#and yeah yeah it's NORMAL i get it but i dread it every single year

[depthnessingsweet]

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[0cta9on]

Can you do a fluffy smut fic of IVE's Wonyoung? In the fic, she is madly in love with her older manager whom has been by her side since her trainee days and loved her like his own little sister. Then she heard about his decision to transfer to another agency and began to panic. She begged him not to leave and confessed to him. However, OC rejected her due to the fear of destroying their close bond. WY eventually succeed in reassuring him of her love and both of them ended up making out.(OC is 5-6 years older than WY, hence the brother-sister dynamic relationship)

For the past three years, you served as the manager for the girl group sensation IVE, and you’ve loved every single second of it. The girls are cute and almost immediately started treating you like an older brother, which you gladly accepted. You’ve been a shoulder for them to cry on when things get tough and thanks to the pretty decent Starship Entertainment check, you often bought them little treats to tide them over in between schedules. They were like your little family - six little sisters that you love like they’re your own blood. Unfortunately, you might be saying bye to your little family soon.

Your footsteps echo along the corridor of Starship’s building as you pace nervously back and forth. As your contract with the company runs out, others have been reaching out and offering manager positions to you. Nothing has interested you so far, mainly just offers from small companies looking for an experienced manager to take care of their rookie groups. That is, until this morning, when you received a ludicrous offer from a larger company that would set you up for the rest of your life. You would be a fool not to take it - but that would also mean leaving behind the girls you have cared for all these years. 

A sudden jab to the side of the ribs makes you jump. “Jesus Christ, what th-” You turn around to face the perpetrator, only to see Wonyoung laughing at you.

“You should see your face oppa, that was hilarious!” She exclaims. Normally, you would laugh along and scold her playfully, but the thought of having to break the news about your potential departure fills you with an overwhelming sense of dread.

“What’s wrong, oppa?” Wonyoung asks, noticing your uncharacteristically serious expression.

Out of all the girls, Wonyoung is the one you’ve known the longest. You first met her when she was preparing for Produce 48, and you watched her grow and mature ever since. To outsiders, she is the epitome of success, but you know better than anyone just how much pain she’s experienced to get to this level. With how strong your bond is, you can’t even imagine how much it would crush her to tell her that you’re leaving.

You relinquish a heavy sigh deep within your lungs. “L-look, I-” The words struggle to make themselves known, writhing inside your gut as you stare deep into Wonyoung’s concerned eyes. Without another thought, you pull her into a tight embrace, more for yourself than for her.

“Hey, it’s okay, oppa,” she soothes, rubbing your back. “You can tell me.”

You instinctively tighten your grip on her, afraid that this’ll be the last time you get to hold her like this. “I got an offer this morning… from another company. The salary they’re offering would help me out a lot, so I-”

“You’re leaving?!” Wonyoung pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes. It feels like a knife stabs you in the heart as you stare back at her teary gaze.

“Y-yeah, I am…” You utter regretfully. She fights back a sob as she hits your chest, hurting your soul more than it does your actual body.

“B-but you can’t leave!”

“I’m sorry, Wonyoung, but Starship-”

“Screw Starship! What about IVE? What about me?” Tears begin to flow uncontrollably down her cheeks. All those years of consoling her and being by her side, yet the one time she needs you the most is when you’re about to leave her. Being the cause of her tears hurts you more than you’ll ever know.

“Wonyoung, I-”

“I love you!” She exclaims, glaring through her misty eyes.

“I love you guys too, but-”

“NO!” Her voice echoes loudly through the corridor, pushing you back a few steps. Always the epitome of prim and proper, you have never seen Wonyoung scream like this. A deep, unspoken ache reflects in her eyes as you start putting the pieces together. 

“I-I… I love you… Like, really love you… I want to be with you a-and hold you tightly… I want to kiss you and feel like I’m the only woman for you… I-I just… I love you so, so much… You can’t leave me like this…”

You freeze in disbelief, unsure of what to think or feel about her sudden confession. You always made sure not to develop any feelings for the girls as that could end up badly for the both of you. However, you can’t deny that you’ve been seeing Wonyoung differently as of late. The way she carries herself with such professionalism and confidence, how hard she words behind the scenes for herself and for the rest of IVE, you can truly see just how beautiful of a person she is, both inside and out. Taking this job would be the chance of a lifetime, but a person like Wonyoung only comes around once in a lifetime. You would be a fool to let her go.

You gently cup her cheeks, wiping away her tears with your thumbs. “It’s okay, Wonyoung. I’m not going anywhere.” She breaks down and begins sobbing into your chest. Your mind suddenly feels lighter now that you’ve made up your mind. In fact, you almost feel ridiculous for almost choosing money over the family that you found three years ago.

“You’re really not going to leave?” Wonyoung asks you after calming down a bit. You shake your head, a hopeful smile growing on your face, before she wraps her arms around your head, pressing her lips against yours. Subconsciously, you have been waiting for this kiss for years and you aren’t about to let it go so easily. The scent of her strawberry shampoo combined with her soft, marshmallow lips brings you to a new high you’ve never experienced before.

As you break the kiss, the heartbroken girl is swiftly replaced by the bright and lovely Wonyoung that you’re used to. She giggles as you kiss her cheeks, getting rid of any leftover tears. Suddenly, Wonyoung takes your hand, a mischievous twinge in her eye further emphasized by an alluring bite in her lip.

“Since you’re not leaving anymore, I think we should celebrate. Come with me,” she says before dragging you along the corridor. She peeks through one of the doors before pulling you inside, locking the door behind her. As you look around the small room, you notice a bunch of foam padding lining the walls, along with a piano and a couple chairs.

“This is one of the solo vocal practice rooms,” she explains. “No one outside will be able to hear us, no matter how loud we are.” A lightbulb goes off in your head as you turn to her, both shocked and turned on. Wonyoung’s cheeks turn a light pink as you look her up and down.

“I-I mean, we don’t have to do it if you don’t want-” You stop her, bringing a finger to her lips.

“I want to do it. I want you,” you assure her. She smiles brightly as she pulls you in for another kiss, this one much steamier than the other. Your hands snake around her petite waist, bringing her as close as you physically can. Her gentle breath starts to get heavier, gracing your cheeks, and the warmth in your chest continues to grow until it threatens to burst from your skeleton. You want nothing more than to love this girl as much and as hard as you can, pushing her into the padded wall with the fervor of a new sun on an early morning.

Wonyoung strokes your cock over your jeans, teasing you with her fingertips. You respond in kind by grazing her thigh with your fingernails, causing her body to shiver beneath you. You break the kiss and rest your forehead against hers to catch your breath, the final look before the leap. She gazes at you with fondness and desire, and you feel lucky knowing you’re the only man that will ever receive that look from her. Tentatively, she unzips your pants, audibly gasping as she looks upon your cock for the first time, unintentionally inflating your ego. You watch with bated breath as Wonyoung kneels in front of you, slowly stroking you with her soft hands and placing gentle kisses along your length, staining it with her lip gloss.

“Does that feel good, oppa?” She asks, searching for approval.

“Yes, that feels so good, baby,” you moan, brushing your hands through her silky hair.

“Mmm, I like it when you call me baby. Keep saying it.” Wonyoung flashes you a smile before taking you into her mouth, making you shiver like the first time you step into a cold pool. Her thick, glossy lips eagerly sucking your cock combined with her big, round eyes looking up at you brings you to all new heights of arousal.

“Holy shit baby, you’re amazing,” you compliment. In response, Wonyoung plants her hands on your thighs, attempting to take your entire length down her throat at once, her gags filling the entire room. You almost feel bad for the people walking by who don’t get to hear this beautiful chorus reserved for you.

Eventually, Wonyoung stumbles backwards, choking for air as saliva drips down her chin. She reaches for your hand, and you gladly help her up, anticipating what will happen next. With a wink, she plants her hands against the wall, sticking her ass out towards you. Her warm yet seductive gaze pulls you in, promising a moment you’ll never forget.

“I’ve waited for this moment for so long,” she says, biting her lip. You flip up her skirt, revealing her cute ass for the first time, and peel off her damp panties. The scent of her dripping sex fills your brain, drawing you towards her even more. As you slowly insert yourself into her, you gauge Wonyoung’s reaction, making sure you’re not hurting her.

“Is that okay, baby?” You whisper into her ear. She nods, wincing slightly.

“S-so good, keep going.”

You hold onto her waist for support, eventually bottoming out inside of her. Her warm walls grasp you tightly, still adjusting to your size. After a moment, Wonyoung nods, prompting you to start thrusting into her. Slow yet firm at first, as her moans begin to escalate, you increase the power of your thrusts until it devolves into pure, unbridled pounding.

“A-ah! Yes! F-feels so g-good!” She groans in pleasure. “K-kiss me!”

You do as she says, capturing her lips into a sloppy kiss as you continue fucking her from behind. You exchange breaths, warming up each other’s skin, filling your nostrils with each other’s pheromones. In your mind, nothing else matters except making love to the woman before you. You want to spend the rest of your life loving her in every way you can, and when you’ve done it all, you want to invent new ways of loving just so you can show her how much she means to you. A familiar pressure begins to build up in your stomach as you gaze into Wonyoung’s eyes, half-lidded as she succumbs to your passion. You take her lips a final time before shooting your seed deep into her womb, cementing your bond forever. She follows soon after, nearly collapsing as her orgasm renders her legs into jelly.

“O-oh my god… That was better than I imagined,” she says. The two of you share a gentle laugh, holding onto her with no intention of letting her go ever again.

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: can u guys tell im not working rn with the amount uploading! also currently working on ch 4! if you guys have any ideas feel free to send me stuff!! i <3 vampire!reader and wanna write more about her :3... also sorry if pacing is weird lol

ch 3

warnings: SMUT!!! fingering, erotic blood drinking, angst lol, prob like cussing lol, im sure there is more so just be warned in general, mdni lol

previous -- next

~~~~~

The proposition weighed heavily on your mind. A chance to return where it all started? You couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to ask Logan what he thought. He always knew what to say. You couldn’t dwell on it now, another task was at hand. You smoothed out your denim skirt for the millionth time and stared at your reflection. Nothing seemed appropriate enough. Nothing seemed right when it came to talking about your past. Two hundred and seventy-five years old and this was most nerve racking thing you’ve ever done.

talk in front of teenagers. 

Sighing you turned back to your closest when the door of your room slowly opened.

“y/n? Are you ready yet? My class is waiting” Storm entered your room. “Damn you look good! Honestly expected a full Bela Lugosi get up.”

“Very funny, but I am not a vampire.” You said, turning to her. 

“Okay yeah, and I don’t control the weather.” She snickered at you. She held out her hand and you grabbed it tightly, allowing yourself to be pulled through the halls of the mansion as the two of you giggled and talked friday night plans. 

The two of you reached her classroom and it seemed fuller than normal. You glanced around the room and noticed Logan standing near one of the walls closer to where you’d be presenting. You shot him a smile smile and he nodded back at you, causing your heart to race. You approached the desk at the front of the room and took a deep breath in. You could not only hear your heart pumping, but also every single person in that room. 

Turning around you smiled at everyone and sat sheepishly on the desk. You felt Logan’s eyes on you as you listened to Storm start her lecture. You glanced towards him and watched as he sent you a silent message.

You’ll be okay bub. I’m right here.

You turned back to the class and scanned the crowd. It seemed as though every single person was there, even though it was physically impossible. Your eyes zeroed in on Scott and Alex. Alex. Your mind wandered back to what Charles asked of you the previous night.

“I know you don’t do missions since the incident, but you could really benefit Alex.”

“I dedicated my life to medicine, and helping others. I cannot just leave that.”

“Just think about it okay? Its London afterall. Don’t think I don’t know about what the two of you did there”

You quickly glanced away and turned your full attention back to Storm. She was just about finished with her recap of the lesson plan. Her eyes met yours and she winked down at you. 

“Now that we have finished Dracula, I thought as a treat instead of a movie, we could hear about the real events from the person who inspired the book herself. This is y/n, your school nurse.” A small round of applause broke out as you stood up from the desk.

“Hi everyone! So yes I inspired Dracula, so please ask me any questions.” Immediately questions rang out towards you. Are you a vampire? How come you don’t sparkle? I thought vampires drink blood!

Typical questions that you usually got from new students that visited your office. You quickly answered them without even thinking about it. Alex raised his hand jokingly before asking you the question you dreaded the most.

“How exactly did you inspire the book?” You paused, silently remembering the events of the night. You felt a knot in your throat before you began.

“In 1895, I met Bram Stoker in a pub. He was strange but endearing. A flirt really, and I knew I was done for. In 1896 I confessed to him my mutation and how at that point I was twenty-five for fifty years at that point. He didn’t believe me of course and when I showed him my true nature, the book was born.” You paused, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “The dedication was for me, and one of the brides had my name at the time and my description. I left Ireland and headed for London after the town found out about it. That’s actually where I met Logan.” 

The rest of the class period was full of laughter and more questions about your life in general, but you easily avoided those. As your presentation ended, you thanked Storm for the chance she gave you and promised to get drinks in the future. She walked away from you as Logan approached, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Good job bub. I knew you could do it.” You pushed his arm jokingly as the two of you started to walk out of the room, as Alex walked up to the two of you. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened.

“To my ever lasting beauty, an ageless angel, my queen of the dark. A book for your life. Wow you really made an impression on this dude. I didn’t realize you only dated what? Tall, dark and handsome. I’ll dye my hair ya know”

“Watch it Alex” Logan muttered, his claws starting to breach his knuckles.

“Woah big guy, I am just teasin. Anyways, y/n I heard the professor talked to you about Europe. What did ya think?” You made a face as you heard Logan’s blood race faster.

“I’m not too sure yet. I am still thinking about everything.” He nodded at your words before wishing you well and ignoring Logan. The two of you watched him walk away. 

“What the hell is he talking about?” Logan looked down at you, his face mixing into anger and confusion. 

“Lets go to my room okay?”

___

“What the hell do you mean a mission to London? And with him!” Logan snarled at you. You stared him down, not afraid of what he would do to you. 

“Calm down Logan! Its not a big deal I haven’t even decided yet!”

“Yeah I’m deciding for you. NO” He paced the left side of the bed as he muttered to himself.

“You don’t control me! I am my own person and I can’t die! Why don’t you trust me?” You felt your fangs push downwards in anger. If you weren’t careful you weren’t sure what would happen. 

“I don’t trust him. You won’t go and thats final.” His claws started to extend as he turned towards you. Fuck it.

The two of you lunged at each other and embraced as a tangle of limbs. Your lips crashed onto every piece of skin it met before you finally met his lips. He held you close to his chest and he messily made out with you, somehow managing to rip off your shirt, leaving in just the skirt and bra. His breath reeked of alcohol and his cologne filled your nose. The tobacco residue from an earlier cigar danced on his tongue as you deepened the kiss. You turned to straddle his lap, you pushed him down on the bed and, without thinking, you leaned down and sunk your fangs into his neck.

The warmth of his blood entered your mouth and the taste was euphoric. You continued your frenzy as you started to grind down on his growing erection. He groaned and panted as you nuzzled deeper into his vein. Your hot breath created a layer of pleasure to the holes in his neck and you pushed down harder on his clothed cock. 

“Please, fuck, don’t stop.” He choked out, moaning the last word. You didn’t think you could if you even wanted too. The taste of his blood made you whine in his ears as you picked up the pace of your hips, desperate for friction. His hand snaked down to your pussy, fingers slipping into your underwear and onto your clit. Your fangs sunk in deeper as he rubbed circles. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He picked up the pace making you squeal from pleasure.

“Pl-ee-se-” You couldn’t think. The friction, his fingers, his blood. Without warning, you came hard on his fingers, allowing yourself to get lost in the heat of the moment.

Eyes half lidded you removed your fang from his neck and you looked down at the mess created. Blood stained the sheets, pillows, his shirt, and most likely everything else on the bed. Your mouth and neck was covered in a sheer layer of his blood. 

You snapped back to reality and realized what you had done. 

“Logan I’m- I can’t. I have to go.” Quickly you threw on a random shirt and left as quickly as you came, leaving Logan in the mess.

His neck already healing, his lifted his pants to stare at the mess left. Cuming in his pants was so middle school, but it wouldn’t be the first time this happened. Before being forced into the weapon x program, you fed on him regularly. Back then, your insatiable bloodlust wasn’t controlled, and he loved it. 

Trapped in the trance of euphoria, he didn’t realize you had gone. Slowly succumbing to sleep, Logan wouldn’t realize until the morning that you had gone. He ran through the mansion praying you’d still be in the confines of the walls. It was too late when he finally reached you. 

Watching as you left with Alex Summers to a mission to Europe. 

~~~~~

tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: omg the drama!! also thank yall so much for ur support :3

[lovings4turn]

୧ ‧₊˚ ☕️ ⋅ ☆ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭…

— in desperate need of caffeine, logan stumbles into the first cafe he comes across. little does he know, this will be the start of something great.

+ the first part of my whole latte love series , aka my child , so i hope you all enjoy <3 this is set in the uk , but reader isn't specified to be any particular nationality !

+ dividers from benkeibear !!

there were many sacrifices logan sargeant was willing to make in his life.

flying halfway across the world aged only eleven to pursue his dream of racing, for one. on a smaller scale, always allowing his brother dalton to ride shotgun on family trips, despite the fact that the backseat caused his legs to cramp up after a few hours.

but, no matter how late he was running, logan had promised himself he would never, ever deprive his body of a hot, caffeinated beverage before a meeting. 

on this particular morning, though, logan was running especially late. normally, the jarring sound of the iphone alarm would snap him from his deep sleep within seconds, the noise sparking an instant feeling of dread within him even when it wasn't coming from his phone. 

he’d learned that alex had a habit of setting alarms for various things throughout the day, before promptly forgetting what he’d set it for, leaving logan to go through the five stages of grief at least four times a weekend. 

but it seemed today the universe had been a little bored, and so decided to find entertainment in burdening a poor, unsuspecting american race car driver with one minor inconvenience after another. 

firstly, his alarm hadn't woken him up. correction: it had woken him up, just thirty minutes after it was supposed to.

secondly, his pride in managing to get dressed with an impressive five minutes to spare was quickly dissipated when he couldn't find his keys or wallet. the hunt had set him back another ten minutes (because why on earth would he think to check the cutlery drawer until he had run out of other possible options?).

and, for good measure, he'd tripped over his own welcome mat in his mad dash out of his apartment. so, yeah, it had been a morning, to put it lightly.

logan cursed to himself as he all but jogged down the busy street, eyes desperately scanning every building he passed in search of a cafe. he was too frantic to read any shop signs, but when he witnessed two girls walking out of a doorway clutching two paper cups, he knew he'd struck gold.

fucking finally.

logan offered the pair a tight lipped smile as he slipped past them and into the cafe, letting a sigh of relief escape his lips as the familiar smell of strong, freshly brewed coffee hit him. 

this was more than worth being late for, he decided. he'd pick up a few extra coffees, as an apology, a courtesy of some kind. who could be mad with a cup of coffee in their hand? though logan figured he was allowed to be a little lax in his timings anyways, since he was no longer in his rookie year at williams. the team would forgive him quick enough.

trainer-clad feet led him towards the back of the fairly short queue leading up to the counter, and logan took the opportunity to slip his phone out from his coat pocket and shoot a quick text to alex. he hoped his teammate wouldn’t mind bearing the responsibility of updating the rest of the team on his whereabouts. 

‘sorry, overslept. omw now though, bringing coffee as an apology and effort to keep my head’.

three laughing emojis quickly flared up onto logan’s lockscreen, and he took that as a positive sign. 

it was only when logan placed his phone back into his pocket that he realised just how close he was to the front of the line, and immediately began rehearsing his order. sure, he ordered the same thing practically every single time he got coffee, but with the day he was having, he’d probably find a way to absolutely butcher the simple order.

all he needed was his oat milk latte, a black coffee for james, and some sort of sugary, overly sweet concoction for alex. he doubted this place sold the pumpkin spiced lattes that he loved to tease alex about ordering, so he’d just have to find the next best thing.

only, when he finally stepped up to the counter and opened his mouth to order, his mind went blank.

standing only a few feet in front of him was the most gorgeous person logan had ever seen, and considering he’d travelled the world and met countless different women and men over the years, that was an impressive achievement. 

you, luckily, hadn’t noticed the internal reboot logan was experiencing, and focused instead on offering him a warm smile and greeting.

“morning! what can i get for you today?” you asked, finger poised and ready to input his order into the till in front of you.

logan barely managed to stop himself from physically shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, before pasting a crooked grin of his own onto his lips.

“good morning,” he returned, voice a little quiet before he cleared his throat and spoke up again. “can i just get a large black americano, large oat milk latte, and uh,” logan paused, eyes quickly scanning the board in front of him as he weighed up all of the different syrups available. 

vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, and oh, thank god, cinnamon. that was close enough to pumpkin spice, right?

“and a large cinnamon latte, please. oh, to take out.” he finished, finally returning his eyes to you as you skillfully rang through his order.

“ah, great choice,” you commented, your smile still never having left your lips. 

from the moment he’d opened his mouth, you’d quickly registered the accent, though opted not to comment on it despite how pleasing it was to your ears. of course there were no shortage of americans stepping into the cafe everyday, but there was something about his in particular that caused your ears to perk up a little more. maybe it was down to the person it was attached to, instead. 

“and is that everything for you today?” you continued, snapping back into following what you’d aptly dubbed your ‘service speech’, a routine that ensured you didn't stumble over your words to every customer you served.

“that’s all, yeah.” logan responded with another small smile. 

“perfect. that’ll be nine eighty there.”

"great, thank you."

logan quickly pulled out his phone to pay, though as his eyes caught the small jar sat on the counter, ‘tips’ scrawled onto a label in nice handwriting, he wished he was paying by cash. a flash of hope ran through him as he dug his hand into his jean pocket, and he had never been more relieved to feel some spare change brush against his fingertips. 

barely even bothering to count how much was there – it looked to be about three pounds, but he could have been wrong - logan dropped it into the jar, offering you a sheepish smile. he felt a little foolish, paying by card and fumbling around for some cash, but the look on your face was more than worth it. 

“thank you,” you repeated with a soft laugh. “should be ready for you in two minutes.”

logan couldn’t bring himself to speak again, so simply nodded and moved to walk to the point he would collect his drinks from. before that, though, he would grant himself one, small privilege. 

his eyes quickly found your name badge, and he scanned it as subtly as he could before he walked away, the name replaying over and over in his mind like a broken record. but, no. broken records were annoying, an inconvenience, something to fix or throw out. your name was anything but. 

not even five minutes after he’d placed his order were his drinks placed onto the counter, each labelled appropriately to save for any confusion. a cupholder had also been provided, which logan was eternally grateful for. he didn’t think the three drinks would survive the short journey otherwise. as a treat to himself, he took a small sip from his latte and almost swore. logan didn’t believe in magic, but he was sure that this coffee was somehow laced with it. never had a simple oat latte tasted so good to him.

and, he thought, a little embarrassingly, never had someone looked so good making one, either. 

“see you later!” you called from behind the till, lifting your hand in a gesture that could be perceived as a wave, but also an attempt to smooth your hair a little. 

logan nodded and gave you a smile. you would definitely see him later. he had just found his new favourite coffee shop, and he wasn’t going to give it up any time soon.

☕️ . . . there it is , the first instalment !! i loved writing this so much - and actually did so with a cinnamon iced latte of my own , as alex and i are actually one and the same ! hope you all enjoyed , and thank you for reading <3

[perictione00]

Selfish

Ch 1: Surprise!!!

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader

Warnings: a bit dark and graphic..?

Synopsis: You left the Jujutsu World behind the moment the source of your warmth turned cold. So what happens when you come face to face with that one episode in your life that you wanted to obliterate? Simple, you reap what you sow.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Malaysia, 2014

It was a tiring day, your period wasn't helping either. You were just itching to get home, take a shower, and order from that new Mexican place your boyfriend had been talking about. It was a Friday, so you were getting excited about the weekend. For some reason, you were feeling so grateful, maybe because your life was finally normal and you were happy. It was all okay until you encountered a young boy in a wheelchair, with a curse engulfing his lower body. A world that you wanted to escape so desperately, somehow never failed to present itself in a situation that made you question your morality. But after everything you had seen, you were way past morality, so you ignored the boy like you did with every other person who needed you.

"Jayden", you called out for your boyfriend as you opened the door to your shared apartment. You assumed, that he wasn't home yet as nobody answered but the familiar cursed energy you sensed said otherwise. You felt dreaded as it wasn't possible, you had dodged every single mistake that could have given away your whereabouts.

"Please no", you prayed as you walked further into the apartment. You froze, as you entered your bedroom. The bed was soaked in blood as the lifeless body of your boyfriend was being violated by a curse. "No, no, no, no, no", tears spilled out of your eyes as you started screaming in denial. It quickly turned into anger as a certain raven-haired man standing in the corner declared his presence, "Surprise!!!". You attacked him with a punch straight to his face and he didn't budge, he didn't dodge the many punches you threw his way while crying your heart out. He did stop you, chuckling, "Aww, don't cry..did you actually love this one? C'mon now, you know you're not capable of that". He started cradling you in a hug, "Now let's get back to business.., remember the traitor who left me?.. yeah, yeah, the one I trusted the most, remember that person?", his hand slid down your hair slowly as he continued, "oh wait, you look a lot like that person..the one who abandoned me".

2005

On New Year's Eve, you told your mum about some weird dreams you were having for the past few days, and of course, being a typical mother, she blamed it on your choices of television series. But you knew it wasn't because of the few Supernatural episodes that you had seen in the span of two months.

From the beginning of time, you were used to seeing terrifying figures randomly, which were avoided at all costs as you were scared of what might turn out if they knew of your existence. However, your parents thought otherwise, resulting in child therapy, which wasn't working yet you pretended it did. You adapted to your surroundings being full of creepy creatures, ignoring them, and trying to live like a normal teenager. That was until the onset of some weird dreams and a malevolent presence under your bed. It was weird, as none of them ever came in close proximity to you. Hence, you started sleeping with your parents again. The nightmares didn't stop; in spite of that, you felt good, safe, and loved, no longer scared.

The peacefulness vanished on the first day of 2006, when you were alone in the house and someone was singing a broken melody. You were petrified as you saw a woman playing a violin emerging from a newborn's skull, singing while rocking to the rhythm in the drawing room, suddenly stopping, turning, and smiling unnaturally at you.

"You would make a beautiful cello."

You bolted as it proceeded to move crookedly in your direction. It was guffawing so loudly that you had to cover your ears. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you called your parents, whispering to them about how much you loved them, until you heard a frightening tune on a piano. The call was disconnected, and the door started melting while you tried to escape from the window you couldn't reach. The room started turning white, and you saw your reflection in the mirror, smiling at you. Your vision blurred as you fell into a slumber.

Waking up, your eyes adjusted to the brightness of a white room. You felt agitated at first, but slowly observing, you saw your parents sitting sadly on a white couch. Thank fuck, it was a hospital room. Their happiness and relief after your recovery from an unexplainable incident couldn't be measured. You were spoiled rotten with love as you woke up after a week of unconsciousness. In the evening of the same day, a bulky man in all black approached your family, discussing something before finally coming to you. He introduced himself as Masamichi Yaga and unfolded the world of Jujutsu sorcerers to you. Though your parents were sure he was a cult member, you felt ecstatic; you weren't crazy after all. With that came many days of convincing, resulting in your parents ultimately agreeing to admit you to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College after checking its legitimacy a thousand more times. They were not ready to let you go, but they came around as you kept insisting with evidence.

On the way to the campus, the tough-looking man turned out to be a total softie who was explaining to you about your unknown technique and appreciating you for exorcising a grade 2 curse without any training. You were dumbfounded, but you were a sucker for praise, so you didn't question him.

After reaching the campus, you were introduced to your classmates, an almost gloomy Kento Nanami, and a total cutie, Yu Haibara. They were great, especially Haibara, who was currently showing you around the campus. After getting a hot drink, you both settled down on a seat. You weren't expecting to get along with anyone on the very first day, but Haibara's just so sweet that anyone can feel comfortable. He showed you your assigned room, and you guys called it a night.

However, later at night, your slumber was disrupted by a growling stomach at 3 in the morning. It was odd timing for a takeout, but you still gave it a shot, ordering a Zaru Soba with cola. You were surprised at how advanced the Tokyo delivery system was, as you got your delivery within 10 minutes. It tasted better than your expectations, and with that, you started brainstorming ideas to decorate your room, which was interrupted by a knock on the door. You ignored it the first time out of caution, but you opened it on the third knock. To your surprise, a literal god stood in front of you, and you didn't know how to react. "Hey..?", you broke the ice with an awkward greeting.

"I think the delivery guy confused our orders because we ordered the same thing, so I'm assuming this is yours", the Greek god said as he offered you your cola.

"Oh yeah, thanks..um..yeah", you were doing a great job continuing the conversation with your five syllables. Before you could close the door and save your ass from embarrassment, the guy asked for your name, and you told him. Shit, now you felt obligated to ask his name, and so you did. "And you are?"

"Geto Suguru"

Ch 2

[sweetflanfiction]

The Arena - Part 1

Universe: Alice in Borderland

Pairing: Chishiya x reader

Disclaimers and Warnings: This is going to have some descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks as well as the general 'alice in borderland' violence. Be warned.

I'm trying to make the reader gn, but I'm always scared to make any sort of gendering labeling, so just please forgive me if something is gendered and know that my idea is to make the reader GN.

And also, I still don't know what I'm doing, and english is still not my main language.

Plot: You go to a work event in a familiar place you've never been to.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // End

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The sun was still low on the horizon when you arrived at the Foundation’s main door. Grabbing your duffel bag and backpack you exited your car followed by your close friend, roomie and colleague Kaori. There were already a few staff members waiting, on the sidewalk, for the transport to take you all to the event and you both walked to join them.

Kaori hadn’t stopped talking about the conference and the fact that you would get a free vacation out of it. However, your mind kept switching her off from time to time.

“Hey! You sure you’re feeling alright?” They asked you for the tenth time.

“Yeah. It’s just weird…I feel…weird…” You told them honestly.

You met Kaori a long time ago. They had been the ones that had helped you after ‘the incident’. Their bubbly personality, friendly attitude, and especially their caring and patient side had become a safe space for you to turn to. Even if sometimes they were a bit overexcited. After the meteor, their over-the-top personalities were what kept you motivated.

“It’s the first lengthy trip after the…thing…it’s normal. It’ll be alright…” Kaori placed a hand on your shoulders, giving you a reassuring smile and you smiled back, still weary.

It was in fact the first long trip you had taken after the disaster a year ago. In the months after the incident, just walking around Tokyo would make you hyperventilate. Although it had subsided, there was still a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You felt like a prey animal, always hypervigilant. All the doctors you knew and all the counselors told you it was normal. You had been through a traumatic event, more than that it had been a sudden traumatic event, your body still in fight or flight mode. Still, the explanation didn’t take away the feeling.

“I promise you, I have googled every single space agency, telescope and conspiracy theory website. None indicated the sky was going to fall down again.” 

You rolled your eyes at their joke. Some people might find their humor offensive, but it was something you both had in common. Even though you still felt the scars mentally of your trauma, you found that a helpful workaround was to joke about it.

“Thank you. Deeply appreciated, friend!” You placed a hand on your heart in mock gratitude and they nodded.

"No problem, buddy."

As you approached the small group of people at the door, you both made a beeline for some familiar faces. The taller of the two figures, Ari, waved at you and your friend as they saw you approaching. 

“Who’s ready for a free vacation?” Ari asked, clapping her hands together and beaming brightly.

“It’s not free.” Chishiya’s raspy voice argued.

"It's an all-inclusive, four-day trip to one of the finest resorts in Tokyo. It's a bit of a free vacation.” Kaori argued back.

“Did you forget about the two-day conference?” He asked her, pushing his hands into his white jacket.

You stood, quietly grinning, looking between Kaori, Chishiya and Ari as the three of them argued whether the event constituted a paid vacation or just work.

“You know! I liked you better when you were blonde.” Ari concluded by crossing her hands over her chest.

The look Chishiya threw at her was the most offended glare you had ever seen him give. It lasted exactly 5 seconds but it was enough for you to snort as you tried to keep the laughter in.

“Come on Ari, we all know blonde Chishiya was not the superior Chishiya.” You teased, pointing at his now jet black hair. “This! This is our true lord and savior. The evolution of the man, who is now a legend.”

“I don’t know why I hang out with you people.” He retorted, but his face was neutral with a side of good humor.

He had indeed made a radical shift in his looks. His hair was slightly shorter, looked healthier, but his usual white was now jet black. He had changed his locks after the incident, a few weeks after he started working at the Foundation. Obviously, you all teased him.

Truth be told, many survivors had indeed altered their appearances after the trauma. The last time you saw some of them, thanks to the ‘mandatory monthly therapy session ’ , there had been some changes in aesthetics. Some had grown out their locks, others had shaved their heads, and others had changed their style completely. You yourself had changed your appearance as soon as you could move about.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the person looking back didn’t seem like you. It was like staring at a photo of you from years ago. From another life. And technically, that was right.

“Because you need a few people around, to bring you down from that marble pedestal you like to stand on.” Ari said and everyone nodded, including him.

“Kicking and screaming sometimes.” Kaori gave everyone a knowing look.

"Alright children. Enough with the beating of an undead horse.” You looked between your friends as they groaned and moaned at the bad joke.

The bus arrived and the group made their way to it. As you walked down the bus aisle quietly, shuffling behind the rest of the staff, you could hear Kaori and Ari argue about something they had read in a scientific magazine and Chishiya complaining he was not mentally ready to spend an hour hearing Ari go on about this.

“You can sit with me.” You smiled at him, turning to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He bowed his head to you.

As the four of you settled into your seats, the excited Ari and Kaori kept chatting on and on about the article while Chishiya just shook his head.

“That article was disproven by several sources months ago.” He declared in a hushed tone as he took out his hoodie and placed it on the overhead shelf. 

“You can walk over and tell them that. Good luck!” You teased him and he shook his head, getting comfortable.

"Ari will probably google it in about...five minutes." He grinned at you, raising one eyebrow and you chuckled.

The relationship between you was warm, comfortable and you both seemed to enjoy each other's company. You both shared a once-in-a-lifetime experience, which bonded you in an unusual way, just like it did with the survivors. There were some who were affected more than others, but being collectively dead for a minute or two had made you all form a strange bond. 

With Chishiya it spanned beyond the monthly meetings though. You had started working at the Foundation months before the meteor, and he had joined a few weeks after. The Foundation had made you and him sit through counseling every week, deeming that the monthly therapy group sessions given by the government weren’t enough. You would both sit in the waiting room of the psych wing waiting for your name to be called. That was the perfect opportunity for you to strike a conversation with the handsome and aloof doctor.

It started with small talk, the weather, the shifts at the hospital, what had been on TV. Even though he seemed distant, he was willing to listen to you. He kept the conversation flowing by adding some snarky remarks and trivia about the topic you'd be discussing.

And then you introduced him to your friends and the four of you became a unit. It had taken him a while to get used to the chaos that was the three of you together, but as time passed, you noticed him becoming more relaxed. Although he kept all of the other staff at arms length, barely moving an eyebrow at them, around you three, he seemed to be content. He seemed to be happy, often antagonizing one of you or just letting you all tease him about something.

It became a habit to wait for each other whenever you had counseling sessions. You would grab some cookies from the machine and sit on a bench taking in the last rays of sunshine.

• ··········· • ············ •

“Thank you” He said one day, munching on a biscuit, making you turn your head towards him in surprise.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” The still white haired doctor shrugged and leaned back into the stone seat. “When I woke up in the hospital, I felt like I needed a change.”

“Dying does that to you.” You smiled at him and he nodded.

“I didn’t enjoy doing anything before. At least that’s what I felt. I was a flat line, just keeping up with the flow. Nothing mattered. Get to work, pretend to care, go home, pretend to have hobbies, pretend to have friends, go to sleep. Repeat. I felt nothing. Whether I was telling a mother that her child was dying or just ordering lunch, it was all the same to me. ”

“And now? Are there any nuances in your...feelings?” You questioned him softly and clearly saw the gears in his head turn.

“Yes.” He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully rationalize what they are, but there are spikes on the line now.”

“I don’t think you have to rationalize emotions, Chishiya. I don’t think anyone does. You just have them.”

“What if I don't have them?” 

“Well, you go to counseling." you joked, pointing a cookie at him and then becoming serious. "I’ve seen you with your patients. I’ve seen you around Ari and Kaori. I’m seeing you now. This…” Your hand motioned towards him. “This is feeling an emotion.”

• ··········· • ············ •

Tagging goes here :D

[ahsokathegray]

Rain Over Me

Pairing: Rexsoka

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Dec. ‘23 - Unexpected Encounters

Summary: When it rains, it pours. At least, that’s how Rex had always heard it. But he soon finds even the most dreadful of rains give life back to that which lacks it.

Tags: angst, bittersweet, rainy confessions, lost without each other, established relationship, post bad batch

Word Count: 3,426

A/N: this was just an excuse to write sad, lonely Rex with a reunion in the rain and I’m only somewhat sorry (@rexsoka-monthly)

read on ao3! / masterlist

The wood on the dusty, old shack was darker now with the onslaught of rain. Its months dry boards drank in the water and was hydrated once more, appearing to be in its prime again if only until the rain cleared. In more ways than one, it had been a dreary summer and the rain was much needed.

Rex had grown fond of the little restaurant — if one could call it that.

It wasn’t kept up to standards, he was most certain. He’d only seen someone sweep the place once. It was a sad little place, but comforting in its own right. The only faces that were constant here were those of the owner or the employees. Rex never saw anyone else twice.

Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the old shack — weary, unkempt, a stranger to itself, lacking energy.

He wasn’t an old man, no, the cure had stopped all that. But he did feel like it, and he’d always look older than his true age. Seventeen years of life didn’t reflect what he felt in his joints, what he recalled in his mind, what was on his false chain code, and what he saw when he looked back at himself in the mirror.

Yeah. Like the shack in the rain, he felt he was falsely young in appearance. It felt wrong not to age so quickly anymore, even though it was the most normal part of human life.

Rex carded a few fingers through his short, blonde curls, wicked the rain off his coat, and ascended the creaky steps. He took a menu, even though he knew he’d order the same thing as always, and seated himself at his usual booth.

The owner, who was old, wordlessly brought him a steaming cup of caf.

“I see we are past the point of asking now,” Rex observed, a corner of his mouth turning up.

A raspy laugh filled the stale, humid air, “What can I say? You’re my favorite regular, Rex!”

The other corner of Rex’s mouth raised, “I’m your only regular, Mr. Kip.”

“And a damn good tipper too,” the Ithorian man smiled, winking before walking back into the kitchen.

Well, he had nothing else to spend his credits on.

Rex scanned the menu items as if he didn’t already have the selections memorized. Even the daily special was the same every single day. Nothing changed and he found he had no qualms about that. After years of unpredictability and pushing his body, mind, and heart to their limits of strain, he found peace in the monotony of routine.

After much deliberation, Rex settled on the Single Sun Breakfast to no surprise. He half expected his meal to be brought out without confirmation, but old Kip stopped back by to make sure anyway.

He could get used to it — the not talking. It was rare he did much of it anyway these days, what with living alone. And, truly, he did enjoy the company of the staff, but the more minimal the interactions the better. Getting attached to people was a flaw he would never risk again. Losing so many loved ones in such a small frame of time would prompt anyone to make such vows.

Rex very much hoped there was a version of himself out there that hadn’t sworn it off, that he was happy and surrounded by those he held dear.

His fork was turned around in his fingers as he tried to ignore the fact he’d finally acknowledged that he was unhappy. It had been that way for years now and it was difficult to revisit the last time the opposite had been true.

It had been warm on Mandalore, when rumors of the war ending sparked hope rather than memories of almost; when battle felt good and he felt invincible and life had been first punctuated by something like love and a woman like her.

Squeezing the cutlery, he set it back down and threaded his fingers together, glancing out the condensating window instead.

Rain came down violently onto the flora just outside the establishment, but pattered softly on the windowsill. Every now and then, a drop found its way inside, or perhaps it was the water droplets still clinging to his hair. Oh, if that illustrious Captain could see him now. That version of himself would disapprove immensely of so many things — but his hair would be at the top of the list.

He did not wish to remind himself of what came second and was thankful when he spotted his plate emerging from the kitchen. His breakfast was brought out with little fanfare and looked as if always did. This pleased him.

As he ate, he thought of what he needed to get done in the upcoming week. He needed to give the old Y-wing a fresh coat of paint; the Republic and medic insignias were becoming visible again, as well as a damning shade of blue. The hole in the roof of his tiny home needed to be patched still. He kicked himself for not doing it sooner and added purchasing a bucket to his growing list.

Something like a laugh escaped him around a bite of rolled omelette, thinking about his helmet being used to collect water from a roof leak. It was when his head lifted up to do this that he saw a pair on montrals facing away from him, seated at a booth closer to the door.

There was a tightening in his lungs and the gaping hole in his heart was reopened; discarded of anything he’d ever used to cover it with. Rex swallowed hard and placed his head in his hands, counting as he regulated his breathing.

This happened every time he thought he saw her.

And, without fail, it was never her.

He ought to have internalized that by now. It had just been so long since the last time he mistook someone else for her. Lone Togrutas were not a sight seen often; they didn’t tend to stray very far from Kiros or Shili.

Rex wished that wasn't the case.

Seeing them more often might’ve kicked this fool’s hope earlier — the one that bubbled up violently inside him whenever he caught a glimpse of three lekku rather than the usual two or, like today, a set of montrals.

They were femininely shaped and blue, just like he knew hers to be, which didn’t help matters.

Getting up from the table to visit the refresher solely to see if it was her was something he was not going to let himself do. He had to get over this. He couldn’t let it control the trajectory of his day each time it happened.

Exhaling and centering himself, Rex finished his meal with a difficulty that hadn’t been present before and told himself his appetite was still there even though that was far from the case. Memories of similar breakfasts in similar restaurants with her bullied their way to the forefront of his mind. Small bouquets of freshly plucked flowers, dirt still clinging to them, being given to her and then placed in a cup of water from wherever they’d been eating.

Rex couldn’t help himself.

Once his plate was clear, he looked across the six booths that separated them. But the woman’s montrals were nowhere to be seen. Rex waited a little longer to see if she was just leaning down looking over a menu or taking a bite of food, but the montrals did not reappear.

Panic swept through him, his veins turning into hot plasma underneath his skin.

He rose promptly from his booth, eyes glued to the one she’d been at. Only a half finished mug of tea sat on the table. She never did like caf. His heart rate shifted into high gear and he made a beeline for the register, already fishing around in his pocket for credits, his fingers shaking.

“Oh, there’ll be no need today,” Kip said with a particularly pleased smile.

The hand in Rex’s pocket stilled and his heart leapt into his throat. “What do you mean?” His voice rattled as he spoke.

“Why, the young lady who just left covered your meal. Said to thank you for your service,” The Ithorian pointed to the entrance as the door slid closed.

For the first time in a long time, the world around Rex melted away and began to slow. Everything became muffled. The credit chits he had in his hand were placed onto the counter despite what the owner had just told him and before he could even tell them to do so, his feet were carrying him to the exit.

“Rex, what do you want me to do with this?”

“I don’t care,” he answered without looking back. “Pay it forward.”

Thick sheets of rain now came from the sky, pouring down so heavily that the world around him had turned white. The clouds flickered and thunder sounded, accompanied by angry strikes of lightning. Any footprints that might’ve been left behind in the mud had been washed away as quickly as they were made.

Whoever she was… she was gone.

A hand was clapped to his shoulder but Rex didn’t look down.

Kip sounded confused yet sympathetic. “She’s not gettin’ away in that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The old man paused. “If you’re after her, I reckon’ she’ll be back again tomorrow.”

The hand was removed and Kip walked away, but Rex stayed frozen in the doorway. If it was her, he was doubtful she’d be back for breakfast the following morning. She could get away even in the most hopeless conditions.

Rex clenched his teeth, pulled his raincoat tighter and set out anyway.

It was like he hadn’t been living on Dantooine for the past year and a half. He was directionless, as if all the memorized paths, landmarks, and shops had been washed away with the rain. There was no departing vehicle, no lights, and no indicator of where the woman had gone.

Defeated, Rex looked up into the sky with his eyes closed, letting the rain fall over his face and streak through his hair. His chest had knotted itself and his knees threatened to buckle under the torrential downpour.

But Rex stood firmly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and let the rain soak him to the bone as he walked towards the small town.

He spent the remainder of his morning stopping by every establishment there was until the shopkeepers started closing up due to weather. The folks he did manage to speak with hadn’t seen her and each tried to hand him an umbrella or invite him inside until the storm passed.

He declined.

Straggling passersby still caught in the rain gave him funny looks as they ran to get to cover. Rex was in no such hurry.

The overgrown road that led to his tiny home was taken in the shortest possible strides. He did not wish to return there, especially not to a datapad he knew would have no messages on it. He had half a mind to turn back to the restaurant if he didn’t think they’d already closed up like everyone else.

Rex stepped into his home and was greeted by the sound of dripping water. He sighed deeply, unmoving in the doorway until he could suppress the viscous tears that taunted him behind closed lids. Once they were managed, his boots and raincoat were discarded, the mess from the leak was mopped, and his helmet was removed from its place under the bed to sit and collect the intruding water.

He watched the rain fill his bucket until it went past the visor before he fell into the awaiting embrace of sleep that was always there to help temporarily subside the pain.

More than anything, Rex wished he could say that he hadn’t woken up early, that he hadn’t gotten up before the neighbor’s nunas began to stir. He wished he could say it wasn’t in his plans to go sit up at the restaurant and wait all day to see if the woman turned up.

Really, he should be using his time to buy paint for his ship as well as a proper bucket for the leak, but neither of those things seemed to matter much at the prospect of running into her.

It was pathetic. He knew that.

He could’ve just saved himself all this trouble if he’d gotten up and used something as an excuse to see her face. But no, Rex chose to be strong when it mattered the absolute least.

His thin blanket felt as though it weighed ten tons when he rose out of bed, dreading vehemently the idea of waiting around all day for nothing — dreading the pit in his stomach he knew all too well when it wasn’t her after all and just some stranger. Rex’s feet hit the worn wooden floor and he rubbed his bleary eyes, aiming first for the refresher and then for his helmet.

A considerable amount of rainwater had been collected in the makeshift-not-makeshift bucket and more was being added still. The rain had yet to cease but it had slowed a great deal. He picked it up carefully and walked it to the door, yawning as he did so. Soft sheets of rain greeted his bare feet as the door slid aside, coming down now in a gentle shower-like way as opposed to yesterday’s storm.

Rex decided that when the rain stopped, he’d call it. He’d tie his mood to it, give himself an allotted period of time to feel this incessant pain before forcing it down again.

He swung his helmet to the left and watched as the water landed on his long-dead flowers, before looking out at the state of the rest of his yard.

The helmet nearly fell from his hands.

A hooded figure was inspecting his ship, an orange hand running across a partially revealed red sigil and skirting across blue paint. Any fleeting thoughts of making a grab for his blasters vanished. Rex knew that hand better than either of his own.

She turned and lifted slightly the hood of her cloak to get a better look at him.

There she was. Then she was as if no time at all had passed. As if she’d been down the road all along.

Ahsoka was dressed in that gray cloak he knew well, with lekku he used to know but that were now nearing her waist. Her montrals were taller than they were last time. He wondered if they’d be eye to eye this time, and if looking her in the eyes would still feel the same as it always did, as he wanted it to — needed it to.

Even from this distance, he could see her bottom lip quiver.

“I had to be sure,” she called out over the rain.

Rex struggled to speak, suffering from having too many words in his mouth and yet not at all.

She glanced back at the Y-wing behind her and ran a hand over the chipped paint job, revealing a bit more of that 501st blue.

“I knew your face as soon as I walked into the restaurant yesterday, but I wasn’t certain that it was the one… that it was the one I had loved,” she continued.

He joined her in the rain now. It was cold on his bare shoulders and worse as it streaked down his torso, but he didn’t shiver, nor did he care he’d be tracking yet more water inside. Rex’s chest tightened and his mouth dried. “Loved? As in the past tense?” he called, water beading on his hair and lashes. Not all of it was from the rain.

Ahsoka shook her head, droplets running off her lekku.

The pause between them was occupied by the steady fall of rain.

“You know the worst thing about love?” he asked.

She nodded, looking briefly at her feet, “That you remember it.”

Rex’s tongue pressed into his cheek and he nodded with her, “I knew from the moment we parted the first time that I’d spend a lifetime missing you.” He waited a bit. “It’s proved true so far. Each time it gets worse.”

He couldn’t tell her tears from the rain, but knew that she was crying. Rex was always aware that it hadn’t ever hurt any less for her. “I never intended it to be that way,” she called.

“I know.”

She stepped closer, weighing her words. “Rex, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is walk away still madly in love with you. There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t regret it — that I don’t sit and wonder about what you do each day.”

“Well currently, it’s wishing I’d gotten up as soon as I saw you sitting at that booth. I’d know your montrals anywhere. Convinced myself it wasn’t you.”

“And before that?”

“Wishing I never let you say goodbye.”

She swallowed hard. “I have a lot to make up for. I know that. And I know this doesn’t begin to cover it, but do you think I could start with breakfast?” she asked, holding up the takeaway box that was under her cloak. “Mr. Kip told me where I could find you, said you ran out after me.”

Rex couldn’t suppress his smile. “No. Breakfast was covered yesterday. I think you’ll have to get more creative than that today.”

Ahsoka laughed and bit her lip, her eyes overcome with emotion. Shaking his head, Rex dropped his helmet into the flowerbed and all but ran to her, holding her trembling frame to him with possibly too much strength. The box fell. Her arms wrapped under his and he found that she fit better than she ever used to. He removed her hood with desperation and his chin fell into place between her montrals, still having at least one head in height over her. Rex kissed repeatedly the space between her uppermost chevrons as the sobs took control of her body.

The rain slowed to a drizzle and, as he’d vowed earlier, his mood lifted with it. Morning rays peeked out at them from behind the trees, warming their skin.

Being with Ahsoka was like walking into the sun, like walking directly into sunlight after the longest winter.

She pulled away first, though by the look on her face, it seemed to be the last thing she wanted to do. Her eyes were glued to the mangled scar on his chest, momentarily ashamed of looking him in the face.

But Rex’s hand slid under her jaw and moved her to look up at him. “I can’t think of anything better than breakfast with you. We’ve suffered enough, Ahsoka. Come inside. Stay with me until we have no choice but to leave; and even then, stay with me until there are no more planets left to run to. Let’s have breakfast together for as long as this life allows us because life without you is no way to live.”

“I haven’t had breakfast in a year and a half,” she said, tears streaking her cheeks.

Rex wiped them away. “You’re not missing out. It doesn’t taste the same when we aren’t together.”

Ahsoka eyed the slightly crumpled box of food on the ground and Rex picked it up, popping it back into its correct shape and wicking the water from it.

Apologies tumbled from her lips, but Rex wouldn’t hear any of it. She’d fought and offered her aid to the Rebellion until she couldn’t any more; until she was sure they could manage without her and that Rex wouldn’t die if she came home. It was the type of thing he had long since accepted — back when it had been cold on that moon, when rumors of another war began, and battle no longer felt good and he no longer felt invincible unless he was with her. Only one thing stayed the same. Life had still been punctuated with something far greater than love and a woman named Ahsoka.

His eyes did all the asking as he leaned in close. Ahsoka gave the faintest of nods, allowing him to kiss away her apologies; first slowly and then with an energized passion only she could provoke.

And just as he hoped they would, Ahsoka’s fingers found his curls, and he carried her and their very cold breakfast inside, leaving his helmet to become the home for several long years of blossoming flowers.

[quaranmine]

letters from the lookout #2: last seen

(HC Firewatch AU snippets)

June 8, 1988

Mumbo has loaded his bags into the car, shut the door, and checked the ties on the bike rack for the third time when he heads back up the stairs to say goodbye to Grian. The morning is cool and dark, and the streetlights are still on outside. It’s still. The sun isn’t up yet. 

He steps inside and closes the door as quietly as possible. He already slammed it by accident again on his first trip outside, and he’s trying his hardest not to upset any of their neighbors at this hour. 

Grian is sitting at the table under its warm ceiling light and has, kindly, looked better. He’s wearing an oversized university t-shirt and sweatpants, and looks like he might fall asleep again at any second. Grian is not typically an early riser, only incidentally so—thrust into the unwanted world of early alarms by the usual dread and horror of being an adult with a job. But this morning is still earlier than he normally wakes up. 

There’s a cup of coffee, mostly full, sitting on the table in front of him, which Grian regards with bleary eyes. Grian also typically drinks tea, not coffee, except on mornings where he decides he needs some extra strong caffeine. Mumbo’s not sure the coffee has any extra caffeine than the tea does, given how strong he’s seen him brew it. He loves coffee, however, and his roommate knows this. 

“I made that for you to take with you,” Grian says. He squints at the cup again. “I did drink a little of it. Sorry.”

“Erm, that’s alright mate,” Mumbo says hastily. “I’ll just stop by someplace on the way and get something for myself.”

“Oh, okay,” Grian says, immediately taking another sip. “So you’re off now I guess?”

“Yeah,” Mumbo says. “Just came back to say goodbye and do a final sweep of anything I’ve forgotten.”

“Good.” Grian nods, and then appraises Mumbo, up and down. “Are you driving all the way today?”

“If I can.”

“Ugh,” Grian says. “That’s way too far. You should rest. It’s like, one state over, why is it eight hours?”

“Because America is big,” Mumbo says. 

Grian wrinkles his nose. “Don’t like that.”

“I’ll spend the night when I get there before I go do anything,” Mumbo says. “I have to get the backcountry permit at the office, anyway.”

“Fine,” Grian says. “Drive safe. Call me when you get there. And when you get back. When do you get back?”

“Uhhh, if all goes well, then June 15. But the last part of the trail might be tricky and I’m not sure I’ve broken up each day into a reasonable enough distance to cover. So I think I might end up staying another night, in which case I’d give you a call on June 16.”

The information is already written down on the calendar stuck to the fridge, but Mumbo knows Grian wants to hear it again, just in case. Mumbo’s going by himself, after all, so it’s best someone knows where he’ll be. 

Especially since he’s going to be really in the wilderness this time. There’s mountain trails, and then there’s empty mountain trails. Shoshone National Forest has plenty of the latter, and it’s precisely that solitude that is drawing Mumbo. Everything in his life is busy, busy, busy and stress, stress, stress. He’s sick of it. It feels like his brain is being squeezed out of his ears every single day and he needs a break if he wants to get out alive. 

Grian’s brain is also being squeezed out of his ears, but he seems to be at an earlier stage in this process where he’s still mostly okay with it all. It makes sense, though, and Mumbo can’t fault him for it. While he got a jumpstart on a career right out of university a few years ago, Grian has been sifting through apprenticeships and half-jobs for a long time to build experience. His architecture license is still shiny and new, and he isn’t jeopardizing that to follow Mumbo on his last-minute trip. 

Mumbo hugs Grian, and they say a brief goodbye. Grian reminds him to call him, and to buy him a postcard somewhere, and proclaims he’s going back to sleep for at least another hour. 

Mumbo steps out into the cool predawn air once more, and a shiver runs down his spine. Is it the cold, or the anticipation? He gets in the car, and just sits in the seat for a minute before turning on. He takes a deep breath. It’s okay right now. He has nobody to report to but himself (and sometimes Grian) for the next few days. He’s free, even if it’s just briefly. 

He turns the key in the ignition, and drives. Every mile bleeds away more stress.

[quandaryqueen]

Let it happen

Arkhamverse Edward Nygma X Platonic Reader

Edward values himself as a man with a plan, with an intricate thought process and a divine design... He's partial to primitive instinct but at the heat of the moment, he decided to let something happen without much of a thought.

You know how you'd strongly deny a smile and you'd end up looking like you ate a mouthful of lemon? So you wouldn't really know how Edward actually feels when you present him a gift, something you worked your ass off to create it, embed your blood, sweat and tears on it and he stares at it like an Asian parent presented with report card. Oh he's smiling, he's just a stubborn fuck who, for some reason, still thinks showing vulnerability around you is dumb. But you didn't know that.

It's a reaction you dreaded when you spent a full, two months of preparation for it. You has to scrap myriads of gifts to give him for this special day. I mean, what could you give this man who seems to have everything? He has his own money to purchase whatever the fuck he wants and needs, better yet he can even create them. Sentimental trinkets? No, that's going out of the window, he broke several things without a single thought about it. Cologne? Soaps? Fuck, he might take offense. Clothes? There's a wide array of his wardrobe that he disregards as he has been spending his days in a construction site. Your gift of love and friendship? Oh for fuck's sake, you were not going to find yourself being a lazy fuck with an unoriginal excuse to justify your lack of ideas, you were better than that.

But then it comes to this, Edward looking so... Unamused? Dissatisfied? Irked? Ready to throw you off the curb?

Edward was oblivious to your turmoil, still taken at the gift before him and how you went out of your way to prepare something for him. He dreads his birthday, but fuck, for you to go and get him something well thought out... It does makes his chest flutter, thoughts running through his head were a series of voices only about ten percent coherent.

For you to remember his birthday, get him something is so... It really does touch something within him. This maybe the first time he's ever felt so happy in his birthday, he could cherish the memory forever. For most of the times, he'd dismiss this awful day and go on about his life. He saw his birthday celebration something redundant, why celebrate something as natural as aging? It's just aging, why waste your time?

At least, that's what he says to himself every year. It's not that everyone around him remembers it anyway. He laughs at the notion of his fellow Gotham rogue's celebrating with him, yeah right. Mingling with closed-minded, sloppy ignoramuses? No thanks.

But with you, not only did you remember you really went there and made him feel so loved with this little token of friendship... He could just pick you up and twirl you around... But he can't, he's too speechless to say something and should he do anything, he fears he might make things weird. And so he hid his smile from the fear of ruining things. How was he react in this circumstances anyways?

Thus he didn't notice how overstretched your cheeks were, the white-knuckled fists hidden behind you, and the smallest twitch of your eye.

"Hmm, thank you, Y/N." He says in a flat tone in amidst of the tumultuous spew of thoughts bouncing in his head.

You blink at him owlishly, something that he found a touch unsettling with your exaggeratedly wide grin and enlarge eyes that he has yet to see blink at a normal way.

Fuck, how are you supposed to act after that lackluster of a reaction? How were you supposed to feel? You aren't entitled to what he likes or not, he can like or hate the gift, but fuck is it wrong to be so offended that he seems so ungrateful for the gift? Is he even grateful with that tone of his? Was it okay to be mad? It's his birthday, why would you be mad at him and besides he's had bad experiences with his birthdays! But at the same time, are you really going to take this kind of behaviour? What behaviour? What the fuck is he really feeling— UGH FUCK—!

"Okay then," you pat his back. "Happy birthday, bro."

... What was wrong with you? You really don't know. What was wrong with Edward? You didn't know either. You really can't fault anyone... Fuck, now you've made it awkward for the both of you. How the shit do people express themselves??? You can't even pinpoint what's the current mood of the situation, nor can you identify your feeling, nor his. Just what is happening—

Unknowingly, Edward was at the same page. Confusion all around, maybe it's his lack of exposure to normal, social interaction or his inability to express himself in amidst of a somewhat intimate situation... Is this even intimate? To him, it does but god, it would kill him to show an ounce of emotion. What if he gets attached and you leave him? He'd be a fool to fall but god, were you making that difficult.

Now what? Standing in awkward silence isn't what you really wanted to happen, though it was something that came from one of the scenarios you hated to happen.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

...

The tense silence stretched across the room and there were unspoken thing that's yet to be said, but at the same time, you couldn't really think of anything to say. With Edward's gaze remaining on the little trinket in the neatly wrapped box, he began to soften at the sight of it, whereareas you remain stiff beside him, about neck-deep in thoughts which briefly fly pass you, barely understanding it, before another thought replaces it.

"I-I really like it... No one has done this for me..."

His voice hurls you from further burying yourself in your semi-coherent thoughts. Looking up, you catch him fidget with the bow of the box with a fond smile. A smile he wasn't aware of stretching his features to something pleasant for once. Before he can think about it, he wraps his arms around you, face buried against you.

... If you listen closely, one can hear the windows powering down in your head.

That might have been the first time Edward initiated a hug.

[daveysjackie]

Masterlist of all the Kelly-Jacobs kids I have made for my numerous AUs

Honestly, this is mostly so I can keep track of these scamps and my AUs. But I'm putting them here so enjoy

(Also, if you have any questions about the characters or the AUs, please ask, i love talking about my AUs)

My New Dream (single Dad Jack AU)

Faith Cecelia Kelly (Later Kelly-Jacobs)

The only child in this AU

She commonly goes by Fae

Named because of Jack's dream of Santa Fe (yeah Jack really sprained a brain muscle naming his kid)

She also gains the moniker of his "little fairy"

When Davey finds out her full name, he calls her Cece.

(He is the only person that is allowed to call her that. Not even Jack is allowed)

She was born soon after Jack moved to Santa Fe for college and he had a one night stand

She doesn't remember much of her life before meeting Davey when the move to NYC when she's 3

Discovers she's a lesbian when she's 7 and brings her first girlfriend home at age 10

Davey introduces her to baking when she's 5 and by the time she's 20, she is a pro baker on the cusp of owning her own little bakery

The Intricate Chaos Of You (Davey's band AU)

Stella Kelly-Jacobs

She was born via surrogate. Unlike both her dads having dark hair, she is blonde

Because of her blonde hair (and Jack and Davey always using the stars as endearments towards each other (because of Davey's song)) they name her Stella

Unlike her dads, her musical talent is limited to playing the recorder (badly)

She does have Jack's artistic talent

She either wants be a fashion designer or an inventor. There is no in-between and she changes her mind every other day

She is not very fond of the reporters and fans they deal with constantly so she loves it whenever they go back to Santa Fe because it's much more peaceful there

That being said, she has used her dads' fame to get out of trouble in school multiple times.

David Jacobs Guide To Dealing With A Bad Roommate (AKA my roommate AU)

Oliver Kelly Jacobs

He's told the story of how his dads started dating when he was 12

Jack never hears the end of it

What do you mean Aba had to get SHOT for you to confess you like him?

I was going to but the burglers got to him first

He's a little daredevil. He does flips on roller-skates, skateboards and bikes

(His dads dread when he starts learning to drive)

His dream occupation changes about twice a year

Unfortunately for his dads, he never chooses a safe job

(Jack's first grey hair is before he even hits 30 and he 100% blames Ollie)

Even In Silence

Connie Kelly-Jacobs

The oldest of her siblings

In the last chapter of EIS, she's 14

She's named after Connie Francis (who her grandfather (Jack's dad (Francis Sullivan) was named after)

She's loud all of the time (something picked up from all the time spent with Uncle Race)

She loves her siblings but is always in a competition with her brother.

It could be anything: homework, eating, brushing their teeth, she turns it into a competition

She could win everytime if she wants but she makes sure her brother wins just as many times (keeps a tally per week on her phone)

Fitz Kelly-Jacobs

His name comes from JFK's middle name (because his dad's (Jack's) aunt was named after Jackie Kennedy)

He is the middle child and only boy

In the last chapter of EIS he's 12

Almost the complete opposite of his older sister, he's very quiet.

Not that he doesn't talk. More like Ferb from Phineas and Ferb. Only speaks when he feels it's very necessary.

So he normally just uses ASL and is very close to Davey as a result

But he takes after Jack in his love for the drums

If he's sitting down at home, there's a 80% chance his youngest sister is in his lap

Meadow "Mimi" Kelly-Jacobs

The youngest of the siblings

Davey insisted on naming her after Medda somehow

But since she's young, everyone calls her Mimi to simplify it

She's 3 in the last chapter of EIS

A Jack Kelly carbon copy but with all the David Jacobs sass.

Ergo, the best of both her dads

Loves candy (as any child does)

Loves her siblings but has torn both of their hair at least twice when they ignored her in favour of literally anything else

Ice Skater AU

Maariyah "Maari" Kelly-Jacobs

She was adopted when she was 4

She's Punjabi (because I have to project SOMEWHERE)

Oldest by just a few months

Jack teaches all their kids to ice skate and she loves it so much, she decides to persue it as her career

just like dad

Wins her first competiton at 11 and Jack is a blubbering mess over her. She has a screenshot of it as Jack's picture on her phone.

She's a lesbian and meets her future wife at a rink while they're both just practising

Isaac Kelly Jacobs

He was 2 when Jack and Davey adopted him

He's African American. Jack immediately clicked with him because Isaac was orphaned when his mom died of cancer, the same as Jack.

He is normally the target of his siblings' pranks

When he becomes an astronaut, he often jokes in interviews that it was just to get as far as physically possible from them

He's the same age as Maari, just younger by a few months

He is pansexual and meets his partner in high school physics but they don't get together till they meet again years later

Sky Kelly Jacobs

The youngest of the siblings, adopted when they were only a few months old

They were born in Greece and are mixed race

Comes out as non-binary and ace when they're in their last year of middle school

(Jack's reaction to this is screaming "GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL" and Davey rolls his eyes at that)

They're younger than their siblings by 3 years

They use the fame they get from being in a famous family to become a climate change activist (and dabbles in many other big social movements)

(This entire AU is just so >>>>)

Trans Davey AU

Francis "Frankie" Jacobs (later Kelly-Jacobs)

He was born before Davey starts the proper transition

He clicks with Jack immediately when they finally meet (he's 8)

Frankie is super close with his Aunt Sarah because she practically co-parented him up until he was 1

When Jack and Davey run into financial problems and meet Medda who gives them jobs, he becomes the "theatre's little nuisance (affectionate)"

Between the people at the theatre, Davey's family and all their friends, he is the apple of everyone's eyes

[painterofhorizons]

Not so random academia work rant under the cut

I've been so relieved when I had that talk with my boss about not finishing my PhD a couple of months ago. It's okay to not finish a PhD. It literally doesn't matter. I'm dropping out for a shitload of reasons, both personal and structural, and I'm good with it. My boss is okay with it even though she really wants to see me with the title because she thinks I deserve it which is really sweet of her. But we're fine, and we're still working together as long as they let us and we're still doing our very cool 3 year project we got funding for and it literally doesn't matter if I have the title or not. In the end it doesn't matter for her wether or not I'm having that title, we're a really good team anyways. So it was really good to have that "listen it just won't happen anymore" talk a while ago, get that off my chest and stop struggling with that stupid dissertation. I've been struggling with trying to do my PhD in two tries since 2015.it's time to move on.

Now another prof I had worked with recently was asking about how I'm doing with my PhD because one does a PhD at university of course. We're meeting for coffee next week to talk about other stuff but today she was already like "but why haven't you finished your PhD by now" and stuff, and I'm dreading having to explain myself to her.

If you look at the numbers, more people drop out of grad school than finish it. Even more so if you look at social background. There really are so many reasons why I didn't finish this, and every single one is valid, and I still feel like a failure and I'm still embarrassed to bring it up in academic context.

Like, I shouldn't feel this way! There shouldn't be shame attached to it! A person's worth is not attached to things like titles or accomplishments. And I'm doing a damn good job besides this stupid PhD. I'm good I'm my field even if I'm not good in doing a PhD. And most of the reasons why I'm not doing it anymore are structural and not even personal failures - and dropping out of grad school ain't goddamn failing either.

It should be enough and normal to just say "oh yeah I was working on a PhD but I'm not finishing it" and then go on with whatever you're doing. If I'm fine and my boss is fine it shouldn't be anybody else's business. I shouldn't have to explain myself, and it shouldn't be a bad thing. My reasons shouldn't matter to anybody else but me (and a bit to my advisor). I shouldn't have to tell my reasons to anyone. And yet oh gosh I don't want to have that talk with that prof next week. I just want to be like "yeah I'm not doing that anymore" and she nods and we go on with discussing the other work stuff where we want to work together.

I'm so tired about not fitting in at work. I'm so tired about all the ways academia is wrong or unjust or broken. I'm so tired of the struggles one faces in academia as neurodivergent and from working class and specific social and political upbringings that just damn, make things like finishing a PhD hard sometimes. It should be okay. It shouldn't be failure or a flaw.

I was so relieved I had cleared that with my boss and we're both okay with it, I don't want someone else to have an opinion on it.

People drop out of grad school, so what? Life goes on!

[purplesurveys]

1564

Do you enjoy receiving souvenirs? It’s cool when I receive them, but I am never really the type to buy for my friends and such. The only time I got souvenirs was for my significant other at the time, when I came back from my cruise.

Do you get angry with people easily? Well no, unless I had a very valid reason to be.

Have you ever had the flu? I don’t think I’ve ever had the flu, actually. I’ve had fevers from time to time, but they’ve never come with cough and colds.

What about strep throat? Yes. In freshman year of college. It was fucking terrible and is definitely a podium finisher in terms of discomfort.

What would you say is the worst kind of emotional pain? Losing a loved one, whether a human or a pet, whether through betrayal or death or otherwise. Just the general sense of losing someone you cherish.

Have you ever been to a psychologist? No, just a counselor.

What's the worst part about school? The competition it breeds. I’m not sure if it’s the same in other places, but in Asia you really only get the smart kid stereotype precisely because kids are always pressured to do their best and are constantly compared to other kids.

Do you normally have a lot of homework, if you're still in school? Yeah, the amount of homework I got in my first school was insane – I rarely did any them, though, because my pre-teen and teen self was so stupidly careless. In college it largely depended on the class – there were some where you only needed to show up, and there were others that required me to, for example, finish a fuck ton of readings and submit a reaction paper every week.

When was your last vacation? Does today count? We’ve got the All Saints Day/All Souls Day long weekend, so my family and I are actually in the middle of our first staycation since the pandemic. Pretty surreal! We’re staying in a really nice hotel and it’s been super relaxing save for the fact that the current typhoon has been horrible.

Would you ever consider going on a cruise? I’ve been in one in the past and would totally do it again. Motion sickness would normally be a problem for me, but since my dad himself works at a cruise ship I could easily go to his cabin (at the lowest level of the ship), where the swaying is barely felt – that’s what I did during my trip. 

Overall, I like the ~luxury and convenience that cruises provide and it’s always fun to tick off 3-4 countries at a time, even if the stopovers are brief.

What did you last buy from the store? Rainbow sour strips.

Would you say you enjoy being single or in a relationship more? Being in a relationship is objectively better, personally, for me; especially if it’s a serious, long-term thing. I can’t really think of a lot of things that are better than having a person you consider as home – someone you do all your favorite things with, share your funny work stories and life concerns with, cry to, etc.

But relationships won’t always pick you, and that’s also okay. There are aspects to being single that I enjoy – being independent, never having to worry about splitting your budget to get gifts or save for dates hahaha, and getting to decide for yourself in terms of pretty much everything, really.

Do you try to stay busy a lot? As much as possible I don’t. My work wears me out enough on a daily basis, that when I get a day off or reach the weekend I try to keep my schedule as free as possible.

What's your favorite quote? “May all your trials end in full bloom.”

Do you lie a lot? I wouldn’t say a lot. Just whenever it’s necessary.

Do you still act childish most of the time? I act cute around my parents or friends sometimes, like when I ask them to make me a cup of coffee or open a bag of chips even if I can easily do either myself. I don’t know though if that would count as childish.

Did you ever enjoy gym class? It depended on the exercise or sport. I was always ecstatic when we were being taught table tennis because I already know how to play it; but I dreaded every time we had to do basketball drills. What is your biggest insecurity? My capabilities. I always think there’s someone I know who’s a better writer, a better manager, a better event planner, etc. and that can sometimes interfere with my work and the results I get from my work.

Have you ever painted a room alone? Nah, never painted a room. You usually hire someone to get that done here.

Speaking of which, when did you last paint your room? Never.

What does your favorite jacket / hoodie look like? Right now my favorite would be this yellow denim jacket that my sister passed over to me very recently.

What's for dinner tonight? We had a fantastic five-course dinner earlier. Burrata salad, pumpkin soup, scallops, beef tenderloin, and tiramisu; and it was all really delicious.

Do you ever drink alcohol? Yeah, literally just had two glasses of wine earlier.

Have you ever had a terrible hangover? Yeah. I also remember the absolute worst one I got – it was a very “give me greasy food or give me death” situation lol I was just desperate to munch on something to make the throbbing headache go away.

Do you ever get migraines? Yes, a few times in a week by around 6 PM, when I’m wrapping up work. My new rule is that once I feel a migraine coming in I should make myself close my laptop, full stop, regardless of pending deadlines I might still have. Should have made that a rule in the first place, I know...

Do you know how to garden? No, I was never interested in keeping a garden. I don’t even want plants in my own place eventually. It’s not that I hate plants, and I think it’s because I grew up in a house with just so. many. plants. and my grandma would water them everyday, and it always gave out a smell I didn’t like too much.

What was the last thing you plugged into an outlet? My phone charger, before falling asleep.

Do people consider you to be a funny person? It would depend on who you’d ask. Like my jokes with Angela won’t always fly over with people like Bea, and vice versa; but in general, I do tend to use jokes or general humor/memes to make people laugh or smile. In high school I was always known as a serious person so the me today is really just the result of trying to break out of that shell.

Do you have any bad habits? Overtiming until god-awful hours is a glaring one. I also skip meals and only ever eat dinner on weekdays. I think staying up late also counts as a bad habit especially in my context, since I stay up til 2 or 3 AM even during work days.

In other words, my bad habits are all job-related. Jesus, the red flags are all right in front of me are they? It’s like I never learn, lol.

Do you like children? I love kids and wish there were more people around me who had them lol. I think I’m naturally good with them because I’m the eldest daughter (and in an Asian family to boot); at this point I’m nowhere near prepared enough to have my own, but I definitely would have no problem having to look after/entertain kids for hours on end.

If not, why is this? I’m the eldest daughter/grandchild and had a number of younger siblings and cousins I was sort of expected to look after from the very start, so it made me become a bit of a natural around kids.

What is your favorite snack? Savory ones. Cheese sticks, dynamite sticks (they’re not what you think, these are sort of like deep-fried chili peppers stuffed with meat haha), burger sliders, things like that.

Do you own any gaming systems? My family does; I don’t have any of my own as I’m not a big gamer. We have a Playstation 3 and 4, and a Nintendo Switch.

How old were your parents when they had you? They were 27 that year.

Is there a big age difference between you and the person you like? I don’t like anybody.

Do you trashtalk people a lot? Every now and then. 

What is the most amusing thing on the internet, in your opinion? I’m not sure if anyone else here follows JOLLY on YouTube, but this takes the damn cake. They’re a duo, and Ollie (1/2) basically crafted a website wherein he employed an AI version of Josh (the other 1/2) to say various prompts – such as the time, a random fun fact, the weather, etc. It’s absolutely ridiculous but also equally as hilarious. 

Does the future excite you or scare you? Excites.

Have you ever been to Disney World? Nopes.

If so, how many times have you been? I have not been.

Do you try to spend a lot of time with family? Yes, especially if my dad is home.

How often do you shower? Everyday or every other day.

What would you say is your favorite genre of music? These days I think my appreciation towards K-pop is pretty clear. I also still enjoy R&B and some pop, though.

Do you need to clean your bedroom? Nah, I cleaned it up recently in preparation for my dad coming home. Next on my list is to finally get to having that loft bed (and shelves for my merch!) made since my goal was to get it for Christmas. What do you plan on doing with the rest of your life? I just want to earn enough money to keep making myself happy, and my idea of that is constantly getting to try new food, traveling the world, exploring things I’ve never tried before...idk, I’m pretty big on exploring hahaha.

Do you enjoy Chinese food? It’s not one of my favorite cuisines, and the only time I enjoy it is if eating family-style. Otherwise, I never really get it especially if only for myself.

Do you smile a lot? Sure! What is your favorite movie from the nineties? Good Will Hunting.

Which decade were you born in? The 90s.

Are you good at giving advice to people? If my friends like going to me for it then I must be saying ok things; that’s what I think hahaha.

How many huge secrets do you have? I don’t really keep any big, my-life-would-be-turned-upside-down-if-anyone-found-out-about-this type of secrets.

How many people know these secrets? No secrets.

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once or twice, depending on what I ate haha. Some food can stay in your mouth for ages, like garlic or seafood. Do you ever floss? Sometimes.

Have you ever been in a long-term relationship? Yeah.

Ever considered suicide? Yes.

If so, did you try to commit suicide? Yes.

Is there anyone out there who makes you feel completely useless? Used to. Do you like texting or calling people more? Texting.

What's your favorite band? Paramore.

Do you have a lot of friends? Not as many as some absolute social butterflies out there, but I have a handful of friend groups which I already count as a lot considering how introverted I was back then.

Have you ever painted something and been impressed by it? I’ve never made anything by myself that I was proud of. I’m not exactly the most creatively-gifted person, hahaha.

Would you rather go out to eat or stay in? Go out! It depends on my mood, really, but most of the time I would prefer to go out, especially if it’s to eat.

When did you last babysit, if ever? Years ago when my now 9 year old cousin was still a toddler.

Do you have any younger siblings? Yeah, both a sister and brother. Have you ever thought of someone as useless? Yes. I’ve never actually said this to anyone to their face, though; unlike what I’ve experienced. 

Have you ever considered bleaching your hair? I’ve considered it and have already had it done twice.

Do you drink vitamin water? Never had it. I’m in the firm belief that water should be taken as is haha, was never a fan of the sparkling type or flavored ones.

Do you ever straighten your hair? Not since grade school. Straight hair doesn’t suit my face shape. What's the best way to end a conversation? I’m honestly pretty direct. If I feel like there’s nothing else to add I’ll either just stop talking and return to whatever it was I was doing or say bye to the person, depending on the situation.

Are there any old movies you absolutely love? So many. I had a big classic Hollywood phase in high school that I still like coming back to every now and then – just this past Friday I watched Two for the Road again after a long time of not being able to see it.

Have you ever had a Big Mac before? I have, but I’m not a big fan.  

Do you think you attract the opposite sex at a reasonable rate? Probably not as nothing has ever risen between me and a guy.

Where is your favorite place to travel? New places. I try not to go back to the same provinces/cities, or at least in the same hotels. That being said there isn’t a spot that I like coming back to.

What is your goal for the next few months? Get my loft bed, and collect my work bonuses and run.

Can you count to ten in another language other than your own? Apart from English and Filipino, I can do it in Korean, Spanish, and French.

Do you own a lot of shoes? No, just a handful of pairs. What is your favorite season and why? We don’t have the same four seasons a lot of other countries have; the concept of seasons is also not observed here in general.

Have you ever played on a sports team before? Technically, yeah. For table tennis back in high school.

If you have, what was that sport and when? ^ There ya go.

Have you ever filed a lawsuit on someone? No. Law is very hard for me to grasp so I don’t really want to get involved in it ever hahaha.

Do you think you're a good singer? There are certain keys I think I’m ok with, like I think I sound just alright when singing along to songs in a lower register. Not spectacular, but I can carry a tune nonetheless. But I’m no good at songs with falsettos or with heavy use of your head voice.

Would you rather wear jeans or sweatpants? Sweatpants.

Do you think you have a good sense of style? Yeah.

Do you enjoy reading often? Not novels but other things, like essays and articles on lifestyle publications, non-fiction work, etc.

Have you ever had a deadly illness? Nothing that put me in critical condition.

Ever had food-poisoning before? Yup, I hated it.

Where did you last eat dinner at? The rooftop restaurant/bar we’re currently staying at (and checking out of in a bit :( ).

Have you ever shot a gun before? Never.

[starryeyedmunson]

full service - e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x female reader

summary: eddie gets a haircut from his favorite barber, and his version of full service is a little different than everyone else’s

warnings: smut (minors, kick rocks): HAIR PULLING (maybe even a kink???) lotta choking going on, one instance of dumbification, piv sex, creampie, pet names: pretty girl, princess, baby, sweetheart; oral (f receiving); swearing, a little surprise entrance at the end

author’s note: might just hAVE to do a part 2 to this you’ll see at the end. hope the anon that requested this enjoys this <3

word count: 4k

Eddie had a love/hate relationship with the barber shop. He was very proud of his long hair; it was one of the features he most liked about himself. So when it came time to go in for a haircut, he was very strict with the barber. Every time he walked into the shop, he took a deep breath and opened the door, immediately scanning for the one person he could trust to do the job. The single motivation that had him return to the place he usually dreaded.

His insanely hot barber.

To Eddie it didn’t even matter if you buzzed his entire head, you were positively the most attractive thing he had ever seen. The fact that you cut his hair perfectly was just a bonus. He studied everything about you in the mirror; the way your hair that you never styled still framed your face perfectly, the way you squinted and peeked your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you had the scissors in your hand, even the way that your dainty hands would push his hair over your shoulder and you’d look at how it laid in the mirror. You were enchanting, and Eddie had to remember to close his mouth every time he was on the verge of drooling over you.

And it especially didn’t help that you knew about and played with his obsession with you.

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled at Eddie as he walked in. He gave you a smirk, sitting down on the benches in the waiting area. You were finishing up another client, and he played with his rings as he drank you in. The guy got off the chair, giving you a smile before walking out the door. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, sweetheart” he took a deep breath and looked up at you, getting up from the bench and following you to the shampoo bowl. He took a seat in the chair, running his hand through his hair before laying back and resting his neck on the edge of the bowl. You turned on the water, running it over his head to get the entirety wet. He closed his eyes, the sensation of the warm water hitting his scalp calming him in a way.

“So, how’s it been since you last came in?” you grabbed the shampoo and popped the cap, pouring some into your hand.

“Pretty normal, DND and practicing guitar,” he shrugged.

“Oh yeah? What song are you teaching yourself these days?” you were genuinely interested, finding Eddie’s passions fascinating.

“Wasted Years, by Iron Maiden,” he said casually.

“I don’t think I know that one,” you rubbed your hands together to warm up the shampoo. “You’ll have to play it for me once you finish learning.”

“Maybe I- ah,” Eddie felt your hands touch his head, your fingers rubbing circles in slow motions.

“Is the water too hot?” you asked, but you didn’t even reach for the handle because you knew the temperature wasn’t the case.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he sighed. You smirked and went back to rubbing the circles, and Eddie was in heaven. Even under your simple touch, his mind drifted to his fantasy of you tugging on his hair in a bit of a different situation. As you ran your fingers through his locks, pulling slightly, he thought about you doing the same thing as his head was between your legs, feasting on everything your pussy had to offer. He just knew you tasted so sweet, sounded even sweeter. He was dragged from his imagination when he felt the water turn off, your fingers lifting from his head.

“Morning, princess,” you grabbed the towel and wrapped Eddie’s mane in it, wringing out the excess water. You lifted his head up from the bowl and wrapped the towel on top of his head, walking the two of you over to the salon chair. You kept your hands on his shoulders as he sat down, reaching for the lining paper that you would place around the back of his neck. It settled, and you unwrapped the towel to let his curls down.

“You still want the loose bangs in the front?” you were now looking at him in the mirror. Eddie sighed as you played around with his tresses, wishing for you to pull a little harder. “Hello?”

“You know me so well,” he finally replied. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you granted him the wish you knew was swimming around in his head.

“I’ve always loved this long hair you’ve got goin’ on,” you drawled, still twirling some sections around your fingers. “Not everyone can pull it off, but you definitely do,” you gave what was in your hand a slow, barely pressurized pull. You glanced up at him in the mirror, and had a smug look on your face when you were met with Eddie’s closed eyes.

“Is that so?” he opened his eyes slowly, meeting yours. “I have you to thank for that, sweetheart,” he smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” your pulling ceased, giving him a smile before reaching for the comb. You raked it through his hair, stopping every so often to brush separate the knots and such. “You still haven’t started using conditioner, though.”

He put his hand over his heart in fake hurt. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“I work on hair every day,” you rolled your eyes. “I can tell when someone doesn’t use certain things. Don’t you want your hair to be soft?”

“I think it’s soft enough for you to be running your fingers through it all the time,” Eddie slyly smiled. You looked at him flatly, but the smile ended up appearing anyway. “Only joking, darling.”

“No, you’re not,” you huffed and stopped combing his hair. You set down the comb, but when you turned back to Eddie you saw his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“Alright, maybe I’m not,” he licked his lips slowly. “Doesn’t make it false information.”

“I do not run my hands through your hair all the time,” you fought back. “I only do what’s professional” you crossed your arms to match Eddie’ stance.

“Really?” he scoffed. “I don’t think the tugging part is very professional.”

“Tugging?” you feigned confusion.

“You heard me,” he eyed you through the mirror.

“Tugging feels more like,” you uncrossed your arms and put one of your hands in his hair. “This,” you held sections in between your fingers and tightened your fist, effectively pulling on Eddie’s damp hair. You had him just right, and he let out a soft groan at the feeling. You smirked down at him, letting go of the part you had grabbed and replacing it with a portion a bit closer to the nape of his neck. You pulled again, Eddie closing his eyes and sighing. You took your other hand and trailed your fingers down the side of his neck, barely touching his skin. He initially flinched at your touch, but soon he was leaning it to it. You were watching him intently in the mirror, repeatedly running your fingers through his curls and pulling every so often and now tugging lightly on his earlobe. He was in a dreamland, your actions having him hypnotized as he fell deeper and deeper into lust. You leaned down a little bit to match the level his head was at, and he could feel your exhale against his skin. He smiled, but he kept his hands where they were.

“This is straying a little far from professional, darling,” he was trying not to gasp. 

“Depends on your definition,” you whispered in his ear. His breath hitched as you traced his ear with your tongue, closing your mouth and sucking softly on the lobe.

“And what are the limits of your definition?” he said in a low voice. You smirked against his skin, and you pulled his hair to draw his head back, pressing slow, sloppy kisses to his neck. He sighed, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth as you marked your territory on his neck. He raised his hand to card his fingers in between your hair now, scratching and cupping your head as you lapped his neck with your tongue in your kissing. His eyes opened and he looked at the top of your head, your hair falling to block your face from view. You pulled off his neck for a moment, looking up at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met Eddie’s, and you could see his pupils were a bit bigger than they were before. Eddie fixed your head to face him, and your lips met in a long-overdue kiss.

Eddie was holding your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, and your hand was still in his hair. The kiss was slow and intimate, completely off base from how he had imagined it would be. You pulled away and smiled at him, letting go of his hair and standing up straight.

“Now that I think about it, that doesn’t fall into the acceptable behavior category,” you had a cunning look on your face. Eddie was looking at you in the mirror, and he shook his head after putting his hands up in defense. You smirked him, reaching for the scissors and beginning to trim his hair. He was watching you intently as you worked, the snipping of his hair being the only sound in the room. Every time you took a portion within your fingers, your grip was tight and would lever his head back a bit, teasing him just a little. He would let out a soft groan every once in a while, much to your satisfaction. You were just about done cutting his hair, smiling to yourself as you did so.

“Now you’re just toying with me,” he filled the silence.

“Not everything I do is flirtatious, Munson,” you gasped, fake offended. He gave you a deliberate expression, and you winked at him before finishing the last couple chops of his hair. “Alright, you’re done.”

“You’re an angel,” he said, shaking his head and fluffing up his hair. He stood up from the chair, turning around to face you. You had your arms crossed after putting the scissors down, and he smiled at you before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He took out a $10 bill and handed it to you, but you simply waved your hand in dismissal.

“Consider it a gift for my favorite customer,” you smiled.

“Favorite customer?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m truly honored. You might be my favorite barber, but I don’t really know”

“Might be?” You narrowed your eyes. “You cheating on me, Munson?”

“Never,” he smirked. “Just don’t know how I feel about the, hm, unprofessionalism.”

“And what do you classify as unprofessional?” you implored.

“Well, for starters, that low-cut shirt you wear isn’t very work-appropriate,” he walked towards you slowly. He ran his fingers along the plunging neckline of your shirt, causing goosebumps to form along your skin. “And the way I always catch you practically drooling at me through the mirror.” His fingers moved to your neck, shifting to hold it without applying any pressure. “Don’t get me started on the hair pulling you teased me with earlier.” He finally looked into your eyes. “And you’d be wrong to think I forgot that little stunt you pulled; tell me, do you kiss all of your clients?”

“Only the pretty ones,” you breathed, wanting so badly for him to actually do something.

“There's the final kicker,” he sighed. “The blatant flirting. What even falls in your interpretation of professionalism, sweetheart?”

“Technically I’m off the clock,” you gave him a smug look. “So professionalism isn’t really what I’m concerned with right now.”

“And what is it you are concerned with?” the color of his eyes not even visible with how large his pupils were blown.

“Do you want the honest truth?” you whispered.

“Always, darling.”

“All I’m concerned with is you fucking me on that vanity over there.”

Eddie wasted absolutely no time finally clenching his hand around your neck and yanking you towards him, your lips crashing together in a scorching kiss. Your hands jetted to his hair, pulling on it in the way you knew he liked. He was controlling you with the single hand on your neck, the other one moving to your lower back and pulling you closer to him. The kisses were sloppy and fast, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth. He was running it along the inside of your lips, and every time he asked you granted him permission. Teeth were clashing, and Eddie’s hand pushed up to move your head back as he started absolutely assaulting your neck. He bit down brutally, sucking hard and leaving hickeys in his wake. You moaned loudly at the feeling, raking your hands down Eddie’s back. He lifted his head up and looked into your eyes, and you were impatient. He smirked, and as he read your mind he put his hands on your thighs and picked you up with the utmost ease. He reattached his lips to yours, kissing as fervently as you were before. He made his way over to the wall next to the vanity, pinning you against it as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You both were out of breath, only inhaling in the little moments that your lips were apart.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted in between kisses. “Even better than I imagined.”

“Oh you’ve imagined this?” you smirked into his mouth. He pulled away and eyed you.

“I have. And you have too” he sneered. You finally broke apart, Eddie carrying you to the table the vanity mirror was set on. “Wearing this short fucking skirt, your tits spilling out of this top. Almost like you knew I was coming.” He didn’t even bother taking the shirt off, he just moved the neckline to give him access to one of your tits. He took the top of it into his mouth, sucking needily on the skin to give you more bruises. Your head fell back when he finally took your nipple in his mouth, his teeth grazing over the hardened bud as his hand massaged the other. Your hands were now almost ripping his hair out, and you finally just dragged his head back up to kiss him again. He smiled into the kiss, the heat not anywhere close to diffusing. He moved his hand down from your chest to high up on your thigh, his thumb skimming over the wet patch in your panties.

“So soaked already,” he muttered, pulling away from you again. His dark eyes locked with yours, “Been working you up the whole time I was in that chair, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t get cocky on me,” you fought. “Who’s to say I was thinking about you and not someone else?”

“I’ll give you something to think about, sweetheart,” a sly smile spread across his face. His thumb was right on your clit, and he began pressing tight, fast circles into you. You groaned, and Eddie’s smile grew. He grabbed your neck again, tilting downwards to get your vision on where he was currently unraveling you. “Do not look anywhere else, got it?” You nodded your head, and Eddie slowly let go of your neck and sank lower until he was on his knees. He removed his thumb from your clit only to reinstate it with his mouth, lapping the bud with his tongue a couple times. Your head moved up slightly as you took your lips into your teeth, but after a second you looked down as you felt a cold air on your pussy.

“I will stop,” he bored his eyes into yours. You nodded your head, keeping your eyes on him. He started again, this time sucking lightly on your vulnerable bundle of nerves. Your hands were digging into your thighs, your legs trying to come together to release some of the pressure. Eddie let you squeeze his head as he began to twist his tongue up and down your pussy. He was engrossed in his new favorite meal, collecting all of you on his tongue and building up pressure in your lower abdomen, but when he ran a finger right around your entrance you couldn’t keep your eyes on him anymore. You were hoping he wouldn’t see you as he was concentrated fully on your core, but you closed your eyes as he inserted his thick, long finger into you. You were breathing heavily at first, but as he curled it in your pussy you let out a moan that wouldn’t exactly work in your favor.

Eddie looked up at you with your eyes closed, and he immediately cut everything off. You opened one of your eyes, careful of what he was going to do next.

“What’d I say, sweetheart?” he demanded, his voice unfavorable. “Can’t even listen to one thing I say.” He stood up slowly; he was a little taller than you due to you sitting on the table.

“What are you going to do about it, sweetheart?” you taunted, but his pitch black laugh didn’t put you at any sort of ease.

“You sure you’re ready to find out?” he was boiling with anticipation.

“You sure you’re ready to show me?” you mocked. His smirk dropped, leaving you on edge. He slowly unbuttoned his jeans, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled down the zipper, slowly slipping the pants and briefs he had on down his legs. His cock was fully hard, popping out of the waistband with a bit of backspring. Your eyes widened, and a smile spread on his face.

“Like I said, you sure you’re ready?” he sniggered. You cleared your throat, your eyes flickering back and forth between his face and his pink, leaking tip.

“Show me whatcha got, Munson,” your confident façade was breaking. He smiled darkly, running his tip up and down your folds. You let out a small hum, and you leaned back to put your weight on your hands. You closed your eyes as he finally plunged himself into you very slowly. He was surveying everything about your face, your squeezed-shut eyes, your mouth slightly agape, your head lolling back in ecstasy. He pulled back out slowly just to push back in again, still at the agonizingly slow pace. After another drawn out thrust, you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“This is all you have to offer?” you were agitated, desperate for him to move faster.

“What if it was?” he smirked.

“Then I’d tell you it wasn’t meeting expec- Jesus,” he rammed into you, cutting you off and causing your hands to move up to his biceps for support.

“Hm?” his hands gripped your hips tighter. “Doesn’t meet expectations?”

“That’s a little better,” you said, head still reeling from when you were filled up with him.

“Just a little?” he asked again. “Guess that means I have to work a little harder.” You cried out as he pounded you again, this time not stopping in between. You groaned loudly as he wrecked you, your nails scratching his arms in an effort to relieve some of the strain to not straight up scream. He was moving fast in and out of you, and the feeling of him stretching you out was the perfect key to locking you in a state of elation.

“Holy shit, Eddie,” you moaned out, and the sweat began to form on Eddie’s hairline.

“Doesn’t meet expectations my ass,” he grabbed your throat again and forced you to look at him. “Tell me how good it feels.” He tapped the side of your neck a couple times. “Open your fucking eyes and tell me.”

“F-feels s’good,” you choked. Eddie wasn’t satisfied.

“Say my name. Want to hear you say who’s got you all fucking brainless right now,” whispered at your face, and you could smell the faint notes of mint and cigarettes on his breath.

“Ed- oh god,” you were a lost cause in front of him, but his grip on your neck just tightened. “Ed-Eddie, please,” you screamed out hoarsely. He had a devilish smile on his face, and he let go of your neck to move his hand down to your pussy. He rubbed the tight circles he was doing before, and your head fell forward. Your foreheads were pressed against each other, the two of you breathing the same air. You were almost drawing blood at the rate you were scoring Eddie’s biceps, and his hand on your hip was nearly cutting off your circulation.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he said in a gravelly voice. “I know you’re close, I can feel it the way you’re gripping my cock.”

“Almost th-there,” you stuttered, and Eddie’s thumb moved faster than it had before. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands finding their way to his hair and frantically pulling on it.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered in a softer voice than he had been using earlier. His thrusts were relentless, his hips snapping into your pelvis and driving you towards the edge of a cliff. He filled you so perfectly, each shot hitting your g-spot with the perfect amount of force. You could feel each vein that ran up his cock, and eyes rolled back as you reveled in the sensation. “Come on, make those sweet sounds for me, princess.”

It was all you needed. The build up in your stomach suddenly fell, and you were drowning in your orgasm. Your walls clenched around him, and you let out a high-pitched moan as you fell into euphoria. You could feel Eddie’s pounding grow uneven, and he groaned as he let himself cum inside of you. Your already warm insides became hotter as his cum fired into you, and the only thing you could take it out on was his poor hair. He fucked you through both of your orgasms, only stopping when you flinched at the overstimulation. He pulled out completely, taking his fingers and pushing his cum back into you. You watched him as he did it, your breath heavy and rapid. He stopped only to pull his pants up and grab the towel that was on the chair behind him, cleaning the both of you up haphazardly. He caged you in with his arms, dropping the towel as well as his head in order to catch his breath. Your hands found themselves back in his hair, and you let your fingers twirl the strands.

“Finally,” Eddie sighed, and you laughed lightly. “How was that for expectations?”

“Consider them exceeded,” you breathed, and it was his turn to laugh. He pushed himself off of the table, letting you hop down. “But now your freshly washed hair is all sweaty,” you fixed a few of the strands that fell in front of his face.

“Means I gotta wash it again,” he sighed. “Maybe I’ll even use conditioner this time.”

“Good boy,” you smiled, and he rolled his eyes.

“So, you gonna let me pay you like that every time I come get a haircut?” he joked, and you gave him a knowing look.

“You wish,” you smirked. Suddenly the bell above the door rang, another customer walking in the door.

“I didn’t even know you got haircuts,” the boy said to Eddie.

“Just tryna take the title from you, Steve the Hair Harrington,” he said back with a mocking tone. You looked between the two of them, unaware that they even knew each other. “I’ve gotta get going, see you next time?” he touched your arm lightly.

“Yeah, next time,” you smiled at him, watching as he walked out the door. You turned back to Steve who was standing there with a smirk on his face.

“So I’m assuming Eddie got full service: shampoo, cut, and a quickie on the counter?” he teased.

“Excuse me?” you choked on your own spit.

“I know what post-sex glow looks like, I’m not stupid,” he said, straightening his posture. “Any way I could get the same thing?”

“That’s enough out of you,” you said flatly, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around to walk towards the shampoo bowl.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he sighed. “I just think I could provide, ahem, some better services than ol’ Munson could.”

“I doubt that, Harrington,” you said.

“Wanna bet?”

[scholastic-dragon]

Hey their

My birthday is in 2 weeks and I was wondering if I can get a platonic rocket raccoon x reader where rocket plans his best friend readers birthday party with the other guardians ??

Happy early birthday!

Rocket x Gn!reader

Surprise Surprise

Word count: 709

Warnings: my regular spelling mistakes, groot being cute

Summary: Rocket plans a surprise party

They'd forgotten.

Your "best friends" had forgotten your birthday, you were sure of it.

Last year the entire week leading up to your big day was full of surprises and nice gestures.

Quill let you fly the ship and control the music, Rocket had added mini bootslers to your shoes so you could fly, Gamora got you an engraved knife, Drax bought some random strange meat and cooked it for you in your honor, and Groot drew you a sweet picture that's still on your wall.

But tomorrow was your birthday and they'd done nothing, if anything Rocket was being an even bigger asshole. Normally you'd sit with him while he worked and he'd tell you all about his inventions, but now it's like he didn't want you anywhere near him.

You slumped in the shower, the water hitting your back, eyes closed.

After your shower you went to bed without another word to the others. Turning off all the lights and plunging your room into darkness you layed down and closed your eyes, dreading tomorrow.

"I AM GROOT!" A small excited tree jumped up and down on tour chest. You groaned, squinting and blinking your eyes rapidly.

When he climbed up he turned on your bedside lamp, he had a large smile on his face and was still wearing his pajamas.

"I am Groot! I am Groot!" Grabbing the side of your face he kept jumping.

You laughed, putting your hand under his butt and moving him away from your chest. He happily sat in your hand, humming and swinging his legs.

"Good morning to you too, buddy," You groggily laughed, still coming out of sleep.

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, it is my birthday, thanks, buddy," You smiled at the small tree. He reached his arms out, you leaned down for a hug. He extended his arms around you, hugging you tight. "I knew at least one of you wouldn't forget,"

"I am Groot," He pulled away, shrinking his arms and pointing to the door.

"Yes, we can get breakfast," You laugh, setting him on the floor and standing up. You stretch your arms up, hearing a few pops from your neck and back.

Groot waited for you to open the door, once it was open he took off down the hall. You followed behind him, walking, slowly in your favorite slippers down the hall.

Every few feet, he'd stop and look behind him to make sure you were following.

Reaching the kitchen, Groot turned one last time before giggling and rushing inside.

You raised a brow, coming to the kitchen door and swinging it open.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" The lights flashed on and all the other Guardians happily shouted at you.

There was a small cake in the center of the table with a single candle. Everyone was standing around the table, Rocket was standing in a chair so he could see over the table and Groot had been placed in front of him on the table.

"You guys..." You laughed walking into the room. "I thought you forgot," You said sheepishly, rubbing your face.

"Forget? Rockets been harping on us all week about it! Wanted it to be a big surprise," Quill mumbled to you, making jazz hands at the end.

"I wouldn't have to harp if you did things right," Rocket retorted.

"Guys," Gamora warned, looking at them then at you. "This is about Y/n, now let's eat before Groot eats this whole thing,"

You all laughed and got peices of cake and sat around the table laughing and sharing your favorite birthday stories.

After cake and stories, Drax, Gamora, and Quill went off to do their own thing and check the ship, leaving you alone with Rocket.

"Did you really plan all this?" You ask, taking his plate from him and putting it in the sink.

"It's to get even with you for getting me that new saw and drill," He didn't meet your eyes, helping Groot down from his seat and watching him run out of the kitchen.

"Friends don't have to continue to do things for each other to "get even" with each other, it's just being nice,"

"Friends don't," Rocket corrected, pointing a finger, walking toward the door. "Best friends do,"

[erodasfishtacos]

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

**

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame. 

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement. 

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

**

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face  relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels. 

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

**

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers. 

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

**

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless. 

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom.  Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

 Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,”  Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and  Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear. 

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

 Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her. 

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

*

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again. 

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife. 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat. 

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction. 

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?” 

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

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