#aside from being able to continue teaching

[essential-randomness]

I made some pages in HTML and CSS, now what?

For this week's Content™, I answer a question that troubles all buddying web developers: what should you learn once you've become somewhat comfortable with HTML and CSS?

In this article, we explore 3 paths:

Static Site Generation, for those who like creating a lot of content (and my recommendation for fannish folks). If you've heard me continuously rave about Astro, this is where you'll learn to set it up.

Playing Around in the Browser, for those who want a taste of JavaScript without committing to installing anything (or are looking to add more complex interactivity to their pages).

The Server Path, for those who want to learn how to work with data to create things like guestbooks and comment sections!

I hope this is useful, and let me know what you all think!

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part three | the prequel

➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 4.5k ➸ tags: mdni! minimal nsfw, fluffly, poly relationship, relationship beginnings, blossoming love, s1 act 1, no mention of y/n, alcohol use. ➸ notes: so excited to get this out! had a fun time giving this relationship history and i spent way too much time overthinking whether the ending was too rushed or if it was too self-indulgent... and then i realized its a fic so i get to do what i want LOL! pls let me know if you would like more parts, or if you want some drabbles about this specific trio. i would really appreciate it.🥹

<- part 2

You had always been academically gifted. Rising to the top of your classes each semester, pushing aside anyone in your way. Especially for a young woman, who had been accepted into the Academy before you had even finished your secondary schooling – a gifted student with the proudest of parents and professors.

Born with an influx of ambition flowing through your veins, knowing from a young age your duties to the world. It took more than wordy false promises to make a difference to Runeterra, it took action. That’s why you vowed to help Zaun.

What better way to take action, than to help those who had been long forgotten about. You were smart enough to see the way the city had been tossed aside, forgotten about, while Piltover only continued to grow and thrive. There was sickness festering underneath, people dying because of the less-than living conditions and poverty that swallowed it whole.

There were many days when you wondered if it was too much, if you, as a topsider, could actually make a difference. Would anyone want your help? The bigger question being – how were you going to help?

Then, you met Viktor. 

That was when your ambition rose higher than ever. A smart, young man a handful of years older than you – a man from Zaun himself. The youngest assistant to the dean, a title that was hard to come by, and rather jealousy inducing.

You’d weaseled your way into his life quite easily, finding him in the halls and striking conversation whenever you could. He was polite, and good at slipping away when your attention became overbearing. You couldn’t help your over-excitement for a scholar from the undercity. Someone who matched your levels of ambition. Someone who was able to teach you about the place that had been nothing more than whispers and off-hand comments by your peers.

You fell in love. Quickly, and hard.

Viktor, too. It was your smile, your innate excitement, the genuine intrigue you had of him and how he was able to share the experiences of chronic illness with someone who wasn’t just a damned doctor – someone who understood the pain. How could he not fall in love?

Viktor found himself appreciating you more and more with each passing day, wondering when you’d sneak through the halls to find him to share your newest revelation.

Wondering when he could be expected to be pulled into a broom closet so you could ravage his lips with your own. He hadn’t been so experienced with romance until you appeared in his life, content with focusing on his studies at the academy. You changed the trajectory of his life—and so had Jayce.

-

”Hextech?” You raised an eyebrow, sitting on a stone bench within the academy courtyard and holding a half-eaten apple in your hand, “I don’t know. Sounds… unstable,” you murmured honestly, looking between Viktor’s eyes as he stood in front of you. You took another bite, the sweet flavour calming you.

You had to admit, as much as you were uncomfortable with this new scientific breakthrough, so to speak, you had never seen Viktor quite this excited about anything.

“Precisely,” Viktor said, eyes practically shimmering as he spoke to you, “that’s why you’re going to help.”

“No way,” you huffed, standing on your feet and waving him away, “you just told me that all the work got confiscated, how the hell would I even help?” You spoke in a hushed whisper, as if Heimerdinger himself was listening in to the conversation.

“Eh, confiscated is a loose term,” he said, taking a step toward you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You tensed at the touch, turning your head from his gaze and shaking your head adamantly.

You had morals, and perhaps you listened to the dean a bit too much at times. Science was incredible, but ethics were important, and the explosion was proof that it was an unpredictable type of magic. If Heimerdinger made the call that hextech was unsafe, a yordle with decades over your own experiences, then you should listen, no?

“It has the capabilities of helping more than just the city,” he urged, fingers tightening on your shoulder, “Please. Let us show you.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings, leaving you conflicted as your heart yearned to know more. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily as your mind reeled at all the possibilities.

The first image to pop in your mind was the proper union of Zaun and Piltover, an incredible feat that no one could ever pull off. No more distinction between the two – just one beautiful place to live. Your dream.

Could hextech really be the key?

“Fine,” you sighed, crinkling your nose and opening your eyes, “but I’m under no obligation to like this Jayce guy, he sounds like he doesn’t know how to properly take care of his research.” You looked up at Viktor through your lashes, watching the way the corners of his lips curved into a small smile, “Why are you smiling like that?”

—

“Crank it!” Jayce exclaimed from his chair, eyes full of childlike wonder, as Viktor stood at the chalkboard, crossing through equations and murmuring about the research he was still properly acquainting himself with.

You, however, stood next to Jayce, chewing hard on your bottom lip as your partner agreed with his words.

It all seemed fine, plausible, even. Yet, you remained apprehensive.

“And it if it doesn’t stabilize, what then? Part two of the great blue explosion that destroyed your apartment?” You asked, eyes focusing on the man sitting, his honey-coloured eyes shining as they watched you. Your stomach twisted tight, hating the way he made you fill with butterflies.

You knew him for less than twenty-four hours, and he already had you twisted around his fingers. Gods.

It was completely unfair to be caught between them both.

“It’s worth a test,” he was adamant, then a sigh left his lips, “but we don’t have access to my equipment.”

“Which is being destroyed tomorrow,” Viktor murmured, eyes back on the chalkboard and fingers touching his chin as he was lost deep in thought.

You jumped when Jayce stood quickly, the chair he sat on nearly toppling over.

“What?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor cringed, looking over his shoulder at Jayce, “Sorry. I meant to tell you.”

You could sense the way Jayce was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, his breath hitching in his throat as he rambled on about how it was his life work, how they could show the council the equations to show them the proof. There had to be something!

But Viktor was right, proof wasn’t reliable on paper. They needed physical proof. A real test.

“We can’t do it without the crystals. The enforcers took them all, they’re gone,” Jayce ran his hands over his face as he collapsed onto the chair once more, deflated from the situation.

Your hand rested atop his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, much like Viktor did with you when you were overworked. Jayce flickered his gaze to you, those puppy-like eyes offering a silent ‘thank-you’.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, “locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab,” he continued, eyes settling on you.

“No,” you were quick to know where he was going with this, “Count me out, we are not breaking in.”

“She’s right,” Jayce said, eyes widening, “you heard the council, if we’re wrong–”

“Better be right then,” Viktor interrupted, and Jayce’s eyes sparkled with possibility.

You felt a tightness in your chest, shaking your head as you took a step back. The two of them spoke back and forth, but you hadn’t been listening. Just as you reached the boiling point, you turned on your heels and took a step away, but Jayce was quick to turn his attention back to you. He stepped forward, hand grabbing your wrist, and you felt your heart jump up into your throat.

“Stay,” he pleaded, hand tightening.

You huffed a loud sigh through your nostrils, brows creasing together and lifting. Gods, why did he have to be so goddamned charming? You hardly noticed the curious look that Viktor gave you two before rolling his eyes and turning back to the chalkboard. The smirk on his lips well hidden.

“Fine!” You snapped, pulling your arm from his grip, “but if we get caught I’m telling everyone that you two made me do it. I am not taking the fall for this.”

Jayce grinned, a toothy smile that lit your cheeks aflame, “Deal.”

You stayed a few feet behind the two men, arms crossed over your chest, as you careened through the halls quietly. You were hardly a rule breaker, in fact, usually a stickler for keeping peace. It was in your nature, like many topsiders.

When the three of you reached the door, you felt panic rising as footsteps echoed down the hall from where you had just come from.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered, “hurry.”

Viktor was fiddling with the keys, fingers filtering through them until he found the one for Heimerdinger’s lab. With practiced ease, he slipped the key into the door lock, twisting back and forth until it clicked.

Both you and Jayce were standing side-by-side, watching a flashlight in the distance, pointing in your direction, but too far to pick up on the three figures breaking in.

Viktor opened the door, and they stepped inside, but you were frozen. Unable to tear your gaze away from the enforcer that had been doing patrols and walking right toward you.

“Ah!” You gasped when there was a harsh tug on your arm, stumbling into the laboratory and crashing against Jayce’s chest. Viktor closed the door behind you without even the slightest creaking – a perfectly silent entrance.

“You've never broken a rule in your life, have you?” Jayce smiled, eyes watching you with curiosity as you pulled away from him yet again. You opened your mouth to answer but Viktor cut you off.

“She is a law-abiding citizen,” he answered, supporting himself on his cane as he walked further into the lab, looking around for the confiscated equipment.

“Can you guys keep it down? They’ll hear us.” You whispered, pushing past Jayce. Annoyed, and thankful the redness on your cheeks wasn’t visible in the darkened room.

“Huh,” Jayce grinned in response to Viktor, walking behind you as he looked around the lab, “you’re not kidding.”

“Shut up.” You hissed.

Settling in the lab, you stood off to the side, peering at some of Heimerdinger’s books as Jayce scrambled to find the pieces of his work. You listened to the sounds of the electrical whirring as he welded the parts back together, lost in thought as your fingers traced over the spine of a book.

A hand lifted to the small of your back, startling you for a moment.

“Sorry,” Viktor murmured, eyes watching you.

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, smiling as you leaned against him. Silence grew between you two as you slowly dropped your hand from the bookcase. You glanced at Viktor, biting down on the inside of your lip in habit, “Do you think hextech really has the strength to help people? Like us?”

Those honey-eyes softened as they flickered over your nervous expression, and he nodded, “I do.”

With a deep inhale, you tried to let go of your apprehension to the situation. This was for the best. If you wanted to reach your dreams, you had to run over a few toes, right?

“It’s all here,” Jayce called from his spot at the table, pulling the goggles off of his face and turning to look over at you two.

Viktor held up a blue hextech crystal to you, one from the handful that was confiscated, and when you offered him a questionable look, he insisted with the forward movement of his hand. Slowly, you reached out and took it in your fingers, feeling the rigid orb press against your skin.

This was it.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before making your way to Jayce, who had been looking at you two with a small smile.

“Here,” you said, offering the crystal with an open palm as you stood next to him, Viktor coming up beside you.

Jayce reached out, taking the crystal, but not without a lingering touch to your hand. Viktor took notice, a sparkle in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed as you watched in curiosity as the hextech crystal was placed into the machinery.

It glowed a bright blue hue, sparks from the crystal illuminating the room. You had never seen anything so beautiful.

“It’s time to crank it!” Viktor said excitedly as he snapped close one of Jayce’s notebooks he had spent time looking through the past few days, looking in front of you and toward Jayce.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He asked, growing uncertain as Viktor sucked back a breath and shook his head.

“Do it,” you interjected, eyes wide as you stared at the beauty of the hextech. The inner scientist in you couldn’t be tamed any longer, you needed to see what this could do. It was almost addicting, and you couldn’t look away. It had sucked you in completely, “you have to try.”

They shared a look between each other, swallowing lumps down their throats. Viktor leaned forward, pressing the button of the machine, and it began to spin. It gained enough speed that it created a constant blow of wind that pushed your hair back wildly – electric currents flying wildly.

“I don’t think it’s going to hold!” Jayce said loudly, the electrical crackling of the machine deafening all other noses, “look at the buildup!”

“The resonance will stabilize it, trust me,” Viktor returned, sharing a thoughtful look with Jayce, an attempt to calm him.

You, however, were unable to look away. You stared at the wild glows of blue, a smile on your face, and blissfully unaware of the enforcers that were making their way up to the laboratory after seeing the blue light shining from the windows of the lab.

Moments later, the chaos settled, and you gasped with a big smile, hands slamming on the tabletop, “this is incredible!” You exclaimed in awe, watching as it stabilized.

Viktor smiled to himself, his hand finding your back yet again, “told you it would work,” he said encouragingly, eyes flickering to Jayce, “all yours.”

“It’s never done that before,” he murmured to himself, unable to tear his gaze from the slowly spinning crystal that sent waves of electricity to the surrounding runes, “...alright. Here we go.”

Hesitantly, he reached to the button Viktor had pressed, twisting the knob several times, so the surrounding runes began to spin and orbit the crystal.

You watched expectantly as Jayce twisted it over and over, creating different pathways for the crystal to spark energy. You couldn’t help but lean closer, even when the out flowing electricity stung your cheeks.

What the three of you hadn’t expected was a surge of energy to blast out, nearly toppling you all and breaking the lab’s windows. Within the impact, you fell right into Jayce with a yelp. Strong arms wrapped around you as he reached for the knob, and you clung to him, face buried into his chest.

The energy was strong, and for a moment you prepared for the untimely death of three scientists who just wanted to change lives. How fitting.

Then, the glass from the window flew back into place, as though time around you reversed, causing a brief moment of respite and enough time for Jayce to push forward and slam his hand on the button. The crystal fell back into place, and you were all able to breathe.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from Jayce, feeling around your face and body to make sure your body was still completely intact.

“Incredible,” Viktor beamed, smiling, “we need to try again.”

You and Jayce shared a look, silently agreeing that it was now or never. And for you, there was no more backing out.

This time, you took a few steps back, not wanting to be caught up in the aftermath of a worse explosion, but still curious enough to peek over their shoulders. As you settled back, you swore you heard sounds coming from the hallway, but it was hard to tell over the crackling sounds of the hextech.

Pressing your ear against the door, you closed your eyes to focus, and you gasped.

“Someone’s coming,” you told them, hands holding the doorknob tight, “you better hurry.”

Viktor took a few steps to the door, sliding his cane through the handles of the door so it was snug, “better than nothing.”

The two of you shared a startled gasp, the rattling of the door loud when the enforcers reached the door and began to hit it with force, kicking and yelling for you to open up. Heimerdinger was with them.

“Stop this lunacy at once!” He called from beyond the door, and your gut twisted in guilt.

A few more heavy kicks and the door creaked.

“They’re almost through,” Viktor said, turning around back to Jayce’s side, “no pressure.”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce yelled, working hard to synchronize the runes with the knob. He looked over his shoulder at you, who was now pressing against the door with your weight. With each kick of the door, you huffed, doing your best to keep them from pushing it in.

A rather heavy kick caused you to stumble, but you got right back to it, watching over your shoulder as Jayce closed his eyes and focused on the hextech. 

Your attention was pulled back to the door when the cane cracked, and you tried to push against the door, but it was no use. One more kick and you’d be goners.

But the hextech won.

The sound of another surge pushed you against the door, and you panicked at the intensity that felt like it was going to crush you, and then suddenly… you were weightless. You turned to Jayce and Viktor, eyes wide, as you all had begun to float up into the air.

After one more kick, they broke inside, but the surge reached them, too. They stumbled back, while you had started laughing.

It was incredible, absolutely incredible.

“Excuse me, underfoot,” Heimerdinger spoke, pushing past the enforcer and stepping inside his lab, gasping when his eyes landed on you three.

You were nearly touching the ceiling, floating with your belly to the ground and caught slowly spinning between Jayce and Viktor. Your giggles erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to control it as you twisted around in the air. 

Jayce flicked a piece of metal, where it floated through a glowing blue orb that was just above you, and it shot out right at Viktor. You collectively gasped, taking everything in.

This was magic and science blurred together, a medley of perfection. Hextech worked. You did it!

“Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger spoke, looking up as you spun your body around, touching and prodding at debris.

It was like swimming, you were able to push yourself, and you accidentally collided against Jayce, the two of you sharing a laugh. You couldn’t quite place it, but as your eyes caught his, you felt something – like a mutual intrigue of each other. Was attraction too strong of a word? Your cheeks reddened, matching his own, then he cleared his throat and turned his gaze away.

“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor finally responded, pushing toward you both and smiling as the three of you moved around together smoothly, not touching. Floating. Feeling free.

Like all things in life, it didn’t last. The surged power of the hextech settled, and thankfully it was a smooth descend that kept you three from any broken bones.

Viktor had been wrangled by Heimerdinger, only after a good verbal lashing that included you and Jayce. Blabbering about the rules, ethics and how dangerous this was. At the end, your partner had been whisked away for damage control, trying to explain everything and to keep any of you three from penalties and punishments.

It left you and Jayce to clean up, gathering everything together into the back area of the lab, still in awe over everything that had happened.

Once finished, you stepped out into the brisk night air first, somehow still chipper enough to bounce down the steps while Jayce hustled behind you. You hadn’t been so inclined to do goodbyes, but he stopped you with a hand on your wrist, much like earlier. It sent a shiver up your arm.

“Wait,” he said, and you faced him, battling the redness that crept up your neck as you tried to remain composed, “will you stay?” he asked, grip loosening on your wrist, “to help us, I mean.”

“With the hextech? Of course,” you answered, rolling your eyes playfully, “Who in their right mind would see that and not want to explore it? That was incredible, Jayce. You should be really proud of yourself.”

A smile lifted at the corners of his cheeks, the compliment doing wonders to the insecurities that lie deep within him.

“Wanted to make sure,” he eventually said, dropping your wrist as you both ventured away and into Piltover, toward your homes, “I like you. Well, I mean – you’re good to have around. Smart, you know.”

A giggle bubbled up, a hand lifting to your mouth to try to stifle it, “you’re a dork, just like Viktor.”

Jayce smiled at you, biting down on his bottom lip as the two of you ventured down the streets together, “how long have you two been together?”

The question was quick to fluster you as you met Jayce’s curious gaze. You wondered if the question accidentally slipped out, and you could ignore it, but you could tell he was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, uh, just a couple of months. Officially.” You answered shyly, hands clasped behind your back as you walked side-by-side.

“That’s nice,” he murmured, “...so, has he always been so absurdly intense about science? Don’t get me wrong, I like everything about his ambitions, he’s a great guy for even wanting to help me. He’s just—“

“Surprisingly eccentric?” You laughed, nodding, “when he gets excited about something, it’s like his brain goes haywire. I suppose that’s the way of being an ambitious innovator”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jayce smiled, quietly admiring you in the moonlight. Studying and memorizing everything he could.

The two of you ended up walking around aimlessly, indulging in small chatter as you shared your hopes and dreams. You shared nearly everything you could about your life, and he told his story about him and his mother, and how that sparked his discovery towards hextech. It was easy to talk to Jayce, to get lost in his voice – he was just so damned kind.

Nearly an hour passed when you finally approached your apartment, which was rather close to the Academy. The two of you had simply taken a few detours around the neighbouring streets.

“Trust me, if you want to get on the dean’s good side, then you need to…” your voice drifted off when your eyes settled on a certain individual sitting outside on a stone bench. Broken cane in his hand and looking up at the sky. “Viktor!” You called out, rushing ahead, “if I had known you were coming back to mine, I would’ve hurried back.”

He turned to look at you two, raising a curious eyebrow and smirking as Jayce slowed his pace behind you, “I have only been here a few minutes, it’s all right.”

You dug around for your keys in your pocket, walking up to him and outstretching an arm for support as he stood. He could walk relatively okay without his cane, but you still enjoyed the way he would lean on you. It became habitual between you two.

“I should leave you both to it,” Jayce cleared his throat, giving an awkward wave as you two ventured toward the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in?” Viktor asked, motioning for him to follow.

You looked up at him in interest, figuring the two of you would be falling asleep the moment you got inside. Nonetheless, you went along with it.

“No, no, it’s late. I don’t want to overstay–”

“Come inside, Jayce. We don’t bite.”

Viktor was convincing enough, or perhaps Jayce had too much of a soft spot for him because he was quick to accept the invitation.

It ended up being a great night, the three of you crowding around your kitchen table. Drinking some nicely aged wine you had hidden away for only the most important occasions. You celebrated your shared success and discussed everything hextech, the possibilities and what you hoped it would provide. You shared laughs, especially as the night went on, and you had all begun to feel a bit delirious at times as the sun began lighting the sky above the horizon and the wine settled in your stomachs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to end the night,” you smiled, sleep beginning to win its war over you, “I’m tired and sore, I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I should get back to mine, or, what’s left of it,” Jayce agreed with a dampened chuckle, eyes flickering out of the window to gauge the time with the colour of the skyline.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” The question fell from your lips much too quickly, unsure if it was your overt politeness or an underlying desire that lead it, “if you’re okay with that.” You shot your gaze to Viktor.

It felt like hours, but the few seconds you took to share a look said lots. A silent agreement about your shared feelings for Jayce.

“Sure,” he answered. A shy smile tugged at your lips, and your lover turned back to Jayce.

The man seemed a bit uncertain, and maybe a bit too tipsy to understand the looks thrown at him. His amber eyes jumped between you two, “I’ve intruded far too mu–”

“Stay.” Your voice mixed with Viktor’s almost too perfectly, in complete synchronization.

“Okay.”

The night became a blur. It was Viktor who had led you both to the bedroom, the wine clouding all judgment from the three parties and allowing you to just be. To indulge in each other without wondering what would come next. To allow yourselves to act on attraction and lust with nothing holding you back.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you murmured, lips lingering along the stubble on Jayce’s jawline. Viktor, who was behind you, peppered kisses along your bare shoulders.

“Me too,” Jayce breathed in response, hands careening your naked body and intertwining with Viktor’s fingers with they met over your hip.

“Let’s stop talking,” Viktor mumbled with a quick nip at your skin, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Jayce wasn’t quite certain how he managed to be wrangled in by you both, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when, for once, everything felt right.

[mossymallow]

People on this site joke a lot and yearn a lot for toxic, doomed by the narrative yaoi in their media, but Toby Fox delivered some of the best doomed toxic yaoi in the last decade with Spamton and Tenna and it's honestly incredibly impressive because it feels so real.

Two people who are so lonely and so afraid of being forgotten (be it because of the natural passage of time, being just plain annoying and intrusive, or both) that it turns both of them into a black hole that absorbs literally everything around them into their own ego like a tarnished suit of armor (it couldn't be me that's difficult/obsolete/irritating, it's everyone ELSE that's wrong) that the only thing they can do once they find each other is collide and inevitably destroy themselves

We see that in Spamton and Tenna's relationship (whether it was orchestrated to fail by Mike or not), is that they both believed they were getting something for free from the other (guidance on how to succeed/love/validation), when reality, the cost was that it shifted their already horrific levels of co-dependency from the Lightners onto one another. As a side-effect of both of them becoming too big to fail, they both became incredibly fragile, who's success and continued happiness relied solely on the other. It only took one mess up- one misinterpretation- to ruin everything, and now they both blame the other for their failure to appeal to the Lightners anymore. Their relationship was ALWAYS doomed to fail because in the end, despite any positive feelings they may have had for one another (be it love or friendship or just plain idol worship), they both put aside any genuine emotion for one another that may have blossomed for their own ego.

The one thing that could have saved both Spamton AND Tenna was honest, earnest, communication, and that's what's so tragic about it, because this happens in real life to people all the time. Without honest communication, relationships crumble- especially business partners, but I feel like they had something deeper. They were earnest in one way with one another, and that was how direly terrified they were of being alone. With proper communication they could have figured something out, been better for each other, and maybe grown past their fear of obsolescence out of, if nothing, mutual respect for one another's skills.

Yet they didn't. They chose the fickle whims of fame and the adoration of strangers over what could have been real. They chose a fantasy of popular anonymity (and probably money, at least in Spamton's case) over each other. Now at the end of everything Tenna doesn't even recognize Spamton, but he still keeps a pipis hidden in a dresser, and when he has a breakdown, just like Spamton did in Chapter 2, the first person he blames for his failure is his old business partner.

Because at the end of the day- to the both of them- it couldn't have been me, it couldn't even have been that other people have lives outside of his influence. It was obviously THAT guy, my old partner, how dare he leave me like this/not teach me to be able to sell things/learn how to use email?

They're more co-dependent now than they were even when they were together, except now it's divorced flavored. Tenna's mannerisms and speech are even Spamton flavored, but considering everything, who was actually coping who in an effort to stay relevant?

Relationships take work, and practice, and above all honesty, which is something that neither of them had the ability to exercise until they were both about to die- and that lack of empathy and genuineness is what made their relationship fall apart with heartbreaking inevitability. Time caught up to them in more ways than one.

If that is not the most toxic of doomed yaois to grace your radar idk what is.

[aureatelys]

as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c.: 6k a/n: inspired by that one gifset of hotch desperately needing some moisturizer on his neck im so sorry. also my first time writing hotch's pov, pls be gentle. c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, kinda sunshine/girly!reader, mutual pining, alcohol mention, author pretending like they know about skincare, hotch is whipped and touch starved af, no y/n

summary:

You think Hotch needs to take better care of himself. Hotch doesn't know what to think. Or, 5 times you teach Hotch about skincare more than he wants to and 1 time he teaches you.

read below or ao3 here

one.

When Hotch first walks into the conference room ready to go over a new case, there’s something different that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Words dying in his throat, he sweeps his eyes over the entire room and doesn’t see anything significantly out of place. Then he’s passing over everyone’s faces, mentally keeping a note on how exhausted most of them are looking, and then landing on you.

Having only joined a couple of months ago, you were still fairly new to the team. However, with your sunny disposition and eagerness to learn, you blended right in. Hotch had watched in amusement as you were able to keep up with Reid’s ramblings, Morgan’s flirting, and Garcia’s antics. You were insightful, able to give new perspectives that Hotch would never have even considered, patient with victims and their families, and Hotch admired you for that.

Today, however, you look considerably suspicious as you give him a sheepish smile and a little wave. “Morning, Hotch,” you say, eyes sparkling, followed by a round of greetings from the rest of the team.

“Morning.” And then he spots a machine on the table near the wall, shaped and designed like a cat and spouting off what looks like steam at a steady and continuous rate.

Now that he’s noticed it, he realizes the conference room feels significantly stickier, the sudden humidity a stark contrast to the dry winter air outside. He can sense the slight congestion he’s been waking up to the past several months gradually disappearing.

“It’s a humidifier,” you explain after spotting the slightly confused expression Hotch was wearing, as if he’s never seen one before. To be fair, he doesn’t think he’s seen one in years as Haley was usually the one who dug it out of storage when Jack wasn’t feeling well. “I brought it from home, I thought it was a little dry in here. Is that okay?”

“I hope so, I was worried about getting a nosebleed the other day.”

“It’s good to have it around during this time of year, Hotch. Did you hear Anderson coughing this morning?”

“It’s also beneficial to have one on while you sleep, both with the white noise and being able to clear your sinuses and breathe easier with its optimal humidity levels.”

Truthfully, Hotch doesn’t care and he’s sure there isn’t some ridiculous regulation about not allowing a small humidifier, especially when Garcia has two space heaters in her office that you’ve had to ask to borrow at least twice a week.

However, the way you’re glancing up at him now from your spot at the round table, eyes wide and fluffy pink scarf wrapped around you because you apparently run colder than the rest of the team, Hotch would probably let you get away with anything.

He immediately sets that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on exactly what that means right now. He takes the only empty seat left that just happened to be right next to you, making sure to keep a respectable distance. “It’s fine. Just make sure to turn it off and empty it before we go.”

You give him a blinding smile that momentarily distracts him from the bubbling humidifier and the clouds of mist that are nearly falling into his face. “Sure thing. Did you know that it can also help with dry skin? So technically, we’re just taking care of our bodies if they ask why we need it.”

Although it makes sense now that he thinks about it, Hotch didn’t know that. He also doesn’t remember the last time he put on lotion or moisturizer, no matter how dry his hands felt.

Just then, Garcia wobbles in with her yellow heels and coffee mug, immediately launching into the brutal details of the case and where the team will be headed out to for the next couple of days.

When Hotch gets up to grab his go-bag from the office, he tries to ignore how it feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.

two.

“God, it’s freezing in here.”

Hotch glances up from his laptop mid-report to witness you taking the seat next to his with a resounding oof. You’re wrapped up in a blanket that you had brought from home that has somehow taken permanent residence on the jet, shivering despite the heater being on full blast. The corner of it lands on his knee, soft and warm.

The team had just finished a case in rural Montana, surrounded by mountains of snow and the wilderness. You had remembered to pack warmly at least, as Hotch had witnessed you struggling to take off the several layers of sweaters every time you arrived at the precinct. He remembers frowning in the car on the way to apprehend the unsub as you shivered in the passenger seat, having had to wear only a layer or two due to the bulky Kevlar vest and needing to be quick on your feet.

“It’ll warm up here in a second,” Hotch says, already wracking around his brain to see if there was another blanket hidden in a compartment somewhere. “A cup of tea will probably help.”

You slouch down further in your seat, cocooning yourself even further under the thick blanket. “I don’t want to get up.”

Hotch is almost tempted to lock his computer and get up to make you that cup of tea himself, however he glances around the cabin and notices several knowing pairs of eyes on him. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know what the rest of the team thinks—that he’s gone soft on you.

You with your fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape and the thick socks that you put in your bag specifically for the plane ride home. He knows he’s not imagining the lingering glances you throw at Hotch or the way you occasionally stay late as an excuse to bother him in his office.

And he doesn’t necessarily mind. There’s a strange, innate pull that tugs in his stomach when it comes to you, causing him to watch you more carefully and seeking out your presence at almost every opportunity. The sheer grip of panic on his heart when you were shot after taking down an unsub by yourself and without backup several months ago had Hotch re-evaluating everything he knew about himself.

He’s aware of the possible repercussions, which is exactly why Hotch has learned to be patient when it comes to you, who has threatened him to forgo his patience altogether with every bubbly laugh he can hear from his office or knock of your shoulders against his in the conference room.

So he doesn’t get up to make you that cup of tea despite knowing how you take it with a splash of milk and two sugars, and instead turns back to finish the action report.

It’s only several minutes later when he notices you rummaging around in your bag out of the corner of his eye before you pull out a small and colorful lotion bottle with a triumphant noise. You pop the cap open and slather some on your hands before you’re turning to face Hotch again, the novel that Reid recommended to you untouched on the table. “Do you want some?”

The bottle in your hand looks somewhat familiar, most likely something he’s passed by at the store or on your desk, but Hotch balks at the pink flowers painted all over the bottle. He’s lucky the undoubtedly suffocating smell hasn’t hit him yet. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But you don’t put the lotion back in your bag, instead shifting in your seat until you’re fully facing him. Your blanket is nearly draped over Hotch’s thigh. “Are you sure? You know, it’s really important to make sure your hands are moisturized, especially with how cold it is here.”

He doesn’t know why you’re so adamant about this, peering up at him with bright and eager eyes and the open lotion bottle poised over his hands. He’s never liked putting on lotion, or any kind of creams, as it always made his hands feel uncomfortably greasy. He would eventually wash it off anyway.  

He turns his attention back to his laptop, yet wordlessly puts a hand out towards your direction.

He thinks you’re going to pour a generous dollop and let him rub his own hands together, but instead, he nearly jumps in his seat when you’re grabbing onto his hand with both of yours and slathering whatever’s leftover on your hands into his palms and the back of his hands.

Your hands are cold, even moreso than his, but the sharp tingle that runs up his arm at your touch causes something warm to bloom in his chest.

“I didn’t want to waste it,” you respond to the confusion on his face. You’re thorough; making sure to slather the cream in between his fingers and even down to his wrists. He senses the sneaking glances the rest of the team are throwing his way, maybe even smug, but he’s painstakingly distracted by the way your hands look in his, the way he can feel both of your hands gradually warming up.

And then you’re pulling away, and Hotch suddenly misses your tender touch.

Like he expected, his palms suddenly feel gross, unpleasantly slippery like he has oil all over them. He wants to rub his palms on his pants or go wash his hands, but your watchful eyes stop him.

And then it hits him—  the sudden scent of you, floral with some hints of vanilla, overwhelming his senses. It’s undeniably the same scent as your perfume, the one that seems to linger every time you stride past him at the office or when you’re leaning over Hotch to laugh at something Morgan said. Now, it causes him to sharply inhale, chest feeling unnervingly tight as he unconsciously marks it to his memory.

You’re still watching him with an expectant smile, bottle stored away in your bag for you to pull out again after you’ve gotten up to use the restroom and used the cheap hand soap that you’ve repeatedly complained about before. You look unfazed, as if your simple touch hasn’t sent Hotch’s brain reeling.

“It’s nice,” Hotch manages to say, voice only slightly strained. The smell is not as strong as he expected, but it’s still doing strange things to his heart more than he’d like to admit.

If possible, your smile widens. “Just nice?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite my signature scent.”

You hum and turn away, picking up your book despite Hotch knowing you’re not going to read a single page of it today, the spine already creased from where you’ve been laying it face down multiple times over the past month. “No, your signature scent already fits you.”

Hotch says nothing, not entirely sure how to respond to that, but your attention is already caught by the game of cards Reid and Emily are playing several seats away. You immediately set your novel down and scramble up and out of your seat to be their enthusiastic audience, leaving a trail of vanilla behind you.

Hotch immediately misses the warmth of your blanket.

three.

“What are you looking for now?”

You’ve been digging through your bag, your pink personal one that’s almost as big as your go bag, for the past five minutes. Hotch can hear the various items clinking around and the crinkling of multiple old receipt papers as you curse under your breath. He frowns, tempted to encourage you to clean out your bag if only to make packing more convenient for you. He couldn’t count the number of times you’ve exclaimed on the jet that you had forgotten something.

The team had gotten called to another small rural town in North Dakota for an unsub that’s been killing during the protective guise of blizzards, which is why Hotch was driving so painstakingly slow that Morgan would’ve surely had an aneurysm if he was in the same car. Despite the roads having already been salted, there was still a concerning amount of ice on the roads that had Hotch sitting ramrod straight in his seat and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were nearly turning white.

Luckily, it was only you and Hotch in the car, heater on full blast. You’re wearing at least three sweaters today with your coat draped over your legs and haven’t even complained once about it being too cold, citing how you’ve never seen this much snow before in your life. Hotch found it all extremely endearing watching you nearly jump in your seat at how the evergreen trees looked covered in snow. Like a Christmas movie, you had said.

“Found it!” You pull out a travel sized bottle of sunscreen, hurriedly twisting the cap open to squeeze and draw lines down three fingers.

Hotch glances at you out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed in confusion at your strange method. “Sunscreen? Are we going to the beach?”

“God, I hope not. I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit.” You roll your eyes while slathering the cream on your forehead, cheeks, down your neck, and even strangely over your ears before rubbing the rest on the back of your hands.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Hotch clears his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be so invested in your skin health.”

“It’s called skincare, Hotch,” you tease, screwing the cap back on but suspiciously leaving it out on your lap. “And it’s important to take care of your skin. Did you know that snow reflects UV rays, so even during winter you should put on sunscreen?”

Hotch chuckles before he could stop himself. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”

“Did you want some?” You’re twisting your body again to face Hotch, eyes sparkling despite it being horribly dreary and cloudy outside.

The only times Hotch has worn sunscreen was during especially hot summer days when he took Jack to the park or to go swimming. He’s seen you apply sunscreen in the office even when it was raining outside and the sun wasn’t forecasted to come out that day. He’s grown to learn not to ask questions.

“I’m okay, thanks.” The answer’s immediate, partly because he doesn’t need sunscreen and partly because he is concentrating on not crashing into a ditch.

“Come on, Hotch, it’s good for you!” He knows this is exactly the same thing you said on the jet several weeks ago, and since then, every time you’re putting on lotion and he’s somewhere in the near vicinity, you’re already squeezing some on his hands before he could respectfully decline. Luckily, you haven’t tried to apply it for him again.

You’re incredibly stubborn and Hotch wonders if you’re persuading the rest of the team to invest in expensive and fruity-smelling creams in an effort to have everyone properly take care of their bodies like you are with him.

“Alright.” And then he’s pulling his foot off the gas pedal just a bit to compensate for the distraction of having to put his hand out, desperately hoping you’re not going to lean over to apply it to his own face.

You luckily don’t squeal in excitement like he expected, just silently squirting the cream into careful and meticulous lines on his three fingers. Hotch can tell it’s definitely more of an expensive brand than what he was used to during the summer—lightweight and smelling like nothing.

Hotch carefully slathers it onto his face, starting at his forehead, down his nose, and then out to his cheeks and his chin. There’s still quite a lot left on his fingers and he remembers how you made sure to spread some on your neck, so Hotch does the same thing. However, he is definitely not going to put some on his ears.

Satisfied, you put the sunscreen away and twist as best as you could underneath your thick layers to put your bag in the backseat, because the floor of the car was too wet from the snow from your shoes.

“Happy?” Hotch’s face inexplicably feels greasier than he would like, but it’s not as bad as the vanilla-scented lotion or the cheap sunscreen laying forgotten in his closet. It’s already absorbed into his skin and when he rubs a hand along his jaw, he realizes that it must have had some moisturizer in it as well because his face feels softer than he was used to.

“Ecstatic,” you say, turning your face towards the window to hide the wide grin spreading across your face.

four.

The fourth time Hotch learns about skincare from you was completely and utterly by accident.

It had been a long and brutal couple of days chasing a serial in Tennessee, one that had nearly as much technological experience as Garcia. He had been two steps ahead of them until tonight, when they had finally caught a break and caught him before he could take any more women to hold hostage.

The all-consuming relief was palpable during dinner at the hotel restaurant despite the underlying knowledge that the same thing was going to happen next week. Conversation flowed, drinks were had, and Hotch was adamantly ignoring the fleeting looks you were throwing his way across the table.

Hotch and you had been dancing around each other for months, tension so tangible that the rest of the team were starting to feel uncomfortable. He’s been able to brush off Dave’s sly remarks in the privacy of his office, Morgan and Emily’s raised eyebrows tossed in his direction at every interaction he had with you, and Garcia’s elbow jabs at every possible second when you were in the room.

It's been frustrating for him, to say the least. He can’t tell them that he can’t make that choice for you, that he’s too conscious to not cross any of those professional boundaries himself. If that means that Hotch has to wait for several more months for you to make the first move, if that even happens, then so be it.

When Hotch watches the way you throw your head back in laughter at something Dave says at dinner, eyes bright and face slightly flushed from the wine, he thinks he’d be willing to wait as long as you wanted.

After being nearly kicked out of the restaurant from being too rowdy and Hotch hinting at being able to take the rest of tomorrow off once they fly back in town early, the team quietly shuffles back to their respective rooms. He knows there’s about a 50/50 chance that most of them will sneak out to a nearby bar in ten minutes, but at least he warned them ahead of time.

“Night, Hotch,” you had said, giving him a little smile and wave before your door across the hallway clicked shut.

Something warm settled in Hotch’s chest at that, so he did the most reasonable thing to cope with the unfamiliar and turned the TV on to a random news channel. With the volume on low and his laptop and files laid out on the rickety table, he got to work.

Several hours pass like that as he throws himself into the fine print, going over everyone’s action reports from last week and shuffling through old crime photos to make sure everything matched. It was a familiar process, and almost concerning with how much comfort he’s found in it—the scratch of his pen, the drone of the city several floors down, and the growing smudge of ink on his hand from his thoughts running faster than he could write.

When he gets to your report and notices it’s missing several key points of the case, as well as your loopy signature, he frowns.

The immediate thought that comes to mind would be to just put the file aside and move onto the other one. It wasn’t as if the report was due this second and he knows there were plenty of others that required more immediate attention.

The other thought that emerges, almost reluctantly, was that Hotch could easily go across the hallway and ask you to take a look at it and finish the report rather than waiting for the following morning on the jet when the rest of the team was undoubtedly going to be hungover. Prentiss was most certainly going to be cranky and demand everyone to be quiet because the hum of the jet was already grating enough. He’d just be doing the team a favor.

That’s what Hotch tells himself as he stands up from the low desk, neck and back aching, and makes his way out his room and to yours across the hall.

He briefly pauses, straining his ears as if he could hear anything through the door and over the erratic thumping of his own heart. Hotch is suddenly aware that you may be sleeping, or even out with the rest of the ladies to a sleazy bar, and he’s about to turn back around with defeat weighing heavy on his shoulders when he hears the click of the bathroom door open and your humming, faint even through the thick wooden door.

Feeling confident that he’s not disturbing you and something else Hotch can’t name at the fact that he’s going to be seeing you in the privacy of your hotel room, he raps twice against the door.

“Just a second!” And then the door swings open.

Hotch’s attention is immediately caught by the fluffy headband you’re wearing, light pink and with a comically large bow in the center. You’ve clearly just gotten out of the shower, the scent of your body wash infiltrating Hotch’s senses and causing him to tighten his grip on the files he forgot he was holding in the first place.

You’re wearing a matching set of light blue pajamas, short and clinging to your body in a way that has Hotch immediately tearing his gaze away and back to your bare face. Your lips are glossy, slicker than normal, there’s a drop of water slowly trailing down the side of your neck, and a dab of cream on your cheek that you seem to have not noticed.

“Hotch?” you ask, confused, before letting out a squeak and crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to hide your modesty. Hotch ignores the fact that it just makes everything worse. “Is everything okay? Don’t tell me there’s a case.”

The droplet of water has disappeared underneath the collar of your shirt and the scent of vanilla nearly suffocates him. “No case. Just needed to get your final touches and signature on this report.”

He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as strained to you as it does to him as he remembers why he was standing in your hotel doorway in the first place, the files in his hand suddenly weighing like a ton.

You don’t seem to notice anything wrong, if anything, a slow smile spreads across your face that has Hotch’s stomach flipping.

You look radiant, the intimacy of being near you in your pajamas when you were clearly in the middle of your nighttime routine not going unnoticed. He peers over the top of your head to notice your go bag on your bed, clothes and your personal laptop strewn all over the comforter, and the TV being tuned to what you’d call an “entertaining yet trashy show.”

“You’re still working even though you’re the one who suggested having an early night? It’s late.”

Hotch blinks at you because what else would he have done if not attempt to catch up on the seemingly never-ending pile of papers and reports? “You’re still up late too.”

You roll your eyes. “I was just about to go to bed before you knocked, so technically I have better work-life boundaries than you.”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

You study him—still wearing his suit sans the jacket, tie only slightly loosened and sleeves rolled up his forearms. He hadn’t even bothered to put his shoes back on, comfortable enough with the hotel’s reputation to be in his room and take the two steps across the carpeted hallway in his socks.

“As long as you make it fast.” And then you’re stepping aside and opening the door further, the sweetness of the vanilla nearly pulling Hotch in.

Except he’s somehow distracted by the dollop of cream still on your cheek, right underneath your eye. Witnessing first-hand the twinkling of your eyes as you glance up at him and the way your pink headband has your hair pushed back, baring the most of your face he’s ever seen, has him sidetracked.

“You have a little…” He motions to his own face, hoping that you will take the hint.

And you don’t, not exactly, because of course you don’t. You immediately swipe at your face but on the wrong cheek and stare down at your hand when you don’t catch anything. “What?”

Hotch is a problem-solver, meticulous, and always thinks things through. That’s his job, to always be two steps ahead of anyone and everyone. So he’s not sure how or why he’s suddenly reaching a hand out to swipe at the cream on your face with his thumb, his touch lingering on the warmth of your cheek.

Whatever Hotch was going to say dies in his throat at the very audible hitch of your breath, the way your eyes widen at his close proximity. Your skin is smooth, softer than anything he’s ever felt, and he ignores the way you’re staring into him as he pulls back and absentmindedly rubs the moisturizer in the palm of his other hand. If he tries hard enough, the cream on his own skin nearly replicates the feeling of yours.

He's about to clear his throat to apologize, maybe even mention something about how the report can technically wait until tomorrow and turn right on his heel back into his room to ignore the adamant weight pressing down on his chest, when your expression changes.

Something almost akin to smugness tugs at the corners of your lips, the shininess inexplicably different and more distracting than your usual lipstick. Your bright eyes dance with amusement before your arms fall from where they were crossed on your chest to your sides.

“You know, I’m wearing a lip mask right now if you want some of that too.”

“Excuse me?”

If possible, your grin widens, causing Hotch to internally deny that he was suddenly feeling breathless. “I use a lip mask every night. They just make them look so kissable, right?”

Something in Hotch snaps, because if that wasn’t a clear invitation, he doesn’t know what is.

When he finally steps into your room, closing the door behind him, you’re slowly backing up until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall with that infuriating grin on your face.

You’re playing with him, you’ve been playing with him, but he doesn’t care and can’t even think about that when you’re peering up at him with soft eyes.

When Hotch brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, he thinks his stomach nearly twists itself into a knot at the immediate way you lean into him and the way your eyes flutter shut.

When he finally kisses you, he can smell the sweetness of the raspberry lip mask before he tastes it, seamlessly blending in with your vanilla body wash and making him feel more drunk than he’s felt in a long time.

You place your hands on his chest, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and something about touching him has you unconsciously parting your lips to deepen the kiss, causing the smell of raspberry to become stronger.

Hotch can immediately feel the stickiness of your mask on his mouth, and he’s tempted to pull away at the unfamiliarity of something on his lips, but then you’re sighing into him and his hands are suddenly on your waist where the bottom of your pajama top has barely lifted. The warmth of your skin was intoxicating.

You have to be the first one to break the kiss, and when Hotch opens his eyes, you’re staring at him, your smirk having morphed into a smile of disbelief. His eyes flit to the almost imperceptible smear of gloss at the corner of your mouth.

“You have a little…” You trail off, your eyes drifting to his own lips, your smile doing nothing to calm the erratic rhythm Hotch’s heart has taken.

Hotch wonders how much you had put on yourself because the amount that he can feel on his lips makes him immediately want to swipe at his mouth. But that would mean having to take his hands off of you and he doesn’t think he has the willpower for that.

Instead, he rubs his lips together in an effort to spread the tackiness equally over his lips before he says “I like it, but I don’t think I got enough.”

You huff a laugh at that, your fingers tightening from where they’re gripping the lapels of his dress shirt. “I think I can help you with that.”

five.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Just five more minutes, I promise!”

That’s what you had said ten minutes ago. It’s not like Hotch is impatient per se, just content that you had agreed to sleep over again after another late date night and there wasn’t a looming case coming up.

You had only slept over one other time when the team had gotten back from a case late and Hotch wasn’t going to let you drive yourself home when you could barely keep yourself standing. You had dozed off the entire car ride home, head leaning against the window which caused Hotch to adamantly avoid all the potholes and tight turns, and yet you still managed to do your skincare routine in his ensuite bathroom before coming to bed.

After that night in your hotel room, you’ve become bolder. You’re now sitting next to Hotch on the jet, you make your way up to his office when there were still plenty of people milling about in the bullpen, and the way you peer up at him through your eyelashes during case briefings has him itching for a cold shower.

Neither have you said anything to the rest of the team, but at this point, Hotch doesn’t think he has to with the way both Dave and Morgan have patted him on the back the day after you laughed at something Emily had said and leaned against him, leaving his shoulder thrumming from your warmth for the next hour.

Another five minutes pass and Hotch can still hear the clinking of your serums as you rummage through your cosmetics bag. He silently sets aside his phone to get up from his extremely comfortable spot in the bed to pad his way over to the bathroom.

The sight that greets him has Hotch’s stomach plummeting all over again.

You’re sporting that same headband with the pink bow again, however this time, you’re wearing one of his old academy shirts that had mysteriously gone missing from his dresser several weeks ago. You’re freshly showered and you’re holding onto some kind of strangely shaped metallic instrument that you’re scraping over your cheekbones and then down your neck. The way it drags over your skin has Hotch cringing sympathetically.

You immediately spot him, meeting his gaze through the mirror, and the way your eyes immediately light up has a small smile forming on Hotch’s face before he can help it. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” Hotch leans against the doorway, content to watch the clearly practiced movements of you rubbing your skin with this strange contraption. “It’s been over five minutes.”

You pout. “Sorry, I’ve been holding this off all week and I need to do it tonight.”

Hotch was sure that “need” was a strong word, but he doesn’t question it. He stopped questioning your thorough skincare routine months ago.

And then you turn to him, something mischievous tugging at your glossy lips. “Wanna try it?”

Apprehension thuds in his chest, but he takes a step forward into the glow of the bathroom anyway. “And what is it exactly?”

Detecting your hesitation a mile away, you give him a warm smile as you hold it up to him. “It’s called a gua sha. It’s supposed to help with blood flow and getting rid of toxins and all that.”

Hotch may not be a beauty or skincare expert, but he has doubts that this piece of metal can actually do all of those things. To be fair, he’s had quite a few doubts about most of the items you use and not so subtly make him try.

The delight painted clear on your face though has Hotch tucking those thoughts away. He’s sure he has no right to question one’s own method on how to relax.

“Okay.”

You immediately muffle a squeal and turn to grab some other serum you left out on the sink, a light gold swimming around in the bottle.

“I’ll only do half of your face, I promise.” You squeeze some of the mysterious liquid on your hands and reach up to pat the left side of his face.

It’s thicker than your usual products, most likely some kind of oil that smells like roses, but the heat from your hand and your close proximity has Hotch feeling inexplicably warm all over.

“Okay, now you just use this side to run up your cheekbone like this.” You demonstrate for him and he adamantly makes note of the light pressure you’re using. “And then you run it down your face and down your neck.”

When he attempts to copy your movements with the warm metal, he doesn’t notice any difference in how his skin feels or the blood flow in his face, but you’re studying him so closely that Hotch is tempted to say he does.

It’s a strange sensation, but honestly it doesn’t feel any different than if he used his own fingers to rub up against his cheekbone or jawline.

When he puts the piece of metal back in your open palm, you’re nearly teeming with excitement. “So, what do you think?”

He pauses. “I don’t think it’s for me, sweetheart.”

You pout but he can tell that you’re not offended. “Boo. Fine, I’ll meet you in bed, handsome.”

Hotch is about to turn back to go to bed before he remembers the thick oil covering half of his face, evenly dispersed but still uncomfortable and will surely stain his pillowcase. He attempts to discreetly wipe at it with his hand as best as he can before quickly rubbing it off on your arm and escaping.

The screech you let out echoes in his bathroom as you try to swat at him and narrowly miss, and the way he feels heat tinge at the tip of his ears is better than any metallic contraption’s claim to improve blood flow.

+1

On his days off, Hotch much prefers spending as much time as he can at home, either with Jack, you, or, more recently, both. Even if Hotch technically sees you every day in the bullpen, you at work is much different than the you at home.

Or at least, he likes to think there’s a difference as you drag him to the grocery store during what was possibly the quietest afternoon he’s had in several months.

I just have to pick up a couple of things, you had said as you buckle your seatbelt in the passenger side. We’ll be back home in a jiffy.

Never mind the fact that the word home coming from your lips has Hotch’s mind reeling. You’ve been seeing each other for several months now and he’s almost sure that you haven’t stepped foot in your own apartment for at least a month. You’ve taken up half of his dresser, most of his closet space, and the entirety of the counter space in the bathroom with your multi-colored serums and skincare tools that don’t work no matter what you claim.

He follows you around the store, dutifully pushing the grocery cart, as you mentally go through your checklist on all the toiletries you’re almost out of. Which is why he finds himself in the cosmetics aisle when you exclaim “Oh, I forgot about tomatoes for taco Tuesday!” and scamper off before he could say there were plenty of tomatoes from last time in the fridge because Jack has suddenly decided he doesn’t like them anymore.

He's content to wait, maybe check his emails on his phone, when he spots the familiar label of his face wash out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a brand that Haley had recommended for him when they were in college and Hotch knew absolutely nothing about skincare then, so he just continued buying it. He’s gone through countless bottles over the years, having used it nearly every day, yet Hotch finds himself frowning as he stares at the bright orange bottle.

The large bold letters advertise the cleanser being able to effectively combat oiliness, but Hotch distinctly remembers you offhandedly mentioning how lucky he was to have dry skin and not a combination like you.

Honestly, he had no idea, but it would make sense with how you were constantly slathering him in lotions and creams any chance you got.

He browses through the available cleansers, keeping an eye out for those that treat dry skin, when you sidle up next to him with a bag of tomatoes that were undoubtedly not going to get eaten. He can hear the hesitation in your voice when you ask “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something different.”

“Oh yeah? I knew I was wearing you down, Hotchner. Soon, you’re going to be begging me to take you to Sephora.” You’re joking but Hotch can detect the underlying seriousness in your voice.

He continues as if he didn’t hear you. “I’ve been using the wrong face wash for my skin so I’m looking for a different one. I probably haven’t been doing my skin any favors all these years.”

A pause. And then, incredulously, you say “Who taught you that?”

Finding one that was a good size and affordable enough to try, Hotch grabs it and throws it into the cart. When he meets your eyes, you’re staring up at him with a disbelieving smile.

“You did.” And it’s true—Hotch would’ve never thought about the long-term benefits of having a humidifier in the bedroom or the importance of sunscreen everyday if it weren’t for you. Taking care of your appearance was clearly important to you, which meant it was now important to him.

You stare at him, lips parted as if you’re at a loss for words. Your skin is glowing even under the harsh fluorescent grocery store lighting. “You’re such a sweet talker, you know that?”

You toss the tomatoes in the cart, making him wince, and loop your arm through his to tug him along the aisle. You smell sugary sweet with maybe a hint of his cologne from where you had slept in one of his old shirts last night. Hotch remembers how he had felt lightheaded, fondness flooding his chest, when he woke to you laying on his chest this morning. He tugs you closer into his side.

“Does this mean that you’ll try that new light therapy mask that I bought?”

“One step at a time, honey.”

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon

[nanivinsmoke]

Aphrodisiac

i’ve scrapped this one shot so many times, I almost gave up on it. hope my sukuna lovers will enjoy this one.

human!Sukuna x F!Reader

summary: when you accidentally eat an aphrodisiac, your boyfriend teaches you the consequences of it.

warnings : oh where do i start? multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f! receiving), rough sex, cream pies and body painting (?) and more.

“sukuna!” you called out while walking into the living room, hoping to find him there. his back was turned towards you, a pair of headphones propped on his head while he had a book in his hand. you stepped in front of him, causing him to finally look up at you. he pulled his headphones down and looked at you, wondering why you were in front of him with that expression on your face.

“i accidentally ate on of your gummies….and my body feels so….hot—and my um…” you begun, feeling nervous to tell him what else was wrong with you. he was now intrigued, wondering which of his gummies did you consume. “spit it out already” he spoke like he was already bored with you. “my clit is throbbing so much and look at my fucking panties they’re soaked!” a sigh escapes your lips when your panties ride on your clit as you pulled it up a tad to show him your slick.

whatever you ate had you in heat. your nipples were sensitive and if you walked a certain way an orgasm would’ve erupted through you. his crimson eyes trailed over you body before looking at you with a smirk on his face. he knew exactly what you ate and plan formulated in his mind. he tossed his stuff to the side and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you closer to him. the way his fingertips pressed into your hips made your clit throb even more, your body was totally sensitive.

you let out a breathy moan when he pulled your soaked panties down, your cunt at eye level with him. sukuna tapped your plush thigh as he laid back, guiding you to his face. when you sat down, a loud moan escaped your lips and an orgasm pushed through you. he didn’t even have to tease your clit; the heat from his mouth alone was needed for you to cum. his eyes shot open and his eyebrow rose, he couldn’t believe that you came that fast.

your sudden climax only fueled him more. his tongue swirled and sucked on your sensitive clit, making it pulsate even harder than before. he lapped up your juices like it was the last thing he would ever taste, causing you to grind your lower half on his face. his nose was pushed deeper into your cunt, stimulating your clit as he tongue fucked your aching hole. “cumming so hard for you kuna~” you said in a breathy whisper, gripping the couch’s brown arm rest as the ball in the pit of your stomach exploded.

he let your ride out your orgasm before moving you aside, sitting up afterwards. his mouth was covered with your juices making you blush at the sight. your eyes traveled down to the tent in his pants, mouth watering at the sight, palming it and watching it jump as you went. “are you going to continue teasing or are you going to free it?” his bluntness aroused you and you quickly unzipped his pants and freed his boner from his pants.

before you could even lean down to suck it, he stopped you telling you to get on your hands and knees instead. the sight of your dripping cunt being slightly covered by your fat ass made his balls swell. sukuna wasted no time and prodded his deep pink mushroom tip at your entrance, groaning at the ocean you formed in between your legs.

he entered you with no problem, your walls immediately clinging and constricting around him which made it harder for him to not burst inside of you. with a slight head turn, you glimpsed at him, “please fuck me hard kuna~”. usually you’re not able to take him when he’s fucking you deep and hard, but tonight you wanted to be fucked into the couch. a smirk etched on his face and he plunged deeper into your cunt with one stroke, a yelp escaping yours lips.

the embarrassing, yet sexy sound of air being pushed out of your cunt echoed throughout the living room as your cunt was being filled by his cock. your ass bounced against his pelvis each time he pounded into you. slutty mewls and dripplets of drool slipped from your plump lips the more he fucked your cunt sloppy.

it almost felt like you were dying and being brought back to life whenever he slammed himself deeper into you. his dick throbbed inside of you, he couldn’t stop himself from cumming either. your pussy was way too fucking good, his thick load shot out in ropes and the heat from of it made your pussy spasm; causing your third orgasm for the night.

he was breathless once he pulled out of you, sitting against the soft couch behind him. while the warm fluid pooled out of you, that overwhelming feeling soared through you again. you needed more, the strong effects of the aphrodisiac controlled you. you took him by surprise when you climbed on top of his lap, hovering over his cock before pushing it back inside of you.

“so fucking tight— mhm you’re clinging to me” he growled into your ear as your gummy walls confined to him, the fat of your ass clapping each time you reached the skin of his thighs. he loved the slutty expression that was plastered over your face, drunk off his cock as you made it yours.

the more you bounced, the more his dick became coated with your cream making it a bright shade of white. his big hands gripped the fat of your ass, the fluffyness of it melting in between his fingers as he helped bring you up and down on his cock. the feeling of his tip brushing against your sensitive spot sent flutters to your pussy and he could feel you cum again. his voice was raspy as he talked you through your orgasm.

sukuna could barely help himself when he pushed you on your back, holding your legs back with your ankles nearly touching your ears; his dick pushing inside of you once more. he ignored the sensitivity he felt and immediately began to split your pussy in half. your eyes rolled back deep into your head, showing off the whitest part of them. his name spitting off your tongue the more he fucked you silly.

you couldn’t take it anymore, you was sure he was going to break your pussy the way he was fucking you. your manicured nails scratched at his forearms; leaving welps and red markings over them. “this pussy is so fucking wet. this my pussy?” he knew you could barely answer him, your mind far away from words. instead you frantically nodded your head while taking his dick the best way you can.

the feelings of your pussy clenching around him made him go faster and caused your final orgasm to approach quicker. you didn’t warn him as a stream of clear liquid shot out of you and drenched his cock; some of it hitting his chest. he smiled seeing you squirt all over him, his climax following right after yours. “cumming loads in that pussy, yeah~?” with a few more hard and powerful strokes he began to empty the last of his balls out inside of you, before pulling out to paint the rest over your breasts.

you had learned your lesson and promised to never touch his things….sike.

[harkness-pet]

a little witch - pt. 2

Author’s note: Due to popular demand, here is part two.

part 1

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: degradation, bratty!reader, dom!agatha

Plot: agatha harkness has agreed to teach you and well, you’re a very good student.

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

After you’ve been thoroughly fucked in more ways than you thought possible, Agatha sends you home with clear instructions to return the next day at dawn. 

You can barely sleep and it’s hard to contain your excitement. 

But the next day, you’re there. She doesn’t welcome you with open arms or a smile on her face. No, she’s very much still looking at you like you’re an annoying parasit that has settled in her life. But every time she brushes past you to hand you a spell jar, you stop breathing and you don’t miss the smirk on her face. Every time she positions your hands so that you can do the spell properly, she puts one hand on your hip and whispers the instructions into your ear, and when you shiver, her eyes darken. 

In the afternoon you are already quite tired and barely focusing, but you don’t want to disappoint her. You are sitting at a table practicing runes she’s recommend and you make a mistake. The problem is she notices it first. 

“Wrong, start over,” she says, leaning over your shoulder. 

You try to hide a groan, but it’s too late. 

“Oh am I boring you?” she asks mockingly. “Remind me, who came here with her tits out begging me to teach her?”

You feel warmth spreading over your cheeks and hang your head. “Me.”

“That’s right.”

You don’t dare to look up at her and try once again, when she makes a “ts-ts” sound meaning you’ve made another mistake. 

“You know, maybe you lack motivation,” she muses. “Why don’t you stand up?” 

You are confused, unsure how standing up will help, but once you stand, you’re vaguely aware of the chair being pushed aside and Agatha’s warmth on your back.

“Try again,” she whispers into your ear.

You start again, while she places her hands on your shoulders and starts pulling your dress off. You shiver from the coldness and want to turn around, but she tightens her hold. 

You swallow loudly and soon your dress is pooled around your ankles and you’re standing there in just your panties and if you’ve ever had a student-teacher fantasy, it definitely looked like this. 

You breathe in sharply, your senses overwhelmed with Agatha’s smell, something sweet, something woody, something dark. Agatha trails her hands over your exposed back and then slips to the front, catching your breasts into her palms, massaging them softly. 

“Now, focus,” she teases when she notices you’ve stopped writing. 

You don’t want her to stop touching you so you continue, concentrating very hard on the paper in front of you, not on the way Agatha’s hands are making love to your breasts. 

One hand slips further down and nails scrape your inner thigh. Agatha’s front is now fully pressed against your naked back and you’re so close to hyperventilating. 

��Spread your legs,” she commands and there is not a second of hesitation as you do so. “Hmm.”

With one of Agatha’s hand massaging your breast and the other one drawing circles on your inner thigh, you’re surprised you’re still able to write.

“Are you sure the line of that rune goes in that direction?” she murmurs in your ear and while you focus your whole will power on correcting the mistake, her fingers find your panties and she doesn’t hesitate to slip underneath. 

You moan when she brushes through your wet folds. 

“So ready for me…”

“Always,” you let out and suddenly her fingers are gone and you’re this close to bursting into tears. You’re so tired, so anxious to make another mistake, and you desperately want Agatha in any way possible. 

You want to apologise for speaking or for whatever thing you’ve done wrong when Agatha starts peeling your underwear off, which sticks to your wet pussy, as you realise with another blush to your cheeks, and then her hand is back where you need it. This time, though, she reaches for you from behind. 

“Another rune, start,” she commands and you furiously write while she presses two fingers into you and starts fucking you slowly from behind. Your mind is hazy, but you figure you have a better chance of actually getting an orgasm if you do a good job. Suddenly you’ve never been more focused in your life. 

Agatha’s other hand leaves your breast and takes a hold of your neck, gripping it firmly, so she can fuck you properly. 

You finish the last rune just as the orgasm washes over you and you come, your knees shaking and if Agatha weren’t holding you, surely you’d fall. 

She plants kisses on your neck and then bites your shoulder and you throw the pen away. You motion that you want to turn around and she pulls her fingers out of you and you turn in her arms just in time to watch her put the fingers in her mouth and obscenely suck them. 

You just stare at her with pupils blown, lips slightly parted and a flush in your cheeks, still breathing out your high. 

When Agatha finally releases her fingers from her mouth and utters a quiet “delicious”, you close the distance between you and kiss her. 

You didn’t kiss the previous night, but now that you’re kissing Agatha you feel like a drowning person who’s been thrown a life vest. You kiss her as if your life depended on it. 

Agatha lets you lead for a while, but soon her hands grip your hips and you’re enveloped in smoke and magicked to her bedroom and you’re breathless from the fact this is the second time she’s used magic to make the way to bedroom faster as if she didn’t have patience for the stairs. 

You push her towards the bed, but she pushes back and you’re pressed against the door, whimpering when her hands roam all over your body. 

“You’ve been a good student today,” she whispers against your neck. “So good for your teacher.”

Maybe you’re not the only one with student-teacher fantasies. 

You grasp her dress and start tearing them off her. 

“But we need to perfect your focus,” she says and in that moment you rip the dress off and she’s finally naked too snd she adds: “and your patience.” 

You smirk at her. “I think since I’ve been such a good girl, I deserve a prize.” 

She scoffs. “The orgasm downstairs wasn’t good enough for you?” 

You push at her and she lets you and when you finally get her on the bed, you settle between her legs. “I want a different prize.” 

You lean down and blow air at her still covered center and she actually shudders. 

Agatha’s hand finds your hair and she grips it so tight, you let out a moan. 

“You’re such a slut, little witch,” she says. “Tell me.”

You swallow. This woman will be the death of you. “I’m your slut.” Your hands are gripping her panties so hard, your magic lashes out and they’re gone. Both of you freeze for a second, but before she can offer another remark, you dive in. 

As Agatha’s scent envelopes your senses, you go lightheaded and start eating her out as if you were starved. 

Agatha’s moans soon fill the room and her grip on your hair tightens and then you grab her ass cheek and squeeze it. Her hips raise off the bed and you have to hold her down. 

“Good… girl,” she whispers and it goes straight to your lower belly. 

You suck on her clitoris and she comes. 

You are ready to continue making her orgasm because you don’t think you’ll ever need to breathe anywhere else than between her legs as long as she’s making these sounds and tastes so sweet, but she pulls at your hair and flips you on your back. 

You look up at her and she’s watching you with something you can’t identify. 

But then she’s reaching for you and you’re sitting up, one leg on either side of hers and your center presses against her thigh. 

She nods at you. “Make yourself come.”

You hesitate for a second, but when she flexes her muscle underneath you, you groan and start rolling your hips.

Agatha raises her hand to softly pinch your nipple before rolling it across her palm. You grab her hips for support and speed up your movements. 

“You do have some potential,” she muses while you’re riding her thigh. Her other hand comes up to trace your cheek. “So pretty.” 

You catch her hand and suck on her fingers, enjoying the way her eyes widen and breathing hitches. 

When you come, you come with her name on your lips, in your veins, in your very core. 

You collapse on top of her and expect her to shove you right off, but she rests her hand on your head.

“My little witch.”

[bewitched-hours]

Okay, zo hello!! Could you maybe make a fic about [READER] being 1x1x1x1s zibling? Kinda like how he'z made out of hate, maybe they could be made out of pure love?

Zhedletsky iz like [READER]z father, and they like have a good (PLATONIC) relationzhip, teaching them how to ztun the killer, etc. But they can make things out of love (?), like maybe a sword or something, being a zurvivor n ztuff

Maybe 1x4 can meet them in the round az they ztun him, and might be confuzed on who they are

And when they're zad/having a intenze emotion maybe they can act out of line, kinda like pure love turning into pozzezzive or unhealthy love! :3

I'm not good at asking for a requezt, zo tell me if itz good or zomething, idk :D

(I've had thiz ztupid thought in my head, rotating around like a pizza in a microwave..)

This is an interesting request! I gotta admit I had a little trouble understanding at times but that's just my stupid brain taking things at face value the first time I read things /ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ The z's in places of s' are kinda cute tho ngl-

The reader's pronouns shall be they/them!

You've never even thought about the possibility of having a sibling, much less your father having ever been able to hate.

You were a manifestation of Shedletsky's love, just like 1x was a manifestation of his hatred. But instead of a black and green body, yours was a mix of red and white.

He taught you to be a survivor, to not become like your unknown sibling.

You could even use your love to make a sword, wanting to make your father proud when you stunned killers. It was bliss in this nightmare of a realm and even the other survivors appreciated your help.

You even developed wings after a short time, much to everyone's surprise. Even Shedletsky hadn't seen that coming but he was proud nonetheless, even helping you figure out how to fly and float.

But since then you occasionally get the nickname 'Cupid' for your silly little wings.

But then the dreaded round came. The round that Shedletsky feared for your sake.

A round with both you and 1x1... Siblings meeting for the first time without realizing it.

Shed had hoped the round could go over quickly, that he wouldn't be confronted by the manifestation of his hatred and the manifestation of his love at the same time.

But he clearly underestimated your loyalty.

As 1x1 was about to strike him, you dropped from above and stunned her using your sword, barely touching the ground before hurrying to accompany your father towards safety.

The killer was severely confused on your existence but just as much as he was mad over being stopped.

And if you were honest, something about her felt familiar... You just decided to shrug it off for now and leave the questions for later.

But then you and Shedletsky ended up as the last two alive, leading to you acting maybe a little out of line as you began muttering to yourself.

"No one touches my papa..." You muttered under your breath as you kept an eye out while guarding Shed. He luckily didn't hear a word because you were clearly not acting like usual.

Why were you suddenly having the urge to take Shed somewhere where no one would find him? That wasn't what you'd want for your father... Right..?

You only got more aggressive when you saw your green and black counterpart approaching. You were practically already hissing as she stared you down, approaching eerily slow and not showing any sign of hostility in contrast to your own. It looked more like tolerance than indifference though.

Shedletsky tried to tell you to run but you wouldn't budge no matter how much he'd plead. Eventually, 1x1 was towering slightly over you and you found yourself unable to move aside from continuing to stare her down.

He was clearly curious and although Shed wanted to just make a run for it, he couldn't just leave you here and knew you would deserve answers.

"I see you've made another..." His voice was directed at your father, causing you to halt your stance entirely to give her a questioning look.

This only annoyed 1x1 further. "Let me guess, they were never made aware of my existence, were they?" He almost sounded like he was scoffing but you couldn't even look at Shed. You didn't want to see the possibility of him confirming that this was what you feared.

She eventually picked you up by your wings, causing you to flail around but accidentally dropping your sword.

"I suppose their size fits. Either they were made recently or you truly had nothing much to feed a being that is the opposite of hatred, right?"

"No one speaks about papa that way!" You finally spoke up, enraged over how 1x1 could talk about Shedletsky.

1x1 seemed a little unsettled by that. "I'm not even surprised it's so possessive of you... Probably self-love." She muttered, promptly killing you to have a private chat with your creator.

The other survivors were honestly a little startled to see your current state. You've never been seen with so much rage in your eyes and it felt a little intimidating even to them...

Let's hope Shed can come back soon and straighten things out...

I'm getting so many asks lately but I don't mind it at all, it just makes things better with me being able to write more! (And all at once too kek-)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[missmoonfrost]

Found in Barty's kitchen - a Jegulus microfic

@into-the-jeggyverse - May 8: Disappear - Words: 600 - warning: alcohol consumption

Regulus found himself sitting on Barty's kitchen floor, hyperventilating and drinking straight from the bottle of wine that Barty offered. No judgement there.

It had been a while since he had spiralled like this, but apparently, he still did when things got too much.

His phone rang again. He didn't answer.

The bottle was almost empty and Regulus had started remembering how to breathe when there was an insistent knock on Barty's door.

"Is he here?" Regulus heard Sirius' concerned voice.

"What am I, your private intelligence service?" Barty drawled coldly.

"It's okay," Regulus croaked, "I'm here."

Sirius shoved his way past Barty and crouched beside Regulus with his arms crossed.

"The fuck, Reg? Answer your phone!"

"Don't talk to me."

"James is getting hysterical. And you are..."

"Pathetic? Failing at everything?!"

Sirius sighed and sat down beside Regulus with his back against the kitchen counter.

"I wanted to say selfish and mean, but seeing you, I think it's rather scared and irrational."

There was a long silence. Regulus took another sip from the bottle, then offered it to Sirius, who drank the last of it.

“Oi, I never offered you”, Barty muttered, “you owe me a new bottle.”

“Piss off, can’t you see we need a moment?”

“This is my home, for fuck’s sake!”

Sirius showed him his middle finger. Barty returned the gesture, then disappeared.

Regulus took a deep breath. “He asked me to move in with him.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a big step and –“

“I want to.”

“Then what is the matter?”

“He has a baby.”

“I admittedly only got James’ version of the story,” Sirius said cautiously, “but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t expect you to be involved if you don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“Are you worried you will be anyway?”

Regulus looked down, picking at the edges of the label on the bottle. What could he say to make Sirius understand this? “Sort of.”

“You know what I’m terrified of?” Sirius continued in a lower voice, “Being like them one day. But I don’t think we will, none of us. If we inherited being bad parents, why wouldn’t we be able to change that just as we have changed everything else?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m a good parent or not. If I’m there… You know what: even if I don’t move in, even by just being part of James’ life, Harry will see me. He will get to know me. He will look to me as an example of how to be an adult. And I’m just not… I’m not someone that anyone should strive to be.”

“Oh, Reg!” Sirius wailed and looked painedly at him. “You are amazing! Only for thinking that way, you are a better person than most. You don’t have to be perfect to be a good role model to a kid. You just have to be trying your best.”

Regulus looked at him doubtfully.

“Okay”, Sirius sighed and put an arm around his shoulders, “like this: you feel overwhelmed and like you’ll never be good enough, but you know it’s not really true, right?”

Regulus nodded reluctantly, and Sirius continued: “What do you want to teach a child to do in that situation? What behaviour do you want to model?”

Regulus took a few deep breaths, letting that sink in. Screw his brother for always being so emotionally well-articulated. Maybe therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Regulus put the bottle aside, cleared his throat and asked: “Could you give me a ride?”

“Of course. Were to?”

“I imagine you know where James is?”

[oh-phoenixx]

"Map" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 678 words

@abductedhiko

-

James knows he is being selfish, he knows this is wrong. Sirius has just lost his brother. He needs James more than he ever has before. And here is James, sitting in an empty and too-quiet flat, not even able to pull himself out of bed. How can James live in a world without Regulus Black? How is he supposed to continue on when the man whose very soul is entangled with his own is gone? How is he meant to comfort his best friend about the loss of his brother when he can’t say said brother’s name without throwing up? James hates that the name, the beautiful name, the beautiful boy, now leaves a vile taste in his mouth. Regulus deserves to be remembered and James cannot think of him without spitting out the remnants of him after every sentence.

It is two weeks after Regulus’s death was announced in the Prophet and James finally visits Sirius. He feels terrible, having left Sirius alone for so long. Of course, Remus is always there, and he’s sure everyone else has been over to comfort him. Merlin, Sirius must hate James right now.

James knocks on the door, and it takes a moment for Remus to open it. “Oh, thank god,” Remus mutters. “He’s refused to see everyone else. He just wants you. Where have you been?”

Maybe it is the look on James’s face, or his silence, or his absence, but Remus has always been observant. Realisation dawns on Remus, by the way his eyes widen and then soften, and he simply nods. He steps aside and James enters. He heads upstairs where he knows Sirius will be, and sure enough, the man is curled up in bed, unmoving, nearly unbreathing.

“Sirius?” James croaks out. Sirius’s head lifts very slowly, and James knows that’s all he can manage. James, guilt so heavy in his chest, throws himself onto the bed and wraps his arms around Sirius. Sirius immediately melts into him, clutching James’s sweater and crying.

James has never noticed before how similar Sirius and Regulus look. He thinks he’s going to throw up. At some point, he dissolves into tears as well, and that is all that can be heard from the two. Neither know how long they are there, simply sobbing and clinging to each other. When they finally calm down, James looks Sirius’s face over, pinpointing every trace of Regulus in it. Where are the freckles? Sirius does not have freckles as Regulus did.

“You have fifty-two freckles on your face,” James said when Regulus woke up from his nap.

“You counted?” Regulus giggled sleepily. He was always so relaxed when he was tired, guard down and just content to be with James. He only giggled when he was this tired, which James thought was unfair. If heaven was real, it was the way Regulus Black laughed.

James hummed, “Mhm. While you were sleeping.” . He kissed Regulus’s nose, eyes trailing over the fifty-two freckles. Regulus had tried to teach James once, about each constellation and how to find his star, but James didn’t care. He had a map of the constellations right here. Regulus’s face was adorned with stars and they were the only ones that mattered to James now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” James whispers, face hidden in Sirius’s hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was okay with it,” Sirius replied. His voice is hoarse from days of crying.

“With…With what?”

“You and him, together,” Sirius says. “I knew you two were dating. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

And oh god, why does that hurt so much more? Why does James’s heart ache? He feels so hollow, feels so ill, feels so angry and so scared and so desperate for a love he will never get back. Will he feel this way about Sirius forever? Will Sirius be nothing more than a reminder of Regulus from here on out?

James does not know what to do. For now, he clings to Sirius. For now, he stays silent.

[gotta-winwin]

2019 debut year <> first meetings - hyung line

word count: 2.4k TW: hints of anxiety, slight angst italics are in english, bolded words are in mandarin

౨ৎ ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ

They had all returned back to their company early the next morning, anxiously waiting in their practice room to meet their new member. Coups was busy briefing everyone when Woozi finally walked in, late.

"Thank god, you're here." Joshua pulled Woozi to join them in the circle they had made sitting on the floor.

"Don't really got a choice." Woozi muttered, his posture screaming how he didn't want to be here.

Coups gave him a look over before deciding he couldn't deal with it right now. "Anyways," He continued. "I know you're all excited to meet and get to know her, but she's going to be already overwhelmed and confused being in a new country, we're not going to make it worse by crowding her all at once." He looked pointedly at DK, who seemed to be crawling out of his skin in pure excitement and anticipation. "So just say hello, introduce yourself and let her adjust to the environment. You'll have plenty of time to get to know her later."

"Hyung." Seungkwan raised his hand. "I can show her around the company."

Coups nodded. "Take Joshua with you, manager-hyung said her Korean's minimal."

"Just remember we've got practice at 2." Jeonghan reminded, smiling at how excited Seungkwan had already gotten. "We've got to teach her the choreo for Home."

"Got it." Hoshi mumbled from his spot on the floor, limbs spread as he laid stomach up. "Leave that to me."

Joshua frowned. "Are you sure?" Other murmurs of agreement came from the others, everyone hesitant on the idea. They were all scared Hoshi might traumatize the girl with his intensity.

Hoshi waved their concerns aside. "I'll be nice. Might need Joshua to join us though, I don't know how well I'll be able to communicate in English."

Just before Joshua could respond, the practice room's door cracked open as Cyana's brown hair peaked out, her eyes wide as she scanned the room.

SCOUPS:

The first thing that he noticed about Cyana when she walked into the practice room was that the girl was shaking. It was minimal and disguised well as she quickly covered her hands with her sleeves, but Coups caught on quickly that the girl was extremely nervous. Taking the initiative to approach her first, he did his best to smile and prayed he looked more friendly instead of terrified. "Hi." He waved, bowing slightly before introducing himself. "I'm S.Coups." His shoulder relaxed when Cyana gave him a shy smile, waving and bowing back. "Hi." She whispered, her voice quiet and soft. She said something in English, words too fast and too jumbled for him to make out. He turned to Joshua expectingly. "She said she knows who we all are. Said she studied us and watched our videos on the plane ride here." Joshua's eyes were full of mirth. "She's a little embarrassed." A weight seemed to lift off Coups' shoulders at the sound of the news. If Cyana had studied them on her own accord, he wouldn't have to be so worried about whether her work ethic would match their own. He sent a grateful smile to the girl, who was looking at Joshua with a mix of both gratitude and amazement. "Thank you." She smiled back, waving his thanks away. "It was nothing." She said slowly, face scrunched in concentration as she picked her away through the Korean sentence. "I watched your performances. You're all very talented."

JEONGHAN:

Cyana's Korean washed over his ears and he couldn't help the coo at how adorable her voice was. It held a slight accent but he could tell she had practiced her pronunciation quite well. "Aigoo." He stood up to introduce himself, shaking her hand and refusing to let her bow. "I'm Jeonghan." "Nice to meet you, Jeonghan. I'm Cyana." "Cyana." He tested her name, enjoying how it rolled off the tongue. "Pretty." He grinned when she blushed, her face tinting pink as she looked away. He watched as she said something in English to Joshua, who looked at Jeonghan once she was finished and bit back a laugh. "What?" He asked, annoyed he couldn't understand and that it felt like Joshua was laughing at his expense. "Tell me what she said, Shua." "She said you look prettier in person. And she asked if you always looked at people like you're about to prank them." The boys let out a laugh from behind them. "I told her sadly, yes." He turned back to the girl, ears red at the compliment but eyes crinkling in shared joy when he saw that she was giggling at his expense. "Tell her I have a feeling she'd enjoy joining in on my pranks, Shua. There's mischief hidden there, I bet."

JOSHUA:

Joshua found himself both a little prideful and a little embarrassed by the amount of attention he was receiving. It was the way Cyana seemed to already have pinpointed him as the English speaking one, turning to him instinctively whenever a member spoke. As he relayed information to and from the girl, he could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to translate their words herself, before giving up and sending him a sheepish look for help. "I'm Joshua, by the way." He said, once the excitement of their first introduction died down and conversation drifted between members about different things. Cyana smiled grateful at him, shuffling to his side to hear him over the chatter. "I know. Thank you for translating. I've been trying to learn Korean but I guess I'm not quite there yet." He shook his head. "Languages are hard to learn when you're not really needing to use them. You'll pick things up quick around us, trust me." He watched as she watched the others, confused when he picked up on a tinge of melancholy hiding behind her eyes. He didn't have much time to dwell on it though, Cyana turned back to face him, smiling when she caught him staring. She smiled as he quickly looked down. "You guys are close." She observed quietly. "Yeah." He nodded. "We all grew up together so we're like a family." There was something about her expression that made her seem wistful, as she watched the members interacting on the floor, a ghost of a smile on her lips when Hoshi grabbed onto DK's leg with a shout. "That sounds really nice." "You're apart of that now. This family." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Good luck, cause you're gonna need it. We're all a little crazy." She laughed, a real one this time, unlike the quiet and shy ones she'd given the others. Joshua watched as her face glowed, in a way that reminded him of when DK's face would glow with happiness whenever they were onstage. She looked really pretty happy. "You know I mean it, right. You're part of this family now." He repeated himself cause there was still something gnawing at him. He didn't really believe she believed him 100%. Cyana looked at him and he felt like he was under a microscope as she studied him for underlying meanings. "Thanks." She finally replied, her expression suddenly replaced by a warm smile. She looked like she wanted to say more, as if her lips were the dam holding a tidal wave of worries and fears within her. A heavy pang hit Joshua in the chest. He saw a lot of himself in her, the confusion, the hidden worry, the fear of not doing enough. It felt like looking into a mirror for his soul, and he knew he couldn't let her drown like he did predebut.

JUN:

Jun, although bubbling with excitement over finally seeing their new member, seemed glued to the spot on the floor where he sat. He could only watch, half amused at how shy Cyana was, half worried Woozi, who was sitting next to him, would do something rash. "Hi, I'm Cyana." He watched as she introduced herself to each of them individually, striking up a quick conversation with a few of them. "I'm Jun." He said, shaking her hand when she made her way down the line of members, reaching him. He gave her a nervous yet reassuring smile, noticing how she had deflated slightly from the cold introduction Woozi had given her. "I'm excited to work together." Her face light up at the familiar language. "Me too." He watched as she turned to say hi to Dino, who was next and was basically vibrating in anticipation. He knew he could've said a lot more. They didn't have a language barrier after all. He knew he should've told her how excited he was, not just to work together, but to have another Mandarin speaking friend. How he knew she was probably extremely nervous and scared to be thrust into the spotlight and that he would gladly be of support whenever she needed him. He wanted to let her know that Woozi was just worried and had SEVENTEEN's best intentions in mind and for her not to be too upset. Yet, as he watched Cyana finish her introductions and gravitate to Joshua's side, the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them back down. Minghao, who had noticed this, gave Jun a nudge. "You're too shy to say anything, aren't you." He gave him a teasing grin. "Shut up." He grumbled, still watching Cyana, who was speaking with Joshua. He would tell her all those things, just not now. Not anytime soon- he was far too nervous for that, but one day.

HOSHI:

"Hi!" Hoshi practically bounced to introduce himself to Cyana once it was his turn. He'd watched Jeonghan talk to the girl and figured he could just keep it simple like he had, yet all the thoughts of being calm and proper flew out the window the moment Cyana moved in front of him. "I'm Hoshi. Soonyoung. Hoshi." He stammered. Cyana's eyebrows furrowed, a little confused. "Hoshi?" He blushed, his face burning all of a sudden. "Yes. I'm Hoshi. Soonyoung-" He paused, trying to recall exactly what Vernon had told him to say when he had asked him for help last night. "-my korean name." Thankfully, Cyana seemed to understand, nodding her head. "Oh~ like how I have Cyana and Soyeon." He nodded. "Yes." "What does Hoshi mean?" She asked, genuinely curious to know how he had gotten the name and what it meant. Hoshi blanched. Vernon hadn't taught him this part. "Uhhh- tiger?" He wordlessly raised his hand in a tiger claw motion. Cyana giggled, mirroring him. "Horangi? That's cool." He beamed under the praise, proud he had successfully conveyed what he was trying to say. Feeling ambitious, he quickly recalled the other phrase he had asked Vernon to teach him upon realizing they had a new member coming from the states. "I, um- teach you dance, later. New comeback." "Oh, okay. Sounds fun." Cyana shot him one last smile, amused by the interaction and touched by how genuine he was. Later that day, Hoshi approached Cyana once more, signalling to the girl that practice had started. He tried his best to lead her through the first verse of Home, shoulders relaxing when he realized how fast she was picking up the choreo. "Good! Like, da da da dun~." He showed her once and watched as she mirrored his movement. "Nice!" She beamed under his praise. "Joshua told me you were scary as a dance teacher, but I'm having fun." "It's because you're good." Hoshi said, neither of them realizing that the other actually understood what they were saying. "Okay~ next one-" He moved on before Cyana could react to the compliment. The others watched on from the other side of the practice room as they went through the Home choreo themselves, brushing up on the routine they had learned a couple days ago. They watched in awe as Hoshi and Cyana danced together, the duo breaking into giggles and shared laughter as Hoshi taught her with patience and skill. "Why isn't he like that when he's teaching us?" Dino complained. "I never get that kind of energy from hyung."

WONWOO:

Wonwoo knew it was pitiful, the way he was hiding himself behind Mingyu as best as he could. He could sense Cyana's presence as she moved closer and closer towards where he stood, making her way through each member as she introduced herself. Pushing Mingyu to go first, he tried painfully to calm his breathing. "Hi." Cyana stood in front of him, her hand extended to shake his. "Hi." He watched, uselessly, as her hand dropped when he didn't take it. He didn't really know why, he felt as if the whole experience was taking years off his life and he could no longer feel his limbs. Mingyu coughed and he remembered he was supposed to say his name. "I'm Wonwoo." "Hi, Wonwoo." Cyana breathed out, perplexed and a little hurt by his coldness. He could tell she was waiting for him to say something but his mind was blank. He watched as she moved past him to say hi to Seungkwan instead. "You're useless." Mingyu snickered, laughing at Wonwoo's expense. "You should've seen your face." Wonwoo gave Mingyu a stone cold glare. The nervousness was gone and embarrassment was settling in, mixing with a twinge of anger. "Shut up." "She probably thinks you hate her, Woo." Wonwoo ignored him, but he knew Mingyu was probably right. He had left her hanging, refused to say more than his name to her and probably looked like he hated her throughout the whole thing. It was probably easier that way anyways. He knew from the moment she poked her head into their practice room that it was over for him. Maybe it was her voice, when she had talked to Seungcheol, maybe it was her laugh or the shining glow in her eyes, Wonwoo didn't care. All he knew was that falling for someone in his line of work was out of the question and that it was in SEVENTEEN's best interest that he keep Cyana as far away as possible. Let the girl hate him for all he cares. It was an emotion far easier to navigate than love.

WOOZI:

Woozi knew his body language was making it painfully obvious that he didn't want to be there. When Cyana walked in, he'd watched her interactions with Seungcheol and Jeonghan with apprehension written plainly across his face. He had nothing against the girl, god no. Really he felt bad for her, having no idea she was being used for Pledis' own gain and marketing ploys. It was just the circumstance and the fact that it was all happening to SEVENTEEN, a name he and the boys had worked so hard to get off the ground. "Hi." Cyana was quiet and skittish with him right off the bat. He supposed it was because she could tell he didn't particularly want her there. "Hi." He said, sighing and walking over to the monitor without a word. He mindlessly cued up the songs for practice, all the while deeply concentrated on what was happening behind him. He could hear Cyana's voice as she interacted with the others, her soft tinkering laugh when DK made a poor joke in English. He could hear the jumble of words she was speaking to Joshua and couldn't help but look back and notice how comfortable everyone was with her already. It terrified Woozi that he scanned the room and found nothing wrong with the picture in front of him. 14 people in SEVENTEEN's practice room. A girl. Throughout the rest of the day, as Hoshi taught Cyana their new choreo and the rest of them practiced synchronizing their levels, Woozi could tell the girl was trying to get to know him and was confused whenever he avoided her. He could tell it hurt her, that he was avoiding her like the plague, opting to speak to another member about fixes they needed to make whenever she so much as looked at him. It was just something she would have to get used to, Woozi reminded himself. The whole girl thing was not going to work and Pledis would realize that the moment their comeback backfired. They would move Cyana to a different group or have her debut solo. He was sure she'd be much more successful that way anyways. She wasn't permanent and Woozi knew it. There was no need to get to know someone they'd end up losing anyways.

author's notes: here's cyana's first meetings/impressions with the hyung line~ i promise the buildup and progress between woozi and wonwoo's relationships with cyana will pay off in the long run. i alr cannot wait to write the angst potential it has.

[tcifob]

Not done yet: Christen Press embracing her role as Angel City’s elder stateswoman

By Kevin Baxter

It doesn’t seem that long ago that Christen Press was helping the national team to consecutive World Cup titles. She was unstoppable then, a key cog in the greatest women’s soccer team in history.

Yet she played her 155th and final match for the U.S. in the Tokyo Olympics.

It doesn’t seem that long ago that Press, just 18 days removed from those Olympics, became the first player signed by expansion club Angel City. She was bringing the NWSL to her hometown and was being rewarded with what was then the richest contract in league history.

Yet she’s started just 10 games since then, losing most of the last three seasons to a stubborn anterior cruciate ligament injury that took four surgeries to repair.

Press eventually will be inducted into the National Soccer Hall of Fame, but she isn’t ready for that trip just yet. If her body isn’t always willing, her mind and her heart are still keen on the sport, so Press makes her most valuable contributions now in the quiet of the locker room.

At 36, she has completed the transition from wunderkind to elder stateswoman. And on a Angel City team with 13 players under the age of 25, her presence is being felt.

“It’s a different role. I wasn’t that type of person,” said Press, who admits she has grown into the job.

“When I was 20 I didn’t have a relationship with a senior player like they have with me. I’m enjoying the presence that I have with these young players.”

Press has paid special attention to Alyssa Thompson, the 20-year-old Angel City player whose early career may be most reminiscent of her own, taking the locker next to Thompson in the team’s spacious dressing room.

Both are Southern California natives who played soccer and ran track in high school, led their teams to CIF titles and won national player of the year awards. Both committed to play for Stanford — Press went, Thompson didn’t.

But Thompson’s career is just starting while Press is winding hers down. So the most valuable thing she can offer now is advice.

“The thing that I’m good at is scoring goals. It is an art and I love it,” Press said. “I’m now kind of showing Alyssa how I trained to become a goal scorer. How you can think about goal-scoring in a very nuanced and methodical way.

“I’m learning as I teach her. I’m seeing the ways that she approaches it differently. It’s just kind of a spirit of collaboration I see as a win-win for everybody.”

Thompson agrees, saying she appreciates the chance to learn from a master.

“She’s definitely my mentor,” Thompson said. “She’s entering a new era of her career and she still wants to continue to play and stuff like that. But when she’s not playing, she’s able to [offer] her guidance and support.”

Goalkeeper Angelina Anderson, the team’s vice captain and, at 24, a key member of Angel City’s youth movement, isn’t sure Press fully appreciates the impact she’s having. The extra work Press puts in with Thompson, for example, has also made Anderson better.

“After training she’ll pull me aside and say ‘Hey, Ang, can you stay? I’m going to play a few balls through for Alyssa.’ That alone, dealing with such an elite finisher, is making me better obviously,” said Anderson, who was recently called up to the national team for the first time.

“She’s probably had to change a lot; just her mindset and mentality going through her injury and being older. I think she’s embraced her role and she seems like she’s in a really healthy spot.”

Listen to Press for a moment and the depth of her wisdom, experience and intelligence is obvious. But that doesn’t exactly make her rare in the Angel City locker room. Ali Riley, Press’ former Stanford teammate, and Scottish international Claire Emslie also have played on multiple continents and in multiple international championships and have become mentors to the team’s younger players.

“I enjoy that,” Emslie said. “I definitely find myself saying things to the younger players that I remember getting told and I think it’s important to pass on that information and have those relationships.

“I want to help them as much as I can because they’re going to go on and have even better and more successful careers. If I can help them along the way, it’s rewarding.”

That approach seems to be working. Angel City (4-4-2) is in playoff position through 10 games despite starting six players younger than 25.

“It’s important to have experienced players like Christen around. Especially when you’ve got so many players that are so young and exciting and dynamic,” interim manager Sam Laity said.

How long Press continues to do that in person is uncertain. The one-year contract extension she signed in January ends when the season does and she has a budding business empire to manage, one that includes a wildly entertaining podcast and a social entrepreneurship company founded with former USWNT teammates Megan Rapinoe, Meghan Klingenberg and Tobin Heath.

But if her playing days are indeed numbered, she’s enjoying those she has left. And that may be the most important lesson Professor Press passes on to her young students.

“There’s only one thing I haven’t done in soccer and that’s enjoy it,” she said. “All of my peers retired and I’m still here. I’m still given this gift of being able to appreciate it, play with gratitude, be a role model. And when I think about Angel City and my legacy, I think about ‘wow, what an opportunity to show the next generation that this can — and should be — fun and rewarding and it’s a gift that we get to chase greatness.

“The truth is the other things that I’m doing, from a career standpoint, are more lucrative than playing for Angel City this season. [But] there’s no better job in the world. We get so wrapped up in winning and greatness and titles and trophies that sometimes we don’t just get to be there. Like, I run around for my job. And I’m grateful that I have the opportunity to do so.”

[shy-ent]

.TOUGH LOVE (part 1?)

By rena | Shyent

-Big brother Scara <3

-Non-con

-incest

-spanking

-degradation

-a tiny bit of fluff sprinkled in

Note: Don't like, don't read.

Scaramouche shoves you against your desk and without allowing you a moment to fight back, forces apart your thighs and presses his crotch against yours. You groan and attempt to kick him off of you, However, he thrusts his hip hard against yours, eliciting a shriek from you.

“What kind of punishment will it be this time, huh–?”

You barely had the chance to finish your sentence when he flips your skirt over your ass, kneading his fingers into the supple flesh.

“Wait, what are you-”

You didn't register your brother's hand pulling back, but what you did immediately recognise was the searing sting on your rear and the sound of his palm smacking against your ass cheek. You yell, fear and contempt present in your glare to which Scaramouche returned with a scornful one of his own, his lips curled into an ugly scowl.

You felt so bare, and you didn't realise how cold the temperature within your room was until he bent you over and flipped over your skirt. Or perhaps, it was the self-consciousness that overcame you at the fact that you could feel the zipper of your brother's shorts pressed up against your underwear. Regardless, it was cold and embarrassing.

It wasn't the exposure. You never minded being naked around your brother regardless of how broken your relationship was with him even after puberty because, at the very least, you were comfortable with being in your own body around him.

However, the sensation of him pressed up against you like this?

You open your mouth to reprimand him, but that's when Scaramouche grabbed you by the roots of your hair and pulled back before slamming your head against the desk, leaving you disoriented. In all honesty, it wasn't even the force of the slam but rather your mind trying to grapple with what he was doing.

It wasn't the slamming of your head that was out of the ordinary for you, no. You'd already come to accept Scaramouche's more violent tendencies as your new normal in the years following him having to take the initiative to take care of you and the growing intensity of your altercations…at least, you think you did.

Regardless, aside from the hitting, this is just…not normal, right? It wasn't normal, no, the way he threw you against the table and bent you over. It wasn't normal, you don't think, the way he situated his hips between your thighs. It wasn't normal, you know, the way he wasn't yelling at you yet. It was gross, wrong, not right. Not right.

Did he…what is my brother going to do to me?

“You think that you can get away with disrespecting me?” Scaramouche growls, pulling your head back up, rolling your neck harshly in his grip.

Scaramouche sounded incredulous as if what you told him was so ludicrous. As if YOU were in the wrong for reacting to his provocations, his jealousy, his possessiveness, his intrusiveness. He continues, leaning in to mutter spitefully into your ear,

“You think that you can insult me, spit in the face of my goodwill and treat me like I'm stupid and useless while you're dressed like a fucking, ungrateful whore and…get away with it?”

He lets go of your hair in a swift motion—your head dropping on the table—before his fingers wrap around your neck. His grip was tight yet forgiving as you were allowed the mercy of being able to breathe through the pressure, however strained. Scaramouche’s tone was scathing, and you imagined his expression to be just as condescending.

“Well, I guess that's my fault, isn't it? I was too nice, wasn't I? I suppose it's your big brother's fault for letting you off the hook for so long, so easily, wasn't it?”

He slaps your rear again.

Scaramouche coos, squeezing the fat of your ass. “Well, I ought to apologise for that, yeah, baby sis? I'll take responsibility and teach you a lesson. You'd love that, wouldn't you? For your brother to punish you for being such a bad girl?”

He permits you to speak, loosening his grip on your neck. When he did, you gasped for air while trying to hold back a sob in an attempt to sound firm when you spoke, denying to yourself that he heard when your voice shook, "What the fuck are you doing, you fucking pervert?"

Perhaps the disgust expressed in your tone and on your face would make him falter. Yet…

He doesn't even dignify you with a sign of defensiveness; he had you just where he wanted you, the need to take offence was lost to him, and that scared you. “That's all you have to say for yourself? Don't want to mend your way out of this?”

“I have nothing to apologise for, you petulant, narcissistic baby.”

“If you say so…y'know, I almost felt bad for punishing you, but it seems to me that you're practically begging for it, aren't you?” He snickers, his eyes narrowing as he gazed down at his crotch pressed down against your pussy. Almost lovingly, he was caressing your cheek with his right hand, pinching you hard, causing you to whine before it left your body.“Well, if that's how you'll have it…but just so you know,”

Scaramouche grabs a thick, pink wooden ruler from your desk's surface and double taps your ass with it, causing you to twitch and stiffen, “From here on out, it's big brother to you, okay?”

“Sick pervert-” He taps harder.

“Okay, my whorish, adorable little sister?”

“...okay," all you had to do was to let him get his guard down, right?

He hums, “That'll work for now,” he taps your ass with the ruler with a bit more pressure, “move for me.”

You try to turn your head to look at him, but he presses down on your neck, effectively holding you in place.

“That's not what I want, puppy. I said move.”

“Move? You're in the way!”

“Move in a way I know you’re familiar with, aside from trying to escape your punishment. I'm sure you've done it with your little guy friends, haven't you? Sway those hips for me, pet—you have 4 seconds.”

Your mind went blank, but before you managed to process his command to at least express your utter disgust at what your brother was demanding of you,

“Four seconds…how many hits do you think you deserve?”

“None-”

He wacks you and you flinch, hard.

“Wrong, try again.”

“...four?”

“We'll add two more for the second offence, okay?”

"But I-"

"Ten."

"…What the fuck, Scara-"

"Like I said, you're practically begging for it, I don't have to remind you of how you should refer to me…stop trying to fight back."

Scaramouche brushes your right cheek with the ruler, once, twice. And without another moment to spare, he swats your ass, and you didn't think that it could get any worse than the ones prior, and yet…your body jerks forward against the desk and you wiggle against him.

"Stop it! Why-" he pulls his arm back and lays another one of the same, unforgiving speed and ache. A whine escapes you and your eyes prick with tears.

"Beg, apologise, whine or cry. Otherwise, I'll interpret your words as a plea for more."

And thus, began his assault. He hits you again and again and again without a moment to recuperate, to recover a bit, to get used to it. No, he wanted it to hurt. Your gasps and groans grew louder and louder each time as he swatted one after the other on your increasingly sensitive ass, and all it did was egg him on.

Left, right, left, right.

"Normally when you cry, I find it annoying, y'know?"

You tried to articulate a response of your own but you couldn't find yourself getting used to the buzzing excruciating throb on your bum, you felt as if each swat was throwing your mind off its balance. Scaramouche's laughter did not cease to piss you off, and fucking terrify you. You always banked on the pity and guilt to palliate his punishment, but this time, why did it seem like he was enjoying it? You weren't counting, but you were sure that this was way past ten.

"But like this…you're fucking adorable. You fight back against me so viciously and talk with such a potty mouth, I thought that my adorable little sister from years ago was lost to me…I didn't realise that all it took was to bend you over."

He sighs blissfully, your legs kicking behind you as you try to push back. He didn't reprimand you, he knew that it was only natural.

"Next time you act up, I'll set up a camera, okay?"

"Wha-eek!"

"Just like that, you sound so fucking cute. I love the way you're shrieking and crying, kicking and wiggling under me like that…it takes me back, thought 'punishments' were more innocent back then."

Your cries and snivelling was music to his ears. Scaramouche watched as your rear got redder, more sore, and bruised under his dominance, at some point, he focused more on the right side as he dug his nails into your left, twisting your ass-cheek for the sake of hearing your choke on your sobs. He'd been so focused on your vocal reactions, that it was only a few moments later did he notice the dampness in your underwear. His eyes widen and he ceases his swatting, his brain buzzing.

You sniffle and open your eyes, was it finally over? The thought was thrown out the window when he grinds more rhythmically, intentionally against your clothed pussy, the ruler caressing your ass with an occasional tap.

Before you knew it, he'd pull your panties aside to expose your throbbing pussy, running his fingers along your clit before hovering over your hole. You didn't think that your face could get any hotter and you've never felt so fucking mortified. This was your own brother touching your pussy. You tried to perish the mere thought of you being aroused by this whole ordeal, but the clenching of your walls around nothing and your wetness made it impossible to ignore. He wouldn't ignore it, you will not forget it.

“...you sick fuck.” He laughs, pressing his thumb against your hole that you knew was getting increasingly wetter by the moment. “I knew that I was fucked up in the head but who woulda thought that you would finish just from a little bit of spanking? You enjoyed it?”

“N-no I-”

“Shh, don't lie to me, feel this?” Scaramouche slips a digit into your hole and curls it, and he didn't think that he could get harder before you tightened around him.

“You're so fucking wet, did you feel how easy it was to slip it in?" he inserted a second finger followed by a third, pumping them into you. "It's like you're begging to be filled up, aren't you? You'd like that? Do you want your big brother's cock inside of that cute little hole of yours?”

“No…please—hic—Scara I-”

“I'd like you to shut up and think about what I told you; it's big brother.”

Scaramouche undoes his pants and pulls down his boxers before tapping his aching cock between your raw, sore cheeks.

“Feel that? Tell me, how does it feel?”

“...Heavy, you're so—hic—heavy and hard and—please don't do it, it's-” wrong.

“What, it's immoral? Don't feign innocence here, your pussy is weeping for my cock, isn't it? I'm not even holding you down anymore, now am I? And we both know you've never missed an opportunity to run away from something you didn't like…you want this," he mocks, rutting against you.

“But it'll hurt…”

“I don't want to hear excuses from a cute little slut like you…I wonder how many guys you allowed to use you like this. Do they know how much of a masochist you are?” He aligns the tip at your entrance. “Did they even know how much you enjoyed being played with and treated roughly like a sex toy?"

A moan rumbles in your chest as he pushes his head into you, making circles.

"Oh! Now would you look at that? Did you feel how easily I slipped into you? How does that feel, little sis? How does your brother's cock feel?"

You moan a muffled apology and he lets it slide, reaching his free hand to pinch your puffy clit. Your hips reflexively jerk back in response in a futile attempt to pull away from his touch, and in response he lets go of his dick, smacking your raw ass.

Don't move, he didn't say.

“Did those inexperienced fuckers even know how to pleasure you? Did you fake your orgasms? Or did you come through just fine when they buried their little dicks into you? Did it hurt, love? Did you like it?”

He groans shamelessly, slowly pushing in his dick, mercifully giving you time to adjust as he admired the way your legs quaked and stiffened as he filled you with his length with ease. In his mind, as his balls met your ass as his glans met your cervix, he thought that the two of you were a perfect fit.

You truly were made for him.

He slaps your raw cheek with his palm and whine, "I didn't hear an answer."

"Wh…what?"

Smack!

"Weren't paying attention, were you?"

“Please…”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Please please please,” he mocks. “Do you know how pathetic you sound? Can't you say anything more intelligent than that or is all you know how to do is beg and moan?”

“...B—hic—big brother…”

“Now that's a start, what is it?”

“...please get it over with.”

“Now that sounds better…but I'm sure that there's another way to phrase it, yeah?”

“P-please,” he was about to slap you before he heard you. “Fuck me big brother…please punish me.”

Oh, fuck.

“...now would you look at that," Scaramouche muses. "I didn't know that you can be so…fuck."

He grabs you by the hips and pulls out until only the tip remains and without warning, he slams into you.

“Archons, you're so. Fucking. Wet.” He accentuates each word with a hard thrust before trying to find his rhythm.

“You're loving this…you wanted your brother's cock to be buried into your pussy, right? You wanted me to use you and I know that you wanted me to punish you…that's why you're always provoking me, huh? Always talking to boys and walking home with a new one every week. You wanted to piss me off—haah."

“You were begging for this…I'm sorry, I was dense, wasn't I? I should have–oh, gods–punished you like this sooner. Right, little sis?”

All you could do was mewl and hic, standing on your toes as if you were offering yourself to him. As he rocked you back and forth against your desk, degrading you and fucking up your insides as your needy pussy drooled all over his cock and formed a small puddle on the floor.

He buries his fingers into your hair once more and pulls your head back. Your tears, sweat and saliva streamed down your face, a pool of it where your face lay. Not only were your cries and gasps more coherent, no longer compromised by your face being buried into arms, but you grew whinier, eyes half-lidded as your dribbling tongue lolled past your lips. You were a fucked up, pretty sight for sore eyes and he felt his cock twitch inside of you.

“Now, who does–mmph…oh fuck, haha—this pussy belong to, huh?"

Impatient, he smacks you another three, "Huh, huh, huh?"

You did not know whether or not it was intentional, but the line between pain and pleasure never felt so close and entwined.

“To my big brother! It’s yours!”, you babble.

“What a smart little girl.”

Eventually, Scaramouche abandons the pace he'd set. After all, wasn't this your punishment to begin with? If you came again, he'd get to make fun of you further. If you didn't, then that is for you to settle on your own, no?

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I- ah~ fuck please please please, it's so good I'm gonna cum I'm gonna–” your eyes roll back and your hips buckle against him, white-hot pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you came all over his dick.

And that sight was enough to send him over the edge, he pulled your head back to an unnatural and painful degree, and with one last spank and a final thrust, he buried himself down to the hilt, shooting loads of hot cum into your pussy.

You both were a unit of sloppy messes, panting and sticky with sweat and shared essence, rutting against each other and he bent over, gently letting down your head as he rested his chest against your back, his head over your shoulder.

He pants and moans against your forehead as he plants a kiss on your temple, to which you breathily hum. Your eyes were closed, but you had yet to fall asleep, you intended to move to bed if he let you but at the moment, you were just trying to recuperate, your body still twitching and spasming.

He didn't remove himself from inside of you, perhaps it was the orgasm, but Scaramouche felt the need to express his affection for his little sister a bit more differently. He barely removed his lips from your forehead when he tilted his head, his breath tickling you.

"…You know I love you, right?"

You sniffle, your eyes fluttering open, "I do."

"And that I only did this because I care for you and I missed you, right?"

"Yes…"

You both fell silent, and you didn't know how to describe the absence of noise itself, comfortable? Static? His hand wanders down to your sensitive backside caressing it despite your flinching before sliding down to rub slow, gentle circles into your inner thigh.

"Sca…big brother?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He snorts, "I love you too, little sis."

Author's note: Honestly, a teensy tiny weeny bit unsatisfied, but like, I needed to use the bathroom since 5 years ago right now but I sat here and did this for you😣💓

Hope it was okay, I greatly accept praise. If there are any errors, please point them out to me.

I mean it! Critique and advice is very much welcomed into my asks.

I'm also looking over and editing and screaming and dying rn

[blingblong55]

Choke-Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John Price NSFW

^Such a fucking good song

Based on a request:

OK, weird combo Price!jealous x Ghost!possessive x F!reader. Reader goes on a mission with Her mentor Ghost and her Captain. I just imagine them pulling reader one way to another to end up sandwiched between them for some angry dominant sex. Idk just a thought --- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, dub-con, angry!sex, dom!Ghost, dom!Price, sub!reader, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, degrading, threesome, anal!sex, jealous!Price, possessive!Ghost, spanking ---

A/N: in Badjhur we trust

It was supposed to be a short missions, simple and quick. No one knew it'd end up being running to the woods' safe house, having to stay longer than expected and make both of your commanding officers jealous or possessive of their little private. Tension grew when you asked Ghost to open a bottle, the lid too hard to twist and your tired state not being able to create much strength. Price wished you asked him instead, a real man, in his words. That whole day, you spent it between laps, getting taught how to clean your riffle properly, teaching you new techniques and then the occasional groping.

At some point, you went from occasional pulls towards one of their laps to having one man pull your waist to his side whilst the other pulled your arms towards him. "Fuckin' leave her to me Price," Ghost said through gritted teeth. "I'm not letting you have her sit on your lap, lieutenant." Price puffed out a cloud of smoke. You looked between them and as Price lifted your chin to look at him, Ghost cupped your face and made you turn to him. "My pretty girl," he lifted his balaclava and as he was about to kiss your forehead, Price pulled you to his side.

"Don't touch her," his arms wrapped around you. Ghost couldn't take it you were his and at base, he had made sure all soldiers knew that. Price kissed you, hands roaming on you and then you felt it, Ghost bitting onto your neck, marking you as his. "Whoever makes 'er come more, fucking wins 'er." Ghost took your jackey off, lifitng the shirt from your body and tossing it aside. "What a beauty," Ghost kisses your shoulders and neck. Price with one single move removes your bra and kisses the collar bone.

Clothes all off, your captain's head between your thighs, teasing your folds all while the lieutenant makes you open your mouth wide as you give him head. You let out a whimper when they abruptly stop and put you on all fours. "Let's see who gives her a better time," Price's hands caress your bare ass before he gives you a good slap. You mewl and he chuckles, "Oh, what a good girl," he continues to slap your ass and without warming, Ghost smacks his cock on your mouth. "Stick your tongue out for me, be a good slut," he commands. You do as told and he smirks. "Spit on it, baby," your spit covering his tip, tongue swirling around and giving him pleasure.

Your mouth slowly stretches thin as his fat cock gets inside it. His thrusts all in rage, wanting to win this bet, make you his slut by the end of it. Price needed you to be his, needed your pretty holes filled and leaking with his cum, leaving you to his mercy only. Thick fingers deep inside your cunt, pumping themselves into that tight pussy of yours. The sweet noises of you gagging and being choked by Ghost's fat cock, making you clench on Price's thick and veiny cock. You cry out. Your g spot getting pleased at every thrust. Ghost knew this, so he pulled out, "Let me take her first, to show you how good her face looks when I take her fully," he tried to reason but in truth he needs you to himself, to be the one fucking himself into you.

"Fine, but I'll be next," His heavy cock gets stroked by his calloused hands as he sits and watches from the chair near the sofa. Ghost rubs his tip rubbing your slit, you let out a soft whimper to which he grbas your chin and makes you look at him. "Good fucking sluts take what I give," he spits out. Your mouth spread open, his fungers fucking your throat, tears and gags all running free, he smirks, his dick hard and slowly being thrusted in you. Your tits bouncing at his hard thrusts, he slaps yopur face when you close your moth around his fingers, "fucking keep it open!" he commands.

Price couldn't take it, so he moves to your mouth, his cock taking the lieutenants fingers place. "We had a fucking deal, Price," Ghost growls, thrust become more rough. You try and plea but both men could not care for you at this time. Price chokes you with his hands, your neck would for sure get some bruising after this. His balls slapping against your face. Your eyes shut as the tears and war paint came offf your face. Ghost hoplding your hips in place, his cock abusing your tight cunt. Price holding your neck, enjoying how you choke and clench around his cock, Ghost encouraging this by groaning. "Fucking. Slut. Taking. It.All." He said with each thrust.

The bulge of Ghost's fat and lenghthy cock on your tummy, he presses it down, which makes you moan. The vibrations only feeding Price to win this contest. Your tits getting slapped, Ghost bends forward and nibbles on them. Price pulls out, lays down and forcefully makes Ghost pull out. Your juices leaking from the lieutenants cock. Price on his back and your back to his chest, legs spread apart as he aligns his cock to your ass. The tight walls stretching for his size, you cry out only to get your mouth filled by Price's fist. Ghost holding your legs up as his cock gets buried in your cunt.

Your body was beyond pleasure, beyond the ecstasy of it, it was like entering a realm of sex and pleasure. Both of your holes getting stuffed and as wanted, filled by their cum. You'd think they stopped there, but they didn't, especially not Ghost. His thick and rough fingers pinch and rub your clit, you squirm and before you could even close your legs, he slaps the sensitive tissue. "Oh...what a delight," he smiles and leans forward, kissing your neck only to get pushed away by Price who kept choking you.

"Mine," Ghost grunts and bites your shoulder, leaving his teeth marked on your skin. "My fucking slut," he bites your neck this time and as his cum leaks into your cunt, he bites harder. You cry out a moan and he aggressively slaps your face. "Take it, bitch!" He slaps you again.

Price pulls out, your ass filled and covered in his cum. Ghost lifts you up, your weak legs wrapped around his hips, his cock still buried deep in you. He pushes you onto him, guides your pussy to his cock with every thrust. His hands under your ass as he moans. Price lighting up a cigar, watches with a smirk. Your nails dig into Ghost's back, you leaned against him, cries of pleasure escape your precious lips. Once he pulls out, he feels your juices and his cum drip form hour abused hole.

His big arms wrap you in a tight embrace as he gives you a sweet and long kiss. Soon, as you sat on his lap, all cuddled and kissed, he turned to Price. "Look who she is with now," he smiles and looks down at you. Pouty, flustered mess in his arms, holding him like he was your source of life. "My cum still leaks from her," Price comments. "Not for long, I'll make sure to replace it with mine," he kisses you again.

--- A/N: Let's thank @gh0stsenpai007 for helping me write parts of this scene &lt;3 ---

Tags: @amygaster004 @liyanahelena @archangel1206 @bubblegumbabycow @saoirse06 @montenegroisr @potatoknight @braindancecopy

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ten reasons Ed Teach is lovable 💕

kindness The sweetness and care he shows Stede when he awakes. The way he greets the crew. The patience with Jack, and Izzy, neither of whom deserve it. How quickly he wins over Zheng with his goofy giggles…

feels deeply The hurt at being mocked is palpable. The indescribable pain at Stede’s leaving. The shock and fallout from Izzy’s threats. The lack continued lack of self esteem. But Ed also feels deeply in positive ways, showing awe and wonder at Stede’s curios, fabrics, books, marmalade. Such joy at catching a fish! And he feels romantic love at a very deep level. No one has loved like Ed Teach in the history of loving.

so fucking clever Date error aside, the fog / tidal plan is fantastic. And the save with the lighthouse fuckery, sublime - because Ed came up with the practicalities of how they were going to be a lighthouse on the bounce. And whilst disturbing, it takes a genius of a mind to come up with that gravy basket imagery, including the Merstede vision. Even Ed’s survival mechanism, heartbreaking as it is, is objectively wonderful. The artistic compartmentalisation of personas. Ed both protects and breaks himself on his cleverness. But the clever working class boy who deserves the world, and finally gets it, is a trope which will never grow old for me.

believes in a best self Ed’s not quite sure what that looks like on any given day, but he wants to be utmost in who he is. ‘Jeff… never turns his back on a challenge.’ ‘Blackbeard always wins’ (problem actually). ‘‘Behold… / I’m a fisherman now… you said it was a good fish’.

And Ed’s supportive of others too. ‘You’ve got it all figured out’, ‘The sheer talent on this ship…’ Even in dark moments, Jim is ‘quite the specimen’.

Ed needs to realise that his best self is not necessarily one with no mistakes, and others aren’t without fault either (Stede, he learns the hard way). But the fact Ed won’t settle for a mediocre version of life anymore, believes in better… I love him for it.

violence as a last resort. Ed’s MO is non-violence first, prior to the Kraken spiral. Even during the raids, he is more of an observer. Ed’s attitude to violence is never casual. Pete, Roach, even Wee John… they have casual attitudes to violence in a way never demonstrated by Ed. The twice he appears to commit violence directly is to protect his mother after years of abuse, and protect Stede against colonial violence. It’s violence in the name of love.

forgives easily Too easily at times. The grace he shows over and over to Izzy. How quickly he forgives Stede (that’s okay). The only character he doesn’t forgive easily is himself. Ed’ll get there.

gets Stede Immediately. The excitement at Stede’s knickknacks. Understanding Stede is a lunatic, and that this is a likeable, desirable trait. The viewer understanding Stede through Ed’s focalisation is key to getting the show.

so goofy Ed’s cosplaying Stede within thirty minutes. He’s a theatre kid, jumping down three easy steps on a swing-rope; fuckeries, canon-balling off the ship, the gorgeous chaos of the post-coital breakfast…

has hope (it’s cute) That he ran towards the light of The Gentleman Pirate That he believed they could run away to China and be happy. That his dying brain was able to create Merstede. That he wants to give innkeeping a try even when he’s half-dead…

Ed could’ve been so hard and brittle by middle age, but he isn’t. He has boyish hope and it’s part of what saves him.

he’s beautiful His eyes, his hair, the peach of an ass, and he really does wear fine things well. But it’s not just all that. His eye-crinkles, his smile, his voice, his laughter, his tears, his double pats, his energy, his wit, his little teeth, the surly teen-girl face when he’s upset, his thoughtfulness. His unconditional love for Stede Bonnet.

This is a non-definitive list. Please add your own ‘why Ed Teach is lovable’ thoughts 💕

[halfadiamond]

You Think It’s Love- Ending A

Not Taking Them Back

Masterlist

Both Endings are being posted consecutively so here is Ending B (taking them back).

You think it’s love when you realize that you’re better off as friends than as lovers.

You still remember the men’s reaction to when you told them that you didn’t think you’d be able to take them back.

Johnny looked like he wanted to cry.

Kyle and John looked a bit caught off guard.

Simon was definitely surprised at your decision but he chose to push it aside to comfort Johnny.

But you were right. John had spoken up, shortly after that, and accepted your opinion and while he didn’t fully agree to it, he’d told you that they will respect your decision but if you’d at least be open to remaining friends.

You’re not sure why but you agreed very quickly. You think it was because you really did enjoy the men’s company even if it didn’t work out between you guys, you didn’t see as to why you guys could not be friends. It may be awkward in the beginning but you were positive that you guys would be able to work it out.

—

It took a bit of work and some space for you guys to once again find what works for your friendship. You’re still happy that you got to keep the guys as friends even if it didn’t work out romantically. To you, love could be platonic, love didn’t need to be kisses and saying I love you, it could be just sitting together talking about anything on your mind and laughing together.

You and Kyle still hung out often going out to eat. You two loved just sitting there and talking (gossiping) about whatever was on your mind.

Johnny started to teach you how to draw, he’d even found a painting class and you two would often attend. You enjoyed the teasing between you two for the works of art you guys had made.

You and John formed your own little movie club where you’d often come over to your former home and watch all sorts of movies. At the end, you two would act as movie critics and discuss what you thought.

While for you and Simon, you two found a system that works for the two of you. You still would join him for his walks or you two would send each other little messages throughout the day. You think out of all of the men, you and Simon had gotten the closest.

—

You knew there was the possibility of the men finding someone else as much as there was a possibility for you. While in your case, you knew that you’d rather work on yourself and enjoy the single life, you couldn’t exactly figure out what the men’s next plans were.

It’s during your walk with Simon that you decided to ask him.

“Hey Simon?”

You heard the little grunt that you knew meant he was listening.

“I know we broke up about three months ago so maybe you guys aren’t even thinking about it. But I was curious do you think you guys would find someone new?”

Actually now that you think about it… you sound like the type of girl that wants to keep an eye on her ex boyfriends because she doesn’t want them dating anyone else.

“A-actually forget what I said! You guys don’t need to tell me about that stuff! I’ll respect whatever you guys want to!”

You stammered slightly, trying to make sure that Simon didn’t think of you as a possessive ex-girlfriend. But to Simon? He never thought of you as one.

“We did talk about it.”

He eyes you from his side, seeing your interest in his statement as you guys continued walking.

“We decided that we probably are better off, not adding anyone else into our dynamic. We have something that works for us, we don’t want a repeat of before.”

You nodded along to what he said. You suppose he’s right. As much as you’d think there’s someone out there who’d fit right in with the men, maybe it’s better sticking with what works for them and them only. But you still wanted to in a way make sure they knew that you weren’t going to stop them from finding someone new.

“You know I won’t stop you guys from finding someone else. I want you guys to be happy, so whatever works for you guys then it’s fine by me.”

“We know.”

And you guys walked quietly together, enjoying the night sky.

—

Sometimes you wonder what would’ve happened if you had taken them back. Would you guys be back at the same situation? Or would you guys found a way to communicate more better? You’re always stuck questioning every probability.

But sometimes? You don’t regret your decision. For you, it wasn’t worth the constant worrying that they’ll ignore you again, it wasn’t worth you not communicating again and leading you guys back to that day.

You think it’s love because in the end all of you guys are happier together as friends than as lovers.

Taglist: @reni502 , @darkangel4121 , @rafaelacallinybbay

To those who are being tagged, I only tagged you on this ending since both endings are posted at the same time, didn’t make much sense to double tag you 😁 unless you specifically asked to be tagged for only a certain ending.

It’s finally done 🥹 lowkey I’m gonna miss it. I didn’t feel right making it a sad ending because I think reader and the men are happy in their own way even if they didn’t get their happily ever after with each other that doesn’t mean they can’t be friends.

Anyways… now it’s time for me to find a new story to start 😭 lowkey I’m using this opportunity of both endings to chit chat a bit with you guys. I hope you guys enjoyed this story and I’ll continue working hard! 🤗

I was thinking for my next story maybe writing this? Like an eventual relationship either poly TF141 or just one of the men? Or maybe instead of Soap being dead it’s another soldier?? Maybe 🤔??

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Would I be the asshole if I refused to pay my phone bill?

📱🧾♿️ <- To recognize my post for later :)

The title is probably already a bit of a red flag, but I genuinely didn’t know how else to word it…

For context: I am a disabled, chronically and mentally ill trans guy who recently turned 20. I haven’t left home yet for a lot of reasons, some being that my parents promised to let me live rent-free so long as I was in college (which I am, just not currently for the summer) as well as the fact that they really haven’t raised me to be very independent and rely solely on them (which is honestly a whole other can of worms), but primarily because of my disability. It isn’t safe for me to live on my own, as I faint commonly, cannot stand up for more than maybe fifteen minutes at a time roughly, and sometimes am unable to eat for long periods of time due to debilitating nausea which leads to weakness. I also have severe chronic pain in my limbs and gut, something I’ve had most of my life, while my chronic illness I’ve only had for about a year and a half now and am still struggling to adjust to.

Because of my disability, I also can’t work a traditional job. I offer art commissions online, because I’m very passionate about art and it’s one of the few things I’m good at, and I haul in a decent amount, but certainly not enough to live off of. I make enough to set aside some good savings (I’m currently saving for a wheelchair, as that might grant me more freedom and the potential to get a job at least for the summer) while also indulging myself in buying the occasional fatty treat (I’m very underweight so that’s not an issue, and I was raised essentially in an almond mom household all my life, so this form of eating is really the only sense of control I have over my life, as I’m fully dependent on my parents elsewise).

The issue has come upon relatively recently. I feel like a huge entitled brat for it as well, and if others believe the same, I sincerely don’t blame you.

My mom sat me down the other day and said that she expected me to start paying at least one bill. She offered my cheapest bill (which would be for my phone; my parents bought it, and it’s theirs, they’re just letting me use it as my own.. I don’t own a whole lot of “my” items myself) and asked what I thought about that. I was fully honest with her: if I had a steady stream of income, I wouldn’t hesitate to offer to pay for all of my bills, but with the way it stands, I just don’t make enough month-to-month to regularly afford the bill. I also do my commissions through my phone, so if I could afford the bill, my phone would be turned off, and I’d be unable to continue.

My mom got very upset and started talking to me like a child (though she really has every right to, honestly, and I know that). She went on a very long rant about teaching me responsibility, and how I can’t rely on my parents forever, and that I need to grow up at some point… All things that I fully agree with. I sincerely want to! I want nothing more than to be fully independent. But the way it stands, my parents cover my entire medical bills and they pay for my meds… And I just don’t make enough to survive on my own, and I can just barely afford a meal or two from a sandwich shop I enjoy twice a month to keep my sanity in check because I’m usually bedbound.

I tried explaining to her that I would if I could, sincerely, and that I’m not trying to be a leech or lazy, but she wasn’t having it. She just scolded me and said that if I can afford to eat out every month, then I can afford the phone bill. But again, with the way things are, I don’t think I’d be able to do it every month without tapping into my savings, which again, is for my wheelchair so I can regain some sense of freedom for myself. I’m seriously debating just telling her no straight out, but I don’t know what the aftermath might look like…

So, sincerely: Am I in the wrong here? Should I just swallow my protests and cough up the money somehow? I really don’t know and would love an outside perspective.