

“The Obsidian, which is the other club that Jim Peters owned.”

“There’s the stressor and the personal vendetta for you.”

“Where is he now?” Strauss spoke up.

“He’s scheduled to be working right now.”

Hotch pulled out his phone and started texting someone. “Morgan and Reid are already half way there, we’ll send them to meet up with SWAT and arrest him.”

“Seems like Sean can come back now since we’ve exonerated him,” I said. I stood up and passed my hand over his, knowing that I couldn’t plainly touch him while Strauss was around.

Hotch nodded. “I’ll let him know to meet us at the penthouse, I suppose, since our weekend isn’t technically over yet.”

“You’re damn right it’s not. I meant what I said about a godson,” Rossi joked.

We smiled politely at him before waving goodbye to everyone and heading out of the Field Office to go back to the penthouse. In the car, while I was driving, Hotch texted Sean. I took his had in mine and squeezed. We were okay. Our weekend wasn’t completely ruined yet. Everything was going to be fine.

When we got there, Hotch stayed in the entryway, waiting impatiently. I asked him what was wrong. He looked at me and shook his head, insisting that it was nothing.

“We don’t lie to each other, remember?” I interrogated.

“I’m not lying, baby, I’m just protecting you from the truth. They’re different.” He looked at me. “Can you accept that this one time? For me?”

I nodded, then continued to wait with him silently until there was a knock at the door, encouraging Hotch to quickly open the door and invite Sean in. He waved politely at me and I returned the favor. Hotch was staring at me, though, trying to tell me something that I didn’t recognize this time around. I knew all of his looks, but not this one.

“Can you give us some privacy, baby?” he whispered.

“Sure. I love you,” I whispered back, leaning in to kiss him quickly.

He grabbed my hips. “I love you, too. I’ll meet you in there soon.”

We kissed again before letting go of each other, giving me the freedom to wave goodbye to Sean over my shoulder, then make my way to the bedroom.

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel @Braxdix

[snowdice]

Virgil’s Friends Don’t Get Dead Training (Birds of Different Feathers Series) [100,000 Word Special]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan, Virgil & Patton, (future Virgil/Patton

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Patton

Summary: Virgil loves his family and wants them to be safe. His methods are... unconventional, but done out of love. 

Notes: Assassin, poison, knives, strangulation (none of these... actually happen, but they’re mentioned) 

This is my 100,000 word celebration for the Birds of Different Feathers series. I wrote 9 drabbles (100 words each) and 1 double drabble.

The Birds of Different Feathers series consists of two major stories: Little Kestrel and Kill Dear. Both are stand alone, if connected and these drabbles mostly will happen between Little Kestrel and Kill Dear.

Logan’s head jerked up from his book when a small, soft ball smacked him in the head. He narrowed his eyes at Virgil. “No,” he said firmly. Another ball smacked him on the head. “Stop.”

“Catch it,” Virgil insisted from his seat on the floor a few feet away.

“I cannot catch things.”

“Learn.”

“Virgil.”

“What if someone throws a knife at you?! You need to be prepared!”

“No one is going to thr-” Another of the balls smacked him in the head. “How many of those do you have?!” Another ball to the face was his answer.

“Virgil. No.”

~

Logan rushed into the courtyard looking frazzled. “What did you do with our notes for the budget meeting?” he asked Patton.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked. “They were on the desk.”

“Well, they aren’t now.”

“But…” Patton straightened and slowly turned to Virgil who’d been acting cagey all morning. “Where are they?”

He cocked his head to the side and then looked up.

Patton and Logan both look up to see a box somehow attached to the wall about 10 feet above their heads.

“Get them down,” Logan ordered.

“Climb for them.”

“Virgil, we need those!”

“Climb. For. Them.”

~

Patton was minding his own business, walking towards the kitchens to see Mama. After all these years, he did feel a slight tingle of awareness, but it was far too late. He was already being tackled from behind.

Patton groaned once he’d realized what had happened.

“I followed you from the library!” Virgil chided, pinning Patton to the ground by the shoulders.

Patton groaned again.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings!”

“I know, I know. Can you let me up now?”

“No! Consequence!” The consequence was apparently being thoroughly hugged.

“We’re in the middle of the hallway!”

~

“I’m a medium skilled knife user,” Virgil proclaimed, brandishing a knife in a way he’d taught Logan not to. “Now, take the knife away from me.”

“Not right now, Virgil,” Logan said, not turning from his book.

“Take it away from me, or I’ll stab you with it.”

“You will not sta- ahck!”

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

“It didn’t hurt.” The false blade had given way, but it had sent some aggravating… sensation across his nerves. “It was just very uncomfortable.”

“Virgil,” Patton said. “You can’t- eek!”

“Take the knife away from me,” Virgil said once more. “Or else.”

~

“Did you eat the muffin?”

Patton blinked over at Virgil. “Did I eat… what did you do to it?”

Virgil tilted his head. “Hmm… what did I do to it?”

“Virgil, please no more poison training,” Patton moaned. Virgil just leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Do I get a hint?”

“No.”

Patton pouted at him pleadingly.

Virgil pursed his lips. “I used cherries to make the poison flavor stand-in.”

“So, a cherry flavored poison. Thanks, sweetie!”

“You have an hour until death.”

“And what’s ‘death’ this time?”

“You’ll start burping bubbles.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Hmm, we’ll see.”

~

Virgil ushered Logan into the room, which he fondly allowed. Logan’s day was unbusy, and the inconvenience of Virgil’s ‘training’ was worth giving him an outlet for his recent heightened anxiety.

He squinted at Virgil when he saw the contents, or rather occupants, of the room. “You all consented to being here, I hope,” Logan said. All three castle workers nodded, though the clear indulgent bemusement on everyone’s faces had already answered. “What’s the test?”

“Who has a knife?”

“Sally, obviously,” considering the maid’s stifled laughter.

“Good! What type of knife?”

“…How could I know that?!”

“…There’s work to do.”

~

“How many of those do you have?!” Logan yelled at the gremlin above him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he shot back.

“Yes!” Another two things smacked his forehead. “What are these? Snail shells? Where would you get snail shells? Acorns? It’s not the right season!”

“For someone so smart, you’re really stupid Lo.”

A few more smacked his head. Logan glared up at him.

“What?” Virgil hopped down from the ledge he was on. “Patton escaped 30 minutes ago. You’re still trying to figure out what they are.”

Logan frowned.

“Stop over thinking things… also practice dodging aerial attacks.”

~

“Awareness training!”

Patton startled awake as something large landed on top of him. “Noooo,” he groaned without even opening his eyes.

“Yes!” Virgil proclaimed.

“It’s sleep time,” he lamented.

“Assassins don’t wait for the daytime.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Patton grumbled.

Patton felt hands gently touch his neck and scrunched up his nose; they were cold. “I’m strangling you,” Virgil informed him. “What do you do?”

Patton peaked opened one eye. “Die I guess,” he said tiredly.

“No!”

“Virgil it’s the middle of the night. I’m tired.”

“Assassins don’t care. Now apprehend me.”

“…Can I use the cookie sheet?” he grumbled.

~

Patton tried to stifle his laughter. He wasn’t doing a good job, but it didn’t matter because Logan was too distracted.

“Unlock this box right now!” Logan commanded in his best princely tone.

Virgil looked at him, seemingly bored. “No.”

“Right now!”

“Let Patton have another turn with the lock pick,” Virgil suggested.

“No,” Logan snapped. “No more lock pick. Key! Now!”

“It’s training.”

“Give me back the Pragilium text or else.”

“It’s the only thing that’s motivated you to do lock picking training.”

“You’re grounded.”

Virgil laughed. “You can’t ground me.”

“I’ll get Dad to ground you… stop laughing!”

~

“Tuck your head in a little more next time,” Virgil instructed once Patton rolled to a stop on the squishy mat, “but pretty good.” He turned to Logan. “Your turn!” His foot swept Logan’s legs out from under him without warning. Logan’s arms pinwheeled, and he landed flat on his face. “Come on Logan! You can do better!”

Logan slowly peeled his face off the mat to glare at the blurry figure above him. “I wasn’t ready.”

“You should always be ready!”

Logan returned his face to the mat.

Patton giggled. “Come on, it’s kinda fun.”

“It’s not fun,” Virgil insisted. “It’s important!”

Logan turned his head to look at Patton.

Patton slowly smiled and stood while Logan stayed on the ground. “Are you sure it’s not fun?” he asked.

“Yes! It’s seri-ah!” Logan lunged and wrapped his arms around Virgil’s ankles as Patton shoved him down. “Hey!” Virgil sputtered as he halfheartedly wrestled with Patton.

“Fun!”

“No!” but he let Patton pin him.

“Yes!” Patton replied, poking him in the sides.

He yelped and then growled. “Fine. You want fun? I’ll give you fun!”

Patton shrieked as Virgil flipped them. That was the end of training for that day.

Want to read more? Click below!

Birds of Different Feathers Master Post

My Masterpost.

[hyodles]

a3 at karaoke hcs

note: this has been in my drafts for sO long but i’ve been scared to post anything writing-wise to do w/ a3 fdkbgdfj (also i may have forgotten a few members, if so, gomenasorry 😭)

• you don’t know who suggested karaoke as a team-building exercise with all four troupes in the same room, but whoever it was should write an apology to you and everyone else RIGHT. NOW. lets just say, it was a bad idea.

• itaru’s sitting in a corner next to an outlet, his phone charging whilst he’s playing a game on his switch 

• hisoka was sprawled onto the nearest couch & had somehow fallen AND stayed asleep throughout the noise the entire time

• yuki just deadass refuses to go because he Knows that it’s gonna be a shitstorm

• kazunari and misumi find a triangle and a tambourine in the room (prolly used to back up the vocals) & Chaos then ensues. misumi is determined to play the triangle at all times, and both of them decide to play their instruments at very inconvenient times (and for kazunari, hitting the tambourine loud enough to drown out the singer)

• for example, the bass dropped on a song and there was a silence, building up to a final riff-

• or, there SHOULD have been a silence, as it was immediately cut through with a T I N G! from misumi’s triangle

• you’d never seen banri more likely to kill someone that WASN’T juza until then.

• tenma & banri take karaoke VERY seriously & nag at the people who are goofing around (read: kazu and misumi) and eventually get kicked out, so they secure their own room in the place)

• sakuya and muku, bless their hearts, claps for everyone and gives words of encouragement/compliments before AND after every song, but are usually cut off by tenma/banri (let’s be real, its usually banri) yelling about how shit the person is at karaoke fdjd

• tasuku refuses to sing until his boyfriend best friend tsumugi asks him to duet with him, and even then he is Embarrassed

• masumi just serenades you with love song after love song, citron starts trying to do stand up comedy with tsuzuru (who rlly just wants to sleep bc pls give this man a break and also a good sleeping schedule

• sakyo leaves p near the beginning of the night, before the worst chaos ensues (e.g. kazunari/misumi’s chaos) because he’s Too Old for this karaoke shit (his words, not mine) and also he has an early bedtime. let him sleep also. pls.

• taichi is super excited b/c its his first time at karaoke!!! but also at the same time he’s trying to play it ~Cool~ in front of everyone so he chooses like a fast rap or something, then fails miserably and prolly cries abt it afterwards jbgdgkd

• eventually homare takes over the mic and starts loudly reciting his poems in a rlly strange sing-song voice until everyone decides to leave bc its just. Too Much.

• one thing was for sure: you would NEVER go on an outing with the entire MANKAI company ever AGAIN

[agreyeyedgirl]

Small Things I Have Done to Improve My Space which have helped me feel accomplished and made my life better in little ways:

Got a new remote-control-outlet set + an extension cord with sideways outlets--I’ve had hanging lamps in my room for ages, with outlet adapters so I can turn them on and off with a remote from bed (since the switch on the cord invariably ends up inaccessible). This system worked great for a long time, but not with my current set-up (if the remote was where I could reach it off the bed, I couldn’t put it back from IN the bed, so it ended up on the wall shelf on the far side. I would turn off the overhead light, feel my way into bed in the dark, and then fumble for the remote, hoping I didn’t knock it off into the void between the bed and the wall). I also had one lamp that I wanted to control with the remote, but I couldn’t get the adapter onto an outlet without doing something Unsafe with extension cords. SO I got a new set of adapters with two remotes! and used removable velcro strips to attach one to the wall by the lightswitch and one to the underside of my nighstand shelf--I can turn on my lamps from the door and off from bed! I can still pull the remotes off and carry them around if I want! The new set is also less bulky, and with the new extension cord I could fit three adapters on one (including the lamp that had nowhere to plug in before) so it’s much tidier than before and another outlet was freed up entirely. 

Replaced the ripped paper globe lanterns over my bed with NYMÖ lampshades from Ikea + replaced the lightbulbs with gold-dipped bulbs--the old paper lanterns were just. old. and they trapped a LOT of dust. But once I put up the lampshades it meant that lying in bed = looking directly up at the bulb. The dipped bulbs are much friendlier on my eyeballs and still give plenty of light, especially reflecting off of the shiny inside of the  NYMÖ shades. 

Pasted lace over my window--opening and closing blinds is a burden. I want sunlight in my room. I cannot be bothered to open and close blinds. My window faces a blank brick wall two yards away--but also there was a very close call where I nearly flashed the neighbor’s lawnmower guy. I’ve talked for literal years about getting a frosted film or something to put over the window, but I could never find something I liked that was affordable and that didn’t seem like a huge pain to install. I finally got a $7 lace curtain panel, cut it to size, and then glued it to the windowpane with cornstarch paste. Light! Privacy! No Dusty Blinds! No infuriating bubbles because the lace doesn’t trap air! Cheap! And reversible! 

Got a rolling laptop desk + replaced the wheels + got a power strip with USB ports and mounted it on the wall--I do any computer stuff at home in a nook at the foot of my bed, and it was okay-ish when I had one laptop. I just set it on my lap to work, and when I got up I set it on my ottoman. Except then I got a new laptop, only to find that I needed to keep my old laptop if I want to use Audacity. Oh, and my old laptop doesn’t have a working battery, so it Must Be Plugged In or all is lost! Ugh. Rolling laptop desk means both computers have a place to live, the new wheels mean it actually rolls well (the old casters were garbage), the wall mounted power strip means I’m not fumbling on the floor under my chair or accidentally unplugging things because I got the wrong cord caught on my foot. A little bit of cord organization with twist ties keeps the mess contained (and attached to the crossbar under the desk)--the only thing I still need to do is borrow my sister’s label maker and add tags to the plugs to make sure I know which is which. 

Swapped my extremely bulky ottoman for a small ottoman with bonus storage so I could tuck away the throw pillows and blankets that aren’t in rotation.

Treated myself to new silk pillowcases since my old set was getting tattered

Set up a ‘landing pad’ near the door + got a motion detector lamp for it--this was a joint effort with my mom, since it’s not in my room. It’s actually in the dining room, around the corner from the front door. There’s a tray for my keys and it’s a place where I can put things that need to leave the house with me, like library books or outgoing mail. But the dining room light switch is in an awkward place, and fumbling for it irritated me, so a $12 battery powered motion sensor lamp was the solution (my mom did not understand why it was such a problem for me to turn on the light, but shrugged and said I could put whatever lamp I liked). 10/10 can recommend, it brings me joy. 

Put a roll-on perfume by my keys, so that I can dab a bit on when I’m leaving. I really like this scent (which is not anything fancy, it’s the Disney Beauty and the Beast ‘Enchanted Beauty’ fragrance that was sold at Hot Topic and Torrid, and which hilariously isn’t rose scented, apparently? it’s ‘caramel, mandarin, orange blossom, cedar & sandalwood’, but it’s nice and it works on my skin! which most perfumes don’t), but when it was in the bathroom I never thought to use it. Now I’m using it every day and it’s very pleasant. 

Got a new toilet brush--the old one was grungy and fell over all the time! the new on is small and slim and silicone, which is weird but it works, and it attaches to the wall so it’s off the floor entirely and can’t fall over. 

Things I’ve ordered:

motion detector nightlights for the hallway, because I hate walking down dark hallways

an adhesive hand towel bar because the hand towel ring in the bathroom in inconveniently placed 

a digital clock for the bathroom wall because there’s a time vortex in there

a ‘cooling’ mattress pad because I turn into a furnace when I sleep, and the purple mattress is extremely comfortable and the material it’s made of is temperature neutral, but it doesn’t have air flow, so once the air pocket beneath me heats up to my ridiculously high body temperature I get sweaty. 

[jiskblr]

Blauprinz and his crew

My blood parents I never knew. Berliners, probably, but they left me in an anarchist-affiliated charity orphanage in Potsdam before I was six months old, so all I know for sure is that they named me Artur. I was adopted fairly late as these things go, about five, by the people who I consider my parents: Jurgen and Verena Carolingt. They could have had blood children, but chose to adopt, and frequently. When I was twelve I had five foster-sibs, but they slowed down after that; I only have two more sibs from the next decade, and they were adopted as the eldest four of us moved out. That's not counting Leo, who was their second fosterling; he was a real hellraiser and chafed at the academic's morality they tried to enforce, so he ran away to join a street gang. I got back in touch with him years later; for all that he left, he was as angry as me about - but that's getting ahead of myself.

My parents were academics, professors at Viadrina Universitat in Frankfurt-Oder, but in their more subtle way raised hell just as much as Leo. They grew up during the first partition, Da in East Germany and Ma in West Berlin, and they both hated the idea of hiding what they believed to cater to the powerful. They didn't budge in their convictions that everyone deserved a chance or that their conclusions deserved to be followed to their end. They believed in equality and metahuman rights, even when that was fairly unpopular, and they lived it. I'm a norm as were they, but my sibs are an even split of norms and orks plus one dwarf. They didn't adopt elves, who got snapped up more easily by more prejudiced parents, nor trolls, who posed logistical hurdles they didn't think they could deal with. (They felt bad about leaving out trolls, though, and donated generously to several charities for them. I do too, now, in their memory.) They budged just as little in their research, not even to stay quiet about it. When their research topics - applied sociology and economics of magic, for Da and Ma, respectively - developed from postulates to specific, inconvenient predictions and prescriptions for the practical world which got the corps to lean on their deans to quiet them down or kick them out, even so they stuck to their guns.

That pressure started to build around when I turned 18, and got worse as I went through my degree. When it all went to hell, I was a post-doc in applied modern theology - university-speak for 'shaman-ology' - and Zanne was a thesis candidate in high-energy experimental thaumics - studying when magic goes 'boom'. Gabi had given academia a serious try but it wasn't for her, so she'd become a net security wageslave in Potsdam - though honestly she'd be happier as a SINless decker. Fritz and Deb were undergrads at Viadrina, and Jost, Lotte, and Sascha were still young and at home. I don't understand what exactly was enraging the powers that be about their research; I think Mother had published something demonstrating that the publicly-known processes for producing refined orichalcite should produce a far lower market price, indicating that there was a covert cartel, and Father had models indicating that parts of the Eurowars didn't fit naturally with the known social dynamics pre-bellum, indicating deliberate provocation by some powerful force. True or not, either might have been the provocation. There had been escalating threats, but I wasn't living there, so I didn't hear about that; later, when I researched the background, I learned there’d been a fire started in the garage, broken windows, a chemical warfare agent left hissing in Dad's office after hours. But the first I heard of it was when I was back home, a week in late April, for Easter and Mother's birthday.

When some fucking Johnson carpet-firebombed the entire fucking house.

I don't know if they knew we'd be there. They had to know there were innocent children, there; Jost and Sascha weren't even ten yet. My parents died in the first few seconds, their corpses vaporized. Lotte was hugging Mother, so she was, too, and Fritz was just far enough away to leave dental records. Jost was less lucky; he roasted, but not quickly, and survived three hours before he died in agony. Deb lost a leg and an eye and as far as I know the pain's never stopped. Sascha was in the other room and got out, with severe scarring but none disabling. Zanne as well. Gabi wasn't there; the bosses wouldn't give her time off, and I'm not sure if that was a mercy or a curse. I was next to Father, and as far as the records know, I flash-fried like Lotte. But I'm a shaman of the Dragonslayer, and the fire washed over me. I tried to shield Dad with my body, but my totem isn't a protector; it preserved me, and much better than it would most of its shamans, but that didn't extend to him. I tried to help Jost when I realized he'd lived, but he told me to run and get revenge. I didn't realized Zanne or Sascha made it until much later; Zanne had hit her head and went unconscious quickly, and Sascha's response to pain always was to freeze up. But I kept it together enough to get to the basement, and there was ductwork Zanne had discovered years earlier and shown me, which connected it to three doors down. She'd also shown me the nearest part of the Berlin Underground - we snuck out through that ductwork - which had an ork gang she'd run with sometimes, so I thanked her memory about a hundred times that night. The gang leader by then, Ratbite, turned out to be one of the toughs she'd run with, and recognized me. I wasn't shy about using her memory to get a favor, and traded my shamanic skills - and some medical assistance - to get help going completely dark, wiping me from the databases so I could go truly SINless. He was pretty pissed when he found out she wasn't dead, but by then the favor was spent, and when she went dark as well she did him a couple favors and he mostly forgave me and accepted my excuse that I'd thought I was telling him the truth.

The official story was that the firebombs were thrown by a human-supremacist policlub, Nationale Aktion I believe, who objected to our outspokenly mixed-race family. This was bullshit, but plausible enough bullshit that the department heads and local politicians could easily pretend to believe it and be seen to Do Something in response, without that Something doing anything to harm corporate interests. Sascha I think believes that story, or prefers to act like he does. Deb, Gabi, and Zanne, though, didn't. And Zanne was good at causing explosions, but terrible at keeping her temper in check. She retaliated, with prejudice. Headline-making prejudice, which is how I and my temporary friend Ratbite learned she was alive. She had a big bounty for a couple years, but some anarchists gave her shelter before the corps reacted, and from there she became a runner as well. She didn't know I'd survived, though she did suspect, so I found her first, and joined the crew she ran with at the time. After that one came apart, the two of us have assembled all our future crews together. Well, mostly me, I'm the Face, but she still has better ties in anarchist and goblinoid circles; there's a lot of orks and trolls who won't trust a smoothskin, even one like me with an established rep.

Our vengeance is still a work in progress. The men who carried out the hit were deniable contractors, corp security from a minor place. They went down in an op our second year running, and the company got enough blowback from that job that it folded a year later. Finding out who gave the order is not quite done, but we've narrowed the field. I've got a solid network, and, well, my surviving siblings aren't any happier about it than me. Sascha pushed back when Zanne tried to contact him; I think he wants to put it behind him. Deb's a professor herself now, but she hasn't given up on justice, and Gabi-. She works for the corps, and counter to the ork stereotype is a very cold person in most ways; rationally, I know that gave me reasonable cause to doubt her. But after we finally made contact, we found her heart was cold, but a cold-burning hatred. A grudge aged like wine, but still so raw and deep that it feels unthinkable she could have made any other choice. Even the idea that she might have sided with her bosses over her family feels completely embarrassing to have considered. And Leo, like I said earlier, was almost as mad; he left home, but he still loved them for giving him a home to run from. (I hadn't realized, but he sent them gifts every Christmas, mostly hand-made, from the first year he'd left right through their deaths - he didn't learn about their deaths until he tried to deliver their gifts that year.) He's a complete ork stereotype, though, his anger is intense and searing. He'll let it go for months and then find something that reminds him again and smash up some corp's office, mostly at random. I try to give him more productive outlets when I can, but he refuses to go professional runner so he's probably going to end up landing in an early grave with his gang despite my best efforts. Not that we're really close, but I've lost too much family to let my crazy ex-brother join them.

[cami-chats]

College Boyfriend

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV)

Pairing: Five Hargreeves/Diego Hargreeves

Summary: Five was a condescending know-it-all, made all the worse to his project partners by the fact that he did know all of the material already. The university wifi crashing ends with them at Five's apartment, and they leave with more questions about his personal life than before.

Read below or on AO3

Five liked his life. It was strange to think after so many years of not being content let alone happy, but he was. All of his siblings were a phone call away. Allison was on the other side of the country, but she was still reachable. The Academy had gotten a makeover, so Vanya and Klaus had moved back in with Luther.

And then of course there was Diego, but Five saw Diego every single day in the apartment they shared. Convincing Diego to move out of his back room at the gym hadn't been as easy as Five had imagined, but in the end, he'd been triumphant. Diego still worked at the gym in the evenings, but now he stayed at their apartment in the day or visited the Academy instead of wasting away in that dank hole-- Five's words, not Diego's.

Five spent his days at college, attending classes and doing his homework, and he spent his nights kissing Diego. It was a nice little arrangement, if he did say so. He could've stood to look a little older, though. Diego looked the thirty-five years old that he was, but Five looked to be, at most, twenty-five. He'd like to be forty, maybe forty-five. Forty-five was a nice age. Comfortable in your own skin, but not so old that you were falling apart. He couldn't deny that there was still a bit of an itch under his skin from being so young, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as being a teenager had been.

Looking like he was twenty let him do what he wanted, without any of the aches and pains that age brought. Still. He could've done without his professors talking down, like they knew more than him. Like Doctor Davis, who taught his Shakespeare class. She said that she'd been studying Shakespeare for ten years, and Five wanted to tell her that that wasn't shit because he'd spent a full fifteen years arguing with Delores about Lady Macbeth's motivation-- and they'd disagreed to the very end. But he couldn't say that, which meant he and Doctor Davis spent a lot of time glaring at each other when they talked. He was pretty sure he was the sole reason she'd decided to give them a fucking group project, but she wouldn't admit as much. Diego thought it was funny the way he thought everything was funny when it didn't concern him. What an ass.

*

Five was a pretty weird guy. He was condescending-- which wasn't that weird-- but he actually already knew all the material. There was no reason for him to be in the class other than the degree requirement. It was really easy to be condescending when you were right, they guessed. 'They' being Five's unfortunate partners for the group project that they had in Shakespeare. Five had protested loudly at a group project, but Doctor Davis had only shrugged and said it was part of the curriculum.

They met up at the campus library two times before, and this was the third time so they could finish. Things were going pretty well-- or at least, they started going well once they figured out that Five's insults weren't personal and he didn't really care. It was more like he had no brain to mouth filter, so that every little thought came out where most people would've stopped before saying it-- even with that being said, he was still annoying. They didn't like him, and he didn't like them. For the most part, they ignored that to get the work done.

They were so close to finishing. Another two hours, and they'd be set.

That was when the internet went out. For all of them. They were in the middle of restarting their laptops and reconnecting to the wifi when an announcement went over the PA. "Attention to all occupants. The campus internet is out, and we've been told that it won't be fixed until tomorrow morning at the earliest. We apologize for the inconvenience."

"Shit," Allen breathed. "Does anyone live off campus? I'm in the dorms."

"Me too," Aisha said with a worried frown.

"I live in the sorority house, but it's the same wifi as the campus," Judy said.

None of them really wanted to ask Five, but after clenching his jaw for a moment, he answered on his own. "I guess we can go to my apartment."

"Okay, cool," Allen said, trying not to sound as thrown as he was, and they all started packing up now that they knew what the plan was. "Thanks."

"How long does it take to get to your place on the bus?" Judy asked.

Then, looking even more uncomfortable than before, Five said, "I'll just drive us."

"You have a car?" Judy said, surprised. Five didn't bother to answer, but after seeing the car, it became clear that Five was loaded. What other college kid had a Rolls Royce? She half expected for him to pull up to a swanky condo, but he went to an ordinary looking apartment building and parked.

Every inch of his posture screamed that he didn't want to be inviting them to where he lived, but they were sort of out of options for other places to go. There were coffee shops and shit, but with the campus wifi out, every student that lived in the dorms would be filling those places and there wouldn’t be room for all of them.

Five unlocked the door, and they all filed in, not knowing what to expect from his place. Walls of books would've fit right in with his know-it-all aura, but an empty living room with no decoration also wouldn't have been out of place. The way his living room actually looked was almost too normal. There was a tv set up on a stand that probably hadn't been made for it. There was a small bookshelf stuffed more books than it could easily hold. One couch and a banged up coffee table in front of it with various items on it. There was a poster for an Allison Hargreeves movie on the wall, and what looked like an oil painting.

The thing that really got to them was that Five didn't live alone. It was obvious in the way the living room was built to accommodate two people-- the two hooks for coats and the indent of where two pairs of shoes usually sat at the door, not to mention the set of dishes by the sink that couldn't only be accounted for with only one person. His roommate was either as weird as him, or a normal person trying to ignore his eccentricities, and his project partners hoped that they'd never have the chance to figure it out.

Five grabbed an index card from the tv stand and put it on the coffee table while he worked on clearing the rest of it off. Aisha glanced at the card and realized it was the wifi network information. She pulled out her laptop and tapped impatiently as she waited for it to boot up. She got her internet set up, then passed the index card to Allen since he was next to her. She took a glance around but didn't see an outlet. Her laptop's battery was shit; she wouldn't be able to make it through the evening without plugging it in.

"Hey Five?" Aisha said, the end of her charger in one hand.

He glanced over at her, then nodded to the right of her. "It's at the edge of the couch."

"Thanks."

None of them made themselves comfortable, knowing that this wasn't a social visit. It was an awkward hour as they hurriedly worked, but they didn't get a chance to finish before they were interrupted. And when the interruption came, it came in a big way. Like a fucking superstar walking into the room, because that's exactly what happened. It was Allison Hargreeves! Allison fucking Hargreeves walked into the place holding a massive picture frame.

There was no way Allison Hargreeves was the one who lived here. Simply no way. She had a kid and shit, didn't she? And she wouldn't settle for living in a place like this-- it wasn't a dump or anything, but it wasn't where a famous movie star would live. What the hell was she doing here? Come to think of it, Five's last name was Hargreeves, wasn't it? Maybe they were related somehow. It would certainly explain the expensive car and the better-than-you attitude. Hell, if Aisha had Allison Hargreeves for a sister, she'd think that she was better than everyone else, too.

Another woman walked up behind her, looking like a housewife straight out of a fifties advertisement, from the smile on her face to her perfectly coiffed hair to the short heels on her feet that matched her skirt.

"Oh hey Five," Allison fucking Hargreeves said, like she saw him everyday.

He glanced over at her. "Did you seriously fly over from LA to go shopping with Grace?" Then his eyes flickered over to the other woman. "Hi Grace."

"Hello Five, darling," she said. It was kind of unimaginable that Five let anyone call him darling, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"Actually," Allison Hargreeves said, "I came over to hang out with Diego, and he wanted to go shopping with Mom. I didn't have anything better to do, so I tagged along. He said you were busy tonight." She glanced over at them and smiled, then gave a little wave with her free hand.

They all waved back numbly. "We're working on a group project together," Judy managed to say.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Grace-- Mom??-- asked.

"No," Five said bluntly. "We're not friends."

"You really should make some friends," Grace said, her smile still in place. "They're important for your social development." All he had to do was look at her, and she said, "Sorry dear. It's instinct."

"I can be out of your hair soon, if you want," Allison Hargreeves said.

"Whose hair are we getting out of?" a man asked, kicking the door closed. You ever look at a guy and think 'I don't want to fuck with him'? Yeah, that was this guy. The paper bags he was holding from shopping weren't intimidating, but his clothes barely hid a strong physique, and the scar on his head only added to the badass factor he had going on. Allen was pretty sure the only people that owned boots like that were familiar with breaking people's bones, and he shrank in on himself slightly without thinking about it. Then he saw Five and said, "Hey babe." He said it to Five. Was... was he Five's boyfriend?! Was Five living here with his boyfriend?? "Something wrong with the library?"

"The internet decided to die," he said wryly. "We're almost done."

"Cool." Five's boyfriend (probably boyfriend??) walked towards the bedroom, and Allison Hargreeves and that Grace woman followed him. The door stayed open, but it was far enough away that when they spoke, the group could only hear the murmurs of their voices and not the words that were being said.

They were distracted for a little while by the fact that they'd just met Allison Hargreeves, the most famous and talented actress in Hollywood, but they managed to get the rest of the work done without wasting too much time.

If it were anyone other than Five, they probably would've been able to get an official introduction to her-- maybe a picture or two-- but they finished the project, gave it a quick read-through to make sure there was nothing obvious missing, and then they were being ushered out. Aisha got out her phone and ordered an Uber as they packed up.

Five turned his head and called, "We're done!" down the hallway.

As they left, Judy saw Five kiss the man that had walked in with Allison Hargreeves and Grace. Definitely his boyfriend, then, though personally, she thought that he was too old for Five. She knew better than to say that aloud, so she just said goodbye and that she'd see him in class.

They were all glad that they only had the one class with Five.

[bramblepeltao3]

HBD Ardyn

A tiny ficlet that came to me this morning for the trash man’s birthday

Del smirked, very much pleased with her hiding place. She wondered quietly what she would do the day she was no longer small enough to fit anywhere and everywhere. Perhaps by then she could simply make people do whatever she wanted, no sneaking required. Wouldn’t that be cool?

She worked on controlling her breathing to make sure she was as quiet as possible. There weren’t as many workstations in this office, just the one, so not enough fans were buzzing to mask the inconvenient sounds her body made to exist.

Man, having no body at all would be the most cool.

Finally she could hear the door open and two sets of footsteps walking towards her. ‘Yes,’ she thought to herself, ‘he brought the student in this time.’ That was perfect, it meant the lead scientist would be saying all the important stuff out loud to them. The pair of nice, polished shoes sat in the desk chair while the clean but cheap shoes stood next to it.

“There are a number of clearance steps you have to pass to get into this information,” the lead scientist man began, “first is a username that’s different from your standard one. It’s your first initial, last name, and year of birth.”

Del grinned. She could easily figure out that information for the majority of the employees here.

“And the default password is capital M Magitek1234. Make sure you change it when you get started.”

Jackpot! There was no way every single employee took the time to change their password. She was as good as in now.

“Next you need to enter the security clearance code. Write this down but eventually you should probably memorize it…”

Del closed her eyes and listened intently, knowing the pen and paper that was her own memory would capture it with ease. 

“And finally you have to click the dialogue box asking if you accept responsibility for what you do on the terminal.”

Oh, yes she would happily accept responsibility on someone else’s behalf.

“And you’re in. Now,”

The six year old listened to the tutorial on how to use the charting system. She would probably be able to figure it out herself, given enough time, but she wanted to spend as much of it as possible reading everything she could.

Halfway through the navigation button explanation, the lead scientist adjusted his legs and kicked the bottom of the desk she was hiding under. She flinched instinctively, but successfully stayed quiet.

Until some dust broke loose into the air and made its way to her. She tried to hold back, even keeping her hands held over her nose and mouth. But the reflexes of the human body could not be stopped, and in spite of herself she sneezed. It was small, barely a squeak, but as soon as she made it the man in charge stopped talking. He pushed his chair back from the desk and whispered something she couldn’t make out.

He knew. 

The student bent over, eyes going wide when he saw her. 

“Uh, yes Doctor, there is a-”

“I know, her name is Delphia and she’s a rotten little brat. Her room is in the north hallway, number 375. Take her back there and lock the door.”

Del had a single moment to make a decision: she could easily escape from this situation if she so chose to. She could squirm back up the way she came between the wall and the back of the desk (the gap existed so the computer could be plugged into the wall outlet, she only needed to push it a tiny bit to get through). From there she could jump back to the ventilation opening and escape. But then everyone would know her secret passageways and there would certainly be repercussions. So the other option was to simply make this idiot teenager think she was an innocent little girl and ditch his grasp the moment the door opened.

Del put on her best innocent little kid face and crawled out from under the desk. Luckily the dust was already making her eyes water, and she used that to make herself look even more pathetic.

“I’m sorry doctor! I was scared and needed to hide!” She said, laying it on even thicker when she looked towards the younger man.

“You’re a liar and a waste of everyone’s time. This isn’t a daycare, go back to your room!” The old man who had no power over her commanded.

Del temporarily stifled her pride and sniffled. “Yes Sir.” She took the boy’s hand and let him walk her to the door. She had everything she needed now anyway.

“So, Delphia right? How old are you?” The boy asked as they walked through the doorway.

“I’m six years old…” she answered quietly.

“You’re kind of young to be in a place like this. What were you hiding from?”

Del forced her lip to tremble. “The monsters,” she whispered, “they’re all over and they said they’re gonna get me.”

“Awe, I’m sure nothing here would want to hurt a cute little kid like you!”

She tired of this exchange. Pretending to be a big baby made her skin crawl but it certainly had its benefits.

“You can just leave me here, I can get back by myself,” she said while rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

“Oh it’s no trouble Delly.”

WHAT did this guy just call her?

“I’m sorry for being a bother, I know all of you guys are super busy.” She could feel herself willing him to let go of her hand.

The boy looked at her, then back towards the office, and spent a long amount of time trying to think. Del swore she could see smoke coming out of his ears.

“I’d better do what he said. It’s okay though, do you want to sing a song while we walk to make it less scary?”

Fuck. Time for Operation Shock Value.

“No, I don’t want to fucking sing, are you stupid?” Del asked in her normal voice.

The words had their intended effect as the boy let go of her hand and stepped back in disbelief at what he heard.

Del took a moment to stick her tongue out, expose her middle finger, and took off running.

“W-wait, hey, Delphia!” His loud footsteps were quick behind her. The older scientists were much easier to run from.

She turned a corner slightly too fast and slid, barely recovering before falling and continuing on. It gave him enough time to close the gap she’d pushed so hard to create. Just as she thought her fun today was over with, she turned another corner and-

“Uncle Ardyn!” She squealed, slowing to a stop and reaching her arms up to the only adult in the whole star who was worth a damn.

“Well well, what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into today, Delphia?” The Chancellor asked as the boy’s footsteps stopped behind her.

“Ch-chancellor Izunia?” He asked.

“One and the same,” Ardyn answered with a grin, scooping Del up into his arms. She turned and spit out her tongue once again in a show of victory. “Has my little niece been giving you trouble?”

“N-nie-? Uh, Chancellor, Sir, I was asked to-”

“He was chasing me! I was just trying to play a game and he was so mean.” Del turned to give her puppy dog eyes to Uncle Ardyn. It was simply for the fun of it, as she knew the man could always see right through her.

“Tsk tsk,” Ardyn wagged his finger at her before poking her on the nose, “now what have we said about lying, little finch?”

“That it’s a normal coping mechanism for children from abusive households,” she repeated from memory.

“Indeed it is. And?”

Del huffed. “And it’s still a bad behavior and I should do better to stop relying on it…”

“Very good. You can return to your business now, young man,” Ardyn said politely. He turned around and began to walk down the long hallway, still carrying Del gently. 

“Uncle Ardyn I didn’t know you’d be here today!” Del chirped.

He chuckled. “Your father asked me to come by for a special presentation. And one you shouldn’t even think about listening in on.”

“Aaawe,” Del whined. He was the one person she didn’t want to disappoint. So if he said she shouldn’t do something, she would usually behave.

Usually. 

“Now now, you wouldn’t mope about on your Uncle Ardyn’s birthday would you?” 

“Birthday?” Del asked. She knew in theory that birthdays were an important thing. Her birthdays until now were an excuse for her mother to throw another big party to show her off like a prop. Her sixth birthday came and went with nothing but a simple gift from Uncle Ardyn: a small orange cake. It was the best thing she’d ever eaten in her whole life.

She began to feel a distressing disappointment. “I...I didn’t get you anything!” 

Uncle Ardyn laughed before kneeling and putting her down in front of her personal computer terminal. “I have no need of material possessions, but if you would like to do something nice for me on this day, perhaps you could mind your manners at tonight’s dinner?”

She rolled her eyes and stifled a whine. If that’s what he wanted then that was what she would do.

“Okay…” She forgot tonight was her weekly Dinner with Dad night. She much preferred eating in the cafeteria with the interns who found her wit and sass charming. Also they had better food in the cafeteria. “What should I study today?” She asked before climbing into her chair and turning on her terminal.

“Hmm, why don’t you learn how an engine works? And give me a full report at the end of the day.”

She nodded enthusiastically. She loved updating the Chancellor with everything she learned between his visits.

“Yes! I can do that!”

“Very good, now that’s why you’re my favorite niece.” He gave her another gentle tap on the nose, eliciting a snorting giggle.

“Do you have any other nieces?” She asked.

“Oh, now and then.” He gave her a quick pat on the head, and made his way to her father’s workroom.

Uncle Ardyn was so weird. That’s why she loved him.

[bonesaldente]

Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

ca·​lig·​i·​nous

adjective Dark, dim, or misty.

summary: You are a contract killer. After one particular job for somebody who you think is a Sith lord, you unwillingly get caught up in his quest to rid the galaxy of the Jedi and establish total domination for the Sith. The more time you two spend with each other, however, the closer you get. Complications ensue - can you fight them while giving in to passion?

*set before the events of the Phantom Menace

warnings: violence, eventually smut (one scene that can be skipped)

(you can also read this on ao3 here)

Chapter 1: The Hitwoman

ca·lig·i·nous

adjective

Dark, dim, or misty.

------

You hold your breath. A good 20 feet before you stands the target, an insectoid from Geonosis, its wing adorned back turned to you. You are far out in the forest, nobody close enough to witness the crime that is about to happen.

Rule number 1: No witnesses

The creature now bends down to pick another mushroom - they have been in high demand recently because of their freshly discovered effects on the brain, and the insectoid is just one of many spice traders who are trying to profit off it. It’s the reason you have been hired, you think.

Rule number 2: No questions about the motive

Slowly, careful as to not rustle any leaves, you lift your dagger. One quick slit through the throat and it will be over, as the rules demand. You are about to jump forward and finish the job, when a bird behind you decides to break the silence and cry as if it were being murdered itself. 

The Geonosian spins around and immediately spots you as you lunge forward to try and keep your advantage, but it’s too late. He jumps aside and you just barely miss him, cursing under your breath as he starts running away. 

You run after him, slowing your steps as you realize which way he is going. Subtly grinning to yourself, you put the dagger back into its holster, taking out the machete that’s on your back. 

He is running towards the river. The insectoid, from the planet that’s basically a desert, is unknowingly running towards the only source of water in a 100 miles radius. 

You pick up the speed again, not wanting to lose sight of it. The sound of water flowing is already in your ears and you can see the target again, still running towards the water. Running so fast you could almost think it knew how to…

...swim.

You very nearly cry out in anger as you watch it jump into the water without hesitation, breaking into a full sprint to catch up to it. Geonosians can’t swim, right? Their bodies aren’t made for activities like this, unless… 

Your jaw clenches as the realization hits you. There is exactly one subspecies of Geonosians that knows how to swim, and it makes up less than 5 percent of their population, a detail that the client certainly mentioned, but Magnus chose to deem irrelevant for you. 

Rule number 3: No unfinished jobs

You sigh as you jump into the water as well, letting it pull you into its cold, all-encompassing embrace. Diving, you can see the target that’s been underwater for well over thirty seconds, indicating it -unlike you- has some kind of device that supplies it with oxygen. You start swimming towards it, all the while holding your breath and trying to calm your quick heart rate to increase the time you get before you need to come back up. The Geonosian is too focused on swimming away to realize that you are following it and getting closer with every second. You reach out with one hand, so close to grabbing the little device in its mouth, when it suddenly turns its body to face you and punches you in the face, the water slowing down your movements too much for you to block it. You see stars, both from the impact and the fact you are slowly running out of oxygen, but nevertheless you face it again and try to move its attention away from protecting its face and on the little blade you pull out with your left hand. You try to get a slice at its guts, and as it grabs your wrist in defense, you reach out with your right arm again and manage to rip the device from its mouth, immediately moving to get back to the land. 

Air streams into your lungs as you break through the water surface, a gasp leaving your lips while you pull yourself on land on the root of a tree that has grown half into the river. You don't wait, but position yourself on one knee and take out your blaster, watching the rippling surface attentively.

It will have to reveal itself from the security of the tainted water soon, now that its breath is running out. It can only be a matter of seconds…

There. Bubbles appear on the water surface, and a few seconds later, that weird, bony head follows. 

You take the shot and it goes straight through its skull, blue blood mixing with the brownish water around it.

At last you allow your body to relax somewhat, flopping down on the forest ground and leaning your back against the trunk of a tree.

“I better get paid extra for this,” you mumble as you unlock the beeping comlink on your wrist. It must be Magnus, wondering why it’s taking you so long to check in.

“Yes?” You answer the call annoyedly, still angered that he forgot to tell you something so crucial.

“You need to come to Felicia’s. Right now”

“Can’t this wait? I only got done just now and I-”

“No. Meet me right away. This is important.” He hangs up before you can retaliate.

You pull your drenched hair in frustration with one hand while bringing down the pointy tip of your dagger on an unsuspecting bug crawling over the leaves beside you. A string of curses leaves your mouth before you pull yourself up again and head back through the forest to where your speeder is hidden.

 The ride to Felicia’s is shorter than one might think. The shady cantina is located just at the edge of the city, easily accessible from most places, but far enough away from where the action happens to be relatively empty most of the time - which is why the Concinnity chooses to do its business there quite often. Seeing as you are a guild of contract killers, you do need to switch locations frequently, but occasionally you still come back there. And today appears to be one of those occasions.

While you jump off your speeder, you wonder why Magnus would want you to come here. Usually, he meets with the client ahead of time and just assigns one of you to do the job at your headquarters, providing you with the information necessary (or not, apparently). It is rare that you even get to meet the client, which is more than fine with you. You value your privacy, and it’s not like the type of people who hire the likes of you make for the most pleasant company.

The wind and constant heat of Kessel did little to dry you off: You are still soaking wet, your hair clings to your face, and with every step you take, water drips on the ground.

Fuming with anger at Magnus for withholding important information and not even giving you time to dry off at your apartment, you push the door to the cantina open, squinting to make out the figures spread out across the dark room, the only fleck of color the reddish wood that makes up the floor. You hardly even notice anymore how the cantina folk tenses up and quickly looks away from you once they see your attire; it is a known fact that around these parts, people who wear more than two blasters are not to be messed with, because they are most likely professionals. It takes you a moment, but then you spot Magnus sitting at a table in a corner, a cloaked figure accompanying him. Your anger boils up again when you see his face. Sometimes he seems to forget whom he is ordering around like a dog. You are a trained killer, yet he treats you like his employee, somebody who runs errands for him - an inconvenience at times, nothing more. 

Maybe he could use a reminder of how easy it would be to dispose of him. Hell, he didn’t even notice you entered the building, it is a miracle he is still alive in this field of work.

He definitely needs a reminder.

You move just a little bit closer and pull out one of the short throwing knives that you keep hidden on your backside, strapped to the inside of your belt. You study the roughly 4-inch weapon in your hand before adjusting your grip on it and aiming. Right at this moment he is dangling a chain from his fingers in front of his hooded partner. It’s the Concinnity badge, a proof of your reliability, a promise to integrity. 

You calculate the strength and throw the knife. 

It bores into the wooden wall behind them with deadly precision, pierced through the leather band of the chain that he had hanging from his fingers seconds ago. Even from your distanced position you can hear his yelp, which is satisfying but still doesn’t quite still the anger in you. 

Both heads whip around to face the attacker, but when Magnus recognizes you, the look of fear turns to sheepishness. Your jaw clenches and you stride towards them. 

“There you are!” He claps his hands together in his usual, eccentric demeanor.

“You!” You press out. “You said the target was Geonosian. You didn’t mention it was that type from the north!”

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. “I’m not following. What kind is that?”

“The kind that swims!” you spit out. There is a puddle forming where you are standing, and your wet gear, which is already heavy as it is, feels about ten times heavier now that it’s wet. You are pretty sure all of the detonators on your belt are completely busted, and only the maker knows how many gadgets you have lost in the river water. But most of all, you hate, hate, Magnus more than anything at this very moment, dry and comfortable, a pouch with credits set in front of him.

“That is unfortunate.” He merely says, while attempting to pull the knife out of the wall. “Take a seat.”

You grab a chair and position it at the table. Magnus hands you your knife, which you promptly sink into the table as a last outlet of your fury.

“This is your next client. My lord, this is her, she is our best… asset,” he grins conspiratorially. You give him an irritated side-glance.

Then, for the first time, you actually face the client. His hood hides most of his face, but you can see red skin and black marks that cover at least the lower half of his face. He moves his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

“The target is Galenos Tallav,” Magnus continues. Your breath catches in your throat, a spark inside you ignited again. How dare he - “and the time is pressing. You need to finish this job in a week, the sooner you can do it, the better.”

You stare at him, silently cursing him in every language you know. That bastard wants to test you and your loyalty, he is mocking you with this obvious-

“Now, I know what you think,” he lowers his voice, “but I only chose you for this assignment, because the time is so pressing, and I know you can do it in the time frame. Also, the pay well compensates for it, trust me.” 

You look at him darkly, the name of the target still reverberating through your head and bringing up sore memories. Memories he knows of.

“Fine.”

“Perfect!” He looks overjoyed, way too eager to accept this task. This client, the man with the hood, truly must be paying very well.

“Let’s get to the details, then. You are of course in charge, but I suggest you try sneaking in disguised as a slave, you know how many-” You interrupt him with a curse in our native language, which you assume the client does not speak, judging by the fact we have been speaking Basic up until this point.

With the characteristic hissing of your own language you remind him that he made sure many years ago you would never, ever be able to be disguised as a slave. Back then, when he decided to punish you by having all these marks etched into your skin- skin you would have to show as a slave.

How could he forget all the cruelties you had to endure under his watch so easily?

He shrugs, yet another infuriating habit of his, and raises his hands defensively. Switching back to Basic, he says, “A different plan, then. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He gets up from the chair, grabbing the pouch on the table while leaving. “I have business to attend to”. He turns his back to you, about to head out, when he spins around again. “That is, if you’ve finished the job?”

What a stupid question. “Of course I finished the job!” you snap. “But that wasn’t thanks to you and your unreliable distribution of information. We’ll talk later.” You try to make the last part sound threatening, but he is not impressed. That’s what happens when your boss has basically raised you since you were a toddler.

 Once he is completely out of earshot, you abruptly turn to face the man in front of you, taking in his appearance properly now. He is wearing many layers of clothing, which, considering Kessel’s hot climate, clearly makes him an outsider. You can see the beginning of a wide belt, but it’s not a utility belt like the one you are wearing. The only thing clasped to it is… A silver handle?

You narrow your eyes, staring where you presume his eyes are.

“What are you?” It’s hard to tell whether he is taken aback by the bold question. You suppose there are other reasons why you typically have minimal client contact. “The Jedi are not welcome here, you know,” you say, slowly moving your eyes back to where you spotted what you are sure is a lightsaber.

“I am no Jedi.” His voice is surprisingly soothing, but his face is scrunched up into a snarl. You wonder how else he would have acquired a lightsaber, but remember that the Concinnity possesses one too - locked up in the weapon chamber and not cleared for taking on missions, but they have one. It was taken from a Jedi in a fight by one of their own a few years back; you remember getting to try it out before it was confiscated.

You don’t push the matter any further and lean back in a more relaxed manner: his reaction to being called a Jedi is all you needed to hear.

“Are you going to require any kind of proof when the job is done? A finger, toe, hair, ear,...?”

“Your memory of the deed will be sufficient.” You nod slowly, ignoring how weirdly he phrased his answer.

“Do you mind any additional deaths in the name of the mission, such as guards and or witnesses?” You rattle down the standard procedure for setting the frame for missions.

“No. Do what you must.” 

“Good.” This makes it much easier, no pesky requirements in the name of a clean conscience.

“How fast can you do it?” He asks, his tone pressing.

You ponder for a moment.

“Considering I will most likely only get one shot at this, I want to tail him for a day or two, assess his security situation, both guards and housing, then I will need at least one more day to prepare, if not two. It all depends on what I can find while shadowing him. So, figure four days, if all goes well.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Reaching inside his cloak, he pulls out a little device, equipped with only one button. 

“Press this when it is done, and I will meet you outside this cantina.” 

You hold the small machine between your fingers briefly before putting it in a pocket inside your jacket.

He gets up from the table, giving you a small nod as he leaves. You remain seated for another minute, then take your leave as well. You have a mission to prepare for.

____

next chapter

[slasherholic]

Synopsis: Michael wants to keep you all to himself tonight.

I guess this is like... angst that dribbles into fluff? Kind of? Again I’m SORRY. This was the only satisfying way my brain could find to make this work.

Bundled | Michael Myers x Reader

You stride briskly from the kitchen, the heel of your boots clicking and clacking over the hard-wood flooring, your eyes fixed on the door ahead of you and your hands wound so tightly around the straps of your book-bag that they shine a ghostly pale color in the dim evening light.

Michael is following you.

No, you decide, not following. That doesn’t do it justice. Following is too passive of a word, too tame. What Michael is doing—what he has been doing, right from the moment he noticed you fussing over your choice of outfit in the mirror, and that was nearly an hour ago—is stalking. 

Your fate was sealed from the moment you caught his gaze in the mirror; it was steadfast. Penetrative. Wolfish. It made your heart sink like a stone to the pit of your stomach. You knew that stare well. And you felt the unsaid message that it carried, words that needn’t be spoken. Three damning words, searing through your brain on repeat, over and over and over again.

You’re not leaving, said Michael’s stare.

You could have given up then and there. You could have let the furious, burning tears of frustration that were welling in your eyes spill over. You could have put your outfit back in the closet and packed away your book-bag and sunken down on your bed and waited for Michael to grow bored and do whatever it was that he felt like doing tonight, and then maybe you could at the very least get some sleep, because you all of a sudden felt very drained of energy.

Instead you had done exactly the opposite; you finished getting ready. Michael watched from opposite the room as you went about your business. When you descended the stairs, walked calmly into the kitchen as if nothing was the matter, Michael followed—but not immediately. A few minutes passed without incident. You prepared dinner. Pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter to eat. 

And when you risked a glance out past the kitchen, into the dimness and shadows that had settled like a blanket over the staircase with the setting of the sun... there he was. At the bottom of the steps he stood, a looming figure, still as a statue. Still as a panther.

You sat down facing the wall so that you didn’t have to look at him.

And now your class is in twenty minutes and you are heading for the front door like nothing is wrong. You think about seeing your friend. You think about the assignments that were due today. You try, unsuccessfully, to think about everything and anything other than how closely Michael’s footsteps are trailing behind you, and about how eerily steady they are, and how infuriatingly unhurried they are—as if he knows that he will catch you. 

And what’s even more infuriating—you know that he will, too. 

His stride is longer than yours. Larger by far. He’s already closing the distance; and by the time you have dug in your bag and found the key to the door he will be upon you. You wipe the back of your hand across your face because the burning tears that are springing up in your eyes are becoming very distracting, very inconvenient. 

You stop just in front of the door. You unzip your bag with clammy fingers and you think about your grades. You think about how nice the evening class will be. It’s a subject that you enjoy. It probably won’t even feel like a class. Your scrabbling fingers close around the keys.

And Michael’s strong arms close around your waist.

Within a split-second your composure shatters like a dropped glass into a million irreparable pieces. The tears come streaking hot and heavy down your face and you do not try to stop them. Michael drags you back down the hall. You fight him like a crazed animal. You thrash in his arms. Kick at him. Pry at his hands. 

When Michael reaches the staircase, when he seizes your legs together and hoists you clean off your feet and slings you over his shoulder as if you are nothing more than a trophy, nothing more than captured prey, that is when reality finally hits like a punch to the gut. 

You are not going to class tonight. You never were. This evening, your body belongs entirely to Michael. You are his entertainment. His property.

And it was incredibly, pathetically stupid of you to think otherwise, you berate yourself.

Michael carries you back to your bedroom. Still you fight him. You cannot bring yourself to stop struggling even now, even despite the futility of it all, because the thought of going limp and allowing him to have his way makes you want to tear your own skin off. To surrender now would feel like a vicious betrayal of all your efforts in the hour past. No; you have chosen to fight him. And fight you will.

Michael approaches the bed. You wait to be shoved down face-first into the mattress. You wait for your world to go dark.

It never happens. 

The bed dips, and Michael sits down. Perhaps he has other things on his mind tonight; so then, you wait for his fingers to wind through your hair, wait to be shoved down to your knees, down to the cold, unforgiving floor.

It never happens. 

He tugs you into his lap. Settles you on the bed, between his legs. His arms snake down to criss-cross over your chest and he captures your lashing wrists in a grasp that is unshakably firm, but not exactly painful, not like it could easily be if such a thing were his goal. 

Still you thrash in his grip, throwing your entire body violently from side to side and writhing like a cornered animal. Such a statement is not far from the truth—Michael has you trapped. Locked in his arms. Pinned so tightly against his solid chest that you can feel the steady thrum of his powerful heart against your back, a rhythmic, constant pressure.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Goes Michael’s heart. Its pace never rises even as you squirm and flail and wait for something to happen; but the tense minutes tick by, and still you are left waiting.

Michael doesn’t seem fazed by your wriggling. Neither does he make any effort to stop it. Maybe because he knows it’s useless; or maybe because he simply wants to feel you struggle.

Then—

Michael brings his free hand to your neck. His calloused fingers graze your skin and you inhale sharply—an involuntary reaction. A deeply-ingrained one. Soon enough, those dangerous fingers will clamp shut around your airway; and when that happens you will be grateful for having drawn a breath.

His hot thumb buries itself under your jaw, at the base of your neck. He applies light pressure, and you grit your teeth, but the pain you are steeling yourself for never arrives. 

The rest of Michael’s fingers fan out around your neck—and your pounding heart leaps into your throat—but still, his touch against your skin is featherlight. Nearly non-existent. 

Miraculously, as Michael holds your throat, you find yourself neither choking nor sputtering desperately for air.

You cautiously let the breath tumble from your mouth. Your heart has elevated to a frantic flutter in your ribs. The pressure of Michael’s thumb against your jaw seems to increase slightly—a brief reaction, but one that carries undeniable weight. A light-switch flips on in your head. Oh. Oh.

Michael is feeling your pulse.

You take a risk.

“Michael.” Your voice is a frail whisper, hoarse and raw. 

“Please. Please just let me go. If I go now I can still make it...”

The words are pointless; and yet you say them anyway, because now that your struggles have been reduced to useless squirming the only outlet for your frustrations is through your mouth, your tongue, your words. 

Michael spares you no reaction. You say nothing more after that. 

Many minutes pass; the sun has vanished. Your hopes of making it to class have faded with it, and you have gone limp and docile in Michael’s arms, but his grip on your body has not loosened. Has not relaxed even by an inch. You know without having to glance up at his face that he is still watching you. Watching you and breathing. His breathing is impossible to ignore; it is your only source of stimulation. 

Michael’s breaths come in a pattern. He inhales—his broad chest expands, pressing your bodies even closer together, squeezing you tighter against his chest, against his forearms. He lets the air sit in his lungs; then he lets it go again. The heat of each exhale falls on the back of your neck like a puff of steam. It tickles. You give a sniffle. Your face is raw and red now from the tears, and still they come, but in a trickle, not a stream.

The turn of Autumn has restored the bitter chill to the shortening nights. The cold sweeps in through your open window and it nips at your reddened cheeks, but Michael’s body radiates warmth. His arms envelope you like a snug blanket, and buried as you are against his chest you could not possibly be cold even if you were trying.

Alright, admits a reluctant voice in your head, this isn’t so bad.

And although you know that it is foolish—very, very foolish, bordering even on delusional—you cannot help but feel secure in Michael’s arms. Not safe; god no. Not with his fingers still resting against your throat; and yet, some primitive part of your brain, the part that recognizes the strength of the body locked around yours, the part that recognizes Michael’s touch simply as human touch and nothing more, that part of you desperately yearns for the inadvertent affection to continue. 

And to top it all off; gradually, during the sluggish minutes that you have been trapped against him, an amusing thought has dawned on you:

It’s almost like Michael is cuddling you.

You know he doesn’t mean it like that. The arms around your waist and chest are there only to to restrain you. To control you. To own you. You know that. 

But you can pretend otherwise. You can shut your eyes and tilt your head back into the crook of his neck and let your own breaths fall against his skin in solidarity, and that might make the fantasy more real, more tangible. So you do exactly that.

You press your lips to the portion of his clavicle that peeks out from beneath his shirt. Here, Michael’s skin burns beneath yours. His messy curls brush against your cheek, the aroma of soap still clinging to his hair. You inhale languidly. You almost crack a smile as you recall how you were able to coax him into the shower last night. You are proud of that. 

When you crane your neck to look Michael in the eyes you are not surprised to see him staring down at you, studying your reactions impassively. His hand is still around your wrists. It is not exactly uncomfortable—still, you tug at it gently, experimentally, pleading up at him with your eyes to be released, because you want to wrap your arms around him. 

Michael refuses to budge. Just to be stubborn. Just because he doesn’t feel like it. Just because. 

Oh well. At least you tried.

You nestle your face into his neck again. Your eyes flutter. You listen to his heart.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

It is a comforting sound. And Michael is so wonderfully warm beneath your cheek. And his arms are perfectly snug around your chest. And regardless of the circumstances, Michael is holding you. He is sharing his heat with you. Sharing his breath. Sharing the very heartbeat in his chest.

And clearly, he isn’t letting go any time soon.