#he keeps remembering bits and pieces and trying to shove them down and forget again

[t4tdanvis]

Gene’s missing most of his memories from his life before the nether because his solution to feeling upset is to just, erase whatever’s making him feel that way about the nether. He can’t remember his mom’s face or her name, or the little street cat he used to sneak food to whenever he went on patrol, or how happy he was playing with Dante when they were little. He can’t remember how nice it felt to sit in the rain or what it was like laying in the grass to watch the stars, or how Dante would always come sleep in his room during storms and he’d pretend the thunder didn’t scare him too.

AUGH im gonna start . cryinf

[onyourowndaisymae]

presenting the obey me brothers with friendship bracelets

you know that feeling when you have a million other things to write but then one idea cuts to the front of the line and demands to be expelled from your brain? yeah that. that's what this is. i'm making bracelets for the eras tour and this idea came to me

[the dateables version]

[the dateables (+ luke) presenting you with a friendship bracelet]

content warnings: none

prompt: you grin down at your work. in your hands is a small friendship bracelet, lovingly crafted from hard work and the embroidery thread you found in your closet. you weren't quite sure why you'd made it, but the thought of giving a certain someone the bracelet and watching their reaction made you smile. now, to hand it off...

Lucifer

lucifer definitely acts like it's a very childish thing that you've just presented to him. he raises an eyebrow and gives you an amused smirk.

he takes it from you and shoos you out of his office, warning you about all the paperwork he has to keep him busy. you never tied it for him, so you figure he's probably going to toss it in a desk drawer or something for safe keeping. that's okay. you're just happy he accepted the gift in the first place.

the real reason why you got kicked out is so he no longer had to hide the hopelessly fond, adoring look from you in response to your gift. it's simple and childish, yes, but it warms his heart that you made it for him. it's black, white, and red, made in a little stripe pattern. cute.

this little piece of braided string will sit on his desk for the rest of the night, where he can peek over at it when he gets overwhelmed.

you sort of assume the bracelet's been lost to the depths of lucifer's desk or sitting at the bottom of the trashcan. weeks pass before you think of it again.

but you do. you're reminded of your little gift to the morning star when lucifer is reaching out to something mid-conversation at RAD-- an unfamiliar flash of white peeks out from under his dark uniform sleeves. is that... is that the friendship bracelet you made him?

if you try to confront him about it, he will deny everything with that same stoic, slightly irritated look. he won't show you his wrist to prove he's not wearing it, though. softie.

Mammon

this man acts like you're soooo lucky that he's accepting a gift from you. he'll go on and on about how the great mammon usually prefers shiny jewelry, but it you insist--

if you try to take it back and walk off, he's yelling and chasing you down. you can't just take gifts back. that's cheating. hand it over! that white and gold bracelet belongs to him now, and the great mammon isn't going to let someone steal from him that easy.

his cheeks are red as you tie it on his wrist. for all that big talk about how he's doing you a favor by wearing a friendship bracelet for you, he's awfully quiet as he admires it on his wrist.

mammon wears the bracelet everyday. he will sometimes remember to take it off before showers and other stuff that might ruin it, but he also forgets a lot of the time. the bracelet ends up a bit dirty, but not horrible. well-loved, you might say.

if any demon at RAD tries getting a little too friendly with you, he won't hesitate to interrupt your conversation and not-so-subtly remind the other demon that he's the one with the friendship bracelet, not them. he'll pull down his sleeve and shove the bracelet in the demon's face until they get the message and walk away.

mammon will get very offended by you giving out other bracelets, by the way. he's a very jealous demon. you gave him the bracelet because you like him most, right? so why'd you start passing them out like halloween candy, huh? nah, that won't do. the great mammon demands another one to add to his collection. scratch that, make it two more. can't have anyone else think they can compare to your first man.

Leviathan

leviathan initially tries to talk you out of giving him the bracelet. surely you didn't mean to give it to someone like him, right? no, this must be a mistake. you must be thinking of asmo, or mammon, or beel or--

when you point out that you specifically made it for him, he shuts up. you explain the purple and teal colors are meant to match his hair and nails! that way it will always match his outfits, no matter what he wears.

suddenly he's a flurry of movement, wrapping his arms around you and thanking you so so much for being friends with a yucky, gross otaku shut in like him. you're the best henry he could have ever asked for. he's so caught up in the emotions of the moment that he forgets to panic when you first hug him back. a couple of seconds in, his brain reboots, and suddenly he's scuttling out of your personal bubble.

levi's near tears as you tie it on his wrist. don't worry, mc, he'll treasure it forever! this bracelet will remain on his wrist until time stops and hell freezes over. that's how much you mean to him!

you didn't think he actually meant it when he said he'd never take it off. that's why it's adjustable, y'know? but you were wrong. levi wears the bracelet everywhere. home. school. while sleeping. in the shower. while he's cosplaying. wherever he goes, you're certain that bracelet will be with him.

... but it's made of string, and very quickly gets nasty. he doesn't seem to notice, but you definitely do. you ultimately make him a replacement so that you won't have to keep looking at the damp, dingy thing on his wrist. he's just as touched as he was the first time. levi won't throw the original away, though. you compromise and let him keep it on one of his display shelves (even it it's still a bit gross).

Satan

when you present him with the green and teal friendship bracelet, he laughs. that's actually really sweet, mc. he's read stuff like this happening in those books with childhood friends growing up together, where the bracelet symbolizes an unbreakable bond carried into adulthood. it's cute. he's glad you thought of him.

as you tie the bracelet to his wrist and teach him how to take it on and off, he'll inquire about why you made it. have you ever given anyone else a friendship bracelet, or is he your first? how did you make it, anyways? would you be willing to show him?

the afternoon is lost to laughter and tales from both of your childhoods. satan's was a long, long time ago, but he's got six older brothers (by birth order, not fall order) that have told him stories of his youth through the years. would you be surprised to learn that he was a little hellion? no? well, he has no idea why you'd ever get the idea that he's anything but kind and calm and not at all the avatar of wrath. shame on you, mc. (his teasing would be a little bit more convincing if he didn't have that smile on his face-- the one he always has when he's with you.)

satan treats your friendship bracelet with care. he makes sure to take it off any time he does an activity that might get it dirty or otherwise soil it. he'll take it off for showers and slip it right back on afterwards, or keep it on his nightstand so he can put it back on when he returns from a formal event. satan also doesn't sleep with it on because he worries his tossing and turning might wear it down. sometimes he'll even use it as a bookmark when he's not wearing it.

he is very protective of this bundle of knots and strings. mammon once snatched a book from his room-- the book he just so happened to be reading, where he was using the bracelet as a bookmark before he went to bed-- and took the bracelet with it. you were able to step in just in time before satan lost his cool and went on a rampage. everyone knew from then on to leave that damn bracelet alone.

Asmodeus

asmodeus is delighted that you'd make something for him! the pink and red threads blends together so nicely, and is that a little spiral pattern on the outside? ooohh, you're just too cute! thank you, mc!

he will, in front of you, begin planning outfits around the bracelet. no long sleeves-- that'll hide the bracelet, and we don't want that! asmo wants everyone to be able to see it at all times. he can imagine the jealousy on his brother's faces as he shows off the exclusive gift he got from his beloved mc!

don't make anyone else a bracelet now too, alright dear? this sort of affection is all his. it's not as special if you make one for the rest of his lame brothers, now is it? if you want to make more, make them for him! he'll take as many as you'd be willing to make, darling.

if you do dare to make him another one, watch out. you've just opened pandora's box. now he's making requests-- will you do this color combo, mc? what about these? can you do that little stripe pattern on this one, and keep this one simple? the possibilities are endless, and (un)luckily for you, so is his imagination.

if you tell him that he can make his own bracelets, he'll pout. those wouldn't be friendship bracelets then, would they? they're only special because you make them, dearest. he'll pout until you relent, then shower you in as much affection as you'll accept to reward your never-ending kindness.

he's as disciplined with his bracelet routine as he is with every other part of his appearance. he takes it off for bathing and sleeping, so it won't get messed up without him noticing. if he has to go to a photoshoot or a formal event, he'll keep it tucked safely in his bag, so it's close to him at all times (and so none of his brothers get any ideas if they see it unattended).

Beelzebub

beel will probably be confused when you first present him with the gift. he's already holding out his wrist for you to tie it on, though. just because he doesn't understand doesn't mean he'd ever reject a gift from you.

when you explain what it is and its significance, he's all smiles. he's very happy that you want everyone to know the two of you are friends. he'll treasure it, mc. and he does-- he's very careful with it, careful to take it off when he thinks it might get dirty. he sets it gently on the nightstand or in his bag so it doesn't get tangled or lost.

then one day, tragedy strikes.

beel takes his bracelet off one day for fangol practice for safekeeping. he swore he slipped it into his bag, and yet when he gets home to unpack, it's nowhere to be seen. he's crushed. beel comes to break the news to you right away, with the sorrowful expression of someone that had just lost a loved one. he didn't mean to lose it. he hopes you'll forgive him, mc.

you comfort him and explain that you're not mad, not at all! accidents happen. you urge him to go shower and decompress after such a rough practice-- you'll handle the friendship bracelet situation. he (somewhat hesitantly) agrees and leaves your room with a solemn nod. you get to work crafting a new one with the same colors and technique. by the time he's out of the shower, you're coming to his room, replacement in hand.

beel is over the moon. he's quietly thanking you as you tie it on, promising that he'll be more careful with this one. his cheeks go pink with delight when you tell him you'll make him as many as he likes.

Belphegor

you proudly present belphegor with the physical embodiment of your friendship-- a purple and navy braided bracelet-- and he immediately begins clowning on you. really, mc? a friendship bracelet? what are you, seven? the thought of you toiling away over some colorful strings alone in your room makes him chuckle aloud.

fine then, jackass. maybe someone else would appreciate it more?

suddenly he's sitting up in bed. now, who told you that you could give away his present like that, hmm? does your friendship mean nothing? that's right, mc, get back here. that lame ass little bracelet is his.

for someone that made fun of you for making such a juvenile little gift, belphie doesn't seem very keen on taking it off anytime soon. the bracelet becomes frayed and ratty, dulled by time and messed up against blankets or bedsheets. tease him about it down the line and he'll scoff. first, he'll try to make fun of you for noticing such a thing. when that doesn't work, he'll complain that you tied the ends into a knot and now he can't get it off.

actually, ellen belphie, that's not true. you definitely showed him how to take it off the first time you put it on. you reach over and begin to tug at the ends when he yanks it away with a suspicious look. who said you could touch it, you little thief? get your own. it seems someone has grown quite fond of the bracelet in the past few weeks.

"what are you, seven?" you mock with a shit-eating grin. belphie ignores you and rolls back over. you don't neglect to notice the way he tucks his wrist-- the one with the bracelet-- close, hidden under a pillow or two. just try to take it now. just because he won't admit how much he likes it doesn't mean he won't fight tooth and nail to keep the little affectionate trinket on his person at all times.

[fandoms-writings]

For your requests, how about "You're not as bad as everyone says you are."  with biker!Bucky? Only if it sparks ✨ inspiration ✨ for you my love ❤️❤️

I know this prompt was under fluff but this turned out wayyyy more angsty than I intended - i'm sorry lol

Pairing: biker!bucky x reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: angsty, a look at bucky's internal turmoil, they're going through it right now, descriptions of the aftermath of the nefarious things bucky has to do but nothing too descriptive. bucky's really sad in this i'm sorry

Masterpost || Bucky Masterlist || Event Post

When Bucky had to do the unthinkable for the club, he had a certain 'ritual' to help him cope with it. 

You'd come up with it actually, something to help him not spiral into the self hatred that his actions could bring. Keeping his head above the sea of nasty words his self conscious liked to try and drown him with.

He'd come home, his choices from the day wearing down his shoulders, making him drag himself into the bedroom where he'd peel off his leather cut and toss it to the chair in the corner. Usually he'd sit there hunched over his knees for hours, stuck in a mental spiral, replaying the events from the day. Screams echoing in his ears. A stickiness to his fingers, his nails and knuckles stained red. 

But in times like this, when you weren't speaking to him, he'd remember what you would do.

You'd pull him into the shower, washing the day off of him before making him eat a sugary snack, something sweet to get the endorphins going again. Then you'd sit him down on the couch with the show he loved watching with you and you'd snuggle up to him, combing your hands through the length of his hair, scratching his scalp. 

He looked around the room, traces of you still there. Your necklace on the nightstand. A sweater discarded in the same chair his cut lay. One of your bandanas that you'd wear under your helmet tied to the bed frame. 

And your helmet. 

It sat out on the dining table, untouched in almost two weeks - since you went back to your place saying you needed time. 

He understood. You had every right to be mad at him, he just wished he knew how to fix it. 

But being late to date night and showing up a bloody mess is kind of hard to fix. 

So, he sighed, gathering himself before he stood and headed to the shower. He peeled his clothes off, leaving them in a mess on the floor while he got under the water - he would deal with them later, it was one thing at a time right now. 

With you not being here, he liked using just a little bit of the soap you'd left, it being the only way he got to smell you until you came back - if you came back. He stood under the water, watching the suds and pink droplets swirl down the drain as the look of disappointment on your face flashed in his mind. 

He hadn't meant to forget about date night, he really didn't. He'd just gotten roped into some club business, and when he tried to explain it to you, you shook your head. The anger in your eyes was unlike anything he'd ever seen - he'd never see you mad before and it'd frozen his feet in their place. 

"If this is going to work," You'd gestured between the two of you, throwing your bag over your shoulder, open, "you need to figure out how to balance club life and our life. I'm not going to be the girl waiting for you to come home in one piece, if at all." 

"I can't just not handle business when it needs to be handled," He'd argued, his tone rising in his heart's cry for you to put your bag down and stay. "I can't abandon the club when they need me." 

"That's not the problem," you pushed past him, "You didn't call, you didn't text. I was at the restaurant for two hours, James. Two." You turned and pointed to him, "You abandoned me tonight."

"I'm sorry, okay?" He followed you around the house as you gathered random things of yours, shoving them in your duffle bag, "I'll make sure to call next time." 

"Next time?" You spun on him, a look of bewilderment in your irises, "You're assuming there's a next time?"

Dread filled his chest as he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Suddenly, it didn't matter what he was going to say. He just wanted you to stay, not to leave. Not to leave him. 

"Bucky I was left at that table, in the dress you picked out," You shoved a finger in his chest, "for two hours while you were off doing whatever it is that you do." Your hand gestured to the red stains on his pants. "And you'll never tell me what you're doing out there, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's dangerous." 

He waited as you took a breath, zipping up your bag with a huff as your shoulders shook. 

"I'm sorry," He muttered again but your head shook. 

"I don't care," You turned to him with tears in your eyes, "You can be sorry all you want. But I didn't even know if you were coming home at all tonight. Or if you were headed to the morgue in a body bag." 

It was that comment that punched him in the gut, and still replayed in his mind when things were too quiet. You weren't really mad about date night. He was supposed to be your calm, your safe space. He wasn't supposed to cause you anything but happiness and pleasure. But he hadn't even given you the courtesy to call you and tell you what was going on. 

You walked out after that, saying you needed time to figure out if you wanted to come back at all, and as the days passed, he was starting to think your side of the bed would remain cold forever. 

You were it for him, he didn't want anyone else, and he never would - he knew that.

But on nights like this, while he scrubbed the blood out from under his nails, he wondered if you knew it. 

Did you know how far gone he was for you? How he'd do anything for you, that if it wasn't you in his life, it was no one. 

He wondered if he could have both. You and this life he'd created. You, in your tender adoration. The way you cared for him. Loved him. And his life with the club. Being part of a stronghold like that. Being a nightmare for some. Seeing the things he did. Doing the things he had to. Making the necessary decisions no matter how morally questionable they were.

He knew people talked badly about him around you, warning you to stay away from him. That he was dangerous. A bad man. And he knew some of it was true. 

He was dangerous, not trusted by most. 

But you told him something once, the first time you'd seen him come home from club business covered in bruises and blood, seeing the internal turmoil those choices caused him. 

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."

With those words replacing the agony that had been swirling his head, he gets out of the shower, drying off and getting dressed with a purpose. 

He was going to see you, and make sure you know you're it for him, no matter what. As long as you know that, your choice is yours.

But first, he needs to pick up a sweet treat. He decides he'll pick up your favorite. 

Maybe, if things work out, you'd share it with him. 

[alaskashigh]

Tw: Child abuse and sensitive topics.

Texas headcanon (i’m not projecting-)

When Texas was a small child, he had a music box that played a lovely song. (In The Shadow of The Valley, because it’s a comfort song for me right now and it fits him) The music box had a little horse and cowboy that would move up and down, but it was pretty old and creaky so sometimes it would move a bit sporadically and the music would sound scratchy.

The music was a huge comfort for Texas, and so he would bring it everywhere with him. He loved sitting outside and listening to the music box loop with his old dog. It helped him ignore the many times Texas’ dad wasn’t the best to him or wouldn’t follow through with what he promised.

The comforting sound would lull him to sleep at night and keep nightmares at bay, like a guardian protecting him in his sleep.

He loved this music box and would take as good care of it as he could.

His dad, on the other hand, didn’t like the music box. He always said that “no boy should have a music box.” and that he was “raising a pussy.”

These words always hurt Texas, but his dad would normally put him down, so he pretended it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

One day, his dad got so fed up with the music box that he took the thing out of his hands. Texas was upset to have his music taken from him, but even more terrified at what his dad might do to the box.

His dad screamed and yelled at him, calling him “gay” and “a little bitch.” He said he was embarrassing to raise, which hurt more than Texas would like to admit.

He expected him to hurt him, it was weird when his dad wasn’t hurting him in some way,

He never expected his dad to break the only comfort he had in life.

Texas was in shock for awhile when he watched him throw the box to the floor, smashing it with his boot heel as he yelled more at him. He wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears.

He hadn’t even noticed that he started crying until he felt his fathers hand slap his face and tell him to “stop crying like a little bitch.” or, that’s what he thinks his father said.

He gathered all of the pieces that he could and kept it hidden in a safe place. Without the music he couldn’t sleep well, was irritable, and slowly lost himself to horrible thoughts.

He became very angry at himself, blaming himself for being too much like a pussy, that if he had matured more and been more of a man that he wouldn’t had disappointed his father so much.

The music box, although a good memory and a soft spot in his heart, angered him. It made him sad, angry, happy, so many emotions at once. He hated that music box, he loved it with every bone in his body. There was no inbetween.

Years later he found the music box pieces in a small and old torn silk bag, that was browning with age and covered in dust. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw the pieces inside, dropping the once clean silver cowboy and horse piece with a scared look on his face.

He shoved everything back in the bag and hid it again, trying his best to forget about the music box as his mind was riddled with memories he didn’t want to remember again.

Weeks later and with no luck of forgetting the music box, he pulled it out of it’s hiding space and slowly pulled out the pieces onto his desk. He nearly cried as he stared at the broken box, getting hit with wave after wave of episodes, good and bad memories making him feel physically ill. He felt weak as he shakily picked up each piece and examined them.

It wasn’t long before everything was too much for him and he found himself puking in his bathroom.

It took him months before he found himself back in front of the little broken music box. And even longer before he decided to try and fix the thing, to try and listen to it at least one more time.

With aching fingers, many failed attempts, and more swears said in three weeks than his entire life, he had brought the small box back to life. It wasn’t as pretty as it used to be, some bits of the box were too cracked to fully seal up and small holes littered where wood once used to be, but it was the best he could do with the original pieces without using any new materials.

That night he listened to the box play for the first time in many years and cried.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Ok ok ok I NEED to wrote that drabble... But after your ask of what the weasels would do if Poppy tried to leave them, I HAD to write a 'after the fact' scenario for all of them. Basically, now that Toontown is gone, and they're the only toons left... Now what? Does she come back to them? Does she stay away? Is she still trapped?These are definitely gonna be long, so all the ships are going to get their individual asks.

I've been catapulted into a Peezy mood, so Wheezy gets to go first XD... Also this one's got two endings, since I can see this going in two different routes, and I don't know which I like more. So YOU get to be the judge!

~

Since Wheezy told her when they were going to strike, or at least gave her a vague time of when, Poppy chooses to leave town entirely. Pack what she can, and find somewhere to stay- hopefully temporarily- in the human side of LA. She hates it; she worked her tail off to find a stable place to live after Henry took everything from her, and now she's about to lose her home again. Unless she can stop this plot from happening. So, unfortunately, that's just another thing that these weasels took from her when they decided to do this.

Poppy would be so, so miserable out there. It's been years since she's had to be around humans, so she had forgotten how they looked down on her own kind. It's a miracle that she manages to find a motel that would even allow her to stay, as long as she "keeps that crazy toony shit to herself". So now, she's managed to buy herself some time in the motel... It's time for her to step up and find the hero Toontown needs right now.

But she doesn't. None of the humans she tells will listen to her. Why would they believe that somebody would want to destroy Toontown? And she already tried to talk to Eddie despite knowing he doesn't help toons anymore, but he drove her away before she could tell him everything... And now, the week is up.

It's the talk of the town rather next day. All the humans shocked as if they hadn't been warned of this. Poppy's heart is torn into pieces as she watches Cloverleaf start to build over her former home... And there's no sign of the only other toons that could possibly be left.

Poppy has no choice but to find a way to make ends meet. But finding a stable job among the humans is quite difficult. She's managed to pick up some odd jobs here and there, but she's barely scraping by with that. And it's while she's out trying once again to find a more permanent job, that's when she runs into him. Wheezy.

The former lovers' eyes meet, and share the same look; surprised to find the other here of all places, yet relief. Wheezy feeling relieved that the one he still loves Poppy made it out ok, and Poppy feeling a slight comfort at finally seeing another toon after so long. A familiar toon at that... A toon she misses so much.

"... Heya, 'Pops..." He decides to say first, taking a drag from his cigarettes- human cigarettes now... She would have thought they'd stock up on toon cigarettes before. The not-so-familiar smoke billowing out of the corners of his mouth as he takes the chance to see all of Poppy again, before she leaves again, "You doin' alright?"

Her eyes are wide in shock, still processing that he was actually here... But there's also a tiny bit of warmth in those brown orbs, too. She still remembers how sweet he was to her, and how accepting he had been when she gave him the ultimatum... It still hurt deeply that he still chose to do what he did, but she can't bring herself to forget his kindness...

~

Outcome 1

...

No. No, she had to be strong. Wheezy may have treated her right before, but he wasn't good. He still willingly destroyed everything she loved... She had to be strong now.

Poppy didn't even have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking. All he had to see was that little warmth being forcefully shoved back, and she looked at him like anybody else now. Aside from the sudden sharp drag he took, Wheezy doesn't seem to notice the shift in her eyes. But he does nod solemnly, accepting her decision despite how much he yearned for her now, "I see... You better get back to whatever you were doin'. Seems important."

The rabbit just nodded as well, and went to turn on her heel... Before she stops and turns back to the old weasel. The love she had tried to hide was shining through her glossy eyes again, and Wheezy wonders what she's about to do. Now it was his turn to show his shock when she spoke, "I'll never forget you. No matter what happens..."

It was her final goodbye... He knew that. And it only made his heart feel heavier. His usually cold eyes were soft- they always were, for her- and he actually took the cigarettes out of his mouth as he looked back to her, the smoke cloud around his face able to dissipate now, allowing her to see him clearly now, "I won't forget you either... Take care of yourself, sweetheart. Ok?"

She only responds with a silent nod, and then quickly walks away. Too scared of what she'd do if she stayed longer. And Wheezy is left there, watching her retreating back, knowing that she wouldn't be coming back.

~

Outcome 2

...

Her eyes fill with tears and her lips tremble as she remembers everything she's been through out here, all alone in this strange world, without Wheezy. And now he was here, and he still loved her. She could see it in his eyes.

Before she can even consider the consequences, Poppy ran to him. Crashing into his safe ashy arms- even after everything, he always would welcome her with open arms no matter what- and clings onto him like a lifeline. Passing humans look at them oddly, but she doesn't care. If anything, it just spurs her to breakdown in her smokers arms.

She hated herself so much right now. Why couldn't she be strong enough to stay away? Wheezy had done something she could never forgive... But now, with the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around her, the toxic smell of his addiction surrounding her, and the dirty dress shirt clenched in her paws, it was only cemented in her mind that she couldn't stay away, "I l-love you... I-I'll always love you..."

It's said with heartbreak and not love. Wheezy knew that she didn't want to be here with him because of what he did. She didn't want to love him, and it did hurt... But right now, with his girl in his arms after being separated from her for so long, all he wanted to do was hold her snug against him, lose his nicotine stained fingers in those curls of hers he missed, and whisper soothingly in her ear, "Shh, shh, it's ok baby girl. I got you."

They could go pick up her things later- he wasn't going to let her go back to wherever she was staying, he knew it couldn't have been anywhere good. Right now, the two united, unfortunate, lovers let themselves sink in each other's embrace. Even if they both knew that these circumstances were terrible, they couldn't let each other go again.

OOOOOOH OKAY I'M GONNA ADMIT IT-

Peezy is my favourite Poppy ship XD I LOVE THEM ALL, but Peezy??? <3<3<3<3 Poppy with this scary looking old man who's actually got the most integrity in the group but still does what he 'gotta do'???? Holy crap, holy moly, holy crap.

OKAY SO THE ACTUAL FIC-

First of all- I love that Wheezy warns her ^^ Of course he does. I mean, he's still doing the terrible thing-- but he's warning his girl even though he knows she wont want him anymore?? (or *cough* wont want to want him anymore, at least) Completely on brand.

OOH BOY the shivers I get reading that 'and now, the week is up' bit.

and AGHHHHH Poppy feeling comfort at seeing him cuz she hasn't seen someone of her kind in a long time even though he is the reason for that??!! and also because its him, its wheezy, and she loved (loves) him- holy moly guacamole- I've been h i t-

Oh I love the detail that its a human cig he's sucking on. That's straight-up just a killer detail, that's all.

'The not-so-familiar smoke billowing out of the corners of his mouth as he takes the chance to see all of Poppy again, before she leaves again' <- <- this is my favourite line right here. I dunno, it feels like it could be predatory (especially considering this is an older man who destroyed her home and everyone she knew) but its not? Its just a man trying to hold onto something he loves for the few moments he's got it. And and and- 'take care of yourself sweetheart, ok?' <- THAT ONE IS MY FAVOURITE TOO! Oh wait wait no- 'knowing that she wouldn't be coming back' is painful too, oh my god--

AND OUTCOME 2 IN GENERAL- I-

That outcome is my cruel-heart's favourite, definitely. Ughhhh they're gonna be so unhappy together but so addicted to each other at the same time and I- I- wooooooooooooooooo boy I need a moment XD

[ashton-ryder]

🔥🍑 📙

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ; 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 … ( 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 ) (x)

🔥 — everything’s all aflame! a headcanon about a time in my muses life that felt incredibly chaotic or out of control around them.

tw: dissociation 

Ashton comes from a quieter part of Minnesota and never really lived in a huge city with him more attuned with being in nature. So to have been accepted into NYU for doctorate program and moving there had him facing the urban jungle and he didn’t expect it to feel that overwhelming. The day he arrived, every sudden loud burst of sounds had him on edge and flinching, especially just leaving the marines and the mishaps of his final mission. He remember trying to walk through the crowded streets to get groceries; people shoving, fast walkers glaring, cars honking, ambulances blaring, and Ashton remembered his mind shutting down as if to protect and disconnect him from the bombardment to his mind, dissociating and watching himself try to keep up with the notions of New York life, blurring the noises away, numbing himself from the overstimulation of life, one step forward, and then the next, just get to somewhere quieter, somewhere to think without the chaos. He didn’t know how long had passed. And before he knew it, he stopped dead in the middle of the street, an oncoming car blaring loudly at him and a kind stranger yanking him out of the streets and out of the self preserving state he was in that unknowing could’ve led to his death. It took him a long time to get accustomed to New York, starting with a constant use of headphones and music yet slowly but surely, the city life would grow on him.

🍑 — you’re a peach! a headcanon specifically about a physical aspect of a person they are attracted to.

Physical and sexual attraction was something less familiar to Ashton compared to emotional attraction, he had a hard time grasping for an understanding of it when his friends or bunkmates talk about it. He thought back then that maybe something was broken in him that he couldn't relate, but it rarely bothered him. He had other things to do in life. He had his whole life ahead of him to come back and figure it out again, maybe if he just waited a little more it'll hit him. It never did but Ashton never felt like he was losing out. But if he had to choose a physical aspect that he at least admired, it would be people's eyes, as the saying goes, the eyes are the windows to the soul, you can see one's joy, sadness, fear, unfiltered. What a beautiful aspect of humanity's silent communication.

📙 — in the orange book! for a book, poem or piece of literature that my muse really loves, and why.

The Voyager Record: A Transmission by Anthony Michael Morena

You are getting so far away now. Does your distance mean your irrelevance? How the further away you hurtle from Earth, the less you become about us. You will be about another people, not who we are. Faerie elves exist only to supply meaning to words like "flit" and "folk." This is you to us. A boogeyman encased with stellar dirt with a golden eye that, in ideal conditions, sings.

Ashton remembers finding this fascinating book when it first launched, encapsulating the beauty of The Voyager's Golden Record mission back in the 1970s. He has always been a man of science, of numbers, hard cold facts and calculations of space. He lost a bit of the spark of wonder over the years and his professor recommended to him to reconnect with the human and philosophical aspects of space. We look to space because we are human. We can't forget that.

The Voyagers carry a message from Earth, a phonograph record plated with gold containing 27 songs, 118 images, and greetings in 55 languages meant to summarize all life on our planet for the extraterrestrials who might one day encounter the crafts. This book is the record of that record: a history in fragments exploring how legendary astronomer Carl Sagan and his team attempted to press the entire human race into a single groove.

Often, the book focuses on what’s not on the record. No photo of a naked man and a naked woman. No hip hop. No gay couples. No Grandmaster Flash. Many of the book’s pages contain only one paragraph, or a single word, with each snippet floating in a white space that invites further rumination. Zooming the lens way, way out, the book asks us to consider humanity’s need to nail down our context in the universe.

In effect, it elegantly and soulfully reaches to grasp the vastness of space, human experience, and manifestations of our attempts to matter.

It was a profound book that is still a favorite of Ashton's, and still sits on his book shelf. He takes it out to read every once in a while, every time he feels like he's slipping too far away from humanity.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

fic request fill

For the anon who wanted Daniel and Armand fighting. Here you go:

Daniel wanders to the pool because he can't sleep. Too much information, too many questions. Most centered around Armand. Namely, why doesn't he remember him, if he was there?

The man in question is at the pool, swimming laps faster than a human would be capable. Daniel approaches and sits at the edge of the pool. Dangles his feet in the water. Armand spots him and slows down to a normal pace, swims over and props up on his elbows over the side of the pool. Daniel looks down at him, studies him carefully.

Probably mid to late twenties when he was turned. Refined muscles, lean but compact. Easy on the eyes. Who turned him and why? He doesn't remember much from that original interview, but he remembers the name Armand. Can't remember how he knows it, but it's familiar. Did Louis mention him that night, all those years ago?

But on to more important things.

“You really think this book puts Louis in danger?”

Armand all but sneers. “Those older and more powerful will come. They will drain him dry, they will-”

“So, that's a yes,” Daniel cuts in.

Armand glares at him and pulls himself out of the water. His swim trunks are black and soaked to his body. Daniel can see every line, every curve. A droplet of water runs down Armand's chest and sinks into the band of his swim trunks.

It's distracting. But Daniel is a professional and he doesn't let these things take his attention from the story.

“Then why let him? Something tells me you're the one whose in charge here.”

Armand smiles ever so slightly. “Louis is my equal in all things.”

“Bullshit.”

Armand's face flickers into an expression Daniel can't read for a moment. Then it hits him—it's astonishment. Armand is astonished anyone would talk to him such a way. Daniel kind of likes it—these vampires need to get taken down a peg with their egos.

Armand laughs at the thought. “You think you could do that, Mr. Molloy? Take me down?”

His voice is smooth and rich; amused, yes, but something darker as well that Daniel can't place. “I think if I poke enough holes in the narrative I won't have to.”

Armand steps closer to him. Daniel stands up. There's a dangerous glint in Armand's eyes, but he finds it exciting. It means he's getting somewhere. “Why are the bookshelves so high? So Louis has to ask you to reach? So you can keep track of what he reads? What he remembers? Who tore out the missing pages?”

“Everything I do is for Louis, I take care of him-” Armand's voice is rising, nearly a shout.

“You put him in a cage,” Daniel says. He isn't sure if it's true, but Armand's reaction so far is telling.

“I-”

Daniel presses on. “How does it feel, hearing the love of your life swoon over their ex? Because he isn't over him, and you know it. Does it drive you crazy?”

“Louis is with me. I wouldn't expect someone with your limited comprehension to understand-”

Daniel cuts him off again. Takes a shot in the dark, but he's learned to trust his gut now. “What don't you want him to remember?”

The next thing Daniel knows he is pressed to the cool tile wall, Armand's arm across his throat. “I could destroy you.”

A flash of memory, blurry and fleeting floats into his mind. Armand with his hand on Daniel's neck, teeth stained with blood. Daniel pulling him back down, Armand shaking his head. “I could kill you.”

Daniel shoves Armand off him. He's wet now from where their bodies touched, but he can't think of that right now. What was that? Why can't he remember?

“What did you do to me?!”

Armand's eyes widen a fraction. “Ah, you're remembering.”

“You did something to my head,” Daniel accuses. “Did you fuck with Louis' head too? Is that the only way you can get someone to stay you? Play with their memories?”

“You wanted to forget,” Armand hisses.

“Like hell.”

Daniel thinks, trying to redraw the image in his head. Armand glares at him and closes the space between them, presses their foreheads together. “Remember, Daniel.”

Bits and pieces come flooding back, too much to process at once. Armand's mouth on his neck. His mouth on Armand's wrist. Their bodies pressed together in the dark. The shouting and the fighting and the crying. It's like waking from a dream.

He slaps Armand. Has a vivid recollection of slapping Armand, years ago, and Armand laughing. He wants to slap him again.

Armand grabs his wrist before he can attempt it. “Careful, Daniel. Don't make me lose my temper.”

“Or what? You'll kill me? I'm already dying.”

Armand smiles and it's a terrifying thing. “There are things worse than death, Daniel.”

Something in Daniel's lizard brain shivers at that. Yes, there are worse things than death. But he needs answers. 'Why did you do it? Why make me forget?”

“You wanted it! You wanted-”

“Oh my god,” Daniel says, coming to a sudden realization. “It's because I left you. You didn't like being dumped, so you threw a tantrum.”

Armand's grip on his wrist tightens. “You were pathetic, a junkie addicted to my blood. I saved your life, making you forget.”

Daniel is furious. “You made me an addict so I wouldn't leave you!”

“Lies!”

Daniel wrenches his wrist free. “I'm leaving.”

“You cannot leave, Louis is determined-”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “No, you idiot, I'm leaving the room. I don't want to look at you.”

Armand blinks in shock. Daniel supposes not many people call him an idiot. He steps back and lets Daniel pass. Daniel keeps walking without looking back all the way to his room. Once he's safely inside, he leans heavily on the door and sighs.

He's absolutely fucked.

[ser-rctslcyer]

And To Be Loved || Rydal Keener

Pairing: Rydal Keener x Gender-neutral! Reader

Word Count: 3.0k+

Synopsis: You want nothing more than to invite your best friend on vacation with you but it seems he needs a little encouragement– and maybe something more. 

Warnings: Fluff, Romance, Banter, Love Confessions

A/N: some fluff for my dear @mccnknightstcrdst  @einno-arko  because we deserve nice things!

Translations: ανόητος - silly | Γαμημένη κόλαση - fucking hell |  Αγάπη - Love    |Σε αγαπώ - I love you

A cool breeze blows by, softening the hot gaze of the sun. The shade from the tree keeps the two of you cool enough as you sit on the bench. The two of you are finally off for the day, tours finished early as tourists had other places to be– mostly the bar. Rydal’s eyes are glued to the page, his pen scratching the paper as the words flow out of him like a running stream. You don’t want to be nosy, but you steal sparing glances, catching only parts of phrases and trying not to piece together what it all meant; admiring how beautifully neat his handwriting is. He had read some of his poems to you and you had treasured every single one. His talent, his passion for his art; he poured his soul into and you appreciated it. There are sometimes you wished you could have the tiniest bit of his talents just to tell him how you felt– but for now, baby steps. 

Starting with a simple question. 

You nudge him lightly, not enough to make his pen jump across the paper but enough to drag a bit of his focus out of writing. Or so you thought, yet he stayed quiet; head still down and eyes fixed as he filled the page. You did it again– pressing your elbow a little longer to his arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch his pen finally coming to a halt. 

“I hope you know you are disturbing the process,” he chuckles; reading over his sentence, quietly mouthing the words. 

“I sure hope I am.” you hum, delighted; kicking your feet back and forth. He shakes his head, sliding his pen into his shirt pocket, closing his notebook, and holding it against his stomach. He turns to you, giving you his signature sly smile— the one he uses on you the most when he’s about to be a little shit.

“Do you need something, ανόητος?” you glare at him, yet his smile still remains. He only calls you that when you’re being a “slight annoyance” (his words), and whilst he meant it affectionately, he teased you too often with it. You shoved him playfully again, shaking your head before you spoke again. 

“Well, we’re not going to be receiving as many tourists soon, which perfectly arrives around that time for a vacation.”

“Oh, so you’re going back home?”

“What? No, no, no,” you quickly got up off the bench, moving to stand in front of him, “I was going to ask if you wanted to go on vacation with me!” you opened your arms out, basically inviting him to say yes. 

“A vacation where?” his head cocked, slightly to the side, a small wave of anguish running through you; he was always so technical. 

“I don’t know, yet but depending on your answer I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Are you sure?” he inquires, a look of pure concern bleeding through his eyes; different from the looks he gives when your about to do something stupid.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you’ve been away from your family quite a while; won’t they miss you if you don’t take the chance to see them?” he pries, an unusual sadness in his tone. 

“Probably, but they’d be more disappointed if I missed the bigger holidays and some birthdays.” you shrug, trying to not sound desperate. Your family could wait truthfully, so long as you gave them a call at some point. 

All you wanted was to take him on this trip– just you and him

“I guess that’s fair– what are they celebrating in the states right now anyway?”

“It’s October,” you answered, and Rydal still had the puzzled look on his face; the gears in his head still turning, “Halloween, remember?”

“Ah, I forgot.”

“Been in Greece too long, my dear rhapsodist; you’re forgetting your roots,” his smile twitches; exhaling harshly like he’d just been hit in the gut. He knows it’s unintentional, he knows that you’re unaware– but the looming thought of family shreds through him like an eagle catching its prey. 

“And here I thought you didn’t know words that big.” he jests, shifting in his seat as he tried to peel away the awful feeling. 

“Ouch, low blow man,” you stepped back clutching your heart, “not all of us can be master lyricists.”

“I don’t make songs,” he snorted, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh but you do! Songs of pure devotion and sonnets of passion,” you serenade, raising your hand up in an elegant motion. 

“Now who’s being rude now?”

“It’s not rude, it’s true! Tourist fawn over your flowery sultry syllables about Oedipus and his dear ol’ hot mom.” 

“Γαμημένη κόλαση,” he drags his palms down his face, trying to repress the grin that starts to cling to his lips, “please never say that again.”

“But it’s true– the women practically were wanting to be your hot mom,” you tack on, a loud groan leaves his lips. 

“Shut up.”

“I was explaining my point.”

“Back to your suggestion, where could we even go?”

“We could do Itay, Spain,” you pause for a moment, “perhaps France and visit The City of Love,” you shimmy suggestively which brings out a chuckle from him. 

“Yeah, but how would we pay for that? We don’t make that much to be staying anywhere for too long.”

“Well, my dear, depending on where we choose, we can just take buses; but also I do have a good bit of reserve cash left, so all I have to do is exchange it and the fun is ours.” you bow dramatically, but there was no laugh that followed. 

“I wouldn’t want you to spend everything just to invite me on your trip,” he admits solemnly; his words, yet sincere, shred your heart. You stand upright, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his again; the playfulness already long forgotten. 

“You make it sound like your bad company to have around?” you questioned, watching the subtle emotions flutter through his eyes and lips. 

“I just don’t think it’s worth wasting money on me,” he answered softly, eyes falling down to his feet. A sickly cool breeze blew by, while your heart ached as you stared at him. He was always pretty candid about not accepting much from you; even gifts you had to convince him, he was allowed to take it. 

“Wasting mon– alright, that’s it, mister.” you stomp your foot, stepping up to Rydal and extending your hand out.

“What?”

“We’re going on a walk and you're going to be mostly silent as I explain something very important to you.”

“Okay.” his hand clasps yours and with a little tug, he pushes himself up off the bench.

“Where exactly are we walking to?”

“I told you, you’re listening right now.” you wiggle your other finger in front of him, before starting off away from the benches.

The sun was thankfully going down and so Greece was finally settling. He tried to keep his eyes on the things around you and yet they kept dipping back down to your hand holding his. You’ve held his hands' plenty of times over the last year and yet this one, this one makes his heart sing. His mind drifts to how perfect your palm fit against his, how the warmth between them feels almost like a soothing hug– how you clasp his hand tight enough, it feels like a promise. 

He feels like a little kid again, freaking out over his crush showing him any bit of attention.

You walk toward the edge of the town, ending up on a beaten dirt road right before the coast. The water glimmers in bright yellows, deep oranges, and muddled reds as the sun takes its seat above the sea. He walks beside you, his hand tugged closer to your thigh as he stares ahead, lost in his own panicked thoughts. 

“You know,” you begin softly, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, “for as much as I tease you, you’re not just my hot coworker, right?”

“Thanks?” he assumes, his confusion evident in just his tone alone. Your giggle calms him for a moment, as you come to a halt and he follows. 

“Relax hon, I promise this isn’t anything truly serious,” he mourns the loss of your hand as you squeeze his shoulder. He nods his head curtly, trying to keep your gaze, the one he’s familiar with. 

“I just want you to know, you mean a lot, okay? You were my first friend when I got here and I could never be more grateful for that,” his chest flutters, heart shaking as he digests your words. This was the first time, in a long dreadful time, someone had ever said something truly sincere to him– and he believed it. 

“So when I want to indulge a little, especially on you;  it’s not a bother! I am more than happy to spend extra so we can go fuck around The Colosseum,” your addition brings a laugh out of him, his first full one all day. He knows you’re still inviting him, he knows you’re being more than genuine when you say you’d spend extra for him, he knows it comes from an honest place of care– and it’s overwhelming. 

“Well, one thing I know for sure is you’d be a terrifying gladiator.” he chimes in on your joke, earning a light ‘tsk’ from you. 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

“You should, your strength would be celebrated and favored amongst the people and especially the emperors,” he hummed, enjoying the grin that graced your lips.

“Oh, they would love my crazy.”

“Unless it was Commodus– then he might’ve jumped in and beat you to death,” another laugh leaves him as you put on your most exaggerated shocked face. 

“Well shit, it’s a lose-lose either way then? He kills me or I kill him and get killed for treason.”

“A tough life, fit for only the best of the best.”

“Glad, you think I’m so cool then,” you bump your head against your shoulder, letting it rest there as the two of you watched and listened to the soft crashes of the waves. Your hand finds its way back to his, interlocking your pinkies and he wishes this moment could last forever– but at last, dreams are only meant for the sleeping. 

“Thank you though, I just didn’t want to be a burden on you,” he answers, tilting his head down to look at you; greeted by the sight of your beautiful eyes. 

“Hon, you could never be. You’re my friend, and if anything I am more than happy to do things for you– to help you. Truly, meeting you and getting to know you have been one of the best experiences of my life; I’m so happy I met you, Rydal.” you confessed and he tenses. Never in his life did he think such words would be directed at him. A life alone is what he believe he deserved, that loneliness he let burn into his heart– and now it all fell apart. 

“Why are you crying, hon?” your voice is soft as you turn towards him, chest to chest; your hands gently caressing your face. 

“Because you’re too nice to me,” he sniffled, a small whine leaving him as you brushed the tears away with your thumbs. He clutches his notebook tighter, his other hand pressed against his pant leg; fingers digging into the fabric. Feeling nothing more like that little kid who failed again; it’s embarrassing to him.

“As if you don’t deserve it, you’ve been nothing but kind to me since too; let me give it back for a change.” you squeeze his face gently; a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” he nods; you pull him into you, squeezing him into a reassuring hug. He lets himself finally relax, all of his wound-up emotions leaving him in one breath. He closes his eyes, taking in the salty air as he tucks his face into your neck.

“Better?”

“Better.” he answers and you smile, taking his hand again before you turn to start off down the path again. 

“Actually, there’s something I want to tell you,” he stops again, your hands jerking a small bit as you came to a halt,  “or well I think I need to,” his voice grows quiet and you stand in front of him again; still holding his hand. 

“Yeah?”

“It might ruin things,” he warns, so unsure of what outcome he might get but he swallows down his fears. 

“I doubt.”

“Αγάπη, it isn’t some joke,” he stresses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“And I’m not joking,” you squeeze his hand, “I doubt it’ll ruin anything.”

“Are you sure?” the uncertainty is there again and you remain firm.

“I promise,” and with those two words, he proceeds. He lets go of your hand and opens up his notebook, flipping through a chunk of full pages till he found the one he was looking for. He scanned over the words before looking back at you, taking in a deep breath. 

“This might not be as eloquent as I usually am, but for some reason, the words tend to evade me when it’s you.” he glances back at the page, lips quivering the longer he stared at the dark scribbles. So much thought, so many emotions, here across these pages he spent hours obsessing over; trying to get right and yet it doesn’t feel enough– it doesn’t feel like him. His eyes close as he shuts his notebook again and when he looks back at you, he lets the feeling he’s let stew for the last two years, flow-through, “Σε αγαπώ.”

“Σε αγαπώ and there are not enough words, in any language, for me to properly tell you the feeling that burns beneath my heart for you. I know for a poet, that sounds awfully pathetic but everything just seems to blur, and my emotions– wound so deep, everything breaths in just one rhythm– you. I know this is sudden, I know it's awkward, I know you might not feel the same but I need you to know–” he catches his breath, feeling the tears prick his eyes again but he ignores them for the ones shining in your own. 

“I need you to know, I love you.” he admits, the weight that had been holding down his chest evaporated as your lips, find their resting place– right against his own. The kiss is sweeter than any chocolate he’s ever tasted and softer than any of the round puffy white clouds in the sky.  One of your hands find his jaw, as the other rests over his chest; etching small circles into his heart. His notebook rest against your lower back while he holds the back of your neck. This moment already starts sinking into memory, the gentle sound of an ocean full of you. 

“I love you too,” you rasps softly, pecking his lips again, “I love you and if I was half as good with words as you, I’d tell you a million times over in just one simple sentence.”

“Now who’s being a lyricist.” he grins, kissing the corners of your lips. 

“I’d write thousands and thousands of songs if it meant kissing you like that again.” you hum cheerfully, brushing your nose against his as you nip his bottom lip. 

“Perhaps you should get on it.” he huskily whispers, only to be met with a small surprised chuckle. He raised his eyebrow at you curiously, struggling to contain yourself when it all finally made sense.

“I’m sorry, I–” you try to excuse but it’s too late, and you laugh hysterically into his chest. He tries to keep his own composure but the joy is contagious and he ends up laughing just as hard. It’s dark now and nothing but your amusement echoes. 

“It was such a nice moment.” he sighs, trying to catch his breath after a moment. 

“You have to watch your words, my little poet,” the pet name makes his heart soar and his legs feel wobbly, “I have no self-control.” you chuckle one last time before sealing your lips over his. The kiss is almost about the same,  passionate and hungry but neither of you drive to speed through the moment. 

“I’m very thankful for that.” he pants, pressing his forehead against yours as the two of you sway gently. 

“I saw you look at your notebook– did you write that down all for this moment?”

“I was going for a flowery romantic confession, truthfully. I tried to write it out, but most of the words never came, so I improvised some lines,” he smiled, looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you did, sweetheart,” you congratulate with another sweet kiss, “you’ve done the one thing that makes poets, great.”

“And what’s that?”

“Spoke from your heart,” you muse, the compliment brings forth another rise out of him; he kisses you again. 

“So, when can I take you out on a date?” he murmurs against your lips.

“If you do one thing for me.” 

“Which is?” you hook a finger under his chin, making sure he keeps his eyes on you. 

“Pick a place and go on vacation with me.” you smile and he licks over his lips. 

“Italy.”

“Are you still trying to get me to be your gladiator?” you tease, earning another bright beatuiful laugh out of him– something only you can do.

“You already are; the warrior of my heavy heart,” he confesses and you awe quietly. 

“Ah, my little poet strikes again.” 

“My place?” he inquires, as the two of you look up at the dark sky, littered with little white specs of starlight. 

“Yes, there’s still a bunch I must do to mollify my emperor’s, heavy heart.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Then c’mon! There’s no time to waste!” your hand instantly finds his, and you take off. Rydal struggles to keep pace but once he does the two of you are giggling down the road and onto the next chapter of your lives; together at last.

[scuttling]

Lavender

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

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

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

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[silversatoru]

Yandere Megumi is so mean </3 it's confusing because he was such a romantic at first! always there, always checking in, always present. but really he was just planning -- finding every checkpoint of your life and formulating how to break them down bit by bit. it's a shame you start to feel suffocated, it's a shame you call him a control freak, it's a shame you kick him out of your house and slam the door. he didn't want to pull out every ace he had but you didn't give him a choice. now he's gotta make you crawl back to him because by the end of his crusade, he'll be the only thing you'll have left <3

yandere!megumi x f!reader

t/w: nsfw 18+, dark content, yandere, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, abuse, mind break, dollification, electro, caging, dacryphilia

a/n: thank u kat i LOVE u for this one

yandere!megumi who lays his eyes on you for the first time when you come innocently walking into his favorite sandwich shop. it was obsession at first sight, the way his brain hay-wired when he watched you order a sandwich with turkey, roasted peppers, and brie. he’d remember that.

yandere!megumi who charmingly strikes up a conversation with you as the two of you coincidentally walk out of the shop at the same time. he scores your number, you’re intrigued by his messy hair and empty eyes — both parties are content with their morning trip to the sub shop.

yandere!megumi who takes you on the most endearing first date — how’d he know how much you love carnivals? it must be meant to be. and oh how he hates the carnival, the messy people and the cheap greasy food, he despises it, but he does it for you.

yandere!megumi who wins you a large stuffed panda bear at one of the game stalls — have you mentioned to him that those are your favorite animal? you must have, and he’s so sweet for remembering.

yandere!megumi who continues to take you out on the best dates, always catering to your interests and remembering every detail you tell him about everything. he’s sweet, he’s attentive, and he gives you all the attention you could ever dream of — it’s no wonder that you start to spend all your time with him.

yandere!megumi who gets irritated when your friends start to steal you away from him. you’ve been so busy lately, y/n! let’s go out to lunch and catch up! they always send you the most annoying texts. and you actually wanna go? why can’t you just be content with him?

yandere!megumi who starts to get visibly angry when you spend time with other people. who gets jealous when you want to put time into your job and your school work. what do you need a master’s degree for when you have him? he’ll take care of you. you don’t need anything else.

yandere!megumi who starts to take your phone and tell people you’re busy — responding to texts from your friends while you’re in the bathroom or taking a nap. he’s discreet, deleting the messages after he’s done, but eventually you piece it together.

yandere!megumi who’s world flips upside down when you tell him you need some “space”. when you call him a “creep” and a “control freak”. when you kick him out of your house and tell him to never come back. if only that were the end of it, if only it were that easy.

yandere!megumi who wasn’t paying attention to every detail of your life for no reason. who knows the name of your boss, the college you attend, the contact information of your friends. who payed attention to your stories from work, the mistakes you’ve made and covered up — to the website you used to buy answers for your exams — to the complaints you made about each of your friends.

yandere!megumi who has meticulously planned out every single thread of his plan, who will rip you apart from the inside out until you’re crawling to his door. who sends your boss anonymous emails about the time you hooked up with one of your clients — which was terribly unprofessional in his opinion. who forwards your stolen exam answers to your college and expresses his concern about your “lack of academic integrity”. who tells your friends the things you’ve said about them — who doesn’t hesitate to threaten their own lives when they act stubbornly.

yandere!megumi who’s not surprised when you show up at his door crying, black streaks painting your tired face. who asks “what’s wrong?” and says “poor girl, sounds like you’ve been through a lot”. who has you right back in his hands in a matter of days — it was really too easy.

yandere!megumi who offers you his help — he’s so generous and it’s more than you deserve. after all you’re just a good for nothing whore who slept with her professional client, who was cheating her way through exams, and who occasionally talked shit about her friends behind their backs. you were a failure, fired from work, being threatened with expulsion, and none of your friends wanted anything to do with you. he was so kind for offering you his help.

yandere!megumi who doesn’t tolerate disobedience, and who won’t forget the first time you pushed him away. who will ensure that you never get away again.

yandere!megumi who resorts to cages and chains when you start to put the pieces together — when your eyes widen and you call him “crazy”. who keeps you locked up in his house in the most figurative and literal sense at all times now.

yandere!megumi who slowly gets more and more twisted, locking a shock collar around your neck and delivering sharp volts of electricity to your skin every time you misbehave. every time you speak back. every time you try to escape.

yandere!megumi who has needs, who forces you on your knees and shoves his cock down your scratchy throat. you give him what he wants, you hardly ever fight back anymore. you’re such a good girl.

yandere!megumi who will break you down until there’s nothing left. until you’re so braindead from the electricity, the dehydration, and the extreme exhaustion of sleeping in a cage or shackled to a wall.

yandere!megumi who has you whining and crying into his neck, the walls of your cunt pulsating around his cock at least once a day. he loves the way you cry for him, brainless tears spilling down your cheeks while he stuffs you full with his length.

yandere!megumi who bandages up your scrapes and bruises right after he’s done giving them to you. who dresses you in nothing but his own big t-shirts and a pair of pretty panties. who doesn’t care when you cry and shiver all night because he won’t turn the heat on either.

yandere!megumi who has shriveled your soul and destroyed every inkling of who you once were. who’s turned you into a mindless pet, a toy, a collectible. who’s so proud to see how perfect you turned out, that all his effort was very well worth it.

yandere!megumi who littered your life with red flags when the two of you first met, but they all looked a pretty shade of pink through your rose-colored glasses. if only you’d been a bit more perceptive, payed a little more attention, not been so honest with him. maybe then you wouldn’t be curled into a tight ball on a steel-floored crate shivering and crying and waiting for megumi to get home and fill you up with his warmth.

yandere!megumi who is the only thing you have to look forward to anymore, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

[ragingbookdragon]

Love Bites (But So Do I) PT. 2

Justice League x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Aye, we're back with another Skyrim!Reader fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’d been close to a year since she’d joined the Justice League, and though the original members were a tightknit group, they’d welcomed her with open arms. Some of them were still wary about her, but for the most part, she was doing well within their ranks, especially when it came to being around Bruce or Hal. Given her longevity, she’d seen men like them before, known how to get along with them. Bruce she could meet on equal footing, Hal was simply a man that had to be shown who was in charge; it didn’t take much to make Hal crack under her authority, and in mere days, she had him wrapped around her fingers—Bruce too, but he’d never outright admit it to her face, or anyone else’s, even if a gun was put to his head.

She didn’t particularly fight much when they went on missions, preferring to be backup as well as their combat medic, a job she did well. She’d sewn up most of them without a blink of an eye, and while the first time she sewed Bruce’s wounds up, Clark and Diana stood beside to watch in case she tried to feed, they quickly learned, not only through her own comment but also his, that she wasn’t going to harm anyone.

Barry liked her. Or at least he enjoyed speaking with her. He found her ten thousand years of experience interesting, the history of her life, the survival of it. They’d spent hours talking about the past, hers and his from going back in time often. She enjoyed puzzling the poor scientist with magic. Barry wasn’t one to follow the whole “It’s magic” sermon; he wanted scientific evidence, hypothesis and experiments to prove how sparks, fire, and frost flowed from her fingertips like water. How natural it was for her as if it were like breathing.

She liked Barry. Liked to help him through personal issues. Her many years had given her experience in most subjects of life. Spurned lovers, betrayal of friends, death, life, all of it. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t help with, the League had come to find out. Sometimes, she even helped, and she didn’t even realize it.

***

It was one of the routine meetings for the month; she sat next between Diana and Hal, trying to focus on the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth but all she could hear was the quiet rumbling coming beneath them. What was she hearing? A broken pipe in the ceiling? Air hissing from a crack in a window, perhaps? No, it seemed to be coming from the table. But what was it? Nothing was shaking the foundation. What—

“(Y/N), is something wrong?”

She cocked her head up, realizing she’d pressed her face to the table in hopes she could listen closer to the noise; clearing her throat, she felt the eyes of the group on her. “Apologies,” she excused. “There’s…there is something I keep hearing under your voice. It’s…distracting.”

Her eyes found Clark’s. “Listen for a moment and see if you can hear it.”

They waited, everyone holding their breath, and when the rumbling came again, her eyes widened. “See! That! What is that!”

Clark held his hand up to say wait and she fell silent, letting him listen of for a few more moments, and then he cracked a smile and laughed.

“What? Why are you laughing?” she questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s Barry’s stomach,” he chuckled, nodding at the Speedster who suddenly flushed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you guys could hear it.” He laughed nervously. “It’s past my usual snack time so I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got you,” Hal replied, digging in his bomber pocket to pull out a candy bar. “Snickers?”

“Ooo!” Barry chirped, taking it from him with a, “Thank you. I forgot to pack snacks when I left the house today.”

“Bar, one day, you’re gonna keel over from hunger because you forget. I swear, your memory is just as bad as your lateness.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Barry snickered.

(Y/N) hummed, eyes lingering on Barry for a moment before she turned to Bruce. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

Bruce didn’t skip a beat, but she kept the thought of Barry in the back of her mind.

***

A couple hours later, the meeting had ended, and she caught up with Barry and Hal as they left. “Barry, a moment of your time, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hal waved the two off and continued to the Zeta tubes, leaving them and Barry smiled, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”

“How often do you eat?”

Hello left field with that question.

“I—what?”

“Consuming sustenance,” she reiterated. “How often do you do it?”

Barry shuffled on his feet, scratching at the back of his head. “Well…my metabolism burns through food like Hal does jet fuel.” He saw her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look and immediately said, “I need to eat roughly 4.8 million calories a day.”

Her eyes went wide and for a moment she simply gaped at him, then she recovered and shook her head. “Divines, you eat a lot of food.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “Only downside of being a Speedster besides seeing the world in slow motion.”

“Forensic scientists make between forty and one-hundred-thousand a year. Is it possible for you to afford the nutrition you need to adequately feed yourself?”

Just like that, she hit a sore spot because Barry stilled, a remarkable feat, and his cheeks tinted red; she heard the stutter in his heart rate, noted the way he looked around uncomfortably. “I…Bruce…helps me sometimes.” He shifted nervously. “High calorie protein bars are the easiest to manufacture in massive quantities. I need them most nights.”

“So, you can’t afford the amount of food you need?” (Y/N) hummed, eyes narrowing as she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m going home for the evening,” she suddenly blurted out. “Come back here tomorrow around the same time. I’ll have something for you that will help with your food shortage.”

As she walked off, Barry grabbed her arm, pleading, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t. I can’t take money from you.”

“I never said anything about money,” she corrected, removing his arm. “I merely said for you to come back, and I’ll have something for you.” She winked. “Relax Barry. I’m not going to tell the world your secrets.”

***

He stood in the center of the area where he was supposed to meet (Y/N), had been standing there for an hour, but then again, she was only fifteen minutes late and he forty-five minutes early. Barry glanced at his watch when a buzzing started in his pocket; he pulled his phone out and saw her caller ID, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

Barry! Sorry for calling late. That thing I’m looking for is taking a bit longer than I expected it to. Do you think you could come to my home in Gotham? I’ve already called ahead and let Bruce know you’d be in city limits.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be right there.”

Good! Travel safely!

It’d taken him all of ten seconds to get from the Watchtower to her house and Barry almost shit his pants when he saw it. It reminded him of Hagrid’s house but slightly wider and with multiple conjoined buildings to it. He walked up to the front door, hyping himself up to grab the brass doorknocker that resembled a demonic skull. When he knocked on the door, nothing happened, then the locks flipped and it opened, creaking on its hinges like a cheap eighty’s horror film, but it did the trick because Barry was scared out of his mind when all he saw was a darkened room lit up only by a candle holder on a table in the middle.

“I’m in the back!” a voice called from inside. “Fang is coming to greet you! He’s bringing Nevermore!”

Nevermore was the bird. He remembered that one, but who was Fang?

His question was answer by a giant mastiff came bounding from an opening to the hallway and Barry almost jumped a foot in the air; it looked terrifying, but he merely whined and shoved his head into Barry’s palm, waiting to be scratched behind his ears.

He relented, giving Fang a good ear-scratch, and smiled as Nevermore hopped up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

“Hungry!” he croaked. “Want snacks!”

Barry dug around in his pocket, finding a half-eaten granola bar. “Granola?” he offered, holding up a piece and Nevermore swiped it with a quick snap of his beak.

“Come in!”

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“In the back!” she called. “I told you that already!”

“I meant where!” Barry laughed, coming to the hallway. It split down two sides, one going to the right the other left. The right opened to what looked like a studio. The left went down and had two doors on the wall, what were bedrooms, and at the end of the hall was a study.

“Bedroom!” she answered, and Barry walked down the left, stopping at the second door that was creaked open.

He saw (Y/N) laying over her bed, digging for something on the opposite side away from him. “(Y/N)?”

“Come in,” she said, listening to him walk around to see her. “I forgot I shoved this underneath her a long time ago when I was cleaning things out.”

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Hmm…American Revolution? Give or take a decade or so?” she waved it off, pulling out what looked like an antique drawstring bag, about the size of a dinner plate; she held it up and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. “This is going to solve all your food problems,” (Y/N) announced, watching him sit down.

“Uh…how so?”

She placed it in his lap. “Think of your absolute favorite snack food. Chips or cookies or something.”

He did.

“Now…reach into the bag and pull it out.”

Barry’s brows furrowed as he reached in the bag, and she knew he’d found them because his eyes went wide, and he pulled out a snack pack of cookies. “What the—”

“Magic food purse,” (Y/N) explained. “Found it one day when I was exploring.” She took it back and reached into it, pulling out a thin tray of expertly wrapped sushi. “It’s really helpful when you’re traveling and can’t carry massive amounts of food around with you.”

Barry watched her pop one in her mouth; he knew damn well that sushi wasn’t in there when he reached inside. He swiped the bag from her and opened it, peering inside, but all he saw was a dark, stretching expanse. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s magic,” (Y/N) snorted, reaching in to pull out a frosted chocolate cupcake. “Anything you can imagine eating or drinking? It will come out.”

“That’s not scientifically possible!” Barry stressed, trying to shove his head into the bag. There had to be some gimmick to it. A transporter! Something!

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that some things in this universe can’t be explained by science?” she stared at him. “For Divines’ sake, Barry, your best friend is a man who wields a magic ring. You run faster than the speed of light.”

“There’s science behind some of that!”

“Not much.”

“But there is science! Here—there’s nothing!” Barry was having a crisis. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) smiled and folded the bag up, gently stowing it in Barry’s jacket pocket. “It’s not about understanding, Barry, it’s about accepting that there are some things you won’t ever understand.” Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “That bag will never run out of magic. You can think all the food and drinks into existence and never run out of food again.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No more high calorie meal bars unless you have to eat them. No more worrying about putting money aside to make sure you have enough to eat. No more relying on others to keep yourself from going hungry.” (Y/N) whispered comfortingly, “No more fear. No more worries.”

Barry felt the lump rise in his throat. He’d never admitted it, not even to Hal, but he worried constantly about keeping fed. Worried that money wouldn’t come in, that he’d go hungry, that something worse would happen. All the nights he’d laid in bed and had to roll over on an empty stomach because he couldn’t afford to buy more or eat what he’d planned for tomorrow then. All the skipping meals, all the exhaustion, all the worry. Gone in moments.

He felt her thumb under his eye, and he looked into her umber ones, seeing her smile softly as she wiped away another tear. She didn’t say anything, merely gazing at him and Barry leaned into her palm, reaching up to cup her hand closer to his cheek. “Thank you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to repay you for—”

“Shhh,” (Y/N) hushed, pressing her thumb to his lips. “There’s nothing to repay anyone for. I did this for you, Barry, not so you’d owe me.” She pulled away from him and rose from the bed, looking back. “Now, if you’d like a moment to yourself, I understand. But I was planning on making dinner. Would you like to stay the night?”

“You don’t mind?” Barry asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a wink, flashing those pretty white fangs in a smile as she flirted, “Stay all you want, Barry. I won’t bite…yet.” She left Barry in the room, heart pounding in his chest, but not from fear—from excitement and anticipation.

[youryanderedaddy]

Best Friends Forever

 Summary: Your best friend finally has you back after all these years, tied up on his bed and ready to learn your lesson.

Tw: nsfw, non-con, slight mention of blood, threats, choking, slight degradation, dirty talk, cursing, infantilization, possessive behavior, patronizing behavior, overuse of petnames, slight dom vibezz 

You knew your boyfriend was a lost cause, an addict so gone he would have done anything for a fix, but you never expected him to stoop so fucking low. 

 You had woken up in a suspiciously familiar place, laying on sheets oh so soft, puffy and white you simply couldn’t mistake the bed you were on. The walls were painted in black and blue, a combination so deeply engraved in your mind you couldn’t shake off the feeling you weren’t trully conscious, but dreaming of a happy yet distant memory of the past. It took you less than a second to realize you were in his room - the one where you had spent so many joyfull sleepless nights back in your youth. The relief was short - lived, though, because the moment you tried to move around, you became aware of the tight rope keeping your sore limbs tied to the wooden bed frame. After a while of twisting and thrashing around while screaming at the top of your lungs for help you finally heard the door open. You hoped you would at last be able to go home now, still desperate to believe this was merely a prank, a way for your junkie of a boyfriend to scare you into giving him money.

 “There is no use trying to escape the bonds, my little love.” His voice emited through the small room, low, smooth as butter and softer than ever. You tried to lift your head and catch a glipse of the person talking, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things or going insane. And there he was in all his glory, the boy, no, the man you knew well looking so different from how you remembered him, but still it felt impossible not to see the many similarities - from the unruly dark curls to the warm gray eyes that used to be your only guide during times of misery and pain. This was none other than your childhood best friend and you had absolutely no idea why you were tied to his bed. “Oliver, why on earth am I here?” You asked as soon as the initial shock had worn off, completely forgetting to address the weird petname the student had called you.

 He smirked slightly before crossing the distance keeping him away from you, and carefully sat down by your left side. He reached out to stroke your cheek in an affectionate way, his fingers lingering for a moment too long for it to be considered a mere platonic gesture. You tried to turn your head away from the warm touch since it made you feel uncomfortable and left you with so many new questions. “I missed you so much, precious.” Oliver took a deep breath and smiled at you, gently moving your jawline so you had no choice but to face him once again. “I was so happy when that disgusting piece of shit you call a boyfriend offered you to me.” The man bent to your shoulder-level and whispered in your ear, his tone so full of sick satisfaction you could swear there was honey dripping from his mouth. “I paid a lot of money to have you back, sweetheart.” He licked his lips in an obscene, suggestive way and you had to supress the sudden urge to vomit as you finally remembered exaclty why you had stopped contacting your best friend once you had started college. The boy used to be clingy, obsessive even, but you could have never guessed it was that bad.

 “Oliver, please untie me, you are scaring me.” You pleaded in a tiny voice, hoping to summon what was left of the goodness he had tucked away deep in his heart. In response the male only chuckled and shook his head as he placed a small kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver in discomfort and disgust while you were mentally debating whether you wanted to kill him or your ex boyfriend first. Soon your spiteful thoughts were replaced by panic when your captor brought his hand to your t-shirt and started unclasping the small buttons one by one. You couldn’t help but turn red from embarassment the moment you felt your nipples harden under his palm and you became painfully aware you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. Your former friend had your tender breasts exposed to the cold air in a matter of seconds, his terrible fingers already pinching and pulling at the erect tips. “You have such pretty tits, darling.” He said huskily while squeezing your boobs, licking and biting the stretched skin. You hissed in pain and squirmed in a desperate attempt to move away but the rope was holding you in place, tightening around your sore injured wrists even more. 

 “I have wanted you for so long, angel.” The student admitted quietly, his stormy eyes fixed on yours, his stare so intense it could burn a hole through you. “Tonight I will make you mine.” Oliver declared with a clear sense of confidence and claimed your lips in a quick rough manner, muffling your pitiful whimpers like a man starved and hungry for flesh. The forced kiss and his deranged words made your stomach turn but something in his longing gaze told you there was a lot more in store. The guess, much to your horror, was soon confirmed when the dark - haired male reached down between your parted legs and easily slipped your panties down to your ankles. With your last bit of protection gone you felt awfully vulnerable, literally naked in front of the beast too keen on the past to see how much he was hurting you right now, in the present. You wanted to scream the second his fat grabby fingers pried your folds open, but choking on your desperate sobs proved easier at that moment.

 “Aww, don’t cry, angel.” Oliver growled playfully and slid his index into your tight entrance, quickly adding a second one before you had the time to adjust properly. “I have to prepare you, baby, otherwise my cock may just tear you apart.” He remarked in low sickening voice, the excuse too crude and vulgar to be an act of caring. You whined as your walls clenched down tight now that there were three fingers stretching your hole, and you berely managed to utter “too full” before your friend pulled you for a deep kiss again, his tongue devouring your mouth, leaving you breathless and queit while sucking in the sweet pained moans. “You can take it, babygirl.” The man groaned against your swollen red lips and grabbed your hips in a strong hold - you were sure there would be purple bruises there tomorrow.

  Eventually, after half an hour of pushing his fingers in and out of your channel, lapping at your neck and leaving wet love marks all over your collarbone, the student was satisfied with his work. He had turned you into a whimpering mess and was ready to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor, whether you liked it or not. “I am going to put it in now, precious.” Oliver pecked you on the cheek just to lick the salty trace of tears off your puffy skin. “I will force my whole length in your perfect little pussy.” Your captor bit your sensitive earlobe and you broke down in tears like a kid, the threat ringing in your ears like the gospel. “This might hurt a bit so I advise you to stay still and relax, baby.” The way the man continued casually, almost cheerfully, as if he wasn’t about to brutally rape you, made your skin crawl, but there was nothing you could do. You were all tied up, powerless to stop him. Suddenly, without any warning, his hard thick member entered you, piercing pain spreading through your whole body. The student panted in pleasure as soon as he thrust his manhood into your heat, the way it sucked him in leaving him high and blissful. You let a few miserable whimpers, the ache too much to bear, his moves too harsh, sudden and deep. 

  “Don’t give me such a-agh tormented expression, my love.” Oliver quickly shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth and pressing down to prevent any noise that might have escaped. His gaze was lustful, insane, but also loving in a twisted, perverse way. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He muttered, his voice gentle for a split second before going back to being taunting and mocking. “I used to be so angry each and every time you dated another guy, another asshole who was only after your body.” The man was rambling now, his face turning red at his own vicious thoughts, his growing anger reflecting in his cloudy pupils and his painful thrusts. “You always chose them over me like a stupid little bitch ...” He whispered dangerously and lifted your body towards his own so you could take his hits even deeper, so deep that you could feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix. “Well, now you don’t have a choice, angel. I have claimed you and I will keep you here forever.” You were crying out in agony, your pussy clamping down around the enormous length slapping again and again against your core. It burned so bad you wished you could dissapear somewhere far away just so you could have a moment of relief. “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’s almost over, you can take it for me, right?” The male cooed at you, switching back to that disgusting, infantilizing baby voice you had already grown to despise. When you failed to respond he gripped your throat, squeezing so tightly blood rushed to your cheeks and you inhaled sharply though your mouth only to feel the suffocation cut your breath short. “Answer me.” He barked through gritted teeth and you nodded frantically, desperate to gasp for air and cling onto dear life. 

 “Good girl.” Your former friend purred, pleased with your obedience, and let go of your neck, grabbing your hips instead. You coughed and drooled pathetically until you managed to resume your breathing, but the man, still buried deep inside you, seemed too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to notice how badly he had hurt you. Fortunately for you Oliver was really close, that much was obvious by his furious shoves at your abused cervix and his low growls each time he lowered his head to kiss you. Soon he came with a loud moan, painting your walls white, your ruined hole dripping with his seed and your blood. 

 Your captor seemed satisfied afterwards, peaceful in a way - there was a small smile adorining his cold lips as he wiped the tears off your face and squished your bruised body against his strong frame in a tight hug. You bit your tongue to stop the tears from overflowing once again, but to no avail. He let you sob in his arms until there wasn’t liquid left in your red, puffy eyes. 

 “You did very well, my love. I am really proud of you.” Oliver kissed your temple gently, resisting the temptation to graze you all over again with his lips, tongue and fingers. “I will help you clean up, then I will fix you some nice dinner.” He murmured in your ear, tickling the heirs on the back of your neck with his warm breath. “Doesn’t this sound good, baby?”

 You closed your eyes and nodded slowly.

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Visiting your hometown

What happens when you take your man to your home town? As your memories, people and places come together how will he react?

A small/long drabble to get me back into writing. Enjoy!

Victor Creed

This mutant never thought that he would walk in your hometown. He didn't expect to see cultures that morph together into one special town, your town. A place where you grew up. So keeping all that in mind he was cautious. Various not to offend someone or to say a rude word in your mother tongue. For the first time in his life, he is frazzled and nervous. he will keep in his front pocket a small leaflet some words he heard you say a few times that may be of some assistance. trying to woo you.

-that old hag showed me the middle finger. let's go.

Unfortunately, anything that he says wrong, will be your responsibility to amend it. so good luck.

Loki

you just know that Loki will have your mother tongue in his little finger (that sounds weird but let's carry on) but do not be fooled, he can not survive the morning wave of people in the farmers market. something that is pretty much normal for you. Loki doesn't know how to feel when he sees the local butcher wrapping the meat in todays' newspaper giving it to buyers or how people shove him to the side as his black suit with the green scarf is more than brought down in value. he will hear the near shouts of Famers that are trying to sell their livelihood to him as his head goes from one side to another in a split second. he will easily get reeled in by the old farmer who just smells the innocence on the Midgardian addressed god. you know the moment you grabs his hand he looks at you.

-how did you ever survive in this chaos?

-I thought you said that chaos is your middle name.

-it is however my kind of chaos is more dignified.

-survive just a little bit more, I need to go to that man in the corner.

-oh, no...

Thor

we all in the fandom know that thor is a ball of joy. but when he lands in your city, your territory he is stoic. he is here on a mission and no one should stand in his way. he will glue himself to your side and he will hold the dictionary book in his mighty right hand and your hand in his left. he will not stand for wasting a day on mundane stuff that you do with him back in the HQ so say goodbye to lazying around. when you go to the oceanic part of your country you are now almost ready to drown him in the ocean. or just leave him on the road, it is getting that heavy.

-thor, think it is time to stop.

-what do you mean?

-to be honest, I don't know anymore I am so tired.

-you are right... let us stop. for 2 minutes and then you can drive again.

-I will leave you here.

Bucky Barnes

bucky loves to travel. he loves to see you in the role of a guide you tell him about the park where you cut your leg open and when you got to the hospital as a nun stood above you praying for your recovery. bucky loves to feel the fresh air going into his nose thinking to himself how this was the same air that you breathe in. he loves to see all the different parts of the city where you went to. even so much that he went to your former hairstylist.

-bucky, you don't have to do this.

-nonsense, doll. I want to experience it. just like you did.

-that was eons ago. and I wore super short hair, like a hedgehog.

-hedgehog?

-yeah, it was so short that I only put on gel and made small spikes.

- I will give everything I have and say that you looked beautiful.

-alright, your call.

Steve Rogers

steve cannot wait for enough for him to arrive in the city where you walked, ran, and laughed. he cannot wait to enter your old apartment and see all of the hidden pieces that he wants to know. he loves to help you clean the apartment and see a big box of your old photos. he will look with your through on the hard wooden floor with one arm around your shoulders as you talk about each photo. even showing him the photo of your sister.

-when will I meet her?

-I don't know.

-didn't you say that she lived here, still?

-yeah...

-I want to meet her. I think am ready for it.

-okay...

Bruce Wayne

you just know that when you told him to pack his bags to go with you he did his research. he knows when, how the city was built. he will try to memorize the tongue twisters and say them horribly wrong just to make you laugh. when he looks at your old apartment he tries to envision the day you left it all behind to go to Gotham and it breaks his heart to imagine you in tears.

-bruce.

you take his calloused hand feeling his fingers tighten the grip.

-sorry, I immediately imagined you when you moved out. I got sad.

-why?

-because, you surely cried.

-I did, a little, but this city didn't have that something.

-and what is that?

-you dumbass. now stop sulking we need to clean.

Clark Kent

as Clark arrived at the farm where your aunt lived he couldn't help feel but prepared. he saw the cows eating grabs and was ready in a split second to milk it just to show off his soft and delicate side. Clark heard the stories of your aunt, well one of them, and from what he concluded, for now, this aunt was the beginner level, nice one, the one who won't tear him a new one if he doesn't treat you right. as the door opened you greeted your aunt in your mother tongue and introduced your man. Clark shakingly trying to reply in the mother tongue feeling the few letters that stood together could fall more apart than from his mouth. your aunt laughed hugging him and roughly patted him on his back. almost like a punch if you will. you look at your aunt and Clark cannot help but stand behind you as he whispered.

-what did she say?

-she said that you seem stiffer than a goat's turd.

-you said that this aunt was nice.

-she is. but that is the way we express ourselves.

-with curse words???!!

-what better way.

Arthur curry

Arthur was relaxed when he arrived, he was laid back when he slept in your apartment but that all suicide jumped off a cliff as he shook hands with your mother. Your mom wasn't that intimating but he heard the stories of her standing to your abusive father and running away with just some change in her pocket and a used car. he knows that the woman in front of him is strong can make or break your relationship. so he held the coffee cup in his hands as if was the key to everything he needed to know how to make your mother happy. he saw how your eyes sparkled when you talked to her how your smile ever left for a second you take what seemed to him in complete gibberish but cute gibberish. your mother turns to him asking in English.

-so Arthur, can I call you by your first name?

-yes, madam. of course, you can.

-thank you. well, then Arthur what do you do for a living?

with a small nod from you, he tells the honest truth.

-I am a superhero. but minus the stupid cape. I am here to keep you and your daughter, of course, safe from all danger. and I hope you will like me!!!!

you turn to your mother with a small chuckle as you tell her in your mother tongue.

-he is helpless.

-he seems like it, good luck, Y/n.

Orm Marius

nothing can save his pulse from rising as he walked with the crowd of people in the town square only your hand which he held more than tightly enough. you stopped pointing at a big statue of a colonel on a horse placed in the middle of the square.

-he is a big deal.

-yes, I can imagine the poor people that had to lift it up to place it here.

-yes, but thanks to those people, people now in the present can always remember what they went through at that time.

he didn't find any specialness in the statute for him it lacked in far more than that he can count but when he saw your face looking at the statue he knew that whatever that stirred in you he wanted to see it every day. he only squeezed your hand placing a kiss on your knuckles.

-does this mean you want in your likeness?

-sure, but only if you will make it.

-oh, darling, that is a recipe for chaos.

The Joker

j never put effort into himself. he did in destruction, in chaos, in mayhem, and even in covering his white skin with some basic foundation as he meets your off the edge aunt. when you told him that every second sentence from her is a curse he was more than ready to meet her. because sometimes crazy people click with the people who like to curse. everyone knows that. so when he sat in the house of your crazy aunt he firstly observed, he watched you talked together and exchanged laughs, even more, when you ever brought to tears as you laughed off the curses she threw at you so playfully making even j smile. so when she turned to him it was game time. and you were the translator.

-my aunt asked what is that you do for a job?

-tell her I am the man of your dreams.

-I told her that.

-damn, then tell her-WHAT?!

you giggle at his shock as you heard the playful quote she told you when you were little and j wanted to know what she said.

-what did she say?

-she said "if a girl gives a man a hand, she will give him her ass"

-your aunt is a wise woman.

- I knew you would like her.

Duncan Vizla

Duncan likes to take walks and taking a walk with you next to him as you showed him around your old neighborhood and told him stores of the always pissed on metal slide and the always filled cafes that were always the pinpoints for some scammers he found in question why you like it so much. as you showed his around you stopped at your old elementary school. you showed him the main entrance was where everyone hurled in the morning hours and where you sat with your friends and talked about the horribly proffers that still to this day haunt you. something he heard you mumble in your sleep.

-she was that awful?

-yes, and people like here never get old it's like the evilness she has in her keeps her eligible for work.

-am i not the same?

he couldn't ask a stupider question. and for that, you punched him in the shoulder.

-don't compare yourself to her. you aren't evil.

-you are forgetting my job, darling.

-you kill for money, she kills for fun and to keep herself alive. a difference now let's go home I need to remind you just how good and attentive you can be.

-lead the way, dove.

hope you liked it. Tell me what you think❤️

Support me with a kofi

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

The Perfect Life

Part Four

Summary- 4.1k Dark!Steve x You x Dark!Bucky. Steve is gone on a mission, leaving just You and Bucky. The situation is becoming easier to handle and that alone really bothers you. You shouldn't be feeling okay with either of these men. With only one watching you, your chances might be better this time to escape. 

Warnings- Non Con, Fingering, Smut, Violence. This is an 18+ Blog. 

Part Three

Bucky did just as he promised, he read until it was later in the evening, and then when he checked the time, he snapped the book shut and set it aside. The book snapping shut had surprised you, making you jump a bit and he shushed you with a kiss to your shoulder. “Easy Doll, It’s late and about time for us to eat.” 

You shifted to a stand so he could as well, now your stomach rumbled in protest, probing that he was right. It really was that time. In his pants pocket, Bucky dug out a phone. “While I'm making us something, how about you talk to Steve?” He opened with his thumb print and pulled up a screen. “I know he will want to say goodnight.” You bit your lip looking at the phone, and then masked your face when Bucky glanced at you, giving you a smile that seemed so genuine it went to the pit of your stomach. Just maybe, you could gain access to someone other than Steve and Bucky. The Police? FBI? They should be able to track cell phones and get you out of here. It was one of the few chances you could see where you would be able to escape. 

If only he would trust you to be alone with it. 

“Come sit at the table to chat with Steve while I make dinner.” He started to pull up a video chat and you couldn't help but feel the disappointment fall in your stomach. Bucky wouldn’t just leave you alone with the phone. Following him in, you settled in a seat and Bucky paused behind you, his heavy vibranium hand rubbing the back of your neck while waiting for Steve to answer. Your head tilted forward, letting yourself just relax under the wave of disappointment and frustration at being close to a way of communicating and yet unable to take hold of the moment. 

Steve’s voice rang out over the device and you shuddered enough for the vibranium finger to dig into the back of your neck in a warning. Straightening under his touch, you smiled softly into the phone, which Steve smiled back at you in a way a lover should, which made your stomach twist. 

“Ahh Babygirl, you look rested. What have you and Bucky been up to?” Bucky gave a wave over your shoulder before retreating towards the stove and the fridge, still within’ ear shot and started to pull things out to prepare. 

“Bucky had brought me a book, and we read together all afternoon till just now actually. Well, Bucky read to me since my throat hurt.” You swallowed a bit to emphasize and Steve actually looked ashamed from the night before. Seeing his shame, you felt a second of happiness at knowing that he actually felt shame for how he used you. Steve cleared his throat and asked you with sincerity, probably the first you could really remember. 

“Are you drinking tea and honey to help it? I can bring back some hard candy or cough drops.” 

“That would be nice Steve.” you nodded with a smile, and then the both of you started talking about the chapters you read. Steve asked engaging questions that you really had to think about answering, and all with genuine interest from him. During your conversation, Bucky started cussing while something sizzled on the stove. 

“Sounds like Bucky needs your help Babydoll.” Steve said and you had to chuckle, for the first time with him. It just slipped out in the easy going moment. “Fuck I love hearing that. If Tony doesn't have me out in the field all day I will call you tomorrow evening same time. Love you.” He didn't seem to expect you to answer it back because he hung up on you. You glanced over at Bucky and gasped when you saw the smoking pan, springing up from the table to grab a hand towel while Bucky held up the sizzling pan. 

“Watch out Y/N” his words hurried from him and you tossed the towel down on the counter for him to set it on, and you flicked off the stove to turn off the heat. The grilled cheeses he started were starting to smoke on the back burner and he was quick to flip them, one side charred. “Fuck, Doll. I'm not the best of cooks as you can tell.” 

You looked at the mess of the stove, and wiggled the tip of your nose. “Well I would say let's just order a pizza, but that isn't happening.” You attempt to joke, and reach for a cloth in the sink to wipe at the mess. “How about we make something together instead Bucky?” You offer, and open the fridge to see what is in there instead. Pulling out some fresh vegetables, and cheese. You spread them out on the counter while Bucky finished cleaning up the counter while you dug out a pot and saute pan. 

“Okay Doll, what would you like me to do?” He offered once he got it all cleaned up and his attempt at soup and sandwich ditched in the garbage can. 

“Drizzle some olive oil in the pan and I will start chopping vegetables.” You spread out the vegetables and reach for a knife to start chopping. Your fingers flexed around the handle for a moment, staring at the knife for a second. Holding your breath a moment, the fleeting thought crossed your mind that you could use the knife against Bucky, could possibly sink it into his back and make a run for it. Then amid these thoughts, Bucky's voice cut through. “Y/N? Doll what's next?” 

You jumped slightly to glance his way, and those thoughts escaped in a quick fleeting moment. Returning to chopping. “Umm, perhaps some pasta? Linguine if we have any.” Bucky went searching and you were quick with the vegetables to saute. 

“Hmmm, I know Steve bought some.” Searching through the cupboard till he found a box and showed it to you. Taking a look, you nodded. “Perfect.” You grabbed a wooden spoon to stir the sizzling veggies and Bucky started a pan of water on the stove to cook the pasta. 

You tossed in a dash of salt while the water was heating and Bucky stood to the side to watch you do your thing. So far one of them had always watched from the table while doing paperwork for the Avengers. But this time Bucky got to watch you up close while you cook. The way you would scan the cupboard beside the stove to find a certain spice, how you would pluck it down and open it to sniff, a dash of this, a dash of that. You would hum when you stirred the veggies and go to tip toes to peek at the pot in the back to see if it was boiling. Using the wooden spoon, you scooped out a piece of sauteed tomato and blew on it, side eying Bucky and holding it up for him to try. “Let me know what you think?” 

Bucky stepped forward and let his mouth open for you to drop the veggie in, and chewed slowly. Somehow for you, this moment was almost more intimate then all the times he's been with you, his touch reaching for your waist, allowing him to lead you in closer so that a hand pressed against his chest, some attempt to keep a small bit of space between you two. Since you weren't supposed to enjoy this intimate moment between you two, even though it felt as genuine as a date. 

“Tastes really good Doll.” You gave a smile, and eased back to the stove, stirring the vegetables. 

“Uh, you can go ahead and add the pasta.” you worked on distracting Bucky, which worked while he did just as you asked, and soon were adding the vegetables and pasta together, which he plated some for both of you. Bucky even made the effort by putting candles out, which you set the plates down, and both of you sat down. 

“This is really good Doll.” Bucky started and you took your own bite, smiling at the praise. You gave a shrug with a smile. 

“It's nothing, simple and easy. Especially with your help.” you returned the compliment best you could, and his hand reached over to grasp your knee, squeezing lightly. 

Dinner continued till you both were pushing your plates away, exclaiming ‘not another bite, I can’t.’ Surprising the whole dinner was fun for you, easy going. You could almost forget that this was a normal situation. 

Bucky seemed relaxed in this moment with you, praising your cooking with a swipe of his finger along his plate to stick the tip in his mouth. 

“So good, really Doll you are perfect.” 

That made you look down, pull at your fingers in your lap. It was all so easy to forget you were a hostage in these moments and you felt shamed with yourself that you temporarily let it slide and enjoy your time with Bucky, the whole afternoon in fact. You should be trying to get away again, the knowledge of that bubbling in your chest and settling like a stone in your gut. It must have all shown on your face when Bucky spoke up. 

“Y/N, what's wrong?”  

Your face screwed up hearing him. It was so sincere him asking what was wrong and that was what hurt the most about it. What was wrong? All of it, him and Steve forcing themselves on you and pretending that this was a perfect life, as well as you getting comfortable with it. 

Comfortable at being there hostage. How easily had you gone to your knees last night to make Steve happy so he wouldn't be mad at you? At the way you were right now making dinner with Bucky and enjoying an everyday meal with him? 

“All of this James, can't you see that?” You cried out suddenly at him with tears brimming your eyes and you shove yourself away from the table. Bucky's face went from concern to frustration, moving to a stand when you shoved the table. 

“I see nothing wrong at all. We are having a nice evening, a good dinner and we are connecting. I don't get it Doll.” He fisted a hand through his hair as he circled around the table and you backed up a few times, but he was quick to close in the space, his hands coming to grasp your upper arms to pin you between him and the counter. Your world narrowed to just the angry man in front of you, his hazel eyes snapping in frustration. “We gave you everything, a nice home, food, you no longer have to worry about anything. I know we have had a few moments, but haven’t we treated you good Doll.” 

Your hands fisted in his henley, trying to push him back but it was pointless. You were never going to be able to move him away, get away, none of it. He easily lifted you to perch on the counter, grasping your chin to look at him. “Answer me right now. Are we so awful to be with?” 

You tried wrenching your face away, but you gasped as his vibranium fingers bit into your cheeks and your jaw popped open a bit. “Y-yes Buck. I’m sorry, i'm so sorry I just want to go home.” 

He shoved his thumb to press against your tongue in your mouth to quiet you, his face melding from anger to almost a silent pleading despair. “Doll this is home, you got to accept this.” He stepped in closer, making your thighs spread and his other hand braced against your back to pull you to the edge of the counter so your legs circled around his waist, flush against him. 

Blinking back at him through watery tears, he loosened his thumb on your tongue and dragged it along your bottom lip before dropping his lips to chase the salty tears creating tracks down your face before filling your mouth. His taste was tinged with your sorrow and fear. 

He still thought this was okay, dragging you through this madness and you gave in once more, because why fight it? Right now you were helpless and it would happen regardless. Your hands flattened in his shirt and wrapped around the back of his neck, tilting your head to kiss deeper, fist your hand in his hair and tug slightly. He groaned against your lips and hurriedly worked your pants open to slip his hand in between your thighs, pressing his fingers into your heat to rub against your clit. 

“Isn't this better Doll?” He circled slowly, dragging his fingertips to pull across it and make you shudder, dropping your head to his shoulder while he dragged teeth against your neck, still a bit of despair in his tone. “We can treat you so well if you let us. It's all we want to do, love you, take care of you, give you children.” 

You turned your head away from him while you squeezed your eyes shut, too bad you weren't able to ignore his words. They dug in deep as his fingers were inside you, stroking fluttering velvet walls that couldn't deny what he was capable of doing to you. 

“See Sweetheart, you want this. You're just sucking me in and trying to hold me. It will always be like this with me, with Steve.” He pulled you up to a sit, the metal gears whirring as his hand circled your throat to squeeze lightly while he stroked your faster. Making you face him so he could watch your face slack and your eyelids flutter as you gasped out a whine, closer. So close, you were fighting it now because you didn’t want to want this feeling with him.

Bucky smirked as he squeezed a bit more. “Come on Doll, if you don't let me have it, I will take it. Either way I'm going to get what I want and that is for you to feel good.” It wasn’t hard for him to drag it out of you, maybe you just gave in, you weren't sure right now. “Thatta girl.” he praised with a kiss to your forehead as you cried out, pleasure making you lose your inhibition as you moaned out Bucky’s name, your hand clenching in his shirt to hold onto something.  

You felt him pull his fingers from you, clenching at the loss while you still were breathing through your orgasm. He worked your pants down till your ass was bare on the counter and you dragged his shirt over his head, your fingers trailing along his shoulder and along the crease of his metallic arm and skin where it melded together. “Did it hurt?” you ask and he shrugged. 

“Pain is simply a part of my life.” He said almost with no emotion, removing your shirt to drop it aside and cup your bare breasts, pulling lightly on your nipples, watching them pebble under his touch, smiling a bit at your reaction as your pulse picked up. “And you are my reward for a lifetime of pain Doll. Cause you make me so happy seeing you like this.” 

His mouth lowered to take over his fingers teasing your breasts, sucking and making your chest heave in a gasp, leaning back slightly to give him room while you arched, rubbing yourself against his pants, the rough fabric and zipper rubbing against your clit and Bucky was sure to rut his hips, bring out more of those mewls of yours till he was having to hold onto your hip while kissing across your chest and teasing you, trying to keep you still. 

“Tell me you want it Doll.” He lifted his head, his lips swollen from playing with you, and you grabbed at the back of his head to pull him forward, now kissing him desperately, hoping that was answer enough. 

Quick he was undoing his pants and stroking his throbbing cock. It wasn't even a slow stretch, he just pushed into you, inhaling the surprised squeal from you as he rutted himself deeper. “So good baby.” He muttered at your mouth with every demanding thrust. You grasped at his back while he drove himself deeper, sure to continue taking you apart. 

“I knew you would be perfect as soon as Steve showed you to me.” He grunted into your mouth, frantic now to drive you to an end and as he dragged himself through your pussy, held your body still for himself, you came again, crying out while scratching at his back and he pulled out, his cock slapping against his abdomen while yanking you off the counter and turning to bend you flat against the surface that was now slick from your arousal, sliding himself back into place. 

“Watching you run around that apartment in those cute little panties, and knowing all this was underneath them.” He palmed your ass cheeks, splitting them apart to see your weeping core made him groan. You let your forehead go to the cool counter top when he pressed himself back into you, this time pounding into you hard, his hand pressed against the back of your head to keep it in place, and other to holding your hip, pulling you back to meet him. The counter thumped with every hit he gave you, jerking you forward. 

“Bucky- Please!” you cried out, squelching loudly around his cock, as he grunted behind you. 

“I got you, just… fuck.” He groaned out and his hips were slapping sharply against you almost savagely when he finally let himself fill you, harsh thrusts pushed his cum to paint you, fill you till you were dripping around him and he sagged heavily against your back, hot breaths further flaming your sweaty skin. He stroked your hair back and kissed behind your ear while you muffled a sob of despair for yourself. 

“You are so damn pretty everytime you fall apart for us.” 

Fuck your life. You had to get away from them. 

It was late when Bucky finally brought the two of you to bed, he let you shower alone and get dressed in your sunflower yellow room while he did the same. Sure to have the light off and in bed when he came out with a towel loosely hanging over his shoulders and a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips, you were relieved when he just slipped in behind you. 

He kept them on, his intention was to fall asleep tonight. After earlier, the front of your hips and apex in your thighs was a bit tender, being slammed into over and over again. 

His arm loosely fell over you as he spooned behind you, nudging his groin against your ass so you could still feel him, and his chest to your back, mummering against your ear. “G’night Doll. Love you.” He nudged against you with his nose and you whispered it back, trying to make it convincing. 

You must have because he didn't push it further. Instead his breathing evened out and you waited, patiently listening. 

He was sound asleep. You shifted from his hold and sat at the end of the bed, waiting to see if he would waken. When he shifted to his stomach and hugged a pillow to him, you made your way to the bathroom, grabbing your clothes from earlier and tugging them on, you peek out once more to see Bucky still facing away from you. His shoulders rising and falling steadily asleep. 

This is it. There is just one of them here and for whatever reason Bucky didn't scare you as much as Steve did. But you don't fool yourself. 

He was just as dangerous as Steve was.

Quietly you crept out of the room, your socks keeping your footfalls quiet while going down the stairs and in the kitchen you grabbed the knife you had used earlier to chop vegetables. Going into the main area, you stuffed your feet in your sneakers and laced them up tight so you wouldn't lose them while sprinting across the field. As soon as you opened the door and stepped out, quick to shut it quietly, you bolted. 

Right off the porch steps and into the sunflowers, heading right for the forest just barely in sight. Who knows, maybe there was a road you couldn't see. You got a few steps when the house lit up and you heard Bucky holler your name. 

“Shit.” You panicked and started running blindly through the field, getting slapped with the giant flowers that were as tall as you were. They slowed you down, but you had no choice. Bucky would be easily able to follow your trail through the field. That knowledge just put on a burst of frightened speed, slapping the flowers away from you. 

Get beyond the field, hide in the woods. The thought screamed through your mind as the flowers started to thin out and you stumbled out the other side to crash into the pitch black tree line. 

You stumbled and fall against harsh tree trunks that cut at your face and tripped over roots that slammed you into the ground till you were scrambling back up, holding your hands in front of you to try to feel your way, ignoring the cuts and bruises you've given yourself, your fear making the adrenaline rush, your heart pound and shadows turned into menacing figures ready to grab you. 

“Doll get the fuck out here now.” You heard Bucky. But not the Bucky you knew, this sounded cold, menacing, a killer. Hearing him made you crash into another tree with a yelp, pushing off to get around it. “There's no use running.” You heard him coming closer. 

In your panic, all you could do was hide, anywhere. But the darkness was so overwhelming, not allowing you to find a place to go. You stood there, wildly panting while looking all around, your hand circling around the knife's handle when you spun around, raising the kitchen blade in front of you. “Stay back James.” Your eyes focused on the silhouette of your personal demon when your eyes finally focused on him. 

“This hurts Doll.” he hissed out as he came in closer, ignoring the blade you were threatening with, which you swung at him, catching him across his chest, but the pain of it didn't even seem to register. He easily caught your wrist, twisting it enough so a sharp pain in your wrist made you drop it to the forest floor, a cry escaping you. 

“Please don’t, you gave me no choice.” You sobbed as he pushed you back into a tree, his hand circling your throat and squeezing enough to choke the air from you. Rage filtered down at you, mixed with a version of his own pain at your actions. 

The irony of it, you hurt him by running away. If your heart wasn't about to slam from your chest, it would have made you giggle. Instead it bubbled up your throat as bile tasting fear. Your eyes matched his, rimming tears at the edge. 

“Gave you no choice?” He hissed out, his hand flexing with a whir of mechanics as his other hand trailed a couple knuckles along your cheek. “Doll you simply had to follow the rules and we would have taken care of you. Now you give me no choice.” 

You could feel the way his fingers thrummed against your neck, tightening slightly till you gasped out in a garbled plea. “James no… just let me go, please just let me go.” You dig in your heels into the soft ground and try twisting in his hold. It was impossible to break loose from him, no man should have this kind of strength. 

And you were stuck with two of them. 

Bucky carried you so effortlessly back through the field, following the trail you weaved earlier. When reaching the other end, you expected him to carry you back up the stairs and into the house. But he turned sharply, heading towards the barn. 

“No…” You whispered, tears springing back towards your eyes. “Please no, I will be good, I promise to be good.” you started pleading, instead of trying to break from his hold, you cling to him. “Whatever you want Bucky.” 

It didn’t stall him and the barns opened doors yawned open like a beast about to swallow you whole.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time Apart

CW: Trauma survivor, referenced noncon and assault, heavy internalized victim-blaming and self-loathing/anti-asexuality (Chris has serious issues from his conditioning around this)

(references events from this small series)

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

When Chris picks up his phone, it's not at all the message from Laken he expected to see. Not the kind of thing they've ever sent before.

He has to read it two times, then three. The letters swim and shake along with a dull pounding inside his head, but no matter how he tries to make them into other words - tell himself he must have misunderstood, must be missing something - they come back together the same in the end.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

Each letter is as crisp and clean as a sterilized blade between each rib, one by one by one by one.

The words are a body blow. They're a hundred blows, beating him into a barely recognizable shattered shell of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way - it's been a bad few days, yeah, a bad week really, but until yesterday's fight it had never occurred to him that Laken might give up on him.

The fight was his fault, anyway.

He meant to apologize last night, but then Nova had come into his room, and he'd lost the rest of the night to lying next to Jake, trying to remember how to stop living inside his head again, how to stop being still.

He'd woke up this morning with his stomach doing butterfly flips inside him, nervous, but he'd really wanted to say he was sorry, for the fight, for all the weirdness lately. He'd wanted to apologize for being difficult.

Instead... he'd woken up to find a missed text from the night before, sent after he'd shoved Nova away but before he could stand to look at anything again.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

There it sits.

He hasn't unlocked his phone yet. Instead, he keeps tapping the button to light up the screen, looking at the message preview that has all he needs to see. Lets it go dark again. As if one of these times he'll click and it'll say something else.

But it doesn't,

It just says the same damn thing.

I think you should spend time apart.

Not with me.

He's still staring at it when another one comes in. He feels the soft pulse of his phone in his hand, and the screen lights on its own.

LAKEN - NOW Did you see my message? 

He thinks maybe Kauri had it easier when he was the age Chris is now. Back when Kauri carried on entire conversations in emoji form, letting the nuance and ambiguity take over, the recipient working through the meaning on their own. With this, each letter is merciless, each word is unmistakable. He can’t misunderstand it. 

Can he?

He opens the phone with shaking fingers, types back yes, presses send, and turns his phone off.

Then he throws it at the wall.

He’s grateful for the heavy plastic case that makes it bounce off and drop to the floor without breaking. There's a strip on the back, textured and a soft purple, gray, white, and black. He rubs his fingers over it sometimes in class to keep himself from rocking and being distracting.

Now he just... stares at it.

Laken bought that for him. They bought the shirt he's wearing right now-

He yanks it off his head before he can think, balls up the soft fabric and throws it as well. It just sort of drifts pointlessly to the floor, a single eyeball from the print of a band he likes staring back at him.

Laken has ranted before about people who break up by text message, and Chris has to breathe through a physical ache in his chest that tightens every muscle at how awful he must be that they're not doing this face to face. How awful, how used-up, how shredded apart, how fucking pretty he is.

After all, he and Laken have been together for more than a year, and he still held perfectly still for Nova to touch him before he remembered how to move. After all, he’s a grown man who still cried and fell apart when Jake was hurt. After all, after all, after all...

He scrambles across the floor for his phone again, turns it back on. Part of him hopes he’ll see a new text saying they take it back, they didn’t mean it. Or just asking him to apologize for what he’d said that night before, for how he’d thrown their confusion over his reaction to something back at them, echoing out the way Kauri fights sometimes, talking about himself the way he thinks everyone else might be thinking about him, so he says the insult first and no one else gets to surprise him with it.

But there’s nothing new.

He manages to open the texts again, barely, and breathes in gasps, nearly pants, as he types out, you don’t want me at your place?

Not right now.

Is it because of what I can’t do?

It takes them a minute to answer. Every single second ticks by with a slowness Chris hasn’t felt since his days in the cold white room, tied down to stillness, forced to endure every minute that passed in perfect silence or to the soundtrack of his own tears and pleading for it to stop.

When they do respond, it’s just, it’s because of what you won’t do.

His breath catches in his throat. The ache in his head starts to pound harder, and he has to close his eyes against a sharp stab behind them. 

What he won’t do.

They’ve never cared before. How-... how could they suddenly care now? The fight had only a little bit been about that, it’d really been about something else. About his nightmares, how he’s not sleeping, not seeing his friends, skipping therapy. It hadn’t even been about... that. About what Chris can do and what he can’t, in bed. 

But that was the thing - the fight had started when Chris had flinched back from Laken’s touch to his back, and snapped at them, and accused them of wanting too much, and...

And now this.

It’s like they knew about Nova. Knew that he could be good just fine - better than fine, Handler Petrus said he was one of the best he’d ever worked with once - he just... wouldn’t. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. Never wanted to. 

Can’t do it without tearing himself to pieces all over again. 

It was always a scream inside his mind, but should he have pushed it down and tried harder to be more like everyone else? Is he losing Laken because of it? Did Nova pick up on something Chris himself doesn’t know?

Should he have... tried?

Even if it hurt?

He drops the phone again, then kicks it viciously under his bed, listening to the scrape of it sliding across the floor, the thump as it hits the wall. He hears it vibrate again, but this time he doesn’t care what Laken has to say.

They’ve said enough.

He understands.

Part of him expected this eventually.

He leaves the room, doesn’t bother to pull on his compression shirt, even. He lets his skin prickle bare and exposed to the air. He accepts the discomfort, the uneasy feeling of being too seen, too felt. 

The house is quiet, this early. 

He makes himself toast with butter, wincing at the scrape of the knife against the crisp bread, the sound boring into his ears. But eventually it’s done, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, willing himself to cry. Somehow, the tears just... don’t happen.

He can hear Jake snoring softly from the living room. He’d been up with Chris until nearly 4 am, then Chris was awake again at 6:30, looking at that text, looking over and over and over again. Two hours of sleep leave him weirdly euphoric alongside his despair. Like he’s floating in some nightmare place that isn’t awake and isn’t sleeping, either.

He’s probably slept nine hours in three days at this point. He keeps seeing Jake with a knife sticking out of him every time he closes his eyes. Jake, screaming as Antoni pushed cloth into his wound to stop up the bleeding. Jake with a bullet wound, sitting up against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes whispering, It’s okay, Tristan, I love you, it’s okay as he dies. 

He can’t sleep. He can’t leave for long. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Him being what he is, it’s the reason Jake is hurt. If he hadn’t been his brother, he wouldn’t have decided to run a house for Romantics, and he wouldn’t have ended up dealing with all the dangerous bits about them.

Jake said it himself, didn’t he? It’s a mistake, running a house for Romantics. Not his best idea. A mistake.

Chris is a mistake.

Him being weak, and cowardly... it’s hurting Jake, making his life harder.

He makes everyone’s life harder.

There’s a soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Nova in the doorway, staring back. She’s in a sleeveless gray dress and has her long dark hair pulled back from her temples, spilling in a waterfall down her back. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, and she gives him a faint, slight smile.

She had smiled like that with one hand down his pants.

Chris turns around, too fast, his head spinning a little, and hunches over his toast. “Good... good, um, good morning,” He mumbles. 

She clears her throat. “Morning. Chris, about-... about last night...”

“Don’t, um, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t worry about it.” He takes a breath. He doesn’t want his toast any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, simply. “I spoke to Sarita about it, and... and she said this happens with us, and I should apologize, but, um. So I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-... I thought I was helping.”

“I... know you did.” His words are slowing down. Chris can’t hold on to his thoughts, they want to drift away somewhere else, somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. 

“When I was with-... with my Miss, she would always say, if you are sad the best way to fix it is to make your body forget that feeling, replace it with something else. And that was what we replaced my sadness with. So, you were sad and upset, and I thought I could fix it that way.” She pauses, flushing a little, looking down and to the side as she moves with effortless grace to get a glass and fill it with water, take a small sip. 

“Kauri used to... to do that,” Chris says after a pause, thinking about it. Kauri, who would show up in the small hours of the morning reeking of liquor and someone else’s cologne, or just didn’t show up at all. Kauri, who would laugh instead of crying, and laugh with someone’s arms around him, a guy whose name he didn’t know. 

Kauri, who ran and ran and ran and can do things and be things that Chris can’t.

Or... won’t.

What if he’s been hurting Laken this whole time and didn’t know it, because he was already hurt himself?

His foot starts to tap tap tap on the floor until he stops it. 

“Did he? Did it-... work for him?” Nova asks it with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are so pretty. He looks up at her, and then down again, pushing the plate of toast away from himself. 

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I, I don’t know. He’s happy now, but...”

“Was he happy then?”

“No. But, but, but... maybe we aren’t supposed to be. At least... not with, with anyone... who isn’t like us.”

“Jake isn’t like us,” Nova points out. Her presence in the room feels heavy, like a weight pushing down on him. But what does it matter? He’s not with Laken anymore, anyway. If he wanted to, he could stand right up and kiss Nova right now, press her back into the counter, and learn what it’s like to be the one doing things and not just having them done to him.

But his body doesn’t stir at the thought. It never has.

“He is,” Chris answers. “A, a little bit. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, too, Nova. Sorry that I-I can’t.”

“No, I know. You have a partner, and I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t have... I, I, I I don’t have a partner anymore.” Chris stands up, leaving her there with his plate of untouched toast. The sky outside is bright as the sun rises, as if mocking the way he feels like a stormcloud inside. 

Nova watches him leave, and whispers to herself, “No partner?”

Chris goes outside, pulling a sweatshirt that hangs on the coatrack on over his head to protect his skin, curling up on the porch swing and watching cars pulling out of driveways as the neighborhood starts to head to work in ones and twos. 

He doesn’t cry.

He sits very, very still, and he is silent. 

Upstairs, under the bed, his phone vibrates, again and again, unnoticed.

Just go talk to Nat, Chris. That’s all I said. Just go see Nat and get a night or three away from the house. Being there all the time is overwhelming you. Are you even looking at these? Chris you can’t just ignore me every time I say something you don’t like Chris answer me ... ... Oh shit, Chris, my phone autocorrected earlier and I didn’t notice I meant “some time at Nat’s”, not apart Chris? Are you seeing my messages? Baby? Chris, please check your phone and answer me. Please.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 87: Personality Swap

"Gentleman! That is enough," McGonagall snapped and the fist that Harry had been throwing at Malfoy's face came to a screeching halt. "Get off of the floor, both of you."

Malfoy shoved Harry off of him and climbed to his feet, wiping a bit of blood from his nose. Harry winced as he used his sore wrist to push himself to his feet as well, just noticing that one of the lenses in his glasses was chipped.

"My office," she said. "Immediately."

She started off with the air of someone who knew they had complete control, an army captain perhaps, and Harry was powerless to do anything but follow. He may have killed Voldemort but that didn't mean he wasn't still terrified of her wrath.

"Right," she said, once they arrived at her office, "sit."

They did, Harry pointedly refused to look over at Malfoy.

"Enough is enough, gentlemen. How many fights have I broken up this month alone?" she asked.

It was a rhetorical question but Harry knew it had been seven (and that wasn't counting the ones she hadn't broken up).

She sighed and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes wearily. "I know the past year was harder on the both of you than it was on many other students. I won't pretend to understand your feelings and I won't try to tell you how to process and heal, but this can't continue."

Harry looked down at his hands, concentrating very hard on his thumbnail to try and counteract the way the world felt like it was shrinking in on him.

(Read more below the cut)

"So let's talk about it," she said reasonably.

Harry and Malfoy both groaned simultaneously, "But Professor-"

"No buts," she said cutting him off. "Mr. Potter, you go first. What is bothering you so about Mr. Malfoy?"

"I don't know," he grumbled, glaring down at his finger. "He's just," he trailed off uncertainly.

After a moment of silence she turned to the other boy. "Mr. Malfoy, same question."

"Honestly?" he said.

"That would be a refreshing change of pace," she replied.

"He's such an arrogant arse. Like, yes, you defeated the Dark Lord; great. Thanks so much and all, but can you stop rubbing it in everyone's faces all the time. We bloody know."

"I don't rub it in anyone's face!" Harry exploded because honestly, if everyone could just forget about it that would be preferable.

"Mr. Potter," she interrupted, "Would you like another chance at answering?"

Apparently the fire filling his veins would, "You were literally a death eater!" he exploded. "But you walk around with your nose in the air, acting like you're better than everyone else."

Malfoy inhaled but McGonagall cut him off, "I think I know what can solve this. Neither of you will believe the other unless you've experienced what their life is like," she mused. Then she rose from her desk and went to a cabinet filled with potions, "Here we are," she murmured as she picked up one that looked suspiciously like a polyjuice potion. "Give me one of your hairs, both of you."

Harry swallowed nervously but didn't dare disobey. Malfoy must have felt the same because he plucked a hair from his head and handed it over as well.

"This particular potion is brewed to last for about three hours," she said. "I'll expect you both in my office at that time," she informed them as she measured out two portions. "In the meantime, I want you to go and experience what life is like for the other. I'll inform Miss Parkinson, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger; we'll keep the three of them out of this experiment."

"You can't be serious, Professor!" Harry protested.

"I'm quite serious, Mr. Potter. It's either this or I make the two of you walk around holding hands during every waking moment for the next week."

At least the potion would be over in a few hours, Harry thought glumly. "Fine," he huffed.

"I thought you'd see it that way," she said as she nudged the two glasses across the table. "Bottoms up, gentlemen."

Harry took his and blew out a nervous huff before swallowing it down. It was awful but it somehow wasn't quite as terrible as he'd remembered it being. When he looked down at his hands, he saw that his skin had lightened, his fingers had lengthened, and everything felt a bit wrong.

"Off you pop," she said and Harry finally chanced a glance over to see his own image sitting in the chair next to him, squinting.

"Merlin, Potter, you're completely blind. Give me your hideous glasses."

He rolled his eyes, wondering if he looked as arrogant as Malfoy normally did, but handed his glasses over.

"Go," McGonagall said, "I'll see you in three hours. Good luck, gentlemen." As they started out, Harry could have sworn he heard her mutter, "You're going to need it."

----------

Harry had been ostracized by the school before. There had been times when people hadn't trusted him, when they'd believed rubbish printed about him, and when they'd wanted to stay as far away as they could.

Nothing had prepared him for what it was like to be Draco Malfoy.

For three hours people muttered unkind things under their breath, sent minor hexes flying at him when he back was turned, moved away from him the moment he sat down, had two drinks dumped on him, had a pile of books knocked from his arms, and all manner of other unpleasant things.

At first, Harry had still been angry enough that he felt like Malfoy deserved it. But as the three hours dragged on he started to feel more and more isolated, more and more alone. In all of the time he spent as Draco Malfoy, not one kind word was spoken to him and the kindest thing that anyone did was leave him alone.

He started back about five minutes early, only to run into Malfoy at the staircase. They stared at one another for a long moment before both of them blurted, "I'm sorry," at the same time.

Malfoy shook his head, "I-"

"No, let me go first," Harry insisted. "I thought that the reason you always acted so aloof was because you thought you were better than everyone else," he said, "but that's not why, is it?"

"It used to be," he said with a pained looking shrug.

"But not now," Harry said as he nodded slowly, "it must be lonely."

"Not any more than it is to be you," the other boy protested. "You're surrounded by people all day long who are fawning over you but it's impossible to know who is being genuine and who is just trying to get a piece of you because you're the savior."

As he finished saying that, the potion began to wear off and Harry watched as the boy in front of him returned to his body.

When he felt like himself again, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's not a walk in the park being Harry Potter. Still," he said, "I think it's harder being you."

"I'm not so sure," the other boy laughed, "I think I'll take the animosity. At least I know where people stand."

He hummed, "I think I'm changing my mind on where I stand," Harry replied. "Do you think there might be room to stand beside you?"

A smile flickered across his face before it disappeared, "I don't know, with all of your adoring fans I think it's you we ought to be worried about."

"Maybe you'll scare them away," Harry laughed.

"One can only hope," Malfoy replied.

Harry gave him a little smile, "Could we try again?"

"I'd like that."

After a moment he held out his hand, "Harry Potter, don't believe a word you hear about me, I'm not half of the things people say I am."

The other boy stared at his hand for a long moment before taking it. "Draco Malfoy," he replied, "I probably was most of the things that people say I am but I'm trying hard to be better."

"Friends?"

"Friends."

---------

Day 86: Sixth Anniversary | Day 87: Heels, Make Up, Glitter, Gold

sorry friends, this one's a bit rough. It should really be fleshed out a bit more but I can't today. Someday I'll get back into the swing of things, I promise.