#and if you listen closely over my grave you will probably still hear me humming it from six feet under

[haveyouwatchedthiscartoon]

Wonder Pets! (2006)

Propaganda Below

No propaganda sent in

Google: "Linny the Guinea Pig, Ming-Ming Duckling and Turtle Tuck travel around the world to rescue animals. Geared toward preschoolers, these three classmates are up for any challenge in this photo-puppetry animated series. Episodes encourage teamwork and problem-solving as well as singing and an appreciation of music and laughter."

[helloprettybb]

long hair and tattoos

sooo i might turn this into a series, might not. for now, it’ll just be a one shot but i’ve been craving some biker!bucky. computer is still broken sadly.

pairing: biker!bucky x reader

description: your parents still treat you like a little kid and you’re tired of it.

warnings: cursing, smut, bratty reader, very dirty smut

word count: 2.4k

Bucky leaves the bar and a cloud of smoke follows him. While it’s one of his favorite places, it gets to be a little too much. He leans against the brick wall and fumbles for his pack of cigarettes. Before he could light one, he hears footsteps on the gravel in front of him.

“Stop treating me like a child!” A high, whiny voice draws his attention. He eyes you up and sees you check all the boxes for a spoiled daddy’s girl…just his type. What’s a pretty young thing like you doing at a biker’s bar? Bucky gets off the wall and starts to walk toward you, but you don’t notice. You groan, “Brock Rumlow was an ass.” You stop for a moment.

You must not like what the person on the other side of the phone said because you whine, “But daddy, I don’t care if you need his father to endorse you. I’m not some pawn in your campaign.”

You hang up with a grumble. You start kicking a stray rock with your expensive high heels and Bucky tries his hardest not to laugh too loud, but the scene is pretty funny. A bratty rich girl outside a biker bar grumbling about another rich person.

“You okay, little lady?” Little lady, what is Bucky from the 40s? You look up at him. Your mascara is slightly runny and there’s a cute little pout on your lips.

“No, I am not okay! My dad set me up with this stupid boy who’s dad owns this big company. He wanted me to date his son so he can get his endorsement.” You’re clearly in distress and judging from your expensive shoes and even more expensive bag, you probably got lost on your way back home. It’s not safe for you here and Bucky’s relieved that he’s the one that found you alone as opposed to some of the other guys.

“Endorsement?” Bucky asks.

“As state senator.” You say casually. Bucky hums. He moves back to the wall and leans back.

“Wanna smoke?” He holds out the pack.

You shake your head. “I don’t smoke.” Bucky figured, but it would’ve been rude to not ask. He lights a cigarette for himself. You walk over so that you’re right beside him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but you fill the silence quickly. “Do your parents ever drive you crazy?”

“I haven’t seen my parents in awhile, sweetheart.” he replies.

You immediately apologize, “Oh, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Bucky laughs, “They’re not dead or anything. We’re just not close. Not a big deal.”

You nod and proceed to rant, “Well, mine never take me seriously and I’m tired of it.” Your eyes flutter and he can tell you’re trying not to cry.

Bucky moves closer to you, not saying anything as it seems like you need someone to just listen.

“They treat me like a kid. I just wish there was something I could do to make them see I’m not their little girl anymore.”

Your eyes are watering and you look like you’re about to cry. Scratch that, you are crying. Bucky doesn’t know what to do so he awkwardly pulls you toward him into a sorta comforting hug. You don’t appear to have any qualms as you cry into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky’s always been pretty bad at consoling so he strokes your hair lightly, occasionally smoothing over your back. You pull away and apologize, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m even crying.”

“It’s okay.” You sniffle. “Hey, why don’t we get outta here?” You nod, eyes still watery but you seem to be a bit better. “My bike’s out front.” He starts to walk toward the front of the bar and you follow. He turns around and sees your arms are tightly wrapped around yourself.

His great aunt would be rolling in her grave if she saw him letting a lady get cold. He slips his leather jacket off himself and holds it out to you. You look up and see his offering.

You see that he’s only wearing a short sleeve and ask, “Won’t you be cold?”

Bucky shrugs, “I run warm. I’ll be fine..”

Hesitantly taking it from him, you mumble, “Thank you,”

You put the jacket on and it’s massive on you. Something about how small you look in his clothes ignites something in him, but he chooses to ignore it. The two of you reach his bike and Bucky lifts the seat to take out the helmets. He hands you one and you strap it around your head.

Bucky sits down while you hesitate to do so. “C’mon. I’ll go below the speed limit. Promise.”

You go behind him and without being told to do so, wrap your arms around his torso. Fuck, Bucky must be touch deprived because just feeling your small hands around his body fill him with warmth. Bucky starts the bike and you press yourself against him. This is going to be a long ride.

True to his word, Bucky goes slow and avoids major roads as best as he can. Luckily it’s late so not many cars are out anyway. You safely make it to Bucky’s place and he parks his bike on the street. You hand him the helmet and he puts both away.

As you watch him lock up his bike, you can’t help but notice how attractive he is with his nice hair and tattoos all over his arm. You bite your lip as you imagine all the things he could be doing to you. He catches you, glancing up while on his knees. Bucky smirks and you feel a little embarrassed.

“Let’s go up,” he says and you nod.

When you reach his door, Bucky fishes for his key and opens the door.

He lets you in first before following behind. “It’s not the nicest, but it’s home.” He comments offhandedly.

“No, it is nice. Um, where are my manners?” you mutter to yourself. “Thank you for letting me into your home.”

Bucky snorts at your formality. “You’re welcome, doll.” There he goes again with those terms of endearment.

He goes to his fridge and pours two glasses.. You thank him before taking a drink.

“So how’d you end up at the Captain’s?” Bucky asks.

“Brock was driving me back to my apartment, but I couldn’t stand the sound of his voice anymore so I told him to pull over. Then I just got out and started walking.”

Bucky scoffs, “That wasn’t very safe.” “It wasn’t the smartest move in hindsight.” You smirk, “But if I stayed in his car, I wouldn’t be drinking whiskey in a stranger’s apartment.” Bucky laughs quietly.

“You never told me your name.” you say.

“You never told me yours,” he replies.

“________ __________.” you reply.

“James Buchanon Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky.” he says.

“And what should I call you?” you flirt.

He turns to you and says, “Anything you want, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes but you can’t deny the effect he has over you. You and Bucky both take a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. You can feel the tension growing.

You remember, “I never gave back your jacket.” You walk over to his side of the table.

“Here.” You remove his jacket and hold it out for him to take it back. Bucky walks over to you, not breaking eye contact. You feel like you’re about to shrivel up under his domineering gaze.

Once he reaches you, he grabs onto your hand that’s holding the jacket, but doesn’t let go. He’s inches from your face. One push on your toes and your lips would be connected. “Tell me not to kiss you and I won’t.”

You look down at his lip and say, “Please, James.” He closes the gap and uses his other hand to cup your chin. He grabs the leather jacket and throws it behind him somewhere. Using his free hand, he pulls you closer by your waist. You moan into his mouth as Bucky kisses you wildly.

He’s so big above you, practically towering over you. You sit on the table and wrap your legs around his waist. Crossing your ankles, you pull him closer to you and Bucky moves his mouth down to your neck.

He gives you a hickey or multiple, you’re not really sure. You pull him back up to your lips and he smiles at your eagerness. He picks you up and backs you into his bedroom

Placing you on his bed, he quickly removes his shirt before reconnecting your lips. You feel him move his hands toward your back then hear him unzip your dress. You kick off your heels as Bucky helps you out of your dress. You forgot that you didn’t wear a bra and immediately feel exposed as the front of your dress falls. Bucky’s eyes practically light up as he connects his mouth to your right nipple. Your head falls back and a moan escapes your mouth.

You shimmy out of the dress and throw it on the ground. Bucky starts to unbuckle his belt and slide his jeans off. The only clothes not on the ground are your lacy thong and Bucky’s boxers.

Before you can finish undressing him, he pins you to the bed by your wrists with one hand. You pout, unable to touch him. Bucky just smirks and kisses the pout away. He starts to move his left hand down your body and before he reaches your pussy, he pulls away and asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes, yes please. I want it so bad,” You whine desperately.

“Okay, princess.” he says and you moan at that nickname. Bucky traces light circles on your clit over your thong. You push your hips up to signal that you want more. “Patience,” he mutters and you groan. He kisses you again and you’re momentarily pleased.

Finally, he pushes your thong aside and dips a finger in. You gasp at his one finger filling you up. Bucky smiles at your reaction and adds another finger. He already feels so big and that’s just two of his fingers. You imagine how his cock feels and you moan loudly.

“Can you take anotha finger?” he asks. You nod quickly and he adds another. You rarely get off on just fingering, but something about Bucky’s thick, long fingers hitting that same, sensitive spot has you reeling.

“Fuck, feel you clenchin’ around my fingers. Are you gonna cum, princess?” he basically taunts. You’d be mad if it didn’t feel so good.

“Y-yes, please. keep going.” you cry. Bucky quickens his thrusts and you feel yourself approaching the edge. With your hands still trapped under his singular giant one, you find yourself writhing under him as you cum. His eyes never leave you as you ride out your orgasm.

When you start to come down from your high, Bucky asks, “Has anyone told you how fucking pretty you look when you cum?” You laugh, still loopy from your climax.

Bucky releases your wrists and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. As he kisses you, Bucky starts to remove your thong. You lift your hips up to help. With every grind against his hard on, you shiver at the sensitivity. Bucky pulls away to remove his boxers and look for a condom in the nightstand.

You lay with your mouth slack as you watch him put the condom on his massive dick. He sees your shocked expression and comments, “I’d love to feel that pretty mouth ‘round my cock. But right now…” He traps you between his arms with his face only inches away, “I wanna feel that tight little pussy.” You moan at his words and pull him into a brief kiss.

When you separate, you lay down on the bed and Bucky takes your legs so he can pull you to the edge. Stroking his cock a couple times, he lines it up with your pussy and slowly pushes in. You can’t help but cry out at the intrusion. It doesn’t hurt since he’s going slow, but fuck you’ve never felt this full.

Once he bottoms out, he gives you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting. You grip the sheets beneath you as you feel the tip of his dick start to hit that spot. He takes your moans as a good sign so he quickens the pace.

You’re so lost in pleasure that you practically scream at each thrust. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the huge ego boost as he continues going faster and harder. Just as you think it can’t get any better, he moves your legs to his shoulders so he can be even deeper.

“Bucky, I’m gonna…” you start, the rest of your sentence slurred and incoherent. He seems to get the message as he moves one hand to your clit, roughly jamming his thumb and adding to the stimulation.

“J-james.” you shout before cumming hard around his cock. The sudden tightness around his dick pushes him closer to the edge and after a couple more strokes, he fills the condom.

You’re both breathing hard as Bucky slowly slips out of you. He looks down and can’t help but smirk at how wrecked you look with your tear-stained face and shaky thighs.

He walks to the garbage in his bathroom to throw away the condom.

“I can’t move,” you say.  Bucky laughs and grabs a towel to clean you up. Your pussy contracts as he moves over the sensitive area. After cleaning the mess on your thighs, he throws the towel on a chair in the corner.

You’re suddenly overcome with immense fatigue so you move beneath his covers. Bucky slips behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. He rubs gentle circles on your stomach and you swear you’ve never fallen asleep faster.

[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[reusedtrashcan]

Jschlatt x reader: Love Game

ALRIGHTY!!! Finally, i have moved my smut from Wattpad to here. if you still use wattpad (i dont cause im an adult now,) you can follow me @reusedtrashcan!

I'm a trans boy, so the reader in this is trans but hasn't transitioned yet. I really want to, but I'm terrified to get it. Anyways, have a boy with titties and a VV.

  !SMUT!

"Y/N, ITS 9AM, CALM DOWN!" my lover, Johnathan Schlatt, shouts from the other room. I giggle quietly as I whisper to my twitch chat.

"I think I woke the bear up... I'll be riight back!" I stand up from my black and white gaming chair, making my way to mine and Schlatt's room, our orange tabby named Jambo following close behind me. I slowly open our door and peak in, seeing my king facing away from the door. I hold back a giggle as I see his medium length brown hair sticking up in tufts. Jambo wanders in, jumping on the bed and laying by his fathers feet.I walk over to the bed, climbing next to him, my 5'6" body body tiny compared to his 6'3" figure. I wrap my arm around his waist and set my head on his arm. "Johnny, I'm lonely... Come stream with me..." I whisper in his ear as I rub his chest and stomach. He groans, rolling over and throwing one arm over my waist, the other traveling up to play with my short blue hair. "Why not cuddle with me instead?" he mumbles tiredly, his morning voice deep and gravely. I giggle. "Because, I'm busy doing my job and streaming for 16k people who are waiting for me to return right now." I whisper sweetly, cupping his face, my hand resting on his 'mutton chop'. I lean forward and kiss him on the nose before standing up and straightening my 'Unus Annus' hoodie. He flips on his back and stretches before placing his hands behind his head, watching me as I fix myself in our full body mirror. "Whatcha' looking at, Punk?" I ask, faking an attitude. He laughs, standing up and walking over to me. He places his large hands on my hips, leaning close to my ear." I was admiring what's ~mine~." he whispers as one of his hands slides to my ass, squeezing it, making me gasp. He turns around and walks to our closet."I'll be out in a minute. Don't miss me too much..." he hums as I turn around, heading out of our room, a blushing mess. I walk back into the streaming room, looking directly at the camera before checking the chat. They are all asking where Johnathan is. "Schlatt will be here soon, he's getting ready so he looks like a pretty princess.'' I say laughing as I stand up straight. "What?" I hear him ask from behind me before I feel him wrap his arms around me, leaning down to bury his face in my neck. "Nothing Love..." I say as I smile, placing my hand on his head. He stands up, looking at my chat, who is spamming my 'AW POG' emote. He laughs before leaving the room again, probably to grab food or something.

~TIME SKIP~ Sighing as I end my stream, I sit back, feeling a presence behind me. I look up to see Johnathan looking down at me, smirking. He pokes my forehead, looking further down me before I realize why. I quickly pull my hoodie up a bit before giggling. He sighs and moves his attention to my computer screen, watching as I put my favorite playlist on. "How to Save a Life" by The Fray starts playing as Schlatt walks around the chair, picking up my small body and sitting down, setting me on his lap. I lean my head into his chest, enjoying the moment. After about 20 minutes of just sitting there listening to music and cuddling, he finally speaks as I wiggle down further into his crotch, trying to get comfortable. "Y/N..." he says, I shift again, which made him groan. "Y/N, stop moving." I gasp a bit as I realize what I did. I quickly try to hop up, but he wraps his arms around my waist, keeping me in place as he rubs against me, putting his head in the crook of my neck. (authors note, I'm writing this in Science class) Feeling his shallow breaths against my neck as he tries to keep in groans, our roommate Connor asleep in the next room. He continues to grind against me as he gets rougher, making me moan. He places his hand against my mouth as he gives one more hard grind before bending me forward and pushing me against my desk. He leans over me, grinding again, and whispering to me. "Next time Y/N, watch how you move, alright? Now, Prince, be a good slut for daddy."I nod my head and he chuckles, leaning back up, running his hands over my ass. He suddenly smacks it, making me gasp. He runs his hands up my hips, flipping me around and lifting me to sit on the desk and spreading my legs apart a little, stepping in between them as he takes my hoodie off. He immediately starts sucking, leaving hickeys on my neck. I moan as he gropes my boob with one hand, his other traveling into my pants. (I'm now in ELA class... hah) He sets me on my feet, looking at me impatiently. I quickly pull my pants down, leaving me only in my underwear and him fully dressed. He only looks at me with dominance. "Everything off Y/N." I look at him, rocking on my heels, feeling a bit bratty. Mistake. He wraps his hand around my neck and I hear a very familiar click. My eyes widen as I rush to take my panties off. "Good boy~" he hums, picking me up as I wrap my legs around him. He presses me against a wall to hold me up with one hand, using the other to take his throbbing member out of his pants. I whine as I feel it brush against me. He chuckles, brushing it against my opening, teasing me. I moan and he covers my mouth with his large hand as he pushes into me, letting out a soft groan. He slowly pumps, knowing he's driving me crazy. I whine and he lifts his hand from my mouth, wrapping it around my throat. "What do you want, baby?" he asks, smirking. I choke back moans. "Please..." I say, out of breath as he continues his teasing pace. "Please what baby boy? Use your words~" he purrs. "Please.... please... f-faster... h-harder..." I quietly say as he smiles crazily. Suddenly he slams into me, making me scream as he places his hand back on my throat. "Happily!" he laughs as he continues slamming into me. You can clearly hear my moans through his hand as I feel the burning knot start to build in my stomach. His pace stays just as ravaging as he groans. At the sound of his groan the knot in my stomach snaps as I cum on him. He continues pounding at the same pace. He looks down and his lip curls up. "Did I say you could cum, slut?" he spits, picking up his pace and throwing his head back. I begin to cry as the overstimulation overcomes my body. He keeps his pace as my tears roll down his hands, my screams sounding as though they aren't even muffled.

As I begin to come down from my high, I feel my second orgasm start to build up. I start whining to tell Schlatt so I don't get in trouble. He laughs.

"Do you really think i should let you cum?" he questions, removing his hand from my mouth again and grabbing a fist full of my hair, his thrusts getting sloppier. I nod rapidly. At that, he grins. "Beg"

"P-please... please Daddy, please let me cum, Ill be good! Please" I plead in-between moans. He chuckles, letting go of my hair and stroaking my cheek softly. "Good boy~ Cum with me~"

As his thrusts become harder and sloppier, I cum again. Seconds after I feel him release ropes of his seed inside of me. He pulls out, shifting me into bridal position as I feel his cum dripping out of me. He quickly throws a blanket over me as I lay my head on his chest. He carries me out the office and into the bathroom, setting me in the tub and starting the warm water. He momentarily leaves the room to grab me new clothes, and I hear Connor outside the door., making me giggle.

"Next time Schlatt, keep it down."

(If you want, dm some story ideas. ill take some.)

[saturnsstufff]

Awsamdude/Technoblade- Rumor Has It

For my beloved @sugarandspicebutnonice

Warnings: sexual innuendo

    Techno was a great Prince. He worked hard to keep his family's name in good graces. All of Phil's boys worked hard to keep their names held high with respect. Tommy was known around for keeping sprits high, any ball or formality with Tommy was always known as the best to attend.

   His older brother Wilbur was a skilled artisan with music. Always teaching and making new sounds like it wasn't any struggle. Anyone could find him out in the court yard with a guitar in hand. Humming and singing a casual song.

   The eldest, Technoblade was a skilled swordsman and statists. Anytime he was called into a meeting, the others shuddered knowing he would trump them all. He made swinging a sword look like art. Trust me, you would know.

   You had a wonderful relationship with techno for a long time. But sadly, you both had parted away from each other. Of course, it was on all good terms, He was more concerned with the kingdom rather than establishing a strong and sturdy relationship.

   You, being a knight- fully understood. But you also choose to be a bit selfish about it. You truly wished for him to give you a bit of attention at least when together. He could be such a ladies man when he choose to in public, yet when it came to the two of you he just became closed off and anything but warm. Even behind closed doors it was lacking some spark of passion.

   So you both agreed it was best to let things lie.

  But what left you with a sour taste was how quickly he moved on.

   You would give him the benefit of the doubt of course, he was a well known man. She could have been someone he had met previously, and during your break off she was there to talk it out with him.

She, she ain't real

   But something about her screamed fake, her smile and movements seemed too thought through. Her words all laced with a sickening sweet hum, it also didn't help she giggled at basically anything techno said.

    Plenty of times you sat with the general and talked about how dense she came off. Respectfully, you had assumed Tech would have went for a well educated woman such as yourself. But after seeing her- you wondered if that type was in short supply.

   Anything she did, she would just bat her eyes and he was wrapped around his finger.

   It honestly made Sam and you laugh.

She ain't gonna be able to love you like I will

   As much as you started to loathe the woman, techno wasn't yours anymore. Thus you started getting closer to Sam. Both of you connecting on how your past relationships had been. Well you were casted aside, Sam was flatly cheated on.

   Of course knowing that, your heart ached for him. Sam was a well educated and handsome man with a heart of gold. Respectfully his whole job was centered on protecting and serving the people.

   Jumping into a relationship was Sam was like practically nothing. You promised him all the love in the world, and just like you, he promised to give you the same.

   And love each other you did.

She is a stranger

   Techno did see you grow close to his general, and honestly it didn't set well with him.

   He liked the woman he was with, but he also had known you since childhood. You both had played within the court yard plenty of times to claim it as your own.

   Sam didn't do that with you. Sam had only started to know you when you joined the ranks.

   Techno would often catch himself watching you and Sam spar. His eyes would watch as Sam's hand grabbed at your waist, gripping your hips and using his own to throw you off balance. He hated how close your bodies were.

   At one point he couldn't help but pull you aside and ask why you let him touch you. But that conversation drove spikes through his heart. "How can you just let him touch you like that?! He’s practically all over your body! You wouldn't let me touch you like that- and You and I have history" he yelled not believing what he saw.

   When your face twisted in front of him into disgust, he thought you were almost joking. "The hell is with you?! I'm not your girlfriend! Or don't you remember!?" You yelled at him. Lightly shoving him back from you. "Don't tell me where he can, and cannot touch me" You sneered. In all his years he never saw you so heated.

Sure, she's got it all

   Truthfully you saw techno leave you as a drop to his pride. He dropped a knight for a soft noble girl. A girl babied all her life. You knew as soon as she was exposed to blood she would have fainted like a goat in pasture. But in the end of the day, you weren't sleeping with her so what did it matter?

But, baby, is that really what you want

   Arguments between Technoblade and you had become more frequent. Sam let you duke it out, he knew he had no place to tell you to leave it be. Sam also didn't appreciate how fast Techno jumped onto your case about finding someone else.

   Although he knew it irked you about Techno moving on, you never got in his face about it like he would. Sam viewed this as your way of showing you were the bigger person.

   On one particular day he found the arguments amusing. Techno had started up again when Sam was publicly teasing you. Well techno found your back talking distasteful, Sam relished with how powerful you were.

   Listening to techno ramble off on his pathetic reasonings left you a laughing mess, even to the point you cut his argument off. "Bless your soul, you've got you're head in the clouds, she's going to use you like a fool!" You laughed in his face.

   His jaw tightened as he spat at your words, pointing at Sam. "You made a fool out of you General. She doesn't even love you- Your wasting your time on a-" at Tech's words you couldn't help but push back even harder for him targeting Sam.

   "How dare you say that. Your common penny is getting around more than I- And, boy, she's bringing you down!" You called out. Putting a finger to his chest. "She made your heart melt- But its all a lie!" You didn't stop their, you had more to say to him. "She thinks your all that- a fairy tale prince to save her dreams! But you're cold to the core" you said to him. Causing him to back off.

   "Besides. Now rumor has it she ain't got your love anymore"

Rumor has it, ooh, Rumor has it, ooh, Rumor has it, ooh

   You weren't lying. Their were plenty of rumors going around saying she was sleeping with others besides Techno. Although Sam and you had no proof to this. Your hunches seemed right.

   On one day, Sam had left for a out of village meeting. You really didn't mind, you trusted him enough and knew he wouldn't do anything behind your back.

   But sadly you wished to go with him. Techno had asked for you to join him for a round of chess. Something you both greatly enjoyed when together. But now you knew there was meaning to the game.

   Sure enough when you sat with in in the court yard, he brought up Sam.

   "You know he is much older than you..." he said as he moved his knight across the board.

   "And She is half your age" you said flatly. Picking your pawn up. "But I'm guessing that's the reason that you stayed" you said moving it to where you pleased. His brows drew together in slight anger. But he did try and keep his calm.

   "I heard you've been missing me" he said, a small smirk growing on his lips. He found pride within those rumors. Knowing that you still supposedly whined and withered about for him.

   Of course, you knew he was gravely mistaken.

   "You've been telling people things that you shouldn't be" you said carefully. Knowing he was probably behind the rumors somehow.

   Techno took this moment to see if he still had a effect on you. Usually during chess you both would flirt a bit. So naturally, he took the chance. "Like when we creep out and she ain't around" he said bemused, your face twisting into disgust again.

   "I sneak out to see Sam... besides Haven't you heard the rumors" you said moving your queen. When he didn't respond you laughed. He didn't even under stand. "Bless your soul, you've got your head in the clouds" you said, fully amused within the moment.

   "C'mon darlin... I know you fell hard for me when we started dating..." he cooed to you. Your eyes darting up like daggers.

   "You made a fool out of me" you said to him. Wanting to get your point across. Well he moved his pawns about you took your moment to explain how you felt. "You make me sick to my stomach.. And, boy, you're bringing me down" you said softly. Smiling to yourself slowly. "You made my heart melt, yet I'm cold to the core" You said, moving your queen to take his knight. Your eyes slyly skimmed over his. His lost knight now within your fingers.

   "But rumor has it I'm the one you're leaving her for"

   After that game, rumors and tensions soared wildly. Sam at one point thought you were back and evolved with Techno again. Of course you explained to him the situation, which thankfully he understood and apologized for trusting second hand mouths.

Rumor has it, ooh, Rumor has it, ooh, Rumor has it, ooh

All of these words whispered in my ear

   But Techno's mood plummeted fast...

Tell a story that I cannot bear to hear

   A engagement, specifically Sam and yours. Oh how his blood boiled at the news. He thought his hands all over you was bad, but now... now you would take Sam's name in law. You would he his wife. Not Techno's.

Just 'cause I said it, it don't mean that I meant it

   Because of this news he didn't hesitate to run and find you. More than hell-bent on giving you a piece of his mind. He wanted to make it clear you couldn't marry him.

People say crazy things

   He didn't care what people would say, he wanted to claim you again. Techno didn't want anyone else touching you. He especially didn't want Him touching you.

Just 'cause I said it, don't mean that I meant it

   Even if within the past week he yelled hurtful things to you, he hoped you would understand he just wanted to protect you from unworthy suitors. Sam couldn't provide for you like Techno could. Sam was a general born from a farmer. Technoblade was to be crowned king.

Just 'cause you heard it

   So their he stormed. Heading to the stables, knowing full well that's where you were. His anger was fuming. He couldn't wait to shove it in Sam's face that Techno wouldn't let you marry him.

   But lets just say Technoblade was the one left speechless in the end.

Rumor has it, ooh, Rumor has it, ooh Rumor has it, ooh,

   Especially when he slammed the door open to the stables and saw Sam's body covering yours, your legs around his waist in a tight hold well he was buried deep inside you.

But rumor has it he's the one I'm leaving you for

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Deal Part Three

Summary: august doesn't know how to lose.

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Slight Smut, Mentioned Threesomes, M/M, M/F/M, poly relationship, Toys, Seduction, Dom Sub, BDSM, Praise Kink, Swearing.

August hummed running a finger back and forth on the rim of his glass as he watched the screen,you were on the bed rocking onto your new toy like crazy.

"She really does this everyday?" Clark asked from beside him with a frown, but august could see the kid was turned on, licking and biting his lip as you fucked yourself desperately with your new vibrator.

"Everyday, for a week now..." august hummed twisting his chair to and fro flicking his gaze from the subby on screen to the soon to be sub sat beside him.

"... am i? Am i not enough?" Clark asked tentatively blinking at agaust in a way that made the agent smile smugly.

"Its not that kid, shes gone without playing our game for soo long she forgot how addictive it is, how much she needs it" he explained.

"Needs? Have... i mean shes missed it?" Clark uttered feeling less confident in his ability to satisfy you by the second.

"Probably not, well not untill our little experiment"

"Why?" Clark asked still not understanding

"Being a sub is... more then just sex, subs need to submit its therapeutic for them... when in a scene they just let themselves go, all worry and stress disappear. All they need to do is live in the moment and obey" august began slowly as he stopped swaying his chair and faced clark head on pinning him with a look.

It was there, the curiosity. Good. Its what he hoped for, it was why he'd called clark there to 'catch up'

It was time to make his move, top the man of steel whilst having you making your own little porno in the background to help things along.

"So she cant truly relax without it?" Clark muttered still unaware of the agents motives.

"In a sense yes. She craves being dominated, its as natural to her as being a goody two shoes is for you" august purred placing his drink on the glass computer table fendingnoff a smirk as clark took the bait.

"Hey! Im not a goody two shoes-" the kryptonian grunted offended.

But august was prepared, he'd planned this meeting meticulously and his anwser rolled off his tongue with a laugh.

"Your thirty five years old and have absolutly no run ins with the law, no parking fines no speeding tickets hell you never even had a single detention in your entire shcool life! Or have you handed in an assignment or book report in late"

"But i killed a man- i took a life" clark tried to argue but was waed off with another laugh.

"Zod was no man, he was a fucking alien... no offence, you took a life to save billions... so its not really making you a badass"

"Lazer vision is pretty badass..." clark huffed slumping back in his seat now looking like a classic putig brat.

"Oh? Is my litttle clark sulking?" August cooed gravely voice making clark pause at the sultry tone... he must be hearing things.

"Im not sulking! And im not your anything!" Clark growled snapping at the agent.

"Behave yourself!" August growled leveling him with a look, and couldnt help smirk again as clark shut himself up and flushed.

Your desperate cries called out over the moniter as you rutting onto the toy the wet sounds adding to the scene.

Clark flushed finalky turning away from august making the agent preen. Oh he had him in the palm of his hand already~

"Good boy. You are arent you? A very good boy clark- the best" august purred leaning forward gazing at the younger man with a cheshire grin, that only grew wider as clark flushed brighter and shuddered.

"I.. err well yes" clark panted shiftingnin his seat tryingmto keep his eyes on the screen as you wailed and yelped trying to draw out a climax.

"Oh whats this? Your going all shy on me? Tell me is it because i called you a good boy~ do you like praise clark?" Augusut grinned leaning closer still to the now frozen younger male

"N-no its err... i should go-" clark started shuffljng backwards needing to get out of here, because it was true. He loved praise especially in the bedroom, he loved being told how good he was.

August purringnat him whilst he eyes were fixed on you rollingnaroundnin bed toying yourslef into a sexual frenzie was... making him think of thingsnhe probably shouldnt.

"No. Sit, stay... thats it, theres nothing to be embarrassed about, many powerful men enjoy being praised" August growled latching onto clarks arms holding them to the arms of the seat.

"Being taken care of, told what to do~" august purred standing befor the mighty man of steel leaning close to his face.

Clark gulped but didnt move back, he didnt pull away like he should have.

Instead he eyed augusts lips, clark had the overwhelming urge to.aste them.

It confused him, he'd never ever dabbled in same sex relationships, never experimented. Never shared a woman with another before that fatefull night.

But for some reason august was apealing, drawing clark in. August was apble to overpower him, not physically but he commanded obedience.

August held a dangerous cocksure demeanor that clark rarely saw.

"Is that what you want? Clark~ do you want to be controlled and praised just once? More then once?" August hummed dippjng closer and closer, clark couldnt help tipp his head up.

"Y/n is always such a brat. Just look at her, desperately trying to fuck herself into a coma, despite knowing we hadnt allowed her to touch her pussy" august pulled the pffice chair clark was sat in to closer to him, making the kryptonian drown in his scent, the cologne and sweet arousal that was alreading sworling arohnd him.

Clark swallowed dryly, unsure what was happeningnto him, the sounds of yu moaning a crying ot so sweetly, the praise and authority radiating off august in waves.

It was the same dominant aura and comanding deep voice that had made crks cock twitch in both threesomes they had indulged.

Clark had tried denying it at the time, convincing himslef he was cuaght up in the erotic forbidden act. It was just a thrill of the moment thing. It didnt bmean he wanted the older dominating alpha male and all his bravado.

August grinned shifting forward again filling clarks vision, for a human auguast was large, almost as large as he was.

"Sure she'll listen when she feels like it but... I can't help thinking she needs a role model..." clark hummed absentmidely nodding agreeing falling further into his own haze.

"Someone else to show her how she should behave... someone who will get rewarded for being soo good... maybe a good boy?" August purred finally taking the plunge and weaving jis way around the man. His words coiling around the younger male ensnareing him in his carefully constructed web of teasing words.

Clakr gasped as his chin was captured by the agent forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Would you like that clark? Do you want to be not just a good boy, but my good boy-our good boy?" The words hung in the air, winding the man of steel.

"W-what?" He stuttered tryingnto fathom what the older man meant. But couldnt deny the excitment in his gut.

Did he mean it? Would he really include clark in this kink? Make it official and let these forbidden threesomes continue?

"Oh dont play coy, i know what your thinking~ its natural to be curious, just think we could all be one~" august whispered movjng his thumb over clarks bottom lip.

"We could all play together and all get what we need." He purred smirking as clark gave all the right signs, eyes wide, pupils blown wide shifting in his seat as he cock rose, curtesy of both his praise and the loud wanton moans from you bringing yourslef to the edge of rapture yet again.

"You get the praise and love of a little brat, and a strict dom, y/n gets a role model, a dom and keeps her life partner" august listed shifting on his feet again reeling clark in with low coos full of promise.

The agent curled his hand, cupping clarks cheek coaxing him closer luring his face closer.

"A-And you?" Clark dared to utter, feeling both excited, anxious and overwhelmed, he wanted nothing but to jump at the chance, but was frightened at the same time.

He would admit he'd been a little jealous of all the praise you'd got from august in both encounters.

Closingnhis eyes imagining it was him! That the older influential man had been calljng him a good boy, had been teling him how impressed he was, how proud he was!

Clark was embarrassed and had quickly shook away the desperate thoughts. He wasnt gay, why would he have such thoughts?

He summarised he was just too needy and had gone without. You told him how brilliant and big he was, how sexy and strong and fantastic he is in the bedroom but... with august it was different.

The older male praised down at him! Cooing and fussing at him in a different way. Treated him like a sub and clark liked it. Probably too mucn.

"I get the little brat i've been missing and a very very good boy"

"So what do you say, do you want to let go? Be free and experience things you'd only dreamt of?" August preened keeping clarks attention fixed on him asmhe manipulated him, august had noticed clark had a praise kink.

A weakness. A need who was august to pass up useing the little kink to get the subby he wanted~

"I...I'm..." clark hesitated looking passed august to you on the screen who was digging around beside your bed looking for something.

"All you have to do is say the words clark, just say yes sir and you can have all the pleasure and praise you could ever hope for~ both you and y/n we could make this permanent"

"See look? Just watch, y/n needs her dom, needs to be tamed again we could do it clark... you can show her how to be good again~" august breathed over clarks cheek side steppjng him to reveal the screen.

And clark did look, groaning as he saw that you had rolled over and was straddling a different suction cup dildo stuck to a little hand mirror face up on the bed slapping your own ass as you bounced frantically.

"Just say those words and we can help her together" august hummed into his ear like the devil on his shoulder, tempting him

Clark gasped feeling augusts breath on his neck, his wisters ghosting the delicat skin.

Then in a bold move the older man pressed a soft feather light kiss to the kryptonian's neck.

And it worked

"I... y-yes, can we? Please sir" clark breathed out stuttering and jumbling his words unable to hold back his pleading.

"Good boy clark~ such a good seet boy you are~ i knew it, knew youd be brave enough, you've made me soo proud" august showered him with praise biting off a victorious grin.

Clark mewled closingnhis eyes for a second beaming a smile feeling this strange relaxation take over, suddenly he felt free, and small.

It was a feeling he craved, being the strongest all the time was a heavy burden to bare, now he could feel powerless for once.

August chuckled and pressed another kiss to clark this time on his cheek making the younger male's cheeks glow.

August couldnt get enough, the power trip of having the man of steel under his command was far to intoxicating.

"Now why dont you go get our little brat and we can tie her up and show her that good subby's get rewards" august prompted him stepping around clark completely letti g himstand up.

Clark nodded and shot off out onto the balcony and leapt into the sky eagwr to please his new dom and do as he was told.

August took his seat agin wrappjng his fingers around his glass of scotch and raised the glass to the screen that now had both his subs onscreen, as clark wrangled you into his arms wrapping the bedsheet arohnd you.

"Mission accomplished" he hummed smirking as clark wrapped you in your soiled bedsheet before you both disappeared off screen.

He stood and knocked back the last of his drink and padded across the pent house heading to the play room just as he heard both of hos little subs land and enter his home.

[badgirlcovenrep]

atlas

Alex Chen × Steph Gingrich fluffy comfort one-shot

(I was talking to a friend about the game and we were discussing how Alex is probably still carrying a lot of trauma. And even after everything that happened at the mines we still don't see her really grieve for the whole situation and herself. So- I had to write it, you know?)

Enjoy!

TW: mentions of suicide, death and mental health issues.

It's two months into their relationship now, and they are somewhere in a Californian town, living in a tiny apartment close to the beach. They play together in small venues and underground clubs. Alex bartends and Steph referees for DND campaigns at a nerd bar they found by chance on their first week there.

They're happy. As happy as Alex remembers being since she was- well, maybe nine.

Every day, it's a little like waking up into a dream. Living in an apartment with her first girlfriend, listening to music as they cooked dinner together. Getting to kiss her just because Alex felt like it. Because her heart went a little loopy inside her chest when she smiled. Because she knew Steph would hold on to her waist and make her feel like she was full of electricity.

The 'falling in love' business felt overrated before Steph.

But Being in the middle of it now, Alex doesn't think there's anything better.

Although a part of her still felt quite numb - she guesses it's not something that will go away that easily - and day by day, Alex felt a little bit more like she could breathe... like she was finally letting herself go, at least a little bit.

****

Now that she could comprehend and use her powers, it also seemed as if she'd started to become even more of a magnet for all sorts of emotion around her. And apparently Alex could do it in her sleep too.

The nightmares came in clusters most of the time, a badly cut-together mess of voices and feelings. The lady that lived under them, who lost her son when he was little. The couple from down the street, who were going through a hard time in their relationship. Even the little girl from upstairs, who had terrible night terrors of sharp-teethed monsters reaching from under her bed.

They all mixed inside her head until she woke up gasping for air and sizzling with emotion.

It was rare that she'd have a full dream, one that made sense and completed itself, but when she did they were always about Gabe. About sitting together at the rooftop of the Lantern and sharing a beer. Or climbing trees, like they used to do when they were little.

It was a relief from the usual doom.

And that dream was supposed to be nothing different. Or at least she thought it wasn't.

****

In it, they were at the ravine. A world of twinkling stars shining above their heads. The Colorado mountains all around them creating a landscape that was just as beautiful as it was bittersweet. Alex could see the log she'd crossed, still standing between her and the tiny outcrop of stone Ethan had been stranded on.

She hadn't dreamed of the ravine since leaving Haven Springs, but while she was there, Alex dreamt of it every night. She would see it when her eyes were closed. She could hear it, - the sirens, the terrible, deafening rumble of the ground splitting beneath them. The panic, pounding into her ears.

But this is different. Because when she looks around, Alex realizes she's standing over the elevated plateau, tied to the waist and leaning all her weight against a sturdy piece of rock.

Looking at her from below is Gabe. Lying on the cold ground. A cheesy smile spread across his face.

"Why are we switched?" Alex asks because that's all she can think of asking, as she stares at the rope that anchored her to the ground... to Gabe.

"Beats me. This is all your brain, not mine." He says, and Alex huffs in annoyance, "you know what's going to happen, but you keep coming here."

"I don't have a choice."

"Hmmm..." Gabe hums, but there's some humor in his expression as he stares intently back at her, "and that's exactly why... I'm here because I should say goodbye."

A coldness spreads over Alex's limbs. Around her, the very fabric of the dream dims into darkness as a strong breeze blows past them. She suddenly feels like throwing up.

"What- what does that mean?" It's a stupid question. This is her dream. Alex knows what it means.

Deep down, she knew she'd been conjuring him up for her own sake. Trying to bring back any morsel of relief into the giant hole he'd left inside her heart. However, Alex also knew at some point he'd be gone- she just didn't expect-

"You don't need me anymore, Alex." He says. As if it's that simple. As if she'd ever-

"I'll always need you, Gabe. Of course I need you." The words stumble out of her mouth, and she can feel the hot, angry tears falling down her face.

It feels like a hot iron pressed to the very top of her chest.

Like lava, boiling up into her bloodstream until Alex wants to punch something. The steam that prickles from under her skin, fighting to break free.

Anger always comes first when people feel cornered. It's something she noticed a while back. Out of all the emotions Alex had dealt with the past few months, that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Shit, Gabe. When you died I needed you more than ever."

"But we can't fix that, can we?" He asks, and another wave of anger rips through her. She looks anywhere but him, because Alex feels that if she does, she'll tackle and kill him all over again. But when he says nothing and they're left in the same pocket of silence - the one right before the whole world collapsed - her eyes eventually fall back to her brother. Tied to her and laid on the ground beneath. Looking at her like just as much the goofy asshole she missed so much.

Anger always felt urgent and fast, like a flash going through her body and leaving everything inside it in disarray. It demanded to be completely felt, but only for the moment it took for Alex to decide it wasn't worth launching the nearest object at a window.

Or trying to kill her dead brother.

"You might have needed Gabe. But you don't need this Gabe anymore, Alex. You can do it on your own now."

The fear and sadness that came after? They were usually much, much worse.

"But this is the only Gabe I have."

Those emotions, when mixed, turned into a horrible harmony that paralyzed her lungs and darkened the sides of her vision. They felt just as urgent as anger, but complacent. A beast staring at her from the very bottom of a pit. Tied to her by the waist and trying to lure her down into the abyss.

And, for Alex, the abyss was as deep as a ventilation shaft for a Colorado mining site.

"No, it's not. You'll always have me, Alex. And you know that." Not in the way that matters. Alex wants to say, but it's so redundant. He's the ghost. He should already know that. "And you have Ryan now, and Eleanor, Riley, Charlotte, Ethan... Steph..." he gives her a cheesy smile in the last name, wiggling his eyebrows back at her teasingly.

"Oh, God, way to ruin the moment." Alex can't help but chuckle a little through her tears. Is she blushing? You can't blame her for blushing, right? God, she feels like Diane.

"Hey. Let me have it. One of my only regrets is that I never got to tease the hell out of Steph for dating my little sister... and for being whipped as hell."

"That would have been so funny."

"I knew she'd get along with you but I guess I didn't expect... that. Shame on me. Should've had more artistic vision."

Alex chuckles as more tears run down her face. It's so bittersweet it hurts from the very inside of herself.

"All jokes aside. I'm glad you have her, and that she has you. She's good. Just make sure you tell her I'll haunt her from the grave if her dumb ass breaks your heart, okay?" Alex nods, and her body starts shaking with strangled sobs. So much emotion she just can't let go of. Because if she does, Alex is afraid there'll be nothing left.

"Hey. Don't cry. You can do this, Alex. You know how to live life now."

"I don't want to lose you again, Gabe."

"You'll never lose me. You'll just have to look a little harder." He smiles up at her, pulling jokingly on the rope, "now play your part - or is it my part? You get it."

And then- too soon. (Same as it was that night.) The sirens blast through the mountains, and somewhere above them, a giant explosion blows her eardrums, and boulders the size of cars come tumbling down the mountain.

She barely has time to blink. Barely has time to breathe one last time. Seen as she's Gabe, when she looks up all she sees is the giant rock, flying towards her, hitting her across the torso so hard, before she knows, she's flying way above the ravine, and one last glimpse of the stars catches hold over the veil of her memory before everything turns black.

****

She wakes up in bed, desperately clawing at the top of her chest as she gasps for air. Her lungs feel like they're made of lead, and all around her, she can feel the weight of the rocks, the explosion, the debris, weighing down her body.

Alex pats across the mattress for Steph, who is not there. Another wave of panic washes over her. So strong her mouth turns dry and her head aches as she tries to breathe in, but her lungs can only handle tiny, torturous gasps of half-breath.

Alex dispels a world of curses towards herself inside. Willing her own body to just calm down. In the bathroom, she can hear Steph singing softly to herself- she must have come home late from the DND tournament. Alex told her she'd swing by, but she'd had a long shift and ended up just passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Alex hadn't had an incident like this in very long. She could control it now. Most times. It wasn't easy, with being on the road and constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes, she still got more than she could bargain. When she walked across a depressed person on the sidewalk, or heard one of their multiple neighbors yelling at each other through the walls, and suddenly she felt as if the world blended out of focus into a tsunami of feeling.

Feeling that wasn't hers but still felt so much like it was.

Steph helped whenever it happened. For a sarcastic punk rock mess, she was surprisingly stable and so very reassuring.

Just the fact that she can hear her voice. That Steph is there in the apartment with her, is enough to calm some of her nerves, and while Alex still can't keep herself from pulling in gasps of air as she tries to hold in any kind of oxygen, she at least has a plan.

Water. Water will make her feel better, right?

Almost as soon as the idea crosses her mind, Alex's half-delirious brain commands her to get up, but her body feels so very heavy. Like she's really been trampled over by a wave of giant boulders. And as soon as her feet touch the ground, her legs give up under the weight, and she falls onto the hard floor with a loud, heavy thud.

The girl's hands fly up to hold her weight against the bed, and thankfully that means she doesn't face plant the ground, but it sends her heart into a neck-breaking pace, and all air Alex'd been able to gather so far escapes her in a single huff until she's hyperventilating again, hot, angry tears running down her face.

You're so weak. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course, you had to go and lose Gabe twice, who the fuck would want to stay with such a mess-

"Alex, are you okay?" Steph's voice comes, as she opens the door to find her girlfriend sitting on the ground, looking like she might pass out from just trying to get her lungs to work, "Alex!"

In a second she's crossed their room and kneeled by her, both hands going up to her cheeks on instinct, smearing away her tears.

"Breathe with me, okay? We've done this before, you can do it." She always gets just a tiny bit of a scared aura around her when Alex gets like this, never for long enough that she can read it, but it's still there, the tiny flutter of fear, "come on, breathe."

Her eyes go up to find Steph's, her strong, glittering green gaze. Alex might be the one with superpowers, but it was Steph who could so easily reach in and soften her edges like it was nothing. It was Steph who could just lean in and hold Alex's hand against her chest, letting her feel the determined rise of her lungs. Strong. Stable. Even Alex couldn't possibly understand how she did that.

How she always made Alex's breathing slowly come to shaky, deep breaths, crawling painfully out of her dry throat, but still better than gasping like a fish. Inside her, Alex feels the furious hurricane of emotion, twisting itself into the bottom of her lungs, taking hold of every bit of her until she felt like she could throw up.

"Wait here, I'll get you water," Steph says, and Alex wants to complain, she doesn't want to be alone, even for a second.

But before she can, Steph has left their bedroom for the kitchen, and Alex feels as if she's stable enough to crawl into bed, so she does so at a glacial pace. She grabs Shu-Shu, holding her close to her chest as she sits and waits for Steph.

She eventually comes back in with a glass full and Alex gulps it down in silence, unsure if whatever dam of emotion that has taken place inside of her will break if she tries to speak. So she sets the glass back and lies her head down on the pillow, facing away from Steph and the rest of the room as she tries to reel herself back in.

She can hear Steph taking off her boots and climbing into bed, one arm winding around her waist as she pulls Alex in closer.

"Was it the lady from upstairs?" Steph asks, eventually, after they sit in a few long minutes of silence.

"No." She replies, and it comes out so strangled, so broken, a few more tears run down her face. Steph pulls her even closer, a tight, steady pressure.

"The couple again? I swear to God I'll call the police on that asshole this time."

"No." Alex says, and she detaches herself from Steph just enough so she can turn around and look at her, "I had a dream about Gabe." Simply saying his name makes her whole body shake. Steph is looking at her so intensely, Alex has to close her eyes, holding on to the fabric of her shirt with all she had not to explode in whatever terrifying, dizzying bomb of emotion she could feel brewing inside herself.

Alex felt so much from other people it overwhelmed her multiple times a day, and even then, it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to how much sheer strength it took from her not to let it blow.

It scared her. More than anything.

"He wanted to say goodbye." She says eventually, "it was- I don't know. This- I- this isn't coming from anyone- How do I get rid of it? It's like it's all inside of me and it's taking up so much space and I don't know how to fix it" The words come tumbling out before she can stop them, and she's rambling through tears.

Steph sighs. And Alex can feel the love and sadness mixed together, blowing from her in waves as she holds Alex's chin, bringing her up so they can look at each other.

"Baby..." there are tears in her eyes now, as she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching, and they are so close Alex can smell her lemongrass shampoo, "This is all yours."

And such simple words shouldn't hit her this fucking hard.

But it all suddenly makes so much sense-

Alex was numb after her dad left. She felt nothing for months. It was one of the most terrifying feelings in the world, a deep and powerful depression that threatened to overtake her at any given point.

Like her whole body was nothing but dead weight and her brain was way too tired to even try and keep up.

Young as she was, Alex guesses she never realized the first time she felt anything at all after that was when she discovered her powers. The day a boy came to the orphanage and he was so angry it blew her across the hallway. Ever since then, everything around her was a cacophony of feeling. Coming from every direction. Every street corner, every store, every park.

Every moment of her life since she was eleven, Alex could only feel for others.

"I- I forgot." She realizes, half surprise and half so much sadness another sob breaks through her throat.

Now it made sense, the anger, the sadness, the fear, a hurricane of emotion so very powerful it made her ears ring.

"I'm scared." She admits. Because for someone who had been so focused on learning how to exist among other people's feelings, Alex had no clue how to handle herself, "what do I do with all of this? How do I fix it?"

"Alex. Look at me." Steph brings her face upwards until they are so close, Alex can see the speckles of blue in her eyes, "Gabe died just four months ago, and you were there to see everything- then you got shot and thrown down God knows how many stories into a dark abyss that you somehow walked out of, but not before also finding out about your dad's tragic death - and I haven't seen you cry, actually cry, for yourself, even once."

"I- I can't, it's too much. I don't know how, Steph." Alex had learned her lesson. She'd seen her life as it was and survived it. Deep down she knew it wasn't her responsibility anymore - that it never was her responsibility, to begin with - to hold herself together for others. She knows.

But old habits die hard, and Alex guesses it'll take a while before she starts feeling it too.

Because right now, it still felt like the world might collapse if she wasn't there to hold it together.

"Just- give it to me. Everything you have, I can carry it for you." Steph says, with such determination, Alex actually believes her, but she takes her eyes away, trying to avoid the bubbling of tears threatening to jump out through her throat "Let it go, please, Alex. I can't watch you carry it alone anymore."

At that moment, Alex glances at her again, and there's so much pain, so much love in her eyes, that inside Alex, the dam finally breaks and she's choking on sobs. Tears start running down her cheeks as Steph leans in and pulls her closer, one arm around her shoulder and one on her hip, squeezing tight in reassurance.

If she didn't know better, Alex would've guessed Steph was the one with the superpowers, with the way she coaxes wave after wave of emotion out of her with nothing but her steady presence and quick, light kisses she leaves on Alex's head and hair as she holds on to her shirt for dear life.

It overwhelmed her more than anything she'd experienced so far, and for what feels like hours, she just sobs as Steph holds her.

She cries for her mom. Dead before her time, trying to hold them together to the very end. She cries for her dad, dying a slow death deep underground, a picture of the two children he'd never see again dangling around his neck. She cries for Gabe, for the time they'd never have, for the time they did have.

Above all, for the first time, Alex cried for herself. For being the last out of all of them. For the little girl that had to love and lose every single one of them in succession.

And in the middle of all of it, like a speckle of golden light hidden under all the darkness, for the first time, she feels that it could all start to feel alright.

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 11: Still Kyo

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[masterlist] [kia’s slambook]

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“No. Kia, just no.”

“But I want to!”

“Kia, I already told you, no.”

“Why not?”

“Why would you?”

“Because I want to!”

“Kia for the last time. Miya Atsumu can not be your boyfriend.”

“He is. He’s my boyfriend.”

Kiyoomi and Kia stare at each, their arms crossed, Kia is pouting and Kiyoomi is glaring. They have been arguing for 30 minutes now, since Kia mentioned wanting Atsumu to be her boyfriend.

You just continue to make lunch, acting as if they’re not fighting over nonsense. What’s funny is that Sakusa is so worked up about this. Why can’t he just go along with Kia’s fantasies?

“He’s old,” he tells the little girl. Kia glares at him, tears on the brim of her eyes.

“So what! He’s my boyfriend!” Kia argues back, not backing down either. “He’s handsome, tall, and nice!”

“He’s ugly, Kia,” he rebuts. Kia starts crying and that’s also when you serve them their food.

“Mama, tell Kyo! Tell Kyo that my Mu-chan is handsome!” Kia demands you, crying harder. To stop her tears, you sigh. Kiyoomi gags as he hears her call him hers.

“Yes. Atsumu is handsome.” You glance at Kiyoomi and he’s staring at you with a look of betrayal. He looks down to his food and stabs the tempura on his plate.

“See even mama likes him!” Kia pushes, making Kiyoomi roll his eyes.

“Fine. Date him. He’s a jerk anyways,” Kiyoomi states, not looking away from his food. Kia gasps at his words and widens her eyes at you. You tell her to eat and she does.

You want to eat in peace but the anger radiating off Kiyoomi is too overwhelming. You eye his face and you notice how burrowed his eyebrows are. You wanna ask him if he’s jealous, but that would be digging your own grave.

You finish eating and Kiyoomi offers to do the dishes. You nod, not wanting to fuel his already burning anger by arguing about the dishes. “I’ll shower. Watch Kia.” He hums, continuing to wash the dishes.

After he washes the dishes, he goes to the room, Kia following him around. He takes a box of a phone out of his drawer, then goes back to the living room with Kia. He sits her down beside him on the couch, opening the new box of phone.

“What is this?” Kiyoomi raises the phone. Kia looks at it then points at it.

“Phone.”

“Good. What is it for?” He asks and she thinks deeply at his question.

“Mama use it to call Kenken and Keikei,” Kia answers, hoping she gets it correct. Kiyoomi pats her head as approval. “Pictures too.”

“Yes, pictures also. But I have something important to show you.” Kiyoomi pulls Kia into his lap, one of his arm wrapped around her. He holds the phone near her face where she can see the screen and go to the dial pad. “You only use this when there’s an emergency, okay? Now, listen.”

“Okay,” Kia nods, her eyes stuck on the screen, but her ears are waiting for Kiyoomi’s words.

“You long press number 1, and then you can talk to your mama,” he explains. “Number 2 is me. 3 is your grandma. 4 is your grandpa. 5 is your uncle Keikei. 6 is your uncle Kenken.”

“How about Mu-chan?” Kia asks and Kiyoomi squints his eyes in disapproval. “I also wanna call Mu-chan.”

“This phone is for emergencies. Not boyfriends.” Kiyoomi huffs continuing to show her how to make an emergency call. “Okay now try calling me. It’s numb-”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Kia has long pressed the number 2 button on the screen. His phone starts ringing and Kia gasps in awe. “Answer! Answer!” Kiyoomi picks up the call then Kia says hi. She giggles upon hearing her voice on the other phone.

“You only use this when you’re in an emergency, okay? If you feel unsafe, you call immediately. If you get lost, you call. If you are injured, you call.”

“What if I miss you?” She looks up to him with her doe eyes and Kiyoomi’s heart softens. He looks away, not wanting her to see him smile.

“Is that an emergency?” He gives her a serious look and she frowns. Her attention goes back to the phone, her lips forming into a pout.

Kiyoomi places his chin on Kia’s head, then opens the camera app. He snaps a photo. The photo turned pretty well, despite it being rushed and taken at an awful angle. Kia is still pouting at the photo and only his upper face could be seen.

Kia continues to sulk, so Kiyoomi gives in. “You can call when you miss me.” Her face lightens up and she turns, to wrap her arms around his neck. She stands on his thighs, smiling widely at Kiyoomi. “Now repeat what I have said.”

“Press the green button. Number 1 is for mama. Number 2 is for Kyo. Number 3 is for grandma. Number 4 is for grandpa. Number 5 is for Keikei. Number 6 is for Kenken. I should only call for emergencies and when I miss you,” she recites, and this time Kiyoomi doesn’t hold back a smile to show his appreciation towards her correct answer.

“I’ll put this phone in that drawer.” Kiyoomi points at a drawer below the television. “When you leave the house, make sure you put it in your bag.” Kia nods.

“Can mama call you too if she misses you?” Kia says, her hands on Kiyoomi’s cheeks. He answers with a hum and Kia gleefully giggles. “Kyo...”

‘Why am I still Kyo and not papa?’ Kiyoomi sighs in disappointment. “Yes?” He responds to her and she leans into Kiyoomi’s face, kissing Kiyoomi on his lips. His body freezes from the contact, surprised by Kia’s actions.

“I love you,” she claims, pinching his cheeks. A smile is still on her face, as she continues playing with his cheek. Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to respond.

Does he love her too?

-

Kia wakes up from her afternoon nap and doesn’t see you. She goes out of the room, dragging her blanket with her. Kiyoomi, who is preparing to leave for a training camp, sees her. He carries her in his arm.

“How was your sleep?” Kiyoomi asks Kia but doesn’t respond. Her face is resting on his shoulder, still in a daze from her sleep.

“Where’s mama?” Kia asks instead, not feeling your pressence anywhere in the house.

“She’s harvesting vegetables at the garden. Do you wanna go to her?” Kia shakes her head, leaning her head back on his shoulder. She spots the bags on the living room’s couch and she wiggles out of Kiyoomi’s grip. She runs back to her room and Kiyoomi continues to pack.

Kia grabs a backpack and stuffs anything that she can hold into her bag. She slings the bag on her shoulders and goes back to the living room. Kiyoomi is back in his room, checking if he’s left anything. Kia opens the drawer where Kiyoomi placed her phone and she places the phone in her bag. She climbs on the couch, sitting beside Kiyoomi’s suitcases.

“Where are you going?” You ask Kia as you see her from the hallway. She doesn’t answer you. You go to the kitchen, and start to prepare dinner.

Kiyoomi finally comes out of his room, ready to leave the house. He places a kiss on top of Kia’s head then her forehead, before bidding his goodbyes to you. “I’m leaving now.”

“Take care and have fun,” you respond, smiling gently.

You continue to wash the vegetables, not noticing Kia who is following Kiyoomi leave the house. Kiyoomi doesn’t notice too. He only sees her when he puts his bags on the trunk.

“Kia, why are you outside? Get inside or your mama will worry,” he tells her. She runs to him, hugging his knee. He picks her up and walks back to the front door. As they get near, she starts wailing. “What’s wrong?”

Kia knows he’s leaving, because every time she sees Kiyoomi leave the house with that one particular duffle bag, he doesn’t return for days. And she doesn’t want him to leave. If she can’t stop him from leaving, she’s going with him.

Kiyoomi and Kia enter the house once again, and you stop what you are doing upon hearing Kia’s wails. You rush to them in the entrance and see Kia death gripping on Kiyoomi’s shoulders.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You ask her. Kiyoomi shrugs, also confused of what’s happening.

“I wanna go with Kyo,” she says in between cries. He attempts to give her to you but Kia tightens her hold on Kiyoomi. “No! No! No! I’ll go with you! I promise I’ll be a good girl!”

You feel hurt seeing Kia like this. She’s never thrown a tantrum like this so you don’t know what to do. She didn’t even cry when you left her in Kiyoomi’s hands for 3 days.

“Kia, you can’t go with me. But I promise you that I’ll bring you something when I return,” Kiyoomi convinces her.

“No! No! No! No! I want Kyo!” She cries, her eyes red from crying too hard. You take a look at Kiyoomi, worried that he’s irritated from her tantrum. Surprisingly, he looks relaxed, a hint of pain seen in his eyes.

Kiyoomi takes his shoes off, then heads to your room. He sits on your bed, settling Kia on his lap. He makes her face him, wiping her tears away from her cheeks. You spectate them from the doorway.

“Baby, I’m sorry I can’t bring you with me,” Kiyoomi apologizes, his sweet and soft tone calming Kia down. You couldn’t help but smile from the nickname.

“But I will miss you,” she replies, sobbing. He wipes her snot using his handkerchief before pulling her close to his chest.

“You can call me every night with the phone I gave you,” Kiyoomi comforts her, caressing the back of her head. She quiets down, but her hold on his shirt doesn’t loosen. “I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

“But then I don’t get hugs and kisses from Kyo!” She reasons, tears forming on the corners of her eyes.

Kiyoomi cups her cheeks, then kisses her forehead. “That’s for tomorrow.” Then another one on her cheek. “That’s for tomorrow tomorrow.” A kiss on her nose. “Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.” And finally, a kiss on her lips. “Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.”

Kia giggles, her sadness washing away thanks to Kiyoomi’s kisses. She hugs him, giving him a kiss on his lips once again. “I’ll see you tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.”

Kia finally lets go of him and climbs down the bed. She heads out, probably going to the front door to see him out. Kiyoomi leaves as well, but stops in front of you at the doorway.

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at him. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around you, giving you a quick tight hug. You blush. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll miss you, too,” he tells you. He steals a kiss from your lips and quickly runs to the door where Kia is waiting for him. You groan, running after him as well.

You and Kia wave to him good bye at the front door as he enters his car. He puts on his mask and his seatbelt on. Before he can even drive away, his phone starts ringing.

‘Kia 👼🏼 is calling’

Kiyoomi smiles, then answers it, “yes?”

“I miss you already.”

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Facts:

Kia also called Akaashi and told him some good news

Kia begged you to put Atsumu’s number on the 7th speed dial

Kiyoomi’s new phone wallpaper is the photo he took in Kia’s phone

Kia still thinks Atsumu is her boyfriend

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Note: this is probably my fave chapter just because AHHAHAHAHA i hope you all enjoy it

Taglist:  @elianetsantana aoi-turtle ptv-hades  aquzairus a-applepi  justoneofthefangirls arianna-r13 morenabambinii chaelysian loser-keiji mxngy ne-kuroo n1fangirlsblog d-efend missalicebaskerville marvelousbakugou @agaashesmilktea​ bonkyandloki kimi09  ntimacy @mkazuyuh  ushi-please minty-mangos-world @dearest-kiyoomi

[loudestcloud]

HEYO! I did this kinda cos I noticed some new One Piece followers coming in from my Baron posts.

Explanations under cut

• Flame Flame fruit - I think that it's fun, looks cool and is used by 2 of some of the most coolest character. However I would never want it as I am 🔥🔥Pyrophobic🔥

• Mt. Colubo - idk, I think living there would be nice. It being just out the way enough of Dawn Island means it's not too crazy but also not too calm and prime for mini adventures.

• Rumbar pirates - Sing me Bink's Sake anyday boys, I'm always up for it! Its actually one of my main vocal stims to hum or whistle it, it's that engrained in my brain. Anyway, these lads only wanted to be free on the seas to be who they are and sing as the waves crashed on the ship. They never lived to see the pirate king race or even the popularity of pirates as a whole, they just vibed until they died and truely? Who could ask for more? This crew was so kind and wonderful right until the grave and even past that.

• Skypiea - This will probably change cos I'm only on Dressrosa ✌🏻

• Skypiea - I like the storyline, I like the actor, most of my favourites jokes are from this arc, I love the world building and the flashbacks while a bit problematic are still very fun and my favourite.

• I know what your thinking " Sans, how can you know these panels if you are anime only and on Dressrosa?" First off, don't call me by my name, it's confuses people. Second, listen, If I hear something big is happening and Sanji is involved, I'm gonna spoiler myself for the sake of Sanji deleopment. I know way too much about Whole cake because I got sucked in and had to pull myself away before I knew everything that happened. But also when it comes to Wano, I know Sanji was smiling a lot at the start and he asked Robin for help in a fight and that's huge, I know about out cute and powerful trans lady and out sexy strong big tiddies trans man. That's all.

• Sanji - He look, who'd have guessed. For real tho, I always looked up to Sanji as a kid, who had only ever seen his into arc, I wanted to be cool like him. I tended to dress like him any chance I could which was easy cos I'm British so it was just my school uniform really. I would fight like him too being the scrappy lil kid disabled with mild anger issues I was. If someone would try and start shit with me or my friends and I'd just kick their legs out from under. I'd usual fall too, again being disabled n all, but I'd flip back up so I still looked pretty cool. I thought his fight style was perfect for me because if I punched, my arm just dislocates but my legs where strong at the time so it was perfect. Now my legs aren't really that strong either and I use a cane for walks outside the house. The only think I didn't do was cook and that always made me sad but cos I really wanted to but poor ment that I felt didn't have enough food for me to be abled to get things wrong with and again, I'm pyrophobic so cooking is still hard for me like I said before when I picked One Piece back up in 2019, I started trying to get over my fear of cooking by useing Sanji as motivation. The only think id change is his simp levels and his transphobia. But, It's safe to say that Sanji has had a consistent impact on my life. Also as a child I tended to pick the role models that where also womenizers, another example being MCU Tony stark.

• Buggy - He's funny sometimes, he's dumb, I actually like clowns, he was hot in Impel down and we don't talk about how he looks past that. Fatherless behaviour at its finest, I know.

• Shanks - He's disabled, he's powerful in multiple ways, he's got dad vibes and I cosplayed him once and it gave me gender euphoria. So like, he's cool.

• Aokiji - Fujitora, Koby and Isuka had been super close choices but Aokiji ultimately landed on top because I remembered how whenever he shows up, my brain stops working and I have to do nothing but listen to him talk and also him in Film Z

• Brook - My love for Brook is only a tiny but less then Sanji and that's probably only because Sanji has been around longer and reasons I mentioned above. Brooks story is beautiful, as I said I love his crew, his loyalty is so unmatched and he's a really nice old man who is surprisingly chill with new consept. The one thing I don't really like is his panties obsession but at least he is polite about it ig.

• Post timeskip Luffy - Listen, if you've see the outfit exams I used to do, you'll know why I love this design so much but for the new comers let's just say that a lot of thought went into this outfit, a lot more than you'd actually guess.

And a quick bonus, my favourite movie is very obviously Baron omatsuri and the secret island, as if it would be anything else.

[winterscaptain]

a horrible first.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this takes place during rite of passage, where the unsub is the cop committing murder of undocumented immigrants crossing the border. we pick up right at the end, at the quasi-standoff in the desert. let me know what you think and i hope you enjoy it!! 

words: 1.3k warnings: language, canon-typical violence and death, reader shoots and kills the unsub, mild dissociative symptoms following trauma, nothing too horribly graphic

summary:  “the true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― g.k. chesterton. au!march 2010

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You brace yourself for a screaming stop in the SUV, immediately following Aaron to cover as Boyd flies out of the decrepit structure on an ATV, firing an automatic weapon of some kind. 

You take a shot.

Time seems to slow as you watch Boyd go down, tzhe innocuous red dot in the middle of his forehead beginning to weep even before he hits the ground. 

Derek fires his rifle from inside the car, but the deed is done. Boyd’s dead. 

Aaron raises his head. If you had your wits about you, you’d see him counting off, making sure all of you are there. “You all right?” 

“Yeah!” Morgan shouts as he leaves the car, but you’re stuck in place. 

“No!” Emily immediately answers, turning on Derek. “Are you out of your mind? You blew out my eardrum.”

Aaron’s been there - the ringing is damn near unbearable. 

“What did you want me to do? He was coming right at us!” 

“I told you I had him.” She’s holding both hands over her ears, but you’re sure that’s not the only reason Derek’s raising his voice. 

“He was shooting at us, Emily.” 

“Well, you could have given me a heads-up!” 

“The loaded MP-5 and the lunatic shooting at us wasn't enough? Come on.”

Aaron lets them bicker, but notices something odd. 

You haven’t moved. You’re staring at Boyd’s body, your service weapon still in your shaking hand, your breath shallow. 

He approaches you slowly from the side, extending a hand toward your gun. He says your name quietly, but you can’t hear him. He repeats himself and you startle as he gets a little closer. 

He’s not as brave as you were when you pulled him off Foyet. He’s almost afraid to touch you, afraid you’ll hurt yourself or draw away from him. 

The look on your face also scares him - it’s simultaneously blank and absolutely horrified. For a moment, he thinks back and realizes, with a little bit of shock, that he knows what it is.

You’ve never shot to kill before. 

“Hey hey hey,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He places a hand over the barrel of your gun. “Give that to me, okay?” 

Another voice echoes in front of you. It’s Derek, who’s reached Boyd’s body. “Great shot, kid! Right between the eyes on a moving target. They teach you that at the academy?”

You let Aaron take your weapon from your hand, blinking a couple of times. He flips the safety and tucks it into his pants at his lower back, keeping his hands free.

Derek catches on, turning around and sobering. 

Aaron can feel the rest of the unit creep up behind him, but he waves them off. They take a few steps back, watching with bated breath. 

They all remember the first time they shot an unsub, their first kills in the field. A horrible, wretched first. 

“Can you take a step back toward me?” Aaron asks.

You take a step back and trip, stumbling over your feet. 

Aaron’s there to catch you under your arms, pulling you close. All at once, the levee breaks and you let out a sob, turning into him for refuge. 

He closes his eyes and wraps around you. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You did the right thing. It’s okay.” He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh. “That was a really good shot.”  

You clutch his vest, your arms locked around his waist. He keeps whispering to you as the crime scene techs arrive and start their work, shielding you with his body. 

+++

You sleep on the plane home. Aaron sits across from you, working on the after-action report on your behalf. He looks up every couple of minutes as if he’s afraid you’ve disappeared in the time between his last check-in and that moment. 

Derek, Spencer, and Emily watch him watch you. 

“That sucks,” Emily says. “My first hit me hard, too, I think, but like… days later.” 

Derek nods. “Yeah. It’s a shitty first, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m glad Hotch is over there. Probably the best person for this kind of thing.”

“Best person for the kid, too,” Dave says. Derek and Spencer frown. 

Dave continues, clarifying, “Every one of us has someone we prefer when the day gets hard, whether we know it or not. Anchors, if you will. Good to have.” He looks over at the two of you again and doesn’t elaborate further. 

You stir, and when you open your eyes, there’s a fresh glass of cold water next to you on the little side table. You take it gratefully, taking a couple of sips.

Aaron watches you orient yourself, check the time, and start your search for your report. 

“I’ve got it here,” he says, offering it to you. “You have a bit more to do, and I have to keep your gun until all the paperwork goes through - protocol for use of lethal force with a firearm. It’s a simple review, no need to worry.” 

You nod, taking it and thumbing through the extra pages in the back. You’ll probably ask Derek about the best way to fill them out. 

Could ask Aaron, too. 

Hotch. 

Ask Hotch. 

“How should I fill these out? 

He takes a second, interrupting his own reply to stand and promptly plop himself in the seat beside you. “First things first - tell the truth. You did the right thing and nobody in their right mind will dispute that.” 

“Thanks.” 

The shadow of a smile passes across his face. “You’re lucky - this is cut and dry. Not all of us get a dirty cop on an ATV wielding an MP-5 for our first review.” 

“Lucky?” You sound skeptical, at best. 

His mouth quirks. “I know. Poor choice of words. You’ll probably have some rough nights. Do you want me to set up an appointment with the psychologist? The unit technically has one on retainer but -” 

“You never use them because you’d rather hold all your emotions right there -” You poke his chest “- until you die?” 

 The little smile appears again. “You been listening to Haley again?” 

“What, from beyond the grave? You bet. So, watch your ass, Hotchner.” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He sobers, his eyebrows pinching in an adorable look of concern. “But really, if you want…” 

“That might be nice, actually. To talk to someone.” 

“And you know you can always come to me, right?” 

You nod. “Of course.” 

The dull hum of the plane fills the silence between you for a little while. 

“I was really scared, Hotch.” 

He resumes his listening posture, leaning on his elbow with his fingers laced together. 

“It all happened so slow - and so fast? - at the same time. I don’t know. He just… He went down and I was so afraid that he’d shot Derek or Emily I mean -” You take a breath. “I heard the gunfire behind me and the glass breaking and I just didn't want to turn around and find them dead you know?”

“Yeah,” Aaron whispers. “I know.” 

“I was so stuck that I didn’t even realize Derek was talking to me - he was right in front of me and I couldn’t see him. And then I started thinking about Boyd and all that hate and…”

You trail off, unable to continue with any degree of coherency, so you ask a question instead. 

“Is it always this hard? Does it get easier?” 

Aaron wavers for a minute. “Yes and no. It’s never ideal - you know you’ve made a mistake when you have to use lethal force, but you get more confident about making the right call in those situations as you see more of them. You’ve been with us for two years - I’m - No.” 

He stops and his brow crumples. 

“I was going to say I’m surprised you made it this far, but I’m not. I’m impressed. And proud. It took a dirty cop on an ATV -” 

“Wielding an MP-5?” You finish for him. 

“Yeah. It took that much for you to pull your trigger with any lethal intent, and even then you didn’t want to. The entire way you were talking about a de-escalation strategy - don’t think I didn’t hear you.” 

A flicker of warmth blossoms in your chest and maybe, just maybe, you feel a little better.

+++ 

tagging:  @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway. 

[jimlingss]

Hi! Here’s a request for your Drabble game: namjoon + fantasy au + “Take this seriously, it’s a life or death situation!” Can be funny or angsty and sorry if this request is too specific haha

Anonymous said: Hello Kina! I love literally all of your works! Can I request this prompt? “That’s barbaric.” “That’s how you survive.” Any member!

Anonymous said: zombie au with any member ?

Zombies count as fantasy, right? lol

↳ The Unintended

2.5k || 50% Angst, 50% Fluff || Kim Namjoon || Zombie Apocalypse!AU

You’re lucky to have Namjoon by your side.

He’s always been the outdoorsy type. One of your first dates together was a camping trip in the wilderness. You remember being mortified then — having no place to do your makeup or properly shower or be able to make yourself look good for him. But now you look back on the memories with fondness. He didn’t care back then and he doesn’t care now.

Not to mention, Namjoon was also a boy scout for eight years. When he got too old for that, he took up rock climbing and spent hours in the gym to beef up his arms. It’s where you met him in the first place as a receptionist at the gym where you were working part-time while going to school.

He knows how to fish. How to set up traps. How to start a campfire. 

Namjoon’s saved your life countless times.

But then again, he’d argue you’ve saved him lots of times too. Years of schooling to become a nurse wasn’t wasted on you after all. And you’re the better cook than he is.

“Look what I caught!”

You look up from the fire where your dear husband is holding a usual fish. But in his other hand is a rabbit held by its ears, dead. It’s dripping of blood, limp in his grip and you feel a twinge of guilt.

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s how you survive,” he says. “I’ll prepare it to roast.”

You hum, taking the fish from him and the pair of you fall into routine. Namjoon works alongside you to prepare the food, poking the fire interchangeably and the both of you looking up once in a while through the thicket of the forest. 

After a moment, you pipe up, “Hey.”

Namjoon glances up at you and says “hey” with a tender, dimpled smile. 

The corner of your mouth quirks without being able to resist. “I’ve been thinking we should get on the move again. I saw a cottage down the road on our way here. Maybe we could check it out.”

“It’s probably already been ransacked.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to sleep with a roof over our heads. I don’t want you to stay up and have to keep watch.”

“We take turns.”

You give Namjoon a look. “You never wake me up for my turn.”

He smiles sheepishly and you put your blunt knife down, quickly growing solemn. “I’m serious, Joon. It’s not good for your health to not sleep and I can’t— I can’t have you breaking down on me.”

Namjoon softens when he recognizes your distressed tone, when he sees your expression marred with worry. “Okay,” he murmurs gently. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.”

You nod and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. 

As the fish and rabbit are roasted over the blazing fire, smoke fills your nose and you cough before batting it away. You’re starving — in general, you’ve been feeling weak these days but you don’t dare say anything to Namjoon. God knows what he’s putting himself through to make you feel as comfortable as you can. 

You don’t want to worry him even more.

But you can’t hide your groan or sickly expression when the fish you’re supposed to eat comes up to your mouth.

Namjoon’s immediately alarmed and wide-eyed. “What’s wrong? Is it bad?”

You hand the stick that’s pierced with the fish over to him while cupping your mouth, trying not to vomit. “I’m sorry. It just smells really bad.”

“I made it the exact same way before.” He frowns and bites into the fish that’s still steaming. Namjoon chews in his cheek. “It tastes fine, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll have the rabbit.”

But as you shift over, your husband’s eyes bore into your profile.

Namjoon stares at you. He gawks.

Then his mouth opens and he says— “Are you pregnant?”

Your eyes double and you look back at him. But then you scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You look away from him, picking at the meat, but you swallow hard in the meanwhile, mind racing. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. You haven’t had your period for three months — but you didn’t think twice about it. Not when there were more pressing matters. Not when you just assumed it stopped because you haven’t had your nutrients and you’ve been starving.

Namjoon knows the gears in your head are turning by your expression. He knows after years of being together.

“Y/N.”

“I already said it’s not possible.”

“There’s a city ten miles away from here. It’ll take half a day to walk there, but there should be a pharmacy or a hospital—”

“We are not going to the city,” you interrupt in exasperation. “It’s a death sentence, Namjoon, and we’re fine out here.”

“Not if you’re pregnant.”

“I’m not.” You deflate with an annoyed sigh. “I know my body best, alright? So just drop it.”

Namjoon stays silent. 

The rustling leaves of the forest and the distant sound of the river rushing fills the growing space between the two of you. And it sinks in how harsh and upset you got. You look up towards your husband with remorseful eyes. The last thing you want is to fight out here. Who knows when it could be your last moment together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just worried.”

You nod. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Yet deep down, uncertainty swirls and you’re green with nausea again.

...

It took a year to happen.

At first, it was called a flu outbreak. Authorities kept it contained for a few weeks until it wasn’t anymore. Within the span of another week, it was declared a worldwide pandemic and entire countries went into quarantine. 

Life itself shut down. People complained and protested, and when thousands started to drop dead, there were protests for lack of government action. Then, it was millions dead.

Developing countries fell first. It didn’t take long after that for developed nations to follow.

Chaos. Panic. Looting. The dead walking the streets.

You still get nightmares about it. Namjoon does too — when he’s holding you and suddenly jolts awake, gasping. It’s then and there that you know he’s had a nightmare of one of the many close calls.

“I thought the cottage was closer than this.”

The both of you are trekking through the forest, lugging your bags and weapons, trying to remain as quiet and elusive as possible. 

Namjoon looks over his shoulder. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“It should be up ahead.”

You hum, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on you. But it’s still better now with the canopy of the trees hiding you. It’s refreshing even. You admire the unfamiliar scenery. 

All at once, you stop. None of this should be unfamiliar.

Namjoon doesn’t hear the crunch of leaves behind him and turns around.

“This isn’t the direction of the cottage, is it?”

“Y/N.”

Your brows furrow deep enough to hurt. “I already said we’re not going to the city, Namjoon! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

Suddenly, there’s snarling in the distance. Namjoon, on alert, clasps his palm over your mouth and both sets of your eyes flicker over. There’s a shadow in the distance, a lurching figure amongst the trees. It snarls again, jerking a bit in your direction, but then no sounds follow. 

It passes.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We have to go eventually, Y/N,” he whispers. “We need more supplies and if I can get my hands on a car, that would help us.”

“But—”

Your husband gingerly takes your hand, cradling it softly. “We’ll be careful.”

You gaze at him, searching his expression as if you’re painting his features to the forefront of your mind. But you already have. Yet, it’s not enough to feel comforted. “I can’t lose you, Namjoon. I can’t.”

Namjoon reaches out to hug you, embracing your body, frame overtaking yours.

You grasp onto his shoulders, trying to savour the moment and capture his warmth.

“You won’t. Not if I can help it.”

You nod into his chest.

The trek to the city is completed by afternoon and you find yourself standing in the remains of what was once civilization. There are decayed buildings, abandoned tanks, and much to Namjoon’s delight, many deserted cars. You see zombies bumbling around too. They’ve infested every corner street, every line of the road, and alley, nook and cranny. 

Their bodies are decaying, some with skulls lodged in half and their brain unraveling behind them. You have to hold back a gag when you can smell the rotten odour from here.

Luckily, you and Namjoon move quickly. You throw bricks and bottles at a distance to attract them and run the opposite way together.

First, you get to the small grocery store, opening your backpacks for the spare cans of beans and peas. It’s not much, but it’s a lot at this point. Namjoon even manages to score bandages.

“This is enough,” you murmur when you’re back on the open street again.

But before you can move on out, he stops. “Wait.”

You follow Namjoon’s line of sight. Across the street is a pharmacy and a horde of infected.

You pull your husband back before he can book it and the both of you hide behind discarded crates on the road. “Wait, why?”

“You know why. There were none in the grocery store. I checked, but if there’s any place that has them, it’s there.”

If looks could kill, Namjoon would be six feet under and then crawling out of his grave as a zombie. Maybe as the first one who wasn’t bitten or infected by the virus. “You’re being an idiot.” 

Namjoon grins. “Well, I was thinking of just shouting a battle cry and running straight in there.”

“Take this seriously,” you hiss and punch his arm. It does little to even push him back, much less hurt him. It doesn’t help that his muscles are rock solid. If only his brain was as developed — but if you were being honest, Namjoon was quite intelligent too. Except for right now. “It’s a life or death situation.”

Namjoon smiles, practically from ear to ear. 

The dimples on each side of his cheek crease and before you can react or say much else, he leans in and captures your lips with his. It’s a soft and sweet kiss. Then your husband cradles your face in his hand and tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You’re rendered to complete silence, melting into his touch as he takes your breath away. 

When he pulls from you, your lashes flutter.

You’re completely dazed. 

Until he grabs a rock near your foot and chucks it. It smashes into the window of a nearby boutique, glass shattering and all the zombies turn their heads. They snarl at a high pitch, screeching out as flounder towards the noise. Namjoon darts behind them, right out of your grasps.

You’d shout his name if it didn’t mean your own death sentence.

The wait is agonizing. You feel like you’re going to get a heart attack as you watch the door, unsure if he’ll come out. Even if he does, you don’t know if he’ll still be human and the Namjoon that you love. The one that you decided to marry, that you saw on the other end of the aisle and who cried like a dork when he saw you in the dress. 

Those years feel like another world. But they’re still memories you cherish.

The five minutes feels like an hour. You’re cursing, praying, regretting.

But then the buff idiot, your idiot, comes out and runs back to you with a massive grin. Uninjured. With bottles of penicillin, some kind of allergy medicine, and a pregnancy test you grimace at.

You seek refuge at an apartment building on the edge of the city.

It’s an expensive one that was fenced in and boarded up — one of the last to fall to the ruins.

You choose a room on the second floor that’s easy to get into and easy to escape if need be. Unfortunately a zombie lurches out from one of the rooms much to your horror, but Namjoon kills it. He takes his hatchet right into its skull and checks the other rooms before dragging the corpse out when you look nauseous again.

When it’s all over, Namjoon dusts his hands off like it was just some spring cleaning.

“What happens if I really am pregnant?”

You hold the test, motionless, until your head lifts to meet Namjoon’s softened eyes. There’s an overwhelming urge not to take it, to throw the box out the window and keep convincing yourself that it would be impossible to be carrying. But Namjoon risked his life for this.

And you know he won’t let it go. Not until an answer is certain.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs gently.

“I can’t give birth on my own, Namjoon.”

“I know.”

“If the baby even makes it that far,” you whisper and he grimaces. But what worries you far more, what’s put you in so much denial, and made you sick with terror is the fact that you know— “I’ll slow you down even more, Namjoon.”

His brows furrow, lips becoming lopsided. “You don’t slow me down.”

“How many times have you almost died trying to save me?! I-I can’t keep up.”

At once, Namjoon engulfs you with his arms. He holds you close, body flush against yours and you press your face into his broad shoulder, smothering your worries for a moment with his soothing comfort.

“I love you,” he sighs against your ear. “No matter what happens, I love you. There wouldn’t be a reason for me to keep living if you weren’t here, Y/N. I’m only trying this hard because you are. You’re my purpose now. You and this baby, if it’s real.”

Your fingers clutch onto his jacket, hanging onto your husband as your anchor. “Shut up,” you mumble against his clothes. “You know I hate it when you talk like this. Like you’re saying goodbye.”

Namjoon smiles faintly, remembering how you made him promise to never say goodbye. “Sorry.”

He lets you go and you turn into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are excruciating. Maybe you’re just impatient, but you’ve grown to hate waiting. But still, you wait by yourself while kneeling on the cold, tiled floors, staring at the stick you peed on.

It’s faint. And you pray your eyes are wrong. But as the minutes go by, it becomes stronger and stronger in colour.

You leave and Namjoon looks at you expectedly. 

“Well?”

You thrust the stick towards him. Two lines.

[sneezefiction]

of night owls & early birds

Kuroo x Reader

desc: Kuroo, your roommate and longtime best friend, likes you but he really dislikes your sleep schedule. alternatively, your crush gets up way too early and you “suffer the consequences.”

a/n: the irony of working on this fic at 5 am doesn’t escape me… but it also hasn’t assuaged my awful sleep patterns. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: school/general anxiety, crass/offbeat humor (jokes about planning your own funeral), idk if you’re scared of love don’t read this - it’s very fluffy.

wc: 3.6k

--- You’re screwed, you think, as a light flickers on just outside of your room. It illuminates the carpet underneath your doorway with a warm orange tint.

And though it shouldn’t make your heart jump into your throat, it does.

You’d promised, swore to Kuroo, that you’d be asleep by 2 am - and to him, even that was a stretch. But he should count himself lucky that you’d even agreed to his demands at all. 

After all, he is well-versed in the world of night owls.

Kenma, though maybe not your kindred spirit, shares at least a couple of qualities with you. Kuroo likes refer to these “qualities” as crimes.

One of these crimes (and quite possibly Kuroo’s least favorite) is your god-awful sleep schedule. And you’re a repeated offender.

There was only so much nagging and bickering you could take before you’d cracked and told exactly him what he wanted to hear. In a flurry of words, you’d agreed to turn off your laptop, close up your textbooks and actually put your head to a pillow.

You also may have been bribed.

To sweeten this deal, Kuroo had promised to buy you pizza this upcoming Friday, given that you actually did get some rest.

But as you reluctantly lift your phone, the glass screen glowing a little too brightly, you realize that it’s already 5:30 am.

You grimace.

It’s Tuesday morning. Meaning that the repetitive beeping across the hall is Kuroo’s alarm.

Your lips press into a firm line. Most birds don’t even get up at such a godless hour.

You can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a functional morning routine. Or a morning routine at all.

Leaning back in your plastic desk chair, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

It stings.

You probably got so caught up staring at the blob-like words on your computer screen that, somewhere in the process, your body had forgotten how to blink.

And while the tension in your neck and shoulders is painful, it’s nothing in comparison to the festering guilt of not listening to your longtime best friend and now roommate (a suspiciously well-intentioned college boy who had somehow managed to win your heart over the course of this fall semester.)

Thinking back, working on your final English assignment at midnight wasn’t the brightest of ideas. It wasn’t even due for another week. But as due dates loomed, the impending fear of a bad grade had begun to burrow deeply within you.

If you could just pump the brakes on deadline anxiety, you wouldn’t feel so pressured to type incoherent sentences at odd and empty hours of the night.

And maybe Kuroo wouldn’t feel the need to coerce you into a firmer sleep schedule. Though you do find this caring habit of his to be inexplicably endearing. 

Thus, the prickling feeling continues to infiltrate your restless mind and the brewing concoction of anxiety and guilt in your tummy makes you feel uneasy.

But before you can sneak into bed and tuck yourself inconspicuously under the covers, you hear a floorboard creak. 

As if on instinct, you hold in a breath.

Kuroo isn’t one to forget about little promises. Of course, he’d want to know if you’d made good on your side of the deal. 

Gently, you close your laptop and swivel your chair to face the door. You still your movements, keeping your body taut against the back of your chair.

More soft steps fall just outside of your room.

Your eyes can’t pick a place to land, so they choose to wander. And with a quick scan of your room, it doesn’t take you long to realize that your bedside lamp had been left on - an instant giveaway.

You begin planning for your funeral. 

However, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t go out this way. You prepare yourself for death by interrogation or shame-induced coma.

Regrettably, neither options seem very interesting to you. If you ask politely, maybe your friends will engrave a portion of an epic poem into your gravestone just to make your passing seem more sophisticated. Yeah, that sounds nice and pretentious.

Okay, you might be overdramatizing things - Kuroo would never send you to your grave. But that doesn’t change the fact that your psyche likes to play tricks on you in the wee hours of the morning and that the eerie quality of the atmosphere somehow reminds you of a cemetery.

As you sort through who-gets-what on your will, there’s a not so sudden knock on your door. The soft tap makes your heart skip for two reasons:

The first being that you still haven’t gotten used to the fluttering in your chest from him being present all the time. Developing a crush on him (and suspecting feeling on his side) had made you a little jumpier over the past few months.

And the second had to do with the fact that you were actually going to have to talk to him about this. To apologize for being a bold-faced liar. It wasn’t clear to you whether you’d be teased or reprimanded. And honestly? You’re not sure which option would feel worse.

So you take a breath and steel yourself.

“Y/n?” A gravelly voice sounds from outside your room.

It’s tainted with sleep. You shiver.

There’s a preemptive sigh, “C’mon y/n, your light is on. I know you’re awake.”

You’ve been caught, so there’s no point in prolonging it.

“...You can come in.” You reply meekly, clenching and unclenching your fists.

The door cracks open.

That soft orange hall light floods into your room and directly into your eyes. With a squint, you try to fully visualize Kuroo. He’s positioned himself so that he’s leaning in your doorway with his arms crossed.

Before coming to grips with the situation, you scan the boy up and down. Amusingly, you realize that he has to duck his head just to fit underneath the door header - he really is tall. You have to wonder if he’ll ever stop growing.

Aside from his intensified bedhead (which doesn’t shock you) and the sleepiness in his eyes, he looks normal. But you must look positively spooked, because the moment he sees you, there’s a flicker of humor in his golden eyes… and an almost invisible smirk.

At least he isn’t angry. That fact alone allows you to let out the breath you’ve been holding in. Anger isn’t really a trait you’d ascribe to him anyway.

“It’s funny…” He wonders aloud, “I thought we’d agreed to something yesterday.” Kuroo brings a mocking hand to his chin in a thinking motion.

Your body naturally begins to shrink into your seat. You want to sigh, protest, explain yourself… anything to keep him from lecturing you. But, technically, you deserve this. 

“I’m pretty sure you promised me you’d be in bed, asleep,” He emphasizes “by 2 am…”

“And” he adds, motioning evenly to your set up, “I highly doubt you’re up early just to get work done.”

You bite your lip while gripping and releasing the fabric of your sweatpants.

Kuroo isn’t a mind reader by any extent, but the body has a language of its own. Right now, your actions are murmuring signs of discomfort. And exhaustion, according to your dark circles.

Kuroo heaves out something between a sigh and a yawn before he takes another couple of steps into your room. 

The sound of mattress springs and rustled bed sheets gets you to turn your head toward him, though you hesitate to meet his gaze.

He makes himself comfortable.

This is a familiar scene, Kuroo invading your space. Well, it’s less of an invasion and more of an unspoken agreement that the both of you can ‘come and go as you please’ in regards to bedrooms, granted that the “invader” knocks first.

Essentially, if Kuroo wanted company, he would find his way to you and plop himself on the edge of your bed. You would do likewise. The interaction could last 5 minutes or 3 hours depending on your mental stamina that day.

In a way, it mimicked your childhood - going over to Kenma’s and knocking relentlessly on his bedroom door until he finally let you and Kuroo tumble through the doorway together. The only difference now is in the way that you spend time together. Conversations become deeper a lot faster. Belly-laughs after a miserable day of classes are considered sacred. Study sessions are done shoulder to shoulder and with a myriad of disgusted faces when frustrated with a particularly tricky problem.

But this is different from your usual conversations. It’s sickeningly early, you haven’t slept a wink, and a tidal wave of stress from this entire semester is finally crashing into you.

“I’m sorry,” You start softly, fiddling with your fingers, “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about this expository essay I’ve been working on and my mind is totally numb. I’m so stressed out by all of these-”

“-Classes.” He finishes for you.

You swallow, bobbing your head softly in confirmation.

 “I get it.”

And just by looking at him, you know he understands. For someone so laid back and put together, Kuroo’s eyes could speak a novel’s worth of emotion and information at any given moment.

“But you’ve already spent more than enough time on it.”

Have I really? Have I actually done enough? Because it feels like I’m failing. Like I can’t seem to finish what I’ve started. I can’t even complete this paper.

But at least Kuroo sounds resolute. 

He’s stating a fact, not an opinion.

And he’s not trying to be unempathetic. He does get it, he really does.

But Kuroo also sees how hard you work already. And he knows all too well that there’s only so much work you can get done in one night. You’ve got enough on your plate even without your classes, so having the extra academic pressure is just the cherry on top.

“Mm,” you hum, “yeah, I guess you of all people would know.” You hunch over and rest your elbows on your thighs, using your hands to prop your head up.

He’d been there at your most and least productive moments. On days when you were cranking out a few thousand words and nights when you could only jot down a few sentences. Hell, Kuroo had even volunteered to help you edit and format it when the time came. What kind of person offers to do that before they’ve even been asked to?

It’s just another feature of his charm, you suppose.

But you still feel stuck. Like you’re a boat stranded in the middle of the ocean and you just can’t seem the muster up the strength to pull up the anchor. The anxiety lingers.

“...It just doesn’t feel like it’s ever enough, y’know?” You breathe out.

There it is. Finally out in the open.

And Kuroo hums thoughtfully to himself.

He’s been there.

Not knowing if the effort he put into his work was having any actual effect. Being unsure as to when he should stop taking responsibility for something. Putting work, classes, and people before himself.

It’s draining; a swirling spin-cycle of exhaustion.

But he’s also been learning that “enough” is subjective. So he decides to say just that.

“Enough is a pretty vague word, don’t you think?”

You blink. 

Yeah, you suppose it is. 

Hopefully this isn’t another one of his bizarre epiphanies - the kind that makes you think your brain is going to implode. Sometimes Kuroo could be a little too philosophical for his and your own good. But you humor him anyway.

Shifting in your seat, you give him a stiff nod.

Satisfied with your understanding, he proceeds with his thought.

“What I mean is that we probably have totally different definitions of enough...” he drawls on, “... and different standards too.”

“Okay...”

“What I mean is that-” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “-what’s ‘enough’ to you may not be ‘enough’ to me. And vice versa.”

Kuroo tilts his head back, brows furrowing in thought. He’s grasping for the right way to put it.

“Y/n, I think you’ve done enough. You’ve worked hard,” he points out, “and I don’t think I know anyone who deserves a break more than you do.”

That makes you pause. You lift your head up to catch his gaze - his eyes are already studying your expression. Something inside of you stops functioning because never have you seen such raw sincerity. Or maybe you have, but you’re only just now noticing it.

He gives you a gentle smile. It makes your chest ache.

“You mean it?” You half-whisper.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’ve known this for years now, but Kuroo truly has a way with words. They had the ability to pierce like a harpoon or stick sweetly to you like warm honey. Even with a few (thousand) shitty jokes littered throughout your conversations, it’s only natural to be awestruck by him. By his ability to make even the most awkward of situations a little more bearable. How he subliminally knows how to soothe and temper you. You think he would make a really great businessman - he’s quite persuasive; a real salesperson.

One part of you wants to apologize to him again. Another part wants to jump up and kiss him. To tear up and cry in his arms with relief. You chalk these potential reactions up to exhaustion and hormones… but you don’t write them off entirely.

Because suddenly being 3 feet apart feels like miles. And your bed is looking terribly comfortable.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask, but you’re already moving from your seat.

He gives you an indifferent shrug - though he feels anything but.

“It’s your bed.” 

Oh, you’re well aware of that fact. You can already feel heat rising to your face.

You stand up slowly, raising your arms to the ceiling in one final attempt to stretch. Then softly, you place a knee to the mattress and wedge yourself on the rest of the way until you’re sitting crisscrossed in front of him. He shifts his torso so that it’s facing you.

And now that you’re finally eye to eye, you can breathe.

He may be your crush, but you feel strangely comfortable in his presence. You always have. It’s part of what makes Kuroo... well, Kuroo. He embodies security while still pushing you out of your comfort zone. And for that, you’re grateful.

You break the silence.

“I really am sorry,” you echo your earlier apology.

You undoubtedly are. And you’re not sure why it feels like such a heavy thing to say over something as menial as a good night’s sleep.

“Hey, hey,” He soothes, reaching a hand over to ruffle your hair, “it’s no big deal, alright?”

You send him a half-hearted glare but it immediately breaks into a soft smile. His hand lingers for a moment longer than it should before he draws it away. You miss the teasing touch.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye-contact, but even as you look away, you note that his eyes remain concentrated on you. You can’t tell if it’s you who has moved closer or if he has. Either way, those few inches of distance have narrowed by a decent margin.

“I honestly just wanted you to get some rest. You’ve had it rough and by the looks of it-” He scans your face like he’s trying to diagnose you with something.

“Hey, watch it-” You warn, narrowing your eyes.

You already know you look tired. Kuroo loves reminding you of that in his own little way.

He smirks playfully, continuing anyway.

“-You could really use the sleep.” Kuroo’s raspy voice trails off.

“But apparently even pizza isn’t a convincing enough strategy.” He gives you a lopsided grin.

You shake your head, “Oh no, no, the pizza was very convincing.”

He scoffs, “Was it, now?” Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, “Because you seem very awake to me.”

“Can’t we just blame this on the paper, please?” You sigh.

He furrows his brows in contemplation, “Hmm, no. I don’t think so. This is partially your fault.” A rather underwhelming response.

“A small part.”

“I’d say it's fifty-fifty.” He reasons with a raised eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Okay, you can quit whatever-” You gesture to his expression, “this is.” He always managed to pull the strangest faces and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh.

He snorts, “Oh? I thought you liked-” Kuroo gestures to his own face, “whatever this is.”

His voice has a curious edge to it. Some might even call it flirtatious.

And you go quiet. 

You can’t help but stare at him. His messy hair, his barely parted lips. The fact that Kuroo just woken up and somehow still looks this attractive to you is so annoying. So frustrating.

And words are failing you.

It was an innocent comment. He’s just messing with you like he usually does. Maybe this has all gone a little bit too far. You should probably just say good night (or good morning) and rest your eyes.

Yet you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the perfect segway into addressing your relationship.

At literally any other time of day, you might be more rational. You could reason with yourself that this is quite literally the weirdest time to bring up your feelings for him. But something in you needs to close the literal and figurative gap between you two. And, for some indecipherable reason, it has to happen right now.

Whatever the outcome, you trust that Kuroo will always be your safe place.

So you throw caution to the wind.

“Actually, Kuroo…” You begin, staring at your hands which are placed neatly on your lap. “I really do.”

His eyes snap to yours.

This time it’s Kuroo’s turn to go silent in contemplation. Taking in a steady breath becomes an act of labor.

“You… really do what?” He asks slowly, grasping for your intended meaning.

Your heart pounds.

“I really like you.” You clarify.

It isn’t at all eloquent, but it’s sincere. You’d once heard that honesty came easier late at night, but you had no idea that it applied to early mornings as well.

But you finally make sense of the words that just escaped your lips. Panic arises. In an attempt to hide, you bury your face in your hands. You wish you could put the words right back into your mouth.

“I-” You take a deep breath, “I think I spoke without thinking.” Is all you allow yourself to mumble.

You no longer trust yourself with words. 

Your face, your whole body really, feels like it’s on fire. Humiliation begins to wash over you in red hot waves… but you startle when a pair of hands meet your wrists.

You lift your head.

His fingertips are warm and worn. Still decorated with calluses from his years of volleyball back in high school. You want to question why the world has withheld this touch from you for so long.

He lures your hands away from your face, grasping both of them gently. For a sensation so new, it was somehow strikingly familiar. A thumb is meditatively tracing small, slow circles in the middle of your palm.

You gawk in disbelief… and as you scan his face, you catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. You can’t say anything though - your own face feels like it’s just become 1000 degrees warmer.

“I kinda figured you might,” Kuroo breaks the tension rather… bluntly.

Of course he did, wait what?

“But the thing is…”

Is this some sort of rejection? Is he just letting you down gently? Is that why he’s holding your hands like they’re as fragile as fine china? Then why is he looking at you so sweetly, so tenderly-

“I wanted to be the one to say it first.”

You start planning your own funeral again. 

However, this time, emotional whiplash will be your stated cause of death. At least it’s a more unconventional way to go out.

“I- uh,” you swallow, “w- what did you just say?” It comes out as a stammer. 

You’re squeezing his hands a little too tightly. When you recognize your modest death grip around his fingers you loosen your hold.

Kuroo smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly.

It’s nothing like that cunning smirk that you find annoying, yet so adorable. It’s also not one of his full-scale grins. It’s far too simple and reassuring. You almost don’t trust it.

“Well, in short, I like you too,” He re-explains, searching your face for a reaction, “but... I’d hoped to tell you that over pizza on Friday.” Kuroo looks away.

If you weren’t already gaping over his personal confession, you would probably be laughing at this new side of Kuroo. He looks unmistakably bashful.

It takes you a second to recover, but you finally open your mouth to respond...

But you’re cut off by Kuroo, once again. His softened expression is long gone. And, much to your dismay, he’s suddenly shifting himself off of your bed.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. I guess that means there’ll be no pizza… no movie… no me.” He slowly releases your hands, knitting his brows together to feign sorrow - it looks hilariously forced, but you’re too worried about the warmth leaving your fingertips to care.

He’s teasing you like you’re his best friend.

And that’s because you are.

So then why does it feel like something’s changed? Like he’s daring you to make the next move?

Before he can pull away and leave, you tug at his hand which draws his whole body toward you.

Your heartrate spikes through the roof. When’s the last time you’ve been this close to someone? To a guy? A guy who’s shown actual living, breathing interest in you.

And he’s in your face.

Close enough that his scent, his cologne, is drowning your senses. Close enough that his breath is fanning faintly against your cheek. Close enough that you know there’s only one thing left for you to do.

Before you can think to hesitate, your lips are brushing up against his.

Intuitively, he brings his hands to your face, closing any extra distance. 

Kuroo’s thumb feathers over your cheekbone, stroking it tenderly. His lips apply very little pressure and it’s unbearably delicate, but it fills you with an indescribable warmth. His lips linger just long enough for you to detect the mint from his toothpaste - he can probably taste the cinnamon tea you’ve been sipping on over the past hour. As far as kisses go, it’s reserved, but perfect for this distinct moment.

Plus, you figure, this is just the first of many longer, more eager kisses - though you can’t imagine being more breathless than you already are right now.

But you can hardly get another taste of him before those warm hands on your cheeks are prying you away. He stares. You stare back. His eyes are brimming with something warm and full. You immediately choose to label it, “affection.”

And in a much lower voice, Kuroo murmurs, “Let’s save this for later.” 

You scan his face, wondering if he’s actually serious. He gradually makes his way off of the bed and onto his feet and before you can protest, Kuroo is speaking again.

“You-” 

He leans down and gingerly lifts your chin with his fingers. The gentleness of his touch almost makes you flinch, but you somehow manage to hold it in the road. Though now you’re really at a loss for words.

“-need to get some good rest.”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You still feel it after he pulls away. After he closes the door. After you’ve laid you head down on your pillow in shock.

How does he expect you to fall asleep after all of that?

---

extra: this is dedicated to Izzy - our sleep schedules may be jacked up, but i’m pretty sure it’s a blessing in disguise if we’re taking our time zones into consideration. thanks for making me laugh & for not stealing my quarter of the braincell.

and to my precious friends and followers - thank you for being patient with me. it’s hard to post or even write at the moment, but i’m steadily pushing myself toward a better mindset. i appreciate your comments, likes, and the fact that y'all even bother to check out my works in the first place. i’m working on it.

also happy birthday, Tetsu. you’re a real star.

[imaginesmai]

Arvin Russell - The preacher’s sins (1/2)

Requested by an anon, please enjoy it! It was too long, so I divided it in two parts. I’ll post the next one tomorrow!

Plot: there is nothing bigger for you than the love you feel for Arvin Russell. Not a lot of people can awaken what he does in you, with his cheeky smile and chocolate eyes. Now, a stranger threatens to break that bond, manipulating where it hurts the most.

Warnings: It’s the devil all the time, and you know the preacher. So if you’re reading this, it’s because you’re alright with what’s about to happen. Anyway, violence and manipulation.

Arvin’s car was waiting for you when your shift at the café ended. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face when you thought about the upcoming events; a whole weekend just for the two of you, in your house since your parents were away in a business travel. That meant you could sleep in the same bed, have your own space and dream about finally moving in together. As you crossed the street jogging, your bag hanging from your left shoulder, you thought you could get used to it.

He was smoking, looking ahead and lost in his thoughts. Some wild strands of hair had fallen on his face, making him look a bit more childish that usually. Arvin Russell looked as handsome as ever, and for two whole days, would be handsome only for you.

“Arv” you announced your presence when you climbed in the seat beside him, rubbing your arms in an attempt to get ride of the rain’s coldness.

“Hey, pretty girl”

Arvin dropped his denim jacket over you, and while you put it on, he threw his cigarrete through the window’s car, moving his hand around to get ride of the smoke. Once he made sure you wouldn’t choke with it, he closed the car’s windows and looked at you with a half-smile.

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening” you giggled softly, enjoying that moment of excitement and peace.

“Hope ya haven’ changed your mind” Arvin quickly pressed his lips against your cheek, before starting the car. “How was work?”

As you started talking about a cute dog which owner had let you pet, Arvin drove you to your house. He managed to listen to the story, drive safely and sneak a hand so that he could hold yours.

During most of the weeks, it was hard to see him. He was busy with his family and his part times job, taking what he could to earn a little money. Lenora took a lot of his time too, because she often got picked up by the bullies at highschool and Arvin insisted in picking her up every day. Then, he went with her to the grave yard to visit his mother, and he stayed with her until she finished. Sometimes, he would sneak for a few minutes and come visit you in the café, ordering the cheapest thing in the menu and watching you for afar.

Neither of you had a lot of free time. Your family, humble and hard-working, was also very conservative, so even if they accepted your relationship with Arvin, they didn’t like when he stayed at night. His family didn’t have a lot of free space neither, and if they had they didn’t see with good eyes sleeping together before marriage.

That week hadn’t been different. You had been working every afternoon until the sun came down, and then drove back home. The only difference was that you had been stopping briefly at the church, to talk with the new preacher. You knew Arvin didn’t like him – which was why the mood darkened on the way to your house.

“He ain’t good, Y/N” he grumbled, briefly looking at you.

“You don’t know him, it’s just – he’s new here, he needs a chance to prove himself” you defended. “I know what he did to your grandma was wrong, but we can’t judge him by one mistake!”

“It wasn’ just one mistake. He talks and talks ‘bout how everyone is a sinner but ‘im” Arvin protested.

“Arvin, please” you shifted closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. “It’ll be just a few minutes. He told me he needed my help with something, you don’t even have to see him.”

The preacher, indeed, had told you the previous day that he wanted to meet you in the church on Friday. You hadn’t told him your plans with Arvin, even if he was kind of interrupting your peaceful weekend with your boyfriend; probably, because you knew he wouldn’t approve you spending the night with him.

Deep inside, you knew that Arvin was probably right; he always was at the end, no matter what he was talking about. He was the one who said that the boy who Lenora’s was after wasn’t a good man, and now he had fun chasing her with a bag and awful words. There was something about the preacher that you didn’t like either, but you still didn’t know what. For now, you wanted to be on his good side.

“So? Can we stop?”

“I’d feel better if not” Arvin scoffed. “But I guess that’s a yes”

Arvin stopped on the graveyard, an empty place where the sun was setting already. It was dark and silent, and even you, who wanted to stop, were starting to reconsider the decision. You looked out the window, seeing that the church’s door was open and a dim light could be seen from the inside. Arvin exited the car without another word, and you knew he was pissed. He wasn’t too keen on sharing his feelings, even more when they weren’t of love or happiness.

You had been dating for seven months officially, and it had been ten since he asked you for a date after your shift at the café. There was no way you could make him talk about it and comfort him before the sun disappeared completely, so you decided to ignore him and walk towards the church. Still, before entering you looked back, half expecting him to be ready to leave and pick you later. But he had lighted up another smoke and was leaning against the car, looking to his feet.

Much less happier than before, you entered the church. You wanted nothing more than Arvin to be happy, and if you were up to wish anything, for him to have a better relationship with the rest of Knockemstiff; starting with the preacher.

He was sitting in the first row, reading from a small book. The faint lights you had seen came from the candles, which made the place much more scarier than usually. You didn’t think anything about it, not even when you made yourself heard by calling him and he told you to close the door. It was a cold, October day, so you guessed there was nothing wrong with it. After looking at Arvin once more, and receiving no smiles, you closed the door behind you.

“What did you want me for, preacher?”

“Come sit with me, Y/N” he patted the bench beside him, and you approached him. “You ever read the bible?”

“Um, a little. Lenora reads to me sometimes, a-and from what I hear on Sundays” you explained, not really wanting to say it out loud.

The truth was that you had never learned how to read. You had had to drop out of highschool at a young age because your mother had fallen ill, and your father couldn’t manage the family business on his own. With no money to buy books or material, your father had you help in on the shop. You were good with numbers, from years of experience, and you were starting to know what some words were written like thanks to Lenora and Arvin. But not a lot of people in Knockemstiff knew that you didn’t write the orders down in the café because you didn’t know how.

The preacher hummed, finally raising his eyes from the small book on his lap. He shifted closer to you, until you were sure you could hear his heartbeat. He showed you what he had been so focused on, and while you knew some of the letters, it all looked like garbage.

“This is my favourite part” he said, his voice soft but with a sharp edge. “Mom used to read it to me every night, too. You know it?”

“U-um, yeah” you said. Quickly, you tried to search for a word that you could understand. Lenora always read to you a passage of the bible when you went to their house, and maybe you could know what was it about. However, the preacher closed the bible before you had time to find it.

“God is merciful and benevolent, Y/N” he stretched one arm behind your shoulders, and you felt tears run to your eyes when you understood he knew it. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of – Arvin had managed to convince you it wasn’t, but you felt embarrassment crawl through your spine. “He forgives us all, all of our sins. But you know what is what he doesn’t forgive? Lies”

The back of your hair was grabbed with so much force that you emitted a low cry. If the door had been open, maybe Arvin would have heard you. But he angrily pacing around the graveyard, thinking about how he shouldn’t be so hard with you, and you were too afraid and embarrassed to scream any louder.

You were met with the preacher’s hard eyes, hateful and unforgivable. The back of your head throbbed from how hard he was gripping it, and finally a lonely tear made its way down your cheek. It seemed to offend him more, because he squeezed harder.

“You think you’re worthy of stepping into this temple?” he hissed, his hot breath making you shudder. “You think I wouldn’t find out that you can’t read? Or that you spend the nights with that boyfriend of yours?”

“Preacher –“

“Shut the fuck up!”

The nice man who you had been talking to the rest of the week disappeared in thin air, and you were thrown to the ground with a force you didn’t know the kind preacher had. A small cry of pain left your lips as your right wrist bent awkwardly against the edge of the bench, and you tried to move away. But the preacher had other ideas, because he hoisted you up until his face was inches away from you again.

You were sure he would just bash your head against the bench and Arvin would only have your cold body for the weekend when his face morphed, and that calm that always surrounded him was back. He sat on the bench again, and put his head against his hands, as if he was in deep thinking. Before you could think about running out of there screaming Arvin’s name, the preacher talked.

“Get naked”

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists​, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Two - Gutless

WORD COUNT: 4k

WARNINGS: Death (murder), brief descriptions of gore, Isla and Jax doing something very illegal

MASTERLIST

The morning sun was beating down upon the pair a little bit harsher now, inducing a sheen of sweat to coat over Jax's forehead.

But the perspiration could've formed as a result of coming to the realization that he'd just blown the brains out of an ATF agent, left his body to decompose on Tara's bathroom floor, and spilled his guts--not even twenty-four hours later--to Isla.

Jax knew that he could trust her with anything--he always had been able to trust her with anything. But there was something telling him that she didn't exactly feel too wonderful about his revelation.

Her arm lifted to run across her forehead, ridding the skin of a few salty droplets.

"What do you mean--"

"I mean I put a bullet through his fuckin' skull and blew his brains out, Isla! That's what I mean."

He ran a thumb over his lips, realizing that he should've kept his tone subdued so close to the main doors of the clubhouse.

"Jesus, Jax." She breathed out, pinching the bridge of her nose as he started to pace quietly. "I--I can't believe you're telling me this."

Well, she could. Really, there wasn't anything she could've put past Jax anymore. And when it came to Tara...The man was an idiot. Always had been.

"Why was Kohn even at her place?"

Jax was fidgety. Uneasy. She couldn't blame him for that, could she? Because he'd just fucking killed a man--but still.

He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"Or did you lure him there or something--"

"Shut up." He growled, grabbing her bicep with his left hand as he pulled her to the side of the building. "Just listen to me."

"I'm listening, Jax, but you don't seem to be telling me a lot."

Realizing that he wasn't offering very much explanation, he nodded. Jax let go of her and beckoned her closer, pleading eyes melting her fucking heart.

"Isla, please." He wrapped his arms around her, minding the bloodied shirt.

"What do you want me to do?"

Ringed fingers splayed over her cheek, pushing stray blonde hairs out of her face. He sighed hard. Exasperated.

"Help me get rid of him--"

"Jackson--"

"I'm not asking you to lug his dead body to the creek and throw him in. I'm just asking you to offer a helping hand and be a lookout or something."

Isla searched his features for a morsel of something that'd indicate Jax was messing with her. But he was dead serious--his face set to neutral, eyes glazed over.

"But--I--what about Cameron?"

"Tara and Chibs have it covered." He murmured, heeding the apprehension sail over her.

She was as strong and willing as she possibly could've been. Isla was consistently the person that Jax and Opie would turn to for advice when it came to their girls, or when they needed to be pointed in the right direction.

But he'd never asked her to do such a thing before.

Her loyalty outweighed her nervousness, however. He knew she'd never say no to helping him with such a matter--but it was still asking too much.

Chibs would've been furious that Jax felt it necessary to beg Isla for assistance during such a time, too. Hell, Gemma would've admonished him for it.

"Where is he?" She mumbled, hearing the clubhouse door open and an irritated grunt sounding from the front of the lot.

Jax held her close to his chest, a hand tracing over the skin of her shoulder that'd been exposed as the shirt fell to the middle of her arm.

"Tara's place." His whisper was monotonous, bordering on lifeless.

"Okay--when do you need to do this?"

He eyed Tig storming from the building and toward his motorcycle, completely unaware of the two conspiring.

"Tonight." His voice came low and gravely. "I'll ride to her place now, and you go home, get yourself cleaned up, do whatever you've gotta do today, and we'll head there--"

"I'm not cleaning myself up. I'm already covered in blood--I don't think I need to destroy another shirt."

"Okay." Jax's lips rubbed together, almost turning upward into a smile. "But don't follow me out, alright? Go tell Gemma that you don't know where I went, and then you take it from there."

"And if Tara asks..."

A gentle kiss against her forehead almost forced tears to collate in her eyes.

"She won't ask--she knows I've gotta do this."

Isla silenced herself, though she nodded and watched as Tig--pissed as hell--rode out of the lot and onto the street.

She guessed that he was still piqued after she and Chibs yelled at him.

And she was still pissed at Jax, but for a different reason now.

This time, she wanted to slap the shit out of the blonde idiot standing before her, requesting help with disposing of a literal dead body.

Isla couldn't quite believe that Jax had turned to her and not somebody like Opie--somebody who would be able to help a little more physically--but she could only assume that it was more of a trust thing.

He had a lot of faith in her and she lauded that. But it also saw her get thrust into some questionable situations.

"You look like you're gonna puke." Juice stifled a laugh as Isla padded in, the bottom of her shirt wrenched between bloodied fingers. "Are you good?"

"Yeah." Instantly, she responded. "I'm fine. I just need to get my purse."

Clay was nowhere to be seen--possibly in the back room with Chibs and Tara--but Gemma's eyes focused on the blonde's form as she strolled across the wood.

"You don't look fine. Come sit for a little while."

"I'm gonna head home--"

"Where'd Jax go?" Gemma cut in, lifting an eyebrow conspicuously.

Tell Gemma that you don't know where I went.

"I don't know." She frowned, sitting on the barstool opposite the woman. "We shared a cigarette, talked about Abel, and then he told me he had to go--where, I don't know."

Did she feel bad about roping his child into their little lie? Yeah, a bit. But it was foolproof. Gemma never would've suspected anything to do with Abel because, really, Jax brought him up to everyone whenever he got the chance to.

"Ah. He's probably headed over to see him. I'll go--"

"I wouldn't." Isla pushed. "He's trying to get some alone time with him. He said that he hasn't really been able to spend one-on-one time with Abel all too much."

Which wasn't a lie. Jax needed to spend those rare solitary moments with his baby because his mother couldn't seem to leave St. Thomas for more than three hours at a time.

Gemma just hummed, turning away.

She knew how he felt. But she was Abel's grandma--she just wanted to know that he was safe and being looked after.

"I'm sorry, that was mean...I just think he's a little confused right now, and could use five minutes with his son."

"No, you're right." She nodded, unable to heed the trepidation flitting over Isla because she felt bad about coming down on Gemma in such a way.

That woman was a Godsend to Jax, his children, and even Isla's family. She didn't deserve to be randomly admonished for wanting to visit her baby's baby. Not after everything she'd done for them.

Well, besides trying to murder the mother of Jax's first born. That was a little fucked up--even by SAMCRO's standards.

But Isla adored her. For everything she had done for her during the time she'd resided in Charming, Gemma was regarded extremely fucking highly in her book.

"Go home, baby. Get some sleep, too--you need to rest."

Isla waved her off. "I'm not tired, just feelin' a little gross."

"I'd bet." Gemma pushed her lips together, smiling as much as she could've. "You go yourself pretty again, and swing by later for dinner."

"Yes ma'am." She mock saluted, reaching for her purse.

Goodbyes between Isla, Gemma, and Juice were uttered for a few moments before the blonde made her way to the door.

Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, urging her to turn back to the duo.

"Gem?"

"Mhm?"

"Was Tig alright?" Sincerely, she asked. Feeling a little guilty about snapping earlier.

Gemma didn't say anything but her head bobbed in confirmation, providing Isla with the answer she needed.

The Irish in her shone through during instances like those. She was brash in her actions, words, and the fact she'd always speak before she thought--but the solemnity with which she would ponder, apologize after making a mistake, was just so plainly Irish.

Isla was kind. Caring. Nurturing. She was everything that SAMCRO was not--but, at the same time, everything that Chibs was. Reliable. Loyal. Committed. A true ride or fucking die.

Everybody trusted her, and nobody second-guessed confiding in her.

And, once again, that had its reparations alongside a multitude of perks.

"Holy mother of Jesus." She cursed, the unmistakable Belfast twang flickering through her brusque tone.

Jax haphazardly pulled the bed-sheet over Kohn's lifeless frame, turning to face his little friend who was, to put it lightly, fucking stunned.

"You sound super Irish when you're mad."

"I'm glad you could recognize that I'm mad at you, Jax." Her eyes never once left the outline of that dead body half on Tara's bedroom carpet, half on the tile of her en-suite.

Getting to her knees, disregarding an incredulous amount of blood decorating the walls and carpets, Isla pulled the floral cover off of Josh.

She sighed. "Why'd you do it?"

"He was stalking Tara--"

"So you just blew his fucking brains out?!" Her shriek was guttural. "Jesus Christ, Jax. And you idiots think that Tig is the one with a trigger problem."

"He does have a problem, and you know that! This was different!" He countered, pulling her to her feet. "This was fucking restitution, Isla!"

"No." Calmly, she stated. Her glare piercing. "This was fucking stupid. Possibly the most idiotic thing that you've ever done, Jackson."

His head shook as he sneered, towering over her. Isla felt intimidated. For the first time ever, she felt an unwavering sensation of overawe whilst in the presence of her best friend.

"He was a bad guy. He had to die."

"But he was fucking ATF! Hale is gonna get your ass, and there's nothing Unser will be able to help you with once he gets wind of this--"

Isla's voice cracked around a small sob. She wasn't even aware of the tears welling in her eyes, but they were there the entire time.

It was the thought of Jax making one incredible life altering fuck up--one that he wasn't going to save himself with a bribe, or the simple luck of a good connection to Charming PD--that was maiming her uncomfortably.

Jax's arms wound around her trembling waist, hugging her tightly against his palpitating chest.

The sheer terror visible in her mannerisms was what frightened him. Isla never seemed to scare very easily--or, at least, she didn't show it.

She was fearless, but she was still human. And he had only seen her crack twice. Both times because of the club, too.

"He was stalking Tara." He reinstated, circling his fingers over Isla's svelte spine. "They dated when she was in Chicago, she broke things off but he was a clingy motherfucker and he wouldn't leave her alone."

"She should've gotten a restraining order or something." She mumbled into his chest, sniffing back tears.

"That's the thing. She did. But he broke it by coming back to Charming, pretending to be setting up shop at the PD with Hale, but he followed her around town for a couple weeks instead."

"And nobody questioned why he wasn't getting anything done?"

Jax's head shook. "He was still working for Chicago--or so he said, anyway--so Hale just assumed any intel for whatever the fuck it was he'd been workin' on was going straight back to the big bosses."

She was struggling to follow on.

It was such a convoluted scenario that Isla never thought she'd become entwined with--though, with Jax and Charming being, well, Jax and Charming, she didn't know why she ruled something of the sort out.

"Are you gonna tell Gemma and Clay--"

"No. This is between us, and Tara."

Isla didn't have the energy to bicker with him again. She didn't want to bicker with him again, truthfully.

"Alright, what's the next move, then? 'Cuz this pig can't stay wrapped up in a sheet for too much longer or else he's gonna start to stink this place out."

Jax situated both hands against crimson coated shoulders, lightly pushing her backward so she could look up to meet his gaze.

"I got a plan. But I don't think you're gonna like it."

His eyes went straight to the lighter atop Tara's bedside table, right next to the pineapple scented candle, and she sighed hard.

The man was so sadistic. It wasn't even slightly discreet anymore, really.

Whereas Clay had always been ruthless, remarkably barbaric toward those who had wronged him--or anyone, really--Jax had more of a moral compass. Not much more, but a little. And that was the sort of thing that tied him straight to JT.

But Clarence Morrow had a much more potent impact on Jax's life, thus the man's foibles ended up transpiring to his stepson.

"This is seriously fucked up."

"I know." He didn't even try to argue, pushing Josh into the small grave he'd spent the last ten minutes digging at the pit of a deep, deep ditch.

Isla's body was below freezing, cold and uneasy at the prospect of potentially being caught, or assumed as an accessory to the murder of a federal agent.

"I'm sorry for roping you into this." Jax stated, almost reading her mind. "I just didn't know what else to do."

She ran a hand over his forearm, resting her head comfortably against navy-cotton covered flesh. "I know."

He didn't expect the woman to douse the dead body in gasoline, set it alight, and wait all night for the corpse to torrefy entirely--but she was there now. There was no reason she shouldn't go to the trouble of lighting the first match.

Tara should be the one doing this, Isla thought to herself as the small stick caught alight. She dropped it atop the sheet, taking a few steps backward when the thing immediately shot up into thick flames.

Jax engulfed her warmly with both arms, holding her tightly as if continuing their prior embrace. It felt safe, unusually so. But, to Isla, it felt like he was scouting for that security more than what she was.

"I can't believe you committed murder for a woman that you haven't seen for ten whole years." She laughed against his sweatshirt, eyes watering. "Is there something going on with you two again?"

"No." Huskily, he responded. "There isn't, and there won't be, either. I just swung by her place to make sure she was alright--I knew she was having trouble with that fucker--and he was there. I had to do it, Isla."

"I know."

She didn't. She did not know. She did not want to know, either. She couldn't fucking believe he'd acted out so rashly, how he was so trigger happy.

Jax was morphing into a different man and she couldn't help but pin that on the club.

"Is she alright?"

"I don't think so." His mumble was barely audible, but she caught it.

Isla squeezed his arm reassuringly, knowing that he felt bad about bringing that sort of trouble to Tara.

"She will be." She confirmed. "She's a strong girl, Jax, she'll be okay."

It didn't kill her to speak positively about Tara, she still held a place in her huge Irish heart--but it was an odd sensation to be mentioning her at all.

Ten years had passed by and Isla wasn't even certain that she was still alive. Her concern for the doctor seemed to dissipate over time because Tara didn't want anything more to do with them, so they didn't try with her.

Maybe it was a pang of jealousy that held her back. She was undeniably envious of the fact that she'd gotten out of town, worked her ass off, and experienced bigger and better things.

But, essentially, everything led back to Charming, and Tara Knowles had ended up falling into that same heap of trouble she left behind a decade ago.

Isla pulled her cellphone from the back pocket of her jeans, groaning when she saw the time.

"We've got an hour before Gemma wants us for dinner. You think this son of a bitch is gonna turn into dust within the next sixty minutes?"

"No." Jax laughed, leaning to his left and propping his head atop hers. "But he'll be unrecognizable in the next twenty."

"Perfect."

It was barbarous. Vile. Inhuman.

Isla's mother would be spinning in her grave if she knew the chaos she'd managed to find herself meshed with. Diane would kill Chibs, too.

She'd kill him for roping her baby into such malice after leaving Belfast. She'd want to throttle the Scottish son of a bitch for welcoming little Isla Áine Telford to SAMCRO, to Charming, to Jax fucking Teller.

They weren't natives to the small town, nor were they natives to California. Chibs had just moved from charter to charter. Continent to fucking continent. And taking his little angel along for the ride wasn't exactly planned until his late wife took her very last breath one stormy morning.

It was the most upsetting thing he had to do, telling his daughter that the woman she looked up to and adored with every fiber of her being wasn't coming home.

He'd been in the army, he'd seen things no man should've ever seen, but the sight of that six year old--teary-eyed and partially cognizant--was something that cut him so deeply, Jimmy O'Phelan's mark didn't seem to scratch the surface of Chib's inconsolable hurt.

"I think we're good now." A little nervous, Isla noted.

She simply couldn't wait to get out of the bitter chill, into a hot shower, and to the dinner table at the Teller-Morrow residence.

Jax surveyed the scene. He crouched down, heeding the flicker and sick crackle of flames engulfing the barely fleshed body.

"I think so, too." He confirmed, throwing her the keys to his SUV. "Get outta the cold--I'll finish up here. K?"

She nodded, clutching the chain close to her chest.

Isla wasn't sure how badly she was trembling until she sat still in the passenger seat, watching the club's VP commit the unspeakable.

Really, she wasn't shocked to find out that Jax was capable of the sort. Burning a man dead was better than burning one alive, and she was thankful that Josh had been put out of his misery before his body was cauterized into dust...Which was more than what could've been said about Kyle Hobart.

She remembered overhearing the club's plans to sear, or slice, the SAMCRO tattoo from the back of that brute once they'd gotten wind of his inability to black it out.

And she would've felt bad about that man getting viciously harmed, if he didn't fuck Opie over and subsequently land him in Chino to serve five years away from Charming and his family.

It was cruel, she knew that. To blowtorch the MC tattoo from the stretch of his back, was fucking cruel. Isla knew that Tig was adept at causing such blistering agony, but she didn't think he would actually go through with it, least of all with such delight.

Isla feared that man sometimes. Clay's right hand, the man who sought to protect her, fucking terrified her because he was so unpredictable. So fast acting.

"He's done." Jax officially confirmed, sliding into the driver's seat. "You okay?"

She was staring off into space, her eyes glazing over at the realization she had just helped dispose of another human being.

"Isla--"

"I'm good." Finally, she spoke. "I just--uh--I just wanna get cleaned up and head to dinner now."

He pinched the keys from a frail palm, sticking them into the ignition. All the while wondering what the fuck he was going to do with the shaken up woman to his right.

Twenty-three years of friendship, and Isla never once thought she'd be involved in such incredulous activity. Jax never thought she'd get hauled into it either, really.

Juice was right. She looked like she was going to throw up, all pale and sickly.

He had done that. Jax was, essentially, the reason that Isla seemed as though she wanted to crawl out of her own fucking skin. Granted, she was already feeling rather discomfited after tending to Cameron's laceration for hours on end--at odds with her father and Tig for that time, too.

But now this...This made Isla feel horrible. Dirty. Disgusting.

"You want me to tell Gemma you're not feeling it tonight?" Jax looked beside himself, noticing her head hanging low as she flared out of the window. "So you can skip seeing everybody--"

"No." Flatly, she responded. "No, I wanna make sure Tig doesn't hate me."

"Why would he hate you?"

"I yelled at him." Isla sounded downcast, sad. "He was watching, being awkward, trying to tell me what dad and I were doing wasn't going to suffice, and I just snapped."

In understanding, he hummed. He knew how irritating Alexander Trager was. Irritating, insufferable, it was all the same.

"He won't hate you for that." Comfortably, Jax rested a hand on Isla's thigh.

She barely felt the ringed fingers gently gliding along her jeans as she shook. It was a tremor, light and unnoticeable to the naked eye, that Jax felt reverberate through his entire body through his palm.

"I don't think he's managed to be pissed at you for more than fifteen minutes at a time."

"Yeah." She mumbled, shifting awkwardly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm too sweet for anybody to stay mad at me--"

"I wouldn't say you were sweet."

She smacked at his hand with a laugh, throwing her head backward as her smile started to fade.

It was bittersweet.

Bittersweet because she was realizing that Tig had pardoned her for being a bitch, but she had also just disposed of a dead body on the side of the freeway.

Bittersweet because, now, there was no clear path for her and Jackson and whatever happened was just going to happen and they had to grin and bear it. Pretend it wasn't eating them from the inside out.

Bittersweet because their families--their family--were currently sat around the oak table in Gemma's dining room, waiting for the pair to waltz in after doing the most heinous.

Bitter. Fucking. Sweet.

"Where were you guys?!" Tig pointed his beer bottle at the duo, heeding Jax's hand in Isla's back pocket.

Of course, to Trager, that was more than just a comfort thing. He didn't know what they had just done--nor would he--but she was going to let him believe whatever the fuck he wanted to as long as it wasn't the actual truth.

"It don't matter." Clay dismissed, gesturing to Jax and Isla's designated spaces at the table. "They're here now. That's all I care about."

Her smile was warm, friendly and welcoming while she sat in between her father and partner in crime. Literally.

Chibs nudged her. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Slowly, she uttered. She reached for the wine glass that Gemma had so kindly laid out for her.

The two blondes made eye contact for a few moments, Jax's crystalline hues completely lifeless. Arid. He nodded toward her, an indication that he was feeling alright.

But Isla...She wasn't. Lying through her teeth was the only feasible means of getting over this. Whatever this was.

"I'm fucking brilliant, dad."

[slashedthroughtheheart]

A night with the trapper

Hey hey, I’m cross posting on here from my Ao3 account! Hoping to build up a writing blog once again after The 2018 Incident happened and I lost my other one for overwatch.

This time, I’ve delved into the slasher fandom after picking up Dead by Daylight! This is just some good nice fun with Evan, focused on his pleasure! Enjoy!

He'd been so considerate of your needs when you approached him tentatively.

He'd just returned from a trial and was in the middle of cleaning the grime off of his hands and arms when you gingerly pulled on the side of his overalls, looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loved to see.

Barely above a whisper, the words left your lips in a rush. "Would you let me touch you?"

The words themselves weren't dirty, but the look you gave through those eyelashes of yours, a flush dusting your cheeks and the slight pout of your lower lip lent a lewd meaning behind the words.

He hadn't even taken his mask off yet, but the candlelight in his workshop was just enough to give you a glimpse of the smug grin that donned his features.

Turning back to washing himself, he let you stew in your emotions for a bit before his voice filled the room. "Lemme get this right, doll. You wanna touch me...intimately?" Despite the words being a question, it sounded more like a pleasantly cocky statement. The low hum of his voice made you shiver, his knowing and almost teasing tone had the blush spreading further on your face.

The slight turn of his head was what prompted a meek but determined nod. You'd wanted this for a long time, and even if it was embarrassing having to ask like this, you knew you wouldn't get a chance to act it out unless you did.

Any time you'd been with him, it was always him on top of you, all around you, baring down on you like he was a hunter and you were the prey he'd caught.

And while you'd been enjoying that, you couldn't deny you wanted more. Something different.

You'd been so scared of everything at first, the pain from being hooked and sacrificed in trials was maddening. You barely talked to the other survivors for the first week, completely thrown through a loop and reeling from the shift in your new normal.

They'd tried to reach out, to be comforting and welcoming, but you had resisted. The fear gripping your heart at all times very real and palpable.

What if the killers came to find you after the trial too? What if the time you weren't being forced to fix gens and run for your life were also plagued by the terrifying monsters that hunted you in the trials?

No soothing from any of the other survivors helped. They feared you'd break before too long had passed, having seen it before in the ones that stopped appearing after they broke fully.

It was the leader, Dwight, who had tried one last ditch effort.

While the killers didn't hang around with any survivors often, it wasn't unheard of for companionable time to be spent together outside of the trials. Some were easier to approach than others, like Bubba. He didn't do much talking, but he was always happy to see anyone and would listen to people talk for as long as they wanted.

So Dwight had gone to their leaders domain, skittishly asking if one of the killers could show the newbie some kindness outside of the trials so they'd stop spiraling out. So she wouldn't be taken like some of the others had been.

Evan had stoically listened as the survivors leader talked about that new girl who'd been so very afraid during every trial he'd seen her in. She'd fueled all the killers instincts very well, looking so picture perfect with the fear readable in her eyes. Such big eyes that always had tears just threatening to fall, or falling already.

It had probably led to a bit more brutality than usual.

He remembered you, shaking like a leaf looking like you were about to wet yourself. Your hand over your heart as you stood like a deer in the headlights when he caught sight of you.

Then you turned tail and ran, your panting had excited him. It had been a while since they'd gotten someone new to chase.

You'd managed to outfox him that trial though, your fear keeping you from most of the generators so he never caught sight of you a second time after he lost you when someone blinded him with a flashlight. The other survivors worked double time to make up for the teammate they lacked, and since he'd been so fixated on finding you again, he'd mostly left them alone unless they got just a bit too close.

He hadn't managed to hook anyone that match, having been too focused on finding that doe-eyed survivor again and hearing them scream.

So he fully understood that maybe the welcoming had been rather hard for you. "What's 'er name?"

The skittish leader seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding in, worried that the Trapper wouldn't entertain the idea of trying to calm the newbie down.

"Y/n. She's real spooked, by everything." The almost derisive laugh that came from Evan at that moment startled Dwight.

"If you're saying that, she must really be a fraidy cat then." The grin on his face was visible through the opening of his masks own garish smile.

Dwight had the smarts to not say anything more to that, but his head dipped down as his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

"So... will you have someone come out and say hi to her? Let her know we aren't ever hurt outside of trials? She won't listen to us about it." He was rubbing at the back of his neck now, willing the blush he could feel under his fingers to go away.

Evan's arms crossed, seemingly contemplating his response before he gave a single nod. "'spose we can't have the little thing losing it. Sure, I'll come say hi to her. Might be best it's from me anyways, never have managed to catch her in trials. She's never even stepped in my traps either."

He had already started moving to leave his home, lumbering through the trees with Dwight having to jog to keep up with his pace.

"R-really? You've never caught her?" the tone was awed disbelief. He knew how many trials they all went through each day, she'd had to have faced the Trapper at least 4 or 5 times by now, and to have never even stepped in a trap was quite the feat.

A grunt preceded a small hum. "M'nope. She's a small one, slips right through everything. Not particularly fast, but she's real sneaky. You haven't noticed that?"

The rest of the walk from his realm and to the camp was filled with little questions from both of them about the girl. How many times had the Trapper caught sight of her in a trial? How did she spend her time around the fire? Did they know anything other than her name?

Upon arriving, Evan wasn't surprised that she nearly bolted upon seeing him, but Claudette and Feng had each been by her side and gently held her in place.

"He's not here to hurt us. They never are when they come here. We're safe outside the trials." Claudette's hushed voice reached his ears, and he gave a slow nod.

He stopped a good distance from them, knowing his sheer size would be intimidating on it's own, but him being one of the killers made it that much scarier for the poor girl.

"Hey there, little fox. I ain't here to hurtcha, promise. I heard from our good buddy Dwight here you were having a hard time adjusting to life in the entity's realm." He kept his arms down, trying to appear as non-threatening as a metal-bedecked behemoth like him could.

While he enjoyed the chase in trials, he understood that outside of trials it was a grave mistake to hurt the survivors. Every killer learned that the hard way through punishment, and the survivor or survivors hurt would be given a reprieve for a day or two from doing trials.

His gaze swept over the group, taking in their little camp they'd eked out in the forest.

"Y'all mind if I...?" he made a gesture towards the fire and one of the logs that had been dragged near it.

It was Ace who spoke up next. "Go for it, big guy." He was the one sitting on the other end after all.

He nodded to him, wandering over slowly to take a seat and lean forward, resting his arms against his knees. "It really ain't that bad outside the trials. Y'all stay around here until you're called next, and we stay in our realms until called." He wondered if anyone had bothered explaining that to her, as she sat there still held to her seat by the girls on either side.

The fear had lessened a little in her face, but not much. She didn't look like she'd fight to get up and run anymore at least.

"Does that make sense, little fox?" his head tilted ever so slightly as he looked at her from across the fire.

She looked unsure, fear still gripping her limbs, before a very slight nod that he would have missed if he blinked.

He sat back up a bit, no leaning as far forward. "Good. We all want to work so as to not displease the entity. And hurting y'all outside of the trial displeases the entity. So it's in our best interests too that we leave you unharmed."

This bit of information seemed to be the thing that had her relax the most, the white knuckle grip of her hands lessening as she blinked owlishly at him.

If he hadn't been listening intently and looking right at her, he might've missed her whispered "Really?"

He chuckled, leaning to one side, resting his weight on his good arm. "'course. The entity is all about rules. Do this, don't do that. And one of those rules is no harm outside of trials. You think being sacrificed to it hurts? Punishment for disobeying is much worse." He kept his tone light, easy going.

At the mention of punishment, he saw her shoulders tense again. "Now don't go worrying that pretty little head a yours. Only people who've ever been punished is us killers. Y'all can't really do anything to displease the entity, considerin' your position." Another light laugh left him as he settled in to chat the night away.

Over the course of the night, she'd slowly warmed up to those around her, and to the big man who eventually introduced himself as Evan to the group. It had been when Dwight had referred to him as the Trapper, and he waved a hand. "That ain't my name, at least not outta the trials. 'm Evan, nice to meetcha little fox." He'd smirked a bit, that long dormant charm from his past life peeking through.

After that night spent around the fire, more of the survivors sought out forging friendships with some of the killers outside of the trials. If they had to mutually please the entity, then maybe they could find some understanding with one another.

So that's how simply trying to assuage one new survivors fears led to basically all of the killers and survivors having a much more easy going time outside of the trials.

It had been quite some time since then, and that initial bond between Evan and you had been the strongest. While you had sought out others, namely Sally and Bubba since they were genuinely really sweet outside of the trials, you stuck by Evan the most.

And as time went on, feelings blossomed. You'd taken a shine to him and his slightly dated charm. He liked to use names he knew would fluster you, calling you doll and sweet cheeks and the one time he'd said sweetheart had truly been your undoing.

The silence after he'd said it had made him worry maybe he had taken his teasing too far, and that you'd turn away from him.

Imagine his surprise when the next thing out of your mouth was "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

He'd been stunned silent by it, causing you to go through your own mortification, your hands coming up to wave in front of you quickly, trying to literally brush away the question you'd ask while verbally stumbling over yourself "I-I-I...nevermind!!" the squeaky tone your voice had taken on pulled a hearty chuckle from him.

He rested his hand on your shoulder, dwarfing you in size and reminding you just how much bigger and stronger than you he was. He leaned down just a bit, looking right into your eyes, seeing just how flustered you'd gotten by the hue of your face.

"I think you're damn beautiful, y/n." He was hoping he'd read your body language right, and that that question had been because you were as interested in him as he had been with you.

The little face you'd made after that, your lips forming the tiniest 'oh' as he loomed over you. He read no fear in your posture, but even while closely observing you, he'd never thought that the timid little fox of a survivor would ever have the gumption to lean into him, resting their hand so gently against his chest while they gazed up at him.

That had been the turning point in their relationship, and he had barely been able to keep his hands off ever since.

Something in your face now reminded him of that first time. Reminded him that you really did want him.

He let the rag he'd been wiping himself off with drop into the basin, turning to face you fully.

"Mmmm, well little fox, what'd you have in mind then?" his grin had turned almost wicked as his now clean hands reached forward to graze the bare skin on your arms.

The little breath you'd been holding didn't go unnoticed by him. You must've been waiting a while to ask him, working up your courage.

Instead of speaking, you pulled on his hand you'd taken with yours, leading him towards his bed.

Amusement flooded him, enjoying the sight of you turning to pull at his overalls with a pleading look at him. "Take these off, please." Even when you were in charge, you were so adorable to him. The politeness of your request had him huffing out a soft laugh while he undid the clasps, letting it fall to the floor and kicked it off and away.

"How d'you want me, doll?" The lascivious smile had your skin heating up once again, but a pleasant thrum was going through your body now. Excitement that he was going along with what you wanted.

"S-sit on the edge of the bed. No, not like that, further out. Yea, now just.. hold on." You had him sit on the bed, and had him readjust until just his backside was on the bed and his legs spread just enough to help him keep balance and for you to fit between them while standing.

He was gazing at your face, hand coming up to remove his mask while he watched you shuffle around, disrobing quickly and then kneeling between his legs, hands gingerly resting on his knees.

A single brow quirked up. "This is what you've been wanting all this time, little fox?" He couldn't deny the sight of you licking your lips for a moment before leaning forward to place yourself fully between his legs didn't do something for him, but he was a bit surprised that this is what you'd been wanting.

You gave such a cute little nod, determination on your face. You didn't want to be denied this now that you were so close to getting what you wanted.

He hummed out, hand finding itself on the side of your face, cradling your whole head tenderly. "Well, I ain't gonna stop you, but just hold on a moment." He leaned back, reaching for something behind him before leaning forward again with one of the pillows in his hands. "Here, get up just a moment and use this. The floor ain't exactly soft. Don't want ya hurting yourself sweetheart."

You melted at his thoughtfulness and the use of one of the more tender pet names he liked to call you.

Obediently you stood so he could put the pillow down to cushion your knees, hands held together in front of you while you waited for him to lean back up again.

Once he was satisfied with it's placement, he sat up, spreading his knees wide enough for you to slip between them comfortably.

He enjoyed the sight of you gracefully kneeling so close, your hands on either thigh, looking up at him with adoration and anticipation. It wasn't something he ever thought he'd get to see.

"Look at you, little fox. You look ready to downright devour me." The lazy grin that followed had your own slight smirk appearing.

A giddy bit of delight lit you up when you noticed him hungrily staring while you licked your lips once more, hands sliding up his thigh to brush against his half hard member laying against his stomach.

The texture had you marveling at the silky smooth feel as you barely caressed it with your fingertips, a reverent look on your face as you now devoted all your attention to the rapidly hardening cock just in front of your face.

He gave a very low murmur of praise, barely breathing out a low rumble of "That feels nice, doll." as he fought the urge to let his head hang back. He wanted to watch you, see just what you had planned for him, how far you would go.

He stared, eyes fixated on your lips as you leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss at the underside of the tip, staying still for a moment, eyes closed in what appeared to be pure bliss to him. You caught him off guard when you slipped your tongue out to give a little kitten lick to the tip, sliding up to his slit and getting the barest hint of a taste of salt mixed with his musk.

The groan that slipped from him at that as his eyes clenched shut for half a moment before opening again and searching your face for any idea at what you were going to do next.

He was half worried you were just going to drag out this torturously slow pace since you had barely gripped him enough to bring the tip closer to your mouth.

His half-lidded gaze met your own as you planted another kiss directly to his head this time, a shuddering breath when you stuck your tongue out to lick a slow stripe from tip down the side to his base, leaving a small trail of wetness behind.

At least he didn't have to worry about teasing it seemed.

When you nuzzled against his balls his breath hitched, hands tightening in the blanket underneath him.

He was too enthralled to speak at this point, waiting for whatever you wanted to give him.

You gave each testicle their own little kiss, all while making hungry eye contact with him, hand slowly, languidly pumping his now pulsing member.

He gripped tighter when you licked a stripe back up to the tip, flicking it at the end and enjoying the rumbling almost growl that left him.

He lost the battle with keeping his head up and eyes open when you finally slipped the head of his cock past those perfect lips of yours, tongue swirling slowly around, getting it nice and wet before slowly pushing your head down, never breaking what would be eye contact once he pulled his head back up and opened his eyes.

He drew in a sharp breath as he felt you sinking him into your mouth, head almost spinning from the sensation after you had so expertly teased him before.

He snapped his eyes back open when he felt you keep going, taking more than half of his length already and showing no signs of stopping.

He leaned back up a bit, finally seeing the heated look you had on your face, your mouth almost painfully stretched on his girth.

You rewarded his gaze with a low moan, the vibrations making him almost lose his cool and buck his hips, but he just barely held back, the strain showing in every muscle of his suddenly flexing to keep him in place.

His left hand left the crumpled blanket, finding its way to the side of your face and gently pushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. He ghosted his hand over the side of your head, almost petting you as he watched you keep taking him in, inch by inch.

He almost closed his eyes again when he felt your throat flex momentarily as you swallowed around more than two thirds of his length. He just barely managed to keep watching, completely at your mercy and you pushed yourself those last few bits to nestle your nose against the short bush of pubic hair he had.

A low, throaty "Fuck, you're so good baby." left his mouth, hand now making full contact with the side of your face and partly into your hair, just holding your face, not pushing you down.

His whole body was trembling just a bit, the effort he was exerting so he didn't buck his hips and potentially hurt you was enormous. The choked sound that left him when you swallowed around his whole length this time was plenty reward for you, well worth the burning in your lungs and threaten of tears pricking at your eyes.

You slowly pulled back until just his tip was in your mouth, hand coming back up from where it had moved to his thigh to steady yourself, wrapping around the base and slowly pumping up to the tip and back down to the base.

The room filled with the sound of you working him with your mouth and hands, tongue always rolling up to work the underside of his cock, leaving him to let out low groans every once in a while while you felt him twitch in your mouth and hands.

He was enjoying the attention, basking in you touch and how focused you seemed on his pleasure.

During a particularly quick press of your mouth down his length, he lost a bit of control and pressed your head into his crotch, feeling your throat tighten instinctively around him had him grunting and hips flexing as he gave the shallowest of thrusts.

He had barely gritted out a "Sorry, sweetheart" before he registered the absolutely lewd moan you'd let out at his actions, mouth still full of his length.

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve you, but he was thanking every star he had, lucky or not.

A breathless "Y'like that, doll?" left him, sounding more confused than anything else.

He watched closely as you pulled up and off him, a bit breathless yourself as you nodded eagerly and almost whimpered out a "Yes, daddy."

He hadn't ever heard you call him that before, but the look you had on your face and the way you had sounded did wonders in spurring him on.

A lazy grin split his face, head tilting ever so slightly as his grip became very present on your head, guiding you back to the tip as he coaxed you to take him back into your mouth.

"Mmmmm, yea. Just like that little fox. Take it all in again, do it for daddy." It rolled off his tongue easier than he expected it to, feeling at home in the situation.

And the high pitched moan as you pressed your face right up against his pelvis with his entire length inside your mouth was definitely a worthwhile bonus.

He watched as you almost went cross-eyed with pleasure, feeling your tongue do what little it could while he was fully seated inside.

He tugged gently at your hair, bringing you back up for a breath before pushing your head back down, gently guiding you to fuck your mouth on his length.

Honestly, he couldn't believe that this was something you were getting off to, but he was happy to oblige you. Watching his thick cock pump in and out of your swollen lips while you looked like you were in heaven was quite the sight.

You hadn't even gagged once, or caught him with your teeth. It's almost like you'd been carefully practicing taking something as thick as he was, but he'd never caught you doing anything naughty on your own. You'd always come to him when you were feeling needy, and he'd happily pinned you under him, giving you the pounding of a lifetime every time.

Maybe this slower pace was what had you so over the moon. He'd have to try that out later, pay more attention to what had you crying out for him. After all, it was the least he could do after everything that was going on right now.

Even though it hadn't been very long since you'd started, barely 10 minutes, he was nearing his climax. There was just something about the plush heat of your mouth and the noises you were making and the sheer intimacy you two were sharing that was already pushing him to the edge.

"God, baby. Just like that. Mmmm, yea, you feel so good on daddy's cock. You're such a good girl, y'know that?" His heated gaze watched as you almost unraveled on his cock from his praise, delighting in the whines that left you as you desperately pressed more and more of him into your mouth, taking control of the pace once more, quickening it in your own excitement.

Another low groan left him, his legs flexing hard as he felt the last of his self restraint slip away, seeing stars behind his eyes as they squeezed shut, a growled out "Fuck yea, baby girl, just like that, right... right there, oh FUCK" as the first jerk of his cock and rope of cum filled your mouth and had you whimpering and greedily hollowing your cheeks around his tip, milking him for all he had.

He let out a prolonged moan as you kept sucking softly through his whole orgasm. His hips bucked once, twice, then he was pulled at your hair just slightly to get you to pop off his sensitive head, his breathing jagged as he barely managed to keep his eyes on you to savor the sight of you pulling off of him, face flushed from a mix of lack of air and desire, with his seed still staining your tongue before you closed your mouth for a moment, and he saw your throat move with the swallow.

"Fuck that's hot, y/n." His hand came down to cradle your face in his palm once more, thumb swiping over your cheek once before he leaned forward and down to press a soft kiss against the crown of your head.

When he pulled back to look at you, there was fondness in all his features, a genuine smile on his face for once. "I think I oughta return the favor, since you were such a good girl for daddy." And with that, his smile had turned devious, his hands moving from your face to under your arms and lifting you into his lap, pressing a hungry kiss against your mouth before trailing to your jaw as he laid back with you straddling his hips.

The cheeky grin you were met with when he lifted you easily, dragging you up his torso until you were sitting on his chest.

"Mmm... you know, you left a nice little wet trail all along me, babydoll. Did doing that to me get you that excited?"

You were too turned on to truly feel embarrassed by his words, merely rubbing yourself against the broad expanse of his chest, letting out a loud mewl at finally getting some friction on your sensitive clit after being left for so long without attention.

He let out his own moan at the feeling of your slick leaving a smear across his pecs, excited at just how wet you had gotten from servicing him.

"Well, looks like someone's having a good time." The mirth in his voice was lost on you as you moaned from the vibrations they sent out.

"You poor thing, here. Let daddy take care of you, little fox. I know just what you need." he shifted you one last time, his brute strength sending the butterflies alight in your stomach and he move your thigh to either side of his shoulders, sitting you right on his mouth as that devilishly sharp tongue went to work right away at your most intimate parts.

Now that he knew this was something the both of you liked, he'd be taking advantage of this information any chance he got. After all, you really were such a good girl for your daddy, you deserved to be rewarded~.