#in comparison to the restaurant i used to be working at that place is fucking sanitary & efficient tho lol i lit had the

[directdogman]

Super stoked for the Roger DLC and WILL be playing it on release, but something that’s been bugging me ever since the first few teasers was Peter, his personality feels quite different to me and my Peter obsessed friend, is there a reason for his personality change or was it completely unintentional?

He feels a lot more hot headed now, not completely the same as but similar to Steven, which feels like a complete 180 for Peter, I always remember enjoying him more in DSaF 2 because he was the more relaxed Phoney who when he had geniunely serious moments, it was incredibly impactful and gut wrenching when Peter would yell at me. 😔

Also, will Steven ever be real in dialtown please sir I miss my wif-

The comparison just always bothered me slightly.

Different universes. I should note that while Peter IS chiller in DSaF 2, if the restaurant goes under, the main consequence is that the company will get mortally wounded and he might die. The other employees will (for the most part) be fine. Peter cares. He cares if you hurt employees, he cares if you fuck up but is also willing to look the other way a few times if the fuckup isn't bad enough (without letting it slide, because he still cares what you do at work too.) I'd say his attitude at work namely stems from that, rather than the other way around. Steven does NOT care. He is literally willing to throw you under the bus to save himself and his sole goal is keeping the place open specifically so he can save his own hide, and his hot-headedness comes from that.

In DT, Peter is at the end of his rope and has had to deal with a LOT up until this point, arguably even more than his DSaF counterpart in terms of his day to day job, as shocking as that may sound. There's also WAY more on the line this time. He isn't the one that's going to face the worst of what'll happen if things continue at their current trajectory (unlike Peter or Steven in their original games.) He explains this pretty early into the DLC, which may explain why he's testier than you remember him, namely what's on the line. He's trying his damndest to fix it but is failing. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place with Roger, recognizing his bad leadership is sinking the plant but caring too much about the guy to effectively deal with it until this point.

His guard is up because it has to be, but he does have a few nice moments where it's clear how much he cares and if you listen to Roger's dialogue carefully, you'll see just how much Peter has put up with that would've made any sane person walk away. He's also noticeably nicer to Gingi if you don't waste his time and seem to actually care about Roger, and he acts closer to how he does in the DSaF 2 screenshot you showed off, though perhaps with slightly less energy (since he is, like I said, at the end of his rope.) There's even a scene in the evil route where you can identify this and use it against him in a pretty sinister way.

To mention another thing that even Gingi sees as far back as his original scene in DT: He's a natural manager who's playing second-fiddle to someone who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

I didn't just wanna do more of the same, so I played with the dynamics a lil. Peter is in a very different role here, one that he's not exactly suited to. He's out of his element. He's inundated with work and in this scene, is thinking about the lives of the employees who are going to be laid-off in a week or so time if things don't change FAST, and while this is happening, his boss is bantering with a weird cryptid on the street and talking about random garbage.

There are times in DSaF 2, like you said, where you do see him get like this. It's not as much that his character is different in my eyes, but that the context is. This is a version of Peter who is one bad day away from having to make a difficult decision. Literally. I'll gladly talk more about it when the DLC's out (namely I could compare + contrast certain decisions he makes!) For now, I don't wanna spoil anything that isn't explicitly stated in the first major scene he has.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

yandere best friend pt3

tw; infantalization, yelling, violence, self harm, feels bad because comparison is the thief of joy, life being unfair

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

yea im on a roll haha i just finished part 2 and now i moved onto part 3, as u can see i was projecting here with the leg situation

anyways its pretty short and as usual, no proofreading

enjoay

You don't know how he's doing right now. Time passes so fast that its been four years since that haunting call from your friend. You finished your masters degree and now you're deeper in debt than ever. You're taking on three jobs unrelated to your qualifications and running on no sleep, just like how your friend did when he was working towards his biggest goal.

Well, maybe you lied. You knew how he's doing, because his stupid restaurant name is ubiquitous.

It's strange, unfair and confusing how he managed to turn his restaurant into a multimillion corporation this fast. It's now a famous brand with multiple branches across the globe, it has expanded into selling frozen products in supermarkets everywhere. It's still growing too, more and more people are investing in his empire, making him richer and richer and making you green with fucking envy.

People who invest in stocks bring up his brand pretty often, saying that it's worth to invest a couple thousand dollars in it because its in some sort of top 500 index. You weren't really interested in that because you don't even have a couple thousand dollars to spare in the first place.

Your friend seem to mostly stay out of the limelight, making him more of a faceless founder. It's rare to find interviews with him, even if you did, he would always give vague, generic answers to the questions. He would focus more on promoting his products than anything else, he's neither humble or arrogant... but he's just like a robot made only to advertise whatever it's selling and make as much sales as it can.

The masses would very much prefer to pay attention to the celebrity ambassadors the marketing department hired.

Personal information about your friend was scarce, so far you knew that he went ahead and got himself a diploma in culinary arts and another diploma in Food Science and Technology in the last four years. No doubt, to improve the credibility of his company and in hopes of having more customers flock in.

You felt... bad. Took the conventional, the more socially accepted route of studying to one of the highest degrees, but your friend who started off with only a high school diploma and an iron will was so much more successful than you in life.

Perhaps it's simply the human condition to compare ourselves to wildly different lives. Every time you check the news about your friend, it's always something about his company achieving another award for delicious tasting food, well known events involving major public figures or the highly anticipated release of a new product.

You don't come across pictures with your friend in it, but when you do, it's always a picture of him talking to an important figure in a lavish setting, or having the fanciest dinner you have ever seen with people in formal clothes. He looked amazing in every one of it, he was so put together that it looks unreal. Well, seeing that he can afford the best treatments the world has to offer, it doesn't come off as a huge surprise.

And that is soul crushing, you wish to be him. And you forgot the hardships he went through. And you became bitter. And resentful of him. And resentful towards yourself. And-

Oh, your break is up. Time to continue your self loathing inner monologue while dealing with snooty customers. All the while, forgetting that your friend also has to deal with mood and energy vampires everyday.

As if things couldn't get anymore worse, you fucked up your legs. Well, not you. But some spoiled brat with a speedy sports car slammed onto you while you were lawfully using the zebra crossing. Their daddy was loaded and had the right connections, so the person who took your legs out walked away scot-free. You were left to clean up the mess yourself.

Luckily, it's not the worst thing your legs can take. You'll still be able to walk, but it will take ages to heal and might as well amputate them to pay for the damn bill. Throw in a kidney or two and you might just pay half of it off. So, you'll be wheelchair ridden until further notice.

You moved back into your parents' home, the same country where you and your friend first met. As much as you hate depending on others, you need your parents help. You are financially ruined and you can't exactly find a job that's kind to people with your disability. Or to people with any disability, in fact.

Word spreads so fucking fast. Your friend made a beeline to your parents house as soon as one of his private eyes reported that you're back home.

He was in a meeting with the board of directors managing one of his numerous subsidiary companies. It baffled everyone in the room when your friend showed interest in something other than profits and company growth. It was thought that he has no soul, no loved ones and no sentience. He was just a massive piece of code programmed to make as much money as possible at all cost.

Seeing that he experienced such a strong emotion upon hearing your arrival, that he had to adjourn a meeting, was so jarring.

It made him seem... human.

You were fast asleep. Exhausted from what the world has pelted at you and weak from all the pain. Your parents invited your friend in as he was extremely excited and happy that you're back, oblivious to the fact that you're in this state. He didn't bother listening to the full report his private eye was about to give him.

As soon as he entered your room, his smile fell upon seeing your crippled state. You were unconscious, if you weren't, you would probably die from mortification... your successful childhood best friend, seeing very unsuccessful you. An old laptop sits uncomfortably on your belly, yet another job rejection letter was shown on the screen.

Your friend was speechless. He could already hear the growing storm of regret, self hatred, anguish, anger, sadness brewing inside him, it was muffled, but its getting increasingly clearer and louder.

His trembling hands gently stroked your casts as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

What happened? He whispered, it was loud enough for your parents to hear. Hence, they began explaining.

The name of the person who hit you with their car was all he needed to know. He is going to take care of it. Everything else bounced off his head as his eyes slowly travelled to your hands, he took one of them into his larger ones. He massaged them with utmost love and longing.

It's rough. It's calloused. It's scarred. It's everything that he never ever want your hands to be.

You groggily woke up, using your free hand to rub your eyes. You paused when you saw your friend by your bedside, silently staring at your hand in his. Tears rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his very expensive jacket.

He failed. He may have tried his best to stop it from happening, but he ultimately failed. You went through more or less, what he went through.

He shouldn't have left you alone, he shouldn't have trusted that you won't suffer like he did. He should have intervened, he should have bought that plane ticket instead, He shouldn't have respected your boundaries that day, he should have come to you regardless.

You have proven that you are incapable to take care of yourself. No more mistakes, no more neglect, you need him now more than ever. He is going to make things right and you will have no say in anything anymore. You will depend on him and he will make sure of it.

As soon as his eyes met yours, he lost it. He broke down sobbing in his hands. The weight of his failure is crushing him to pieces, how could he be so fucking stupid? Obviously, you needed him despite receiving that scathing text message four years ago. You were so young, so naïve, so inexperienced and oblivious to the cruel, cruel world around you. Of course, you thought you would do okay. You haven't seen the world at its' worst like he did! He should have known better... and he knew better! He just...

He just wanted you to be happy. And, he thought you would be happier if he left you alone for a while. In the meantime, he would continue building that perfect life for you to come home to, filled with nothing but comfort and luxuries. But look at you now, you were robbed of your innocence, and, your friend blamed himself for it.

You're suffering and he was the cause of it. only if he didn't neglect you in the first place...

No...

Only if you didn't fucking reject him over and over again. Things would have turned out differently. You also had a part in this!

You covered your face out of embarrassment, you did not want him to see you at this stage of life. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this.

Please leave me alone. You said.

You always knew your friend to be the softest, sweetest person around you. He never got physically violent to anyone (at least, to your knowledge).

Imagine the shock when he yanked your hand away from your face and delivered a devastating slap to your face. You were stunned as the ringing of your ears and the pain of the blow overwhelm your senses. Within moments, a red print was formed on your cheek.

Your parents rushed in to put a barrier between you and him, but he ignored them and began yelling and pointing at you hysterically.

I trusted you! I trusted you! How dare you do this to yourself!? I worked so fucking hard-- I sacrificed everything for you, and you can't even keep yourself healthy! Oh, he was angry. He was shouting and screaming, most of the time it just made you scared and confused. You can't understand what he was getting at because he was jumbling over his words.

Your hands, they aren't supposed to look like mine and look what you have done to them! His voice went hoarse from all the exertion.

You weren't supposed to work for anything in life, I was supposed to provide for you! Why can't you just fucking depend on me!? Why can't you just accept me!?

You can only watch on as he threw a massive tantrum, your father tried his best to pull him away from the room, but to no avail.

You are going to depend on me, I am going to provide for you and that's final! I don't care what you think, you can't be trusted to do anything alone! With that final piece, he wrenched himself off your father's grip and stormed out of your childhood bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard, that some wall décor fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He is going to replace them later. Now, he needs to make a few phone calls.

[here4kpopfics]

Nightcap | Vernon

Pairing: Vernon x (f)reader 

Genre: smut, fluff

AU: established relationship

Wordcount: 3.1k

Summary: Every time you visit your boyfriend, you go through a few days of jet lag. But Vernon is needy and tries to help you out. 

Warnings: Language, pet names, noona kink, oral (f receiving…idk how to explain the m receiving), overstimulation, Vernon’s a subby needy boy, grinding fun times, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), very light consensual somnophilia, sleepy sex, they’re just two goobers in love and tired but needy.

Rating: M/18+

AN: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY @yoongimingyu I don’t even know how to explain myself for this. Thank you @playmetheclassics for beta-ing and @classicscreations for the banner. 💜

Masterlist | Taglist | AskBox | Coffee?

Jet lag is a bitch. 

Every time you fly out to Seoul to visit your boyfriend, you end up sleeping for most of the first two days.

You started planning your flights to make it so you get there in the morning and have to spend the entire day awake, so you fall asleep at a more acceptable time. But then you’d end up sleeping to make up for the lack of sleep on the plane, waking up in the afternoon and still feeling exhausted. 

So this time, you decided to do things differently.

You planned to come to Seoul a few days before Valentine’s Day so you’d have enough time to adjust. The second you made it to Vernon’s apartment, you gave him one kiss, said you loved him, and passed the fuck out in his bed. 

Your plan more or less succeeded. You ended up sleeping until the following day, but you were still groggy with your body trying its best to adjust to the time zone change. 

Vernon finally pulled you out of bed, dragging you outside to spend the day with him in the beautiful weather and just wander the streets of Seoul. It was great; Vernon was a lot more touchy than usual, holding you close and the random touches that made your skin feel like it was on fire. His laugh kept your attention, booming with every story about work you had probably already told him on one of your many FaceTime dates. And he took you to one of his favorite restaurants, continuing to be extra touchy with you with his hand on your thigh the entire time. 

But once you got back, you went straight back to his bed to take another nap. Vernon lets you sleep alone, napping himself for a bit on the couch before scrolling through the photos and videos on his phone for fun until he lands on one you sent him a month ago. A video he had promised to delete, but never did because he loved it too much. 

Most people would agree one of the downsides of the long-distance relationship is the inability to be intimate with their partner. Yes, there’s phone sex and facetime. But it’s nothing in comparison to being able to feel your partner. 

Naturally, you’d send each other spicy photos, rarely videos, that you both agreed on deleting after a maximum of three days. Videos were to be deleted immediately after viewing. 

But there was one night when you were lonely and missing Vernon so much that you made a video for him. 

And he never deleted it. He couldn’t. How could he? You’re laying on your bed, fucking yourself with a dildo he half-jokingly had made after his cock using one of those at-home kits and moaning his name over and over. 

Deleting it would be a crime. 

He calculated the risks of waking you up and finally got off the couch. 

You’re finally back in dreamland again when you feel a dip in the bed behind you, a soft hand landing on your hip as Vernon curls up behind you.

You groan in annoyance and  comfort when he presses his body flush against you. The hand on your hip dragging up your waist, his pinky taking your shirt with it. 

“I’m trying to nap, Vernon.”

“But I’ve missed you, noona.” His lips find their place on your shoulder, kissing down to your neck and hovering above your ear. 

And that’s when you feel it. 

His hips slowly rut against your ass, his obvious erection rubbing against your pajama shorts. His hand disappears from your waist, but you feel it behind you as he removes himself from his underwear, so the next rut has his erection rubbing against your ass, slipping between your legs. 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a moan. 

“Vernon. I said no.” His hand finds its way under your shirt, grabbing any flesh he can. 

“But noona,” his heavy panting hits your ear as he picks up the pace of his rutting. “Noona, I need you. Please?”

God, his begging voice when he’s been sleeping. It’s so deep and raspy that you have to bite down harder not to make a noise. The breathy moans mixed with the feeling of his cock pressing between your legs is almost too much. 

His hand slides under your shorts and past your underwear, middle finger pressing immediately against your clit before traveling down further to press against your entrance. A moan slips past your lips, and you push your ass back against him as his middle finger makes it past your entrance. 

“Fuck, fine,” you groan, pulling his hand out from your shorts and rolling him on his back. “But you’ll have to beg properly and be a good boy for me.”

“Yes, noona. I’ll be good.” His voice is low, a smile on his face as he carefully tucks his erection back into his underwear. He naturally raises his hands above his head, wrist on wrist, like he’s already tied up. 

“You better. I have no issue going back to sleep, baby.” 

“No, please don’t.” His sleepy voice is slowly fading and becoming whinier . “Let me be good for you.” You raise an eyebrow, sitting up and removing your clothes. 

“Oh? And how do you suggest that, baby? Hmm?” He takes no time to answer back, no hesitation. 

“Sit on my face.” 

You smirk, throwing a leg over his abdomen, straddling him easily. “Yeah? And then what?” 

He’s already panting as you crawl farther up, grabbing the shirt you were just wearing and tying his wrists together, making a small handle for you to hold onto when needed. 

“Make you come with my tongue. Twice.”

“Twice? Just like that?” 

He grins, a cocky lopsided smile on display as you move slowly up his body.

“Yeah, twice. And then I’ll fuck you so good. You’ll be so proud of me, noona.”

“I love that confidence, baby.” You pat his cheek. “Let’s see if you can live up to your words.” He opens his mouth to say something, but you’re already lowering yourself over his mouth. His words die immediately as his lips wrap around your clit. 

“Oh fuck, baby.” One hand grabs the headboard, preventing yourself from falling forward, while the other holds on tight to your shirt on his wrists. His tongue goes down to your slit, licking past your folds and gathering your arousal. 

“Taste so fucking good, noona. I’ve missed tasting you.” The vibrations of his words against you feel more intense than usual, the hot coil in your abdomen ready to burst already. 

“Right there, baby.” You whimper when his tongue pokes past your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit and making your head spin. 

You let go of the shirt, keeping his hands together, grabbing onto his hair instead. He quickly frees his hands from the half-assed confinement, grabbing your thighs, fingers digging into the meat of them as he keeps you close.

You rut your hips against his mouth, moaning loudly as his tongue works against you. 

“Fucking hell, I’m already about to come.” You lower yourself slightly, leaning back away from the headboard. One of your hands lands behind you on his abs to hold yourself up, the other reaching farther back to palm him through his underwear. The moan he lets out on your clit is all it takes for you to cry out, grabbing him through his underwear a little harder and squeezing his head between your thighs as you come on his tongue. 

“Fuck, hold on.” You have to push yourself off him, trying not to pant like you’re already doing after one damn orgasm. You turn around, settling above his face again, but this time leaning down to reach his cock. You give him the go-ahead to continue, and he wastes no time getting back to work, using the new position to add more focus to your clit while his nose rubs against your slit. 

You palm him through his underwear, wrapping your fingers around him, slowly jerking him through the fabric. Even through the underwear, he feels amazing to hold. Thick and heavy and all yours and only yours. You smile when you see a small wet patch forming near the top of his cock, kissing the patch before leaving open mouth kisses along the shaft. 

You try your best to focus on what you’re doing, but Vernon’s whining as his determination to get you to come twice has you failing to ignore him. You roll your hips down toward him simultaneously as you squeeze his cock, but a hand smacks your ass. You jolt forward in surprise, but his hands grab your hips and pull you back to his mouth like a man that’s not had food in weeks. 

You almost jolt forward again when two fingers are suddenly roughly fucking your pussy, his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly. 

You let out a string of expletives, burying your face against the left side of his pelvis, hand still languidly jerking him off through his underwear. Vernon’s fingers curl inside you, finding the exact spot to send you to another world again. He continues to finger you through your second orgasm, tongue lapping up any juices he could and moaning at every taste.

Vernon smiles when he feels your pulsing lessen around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and giving one final kiss to your clit before tapping your ass. 

“You okay, noona?”

Are you? You’re so fucking tired, and only after two orgasms. You feel a little delirious and still so exhausted that it takes you a moment to respond. 

“Mmhmm…” you mumble, lifting yourself off of him and crawling down his body to sit between his legs and face him. He lifts his hips up, thinking you’re going to take his underwear off, but you push his hips back down, shaking your head. 

“Not this time, baby.”

“But…” he lets out another whine when you reach out to grab his cock through the fabric again. “I’m not going to make it, noona. I need to be inside you.”

“I’m tired, Vernon. I’m sorry I keep sleeping, but you know jet lag is a bitch for me.” You squeeze him a little tighter, your thumb pressing against the underside of his tip. 

“So. I want you to come for me now. Then we can take a nap. Give me two hours at least. And then,” you sit directly over his straining erection, rubbing your soaked center over his underwear and cock, “you can wake me up, however you see fit. Whether it’s your head between my legs, your fingers inside of me, or this perfect, wonderful, thick cock tucked safely in my cunt. Okay?”

Your eyes meet his as you grind against him again. The whine he lets out makes you feel wetter than you already were. 

“Noona, please.” His voice falters when your center runs directly over his covered tip. 

“Wanna come?” You tease, grinning at his head and nodding. “My good boy wants to come? Cream his underwear for his noona?”

His hands find your hips, fingers pressing in deep enough that you know you might bruise tomorrow. But you don’t care as long as his hands are on you. 

“Answer me, baby.”

His lips part, some form of words spewing out, but completely unintelligible. You lean forward, giving him a simple kiss before gripping his cheeks with one hand and forcing him to look at you. 

“Hmm. Nothing? I guess you don’t want to come. That’s fine,” your hips lift off him, his underwear now stained with your arousal as well as his. “I can just go back to sle—!”

You squeal, voice stepping up on octave, when Vernon’s death grip on you tightens, barely letting you get more than a few inches away from him. Giggling, you connect your lips to his, letting him move your hips against his. 

“‘Mclose.” Vernon mumbles against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip when your hips press down harder. Your lips move up his cheek, leaving wet open mouth kisses and soft bites along his jawline up to his ear. 

“Come for me, baby. Make a mess. I want it. I need it.” You teasingly beg in his ear, biting down on the space underneath his ear that you know sends him off. 

And it does as he lets out a series of moans, hips bucking up to meet your rolls. You back off him when you feel the twitch of his cock, reaching out to jerk him off the rest of the way. His underwear becomes wetter as his cum seeps through the fabric. You coax him along, telling him how well he’s doing and not to stop until you feel him soften. 

You lay down next to him, exhausted out of your mind, but enjoying the ego boost that you always get after being the reason to turn your boyfriend into a whining pile of mush. 

“Two hours, okay?” You kiss his cheek once before kissing his smiling lips. God, you love his post orgasm haze. He turns into what you deem to be the real version of himself rather than the person he presents himself to be to other people. He’s your soft boyfriend with the goofy grin that just wants to cuddle and stay in bed all day with his girlfriend.

“Two hours.” He repeats, kissing you once more before getting up and grabbing a new pair of underwear on the way to the bathroom. It takes you less than three minutes to fall back asleep. 

You wake up as expected, two hours later, with your boyfriend laying on top of you. He’s softly kissing your neck and whispering your name, his semi-hard cock fully sheathed inside of you but not thrusting.

“Has it been two hours already?” You stretch underneath him, a moan escaping against your skin when you clench around him. 

“Noona. You did that on purpose.”

“I would never.” You grin, bringing his face to meet yours, kissing him once, twice, three times before whispering for him to begin.

His thrusts are slow and deep, almost pulling out completely before slowly rolling his hips back into yours, his cock hitting places you don’t think he’s hit before. 

“Vernon, baby. You feel so good.” You whimper into his neck, his lips finding your skin and leaving small bruises in random places. 

You love moments like this. Yes, you love controlling him and calling him a good boy. You love when he does everything he can to please you. You love when he has his moments of being the dominant one, fucking you senselessly and filling you up completely. But there’s just something about you both taking it slowly; no power dynamics, no teasing or provoking, just love and needing to feel one another. 

“Come inside.” You softly say, kissing underneath his ear, hands tangling in his hair. 

“With me,” his hand slips between your bodies, thumb perfectly finding your clit and rubbing in a faster pace than his hip rolls, “come with me, noona. Wanna feel it.”

You nod, moaning again and finding his lips with yours again. It doesn’t take that long for the fire to build up inside of you, and Vernon only snaps his hips a few times when he can feel you’re about to come. The pull on his hair signals to him that you’re close and all he has to do is press against your clit the right way, and you’re coming undone for him, hips lifting to meet his and two seconds later, he’s groaning against your neck, filling you up like you asked.

“I love you, y/n.” He mumbles against your skin, kissing his way back to your lips. You smile against his lips, repeating the sentiment back to him. 

“Are you feeling better now?”

“A little. I’m sorry, Vern. I hate that I’m like this every time I visit.”

“It’s okay, baby. I love you for coming out regardless.” He sneaks another kiss. “As long as you’re better for Valentine’s Day. I’ve got the whole day planned.” He grins at your shocked expression, slowly pulling himself out of you and laying on his side. 

“Sorry, wait, what?” You turn to look at him. “What did you plan?” 

“It’s a surprise. So you have tomorrow to hurry up and adjust to Seoul’s time zone.”

“Vernon, I don't want to go out for Valentine’s Day. It’s crowded and gross.”

This is where you see that little switch inside of him come alive. His big hand gently lands on your stomach, fingers gliding across your exposed skin, dancing lower and lower. His voice does the thing you hate, where it feels like it drops an octave or two, and his lower raspy voice is whispering in your ear. 

“Who said anything about leaving the house? No, babe. You’re mine the entire day. Even when food is delivered, you’ll be tied up on the bed waiting for me to answer the door.” 

The smile he gives you is so innocent and pure compared to the words he just said that you can’t help but grin. 

“That sounds like a perfect Valentine’s Day. But why am I tied up? Shouldn’t it be you?”

“We can take turns.”

“Oh, even better.”

“I figured.” He smirks, kissing your temple, “do you want me to make you dinner?”

“Absolutely not. You are a hazard in the kitchen.” 

“No, I’m not!” His lips form into a pout, and you laugh out loud, a hand patting his cheek. 

“Baby. My sweet boy. No. If you’re not literally burning oil, you’re smacking your head into the air vent. You have zero spatial awareness. Please stay out of the kitchen. I want you to stay alive.” 

He pouts again, but he knows you’re right. Both the burning of oil and hitting his head into the air vent happened within minutes of one another, and you had to kick him out of the kitchen after making sure he was okay.

“Fine. Do you want to get up and go out to eat or order in, watch a movie, and keep sleeping?”

“Ooo, that one. Stay in bed until my flight back home.”

“I like that plan too. Shower first?”

“Shower first.” You agreed, giggling when he scoops you out of bed to bring you to the bathroom.

You inevitably have sex in the shower again, Vernon being unable to keep his hands off you and pinning you against the wall, switching between fucking you soft and slow and fast and deep. You take another small nap while he’s on his laptop until the food is delivered. He put on a movie you knew he knew you had no interest in, but you cuddled up and let him geek out about the movie, telling you random facts about the characters, actors, and the plot until you fell asleep again. 

[theficpusher]

Kiwi by dimpled_halo | M | 6080 The last place Louis expects to see Harry again after ten years is performing at a music festival in Chicago.

the one who stays and the one leaving you by dragmedown | M | 10315 Fuck. He had just slept with none other than Harry Styles. ⛸️ OR the stolen hoodie and lost panties AU

A Few Very Good Mistakes by louisandthealien | nr | 12172 He almost wishes there were a better story. "Fucked up pop star ends five day bender by wandering into a dive bar alone and passing out in public." That would've generated press, he thinks, and if there's one thing that's constantly on his mind (or more accurately, on the mind of everyone else around him) it's that all press is good press, and good press is good press but bad press is great press. Besides, he's 25 and trying to do the whole transition from boyband to solo pop star. He's pretty sure a press-fueled meltdown is, like, a right of passage. The truth, alas, is a whole lot more boring. --- Louis falls asleep in Harry's bar. Harry takes him home to hang out.

Prelude to Forever by AlwaysAqua | M | 13503 @StylinHarry: So I kinda fell for a boy yesterday at #ChiPride. Kissed & fireworks went off. Literally. He’s a drama teacher. Goes by “Louis” but I prefer Sunshine. Very pretty. The prettiest. Got separated & I’m a fucking idiot who forgot to get his number. Anyone know him? #helpfindsunshine Or, Louis and Harry meet at Pride in Chicago and spend the day falling for each other before getting accidentally separated.

Soup Of The Day by jacaranda_bloom | E | 19958 It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm. What could possibly go wrong? Or the Restaurant AU where Louis and Niall are chefs, Chicago is windy, and cracking the big time is harder than they ever imagined. But when a mysterious man starts grading Louis' soups by leaving little piles of rocks, could it be just the thing they need to get them on the road to success?

i talk out loud like you're still around by vaultingus | M | 24693 photographer!louis / model!harry chicago, u.s. louis sighs into empty air and takes pictures for indie labels and promises himself he’ll be better this time. harry still has pink lips but they used to smile so much more and he does his best work when he’s in a war with the camera. it’s hard to be found when you don’t think you’re lost.

Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by allwaswell16 | E | 30164 It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore. Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

You're the Light by allwaswell16 | E | 31285 Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

In The Name of Being Honest by sunflouwerhabit, therogueskimo | M | 123563 Back at his desk, Louis closed his eyes for a moment, trying to settle into the reality of this. He was leaving the UK for only the second time in his life. Suddenly, the holiday he took to Spain three summers ago felt like it paled in comparison. He was going to the U.S. - for work, it was true, but still - alone. He’d been all for seizing the moment when his boss had been looking at him with a gaze of steel, but now he felt vaguely nauseous. Louis took several shaky breaths, feeling like the air was being sucked from the room, and opened the manila folder, laying it flat on his desk. His breath caught as he saw the destination, centered in a large, block font at the very top of the first page: Robinson Publishing - Chicago, Illinois, United States of America. ~~~ After two years of living in an everlasting cycle of work, sleep, and regret, Louis finds himself wandering brand new streets perpetually haunted by the ghosts of his past. The Chicago Fic.

[whatyourusherthinks]

It Ends With Us Rejection

This movie is really boring. Find something else to jill off to, middle class middle age cishet white women.

Roan, you can't just end it here. You're already skipping written reviews for Borderlands and Cuckoo because of the Video Booze Podcast you're doing (click here to support them on Patreon https://www.patreon.com/VideoBooze), you need to give us something. Alright alright fine.

What's the Movie About?

Lily Bloom (No, seriously, that is the main character's name) is a flower shop owner who falls in love with this neurosurgeon with a temper and randomly sees the homeless guy she lost her virginity to working in a restaurant and that makes the neurosurgeon mad and the server thinks she's being abused... I don't fucking know.

Things That I Noticed About the Movie Before Walking Out.

You walked out? Yeah I did, this movie is super boring. I guess take this review with the biggest grain of salt you can muster since I didn't see half of it. This movie markets itself as "A woman who has to chose between a domestic abuser and another victim" but no. The closest thing I got to domestic abuse in the parts I watched was an accident involving burning lasagna. It's mostly Blake Lively being moony over the one guy while remembering the other guy she dated in high school. I guess you see her dad is an abuser in a flashback, but whatever. It's fucked up that the more non-white guy is posed as the one who's the abuser, but I'll let other people get mad about that. Hasan Minhaj is in this movie. Why is he in movies where I have absolutely nothing to say? He's married to the dog lady from Everything Everywhere All At Once. What else... This movie made me think I should dial back the self-deprecating jokes since this movie tries to make fun of itself and it's really cringeworthy. It also made me contemplate how my life would be more fulfilling if I died in child birth.

Final Summation.

Ever heard of Wattpad? It's a fan fiction website where middle schoolers can cut their writing teeth before graduating to better places. Like AO3. Or a smokey basement bar. They did this thing where they had some users write original stories and the website published them as "Wattpad Originals" or something like that. This feels like a movie of one of those. So pass.

You really half-assed this review huh? I'd say sorry if I was. Expending energy talking about this movie is like expending energy to talk about Styrofoam packing peanuts. *Sigh* Just promise me the next review you'll give it your all. ...Hang on, let me see what it is.

DEAL!

[Edit: I found out this movie has a twist. That moment where the abusive guy accidently hits Lily is apparently supposed to be Lily rationalizing why she's staying with him in her mind. I guess that is a good way to illustrate the point of the story. But a) the movie is still really boring, b) apparently I was right on the fucking money with the Wattpad comparison because the book was a Wattpad Original, and c) the director of the movie is also the actor who plays the abuser, and there's suspicions that he was abusive during the production and a bunch of edits were made behind people's backs. Honestly, even knowing about the twist and the production history, this movie isn't even worth me writing this edit. But I figure if I didn't someone might call me out on it so what's the harm?]

[coffeeallaloneandlord]

.

got out my laptop to write a vent post like it's 2014 idk i'm just like ruminating on every breakup i've ever had and realizing after 15 years of trying to fit the role of girlfriend that is really just not for me lol! like i really thought i was on that path but if there's been any theme to my life so far it's that my path is not straightfoward like i transferred high schools i transferred colleges i moved to a new state without knowing anybody lost my housing immediately in a pandemic and still made it fucking work now i manage a restaurant which i could have NEVER seen myself doing 4 years ago even tho i always wanted to. the first most significant relationship i had when i was 18/19 was with a really genuinely great guy, i broke up with him because i knew somehow that i was too young and had a lot more to experience. it sucked because i loved him deeply and still did for years afterwards to a painful degree lmao. that colored a lot of my subsequent relationships thru college and beyond, which mostly: sucked. and they sucked because they all paled in comparison to the great relationship i had given up in order to have the freedom to have shitty relationships lol. so then i had some shitty relationships, interspersed with periods of girlbossing, then when i was 26 i started dating someone (long distance that i met thru a friend) who was really a perfect match for me in so many ways and i genuinely thought like this is it. literally had king of my heart on the relationship playlist, baby all at once this is enough. but then over time the realities of what it would take to really build that relationship, especially if it meant marriage, actually sank in for me and all that i would have to give up about myself, the life that i've built here, that i fought so hard to build. also i've said it before and i'll say it again.... this grown man let his mother do his laundry. this red flag represented more family dynamics that i won't get into for his sake but it was like once the puzzle pieces fell into place about what i was being asked to sign up for re commitment and marriage it was like omfg no. i will not be doing this man's laundry in 5 years' time fuming and resentful. so i ended that relationship which sucked because all my breakups SUCK i can never have a half decent breakup to save my fucking life, but i was still of the mindset that he wasn't the one for me and i needed to keep looking/waiting. i've dated here and there since then. but what took months and months to sink in the aftermath of that breakup was that the little details like the laundry and the distance that caused that breakup and not the underlying cause of all my breakups since i was 16 which all boil down to i don't wanna do this anymore lol. some people think the term honeymoon phase is controversial or whatever but that has been the case for me in every single relationship ive had that's gotten off the ground. relationships that don't get off the ground are a completely different story lol the only similarity is that every breakup ive ever had big or small sucked ass. to the point where it would lead to me staying in relationships way longer than i should have to avoid a traumatizing breakup which as we all know only makes the breakup worse [[laughing emoji x 13]]. so now like thinking about a guy a like and care about and him hypothetically asking me to be his girlfriend and i can't think of anything fucking worse. like no shade to the girlfriends out there. but my experience of being a girlfriend, even of a guy who treats you well, is that they are using the experience of possessing you to feel good about themselves. all guys do this. the guy who wanted to marry me treated me like aphrodite and worshipped the ground i walked on. and i believe he truly loved me, in a way no one ever has. but it felt perverse after awhile, like in the end it was really serving him. my laptop may die and i don't wanna lost this post, if you're still reading tysm for reading my stream of consciousness <333 if you didnt read this far sorry for not being perfectlol

[zutraeumen]

The First Course

Adele stared at the small plate before her while the others dug in, she expected a serving of salad, and not this... this, what was that again? Something with cucumber?

Ah well, she wasn't supposed to be here for the food anyways but a small bite did seem tantalizing. It wasn't every day that you'd end up at a super-exclusive island restaurant where one evening cost about as much as a Rolex.

The sheer ridiculousness of the price!

Grabbing a fork, she carefully picked at her food, the heavy curtain of her raven hair falling in around her head, perhaps Madam Elsa would stop pinning her with icy stares for once in a while and focus on the other guests. If her hearing didn't fail her with old age, then somebody was snapping photos.

Bet you a hundred bucks it was Tyler.

Guess what, she was on point, and oh, the withering gaze Madam Elsa silently sent his way was delicious as it deserved to be. That kid should really have some basic understanding of respect for a chef's work.

The Sommelier was also someone she needed to be on the lookout for, constantly prowling behind the guests' backs to refill their wine, his smile was as fake as the candy man from her hometown neighbourhood. 

Nevertheless, she averted her attention from those two and tuned in to the conversations going on around her. 

The food critic Lillian Bloom and her editor Ted were already busy nitpicking every goddamn thing without having gotten through the very first thing on the plate! It was a different kind of torture hearing him agree to her every opinion, stupid pick-me boy. 

The movie star George and his assistant Felicity were going through a divorce here of all places, nice of them to discuss it so openly. 

The finance bros were the worst though, talking about their relationships outside of work and how they failed because they couldn't just give a flying fuck about anything else than making money. They even made a toast on it!

The Liebrandt couple was pleasantly quiet in comparison, but she guessed Tyler made up for that. Speaking of him, he seemed to be going through some spiritual journey from tasting alone.

The fiery redhead, bless that woman, seemed to be the only one not swallowing all that bullshit. If things went sour, she would be Adele's first choice of ally. The Chef seemed to also have a merit of interest for her, so she could use that to her advantage.   

Ugh, somebody shoot her out of this place.

A clap made her jerk in her seat, sounding thunderous against the soft chatter of the room that immediately got everyone's attention. Adele turned slowly to witness what was about to happen.

"Good evening." 

The Chef greeted them with a tight upturn of lips, swerving his gaze at his customers with unexpressive eyes.

"Welcome to Hawthorne. I am Julian Slowik and tonight will be our pleasure to feed you."

The diners applauded. Adele scrunched her face and played along. Lillian and Ted exchanged proud, possessive looks. 

His voice was rich and his ramrod-straight posture commanding, demanding absolute silence from the audience that were his customers, "For the next few hours you will ingest fat, salt, sugar, protein, bacteria, fungi, various plants and animals and at times entire ecosystems but... I have to beg of you one thing, it's just one... do not eat."

"Is he serious?" 

Adele scowled at George for interrupting, but the chef merely continued with a pointed raise of his brow that silenced the actor promptly. 

Smoothly, her eyes glided over to her client who held quite the unusual expression of reserved surprise on her face as if it was the first time the Chef had given such a... encapsulating speech. Her husband was very much the same, cross-armed with one good eye suspiciously narrowed at the Chef.

Something was different this time, if the regulars were raising eyebrows, or maybe she was just reading too much into it. 

"Taste. Savour. Relish. Consider every morsel that you place inside your mouth. Be mindful, but do not eat. Our menu is too precious for that. And look around you, here we are, on this island. Accept... accept all of it and... forgive... and on that note: FOOD!"

With a large smile that the assassin was supposed to be friendly enough to fool most, the Chef took a step back to allow his sous-chefs to march onwards in perfect formation, once again in pairs. This was either very well choreographed or...

Adele used the commotion to observe the Chef in the meantime as he assumed a neutral position. The customers were excited but Adele remained very much on edge. It would be impertinent not to forget that there had been an attempt at her life just about, let's check the watch, roughly two hours ago. 

The man in question was about the same height as Adele, mind you for a woman, the assassin was among the very few unconventionally tall, standing at around 5'10". He oozed the confidence and authority of a chef who would not be questioned in his own kitchen regardless of the person who asked, and possessed a gathering of incredibly loyal people. Not much could be read from his visage alone, even though his way of speaking was full of small gesticulations, but from experience, Adele knew there was something dark underneath his eloquent words and polite smiles.

A wolf that entertained the sheep before the slaughter. 

Humans were known for having a sixth sense when it came to being stared at, and it was proven to Adele when he suddenly, for the first time, locked eyes with her and the question of her killer was answered - it was him; he wanted her dead by nightfall.

"Our first course is called 'The Island'. On your plate are plants around the island placed on rocks from the shore, covered in barely frozen filtered seawater, which will flavour the dish as it melts."

Her plate arrived just in time for her to have a reason to look away in a gorgeous, slow-motion CU product shot. Perfectly curated bits of flora and jewels of scallop meat rest artfully atop a smooth, icy rock.

Adele was as thankful as a beggar until she realized there were more rocks on that plate than edible food.

Ah, the unnecessary intricacies of fine dining: ridiculous preparations with ridiculous intellectual speeches times evil chef equalled no food.

Well, the math was clear, there would be no proper food for her at this esteemed establishment. At least none that would be enough to satisfy her hunger. And she was a relatively unfussy eater. You could throw basically anything down her throat if it wasn't anything too spicy, or had olives, or mushrooms...

Tyler in the meantime, held his phone just so and snapped a shot of his plate. Elsa clocked it. Simmering with rage. Someone get the lady butler a shot of vodka before she gutted that inconsiderate boy.

O-oh, the food critic put on some glasses, did she think it would make all the bullshit from her mouth sound more reasonable? George was spectacularly failing at grasping the basic vocabulary to describe taste and she couldn't begrudge Felicity for deciding to leave him, how did this man become a movie star was simply beyond her. It must be quite frustrating to work with such an unoriginal person.

The finance bros were so openly discussing how they showed no real interest in Slowik's food that Adele could see a small vein pop out on Madam Elsa's forehead if one looked closer, knowing that she was also listening to these kids disrespecting their Chef at his own restaurant, eating his own food - unbelievable.

The Liebrandts were discussing something but she couldn't properly hear it because she sat at the opposite side of the room, though it seemed to hardly matter as they didn't meet the eyes of the other, talk about a lovely evening. 

Tyler was blissfully silent but it did help her put things into perspective. 

Each of these guests was not here to eat the food exclusively prepared for them, but for the sole purpose of furthering their own agendas. 

Lillian and Ted were here to suck the pleasure out of cooking by using it to advance their careers. Hunting for the next scoop by inventing new words, finding minor faults and reading into everything the Chef did. 

George and Felicity used this experience to help the movie star transition to a new phase in his career as a TV presenter of a washed-up cooking show.

The finance trio were there simply for the prestige of having been there as if it would bring them extra points to their status. Embezzling money into their own pockets instead of supporting Slowik and his staff - the ones who were actually producing value.

The Liebrandts were here because they could, not eat the food. Probably to maintain their status as elites.

And Tyler, well, he might just be the Chef's biggest fanboy in the whole world. And not the healthy kind. It bordered on fanatical obsession. Using Slowik's fame to uphold his identity as a man of wealth and taste who supposedly knew everything about fine dining.

Man, to be honest, the food sucked up until now... but the customers sucked as well.

And with the Chef looking at Margot's untouched plate the Chef strode to the back of the kitchen, "I want plating in five!"

Nobody expected the collective 'Yes, Chef!' from the staff as they prepared the next course.

[post-futurism]

ok i binged the bear and i have thoughts about it in comparison to the menu which everyone for some unfucking believable reason loves rn

like not to get heavy but the main character and his brother really reminded me of this guy i used to work with at maccas... like fulll trigger warning. but this guy kit was so great he was so funny and so charismatic and really got shit done while at maccas. i remember this one time it was fucking nuts the printer was printing out receipts like no tomorrow just like in the bear and we were just getting fucking pumped. i remember he took a quick break by going the short walk to the wash up sink, filling a bucket of water with ice and dumping it over his head. and then went back to the line and kept slamming out burgers. he was a fuckin machine. i knew he was doing drugs and shit most of the managers were. he was manager. he was 19. anwyay i found out a few years ago that he killed himself 🙁 it's fucked man like the hospitality industry and patriarchy and capitalism fucking kills. like ik he had shit going on in his own personal life bc his dad was a military man and i think that and the combination of having undiagnosed adhd and working in an environment like maccas and having a predaliction to taking drugs all were contributing factors to his OD but i do think that working in a fast paced fucking fucked up environment like maccas could have easily been one of the major factors to that. 

and it’s just like interesting i guess that the media lately has been making these shows like the bear and the menu that are about hospitality workers but done in different ways. full disclosure i really did not like the menu. like anya taylor joy beautiful as always little freaky looking alien love that bitch but her role as a sex worker was not enough to redeem the whole film imo. it’s just so wild to me that this film is getting the attention that it is when it’s a fucking fantasy. it’s a fantasy. the people who are in those positions... the hopsitality workers... i just could not believe for a second that any of those staff would have gone along with what the chef had envisioned because they too are part of the working class. they are not protected. the menu very much felt like it was written by someone who thought they were woke enough to see how hospitality staff were treated by the elite but lacked the empathy and real life experience of someone who had actually lived that. 

like the bear is a much more accurate portrayal of what it’s LIKE man. like it’s fucking like that!!!! and anyway it’s interesting that there’s this fascination i guess with hospitality staff as a topic of cinema. i think it was more accurately done in the bear than the menu in terms of like. what the workers would actually do. and i guess that the menu is getting more critic attention or whatever because it’s a psuedo horror and americans fucking love horror. they love that shit. they love gore and suspense and mind fuckery. and i wonder if that element was taken out of the menu somehow, would it still have had as much attention? like if it was a comedy like the bear would it have had as much award nominations or whatever idek if it has but people on tumblr talk about it like it does. 

i just like. i really felt like the menu was really unmoving. it was banal. it was a rich person’s persepctive of what it’s like to work in hospitality like some kind of fucking jerk off oh what if my chef wanted to kill me how hot kind of thing. in the end it doesn’t matter if you’re working at maccas or you’re working at a family restaurant or at a fucking high end restaurant on an island, the workers rights are still the same. you are still treated like garbage and you are still workign for shitty pay for shitty hours and you are still out there for some faux family loyalty you have for whoever is runnign that place as if they saved your fucking life. as if they have your best interests at heart and are gonna give you the world. 

like i don’t think the menu got that? like why. why would that chick think it was a brilliant idea for everyone to die. i just don’t. i don’t get it. it’s fucked but it’s inconceivable. for the menu to have worked better it should have gone into more of the motivations of the workers other than the chef because it just doesn’t work the way they showed it. the staff have literally everything to lose. the workers in the bear? they have worked there for years. michael was their family. they fucking loved that place. they put their sweat and tears into it. they are tied to it regardless of who died. whereas the menu was more about humanising the guests than the workers and that’s where they went really wrong. 

anyway i do think that the end of the bear was weak. they should have like idk. continued to struggle and potentially fold as a business and ultimately i think chefs have a better quality of life when they aren’t in a restaurant but like. i just cannot deal with the amout of people who are frothing over the menu like shut up. do three (3) shifts at mcdonalds and then we can talk. 

[lzrdprsn]

People think that the fact that they're building $500k houses in our little village means that things are looking up here. Be fucking for real, you know? There's no where to work here except fast food places and gas stations, our schools (1 of which I attended and work at) aren't great in comparison to those around the mountain from us, and poverty and drug dependency is crazy out of control now more than its ever been. In the last 72 hours I have called an ambulance for a guy ODing face down in the gravel behind a Mexican food restaurant and paid for the groceries of the guy ahead of me because his EBT got declined. It probably seems great if you're somebody buying one of those brand new fancy McMansions they're building at the foot of the mountain, but to those of us who've been here a long time this place is falling apart.

[sureuncertainty]

not adding to the post i saw bc i don’t want to get into discourse (so pls don’t discourse with this either) but i really don’t think that the chick fil a outrage can be compared to the wizard game, like i get what you’re trying to say but I don’t think it’s a fair comparison.

maybe this is me just being defensive bc chick fil a is literally one of the only restaurants in my area that i can safely eat and that doesn’t fuck up my order or take 10000 years in the drive through or cost an arm and a leg, its consistent and reliable and i literally have an eating disorder and am extremely poor, looking for alternatives is hard and costly and usually ends up with me either not eating or eating poorly, wasting money, and feeling awful about myself. like yes i’m sure i COULD find alternatives but that takes spoons and it’s a very high risk situation, and i don’t always have the energy to cook either

y’all have to understand that this isn’t just “an inconvenience” sometimes it’s literally the difference between me eating dinner or not, like something being easy for you is not the same as it being easy for everyone, and when it comes to FOOD which is necessary for survival, that’s different than when it comes to ENTERTAINMENT. yes there are alternatives to chick fil a, but accessing alternatives is not as simple as you make it sound. i try my best but I can’t always succeed. in my area there are a LOT of extremely shitty fast food places that fuck up my order and cost a lot and take 112982398 years to get bc they’re all understaffed and underpaid, so sorry that I go to the one place that’s on my way home from work that I can count on will actually make my order within 5-10 minutes

the main annoying thing to me about the game is the way that people still can’t let h*rry p*tter go, it’s a GAME. it’s also the people that are BRAGGING about playing the game that piss me off. i don’t go online and brag about eating chick fil a (unless that’s how you wanna see this post)  i just feel guilty about it all the time bc of posts like that, which adds to my feelings of guilt and fear and shame that already surround eating on a daily basis for me so thanks for that ig? 

and before you say it’s my job to get over it (i literally saw someone on that post say ‘i don’t care if it’s your safe food‘ like fuck you actually), you don’t know me or my life or my mental illness or my reasons for doing things. i have ARFID which is not my job to explain you can look it up if you’re curious. and yeah it’s not the same as no ethical consumption under capitalism whatever when there are alternatives, but the only reason the chick fil a thing got big was because it got out where they were sending their money. believe me there are LOTS AND LOTS of fast food organizations and companies that are directly donating to hateful places and republican politicians and christians and bigots etc. they just aren’t talked about as much.

and y’know what i’ll go ahead and say it, fast food IS accessibility for me, it’s important to have places where I can go and spend a little bit of money and get a meal that’s ready to eat without requiring me to prepare it or create dishes. where i used to live, we also had chick fil a and I never went there because we had alternatives that I could eat, that were safe and affordable. Now that I live in an area that does not have easily accessible safe affordable alternatives, I go there sometimes. and this is not a fair comparison to a video game founded on antisemitism and transphobia. 

that being said maybe i’m just getting defensive bc i am betraying my community and a horrible person whatever, believe what you want about me but i’m just saying that there are aspects that you have to consider, and your experiences are not universal. Believe me, there are other things I do to support my community, I can’t fight every single battle, and just bc this one happened to get more outrage doesn’t mean that I deserve to be shamed and treated like i’m just avoiding taking accountability or doing what’s convenient for me for occasionally eating one of my safe foods in an area with surprisingly limited options for safe and affordable actual fast food for being such a touristy city. believe me i’ve tried alternatives. and i try to do Mod Pizza more often than CFA, (those are my two safe fast food options nearby), but Mod is also more expensive, requires me to get out of my car and interact with people, and also takes a lot longer. those are not always possible for me.

not that i have to defend myself or my choices to anyone, i just wanted to make this post to tell my followers (pls don’t reblog it or let it breach containment i can’t deal with that) that it’s more complicated than this black and white issue people are making it out to be. think what you want about me but i have my reasons and I don’t think it’s doing anyone any favors to shame members of the community who are poor and disabled for doing what we have to do to survive and i REALLY don’t think it’s fair to compare something like food to something like entertainment

[nadja-antipaxos]

Chapter 5: baby, we're the new romantics - june 2013

Previously - Chapter 4 || Masterlist || Next - Chapter 6

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: swearing, kissing, oral and PIV sex, a man being a jackass on a date

Note: Thank you for reading and enjoy. Please leave comments  if you so desire!

Word Count: 7,190

june 2013 - summer

“How does this work?”

“They’re blind dates. Set up by our friends and my stupid brother.”

“But I mean, you’re not gonna be mad?”

“No. If you like someone you like them. Just bag it up.”

He looks confused, so she winks.

“Use a condom.”

“Oh my God, Nikki.”

She nearly bowls over from how red he gets. She struggles to get upright and places her hand on his shoulder.

“Have fun. Seriously. I don’t care. You’re my friend.”

“Okay.” There’s still skepticism in his voice. Her eyes narrow.

“Dude, it’s okay. Why are you being so weird about this?”

“I’m not the kind of guy who—when Peggy—“

“Use your words…”

“I wasn’t with Peggy, but she saw me kissing this other woman and she kinda went…off.”

She’s no longer laughing.

“Went off how?”

“I was testing out shields with your dad and found the vibranium one. She emptied an entire round on it.”

Nicolette’s already large blue eyes grow and there’s something else coloring her features he can’t place.

“That’s fucked up, Steve.”

They both have two weeks in New York, so all of the Avengers except Thor (who is off-world) decide to set up their friends on a series of blind dates.

Nicolette meets Tony’s friend, Carrie, who is a Jewish alternative-rocker and one of the coolest people she has ever met. She was a big part of the riot grrrl movement in the 1990s: a decade of music Nicolette is obsessed with. They have the same taste in music and favorite spots in the city. However, Carrie is twelve years older than Nicolette, and considering she looks even younger, Carrie has to pass. They exchange numbers though for the next time there’s a good band playing and they’re both in New York.

Tony throws Steve a softball in the form of Myrna Byrne. She’s a friend of Pepper’s from a “women in business” conference. Pepper was her mentor for a few days.  She has strawberry blonde hair like Pepper and she does PR for an eccentric billionaire, but that’s where the comparisons stop. She’s got striking cat-like blue eyes, high cheekbones, a constellation of freckles across her nose, and the contrast of her deep red lipstick against her pale skin is stunning. Her long curls are pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s very pretty. She’s already at the restaurant by the time he gets there typing away on her phone. She stands up to greet him in blush slacks and a tight cream blouse showing off her hourglass figure.  She’s beautiful. She’s also a fully formed person with a mind and personality.  He chastises himself for staring and lets the small talk begin.

“It took him a while, but he realized adopting a chinchilla would not look great.” Myrna swirls the pasta around her fork. She doesn’t want to be at the whim of a rich weirdo for her entire career, but it’s a good place to start. “So, what do you do?”

“Me?”

“Mhmm.”

“I, uh.” Steve can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Myrna reaches for her wine.

“I don’t get asked that often, sorry. I work for the government.”

“Like DoD? Your posture just screams military.” Her striking eyes widen. “Former Army brat. My mom’s a doctor for the US Army and met my dad in Kuwait. Argh. I was asking about you, sorry.”

A genuine smile forms on his lips as she winces at herself.

“No, um, it’s fine. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and with Tony Stark, as—um—an Avenger.”

“Ohh. Okay.”

“Have you heard of the Avengers?”

“Kinda. Well. I know there was that scary invasion in New York. I was in Sweden, so I didn’t see it firsthand. I’m sorry. I don’t really keep up on superheroes. I’m just so busy. Like aliens could come down right now and unless my boss wants to buy a pod for one of his kids, I wouldn’t hear about it.” She shrugs her shoulders with a sheepish smile.

“That’s…that’s…”

“Embarrassing?”

“No. Refreshing.”

“That has to be annoying, right? People just wanna talk to you because of all that?”

“Yeah.”

Her pale skin burns pink flooding from her neck up to her cheeks. She clutches her face in her hands.

“Oh my god. I’m such an idiot.”

“What?”

“Steve Rogers. You’re—you’re Captain America.”

Steve braces himself for how this usually goes. She presses her palms together almost like she’s praying.

“Oh my god. My dad.”

“What?” Steve hopes he’s not a super-fan and tries to hide the trepidation in his voice.

“His dad was rescued by your Howling Commandos?” Her voice tilts up in question.

“Oh.” Steve clears his throat. He hadn’t expected this at all. “Wow.”

“Thank you. Truly.” She looks him directly in the eyes.

“Is your grandfather still…” He doesn’t know how to put it.

“No. He died last year. Cancer. But he had a great life.” She sounds almost wistful as the corner of her mouth tugs upward. “Anyway, that was ridiculous. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s fine.” Steve places his hand over hers. “Thank you for sharing that.”

They talk more about the different places they’ve traveled to and their hobbies. When Steve tells her about his motorcycle, she describes trying to run away from home at 15 on her dad’s bike. She didn’t get very far before it ran out of gas. She giggles her way through the entire story.  Her laugh is very bubbly and lights up her face.  He knows he doesn’t want to go home yet. She suggests they go dancing, so she hops on his bike and they find an underground club in SoHo. She squeals when he speeds up delighted to be on a motorcycle again.

Due to the flashing lights and loud, pounding music, no one pays attention to who he is and it’s a relief. Steve’s only had slow dancing lessons from Nicolette. He asked about how couples dance now and she burst out laughing, so that was the end of the conversation. He tries to hide the fact he doesn’t know what he’s doing by standing behind her, but Myrna either doesn’t notice or care. She places his large hands on her slim waist and rocks them back and forth to the beat.  Her curvy ass brushes against his pants and he gasps. Her hand moves up behind his neck as she presses into him further.  She’s average height and her heels make her even taller, so he dips down only slightly to make their lips meet.  Her tongue brushes over his and she grinds into him harder. She smirks when he chokes. He isn’t one to grope a woman in public, but she’s making it difficult.

“I live a few blocks from here.” She tells him.

“G-Great.” Steve nods violently.

She leads him out of the club. The cool breeze calms him down enough to keep it together. It’s only a few minutes before they’re all over each other in her elevator. He’s really never felt like this.  Pure unadulterated lust. He wants to know what his name sounds like on those lips. He wants to know how soft her skin is. He wants to bury his face in between her legs. She’s pulling him through her door until they make it to her bedroom. Steve comes up for air long enough to shrug off his jacket and unbutton his shirt. In a blink, her clothes are off and she’s kneeling on the bed taking off his pants and boxers. Before he can even admire her body, she gives him a stroke. He shudders as his mouth falls open.

“Responsive.” Her eyebrow arches as her hand keeps moving. “I like that.”

“I better not be the only one.”  He pushes her into the mattress and she smiles at the sudden dominance. Now, he can take in just how sexy she is. His mouth starts at her neck and moves down her breasts. Her moans are soft and light every time his lips touch her supple skin. Her grip on his hair tightens when he slips his fingers inside her. He keeps stroking watching what she likes. He dips down to drink her in. She’s writhing and clutching her sheets above him. Her back arches and he smiles to himself.

“Oh—oh—shit—I’m gonna c—“ Her thighs tremble around his head and he doesn’t stop. He likes her whimpers too much. She leans forward and grabs him by the shoulders. He looks up, half-amused and half-bewildered.

“We need a condom. Do you have a condom?” Myrna asks, voice hoarse.

“Y-Yeah.” He moves off of her and finds his pants. Nicolette wouldn’t let him leave until he put one in his wallet. He didn’t think he’d need it.  As usual, she was right. Myrna’s greedy hands help him roll it on.

“You sure you want to do this?” Steve asks as he settles on top of her.

“Absolutely.” She takes hold of him and lines him up. She isn’t wasting time.

Her nails dig into his broad shoulders as he pushes inside her. He gives her a moment but then she nips his ear.

“Ruin me, Steve.”

He pounds her into the mattress and she makes the most delicious sounds for the next thirty minutes. She can’t even speak in full sentences.

“Ah! Fuck, fuuck, oh, god.” She whimpers in his ear.

“I’m close. Are you close?” He grits his teeth. He can feel the electricity spiking.

“A-Almost.”

His thumb massages that little nub and she clenches around him. She arches her back.

“That’s it, c’mon, sweetheart.” He smiles into her throat before kissing the soft skin. The pace of his thumb is relentless.  She cries out his name, fluttering around him, and it sets him off. One final thrust and he lets go grunting her name into her neck. She’s limp under him as he places soft kisses on her neck.

“You good?”

“You kidding?”

He chuckles and pushes off of her.

“Bathroom’s in there.” She nods. “Can you bring me a washcloth or towel?”

Steve throws out the condom and returns to find Myrna looking like the cat who got the canary. He cleans her up and sees her jump when he brushes the oversensitive skin.

“Sorry.”

“No, um, I usually have to do this.” She takes the washcloth from him and tosses it across the room. He gets in bed next to her and she kisses him. Before she can say anything, her phone buzzes on the floor where she dropped her purse.

“Do you need to get that?” Steve asks.

“Probably.” Myrna pouts and kisses him again. Her teeth sink into his pouty lower lip pulling into her mouth. “But I don’t wanna.”

Steve moans as she deepens the kiss and palms one of her breasts. She leans into his touch and it makes him want more. His mouth latches onto her and her eyes roll into the back of her head.  The phone’s buzzing is constant and she whines as she pulls him off.  She grabs her phone and types impossibly fast.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s dragging me to Milan for two months and just started a Twitter war about private jets”

Steve looks down and tries to hide his disappointment. He really wants to see her again, but that’s probably not going to happen. She travels as much as he does except he has the feeling her phone is always on.

“I thought he’d lay off for one night.” She looks up at him. Her eyes mirror his. “Work never stops, I guess.”

“Yeah. I know how that goes.” Steve stands up and gathers his clothes. He has enough sense not to try to stay. He gets dressed and sees her pull on a silky cream robe.

“Steve?” Her voice is quiet as he buckles his belt.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows lift.

“I like you. I don’t bring every date back here, you know.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

Myrna bites her lip and throws her head back.

“Shit, stop being so perfect.”

“I like you too, Myrna.” He leans down and kisses her. “Have a safe trip, okay?”

“You’re really sweet.” She grins before kissing him again. He pulls back. Her legs swing over the side of the bed and she walks him to the door.

“Oh!” She rummages around her purse until she pulls out a thin business card. She scribbles something on the back. “Next time you’re in Paris you have to try it. Best bread in the world!”

“Thanks. I will.” Steve smiles and takes the card.

“Whenever you try it, text me. I’m 9 for 9 on recommendations.”

“I wouldn’t wanna ruin that perfect record.”

“Trust me, you won’t. This was fun, Steve. Really.”

“It was.” Steve gives her a quick kiss before walking away.

He takes the stairs down and finds his bike. He revs it up and reminds himself that TriBeca is not far away, but her date might be sleeping over. He rides back to the Tower and steps into the elevator up to the top floor’s shared living room.

“Hey, Romeo,” Nicolette says in a sing-song voice from the couch. “How’d it go?”

Her skinny legs are tucked under her and she’s on her phone. She looks very comfortable.

“It was really good.” Steve sits near her, but not next to her. She rolls her eyes and beckons him closer.  She stares at him for a moment and then bites her lower lip.

“You, uh, missed a button, buddy.” She reaches over and fixes it

He feels the heat climb up the back of his neck to his cheeks. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I corrupted you.” She lifts up his wrist and high fives him. “Attaboy.”

Nicolette rubs the spot over her heart and pretends to cry.

“I’m so proud of you. Dickin’ down on the first date. How far you’ve come.”

Steve laughs.

“So, we’re okay?”

“Totally. I have no claim on ya.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t know why that sounds harsher than it should.

Clint’s pick for Steve is Lucy Anderson, Nicolette’s friend, who willingly offers herself up for a date. Her slightly rumpled dark bob, pale skin, nude lipstick, and blue A-line dress reminds Steve of a painting. She’s as carefree as she seems.  She’s very beautiful with large brown eyes and delicate features. Early on, they agree that they don’t have any romantic chemistry, but they’d like to get to know each other all the same. He can see why Nicolette is so close to her. She has a loud laugh every time she tells him about the scourge of hipsters in Williamsburg. She met Nicolette at Harvard and works for The Cut. She doesn’t swear as much as Nicolette does. In fact, she gets a little shy. It’s a shame Steve isn’t into her because she seems wonderful. It’s a perfectly nice date.

Clint’s choice for Nicolette doesn’t work out at all. Amir is a tall, dark-haired, Iranian- American man who works in finance. He’s smart and absolutely gorgeous with a perfectly manicured beard. He comes off pleasant at first but then doesn’t stop talking about his ruthless deals or the pop-up clubs in Midtown that only he knows about. He’s like a modern Gordon Gecko.  He’s used to women being impressed with his income and smile. He’s going to make someone a very happy trophy spouse, but it’s not her. She entertains the idea of fucking him just for the hell of it, but then he tells her which whiskey she’s going to love and shuts it down.

Bruce recommends Melissa, a pioneer in STEM especially for Black women, to Steve who he has met at conferences for her exemplary work on microbiology. She’s perfectly polite and respectful. There’s no spark and they part ways as soon as dinner is done. . Bruce feels extremely uncomfortable about the idea of setting up Tony’s little sister on a date. It doesn’t feel appropriate in the slightest, but he thinks he finds someone nice in Gary. He seems likable and non-threatening. Nicolette notices how similar his haircut and facial hair are to a certain billionaire. It’s the first thing that gives her pause. Another white guy pretending to be Tony. Great. Not creepy at all.  The trucker hat and vest are also not a great look. She’s in a blue, gold, and red stripe sequin mini-dress and bright cherry red heels. They definitely aren’t on the same wavelength.

“Tony Stark’s sister. Like you had the same parents.”

“Yup.”

“All the Avengers are amazing, but Iron Man is the best. I mean, he’s the original.”

“Captain America was first, but sure.”

“Have you met all of the Avengers?”

“Mhmm.”  

“Has he told you about me?”

“Um, have you met him?”

“Yeah, I totally helped him last Christmas. He used my van. He didn’t mention me?”

“H-He did, but that was a really stressful time. I don’t wanna remember a lot of it.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense. You wanna see my tattoo?”

He rolls up his arm and shows her the strangest tattoo of her brother. It doesn’t even look like him.

“That’s certainly something. So um how did you meet Bruce?”

“Coffee shop. Told him how much I dig the Avengers.”

“Right, yeah.” Nicolette can’t believe Bruce set her up with someone he barely knows.  She signals for the waiter and orders an old-fashioned. She needs something strong.

“I told him I was having a hard time meeting women. Cause of my job.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a cameraman in Chattanooga.”

“Umm, what brings you here?”

“Remote assignment.”

“So you’re not here permanently?”

“No. I wish. New York is cool. God, Tony Stark’s sister”

“Yep.”

“You don’t look alike, really. I mean, Tony’s a great looking dude, but you—you’re really beautiful and you’ve got, you know” he gestures to his chest.

“Right.”

“I haven’t been on a date in a while. I’m sorry. And you’re really hot.”

“Oh, this isn’t a date. It’s, um, a meet and greet. Tony totally remembers you and wanted to thank you. You’re also getting a headshot.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I get a selfie? No one is gonna believe I had dinner with Tony Stark’s little sister.”

Nicolette bites her tongue and nods. He moves over to her and presses his shoulder into hers. She puts on a polite smile for the photos, but he doesn’t leave when they’re done.

“Wow, the chemistry. Do you feel that?”

“I feel the air conditioning.”

“No, it’s like this heat between us.”

She blinks so rapidly she wonders if her eyelashes are going to fall off.

“We should order, right?”

She has no appetite, but she makes a small dent in her salad. Gary goes on about how hard his job is and how he really wants to be in front of the camera.

“You know…” He raises his eyebrows and leans forward.

Her fist clenches underneath the table in anticipation. She hopes this isn’t going where she thinks it’s going.

“I have my own hotel room. I know it’s kinda forward. But I think you’re crazy sexy and I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing me. I don’t even have sex with a Stark on bucket list cause I thought it’d never happen.”

Well, shit. For a split second, Nicolette imagines shoving a drink in his face or reaching over the table to choke him, but she doesn’t. Instead, under the table, she shoots off a text and turns her silence off. It pings back immediately.

“Who was that?” Gary asks.

“Oh, my boyfriend.” Nicolette nods awkwardly.

“You have a boyfriend?” Gary narrows his eyes.

“Mhmm.” Nicolette nods vigorously. “I told you this wasn’t a date.”

Gary seems almost offended—scratch that—he’s very offended. He starts to drill her on this boyfriend and why she didn’t bring him up. Why she led him on. And finally, if it’s an open relationship. She can’t even get a word in. It’s the longest ten minutes of her life. When is he going to get here? She needs him.

Gary’s eyebrows go up when he enters probably because of his massive height.  At 6’6”, he’s easily the tallest person in the restaurant.  Her blond knight in zip-up sweatshirt and jeans. Nicolette jumps up from her seat and rushes to him.

“Hey, Dylan.” She waves.

“Hi…honey…” Dylan gives a polite smile before stooping down and giving her the least romantic kiss in the history of kisses. It’s like kissing her grandmother.

Nicolette bats her eyelashes and looks up at him. She touches his face and whispers:

“Sell it, bitch, so I can get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m trying, but you’re you.” Dylan smiles to mask how annoyed he is.

“Grow up and kiss me, you stupid fucking actor,” her tone is so sweet and delicate.

Dylan twists his mouth trying not to laugh at her. He takes a deep breath and looks into her eyes. He leans in slowly and places his hand on the small of her back to pull her closer. He strokes her cheek as he kisses her nearly lifting her off her feet. She kisses him back and slides an arm around his neck. When Gary clears his throat repeatedly, Nicolette knows they fucking sold this thing. Dylan pulls back and winks. She smiles up at him. For good measure, Dylan takes her hand in his and walks back to the table. Dylan gives Gary a strong handshake with his free hand. The other stays fused to Nicolette’s.

“So, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Nic and I promised our friends that we’d swing by their housewarming party. They wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone.” Dylan chuckles and brushes his nose into her shoulder. She can feel the puffs of air on her skin as he bites back his laughter.

“Oh okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Gary looks mournfully at her legs and Nicolette wishes she had chosen a different dress.

“Tony took care of the check. He just really wanted me to thank you for your support.” She smiles without showing any teeth. Dylan removes his hand and touches his hair. Gary sees an opening and stands up.

“It was great meeting you. I can’t believe I’ve met both the Starks.” Gary pulls her into a hug, pressing his chest against hers. Thanks to her heels, she can see over his shoulder and grimaces to Dylan who makes an equally ridiculous face.

“Nice meeting you.” She peels herself out of his embrace and Dylan tugs her to his side. She walks away and once they’re out of view, Dylan lets go of her hand.

“Jesus, are you okay? He was such a fuckin’ creep.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for coming.”

She takes his hand in earnest and he doesn’t let go. She wishes her dress was longer so she could hop on his back and let him carry her like he usually does.

“Of course. I like the dress.”

"Thanks, I did too."

Once they get to the Tower, Nicolette tries her best not to lay into Bruce. Dylan stands behind her with his hands on her shoulders like a boxer’s cornerman.

“It was terrible.” Nicolette folds her arms across her chest. “Please, please explain your thought process.”

Bruce adjusts his glasses and frowns:

“He seemed very interested in everything we do. I thought that was nice.  And I didn’t wanna do this, to begin with, and I-I’m sorry.”

“Tony, I had to kiss Dylan to get out of it.”

“Hey!” Dylan raises his voice.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Nicolette elbows Dylan lightly in the stomach.

“For the record, I didn’t know it was Gary. Creep. I would’ve axed it.” Tony eyes Bruce.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t wanna do this!” Bruce puts his hands up and walks away.

Nicolette and Tony share a look.

“Maybe the Brunette Army can give you a freebie for your troubles.” Tony shrugs with his entire body.

“Or she could just go out with Steve,” Natasha offers.

“What was that, Romanoff?” Tony sits up as straight as a rod.

“That was gonna be my suggestion anyway.”

“You honestly want my amazing little sister to go out with Stars and Stripes on Ice?”

“Yeah…”

“Beyonce was at her Sweet Sixteen. He sorts his shirts by ROYGBIV.”

Nicolette looks back at Dylan who nods.

“Actually, it was Destiny’s Child.” Dylan corrects.

“Shut up, string bean.” Tony doesn’t even look at him to know he’s bowed his head. “I set her up with one of the coolest rockstars ever.”

“And it didn’t work out.” Natasha folds her arms across her chest. “He won’t make her feel unsafe or uncomfortable. He’s her friend, so they already know each other. After this colossal fuck up, she deserves something nice.”

“Thanks, Nat.” Nicolette smiles.

“All right, but if she starts eating the early bird special, it’s on you.” Tony scratches his ear.

“Please, if she survived sharing DNA with you, she can handle a dinner with Captain America.” Dylan raises his chin.

“Wow.” Tony puts his hand over his heart.

“Good one, D.” Nicolette hugs his waist.

Steve picks up Nicolette at her apartment building. He wears his usual dress pants and navy button-up, but she goes all out. Strappy gold block heels. Black tights showing off her killer legs. Cheetah print skirt with a black V-neck blouse. She looks so hot he wants to take her back upstairs and forget dinner.  The familiar thrum of lust at the sight of her courses through his veins.

“Nikki…” His eyes move up and down her frame. He doesn’t know where to look.

“I figured I’d try out this skirt.” She spins on her heel. Her blue eyes glitter under the dark smoky makeup. He wants to smear that nude lipstick right off.  He licks his lips and just nods. She giggles, shaking her head.

Steve takes her to a pizza place in Brooklyn that’s still around from the ’30s. It’s just as good since they kept it in the family. The tables are black with red and white checkered table cloths. He pulls out her chair.

“Ever the gentleman. Thank you, Captain Steve.” She smiles and sits down.

The waiter comes over to them. His eyes linger for a moment on Nicolette, but not in a way that makes her feel strange.

“Can I get you started on drinks?”

“Yeah, can we get a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon?”

“Absolutely. I’ll put that in while you look at the menu.”

“No beer?” Nicolette arches an eyebrow.

“Nope.” Steve picks up a menu.

“Ulterior motive?”

“Perfectly innocent. Just like those shoes.”

She winks and he shakes his head.

They get three pizzas, two for Steve, and one to share. It feels like any other time they’ve gone out. It’s easy and fun.

They decide to walk around after dinner since it doesn’t feel too unbearably hot.  His fingers are itching at his side. Almost like she’s reading his mind, she offers an open palm. He threads his fingers through hers. He’s seen her do this with Lucy and Jordan. It’s nice and it stops the catcalls.

“This is fun, huh?” She tilts her head.

For no reason other than he can, he lifts her up by the waist, and she yelps.

“Lots of fun.”

He carries her for a block before she wriggles like a cat in the bath and he has to settle her down.

“You’re ridiculous.” She points a finger at him.

Steve does a lap around her building as she looks out for any of Tony’s drones. She doesn’t see any. Maybe he’s stopped spying on her dates since she’s no longer 14.

It’s a frenzy of ripping off clothes and tossing them across her penthouse. Steve requests she keep those heels on when he fucks her against her bedroom wall.

“Cap’s got a—fuck—fuck—“ He’s hitting that spot that makes her see stars. “Don’t stop.”

Steve stills his hips and pins her hands above her head with one hand.

“Oh, c’mon. What the hell?”

“What was that??”

“Cap’s got a shoe fetish.” Her muscles squeeze him to emphasize each word; “You. Goddamn. Weirdo.”

He lets out a strangled gasp and she arches an eyebrow.

“F-Fuck.” Steve breathes into her mouth as she secures her flexible legs around his slim waist.

“Captain Steve, watch your mouth.” She chuckles breathlessly.

“You watch it.” He nips at the cleavage swelled under her bra. He sets a frantic pace that rubs her back up and down the wall.  Her nails tug his hair tilting his chin up.

“Don’t fucking tease me, got it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Since Nicolette doesn’t want to tell them why her night with Steve ended up being fucking awesome, the Brunette Army gives her a do-over date for her last night in NYC. Her expectations are insanely low.  As in she throws on dark skinny jeans, a tight studded brown blouse, and snakeskin print wedges. Smokey eye and nude lipstick. Something she’d wear with the Brunette Army. Nothing fancy. It’s her last night in New York anyway.

“And you’re 100% sure he’s not a creep?” Nicolette cradles her phone against her neck walking out the door.

“Yes, he was totally professional, okay? If I’m wrong, we’ll set his car on fire,” Jordan promises.

“Uh, no, we’re not doing that,” Lucy chimes in.

“Seconded. No arson.” Nicolette rolls her eyes.

She finds the tiny bar in Crown Heights. It has a vintage, speakeasy feel and she worries he’s going to be insufferable. He better not lecture her on jazz. She walks over to the bar and sees a tall white man stand up in jeans and a Tom Tom Club t-shirt with bright orange Air Jordans. They look familiar and she wonders if Tony has a pair.

“Nicolette Stark?”

“Jake Murray?”

“You got it.” He shakes her hand firmly before sitting back down at the bar.

The bartender walks over to her while polishing a glass as she sits down.

“Can I get an old-fashioned?”

“Could you make that two?”

The bartender nods and walks away.

“Whiskey fan?” He drums his fingers on the bar.

“Yep.” She nods and squints one eye trying to remember.  “So, you directed Jordan in that show about the woman in the cemetery. She was super weird and offbeat.”

“The Garden, yeah.”

“And she would interrupt scenes and talk to the audience, right?”

“Yes. Good memory.”

“I remember I was like ‘Oh, Jor would do this in every job if she could.”

Jake nods with a smirk and she spies two dimples. Cute.

“She was perfect.”

The bartender sets down their drinks. They both reach for them eagerly and he chuckles.

“Blind dates are the worst. I never know what to say.”

“My friends have been setting me up all week.”

“Are they trying to torture you?”

She chuckles into her drink hoping she isn’t spitting everywhere. He just tilts his head,” You sure they’re your friends?”

Nicolette nods her head.

“Well, if you aren’t into this you can leave at any time. No hard feelings.”

She cocks her head in surprise, “Likewise.”

The conversation relaxes after that. They discuss normal things like work and where they went to school. He studied theatre at Columbia and is 10 years older than her. He cards a large hand through his thick brown hair. She suggests a snooty toast to attending Ivy League universities and it makes him laugh.  He remembers the viral video she made with Dylan when they were 16 causing her to turn pink. She’s proud of Dylan. It opened every door for him. She’s just not made for comedy videos. She tells him about her work for the ACLU. She handles a lot of the research and first interviews with their clients. The job she has to go back to Monday morning. His fingers settle on his chin and his brown eyes light up with interest. She’s never seen anyone so laser-focused. Even in this crowded bar, he’s really…listening. But she doesn’t wanna hear herself talk. She knows he has better stories to tell working with overdramatic actors on Broadway.

Jake’s a very engaging storyteller. He’s relaxed, but involved, and never acts like he’s the more worldly one due to his age. His brown eyes are so expressive and the subtle lifts of his brow as he gets more passionate are so endearing. Nicolette has a hard time keeping her eyes off him and she can’t blame the drinks.  He shakes his head and a little tendril of hair comes loose from his otherwise perfectly coiffed look. She leans forward and pauses for a moment, so he can tell her to stop. He doesn’t. She smooths the piece back down and ignores the way her stomach squirms at how soft his hair is. There’s something in the air. A buzz of electricity. She’s sure he can feel it, but he doesn’t say a word as he leans in closer to tell her a story about Jordan’s nonsense. Ooh, she likes this game. She laughs loudly and looks down at her empty drink.

“Hey…” His teeth bite his lower lip and she inhales sharply. “There’s a secret show tonight. Panic! At the Disco. You wanna join me?”

Her body jerks so sharply she nearly falls out of her chair. “Um, fuck yes. I love them.”

“Great. I was totally gonna go no matter what, but yeah, this’ll be fun.” He nods with a crooked smile.

She bursts out laughing and he tilts his head. “Full disclosure, I don’t give a shit what you say cause I’m going.”

Jake lets out a surprising high-pitched giggle. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m ready to goooo,” she sings and tosses her head back and forth.

“Get me outta my mind.” He shakes his shoulders to the imaginary beat.

“I might totally ditch you if Brendon wants to hang out.” She puts cash down on the bar.

“Didn’t he get married?” Jake arches an eyebrow.

“Fuck! ” Nicolette stomps her foot. “I guess we can all hang out then.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He puts his hands up.

The venue is small but packed. It’s not just connected people and celebrities. Regular fans are there who heard from word of mouth. They play some new songs on the album that will come out in the fall and mix in the hits. Nicolette loves pop-punk with every fiber of her being and sings along to every song. She’s surprised that Jake knows most of the words too. The band starts to jump on stage, so Nicolette follows suit even in her wedges. Jake joins her and suddenly, it dawns on her that he’s like a foot taller than her. They look at each other and she feels that buzz again.  The drums pick up signaling a more radio-friendly song.

A large hand stretches out to her and she can’t take it fast enough. Jake spins her immediately. He doesn’t pull her close.  He just swings her around like it’s his goal to make her laugh.  She likes dancing with him.

Once the show is over, Nicolette approaches one of the bouncers and for the first time ever, does a name drop. She wants to meet the band, sure, but she kinda wants to impress Jake. And it works. They take pictures and even go to the after-party. She finds out he’s a great dancer who was totally holding out on her earlier. He’s smooth but silly. He leans in and whispers in her ear,  “Wanna get out of here?”

Shit. She keeps a poker face, not letting him know she’s disappointed. Before that feeling can settle in her gut, Jake adds, “You hungry? Wanna get something to eat?”

Nicolette has to keep herself from smiling and just nods.

They find a tiny out of the way Chinese place in her neighborhood. The tables are small and huddled together like most restaurants in New York. Jake takes a sip of his beer and looks over at her, so she throws her hands up.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

He nearly chokes and wipes his mouth. She keeps her face neutral waiting for his reaction.

“You’re really something, little Chiquita.”

“I’m little little one?”

He just smiles and she wants to bury her face in her hair. She could scream he’s so cute. Instead, she crosses her legs and struggles with her chopsticks. He just watches her.

“What?”

“Silver spoon girl like you can’t use those?”

“Shut the fuck up.” She stabs her dumpling with a single chopstick.

“Want me to do that really fucking annoying guy thing and teach you how to do it?”

“You gonna come behind me and breath on me? Pass.”

“It’s a chopstick, not a bomb. Loosen up. You almost got it, truly. ”

Nicolette chuckles and lets her middle finger move it up and down. She grabs the dumpling and pops into her mouth. Her eyebrows shoot up and her blue eyes widen.

“See.”

“I’m so talented.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh?”

“Moshing like the rest of us in those shoes.”

“Bitch, I can run in these.”

He leans forward, taking the bait.

“Prove it.”

“What do I win?” She arches a single eyebrow.

“Depends on what you want.” He takes her plate and throws away their trash.

She wanders out of the restaurant. She knows what she wants, but she won’t make that part of the bet. He catches up with her almost instantly.

“You ever go to SNL?”

“Nope. My best friend isn’t a cast member.”

“Want tickets?”

“So, that’s what I win.” He cards a hand through his hair again. “How bout you?”

“Don’t worry. It won’t be anything you don’t wanna give.” She stalls.

Jake looks down thoughtfully past the empty sidewalk.

“I don’t think you’ll even make it to that stop sign.”

Her mouth drops open, offended. She shoves his shoulder.

“Try to beat me then, motherfucker!” She takes off not looking back.

Thunder crackles above and a downpour starts. She doesn’t stop. Her heart pounds in her chest as she passes the stop sign and keeps going. Until a rock catches the lip of her shoe and her body pitches forward. Her hands brace herself for the smack of the pavement, but it never comes. Two arms secure around her waist keeping her upright. She looks up to see Jake soaked and breathing heavily. He lifts her up away from the offending piece of rubble and places her on steady ground.

“I’d call that a draw.” His chest moves up and down.

“Uh-huh.” She turns to look at him and he doesn’t let go.

Her heavy wet hair obscures him fully from her vision.  His hand moves from her waist to slip her hair behind her ear. Nicolette’s breathing hitches as he traces her jaw. The innocent touch burns through her skin making her forget about the summer rain. The buzz in her veins is so strong she feels drunk. He sighs and closes his eyes.

“Shit.”

“W-What?”

His brown eyes lock onto her blue ones.

“I’m.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip. “Uh. A little struck—by you.”

Her heart jumps at what might be the most romantic thing ever said to her. She couldn’t stop the growing smile on her face if she tried. His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek while his other hand gives her a gentle nudge closing the already tight gap between them. He ducks down and presses his forehead against hers. He’s so close the sandalwood from his aftershave fills her lungs making her lightheaded. She grips the sides of his t-shirt needing something to ground her.

“This is crazy. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Back to DC?”

“Yeah. You ever go there?”

“No, I’m stuck here writing mediocre plays while you’re defending civil rights or whatever.”

They both chuckle. He keeps his eyes on hers.

“Can I kiss you? Cause if I don’t I’m gonna regret it.“

“Please.”

His mouth slots over hers. It’s so simple. Soft. Tender. The kind of kiss that makes her insides light up like fireworks. His hand finds the small of her back and she slips her arms around his neck. Her fingertips run through his hair like she’s been wanting to all night. He presses his lips against hers a final time. His thumb brushes her chin as he pulls away.

Nicolette just stares up at him. For once in her life, she doesn’t have a plan. Should they keep kissing? Should she take him home? Should she call Jordan demanding why she didn’t introduce them earlier? Jake doesn’t say a thing. He just offers his hand which she takes. Their arms swing between them as they walk. The rain dies down and the smell of the wet earth reaches her nose.

“What time’s your flight?”

“Eight.”

“Jesus. On a Saturday? You hate yourself?”

“Shut up.” She giggles.

It doesn’t take her long to realize he’s walking her to the Avengers Tower. It’s over too fast. They stop in front of the ugliest building Tony has ever designed. Jake takes her hand and places a kiss on top of it. It’s like he wants her to melt into a puddle right there.

“Goodnight, Nicolette.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

She feels something tucked under her fingers as he steps back. It’s his business card. She looks up at him.

“You owe me SNL tickets.”

She laughs, smiling widely, and watches him walk off. She flashes her key fob at the door and it opens. She sighs and closes her eyes.  Did that really just happen?

Once they’re back in DC, Steve meets up for dinner. He couldn’t believe how much she actually liked this Jake guy.  To the point where Tony even made a comment. She never likes anyone. All of her dates had been a bust. She just kissed him. Steve went further with Myrna and he wasn’t hung up on her at all. She seems perfectly nice, but sometimes life gets in the way, right? Why did she just kiss him? Is it strange that Steve slept with someone else and she didn’t?  Not that Nicolette is moping.  Whatever disappointment she has is gone by Friday. She’s her usual self sipping on her wine when he walks over to her.

“Surprised you wanna do dinner after all those dates.”

“There’s no pressure with you.”

“I’m boring. Not worth the effort?”

Nicolette rolls her eyes and flips him off. Steve laughs.

“We had how many dates and we’re both single as fuck.” Her blue eyes widen.

“It’s okay.” Steve pats her on the hand. “I’ve still got you, right?”

She raises her eyebrows in agreement with a playful smile. He picks up a menu and doesn’t notice the smirk fall from her lips.

[train-inthedistance]

watched the first 2 eps of the bear.....yeah i totally get it now

[miekasa]

Mie, I’m begging for some Jean college au bf hcs - im literally so down bad for this man and the way you write men is just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

Absolutely, not a problem 😌 I saved this ask as a draft a while ago when you sent it, sorry for just now getting to it. Anyway, I love Jean with my whole heart, best boy, best boyfriend <33

King of forehead kisses, and not even just because of his height in comparison to yours; he just likes it. He likes the feeling of pressing his lips against your skin, and making you feel safe.

Brings you tea or coffee however you like it every day without fail. If he can get it to you in the morning before work/school then he’ll do that, if not he’ll meet you some time in the middle of the day to drop it off. Your own personal courier just for drinks.

He… has a thing for long(er) nails. He loves the feeling of them against his skin, even if you’re not scratching to apply pressure—just you holding his hand them grazing his skin is enough for him.

That being said, he will pay for you to get your nails done. Actually, he’ll pay for… almost anything you want, but the nails benefit him as much as they do you so feel free to ball out.

He never blowdries his hair because he doesn’t... know how to do the back of it. You did it for him once and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since, but he’s also too embarrassed to ask you to do/style it again.

On the subject of hair, he does do his best to style it and take care of it, but he’s a sucker whenever you play with it. Sometimes he feigns like you’re messing up all his hard work, but he’ll literally crane his head into your touch. He loves it. 

The first time he lays on top of you and you run your hands through his hair... top 10 most euphoric moments of his life. He tries to fight off the sleep threatening to take over him, but it’s futile. Give it 15 minutes at most before he’s knocked out like a baby. 

Dogs love him. Anytime you’re in a park or just taking a walk and there’s a dog around, it’ll come up to him and he looks adorable leaning down to pet it. He loves dogs, too! So he’s always happy to stop and pet them. He’d be a 10/10 dog dad. 

Has your name saved in his phone with two hearts at the end. Do not point it out.

Loves taking pictures together and if you guys are on a date, he’ll ask someone to get a picture for him. He just likes having them to look back on (and to send to his mom, later).

He doesn’t mind painting classes or videos or tutorials, but he hates paint by numbers kits. He claims that they have no sense of color theory and that it takes the originality and fun out of painting. Not to mention the quality of the paints isn’t great to begin with; all of which he takes very seriously.

It’s pretty cute actually, to see him get worked up over the paint kits. He claims that painting and drawing isn’t even something he takes “that seriously,” it’s just a hobby for him (one he’s insanely good at); but in moments like these, you can tell that he’s way more into art and art theory and history than he lets on. 

Huge movie guy, from animated movies to martial arts movies, Jean is usually willingly to give anything a watch at least once. When he’s high, he can go on about his favorite directors and art styles and movie details for hours if you don’t stop him. It’s super cute. Just don’t bring up Moana, because he’ll start crying. 

Arm around the shoulder kind of boyfriend for sure. It’s a casual way of keeping you near him and letting everyone know that you guys are together. Plus it allows for him to easily pull you into him for a quick forehead kiss when needed.

Listen. If you hug his arm, he’s on cloud nine. He tries to be nonchalant about it but he’s about three seconds away from his eyes rolling back in his head it feels that good to him. Bonus if you lean your head on his bicep a little—then he’s a goner.

He takes his bagels very seriously and believes that both you and him deserve nothing but the best quality bagels. He’ll grumble if a bakery gives you guys a less than favorable one and make a note that taking the long route to get to his favorite place is much more worth it.

Always makes you walk on the side furthest from the cars. If he notices you’re not, he’ll just shuffle behind you until he’s shouldering the street and you’re on the inside. 

He grew up on a kind of modern ranch situation; not exactly all the way in the countryside, but not isolate from the city, either. Because of this, he knows how to ride horses, take care of smaller farm animals, tend to plants, and yes he knows how to use a lasso. You wouldn’t know any of that though, because he never ever talks about it. The only way you find out is when he takes you to visit his mom’s house for the first time, and she asks him for a hand around the place. 

(He’s got a cowboy hat, too, but refuses to put it on. He got it when he was, like, nine, okay, leave him alone). 

When he thinks you look tired, he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders to hug you. It’s usually followed up with a kiss to your head, and a promise that you guys will go home soon and get food on the way. 

He’s a really good cook. He just understands and flavors and pairings really well, so he doesn’t need a recipe to make something that tastes good; he just kind of knows what to add to get the balance he’s looking for. 

Naturally, he’ll cook for you. Especially if he finds out that you haven’t eaten all day/in a long time. He doesn’t care if it’s 11pm and it might seem excessive to make steak and potatoes with a side salad at this hour, he’s gonna do it to make sure you eat, and you are going to sit there and watch. 

He also bakes pretty well, though he isn’t as experimental with his baking as he is with his cooking. He usually sticks to what he knows, and it’s not cupcakes and brownies and cakes; he’s better at croissants, and cheesecakes, and canelés. 

Dating Jean means getting along with his friends. If you guys didn’t know each other before you started dating, be prepared to be ambushed by Connie and Sasha (after Jean stops hiding you away and gives them the green light lmfao). Neither of them waste time with the small talk and formalities; straight into mini golfing and beer pong. They make you feel welcome right away.

Sasha always teases that you’re too good for Jean, and that she might just steal you away for herself some day. Sasha is also Jean’s main confidant, so she really knows just how much he loves you, and yeah, she teases him for being lovesick, but really she’s happy for Jean. And proud of him for facing his feelings like this. 

Connie adores you, and you know he trusts you when he starts going to you for advice/help. Could be anything from schoolwork, to what color he should get his new shoes in. He’s also the one who, surprisingly, you have the sentimental talks with about your relationship with Jean. It’s easy to overlook, but Connie loves Jean, and he’s come to love you too; he just wants you both to be happy, so he’s there to listen when you need it. 

Jean waits outside of your classroom after you’ve had a test or presentation, usually with a drink or a snack, or the promise of taking you out as a treat. Always tells you he’s proud of you, and is there to comfort you if you think you didn’t do too well. 

He does not shut up about whatever major you’re in. It could be the same as his; it could be the complete opposite as his. He thinks it’s so sick that you’re doing it, you make it look cooler, you make it look better, and he’s certain you’re the smartest person in your program. 

He’s pretty serious about his studies, too, so he’s always down to study with you in the library whenever you’re both free. More often than not, he shows up after you, usually with food or extra chargers. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead, and asks you how you are while massaging your shoulders gently. If it’s been a while since you took a break, that’s the first item on the list, after that, he gets to work and stays with you until you’re ready to go, even if he doesn’t have as much work to do. 

He always sits across from you. This goes for when you’re in the library, or out to eat at a restaurant; Jean loves sitting across from you. He gets to see your face the best that way, and he adores looking into your eyes when you talk. 

He’s not... not a morning person. He’s not up at 6am ready to grind, but he wakes up before noon; let’s say 10am is his happy medium. That being said, if you wake up before him, regardless of the time, there’s a 9/10 chance he’ll lay on your back and tell you to hush so you guys can sleep for 10 more minutes. 

If you’re (close) friends with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, Jean is... happy you’ve got people to rely on, but, “Of all people on the planet, you put your trust in Jaeger?” He acts so bitter (because he is), but deep down inside, he’s glad you have Eren to rely on if you need to. 

(Also, you have to humble him and remind him that he and Eren aren’t all that different. If you like him, why wouldn’t you get along with Eren, bye). 

Turns out though, that it’s not Eren who threatens to beat him up if he breaks your heart. It’s not even Mikasa, although, her threat goes without saying; it’s Armin he’s terrified of.

The last time Armin hated someone, it was this guy in your program, who happened to share a few mutual classes with him, too. Jean never knew the full story, just that he’s pretty sure that kid dropped out the following semester. 

If you have a job on campus, Jean usually doesn’t show up while you’re working (knowing how embarrassed he would be if you did that to him), unless you work the night shift and it’s dead. Connie, however, does show up; usually in some kind of crisis (“Please help me, I don’t know what the fuck APA formatting is and this is due tonight, please, please, please!!”). Your coworkers actually thought Connie was your boyfriend for a minute. That’s when Jean starts showing up more lmfao.

He makes it a point to go on a scheduled, night out, kind of date at least twice a month. He knows life gets busy with school and work and midterms, but he always makes sure you both set side a time to take a well-deserved break and be with each other. 

He’s the romantic type, so these dates are pretty swoon worthy, too. Drive-in movies, nice dinners, classy art exhibits, Jean plans it all. On that note, he really likes planning dates; he just doesn’t like talking about them with his friends beforehand. 

All in all, very romantic, very precious boyfriend. He’s always thinking about you, what you need, and how he can help you out. You’re one of his main priorities, and he just wants to treat you right. 

[laurensprentiss]

Games We Play [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 8:

A/N: I cannot believe this is what I am offering you guys after all this time, please forgive me. Bossy but calculating Hotch, childish banter, tension, Hotch is actually nice sometimes, allusions to their past and first ever meeting (keep your eyes open) and a big plot reveal at the end. Hotch actually does something nice for reader. Twice. 

Warnings: Swearing, possessive, kinda bossy Hotch. Tension, mentions of alcohol. Pretty tame chapter in comparison to previous ones.

------

The night Hotch leaves to go back to New York, you call JJ and tear her a new one. You end up having to come clean about having never passed on the dinner invitation for Hotch in the first place and she makes a passing comment about how she’d never expected Hotch to fly out all the way to DC for one dinner. 

She’s right. The only logical explanation? He’s mentally unstable. 

The next morning in the car, JJ lectures him the entire way to the Hamptons where they’re meeting another prospective donor. “Do you know what people would say if they found out you were wasting jet fuel and using a private plane to make pleasure trips to DC?” She asks, scribbling notes.

“You’ve met her mother, I wouldn’t exactly call it a pleasure trip.” 

“The point still stands. No more spur of the moment flights to DC to harass my best friend. Now focus up, read the file Garcia put together on the donor.” 

Over the week and a half he’s been in New York, he’s been put in front of millionaires, even a few billionaires, old money tycoons and new money Silicon Valley types, in an attempt to drum up enough money for his coming campaign. He feels like a call girl, and JJ is his pimp, telling him to smile sweetly, and weave in a mention about hunting here, or golf there. 

He needs to tread lightly if what he thinks is true. He’s still waiting on confirmation from Garcia but he can feel it. Your repeated mentions of bribery in the hearings four years ago have lit a fire under him about his integrity. If bribery charges come out now, his campaign is fucked before he’s even had a chance to begin. 

Might as well put his all into his work while he can.

In the meantime, he sits in a home style Italian diner in The Hamptons, complete with red and white checkered tablecloths and a wood burning oven in the back. Donors usually prefer to do meetings in five star restaurants and swanky hotels, but JJ mentioned something about this donor being a down-to-earth old money guy who used his family fortune to branch out with his own publishing and media conglomerate. 

JJ swats his arm and gets up, muttering. “Look alive, Hotch. He’s here.”

He follows her lead, standing too, for a short older man with olive skin, a full head of grey hair and a grey goatee. He wears a button down and a blazer, a pair of slacks and a large ring on his ring finger. JJ immediately goes to greet him, circling around their table to shake his hand but he swats her away, breaking into a smile and taking her into his arms instead.  

“Jennifer! It’s good to see you again!” His voice is seasoned, a little raspy, like too many years of smoking cigars have taken their toll. 

“It’s good to see you, too! How’s Joy?” She leads him to Hotch. 

“Busy making me lose all my hair by chasing after serial killers.” He mutters. 

JJ chuckles, gesturing between the two men. “David Rossi, this is Senator Aaron Hotchner. Aaron Hotchner, this is David Rossi.” 

Hotch takes Rossi’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rossi.” 

“Ah please. Call me Dave.” He shakes his head, taking a seat. JJ and Hotch follow suit, albeit tentatively. “Now, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Jennifer. I understand you’re planning on running for office.” 

“That’s right, Sir.” When the older man gives him a warning look, he corrects himself quickly, holding up his hands. “Sorry- Dave.” 

The older man smiles, twisting the ring on his finger. “Look, I’ve never been one for small talk and fanciful meetings, and I think you’re a man who appreciates that so I’ll cut to the chase.” JJ shifts next to Hotch, sitting straighter. “My family and I have made a lot of money and I want to finally put it to good use. I’ve seen your work, I like you, and I think we align pretty well politically - although you’re a little more fiscally liberal than I care to be.” 

“That’s great-“ 

The older man holds out his finger. “-However. There are a few things that give me pause. I am first and foremost a family man, and quite frankly, the image you’ve managed to cultivate for yourself is making me doubtful. I don’t know that I can put my full backing into a candidate who doesn’t prioritise the same things I do. I don’t want to put my life’s work and money into somebody America doesn’t trust.” 

JJ and Hotch share a knowing look and she’s mindful that she doesn’t have time right now to tear him a new one or tell him I told you so. But she wants to. Desperately. So she does it with her eyes. Reminds him of the years she spent telling him to think and act proactively and not stick it inside anything with a pulse. 

“America likes a married man - a family man. Someone easily digestible. And Aaron, that’s just not you right now.” 

Shit. Motherfucking shit. His past, or rather, his body count has a way of catching up to him and in the interests of remaining as detached as possible after Haley’s death, he’s ruined his future. 

“What if we could change your mind?” Hotch asks, his calculating precision connecting the dots. 

“How’s that?” Dave asks. 

“Well, the donor retreat is tomorrow night. I’m confident I can prove to you just how much our values align by then.” JJ watches Hotch wearily out of the corner of her eye, he’s far too secure making promises he can’t keep. How the hell does he suppose he’s going to pull this off? 

Dave nods, considering it for a long while. The way he examines Hotch and JJ makes them squirm, he’s a little unpredictable and their dreams of the White House rest on convincing him that Hotch isn’t a massive slut. 

“Fine. You have until tomorrow night.” Dave confirms, shaking their hands. “Prove me wrong.”

———

That night, Hotch returns to his hotel room with the beginnings of a plan in mind. He completes his nightly ritual as best as he can, and he finishes off the night by checking your camera feed on his laptop. He’s done it everyday since he had the cameras installed and every night, something new manages to annoy him. 

The first night away, he learns that you’re essentially an insomniac, staying up until 3, sometimes 4am with cereal as your only real sustenance. The second and third nights, he comes to realise that you have a real issue with fire, diagnoses you as a pyromaniac because he watches you burn through an entire packet of matches just for entertainment. 

It’s mildly unsettling. 

On the fourth and fifth, he realises that you watch too much mind-numbing TV, and because he sprang for the audio-visual system, he can hear you quote Modern Family until 4 in the morning. 

‘Hey, Claire. What’s up?’

‘My fever, you orange jackass.’ 

“Fuckin’ A,” he mutters, watching you tonight. You’re talking to yourself, muttering about something or other as you work. That goddamn sitcom still plays in the background and with your mood tonight, he’s dreading asking you what he needs to ask you - especially after the dinner he hijacked last night. 

He doesn’t want to hear you bitch and whine and he’s certainly not in the mood to be talked back to. He dials your number and waits for you to answer, sits up straight when you look at your phone, roll your eyes and decline his call. 

“The fuck?” He dials it again, watches you repeat your previous actions, only this time you flip your phone off. Desperate, he uses his burner and dials your number only for you to pick up this time and his blood boils. 

“Hello?” 

“What? I gotta use a private number to get you to pick up? I’m getting a little tired of you declining my calls.”  

“Jesus. I don’t have time for this .” You roll your eyes. “Goodbye-”

“-Don’t you dare hang up on me.” He mutters. 

Your eyes narrow. “Watch your tone. Or what?”

“I’m telling you. You don’t want to hang up on me.” His voice has a tone of finality to it, but you’re too wired to care about whatever he has going on. Mai ko

“Whatever. I gotta go.” He watches you turn your phone off and throw it onto the couch, flipping him off one more time for good measure. 

He tries to keep the anger at bay and not overreact but you claw at his skin from the inside out. He calls Anderson who picks up on the fourth ring, his voice croaky. 

“Sir?”

“Pull the car around and get the jet ready.” 

“Sir, again? It’s midnight.” 

“Do it. We’re flying to DC. Within the hour, Anderson.” 

“Yes, Sir.” He sighs defeatedly. 

———

At 2am, you’re three cups of coffee in, heading fast for a crash. You're a little shaky and your heartbeat’s quick, falling deeper into a spiral of existential dread about your future at work. The mountain of research for the case that Lucas pity-shared with you makes no fucking sense either. You hear a knock at the door and think it’s your TV at first, but the knock is louder and more persistent the second time. 

This is a safe complex in a safe neighbourhood, so you make the mistake of not bothering to check the peephole. You only realise the gravity of your mistake when it’s too late, because when you open the door, you’re met with Hotch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt, a dark look swirling in his eyes. 

You’ve done it before, you know it doesn’t work, but you do it anyway. You close the door in his face, that doesn’t really close properly anyway because he manages to keep it open with his foot. He steps inside and slams the door behind him, his breathing ragged with anger. 

“Get out, Hotch. It’s 2am, what the fuck are you even doing here?”

He stalks forward slowly, making you back up. “I told you not to hang up on me.” 

What the hell? 

“You’re crazy. You flew from New York to DC again all because I hung up on you? Are you insane? That’s twice you’ve flown here and back in the last 24 hours!” Your backwards steps increase in pace as he steps forward until you have no more room left, your back bumping into the wall. 

He crowds you, caging you in against the wall. “Not insane. Just determined. And now, because you refuse to do as you’re told, you’ve lost the opportunity to pack your own stuff.” 

“Pack? Pack what, what are you talking about?”

“You’re coming to New York with me. Tonight. Now.” 

“The hell I am.” You laugh humorlessly. 

He seems to find that amusing because his lips curl into a twisted sort of smile. “Yes, you are, sweetheart. You can either come willingly, or I can take you myself, but you’re coming. And that’s all there is to it.”

You laugh dryly. “You can’t force me. I’m pretty sure that’s kidnapping.” 

His eyes flash with intensity and he leans in, his chest brushing against yours, his nose barely touching yours. He smells of toothpaste and a woody cologne that makes your eyes flutter closed. “And I’m pretty sure I can - force you - that is. Last chance. Are you coming willingly or not?” 

You squirm and try to push him off you, but he’s too strong. “Not.” You reply.

He inhales sharply. “Fine. Then I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” And suddenly your world turns upside down. Literally. He bends to wrap an arm under your ass, and lifts you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You pull and scratch at his sweatshirt, neck, hair, anything you can get your hands on. “Put me down! Put me fucking down, Hotch. I swear to God, I’ll kill you, put me down!” 

He swats your ass, sending a zing up your spine as he carries you out of your apartment building and drops you unceremoniously into the back of a town car. 

You pull harshly on the door handle a few times but it’s locked. “Let me out, Hotch. I’m not kidding.” The car quickly begins to move, making its way through the city streets but you’re still stuck on leaving. “Why are we moving? Let me out!” Your anger simmers under your skin as you slam against the car windows and you fight the urge to not sock him in the jaw.

“We’re moving because we’re going to New York. I have a donor I need to impress and you’re going to help me do that.” 

You laugh humorlessly. “How am I going to do that? I have no ID, how the hell am I supposed to get on a plane?”

He scrunches his face. “You don’t need an ID on a private flight.”

You huff. “You’re not very good at asking for favours, are you? You usually have to do this thing called ‘ask’ and ‘not be a complete asshole’ and kidnapping is never on the docket.” He rolls his eyes, checking his phone. “How do you suppose I’m going to impress this donor of yours? In my pyjamas and fluffy socks? I don’t even have any shoes for goodness sake.” 

“We’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow, it’s being taken care of. Here.” He takes his wallet out of his pocket and slides a piece of black plastic across the car seat. “You can use that.” 

That’s hot. 

But still not okay. There’s no point arguing with him any further because you’re not going to get anywhere with him, you know that. 

“What do I need to do?” You ask reluctantly. 

“Network, small talk. Big me up, make me seem like a good candidate. Maybe smile at me, do what a loving girlfriend would do.” He purposely says girlfriend so as to not bombard you with his plans for tomorrow. He knows you may just throw yourself out of a moving vehicle if he tells you his real plan. 

The desire to make his life a little more difficult doesn’t pass you by, though. The need to tell him what you think of him far outweighs any semblance of maturity or the concept of rising above you may have. “Difficult to do when I don’t have a lower opinion of anybody than I do of you.” 

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual. Lucky for me, I don’t care what you think. I thought we’d already established this.” 

Asshole. But if there’s one thing you can get out of a reluctant favour, it’s leverage. And you need all the leverage you can get right now. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and speak evenly. “Fine. But if I’m doing this for you, you have to do something for me.” 

“I don’t have to do anything.” 

You smile sweetly. “And I don’t have to impress this donor. In fact, I could meet with him, tell him what I really think about you, and nuke your career like you did mine, your dreams of the White House and any future you hope to have.” 

He licks his front teeth agitatedly and drops his phone in his lap. “Fine. What?”

“I want you to look over the preliminary bill. It’s-“

“-Done.” 

“-Really?” You ask, taken aback. It’s not like him to agree to something so quickly, not least of all when it’s you that’s asking. 

“Yes.” He sighs. “I don’t care much to hear you plead your case and whinge and whine for the next two hours. So yes, I’ll look your handiwork over. I’ll be sure to bring a pen though, no doubt I’ll have to gut it and rework it.”

“Fuck you, Hotch.” 

“Oh yeah? You change your mind?” He drawls suggestively. “Dinner was nice last night. Good to finally put a face to the people responsible for such a high-maintenance, preppy princess.” 

“And who’s responsible for making you a cold and entitled, miserable ass?” 

“My childhood nanny, probably. She raised me.” He says, matter-of-factly. A small laugh escapes you but you wonder if that’s true. You wonder if he was raised by housekeepers and nannies and au pairs his entire life and suddenly you’re a little more grateful for your own parents. 

Despite the overwhelming pressure and the constant nagging and the not-so-subtle criticism, you have no doubt that your parents love you and care for your well-being. At least they were conscientious enough not to dump you and your sister on outside help during your childhood. Which is not asking a lot of a parent, but from the circles you and Hotch hail from, it’s par for the course for strangers to raise your children, and you can place a safe bet that Hotch falls into that category. 

You ponder on that until you arrive at the airfield. His assistant - who you learn is called Anderson - corrals staff and makes phone calls arranging for tomorrow’s retreat. Hotch steps out of the car and opens your door for you, waiting for you to exit but you cross your arms over your body and remain seated. He’s too distracted by his phone to notice at first, but when he does, he slides it into his pocket and grits his teeth angrily. 

“What are you waiting for? Hustle.” 

“The floor’s wet. And I’m cold.” You reply petulantly.

“That’s my problem, why?”

“Because you kidnapped me and didn’t even give me a chance to put any shoes on! Or a coat!” You kick his shin. “I’m not putting my bare feet on wet pavement, that’s disgusting.” Your face contorts and he honest to God could think it’s one of the funniest things he’s seen if he wasn’t raging. 

“They’re not bare. You’re wearing socks.”

“Fuck off, Hotch.” 

He checks his watch, it’s almost 3am. “Oh my fucking- you’re so annoying.” He grumbles under his breath along with a string of incoherent sentences. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in only a tight fitting T-shirt that hugs his shoulders. “Fine. Hold your arms out.” 

You do as you’re told and he slips the sweatshirt on your body with a surprising amount of gentleness, caring enough to untuck your hair from inside the neckline. He then slides his arms around your waist, yours wrapping around his neck as he lifts you out of the car and into the cold night air. 

You go limp against him on purpose, weighing yourself down, making it hard for him to carry you but he maneuvers you roughly, putting a large hand on the backs of each of your thighs so your legs wrap around his hips. And while your skin still prickles with annoyance and frustration, the position you’re in doesn’t feel so unnatural. 

“Remember, I’m owed my monthly allowance on the 25th.” You remind him happily. 

“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He grumbles, squeezing your thigh.

“Yeah? What are you going to do? Off me?” You tease. 

———

Finding yourself without any decent clothes this morning, you’re relegated to one of Hotch’s too-large shirts and a pair of not-so-great jeans you’d had Anderson go out and buy as soon as it was light out. Thankfully, you’re able to roll the sleeves of his shirt up and tuck one bottom side into your jeans, and you force yourself into thinking it looks somewhat classy-chic. 

It does. Kind of. 

Hotch had bumped into you in the hallway as you were leaving your room, taken off guard by your outfit, mumbling something under his breath and walking away irritated. Truthfully, the sight of you in his shirt had complicated things, conflicted him, because while frustration swells in his chest at the mere mention of you, he can’t seem to shake the hold you have on him.

And it extends further than just four years ago. You don’t seem to remember. But he hasn’t forgotten.  

Meanwhile, in the hotel lobby, you fish around the back pocket of your jeans and flash JJ the black Amex Hotch had tossed to you yesterday. 

You return to the hotel at around five, new clothes, shoes, purses and accessories in tow and begin getting ready for the dinner that begins at 8. You still don’t know much about the donor, only that he’s fairly traditional and could possibly be the big fish Hotch’s campaign needs. You feel a little deflated at prospect of being a man’s accessory tonight, to make him seem like a great candidate in front of a who’s who of rich Manhattanites. 

You’d pursued a career so you could avoid having to do that. If you wanted to be a trophy wife, you could have stayed with Christopher and endured the passionless, banal life your mother would have chosen for you. 

You sigh, giving yourself a once over in the mirror. JJ has knocked on your door three times already and if you don’t get a move on, you’re afraid Hotch might actually carry you down to the car. It's not like you’d put it past him. 

It’s dark when you finally get outside and you find Hotch leaning against the towncar, distracted by his phone like he usually is, but the sight of him makes your steps falter for a brief moment. 

You have to remind yourself to keep your brain in check, to not get sidetracked by his looks. He stands tonight in a grey, perfectly tailored suit, a light shirt and a light grey tie to match - he’s the epitome of old school class and you hate him for it. JJ throws you a teasing look before she gets in her own car, the kind she’d give you in law school whenever a crush walked by. Except this isn’t a crush. This is hate. 

“Do you mind moving so I can get in? Or are you planning on making us late?” You nag.

“Like you’re not the one who’s been primping and priming since 5pm…” He trails off when he averts his gaze from his phone and looks at you, really looks at you. The asshole has a way of burning people with his eyes and it’s certainly making your cheeks heat up. 

“Move.” You swat him with your purse like a bug, moving him away from the door. He opens it for you, and watches you get in from behind, blood rushing to his extremities at your exposed legs. He falls in line, getting in next to you and you’re off. You weave your way through city traffic, the night lights twinkling as you pass them by. 

He clears his throat, pulling you from your thoughts. “Listen, I need you to wear this.” He holds a royal blue velvet box in his hands that looks suspiciously like it could have a ring inside. 

Anxiety creeps up your neck against the prospect of being laid bare in your vulnerability at this moment. “We said three months, right?”

“Three months. Now. What difference does it make? It’s going to happen eventually, now do as you’re told.”

“Do as I’m told?” You repeat. “The difference is I’m not ready yet.” You say defensively. “My parents barely even managed to digest the fact that I was ‘dating’ you, I can’t show up to dinner next week, engaged!” 

“Look, I’ll help you break the news to your parents, alright? We’ll tell them after the dinner, whatever you want, just wear this tonight. 

“You’re out of your mind if you think you’re coming to dinner next week.” 

“Boo hoo. Look, the donor we’re meeting - he’s expecting a fiancée or a wife - not a girlfriend.” You stare him down in a desperate attempt to get him to back off but he appears unguarded himself at this moment. “There’s no other way.” 

“This better be fucking worth it.” You mutter. “Hand it over.” You outstretch your hand to take the box but he takes yours in his and turns it over. “What are you doing?” You ask, immediately snatching your hand back. 

“Putting the ring on you.” He reaches for your hand again but you pull away. “What are you doing?”

You frown. “Just give it here, I’ll do it.“

“Quiet.” He ignores you like you’re a child, yanking you forward by your hand. His touch is rough at first, but it softens only slightly, his thumb absently rubbing the back of your hand. He slides the ring on your finger, rotating it so the emerald cut diamond sits properly in the centre. 

You don’t know whether it’s the apparent vulnerability etched on his face or the city lights, but you swear he could almost pass as human in this brief moment. Then, he tosses your hand back into your lap when he’s done, and suddenly he’s back to himself again. He tucks the box back in his inside pocket and reaches for his phone again, taking a few calls while you ponder your immediate future. 

You absentmindedly play with the ring on your finger. Fighting with Hotch had allowed you to repress the reality that you were really going to marry this guy, but the heavy rock on your finger pulls you back into the harsh truth. Even if he were to win the election, this alliance may ruin any chance you have at dating anybody after him. After all, Ex Wife of President-slash-Presidential Candidate Hotchner is a lot of baggage to carry. 

There’s no chance of spotting stars in the middle of New York City but you note the twinkling lights of high rises make it appear as though the city smog has cleared momentarily. 

You should be so lucky. 

Next to you, Hotch dives into his work to distract himself from you. He’d spent the better part of today with a knot in his stomach at the prospect of giving you the ring, memories of Haley clawing their way to the surface. Memories that he clings to with equal vigour as well to prevent him from becoming too attached to any one person. 

The last time he’d proposed to a woman, it had been different. 

You eventually happen upon the private country club in the Hamptons, located on the scenic beachfront, right next to the glittering water. The wrought iron gates are opened by two security guards, leading you to a winding, lit driveway. Wait staff appear to be floating with trays in their hands, tight-lipped women in cocktail dresses hold their champagne flutes a little too tightly, and the men look stuffy. 

JJ dismounts the car in front of you first with Anderson trailing behind her, then you and Hotch. You inhale deeply as the valet opens your door and you’re met by the brisk seaside air which puts goosebumps on your skin. 

“Alright, guys. Are we ready? Best feet forward, this donor is the key to securing this run.” JJ reminds you over the faint classical music in the background. She looks pointedly at your left hand, her gaze lingering wildly on the emerald cut diamond that wasn’t there when you set off. 

The gravel pathway to the entrance makes for a difficult walk and in your frustration, and admittedly, hard-headedness you slap Hotch’s arm away when he offers it to you. 

“Remind me never to offer you my help out of the goodness of my heart again.” He scowls. 

“Unlikely it’s from the goodness of your heart. That thing’s like coal.” If you’re to be his accessory tonight, you definitely don’t need his goddamn help, you’ll walk on your own. You’re made to regret your decision quickly when your Jimmy Choos get stuck in a piece of stubborn pathway and you fall into Hotch’s side, grabbing his strong forearm for balance. 

When you’re sufficiently balanced, he snatches his arm away again, throwing you off kilter on purpose, snorting under his breath. Anderson joins in until JJ glares at them. “Give her your arm or lose it, Hotch. Now is not the time.” She hisses. 

He rolls his eyes and you reluctantly wrap your forearm and hands around his strong bicep, using him for balance up the pathway. “Who taught you to walk, smartass? You’re like a freshly birthed calf.” He murmurs out of JJ’s earshot as you enter the main foyer. 

You grab a glass of champagne, leaning into him. He still had a decent amount of height on you, despite your choice in shoes which means his cologne wafts into your nose when you turn your head. “It’s because I’m wearing heels, Senator. Heels… which could puncture your leg nicely if you don’t stop pissing me off.” 

“Jesus, has anyone ever told you, you might have anger issues?” He rolls his eyes but swallows thickly at your use of his title. 

He takes stock of the room, and drags you along with him, wherever he goes, pulling you this way and that until JJ and Hotch both go stiff as a board suddenly, their gazes fixated to their left. 

You follow their line of sight and double take, your eyes bulging. “Uncle Dave?!” You break into a smile, letting go of Hotch who watches you, stunned. “Hi!” 

He breaks out into a face splitting smile, holding out his hands. “Cara mia! Oh, come here, let me look at you!” Dave grabs both sides of your face, planting a kiss on either cheek and taking you into his arms like he did when you were a kid. “What are you doing here, your parents didn’t mention you were in New York.” His eyes fall to your left hand and he gasps, immediately grasping it in his hand, holding it out to catch the light. “And what is this?”

You laugh uncomfortably, looking between Dave and Hotch. You’re about to utter these words for the first time ever and you’d always assumed you’d be happier than you are right now. 

“I’m… well. I guess I’m engaged!” You tell him. “Uncle Dave, this is Aaron, Aaron, this is my uncle Dave. Our families go way back.” 

The two men’s eyes widen in recognition as Hotch steps forward to shake Dave’s hand. “Yeah. We met yesterday.” He pulls you in, placing his hand on your back, the warm, light pressure making you twitch. You’re still outing the pieces together when Hotch interrupts your thoughts. “Honey, Dave is the donor I was telling you about, I had no idea you guys even knew each other.” He says. 

This is a done deal. 

Dave nods slowly. “Huh, you really weren’t kidding when you said you could change my mind - this is definitely a step in the right direction.” He looks at JJ. “I can see now why you were so confident.” 

“Small world.” You muse. “How’s Krystal?” 

“Ah, you know what she’s like at these things, she’s probably outside watching the waves come in. Why don’t you go on and find her while we talk business?”

There it is again. The infantilization. The implication that you don’t know how business and politics work, and God will these high-powered men ever change? Ivy League education, community service, drive, ambition but you’re still the woman who has to make nice with the other women while the men talk shop. You smile though, like you’ve always been taught to do and JJ decides to join you when Hotch gives her a look of confidence. 

The two men walk away while you grab a champagne flute and make the rounds, greeting guests with a kiss, accepting their congratulations on your ‘engagement’. By the end of the night, you’re exhausted and sitting outside beneath the massive pergola watching the waves roll in. 

Hotch has since managed to persuade Dave that he’s the right candidate for him to back, and with the added bonus of you on board, he’s more than happy to oblige. He’s making his way outside to join you and JJ to tell you the happy news when he stops in his tracks, just shy of the doors to listen to you. 

“It’s so frustrating, you know? Like I made one mistake, four years ago and everyone in that office treats me like I’m not to be trusted with anything ever again.”

“I’m sorry, hon.” JJ reassures you, rubbing your shoulders. 

“I was sure I had it in the bag. I know I should let it go but I still can’t believe he paid Lahey off. And now look at me, I’m still stuck in the same place, it’s like fucking deja-vu, only now, I’m engaged to the man.” You laugh humorlessly, repeating the words slower this time as if to digest them properly. “I’m engaged… to the man that ruined everything I worked so hard to build… by bribing a chairwoman.” 

There it is again. The bribery allegation that he knows nothing about but is becoming an increasingly bigger source of alarm. 

He hears you sigh. “You know, I went to the office yesterday and Gideon sent me straight home, threw the paper in my face with that picture of me and Hotch on it - said office gossip was distracting people and I should go home.” 

Suddenly your half-day makes a lot more sense to him. 

The barest of guilt tugs at his insides, he couldn’t care less about you he reaffirms, but he’s still a believer in karma. Plus he figures he owes you one for tonight. That’s the only reason. Not the fact that it’s becoming clear to him that your hatred for him may be justified, but it isn’t entirely clear to him why he hates you. 

Is it the way your first ever meeting ended? Even years before the judiciary hearings? The meeting that he remembers clearly but you evidently don’t? 

Nah. 

Stepping away, he pulls out his phone, and dials the direct line to DC Attorney General Racine who promised Hotch any favour he wanted after he’d pulled some strings to get him out of a bind a few years ago. He figures he could have probably used Racine as the prize cow of all favours, cashing it in when he was in really dire straits, but what the hell. Who doesn’t pull strings for someone they hate? 

Right? 

As soon as he’s done giving Racine specific directions - who reassures him that his problem will be taken care of by Monday - Garcia’s name flashes up on screen. He exhales in relief. “Gimme something good, Garcia.” 

“Well, that’s just it, Sir. I have an answer for your question but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” 

“What is it?” He sighs, rubbing his temple.

“You were right. Four instalments of $20,000 each were made to Chairwoman Lahey around four years ago - during the hearings. They were rerouted through multiple proxies and offshore accounts but I managed to track them down.” 

His ears ring and he feels as though the ground has shifted from beneath his feet. You were right and he’s astute enough to put the pieces together himself but he asks anyway. “From?” 

“Phillip Hotchner.” She replies. 

He paid her off. The son of a bitch paid her off.

———

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[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

FIRST TIME

Prompt: Requested, by a lovely nonny (I took the creative liberty to make a few changes on the scenario, I hope you don’t mind ☺️)

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairings: Eddie Kingston x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, oral sex (female receiving), cursing, fluff

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @alyhull , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @sassymox

Notes: If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😘

When Eddie first asked me out, I never would have imagined that he could be such a gentleman, and that we’d have so much fun together. He had an old fashioned charm about him when it came to romance.

He made sure to pick me up, opened every door, and chose a nice Italian restaurant for our first date.

Throughout the night we realized we had much more in common than we thought. And the date that was supposed to last two hours tops, ended up lasting six, instead.

Now here we are, at my front door, the awkward silence establishing itself around us...I didn’t want him to go, and by the looks of it neither did he.

So I decided to say “fuck it”, and asked

“Would you like to come in? Maybe drink some more wine...or a coffee, I don’t know” I shrugged, trying to hide my nervousness

He smiled widely “Yeah, I would love to”

So we made our way inside, which was a much better talking location at 2 AM in comparison to his car.

“Nice place” He complimented

“Thank you” I smiled “Make yourself comfortable” Pointing towards the couch, I asked: “Wine or coffee?”

“Wine, please”

I handed him his glass and sat on the couch by his side. Eddie began to talk about something, but I couldn’t pay attention. My mind got trapped in admiring his beauty and how I actually enjoyed his company. Oh, and just how much I loved those green eyes of his...so intense, and deep, there’s something about the way he looks at you that traps you in them-

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” He chuckled.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re listening to me” He laughed.

“No, I wasn’t, sorry. I was thinking about something else”

“May I ask what?”

“I was thinking about how I would like to kiss you right now” I slapped my hand over my mouth once I realized that I had actually confessed what I was thinking about...‘In vino veritas’, right?

As soon as I said that, something in Eddie’s eyes changed

“You wanna kiss me, huh?” He teased, and when I opened my mouth to apologize, he leaned forward and captured my lips in a deep kiss that quickly escalated, until I was straddling his lap and rolling my hips against his growing length

“Y/N” He moaned, when I began to kiss his neck “Fuck, baby...I’m trying to be a gentleman here, but you’re making this a very hard task for me right now” His hands grabbed my ass, and established a rhythm to our dry humping

“Then don’t be a gentleman” I whispered “Be a bad boy” I chuckled lightly “Be MY bad boy, Eddie, please?”

His green eyes lit up in excitement while he swept me up in his arms.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Upstairs to the left”

Eddie ran up the stairs like a mad man, and we almost fell, but we ended up laughing at the situation.

He placed me down on my bed and started to kiss my neck.

“Eddie” I whined “Please”

“What’s wrong, my foxy?” He teased “Can’t wait to have Eddie all to yourself?”

“Shut up” I chuckled “You’re lucky that you’re pretty” I fumbled with the button on his jeans

“So you just want me for my looks, huh?” He teased again

“And your bedroom skills” I laughed.

“But you know nothing ‘bout that yet” He chuckled.

“I have high hopes for them” I panted while pulling his jeans down, before leaning to kiss his lips once again.

“Oh foxy, you have know idea how much I’ve jerked off thinking about this moment” His voice now raspy as his lips took their time travelling down my body. Every inch of my skin that Eddie kissed managed to combust, and by the time his tongue met my clit, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck, Eddie” I placed my hand on his buzz cut as his tongue glided through my folds with soft licks that made me see stars. “Eddie, please” I had never, in my life, begged for a man, but Eddie was different. He was Eddie Kingston, the Yonkers King, and the only man that could ever make me beg for him.

“C’mon, fox. Let me taste you” His tongue gave a long lick from my entrance to my clit “I want you to cum on my mouth, I want to lick you clean” And his lips closed around my swollen nub, making me moan even louder for him.

“Oh fuck yes” My hips moved on their own against his tongue and as I risked a peek down, I saw Eddie’s green eyes were filled with mischief and lust. All it took for me to burst was the sharp slap he delivered to my inner thigh.

Faithful to his word, he only made his way up my body when I was clean and ready for him again.

“I wanna suck you” I said, when I felt his swollen tip against my entrance.

“Not now, fox”

“But Eddie, I need it” I whined.

“Fox! As much as I want to see that beautiful face covered with my cum, I NEED to fuck you! I need that sweet pussy wrapped around my cock. You’re not going to deny me that now, are you?” He pleaded.

And instead of answering him, I took his length in my hand, and guided the first inch inside of me “Please, Eddie”

He smirked and slowly sank in until he was buried deep. “Fuck” We moaned in unison as he slowly began to move his hips.

“Holy shit” Eddie rested his forehead against mine “Fuck, fox, you feel fucking incredible”

“Faster”

“Faster” He grinned

“A fast as you can“ I wiggled my hips in response

“As you wish, my queen”

With a devious smile, Eddie grabbed my hips and began to pound me mercilessly. Each and every time, he sank deeper and rougher, slowly building my second orgasm of the night.

“Please, don’t stop” My soft whine echoed through the bedroom, as Eddie’s thumb rubbed my clit.

“Give it to me again, fox. I need to feel you milking me, c’mon” His growl was almost inhuman and the last push I needed to make me explode.

My vision was blurred and all the noises around me became muffled for a few minutes as I came down from my high, just in time to see Eddie pulling out and his cum landing on my belly.

“So much better than my hand” He teased while laying down on the bed. and pulling me towards him.

“Eww, you’re so gross” I chuckled and slapped his chest playfully

“What? I’m being honest” He laughed “You know I’m a rough lover, so what did you expect?” He tried to remain serious but failed completely, bursting out laughing right afterwards.

“Apart from our last 30 minutes or so, I saw nothing but a complete gentleman” As I kissed his lips, I could see a soft blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you for tonight, Eddie. I really loved it”

He sweetly smiled “I loved it too, fox” before his eyes widened “This is not you kicking me out, is it?”

“What? No!” I laughed loudly “I’m not kicking you out, baby. I’m just honestly thanking you for such a wonderful night. I haven’t had that much fun in years” I said while sighing contently.

“Baby?” Eddie had that Grinch grin on his face “Ohhh, you like me! You like me a lot!” He continued to grin as he began to tease me.

“Stop” I hid my crimson red cheeks with my hands “That’s all you heard?” And groaned.

While laughing at my shyness, he grabbed my hands in his and kissed the back of both them, before saying “I heard everything, but that was the only thing that really caught my attention”

Trying to regain some sassiness, I said “And you’re really going to look me in the eyes and say that you don’t like me, not even one bit, Kingston?”

“No, I don’t like you, fox” He said with a serious voice “I love you”

His words caught me off guard and made me gasp. But what was I expecting from none other than Eddie Kingston?

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedback is always appreciated 🥰❤️

[shoutogepi]

Spring Pollen

Takami Keigo

word count : 5.0k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]  

genre : edging, gagging (glove use), sex pollen, public sex

bio: You and your coworker Hawks are caught off guard by a villain’s naughty quirk while on the middle of patrol.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “sex pollen” slot ;) also pls go soft on me if this is rough as it’s my first hawks fic <3 TT

tags : @hawks-senseis​ @queensynderella​ @knifeewifee​ @prismaroyal​

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Working beside the number two hero had its ups and downs. For one, you were insanely attracted to him, and you absolutely refused to admit it— to him, yourself, really anyone who asked. Not that it came up in conversation often, of course. You made sure of that.

The blonde was known for his go-with-the-flow, playful attitude, and you were not discluded from such a privilege, despite your many complaints. Deep down, you didn’t really mind his flirtatious behavior. Being a hero, even if you were only a sidekick at the moment, was tiring work. You did not have much time for yourself, let alone time to find men who you could flirt with or even go on dates with. Or even find a fuck buddy. 

God, it had been so long since you last received affection from a man. Work was your entire life now, and while you found comfort in knowing you were changing the world for the better— cleaning away the stain of evil on your city— you found yourself feeling lonely when you would return to your empty apartment each night.

So perhaps Hawks’ borderline suggestive comments were nice, welcome even. Not that you would ever tell him that. You would rather die than live with knowing he was privy to your thoughts; the mortification would simply be too much for you.

Little did you know, there was much desire and intention behind his seemingly meaningless flirting— for he, too, found you more than attractive. A walking, talking, gorgeous and independent woman who apparently wanted nothing to do with him— you were more than enough to catch his eye. But alas, you were years younger than the already-youthful hero himself, and you made it very clear to him that you did not want to do anything that could jeopardize your career at the agency the two of you were slaves to.

So the attraction went unspoken between the pair of you. Hawks would make a comment just a little too cheeky and you would roll your eyes or swat at him, and that would be the end of it. It would go on and on like this for months, and before you knew it, it had been almost a year of supporting the ever-popular winged hero. And everything was fine and good…

Until the red string on fate had to show its ugly face. And everything as you knew it was turned upside down on the head— the tall, prison-like walls you’d constructed to keep your feelings locked away all came tumbling down, right before your very eyes.

It had been a rather uneventful day of hero work, if you could recall correctly. Hawks had commented on your winged eyeliner that morning, saying how it made your eyes sparkle and give you an “avian edge”, which he found highly commendable. You had brushed him off, as usual, and the two of you had taken off to start your patrol, much like any other morning.

The sun was high in the sky, hanging cheerfully over the skyscrapers of the bustling city. The spring heat had not yet scorched the asphalt of the winding roads, a cool breeze tickling your skin as you walked beside the blonde hero. His large, scarlet wings were relaxed behind his shoulder blades, the very tips of his feathers brushing against your waist as you were pressed close to him on the busy sidewalk. It was all rather ordinary, looking back at it— you had just thrown away the wrappings from your on-the-go breakfast, feeling strengthened enough to take on whatever the day could possibly throw at you, when she appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

Hawks sprang into action immediately, recognizing the wicked glint in her eye much sooner than you. You were on a dull sideroad, almost an alleyway to be honest— a small street tucked away in the midst of the hasty city, sandwiched behind a few large buildings and the backs of restaurants. It was really the perfect place for a crime to occur, for there were few passerbys and no security cameras.

In just an instant, the number two hero was on his ass, nearly hacking up a lung as the offender sprayed a noxious cloud of pink spores directly into his face. The woman sported a vicious grin as she turned to you, and though Hawks tried his best to warn you of her attack, he found he could not speak— instead crumpling over to hold his stomach as his body seized with violent coughs. Just like that, you had fallen victim to her as well, your knees folding beneath you as your mind clouded over in a haze. You didn’t even register Hawks throwing her into the brick wall behind you, your brian too foggy to recognize anything before you. He was struggling to cuff the woman when he first began to sweat, his body beginning to tremble first in his chest, then spreading to his limbs and rushing into his veins, like the venom from a deadly serpent.

Your body felt hot— god, so hot— it was like liquid fire had been poured into your bloodstream, every cell of your body igniting into an all-consuming inferno. Sweat began to bead along your temple, the valley between your breasts, and the backs of your knees. You slumped onto the concrete beneath you, clammy palms scraping the rough pavement as you gasped for breath. But with each intake the symptoms only seemed to worsen, limbs growing weak and an intense pressure forming in your stomach, like an intruder attempting to burst through a barricaded door.

Hawks was busy fighting his own internal battle— the same feelings bubbling up inside of him as he clicked the quirk-canceling cuffs onto the assailant’s wrists, perhaps a notch or two too tight. He could feel himself coming to life underneath his trousers, fanning the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. “What did you do to us?” he bellowed, a mix between a groan and a growl. The tip of a ruby feather pointed itself at the base of her throat, a slight tremor shaking through the quill as his knees began to tremble.

The woman only laughed, amused by his blatant discomfort. Her eyes traveled over to your figure, curled into a tight ball on the ground. Hawks followed her gaze, distress panging through him as he realized the pained expression twisting your face.

“Reverse it,” he snarled, fists seizing the front of her shirt and pulling her body to sit upright.

But the villain only smirked, her busted lip not seeming to bother her as her eyes twinkled with malice. “Sorry, can’t do that,” she chuckled, though it came out sounding more like a wheeze, “no takesies-backsies.”

Hawks bared his teeth at her, his ferality getting the better of him as he slammed her against the brick wall another time. Her eyes fell closed and her body went limp, signalling she was out of commission for at least the time being.

“Damn it,” he groaned as her clothes slipped from his fingers, the digits opting to push into his wild tawny locks instead. Whatever quirk this woman had used on him was working too fast, and its effects were too strong. His cock was rock hard, straining against the confining material of his pants, and his body was becoming much too strung out from restraining his amplifying desire.

Chills rolled down his spine as you called out to him, your voice breathy and rough. His gloved hands clamped into fists as he shut his eyes, praying to whatever god there was to lend him the strength necessary to keep himself from tackling you and ripping off your clothes. He had never felt so desperate for you before— never had he needed to touch and taste every inch of you like he did right now. Whatever longing he had harbored for you before this morning was nothing in comparison to the emotions clobbering his sense of self-control at the moment— god, if you even called out for him one more time, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking you, right here and now.

Little did he know, that was the one thing you wanted— needed, even— more than anything.

Your arms were crossed atop your chest, your knees tucking in to bend in front of them as you literally held yourself together. You could feel yourself leaking from between your legs, pussy twitching and itchy for any kind of attention you could get. “P-Please, Keigo,” you whimpered, your hands slowly trailing down your biceps, a palm clutching your own breast, thumb rubbing over the stiff nipple that stood out from beneath your hero suit.

Hawks couldn’t stand still for another second— the sound of his name from your lips too arousing, too intimate— he was on his knees before you in a flash. Both of you moaned as his lips slotted over yours, not a moment to spare as your body unfurled and wrapped around his frame, pulling him flush against yourself. His tongue pushed into your mouth, the tip twirling with yours and gliding against the back of your teeth.

Lost in the pleasure of his mouth on yours, your hands wandered over his shoulders, his chest, one taking root in his silky, fine hair. You could smell his aftershave wafting off his cheeks, the stubble on his chin tickling you as he began to kiss and nip at your jaw. He was insatiable, and so were you— your hands groping and wandering all over each other. Neither of you could get enough. 

You couldn’t believe that this was really happening, in the middle of this secluded, public alleyway, during your patrol as heroes— figures that the citizens of your city looked up to, no less. Yet you couldn’t find a shit to give, and Hawks had abandoned all sense of rationality the moment you dared to cry out for him. He didn’t seem to mind the public setting, for he didn’t harbor a shred of hesitance as he swatted your hand away from your chest. His own palm squeezed your breast as he suckled on your throat, making his first of many marks that would grace your skin.

It wasn’t long before he had you against the brick wall, your body snug between his firm torso and the roughness of the bricks at your back. His face trailed further south, his absence at your neck leaving your saliva-covered skin to prickle with cold. But you weren’t left pining for more long— his teeth gripping onto your nipple through your shirt, kissing and sucking at your covered chest as his hands careened down your waist, cupping your ass and lifting you off your feet just enough for your toes to drag across the pavement.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Hawks sunk to his knees, folding your legs over his shoulders and pressing his face into the apex between your thighs. His strong arms flexed as he held you up against the wall, your legs twitching as he pressed a line of kisses into your skin. Somehow you managed to wriggle out of your bottoms, your soaked panties now on full display for the winged hero, who only groaned at the sight before his tongue began to lather at the front of the material, right over your aching slit.

You felt itchy, itchier than you’d ever been before, your cunt pulsing and squeezing around nothing as you tried to wiggle your hips closer to his mouth. “H-Hawks,” you gasped as his teeth pinched the cloth, pulling it back and letting go, just to watch it snap against your drooling center.

“No, no, little bird,” he murmured sinisterly, taking a second to rub his nose along your slit, smirking at the clearly visible line of wetness that had soaked through the material. The teasing was torture, your body screaming for him to touch you again, for even more this time.

You cut him off, too impatient for his games. “Please touch me,” you begged, breath ragged in your chest.

Golden eyes turned to slits as he grit his teeth, fighting himself not to just whip out his cock and thrust into you right then and there. “If you’re gonna beg, do it properly. I wanna hear my name, dove.”

You couldn’t handle another second of agony; everything felt like it was on fire, every inch of you ready to be used, destroyed at his disposal. “Please fuck me— I— please Keigo, I need you so bad, I can’t stand it anymore!”

Hawks grinned as he ripped your panties off your body, the splitting of the seams shocking you into looking down at him. If anything, the ferocious action only turned you on even more than before, and you screamed out as his tongue immediately wove into your tight little hole. Your entire body shook as his hot muscle slithered in and out of you, alternating between tracing your entrance and rubbing against your slick, gummy walls.

There was nothing you could do but bask in the euphoria he was giving you, your jaw falling open as his tongue retracted and he wrapped his lips around your clit instead. Your eyes slammed shut, moans escaping you as your fingers delved into those bronze locks, fisting them as you ground against his face. His chin rubbed against your weeping entrance, and Hawks found himself wishing he had two tongues, so he could lap up the delicious slick that poured out of your gushing hole.

But it stopped all too soon, a sob choking out of you when he stopped satiating you with his mouth. His hand guided one of your thighs off his shoulder, placing your foot on the pavement and giving your shaking limb an encouraging squeeze before he took his hand away. His slanted eyes locked with yours as he brought his hand to his mouth, teeth securing the edge of his glove and ripping the accessory off, revealing his long, slender fingers to your lustful gaze. The hero then crumpled the leather into a tight ball, extending his arm up to your face and pressing it against your lips.

“Can’t have my dove making too much noise now, can I?” he mumbled, a feathered brow quirking up to give him a classic, mischievous look. “Too noisy and we’ll have to cut our fun short.”

At that you shyly opened your mouth, allowing him to press the glove past your lips. Once it was secure, his thumb brushed over your cheek as he grinned, his fingers then sliding down to pinch at your nipples. You moaned at the sensation, the leather glove in your mouth muffling the noise almost completely.

Hawks’ smile only broadened at that, leaning forward to take your clit into his mouth again. Your hips bucked against him, the thigh over his shoulder curling tighter and pressing him closer to you. It felt good— so incredibly good to have his tongue entertaining your pearl of nerves, lathering and swirling it, even using his teeth to graze against it. Your head fell back onto the wall behind you, eyelids fluttering shut as his fingers around your leg dug into your flesh, his other hand squishing at your chest before trailing down your waist, then down your thigh.

Suddenly his fingers were toying with your entrance, your slick stringing as he spread his fingers, golden gaze eagerly drinking up the sight of your arousal. Oh, how he’d longed for the day he could finally do this to his sweet little sidekick— to be able to lick and kiss and nip at your most sensitive parts, only to hear you moan and whine his name, gasping for more. It was even better that his glove was shoved into your mouth, muting your saccharine voice just enough so that no one else could hear you— your noises of pleasure were his and only his to hear, to soak up, and indulge in.

You cried out as two digits slipped inside of you, your wetness never having been so overt in your life. The extra slick dripped down the tops of your thighs, your pussy shamelessly slobbering for the man currently knelt between your legs. Your velvet walls sucked his fingers deeper inside, milking them as your cunt clenched uncontrollably, his tongue relentlessly lashing against your swollen clit. Hawks’ fingers pumped into you steadily, sheathing and pulling out just the first two knuckles into your waiting hole time and time again. The movements initially were slow, as if testing the waters. But after a few exploratory thrusts, he pushed the digits inside of you as far as he could, curling them toward himself and prodding your spongy walls.

He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop— you tasted too damn delicious, and his cock was leaking into his briefs at the premise of being inside you, your stifled sounds only adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. Your body was beginning to show signs of near-orgasm, and it only made him more excited to see you so reactive for him. Your eyes were shut tight, fingers pulling on his golden tresses so tightly he could feel his mind practically spinning. And your legs were trembling, almost so badly that he wondered if you were going to collapse on top of him at any moment.

You whimpered as his hand switched angles, the very tips of his fingers rubbing right against the most sensitive spot inside of you. Hawks noticed your body twitch, even though you tried your best to keep your reaction a secret to him, ashamed to already be so close to cumming. But the winged hero was feeling anything but shame— pressing his fingers into that spot again and again, savoring how your cries became louder underneath his glove in your mouth, your limbs quivering against his skin. You tried to warn him, your thigh squeezing tight around his shoulder, your fingers lacing even tighter into his hair, spine stiffening.

Hawks seemed to know what was coming, for his fingers began flicking back and forth inside of you, stimulating that soft, spongy spot that made stars blur at the corners of your vision. Your toes curled tight inside your boots, tears pooling between your eyelashes, your body feeling as though it was trapped inside an elevator surging toward the thousandth floor of a skyscraper. The tension was building, building, oh it was so close— you could practically see the heavenly, orgasmic light shining just before you, and then—

He pulled back.

Had his glove not been occupying your mouth, your whine of anguish would have echoed off the stone walls of the alleyway, your body slumping into his arms in complete dejection. Your brows were furrowed in torment, wondering how in the world Hawks had the strength to pull away from you when you were in such a state— you were practically imploring for his attention, body so hot and willing that you’d let him do anything he could possibly want to you.

You were too lost mourning the lost orgasm to notice Hawks haphazardly shoving his pants down, pulling his black, tight shirt halfway up his abs. His cock sprang up from its confines, his eyes just slits as he focused his gaze on your dripping cunt, still twitching in misery from his teasing torture. You only realized you were being maneuvered once it was too late— he had dropped the leg that had previously rested on his shoulder, instead taking the other and pushing it to press up against the wall, his fingers digging into your thigh. He was upright now, teeth taking the tip of your ear hostage as he rutted his heavy cock against your saturated slit.

Fresh waves of lust rippled through your body, your bones turning cold with white-hot anticipation. You could feel everything— his member sliding against your entrance, gliding against you from head to base, even the veins decorating his shaft as they brushed against your aching core.

Hawks’ breath was heavy in your ear, but that only made you want him more. It was the only physical sign that he was just as affected as you; the soft groan falling from his lips as you bucked against him was proof enough of that. Yet somehow he staved off from thrusting into you, despite your pussy coating his whole length in your slippery love syrup.

You tried to complain, but the glove between your lips jumbled any words into a muted mess.

He seemed to be amused by your efforts, his honey gaze seizing yours. “If I take that out for you, do you promise you’ll be a good little dove for me? Can’t have you singing too loud, alright?” His words were music to your ears, and you quickly nodded your head, eager to prove yourself to him. But he didn’t move a muscle; only his tongue wandered out to swipe across his bottom lip, which then disappeared between his teeth. His eyes darted south, and before yours could follow suit, he pushed inside you to the hilt.

You screamed as he forced your elastic walls to stretch around him, the thickness of his cock taking you by surprise. Intense pleasure burst into your body as he pulled out halfway, sheathing himself back inside almost immediately. Hawks’ eyes were shut tight, savoring the way your cunt hugged him so perfectly. Already you were milking him, and he knew there was no way he could last.

It didn’t matter, really, because the instant his hand slid down your pelvis and his fingers began to toy with your clit, you were gone. Instantly that intense pressure built just like it had before, for a split second it was all you could feel. And then you were crashing through your orgasm, his name the only thing on your brain. You called it out again and again, ecstasy zipping through your veins and toward the intense heat that the villain’s quirk had produced. The sensations clashed in a fiery explosion, your entire body straining as you did your best to handle the pleasure, your pussy wringing tight around Hawks’ cock.

Hawks gasped, his head falling to your shoulder at the intensity— at the snugness of your cunt like a vice around him, at the sound of your muffled cries for him, at the way your body trembled in his hands. He didn’t wait long, though, for after the initial shock of your orgasm arriving, his hips began to ruthlessly smack against yours. His grip was now tight on your body, fingernails digging little crescents into the skin of your thigh and your asscheek, which he pulled back to slide himself even deeper inside of you.

Your head smacked against the brick as it fell backwards, the pleasure flowing endlessly through your entire body. It was only then that Hawks bothered to take his glove from between your lips, and you immediately gasped for the sweet rush of air that filled your mouth. Small noises of content slithered out of you with every crash of his hips against you, impossible for you to silence the constant “hah” and “yes”’es. Not that Hawks seemed to really mind— in fact, he was eating up every sweet noise that left your throat, cherishing the cute, dazed look on your face as he pummeled your tight little cunt with his fat cock.

It was wrong to be this attracted to his sidekick, he knew. But maybe that was why it felt so fucking good, too— the forbidden, unspoken attraction that hung between the pair of you like a heavy shadow whenever you were together. The line had been crossed, and god, was the grass greener on the other side. If this was what being with you felt like, he didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t— he’d tasted your sweet ambrosia and he could never push you away again. You were pouring life into him as you took his cock so perfectly, and he could feel nothing but euphoria as he slammed your cunt onto himself again and again.

His release was building, but goddamn it, he was gonna hold out for as long as he could. He was gonna make you feel as good as he possibly could, and hopefully it was something that could mirror the intense bliss that you were giving him. From the way your irises rolled back in your skull, your nails gripping into his muscles tightly as your jaw hung ajar, his name slipping through your lips every other thrust— he guessed he was doing a pretty good job.

Meanwhile your brain was nearly liquefying in your skull, the aftershocks of your orgasm still stinging your bones with pleasure. Hawks never let you come down from your high, and he was doing a damn good job at keeping you on cloud nine— his hand holding up your thigh so he had a better angle to continue drilling into that sweet, springy spot inside of you. His wings began to flutter and stretch behind him, flapping gently with each swing of his hips. It felt so good that you could barely keep yourself from screaming for him, from letting the entire city know that it was him who was fucking you so good.

“K-Keigo,” you choked, a tear sliding down your cheek. Hawks moaned at the sound of his name on your voice, leaning forward to lick up the saline bead before he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, a shocking contrast to how hard he was pounding into you just a short distance south. “Feels so— agh! fuck— good, oh my goddd.”

Hawks nipped at your throat, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became more shallow, his pace beginning to falter. “You like my cock, dove?” he growled, chest heaving as that intense pressure started to build in his stomach. “Your pussy is so fuckin’ wet for me— T-Tight! Hah, shit— s’too fuckin’ good baby.”

You could only moan at his words, cunt clenching down on him on its own accord. Hawks gasped at the feeling, teeth sinking into your throat as the heat of the quirk clashed with the heightened tension in his abdomen. The collision of the two sensations proved to be too much for the winged hero to handle, a groan rumbling his throat as he painted your insides white with ribbons of cum, his wings unfurling and each individual feather quivering in sheer ecstasy. His body shook, muscles taut as he emptied himself into your dripping cunt, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he gasped for breath.

The heat from your bodies began to dwindle, the villain’s quirk exiting your systems and rendering the two of you boneless, breathless, and satisfied like never before. It suddenly dawned on you that you were in the middle of an alleyway, the cool spring breeze touseling Hawks’ blonde hair before your eyes. He was still wrapped around you, trying to catch his breath as his cock continued to throb against your silken walls. The pair of you stood still against the brick wall, the fact that you’d just crossed such a serious line with your closest coworker setting in. There was a sense of dread that began to bloom in your chest, your suppressed feelings for the hero unleashed and thriving, now more than ever.

Before you could overthink for another second, Hawks pulled back, warm golden eyes peering into yours. “I gotta say, dove,” he murmured, a hand coming to cup your jaw and stroke his thumb across your skin, “that was definitely the best quirk I’ve ever been hit with on the job.”

You chuckled at that, the weight of the situation instantly lightening up as you gave him a slow nod of agreement. Your heart began to beat quickly as you gathered the courage to take it a step further than his confession. “I’m glad it was with you,” you replied quietly, meekly averting your gaze to the side.

Hawks hummed, thumbing over your cheek again as a smile rose to his lips. He pressed his mouth to yours again, fingers creeping into your hair as he pulled your face close to his. This kiss was unlike any you shared before, conveying only a sweetness, fondness even— a comforting reciprocation. You smiled against his lips, too, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back, your fear dissipating as fast as it had come.

“I’m glad, too,” Hawks mumbled between your kisses, pulling away to quirk a brow at you playfully. “Can you imagine if I was with Endeavor instead?” he made the both of you laugh before leaning in to press his lips against yours again, the image of the serious, number one hero and your coworker in such a situation too hilarious not to laugh. But just as you started to deepen the kiss, he couldn’t resist throwing in the punchline he’d set up.

“I’d be a damn rotisserie chicken by now.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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sdfghj i never know how to end these and also why do i use this many dashes i am sORRY  if you enjoyed pls make sure to lemme know~~ 💕

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